#most of them are from a period around the time when i got my microphone

[miraclelevel]

9/22/2022

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere Platonic Dad Ghost Headcanons

Warnings: yandere behavior. Talks about alcohol and pot. Another reminder: This is pointed at the platonic audience. Nothing romantic.

A/N: The ghost icon belongs to @/yumethefrostypanda; does not belong to me.

I got this idea from my dream. Idk why, but dad ghost makes me feral. Do y'all have daddy issues too?

As a father, his yandere traits are a bit higher; he’s stricter, always stalking you, and terribly protective. He’s in your shoes most of the time, watching what you’re doing and who and where you’re at; not to the point he’s breathing down your neck, but needing to see if you’re in a safe area with/or without him.

High chance with Simon, since he stalks a lot, he will put multiple trackers and microphones on you: your phone, the backpack you carry, your wallet, and your shoes. He's pretty secretive about it; not only does he put these on. But also there are a bunch of cameras in the home in case of any danger.

Because of how much he worries, high chance Simon will never get back into a romantic relationship. His main focus is on you. He prefers that way as he can watch you more closely than worry about another person. Plus, the relationship between you two is more special than the others.

With him being your dad, he’s always prepared for everything, including teaching you how to protect yourself. By your teenage years, you know how to use self-defense, how to handle guns, and take down men (and women!) twice your size, communicate with Morse code/radios, and know your way around a map. At best, how to drive a car and start it in the movies with the wires.

His work style makes it incredibly hard to pinpoint where and when he will be home, which at times, can be upsetting. Though, as one of your best supports, Simon will always come to your important events, even if you didn’t tell him or remind him (ex. Graduation, going to college, homecoming/prom, etc). But when he does arrive, he’s there in the crowd, possibly on the furthest bottom-left, clapping quietly while Soap is possibly yelling for you beside him (poor Ghost).

Speaking of Uncle Soap or any other member of TF-141, they often visit, if not stay for a few days after a long mission. You probably know all of them and Laswell pretty well; all of them are as protective as Ghost. They also try to attend important events, but because of Ghost’s privacy and his thing about keeping to himself, it’s rare.

Ghost is surprisingly open about everything, except for his past and possibly your mother (depending on the outcome). Other than that, he’s truthful about questions about how it’s asked and if you decide to ask about his work — likely he’ll ask you not to speak about that.

Being a single parent is hard. Ghost takes the space of a mother’s place, teaching and supporting you with certain issues you have in your teenage life or possibly pubescent years. If you ever have your period or insecurities, he's right beside you comforting you and reassuring you when you need it.

Trust issues are a big thing with Ghost. The only people who know about your existence are the team and Laswell. Anybody else he comes into contact with is immediately deemed as a threat to him. This includes him practically web searching and going deep diving into seeing if your friends are your ‘friends’. Don’t be surprised if one day, they decide to not talk to you anymore or ‘suddenly’ disappear one night.

With the talk of friends, It’s a high chance that you’re homeschooled or at least online schooling; which leads to the internet. While he tries his best to make your life as sociable as he can, his paranoia and anxiety gets the best of him. He still does try to let you be a teenager: experiencing friendship outside the house (with his permission), doing dumb shit that may or may not lead you to jail, and getting grounded for a month or two. Hell, he allows you to try pot or alcohol under his supervision. Ghost just has a hard time trusting people and he needs you to understand that.

With the topic of being a teenager, Simon lets you hang out of the house if you want, but you have a strict curfew he expects you to follow. As well as update him every hour, and if you change locations, you need to tell him. And yes, he may do the embarrassing thing where he picks you up late at night in front of your friends or ruffles your hair while kissing the side of your head.

His way of spending time with you is being in your space, or in other words: quality time. He likes having you by himself, and will say no if you ask him to leave the house; an “Because I said so,” Type of parental act.

His way of affection towards you is a bit uncomfortable but fatherly. He’ll occasionally pat your back, ruffle your hair, or kiss you on the side of the head; sometimes letting you hug him. However, he likes his personal space. But! If you need a hug or in the need of comfort, he’d shuffle around and let you cuddle him for as long as you need/of want.

When he does get the chance to catch up with things, he will ask hows school going, how are you feeling that day, and if you two could watch TV together; possibly ordering your favorite food and allowing you to pick the channel, even if it is MLP or TAWOG. Rarely does he judge or care, as long as he gets to spend time with you.

He also loves going outside with you. While he's a homebody, your home is likely in a huge cabin; which means you two can hike, go for walks to rivers or simply go see a waterfall.

While he's extremely protective of you - Ghost won't fully baby you. He’s not the type of platonic yandere who locks you up the minute you scrape your knee or because someone tried to flirt with you. He expects you, or more so, allows you to do things your way, and figure out and express yourself.

However, if he does see/or sense you are ever uncomfortable, extremely hurt (crying type of hurt), or scared, he will step in and take care of it; his dad-mode taking over immediately, which is not a pretty sight.

No romantic partners in the house. He doesn't care if you fight him with it, Simon will not allow you to date.

Though, one of the things he will let you have is having your own privacy. He’s not the type to breathe down your neck and ask if you need anything every 5 minutes. He knows you will come to him if you need it.

He allows you to play with your phone, not asking who you’re laughing at because again, he knows you will come to him if something is/or was bothering you. And if he does see something wrong, he’s gonna get worried and get to the bottom of it. Always reminding you that you can come to him, no matter the issue.

Everything about your life is taken very seriously by him. If you are crying over something ‘small’, he won’t see it as small, because to him and you, it’s rather a big issue because you’re crying over it and it’s making you upset. With this said, Simon is pretty good at helping you with solutions or coming up with plans to help you calm down.

Ghost spoils you rotten; not to the point where you believe you get everything but to an appreciation type of spoiling. On the days he returns from his missions, he comes home with a few gifts he saw that he thought you’d like. Some books and video games that had caught his eye (if you’re into that), and maybe grabbed an animal plushie as big as his forearm to sleep with.

Whatever you want, you immediately get. All he asks in return is for you to follow his rules and spend time with him when he gets off work. He loves being around you, even if on days he doesn't show it.

However, if you do decide to break his rules, you will get treated like a full child; everything all electronic is taken away (besides your phone to communicate with him but he will download Life 360), you have a bedtime, and expects you to talk to him when he asks you a question. Worst case scenario, he will cut off all your friends and tell you that you can't hang out with them till you behave.

He's always worrying. Even if the two of you are at a restaurant, going shopping, or decided to head to the ice cream truck. He's always looking around his shoulder, expecting the worst. The minute it does? Expect him to go ballistic, making sure the danger is obliterated and gone. Simon is immediately grabbing you, calls in Price, and shooting at anyone (or anything) to get you to safety.

Surprise surprise, you will see Simon’s face frequently, if not every minute of the days he’s home. Rarely will he put a mask on, unless he has a nightmare or when he expects company from the other team members. And yes, you are allowed to boop his nose or smoosh it jokingly.

Definitely the type of dad who he allows you to paint his nails, dress his hair in goodies, or put makeup on him; the only request is that you don't do lipstick (but we all know that's a lie :P)

—

Masterlist || Please support me as a writer by reblogging or commenting. It helps a bunch!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[blues824]

♡.•° To Dearest Blues824 :

Heya! My Brain Was Going Places And Was Thinking About The Dorm Head's With An Alastor (From Hazbin Hotel) Like Reader? :D

☆.•° - You Can Call Me Stardust Anon If Ya Want!

I see what you did there, Stardust Anon! 

Gender-neutral reader, supposed to be platonic since Alastor is aromantic, but can be interpreted as romantic. Cursing, 1920’s slang because I’m good at it.

Riddle Rosehearts

You were definitely very loud and boisterous, but he just chalked it up to your radio personality that was typically required of you. Aside from that, the two of you got along quite well with each other. You both used the same sort of formal language, but you did not know how to use a phone. You actually hated it a lot, and the Housewarden found it rather amusing.

One thing he found absolutely infuriating about you was how you thought the Queen’s Rules were absolutely laughable. However, since you were a demon, you were able to memorize each of them and went along with them out of pure boredom. But, when someone was disrespecting the rules, you wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence. Riddle has had to tell you that the punishment for breaking a rule would simply be a collar rather than a black eye and a bruise about their neck, but you shrugged your shoulders with a smile and went on with your day like normal.

He could tell that you were from a different time period, since you often used slang that was popular in the 1920’s. Even in Twisted Wonderland, it existed. You once caught him while he was doing his makeup and you asked why he was getting ‘all dolled up’. The question caught him by surprise, as he had never heard any of his peers ask it like that before. 

Leona Kingscholar

He absolutely despised you. He thought you were too loud, and you often disrupted his naps along with the annoying hunter. Like, you were right next to him. You didn’t need to use your weird-ass microphone to project your voice to the cosmos. He may be sleeping, but he can hear you when you speak normally.

During his overblot, you were not afraid to use your power as a demon and as an Overlord of Hell to put an end to it within seconds. Actually, someone had to stop you so that you didn’t kill Leona. In the infirmary, you apologized and said that old habits die hard. His eyes widened when he asked about and processed what in the actual fuck you just said and you just laughed before leaving the room.

There was one time where you had invited him to walk to your classes with you, but he refused and said that he would much rather be sleeping. You told him to not be such a pill, and he was so confused. Bro looked it up, and was then offended that you called him boring in a 1920’s sort of way. Now he just calls you ‘gramps’ because you’re old.

Azul Ashengrotto

Also despised how loud you were, and thought that the microphone you carried with you was excessive. However, the first time he saw you quiet was when you told him that you were the one that did the deals around here and benefitted from them. Now he prefers your boisterous self more than your quiet self.

He has seen your secretly violent nature when Floyd snuck up behind you to try and squeeze you. A tendril came up from out of the ground and wrapped itself around the tweel’s neck, and it started to suffocate him. Azul was absolutely horrified as he screamed at you to stop, but you just had your big smile on your face. The only way he was able to tell that you weren’t happy was how you said, through gritted teeth, that you did not appreciate the eel’s actions.

One thing about you that always leaves the cecaelia confused was the slang you used. Like, you once compared the Mostro Lounge to a speakeasy, but instead of selling liquor he was selling dreams at the cost of a [most likely illegal] contract. He was about to say something about underage drinking when he remembered that you were a demon who has been alive since before the 30’s. That being said, you were of-age.

Kalim Al-Asim

It was Jamil who told him to stay away from you, but you just looked so friendly. Imagine him as a more ditzy version of Charlie, and Jamil as Vaggie. However, you had no plans to take advantage of him. He had nothing to take advantage of, or nothing that you wanted at least, as you were already the Housewarden of Ramshackle.

Your violent side came out when you saw that the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia was hypnotizing Kalim. You used your magic and held him by the throat (much like Darth Vader) and leaned in close. You made his vision go staticky and said that if he were to do something that you did not agree with, there would be heavy consequences to pay. It was fortunate that Kalim was not there to see your little threat.

The young Al-Asim was always awe-struck by the 1920’s terminology you often used. You told him that Jamil was such a wet blanket and Kalim had no idea what you just said. You explained that a wet blanket was someone who was a killjoy or a ‘party pooper’, to make it a bit more modern for him to understand.

Vil Schoenheit

He could tell that your happy and friendly persona was really a mask. After all, it takes an actor to know an actor. However, you seemed to have even Rook fooled, so he had to give you kudos for your act. He didn’t tip anyone off either, but it’s not like you would have minded being known as the most powerful being within Twisted Wonderland.

You showed your relentless and more sadistic side when Vil made a rather passive-aggressive remark about the way you dressed. Sure, it was a bit older and on the more formal side, but that gave him no right. So you used a tendril from Hell to snatch him off the ground and emphasize your point and say that it was better than the pool of fabric he called an ‘outfit’. You also said that any snide statement about you again and it would result in his untimely death and arrival in Hell.

The only reason why he knew about your slang was the fact that he had to play the role of a mobster in the 1920’s before in a movie. He’s even translated for you when you said that his outfit to match you was swanky. He said something about how he wanted to put on the Ritz for the upcoming photoshoot, and Epel just stared at the two of you, confused as to what the fuck you were saying.

Idia Shroud

You reminded him of a character from a popular show, and you had the microphone, suit, and smile to match. Honestly, he reminded you of a certain god of the underworld, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. That aside, you both were the exact opposite of each other. You were really loud and extroverted, while he was really quiet and introverted. You often liked teasing him and making him flustered and just moving on like it was nothing, and it left him with a whirlwind of emotions.

The one time you showed your aggressive side was during the time where the Phantom Bride kidnapped him. The only one who could torment your dear friend was you, and not some dame dolled up to the Ritz who was already bumped off the Flivver. Now, you typically were one to make some snide remark, but you were past that. There was no reason to bump gums when none of the other Housewardens were helping Idia out of his rather strange predicament.

He was surprised when you had summoned a tentacled monster of some sort and you threatened to have the ‘little’ monster drag them to Hell for interfering with matters in the overworld. Eliza let out a shriek as she hid behind Puffy and Gramps, shaking out of fear upon recognition of your name. You were one of the Overlords of Hell, after all.

Malleus Draconia

You were rather amusing, at least according to the dragon prince. You were also much more powerful than him, a fact that only his retainers found absolutely horrifying. Instead, he was actually very interested in you. You dressed and talked in a much different way than he did, but it was very… snazzy?... as you once said.

The more demonic side that you had made its debut during each of the overblots, and every time someone had a problem that they wanted you to deal with. You made it a point to emphasize time and time again that you were a demon who would do charity work when you wanted to, not when someone asked. After all, you needed some form of entertainment, and this was not it. Malleus often offers to order his knights to stop people from harassing you, but you told him, in a grim and menacing way, that you would love to give them a painful reminder.

One time, as you both were going on a typical nightly walk, he asked if you could show him what your time period was like. So, you being you, broke into a jazzy musical number as you used your magic to bring him into a little scene from the 20’s. He was dressed in a similar suit as you, and you used your mic to sing a song about what exactly happened in the world and to you right up until your death. Honestly, he didn’t really care that you were a cannibal. As a member of the royal family within Briar Valley, nothing phases him anymore.

[arqueete]

I saw Spring Awakening at a local college and this one was really *chef's kiss* for someone who has seen Spring Awakening live too many times. Lots of interesting little choices and details to appreciate.

The individual performances were mostly just alright (with a few standouts) but I find that that isn't actually that important to me when I see Spring Awakening. As long as the singing is in tune, the acting is earnest and enthusiastic, and the direction feels true to the themes of the show--and I felt like this cast and crew was solid on all those points--it doesn't really bother me if it feels "amateur." (I mean, it is amateur after all and amateur theater is still fun.)

It's clear that they took bits inspiration from the original production of Spring Awakening on Broadway and the Deaf West revival (not including deaf characters and sign language--BUT I do think there may have been some sign language incorporated in the choreography of The Guilty Ones? A nice touch, if so.) There are things I love about both versions so I really enjoyed that.

The choreography for Bitch of Living was really fun. The boys all had notebooks they were writing in in the classroom scene, and then during the song they would hold up the notebooks each with a letter written on them to spell out words alongside the lyrics, like B-I-T-C-H obviously, but also I-T-C-H in Moritz's verse, or T-H-I-C in Ernst's verse, or B-U-T-T in Hanschen's, or T-I-T-S in Georg's. They also only had one handheld microphone--the one Melchior was using in All That's Known, which he pulls out and hands to Moritz, and then gets passed around to each boy. I loved this visual of this gift of angsty music being passed around.

Similarly! In My Junk, as the girls sang their solos, Melchior came out and would hold up the microphone for each, also giving them an opportunity to make flirtatious poses with him. In the latter part of the song, there was a lot of this between Melchior and Wendla. Even though in reality they don't really interact until later, I thought this was a nice connection being drawn between them for the audience.

When Wendla said that her mama said she can't go to the wedding, Anna dramatically collapsed on the ground like Wendla, you're killing me.

There was also a great bit where Fraulein Grossenbustenhalter drops a handkerchief and bends over to pick it up.

When Melchior says his, "But when you lie here..." line, it's with this mischievous sort of grin like, come oooon Wendla, I know you're not really going to go! And she smiles back as she agrees to stay. It was interesting to see their interactions done more playfully than I'm used to.

I absolutely loved this The Dark I Know Well. They really had Martha and Ilse moving around, using the microphone stand, and it felt much more like a rock number a la And Then There Were None, and I was like... hell yeah. The girls really don't tend to get moments like that in the show typically and why shouldn't they?

As the song built up in the end they had the other female characters and ensemble step out to gather behind Martha and Ilse--as well as the Adult Women. It got me thinking about the adult women in this show and their experiences with sex in that time period, even just within a typical marriage, and how that affects what they are willing or able to share with their children.

The Mirror-Blue Night featured the backdrop lit up blue but Melchior holding a yellow lantern and the boys having small yellow flashlights (I think drawing from the lit up fingers in the Deaf West version of this song), and then the hayloft was lit in this warm light as well. I thought this looked fantastic and really made the hayloft feel like this warm refuge in the mirror-blue night.

Left Behind had several interesting things going on, like the most literal representation I've ever seen of the gravesite (as a pile of dirt.) Melchior looked at Moritz's father intensely and Hanschen reached out and put a hand on his shoulder like a subtle restraint--which I do think makes sense for Hanschen's don't-rock-the-boat character.

At the end of the scene it was just Melchior and Ilse... and Moritz, who Melchior stared at until Ilse gently took his arm and lead him away. I'm not a fan of productions doing things like this. I think it's a bit too soon for us to see some representation of Moritz again--not like when we see him in Those You've Known.

It's been literally over a decade since the show added Melchior into Whispering and still every time I'm like what is happening???

When Ilse came out at the end, as she neared the end of her introduction, she reached down and grabbed a flower on a grave and held it up like she was considering how it would look in her hair. I thought this was a nice bit of whimsy leading into the rest of the cast coming out and greeting each other warmly with side-hugs and grabbing hands and spinning around and it was so... sweet and joyful. I hadn't felt emotional up until that point but I got teary-eyed then.

I had a great time. It's been several years since I saw the show live last and this reminded me of why I like it so much.

[silverwolfstuff]

 CHAPTER SIX (RadioDust)Human au: Anthony and Alastor

 8:14 amRadio Station- January 14

“Good morning, New Orleans. We’re back for this morning’s radio broadcast. Ah. Hello, Rosie. Charmed as always to hear you joining us today,” Alastor spoke into his microphone. Alastor Hartfelt, age twenty two, was New Orleans most popular radio broadcaster. Granted the man was asexual, a cannibal, and a hunter, he had a mother who loved him and a loving boyfriend who had just moved down to Lousianna after getting kicked out of his family’s business for “bein’ a faggot”. The don’s words not his or Anthony’s. After Alastor finished with his broadcast, he answered the ringing phone beside him. Smiling, he answered. 

“Alastor speaking.”

“Heya, Al!” “Ah! Mon cher, pleasure hearing your voice this lovely morning. Is everything alright?”

“Erm. Kinda? I’m sorta ina situation…” Alastor scowled a little bit and rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. 

“What did you do this time?”

“I didn’ do shit! My brotha got ‘imself sorta in a problem… I’m at the station. Can ya come get me, please?” 

“...”

“Al?”

“Alright. Alright. I’ll be there shortly. Stay safe. I love you, mon amour.”

“Love ya too, Smiles!”

Alastor groaned as he set the phone on the rotary before he put his waistcoat on, asking Rosie to cover for him before he grabbed his knife, slipping it into his coat pocket and headed out. He always had some sort of weapon on him for various occasions. Whether or not it was intended, he still had a sharp tool on him. It didn’t take him long to walk down to the train station and smile more when he saw Anthony and who he assumed was his brother. 

“Al!” He caught the blonde in his arms and spun him around, kissing him gently. 

“Hello, Anthony, dear. I am assuming this is your brother, no?”

“Yeah. Sal, this is my man, Alastor. Al, meet my brotha Salvatore." The taller man gave a curt nod to Anthony’s brother and mustered a tight smile. 

“Dis the guy you’re datin’, To- Ack!!! Molls! Arthur!” Sal beamed when he was knocked to the ground by his boyfriend and his younger sister, Molly who was Anthony’s twin sister. Alastor cursed in French, checking the time by looking at his pocket watch. Sighing quietly, he rocked impatiently on his heels. 

“You alright, Al?” Anthony asked his boyfriend, locking their hands together. The brunette hummed in reply, nodding. 

“I’m quite alright, my dear. Hello, Molly. Pleasure to see you again,” he smiled at his lover’s twin sister, arms crossed behind his back. The blonde shared a look with his sister and his brother before shrugging. The siblings talked as Alastor led them towards his and Anthony’s apartment. It wasn’t a long walk as they lived fairly close by but it was also close by the radio station as well. He tipped his hat off to the local baker. Alastor was sort of…. Feared in these parts of Louisiana, partially because he was nicknamed the Radio Host of New Orleans when in reality he was only running a simple radio show with Rosie and from time to time Anthony joined them granted the blonde had his own radio show about his opinions on the clothing options and models that was happening in the current time period. As they walked, Alastor got lost in thought, allowing Anthony to keep his arm around his waist and stay close to his side. He thought about when they first met and how they were here now. He smiled to himself, wrapping an arm around Anthony’s waist himself, keeping the blonde close to his side. He remembered when they first met, which was two years ago. In three days it would mark three years that they’d have been together. 

~~

When they first met, it had been a chilly autumn day in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was late August, early September. The leaves were falling and Alastor had been in a good mood, having finished his radio broadcast for the day and had gone out to hunt deer. He had a…. Unique taste for venison, which was deer meat. Had it been a pleasant hunt, capturing his dinner, he’d gone home the long way, thanking Rosie for helping him get the dead deer inside of the apartment complex. As he’d gone out to throw something away behind the apartment complex, he heard pleas for help. Poking his head around the corner, he came across a lovely looking blonde man. No younger than himself mind you. He seemed to pick up on the setting and the situation he was in. Taking his blade out from his ankle, he approached the smaller male and the group of gangsters… And Valentino…

“These men giving you trouble, my dear?” Alastor asked, spinning his knife in his right hand and held out his left for the blonde to take, offering his help towards the sweet seeming man who was on the ground.Anthony, no less than the age of twenty one, had just moved out of the big city and into the bayou, well he moved into New Orleans about a month and a half ago. . He’d been kicked out of the family’s mafia business for “bein’ a fag!” The Don’s words, not his. He didn’t want anything to do with his family anyways, well except for his twin sister and older brother. Their mother had died from cancer when they were only five, making Salvatore eleven at the time, so he didn’t have a motherly figure in the household though Molly, his twin sister, acted like the mother they needed sometimes. He’d moved into Louisiana to hopefully find someone that he could love and hopefully find a job. He’d moved into an apartment (that he hadn’t realised was right across from Alastor’s). All day he’d been looking for a job, finally finding one as a porn star, working for a man who’s name was Valentino. He took it. Whatever he could get his hands on and that would be getting paid. He took it. He was now on his way back home, where he’d suddenly been pushed against the wall by a man who was definitely stronger than he was. He knew he was good looking but he wasn’t a whore. Well…. Okay. Sometimes he dressed like that. He’d been dressed like one after his shift. He was wearing a short skirt, a white and pink striped shirt and was wearing a tan overcoat, and his usual black heels. 

“If ya wanna fuck me, I charge for it,” he said and tried to push himself off of the wall and get out of the man’s grasp. He gasped when he was tossed to the ground, feeling like the wind was knocked out of him. He coughed, already having asthma so this made it worse. 

“You’re Val’s new employee, aren’t ya?” asked the shorter man of the group. Anthony looked…. Confused? 

“Yeah…? What’s it to ya? Like I said, I charge if ya wanna fuc~,” he started, getting cut off when he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and was forced to breathe in red smoke. Valentino. 

“Mista Valentino….” The blonde backed against the wall. He was already exhausted granted he only had a twelve hour shift but he’d been at it for what felt like hours. The tan skinned male who stood before him, blew more red smoke towards him. This lasted a few more times, and he didn’t know how much time had passed before he’d jumped nearly a foot in the air when he heard a voice that was unfamiliar beside him. He looked up from where he was on the ground, coughing as Valentino blew more smoke. 

“These men giving you trouble, my dear?” Damn, he sounded majestic. He took the offered hand, turning to cough into his arm, finding it difficult to breathe. The man beside him spun his knife. 

“You’re in my turf, gentlemen. I suggest you leave. You never know, you could become mine or my dear friend, Rosie’s next meal,” he laughed, finding it amusing that he’d scared the other male. After the group left, he tucked his knife away and placed a gentle hand on Anthony’s shoulder. 

“My dear, are you….” He noticed the bruising on his neck and his arms. Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly. Anthony looked at him once he got his breathing under control. 

“T-Thank you…. Mista…?” 

“Alastor, my dear. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.”

After that day, they talked more and more, eventually Alastor was able to pull a few strings and Anthony was free of Valentino’s grasp. Well. For the time. The two got along well after a few more times and eventually, Alastor finally lost it with what Valentino was making Anthony do, so…. Let’s just say Alastor came home with blood on his hands and that was a long and memorable night for both men. 

~~

“Al!” The brunette was pulled back into reality, looking at his beloved. He smiled and squeezed his hand softly. 

“You okay, Al? Haven’t seen ya this spaced out in forevah,” Antony smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek, beaming brightly.  “Molls is gonna stay wit us. You okay with that, babe?”

“Yes, Anthony. I’m quite alright with it. I can get a chance to catch up on my book that you got me for my birthday,” Alastor smiled and kissed the back of his hand as he led the group to his and Anthony’s apartment. Molly beamed and immediately went to the kitchen while her twin brother pulled Alastor towards their bedroom so they could change into something more comfortable. Alastor smiled and allowed himself to be tugged down the hallway. Once they were in their bedroom, he took his shoes off and placed them on the shelf, undoing his bow tie and changed into a red button up, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, black slacks and cleaned his glasses off. He caught his boyfriend’s gaze and flushed a little, looking the other way. 

“Even when we’re not working, you always look so damn hot!” Anthony whined, sliding a pink t-shirt over his head and kissed Al on his cheek, smiling. 

“Thank you for the compliment, Mon ange,” Alastor smiled and gently pulled Anthony into a small kiss, keeping an arm around his waist, keeping him close to his chest. He held the smaller male close to his touch. He gently rubbed his back as he kept his lover close to his chest, idli making out with him. Keeping the kisses simple and loving. 

“Mmm…. Al…. We still- Ack! Sal! What t’fuck?!” The two jumped apart when Sal had opened the door to the bedroom and video recorded them. 

“What? Can I not have some fun?” Sal retorted, smirking behind the camcorder. Alastor growled a little and backed away from the video camera. 

“This face was made for radio, my dear,” he grumbled, softly squeezing Anthony’s hand before he headed downstairs to assist Molly in preparing food. Anthony glared at his brother and his brother’s lover. 

“Sal. Don’t fuck dis up. Please. You’re my older brotha,” he said, walking out after stopping the recording and tucked it away in his pocket for now. Sal frowned and sighed softly, knowing he was right. Arthur looked at Sal and gently squeezed his shoulder, kissing his forehead before leading them downstairs to join the others for lunch. 

After lunch, Sal and Arthur had left to retire back to their apartment. Molly stayed a while longer, playing with her coffee mug. She watched as Alastor lay on Anthony’s chest, keeping his arms around his waist. Softly humming, Anthony stroked back Al’s hair and softly combed his fingers through his hair. 

“You sure you can trust ‘im, Tone?” Molly asked, playing with her bracelets. Anthony looked up at his sister and bit his lip, softly running his fingers through Al’s hair, knowing it helped Al stay asleep. 

“Yeah…. I trust him wit’ mah life, Molls…. I know he seems…. Intimidating? He really ain’t, Mol. He’s real sweet…. Takes care of me…. Doesn’t force me ta do shit I don’t want ta do…. Saved me. He saved me, Molls…. Sure he’s a cannibal and a hunter but our family is jacked up so…. Could it get worse? Plus…. He wouldn’t eva hurt me…” he said, looking at Al while he said this and smiled when he saw those red and brown irises stare lovingly at him. He cupped his cheeks and kissed him gently on the mouth. Molly frowned with a small sigh. 

“Okay. If he hurts ya or anythin’, I swear to god, Tony….” she said and gave her brother a hug, saying her goodnights to the two before heading out towards her own apartment. Anthony smiled gently and nodded, quietly sighing and shifted so he was laying on his back and Al was on top of him. 

“Al?”

“Yes, Mon Cher?”

“You won’t hurt me…. Righ’?”

“If I wanted to, I would have already done so, my sweet angel,” Al said and gently kissed Anthony on his mouth, rubbing his waist gently. Anthony smiled and kissed back softly, keeping his arms around his waist. When a few minutes passed, Alastor crawled off of his lover, extending a hand out for Anthony to take, pulling the blonde to his feet. Dipping him into a kiss, he then led them to the bedroom where they got ready for bed. Anthony smiled a little bit and nodded as he got changed into pink shorts and nothing else. Alastor smiled, getting changed into his usual silk red sleepwear. After the two had changed, they lay in bed together with one of Al’s radio stations playing smooth jazz music. 

“G’night, Al,” Anthony whispered, laying on top of the taller male. Alastor smiled and nuzzled their noses together. 

“Goodnight, mon ange,” Alastor whispered, spooning the other male, knowing it helped him fall asleep. The two fell asleep comfortably in one another’s arms, safe and content. 

9:14 amJanuary 21The following morning, Anthony was the first to wake up. He smelled something being cooked and beamed when he realised it was Al making beignets. He loved it when his boyfriend cooked. Eagerly he stood up and slipped on his robe and headed towards the kitchen, frowning when he only saw… Someone who wasn’t Alastor?

“Who da fuck are you?” he asked, gingerly reaching for the knife that was always kept on the table near the stairs. The woman who was standing in the kitchen, looked over her shoulder. She had long brown and copper hair that was tied back into a french braid. She beamed when she saw Anthony up. She looked older than himself and Al together. Late forties maybe? He couldn’t tell. He blinked; blue eyes meeting brown… Wait. Brown and red. Was this Al’s mom?! He paled and immediately started to ramble in Italian, texting Alastor and panicking. 

9:20 am<Tony> AL!?! YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME YOUR MA WAS GONNA BE HERE!!!

9:21 am<Strawberry babe <3>

Ah. You’ve met my mother. I left a note on the nightstand, my dear. I had to go out for a few minutes to get the show going for a few. Ma’s there for a bit until I get back. You two might share a few common traits. I’ll be home soon, darling! 

Angel groaned as he read the text from Al and grumbled as he sat down at the kitchen counter, looking up when he was handed a cup of coffee. 

“Just the way you like, hun. He told me all about you. Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” the woman laughed and smiled at Anthony as he raised his cup midway to his mouth and took a small sip. He nodded and ran his hands through his unruly blonde hair. He idly played with the rim of his coffee cup, unsure how to start a conversation. 

“Anthony, wasn’t it?” The blonde looked up and nodded, shy. 

“Yeah... It is... Prob'ly ain't heard a' me cause I moved down from the city ta the bayou... Guess it was a change of scenery but mostly cause o' my pops. Was in the family biz.... Mafia, y'know? We all was. Molls, my twin sister and Sal, my brotha. Ma passed when Mol and I were five, makin' Sal eleven at the time... Sorry. I'm talkin' too much,” Anthony rambled, pushing his hands through his hair again. The woman frowned and set down the utensil she was using and gave him a tight hug. 

“I can only imagine, my dear… Ya know… Raisin’ Al wasn’t easy for me nutha. Name’s Maybel by the way. Maybel Heartfelt. As I was sayin’… Alastor don’t like talkin’ ‘bout this but… You been with him long enough… Al’s pa, John. He wasn’t the best to either of us, Al or myself. I don’t know how I put up with such a… A”

“Asshole?”

"Yeah... That. But... He was cold to both of us. Tol Al “don’t say nothin' unless spoken to”... He was a drunk. Took his anger out on me. I had Al's back, did my best to keep him outta trouble…” Maybel told Anthony, telling him about the part of Al’s life that was vulnerable to him. Anthony listened, keen on wanting to know more about his boyfriend. He had barely heard the front door opening but looked over when he heard a pained noise coming from the front door. He looked over and gasped softly, running over. It had been two hours since he had texted Al and he hadn’t gotten anything so, he had definitely known something was up. 

“Babe? You alrigh’?” Anthony asked, helping Al sit down on the couch, pointing towards the first aid kit that way Al’s mother could help heal his wounds. Al looked at Anthony and nodded with a small smile. 

“I’m alright, my dear. I only took care of a few things… Mainly the ones who keep calling out for you every time we go out and the ridiculous things I’ve heard about- Ah! Mother, ow, ow, ow,” he hissed when the open wound was treated with what he guessed was hydrogen peroxide. Anthony smiled and softly kissed his forehead. “Ya didn’ hafta do tha’.” He smiled and locked their hands together. Alastor shrugged as best as he could, hissing in pain and let his smile falter, tears starting to fall down his cheeks as he allowed his mother to patch his wounds. “Al, bae, what you be doin', baby? 'Cept gettin' shot in the arm. You lucky I can fix you up and it ain't nothin' too bad,” Maybel asked her son, softly kissing his forehead before numbing around the wound and then started stitching him up. The brunette hissed in pain and looked at the floor, wiping his tears with his good hand. He kept a tight squeeze on Anthony and it was clear he was protective of the smaller male. He didn’t want anything happening to him. Anthony softly kissed his cheek as Al explained what had happened when he’d gone out.

***

Around noon, Alastor had told Anthony to dress nice, not saying why, he just told him. Anthony smiled and kissed Al on his cheek before he headed upstairs to get changed. Once he was in their bedroom, he noticed that there was a note, alongside a dress that seemed to be a crimson red and sparkly, laced with pale pink jewels. Anthony squealed with a grin, reading the note first before anything else. Mon, Ange,While I was out earlier, I asked Rosie to… Craft something for you. I hope you enjoy this gift, my dear. Happy anniversary, mon amour. 

-Alastor P.S. There’s a pair of heels that match. Look in the closet. Rosie said they should fit. I hope you like it, Anthony, darling. Anthony paled when he read the last line of the note. Fuck. That was today! He completely forgot! He wiped his eyes before he put on the dress and gasped softly. It fit perfectly. He smiled a little to himself in the mirror. He twirled and saw something sparkly in the corner… He broke into a grin as he slipped on the white and pale pink high heels, spinning around and smiling, taking a picture and sending it to his best friend and sister. After he sent it, he sat at his vanity and put on a light layer of makeup before he opened the bedroom door and walked downstairs. He didn’t see Alastor anywhere. However, he jumped a good three inches when he felt arms around his waist. Alastor laughed softly and kissed his shoulder gently, playfully biting on his collarbone gently. 

“Jesus, Al!! Next time give a heads up-... Oh my god. You look smoking hot... Al? I-I'm sorry about today... I forgot about our anniversary and I didn't mean to.. I'm such a screw up.. I'm sorry, babe,” Anthony said and looked down at the ground, playing with the strings from the dress sleeves. Alastor hummed thoughtfully, gently stroking his back. 

“It’s alright, my dear. You are not a “screw up”. You’re everything far from that. You’re an angel, my darling,” he told him and tilted his head up, capturing his lips in a kiss that was tender and lighthearted. Anthony smiled and held onto him tightly. He smiled as he pulled away, gratefully taking his hand and walked out with him, excited for what the man had in store for them for their special day. 

***

As night fell, the two were curled up on the couch, near the fireplace. Al was sipping tea while reading and listening to jazz music. Anthony was laying with his head in his lap, playing with his engagement ring that was sitting on his finger. Snug as could be. He looked at Alastor and smiled, cupping his face with his hand. “Mon cher, I’m trying to read,” Al teased, but set his book aside and looked at Anthony, leaning down to nuzzle their noses together. 

“I"I ain't never gonna take it off, Al. That's a guarantee,” Anthony promised, linking their hands together as they shared a kiss together… As if it were their last…

[skippyv20]

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/poor-old-archbish-welby-he-s-got-to-deal-with-the-montecito-moaners-again-92fjrgmts no other snapshots from this url 31 Jan 2023 00:08:22  ROBERT CRAMPTON Poor old Archbish Welby! He’s got to deal with the Montecito moaners again Robert Crampton Tuesday January 31 2023, 12.01am GMT, The Times King Charles has asked Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, to mediate in the brewing row over Prince Harry’s attendance at his dad’s coronation in May. Rather you than me, mate! Welby’s already admitted he’s having nightmares about the event — leaving the crown at Lambeth Palace, like a dopey best man losing the ring, that sort of thing — and now he’s got to keep Harry and Meghan happy, and as we know, they are not a couple slow to take offence. Just when he should be fussing about his coronation oil and special frock, Welby will instead be scurrying around Westminster Abbey checking no one’s been swapping the name cards in the pews. Poor old Archbish! From Protestantism to placement in five centuries: how are the mighty fallen. Thomas Cranmer had to worry about getting burnt at the stake. Five hundred years later, his successor is fretting over whether Meghan is behind a pillar. Even Welby’s far more recent predecessor Robert Runcie got involved in weighty matters like sending Terry Waite to broker hostage releases in Beirut. The current AoC will hope his negotiations go better than Terry’s did. How will Welby handle it? Well, when my wife periodically toys with the idea of redesigning our kitchen or bathroom, or helps out a friend with advice on the same, she first makes a scale drawing of the room, marking in the windows, doors and plumbing. Then, also to scale, she cuts out paper shapes to represent the bath, shower, fridge, sink, whatever, and moves them around experimentally to find the optimal arrangement. I suggest the senior primate of the Church of England and ceremonial head of the worldwide Anglican communion of 85 million souls does the same. Except, obviously, his scheme would represent the Abbey and a shedload of posh overstuffed gilt chairs rather than household appliances. Welby reportedly had a dry run at corralling Harry and Meghan back on to the reservation at the Queen’s funeral last September. We all know how that turned out: major moaning about second-row status plus a bafflingly arcane strop over the precise insignia on a uniform sleeve. Undeterred, Charles has asked his top vicar to have another go. The peacemaker’s work is all the more difficult this time around because William, after the massive kicking he got in Spare, understandably despairs of his baby brother ever growing up and doesn’t want him there at all. Charles, bless him, despite Harry telling the world his wife is a dangerous villain, is still doing that classic hand-wringing parent thing of hoping warring siblings will agree to disagree and kiss and make up. Enter Welby, canon of compromise, father of fudge, bishop of bodging it and now putative party planner, tasked with sorting out the rider from hell. One suspects a diva’s aversion to blue M&Ms will be as nothing compared with Harry and Meghan’s demands. Trying to reconcile openly gay bishops with their fellow Anglicans who think homosexuality is evil per se will surely prove child’s play in comparison to divvying up the most flattering camera angles at the high altar. Welby has some previous with the Montecito moaners. Remember when Meghan told Oprah that Welby had married them in secret three days before their public do in Windsor? And the archbishop had to let it be known that, er, that wasn’t true? Still, at least he knows what he’s dealing with. The word is that Harry will accept nothing less than full front-row parity with his brother. How will that play out? I can’t see it going well. Should young George really be expected, aged nine, to break up a fight between his dad and his uncle on grandpa’s big day? Will the microphones pick up the second-in-line piping, “Leave it, Pa, he ain’t worth it!” while various duchesses (and one Queen Consort) urge, “Yeah, that’s right, stick the boot in” and, “My turn!” Tricky one for Welby. If he downgrades Harry, there’ll be a Californian-sized huff. If he doesn’t, he may have to keep the brothers apart with his crosier. He’s in the same position as those diplomats who have to find a way of distancing the Israeli and Iranian ambassadors at big state funerals. ● Archbishop Justin Welby plays mediator for the royals ● Hilary Rose: Harry and Meghan’s coronation preparations Harry is reportedly in no hurry to enter into negotiations, with the archbishop or anyone else. Appropriately enough, today being transfer deadline day in the Premier League, with all the posturing and brinkmanship that entails, Big Aitch is ready to take matters right to the wire to get the sweetest deal: titles; apologies; probably more cash. But mostly, he’s after the best seat in the house on May 6. The problem for Welby is, even if he somehow magics up a scheme that avoids a no-show and a punch-up, it doesn’t mean both parties will abide by the deal on the day. We’ve all been there. A big wedding. An industry bash. A charity do. Had a look at the diagram by the door and groaned, “Oh no! I’ve got that boring/handsy/drunk/racist/shouty/mumbly bloke!” Or indeed, “Oh no, I’ve got that paranoid fantasist American actress!” And then some of us — well me, anyway — have indulged in a little surreptitious name-card redistribution before our potential neighbour staggers braying into view, bumping into furniture and groping waitresses as he approaches. But enough of the Duke of York. Incidentally, will Prince Andrew want to bring his bath as a plus-one? “Room for a little one?” asks Andy, jostling along his row, pitifully inadequate bath tucked under one arm, anxious to secure valuable screen time for his prize exhibit.

Thank you❤️

[bigmeandragonlady]

tehe, we're back on our oc bullshit, questions off this thing, another one i cant find, and another private one. this time it's my unnamed witch from tvd ([redacted] woods)

🍩: What's a crime your OC is most likely to commit? What's a crime they're most likely to get arrested for?

Theft. Murder. Accomplice to murder. She's already done a lot.

🍫: Where does your OC go to think?

There's a greenhouse and small garden area at the boarding house she's carved out for herself. If she wants to get out further she fucks off into the woods

🎂: Has your OC have any contradictory interests or traits to the first preception people have of the? How do they surprise people?

this one's fun b/c i get to write it happening. she often comes off as timid and faint hearted but is vicious when it comes to protecting herself (and by extention ppl she loves) to the point of violence or murder she has no issue getting her hands dirty and it surprises people. Because of her general demeanor, how much she likes to read, and the time period she grew up in people are also very surprised at how blasé she is about nudity and sex in general.

🍆: Does your OC have any favourite form of affection, physical or otherwise?

Primarily acts of service. from her it usually comes in the form of food. Physical touch is also important for her. It's a good way to make her feel wanted and/or secure. she runs cold so !cuddling!

📚 : how were they at school? what is their best subject? what is their worst subject? do they have a favourite subject?

Due to the time she grew up and her social status she didn't actually go to a formal school. She got help learning a few 'important' subjects later then she would have been formally taught/later in life. She practically inhaled the books she could get her hands on and has a particular interest in botany and horticulture. She also really likes to study any thing supernatural, regardless of whether or not it's true, and suss out fact or fiction. The gang's in college and she is, as quietly as possible, extremely envious.

✋ Are your OC’s hands smooth, rough, or average? Why? How do they keep their nails? Do they bite them, paint them, neatly trim them, et cetera?

I could 100% see her painting her (short) nails. And then being disappointed with how quickly she ruins them while working. Her hands are rougher then average. She's done hard labor all her life and spends a lot of time rooting around in the dirt so she has some callouses and her hands are just a little tougher and worn.

👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories?

This is a fun thing I've been trying to figure out. Her setting is an era of fashion I'm not a big fan of and the show has a vibe. I want her to wear things that are a little reminiscent of the time she grew up in, but also stepping into modern, and some nice dresses/skirts. i have a pinterest board here she has a necklace that was a gift back in the 1860s that was returned to her in 2009 which she almost never takes off. She also learned how to imbue objects with magic and wear a couple rings specifically for that purpose.

🎤 MICROPHONE - are they good at singing?

Decent. Not 'I'm a star' level but she likes to sing to her plants while working and her partner asks for her to sing to them when they're sick/hurt

[rupertenglander]

Welcome!

Thank you for finding your way here. You are most welcome. I started learning how to play the guitar when I was at university and never really got beyond learning the basic chords to play along to some of the best known songs around.

However, those chords released locked-away emotions and I found that the more I played and explored with those emotions, the more purpose I felt and the more balanced I became.

My first 30 or so songs remain unrecorded although I have started re-exploring some of them and I might commit a few of them to the digital recording space.

Muted Censor was my first complete album. Recorded on a Boss BR-8 track home recording unit, with 2 guitars and a microphone. These are basic tracks, predominantly of unrequited love and written with a certain fear that I would never find "the one".

It's a pretty autobiographical account of my life over a period of about 3 years, which is a pretty depressing summary if you listen to the songs and the lyrics. They are a meandering mess of some form of mental fragility that I was destined to be alone.

Then in 2001 the truly terrible events of September 11th unfolded and the world was never the same again. Despite not having any personal impact by the attacks, I was deeply traumatised by the events that took place. 'Devils in the Sky' was written in the sapce of about 15 minutes that evening, as the world started to try and contextualise and deal with the aftermarth of the attacks.

As works go it's the one I am most fiercly proud of and the one I have spent the most time trying to perfect from a recording perspective. It's been recorded "properly" at least 3 times. The one that is released is my favourite.

I met my wife very late December of 2001 and my world was changed overnight. Over the course of the following year we were engaged, and had our daughter, and my writing changed to a more optimistic footing. I managed to write 'So Surreal' (about this acute change in my life and my fortunes) and 'More' (my wedding song for my wife which I seem to recall playing on our wedding day) . I packaged these songs together with 'The Soul Within Your Eyes' (which was written about my experience of visiting my uncle in hospital after he suffered a massive stroke), into 'The Awakening' as a representation of my new found love, but also my new found vulnerability and acute awareness of mortality which seemed to get heightened by becoming a father.

Since 2003 I've not written much, if anything. Our son came along and with the 2 kids, dogs, cats, and all the trappings of modern life took over. The guitars were there, visible, but unplayed.

Skip forward 20 years and the 2 "kids" are now adults. The cats are gone. The dogs still with us (bless her). The kids have not quite flown the nest, but are independent and I have more time again. I've picked up the guitar a few times, and heck - even tuned them. Well, I've played them a bit too and I might even start trying to pen some stuff or revive some older unrecorded things that I feel might deserve some effort.

We shall see...

[sheislethal]

Ok, but what about Sevika with an s/o who's a singer at the borthel and obviously has to be very flirty and sexy so the public keep their attention on them. One day Sevika decides to watch and support her lover but didn't expect to feel so furious and jealous with everyone paying attention to her s/o, and if is ok please don't nsfw.

SEVIKA x reader (Third person pov)

WARNINGS: gn! reader, mature themes, generally sfw, cussing, etc

Notes: Everyone, feel free to read my book “Corrupt Me” on Wattpad! Just go to my bio and tap on the link, then go to Wattpad and you should see it. I also wrote this in super long acrylics, so the keys worked against me.

"Only Yours"

Friday night. Everyone in Zaun knew what that meant.

One of the Undercity's best singers, y/n, would be performing at the Last Drop.

They were known for their enchanting voice, sexy energy, and flirtatious nature when singing.

They drew quite the crowd. Some from Piltover even took the risk to come and listen to them sing.

Sevika knew how lucky she was, bagging someone as talented as y/n. She never quite had the time to sit down and watch her partner perform in her element, though.

She had made it her goal to take some time off to listen to her, and her goal had become a reality tonight.

Y/n was backstage in the bar, preparing for the show. The outfit that hugged their skin obviously had to be promiscuous. How else could you attract the attention of sixty percent of the crowd, which happened to be men?

Their hand's drug up their side, the rough red material of the sparkly dress was complimented by the dark makeup that coated y/n's face.

Y/n wasn't expecting Sev to be there tonight, considering she never was. They wished she would be, though. Despite the thousands of eyes that have watched them sing, their most cherished happened to be their partner's.

Sevika wasn't surprised to see the large crowd waiting in the Last Drop. Her partner was a sight to behold, and a voice to be exalted. Although she hadn't heard y/n sing in public, there had been plenty of times where she would have y/n sing to her in their apartment.

Sevika took a seat somewhere in the back, amidst the shadows. She inhaled her cigar and took in the dimming of the yellow lights. The bar now held a scarlet hue to set the mood.

The chattering of the crowd had died down, a queue that the highly awaited entertainment was about to grace everyone's presence.

Sevika's heartbeat picked up its pace when her grey eyes watched her lovely partner entering the small stage.

An absentminded smirk danced on her dark lips at the sight of y/n's attire. Y/n happily got consumed in the crowd's cheers and whistles. They were all for her.

They approached the microphone, and the music began to play. Almost immediately, y/n's hands met their hips and were seductively drug up their waist as they parted their blood-red lips.

"I put a spell on you." Their sultry, sinfully insinuating voice drifted through the bar like a dripping stream of honey.

"Because you're mine." A smirk found y/n's lips as the crowd shouted cheers of delight. Sevika suddenly remembered other people were also watching her partner, and her eyes suddenly narrowed.

This was y/n's job. She expected this kind of attention. That didn't mean she had to like it, though.

"You better stop the things you do. I tell you I ain't lyin'..." Y/n's eyes fluttered through the crowd slowly and purposefully. They made sure to maintain eye contact with her crowd for long periods of time before moving on to the next person.

"I ain't lyin'!" The beat dropped and y/n's hips started to sway with the music, creating a not-so-pg-13 array that drove the crowd wild.

"You know I can't stand it," Sevika glared around her at the crowd that grew a little too excited at her lover's performance. "You're runnin' around."

Y/n's eyes finally captured Sevika's and their eyebrows widened ever so slightly. "You know better, daddy. I can't stand it, cause you put me down."

Y/n was extremely taken-aback at their girlfriend's unexpected appearance, but they were definitely pleased.

Y/n decided to put a little more passion into their act, dipping down and proceeding to drag their hand up their exposed leg due to the dress's slit.

Whistles from both men and women filled Sevika's ears, and rage started to consume her body. She loved how y/n moved, but she despised the sinful eyes that watched her from all around.

"I put a spell on you, because your mine." Sev's fists tightened into balls as the cheers never waivered. She wasn't jealous. She was well-aware y/n was hers and hers alone, so why did this feel so much like jealousy.

Y/n's song soon came to an end, which earned them a standing ovation.

Sevika wasted no time in standing and pushing past the crowd, making a bee-line toward the backstage area.

She pushed past the velvet curtain and was met with y/n's excited face. "You came! What did you think? Was I good?"

Sevika's face was flat with a lingering slight glare. Y/n's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion once their girlfriend merely grunted in reply.

"What's the matter? Did you not like it...?" Their voice sounded quiet and deflated from any previous joy.

Sevika avoided her lover's eyes and shrugged. She attempted to move past y/n, but they reached for her arm and halted her.

"Sev, I can see something's up. What's the matter?" Sevika turned her head around. "Nothing. I'm fine. Let's go home."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong." Y/n defiantly folded their arms together. Stubborn as ever, but that's why Sevika fell for them.

A sigh left her lips and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "It made me a little upset seeing everyone pay attention to you." She begrudgingly admitted.

A soft smile crossed over y/n's face. "You're jealous?"

"Absolutely not." Sevika countered defensively. Y/n's fingers found their girlfriend's bicep, and their scarlet nails trailed across her dark bronze skin.

"It's fine if you don't admit it. I already know the truth anyways." They tsked and wrapped their other arm around Sevika's shoulder.

Sevika's eyebrow quirked when her lover came up right beside her face. "I don't even pay attention to any of those people. They're just my paycheck." They started.

"I only really care about you, Sevika." Sevika's skin tingled as her partner's whisper landed right beside her ear. Y/n's nails drug down her arm. "They could never have me. I belong to you." They murmured comfortingly.

Sevika rolled her eyes and wrapped her arm around y/n's waist. "Alright, I get it. You don't gotta start seducing me." Her frown switched to a smirk and she quickly kissed her partner, who was now laughing.

"Just makin' sure we're on the same page." Y/n chuckled, and Sevika lead them both out of the bar through a backdoor.

[summercreolefanfictioner]

songs the Sakamaki bros would have sex or make-out session to

WARNING: NSFW (if you’re below 18, just don’t freakin’ read things like this, okay?)

DISCLAIMER: I just got this idea ‘cause an acquaintance told me she turns up the volume of her radio when she does it with her gf (that’s all the story ‘cause I ain’t curious about her sex life)

SHUU SAKAMAKI

No brainer. Classical music. PERIOD.

Sometimes it would be the violin covers or orchestra pieces he always listens to since he’s lazy to change the music

Other times, it would be songs that came out from a sensual mixtape

Most of them probably from Two Feet or Cigarettes After Sex

Or even from LANY or The 1975

A rare one from the playlist would be Ariana Grande’s off the table

Shuu likes it slow, teasing you during foreplay

But he ain’t a lazy lover

Likes it when he makes you feel every sensation

Also a sucker for comfort sex so get ready for sad songs

Probs from Mitski’s “I Want You” or Lily Allen’s “Littlest Things”

No BDSM

But if you want to, he can notch a few things 😉

REIJI SAKAMAKI

Another classical music fan

But this one likes the haunting pieces, ya know the ones used when you’re escaping a dark castle or running from a monster at the forest

Idk why he sees it romantic but for him it sets the mood

Thinks of sex as a means to be a sadist

What the actual fvck

Would also play Kiss of Fire by Hugh Laurie or Bei Mir Bist du Schon by The Andrew Sisters

Light BDSM

Would also test out his poison on you

He’s gonna make you cum either from pleasure or from fear

You like it either way so no complaining

AYATO SAKAMAKI

Welcome to the wild side

The music taste of this Ore-sama is undoubtedly rock

Heavy metal, pop, punk, goth, emo—the sound of the electric guitar in the background fires him up

I picture him turning up the volume so high he’s gonna hear complaints from the other brothers later on

Most of the time, he’d play songs from All Time Low, ACDC, Pierce The Veil, Fall Out Boy, Nirvana, etc.

He likes having wild and rough sex

Would probably leave hickeys

I also think he’s someone who would invite you out on a sex in public

Poor boy can’t keep his pants on

Would also pull up a prank where he would turn off the volume, insert the microphone, and turn the speaker back on so his S/O’s moans would be heard around the mansion

Also keeps a record of the moans as a form of blackmail

This jerk

Would get in a fight with Subaru for being so noisy

You’d probably not show up in the mansion for a few days because of that

But Ayato has his ways to convince you otherwise so fvck everything

“What a bad girl.”

“You’re the bad one, Ayato-kun.”

“Che! You love this Ore-sama so suck it.”

Suck what???

KANATO SAKAMAKI

The playlist of this one is as vast as the ocean

His music taste is a mix of all his brothers

So there are times he would play scary classicals or punk rock or sensual and playful based on his mood

I imagine him having comfort sex while My Immortal by Evanescence is playing in the background

But most of the time he’d play songs from Lana del Rey, Yohio, Panic! At The Disco, Blink-182, and Melanie Martinez

He actually turns the song “Tonight You Belong To Me” by The Lennon Sisters into a creepy one because of how possessive he is

For a sensual person, he prefers taking everything slow

Even your pain as he chokes you into oblivion

That’s some heavy BDSM sht

Would also play songs from My Chemical Romance like the ones from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge or I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love

If he’s feeling romantic (which is rare), he would play Doja Cat’s Kiss Me More or The Cardigans’ Lovefool

Tho tbh it’s rare for him to turn on music because he would rather listen to his S/O’s moans and screams of pain as her heart beats faster in fear and anticipation

Would only turn them on if his S/O starts being noisy

LAITO SAKAMAKI

Alexa, play Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me

Did someone say whore?

This slut has the horniest playlist ever out of all the brothers

You'd probably mistake him as a stripper

Most of the songs would be from Rihanna, Doja Cat, Ariana Grande, Charlie Puth, Lana del Rey, etc.

Basically, mostly sex songs that are popular with teenagers

Would also have the same sensual sex playlist like Shuu has

He plays them all even if he’s being a bitch to his flings

Would most likely mess you up and make you begging for more

This slut

He is a mix of a wild ride with sadism and BDSM

His music and moans are so noisy Reiji banned him from having sex in the mansion

Even noisier than Ayato

Never stops being a perv even when he’s alone

Stay away from him at all costs

SUBARU SAKAMAKI

He’s emo. Period.

Whether it’s a slow or rough sex, there’s always an emo song playing in the background

Sometimes you ask him if he’s sad or what

“I am not sad. Why are you asking me that?!”

Poor baby car

He probs share the same music as Ayato’s but more on the self-loathing part

Mostly Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance, Pierce The Veil, Nirvana, and the likes

Is actually noisy he just doesn’t know it

He is even louder than the music he’s playing so the brothers would hear his moans than his S/O

This gives them the nightmares

They tease him later on about this, especially Shuu and Ayato

“You even said ‘scream my name, louder’ the fvck”

“I did not say that.”

“Oh yeah sure while she’s giving you the head.”

“I DID NOT!”

The living room will be in chaos again much to Reiji’s dismay

[clonewarsarchives]

THE ANIMATED ANAKIN (#201, MAR 2021)

From swinging a pencil in place of a lightsaber to wearing retro shoes on a live-action set, Matt Lanter takes Insider on his Star Wars journey from The Clone Wars to The Mandalorian. Words: Bryan Cairns

“I actually had no idea I was auditioning for Anakin Skywalker,” says Matt Lanter of landing one of the lead roles in Lucasfilm’s animated series Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008- 2014, 2020). “They told me the role I was reading for was a character named ‘Deak Starkiller.’ I did a quick online search but there wasn’t much out there, so I really had no idea. I remember Dave Filoni suggesting I give them my best combination of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo, and that’s what got me the job. Obviously, there’s a lot of Solo swagger in The Clone Wars Anakin, a lot more than Anakin in the films.”

The show debuted as a feature-length movie in theaters in 2008, and ran for six seasons from 2008 to 2014, with a seventh and final season arriving on Disney+ early in 2020. Lanter, who is now 37, marvels that his Star Wars adventure has lasted so long.

“When I booked that job, I had no idea what was about to happen for the next decade and more of my life, and counting,” admits Lanter. “All these years later, I have so many fond memories of working on The Clone Wars. My castmates, the producers, and everybody at Lucasfilm, they’re like family to me. I made lifelong friends from making that show.”

Despite a six-year hiatus before the final season aired, Star Wars remained a constant fixture in the actor’s calendar. “I’ve traveled around the United States doing conventions with my castmates, and this may sound cheesy, but the Star Wars fandom feels like family now too. I love going to cons and meeting fans who watch the show with their kids. There’s so much in Star Wars to love, and it’s so inclusive of everybody.”

Set in the period between the movies Star Wars: Attack of the Clones (2002) and Revenge of the Sith (2005), The Clone Wars pitched Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and his comrades-in-arms against legions of battle droids, the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and the ruthless Sith. Lanter took on the role originated in the live-action movies by Canadian-born actor Hayden Christensen, but the long-running nature of the television series allowed him to expand on his predecessor’s take on Anakin.

“I went to Skywalker Ranch and sat down with George Lucas, and we talked about the character and where we wanted to go with him,” recalls Lanter. “It was a conscious decision not to copy Hayden’s performance. I would say there are influences, of course. Certain cadences and things like that. But I definitely did my own thing. I added more bravado. We made Anakin a little more charismatic, because we needed the character to take us through multiple seasons of storytelling. We wanted to show Anakin as this brave star pilot, this amazing Jedi, who was charming and funny at times. Hayden didn’t get the chance to do that in the films, because he only had so many minutes of screen time to move his character from Anakin the bratty teenager to Darth Vader, the most hated villain of all time.”

Into The Dark

Unlike live theater or on a movie set where multiple actors share a stage, it’s often the case that performers might find themselves with only a microphone for company when recording voices for animation. It was a different matter with The Clone Wars, as Lanter explains.

“It’s kind of weird. Sometimes you never even see your co-stars. I did an animated feature once where I had a love interest in the film, but to this day I have never met the other actor,” he exclaims. “But with The Clone Wars, Dave Filoni loved to get all the actors together in one room. It was like an old radio play. We would go through each scene, maybe a couple of times, and then we’d move on. We would record a 24-minute episode in three hours. After that episode was done, we would spend half an hour on pickups for previous episodes. Maybe there was a slight animation change and the vocals needed to back that up. Maybe the showrunners thought the characters would be closer, but in the final animation they’d decided they were going to be 30-feet apart and yelling at each other. So, we would go back and pickup things like that.”

The relationship between the voice artist and their microphone is not as static as one might expect. Lanter admits to sometimes getting lively and energetic in the studio, depending on what a given scene called for. “I think all voice actors do things differently,” suggests Lanter. “Some will sit down in their chair. Personally, I always stand up. I like to move a little bit, but I wouldn’t be dancing about or anything like that. You can’t really move off mic too much, but occasionally both Ashley Eckstein (who plays Ahsoka Tano in The Clone Wars) and I would grab a pencil if we had to be swinging a lightsaber around, in order to give our bodies some motion. You can hear that movement come through in your voice.”

One such physical moment in the opening arc of Season Seven saw Anakin’s darker side brought to the fore.

“I love those first few episodes with the Bad Batch,” Lanter says. “I thought they were so unique and interesting, and so cool. And there was a great moment for Anakin, where we saw him get really angry at Admiral Trench, and then put his lightsaber through Trench’s chest. I know that fans love those foreshadowing Vader moments, and so do I, because it offers that connectivity to Darth Vader and shows Anakin’s dangerous lack of self-control.

“Dave and I were always very specific about those moments, about how dark Anakin was going to get,” he continues. “Especially in the last couple of seasons, we were definitely conscious of saying, ‘Okay, this is a Vader moment. We are going there. We are doing this.’ They were done very purposefully. With Anakin, especially in the final season after putting the saber through Trench’s chest and flippantly saying something like ‘Have a nice day,’ it showed his mood swings, his ups and downs. How he can suddenly turn extremely violent and then, two seconds later, he’s back to being Jedi General Skywalker. I think that’s so Anakin.”

Live-Action Lanter

A few months before the final season of The Clone Wars was released on Disney+, Lanter made a surprise cameo appearance in Season One of The Mandalorian. He portrayed Davan, an ill-fated lieutenant in the New Republic Correctional Corps charged with guarding a prison ship packed with galactic miscreants. Forced to make a stand against a gang of mercenary infiltrators, poor Davan met a sorry end at the sharp end of a Twi’lek dagger. The role marked Lanter’s first live-action appearance in the Star Wars franchise.

“Man, that was awesome. I’m so thankful to Dave Filoni for making that happen,” says Lanter. “I got a call from my agent, and he said, ‘Hey, The Mandalorian wants to know if you want to come down and do this thing.’ I was like, ‘What? Oh, okay. That’s Dave! That’s funny!’ So, I texted Dave and said, ‘Of course, yeah!’ Who wouldn’t want to do that? And it was great. I got to be on a live-action Star Wars set, actually inside a transport ship. I was like a kid in a candy store. It was awesome, and I’m really glad the fans loved it.

“It was an amazing experience for me to be there,” Lanter adds. “I got to work with Jon Favreau, and, of course, working with Dave on live-action was cool in a different way. I’ve known him for years and years as a voice director and executive producer on our show. Dave is an amazing storyteller. He knows Star Wars. He understands characters. I went to visit the set once or twice when I wasn’t working, and got to see him directing, and it was amazing to see him in this new environment, in this new role. I messaged him a couple of months ago and told him, ‘Maybe it’s kind of weird. You hired me, but I’m so proud of you and where you’ve gone, and to see all your accomplishments.’ Dave has great things coming for him.

Lanter also enjoyed wearing his first Star Wars costume, a New Republic soldier uniform loosely inspired by the rebel trooper gear from Star Wars: A New Hope (1977), complete with familiar visored helmet, chunky belt, and disco-era footwear. “My 70’s retro shoes were awesome,” Lanter laughs. “And Mayfield’s line about them, ‘Nice shoes. Matches his belt,’ that was not scripted. That was something Bill Burr threw in there, and they kept it in. It ended up being a fun little extra moment, where they pan down to my shoes. I had a great time, although I couldn’t tell anyone about it. That was the hardest part. As with all things Star Wars that I do, I can end up going a year and a half without telling anyone anything.” Despite The Clone Wars reaching its inevitable conclusion, finally synching with the events of Revenge of the Sith, Lanter isn’t entirely prepared to hang up his lightsaber and say goodbye to the Chosen One. “I’ve loved working with Dave, and with the whole Star Wars family,” Lanter concludes. “It’s been such an amazing experience for me as an actor. The Clone Wars is perfection in my eyes. I’m certainly not ready to put Anakin away forever.”

ANAKIN, MEET… ANAKIN?! WHAT HAPPENED WHEN TWO SKYWALKERS FINALLY MET?

“Obviously, that’s a question I get asked all the time,” says Matt Lanter. “Everybody wants to know if I’ve met Hayden Christensen, and what he thought of my performance in The Clone Wars.” That question was finally answered in 2019, when both actors were booked to appear at Star Wars Celebration Chicago. “I had never met him before,” Lanter confirms, “and he couldn’t have been any nicer. Wherever we’re doing the convention stuff, there’s a nice green room in the back of the convention center where they set up snacks for all the Star Wars actors and talent. Hayden was back there, and he came up to me and said hello. He told me, ‘I love what you guys are doing. Thanks for keeping Star Wars alive.’ We got our picture taken together, which I know a lot of people loved when they saw it online.”

COSTUME CONUNDRUM: WHICH IS COOLER, CLOAKS OR CAPES?

Voicing the animated version of Anakin Skywalker meant Matt Lanter never got to wear his character’s signature Jedi robes, but that doesn’t mean he does not have an opinion on the practicality of Jedi attire.

“Those Jedi cloaks are kind of cool,” says the actor when Insider asked if he has a preference. “I’m going to say cloaks, because I’ve actually had to wear a cape for some parts, and sometimes a cape is not great in a fight scene. I have dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi with a cloak for Halloween, though” he says, adding, “I already had a monk costume and repurposed it the next year. People still thought I was dressed as a monk, though.”

[timextoxhajima]

The Boyz as things and feelings (just cause)

this is a small thing @haechanhues​ needed help with so i decided to make it an actual post uwu [this is gonna be pretty long cause i might write little scenarios]

[THE BOYZ AS THINGS AND FEELINGS]

SANGYEON - MIRRORS AND PILLOWS

mirrors make a place look bigger than it really is - i feel like sangyeon has that ability to make you feel like you’re more important on your worst days

the things he’ll do just to make sure you’re alright, even when he knows you’re not

he also has the ability to reflect what you need: sad? he’ll come and hug you and let you cry or talk about your shitty day. happy? he’ll joke about the way you snort while laughing then he’d probably do something dumb to keep the energy up there

mirrors also feel very private and at-home, and that exactly how i feel he curates an environment

pillows are self-explanatory ig, smth to cry into, smth to fall asleep with while hugging, has the best homely scents ever, very comfortable

i imagine going home after a long day and finding your partner also tired, but he’s cooking or like in the couch watching tv and he just invites you into his arms uwu

“tell me about everything! whatever that makes you happy or sad and i’ll try my best to be who you need at that point of time!”

JACOB - FLOWERS AND MUSIC

ok like jacob with a guitar is just a stellar sight to behold, he looks like he was born to hold one, and his vocals are super underrated imo, most of tbz’s discography doesnt really suit his voice - i really wish he had a chance to have more lines in more ballads or maybe even a solo thing

he would drag you out to go on walks after he knows you’ve buried yourself in your work the whole day, and he’d be the kind to stop at a pretty flower and contemplate plucking it but he wouldn’t cause he’s a fairy and wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a pretty flower

would probably play a piece in the background while you’re stressed w work and hum a tune so the singing wouldn’t distract you

would stop when he notices you stopped working and your sad ass is probably crying lmao

he’s a very soft and gentle man imo

he’s the innocent daisy amidst other bright colored, flamboyant flowers but he still stands out

“i’ll grow you a rose bush in the yard so i don’t have to be sad about plucking flowers next time.”

YOUNGHOON - WINTER COATS AND COFFEE AND PASTRIES

he definitely radiates tsundere vibes on first sight, but when you get to know him, he’s obviously the opposite: a crybaby

but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep up his model-like appearances when he’s outside - in fact, he’d be the one to influence you into caring more about how you look (of course not materialistically, but more into actually caring about making yourself feel good with your fashion and appearance)

i chose winter coats as a symbol of coverage - he doesn’t show much of himself unless he’s close to you (like when you wear winter coats to keep warm, he’s a burrito because he doesn’t bother too much about sharing his feelings), but when he does, it feels like he has the ability to keep you warm and comfortable, even on the coldest days, even if his inner savage comes out

it’ll be like he scooped you into his coat and has you warm in one of this inner breast pockets

i see him as the kind to get regular coffee and like, a tart or something, at a cafe. it adds on to the warmth, when he remembers what you like. the details. maybe you like your coffee with cinnamon or less sugar or something, but then he tops it up with a muffin and he knows you like it heated up so he specifically asks for them to do so

ok but he’s defo the kind of guy that catches people’s attention at public spaces so every now and then when he’s laughing or smiling, some girl would gawk at him and he would be embarrassed about it, but lucky for you, you’re already wearing matching coats so they know the man’s taken uwu

“if only they knew how long it took to convince you to wear that coat.”

HYUNJAE - CONCERTS AND CONVENIENCE STORE DATES

classy but calm. dream-like but realistic. 

i say concerts as in the instrumental, ballad kinds. he loves it and he knows you probably need the sleep where you have that kind of background white noise/music that provides you the best quality of sleep there is. but when you’re not dosing off, he’s admiring how much time you’re willing to invest into being at something he loves

of course, in turn, he doesn’t complain much when you’re hungry and you meet him down the street at the nearest convenience store for some instant noodles and potato chips with a coke and he lets you ramble about your day 

he would probably buy you an ice cream just so you’d feel better, then regret it when you get a stomachache later cause it was like 2am in the morning

you probably have like 5 of his hoodies at home that you refuse to wash cause his scent is tainted all over it and the only time he gets to take them home is when he stays over or visits and he sneaks one into his bag when you’re in the kitchen making tea or a bowl of noodles

then you’ll get it back without even knowing it was gone

the kind that would probably surprise you after a day of work with a casual date idea to the movies, and i mean showing up at your place, impromptu, after he knows you’re home with two tickets 

“act like my girlfriend for once and go on a date with me, would you? your work isn’t going to be there with you when you die at 90.”

JUYEON - STARGAZING AND VR GAMES

as dumb and sometimes bimbotic as he seems he is, he’s gotten most of the visible constellations memorised and he would not hesitate from telling you all about his childhood with his family when they would travel and try to spot every single constellation they can remember

which brings me to the point where he remembers what you like, but... backhandedly. he doesn’t remember what you like but he remembers what you hate instead, so you don’t ever have to worry about getting that licorice flavoured jelly bean

he would offer a midnight walk to help you relieve your stress, cause he knows you just like seeing the nightsky amidst the peace and quiet while he rambles on for his own satisfaction. not everything has to be so emotionally attached and shared. you can share blissful moments without being the reason for each other’s and that’s totally fine.

juyeon is kind of a scaredy cat in the sense that he isn’t really into horror movies or games but he’s always had that dream to become a pilot and so for his birthday, you brought him to a vr game arcade where he played some plane simulator and ever since, you’ve been taking turns to surprise each other with a new vr arcade spot or adding on to the vr game console set you have at home

“maybe i should digitalise you so i can see you in the vr game”

KEVIN - KARAOKE SESSIONS AND NEON LIGHTS

the best-friend kind of partner you would come across once in a lifetime

a billion film shots of you after he drags you to the karaoke and he beats you at super intense songs like the bohemian rhapsody just cause he can hit those high notes and solely because he was screaming on the floor when he did it

almost left his film camera behind 

absolutely LOVES those walks along streets where there are a million neon lights

would come across that one sus neon light signs that indicate a sex toy store and he would give you that sly smile and probably joke for you to go in 

kevin has a moon neon light in his room and you have a star or something (whatever you want)

corrects your grammar and pronunciation, only for you two to bicker about it even more when you use google translation and there are different pronunciations depending on where/what accent you’re using

he really is your light in the dark, even if he’s known to be introverted. once he’s comfortable enough with you, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world

has one of those portable speaker microphones at home and he drones on and on and on with some billie eilish song until you hurl a pillow at him

“so you’re the tough girl, like it really rough girl, justcan’tgetenoughofkevingirl, chest always so puffed girl”

CHANHEE - DUETS AND STRAWBERRY PICKING

(i could not find a more candid, softer aesthetic pic for chanhee rip)

his entire wardrobe fits you - the only problem is that he’ll never let you wear it in fear that you’d stain or tear something

shared playlists because that’s how similar your taste in music is, and so sometimes when you have your earpiece in and you’re humming the melody of that song, chanhee picks it up immediately despite not hearing that song, and ends up harmonising with you

got kicked out of the library once or twice because it was exam period and the two of you won’t shut up

ironically doesn’t sing that much if you’re not around

chanhee is a true blue introvert - which is a miracle that you’ve managed to tear through that barrier of his and find out that he giggles at every stupid thing you do: he’s having a bad day? trip over the pavement. he’ll laugh. it works

dragging him out to go strawberry picking was so difficult - but of course chanhee isn’t safe from how beautiful and enticing the fresh fruits were.

didn’t touch anything strawberry flavoured OR any strawberries for the next month or so

his straightforwardness comes with the breakdown of his barrier - but that’s what brings you comfort. he will never lie, he will only be sarcastic and even then, you’d know it’s true

i used duets as a symbol of harmony and being in-sync, though never really exactly the same, and that’s how it is with chanhee. your thoughts are very similar even though he’s much more introverted than you, but that’s what binds you 

“i’m gonna tell the librarian i don’t know you if we get kicked out again.”

CHANGMIN - CITY TOURS AND MATCHING OUTFITS

city tours - the kind that you already know inside out and yet you STILL travel the area as if you were a tourist 

that’s exactly how it is with changmin: you know him inside out, after being friends for so long, but it never gets old

you’re used to him biting your hand out of nowhere and yet it startles you all the time. that stupid chucky doll in his living room? old, but it never fails to scare you

he doesn’t ever talk about it that much, but he loves it when you co-ordinate outfits

no, it doesn’t mean you wear couple tees, but it’s aesthetically pleasing to changmin that if he wears cool tones, you would too

he’d be reserved about his thoughts and feelings sometimes but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think or feel them

there’s a strange sense of familiarity with changmin, because you kind of know what to expect but then you’re never disappointed, you know?

“i got you this white pigeon cause it looks like the one i already got... you can give it back to me if you don’t like it though-” /he takes it before you can accept it/

HAKNYEON - STAND UP COMEDY SHOWS AND RUNNING ALONG THE BEACH

there’s something about ju that makes it very casual and easy-going

he hates horror genred themes so fuck that, he would queue online just for the latest ali wong comedy show, even if it’s an online show, and he would laugh until he cried

sometimes he’s a drama queen but that makes it alot easier for you to know what he’s thinking or feeling - it makes communication alot easier

that means a lack of arguments

he’s also very empathetic but straightforward, exactly like how comedy shows are - because they are relatable, they are funny because they bring out the irony and sarcasm and all the dumb things in life that people are sometimes afraid of talking about and hak just says whatever he wants to say, even if he knows it might be hurtful or upsetting

he prioritises truth and honesty over anything else

it makes you a better person, honestly

beach walks - very calming, very liberating. he lets you yell and scream and kick sand back into the water because you can, and he does it with you

tries to teach you how to skip rocks but you suck and you can’t so he just pulls you away from the pile of rocks you amassed

“flick your wrist like that, not like you’re meowing!”

SUNWOO - SOCCER FRIENDLIES AND STUDIO SESSIONS

he will NOT go easy on you in a friendly match: you might be one of the fastest players of the female team but he’s ruthless in his ball-stealing, so even if you were fast enough to keep the ball out of his reach, he’d still be able to snatch it right out between your feet

very, very competitive and does not like to lose

you would always play the ‘ladies first’ card but then he’d throw the ‘feminism’ card back at you 

sometimes you act more like siblings than anything else 

the only time when he isn’t fuming with competition is if you’re injured because he accidentally tackled you - he’ll gracefully give himself a yellow card before absolutely trashing you in the next match

has one foot into the production game recently - likes to play with the beat board and mixing tunes, and since you’ve had your hand in doing music remixes for a deejay job before, you’re there to identify which songs have the same bass line or beat counts for easier mixing

would make you a playlist of remixes but wouldn’t admit that he spent a whole day in the studio without you just so it would be a surprise

a soft boy stuck in the wraps of an egoistic man

“a day? please. i illegally downloaded half these remixes off the internet cause i’d think you’re too internet-dumb to find them.”

ERIC - BAKING AND SKATEBOARDING

full of impromptu, casual ideas to hang out 

baking is a fucking mess - why did he suggest it when he doesn’t even have the right ingredients?

wanted to replace eggs with water - like ok thats supposedly healthier, but why????????????

he likes cleaning so that was the only fucking bonus in baking - had to call his mom for help halfway through because the cookies looked more like goop than playdough

gave up in the end and he repaid his debt by helping clean your kitchen

tried to teach you how to skateboard, but he ended up falling off his own in the process and now he’s got a grazed knee 

the kind of person you’d have so much chaotic fun with, he’s that friend your mom told you to NOT hang out with that much if not you’d get run down by a car 

has the most fucking random pieces of clothing in his wardrobe, like where did he even get that pink coat from?

“no you have to do this and like lift up your leg and then kinda rest your weight on it before flicking your ankle and like- whOA- OH OW OHNO OHOHOH OW”

[maseshine]

Oii! Você poderia fazer a fic da música "You Belong With Me" com o Ben? :)

Right for you, Ben Chilwell

Prompt: You being his best friend and at karaoke singing "You Belong With Me" to him indirectly.

Warning: Disappointment, Sadness

Words: 1811

Notes: I was really excited to write this one. It's one of my favorite prompts and I already had it written, I don't know if that's how you imagined it, but I hope you like it a lot because I loved it so much🤍

Author's Note: I know a lot of people write with the use of quotes, but I'm used to using the dash, so I hope it's not a problem.

Being in love with your best friend is one of life's biggest clichés.  And sometimes it really hurt to see him and his "perfect girlfriend".

You sure as hell wouldn't have gone to karaoke if you knew she'd be there too.  Ben was perceptive in hiding it from you.  Really insightful.

You tried to keep your attention on Mason's out-of-tune presentation, but his eyes always seemed to betray you when they landed on the couple sitting across from you.

━ If you keep looking at them like that they'll think you're a maniac.  ━ Christian said giving his shoulder a little push.

━ I don't know what you're talking about.  ━ You changed the conversation.

━ And Mason can sing well.  ━ The brunette joked.  ━ We already know of his crush on Chilly, only he doesn't seem to notice it.

━ Or he knows and just doesn't talk about it because he doesn't feel the same way about me. ━  His voice came out dismayed, and Christian looked at her sympathetically.

━ If he doesn't notice, maybe he's not right for you, Y/N.

You didn't say anything else, Christian's words running through your head.  Maybe he was right.  She and Ben had been best friends for years, but maybe they couldn't be more than that.

━ Our next singer is Y/N  Y/L/N.  ━ You looked at the stage with surprise, you didn't put her name in the performance list.

His eyes fell on Mason who smiled innocently.  Motherfucker.  The boys made noise encouraging you to go on stage.  You took a deep breath before getting up from the table.

Your hands shook a little as you took the presenter's microphone.  His eyes scanned the available songs, stopping at one that fit his situation perfectly.  His ears picked up the beginning of the melody.

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset

She's going off about something that you said

'Cause she doesn't get your mood like I do

━ Babe... baby!  Come on, please calm down and listen to me!  ━ You heard Ben plead in the next room, your phone pressed firmly to his ear as he tried to reason with his current girlfriend.  All you knew was that he had shown his sincere side - apparently, not everyone knew he didn't have a filter.

But you knew the athlete more than anyone else, and he might need to stop and pull himself together occasionally, but it all came from his heart.

You were brought back to reality when you heard Ben grunt, dropping the phone against the table and running a hand through his hair.  You looked at him with sad eyes, reaching out and placing your hand over his so gently.

━ Want to talk about it, Chill?  ━ You asked him, watching as the corner of his lips twitched into a small smile with the nickname you gave him.

━ I don't believe you can save me from this situation, Y/N.  ━ Ben manages to say, clearing his throat to help transition into a new conversation.

You didn't want to push it any further - knowing that if Ben was comfortable enough, he would talk to you.  Hell, he told you everything.  Maybe it was because the two of you grew up together, so he had to hit puberty much faster.

Ben got undeniably hot fast, all the girls at his old high school noticed that.  You were about to ask him if he'd like to watch a movie, but his ringing phone interrupted, making you keep your mouth shut for now.

Ben suddenly straightened before grabbing the screen, a hopeful look flashing in his eyes as his girlfriend's name was projected in capital letters and a series of heart emojis.  You rolled your eyes with a small smile and gestured for him to take the call, swallowing your pride seconds after he left the room.  You left the house not long afterward, knowing you probably won't see your childhood friend for at least another week.

Walk in the streets with you and your worn-out jeans

I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be

Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself

Hey, isn't this easy?

You kicked a few pebbles off the path as you walked, with Ben by your side.  It felt strange for the two of you to be together – but a strangely comfortable stranger, as if life was supposed to be like that.

He was trying to chat a little about the weather, which quickly turned into a funny story of how he fell face first in the rain during last Friday's football game.

Her eyes were mesmerized by him as he threw his head back in laughter, his hands maneuvering in strange ways as he portrayed how the event actually happened.  You returned his laugh as you placed your hand on his bicep to steady yourself, little snorts following after.

━ I can't believe you still do that. ━  Ben said, his hand briefly resting on top of hers to hold her against him.  You raised your eyebrows in sync with the corners of your mouth, your laugh dwindling to a small laugh.

━ Do what?  You'll have to elaborate, Chilly.  ━ With his free hand, Ben lightly tapped the tip of his nose while smiling at his nonchalance.

━ That cute snort you make when you laugh too much.  I hadn't heard this since we saw Madders get stuck in the invisible wall of tape.

The memory provoked her to put her hand to her forehead as she chuckled her iconic laugh once more, remembering poor James' shocked expression as he recovered from the seemingly transparent 'door' and the few seconds that followed where he was frozen trying to understand what had just happened.

━ This is definitely the sound of joy.  ━ Ben said as he looked at you, just for you to poke him playfully.

Oh, I remember you driving to my house

In the middle of the night

I'm the one who makes you laugh

When you know you're about to cry

The end of the week approached faster than expected, especially since you spent most of your time pretending you didn't get Ben's text messages.

You needed time to pull yourself together and organize your priorities, and having him suddenly want you back in his life was an unexpected twist.  You've always had a stupid crush on Ben, but unlike the vast majority of girls who did, yours started when you were both young ━ when you had just gotten rid of the braces, and he had already started playing for a football team for the first time.

It was Friday night, and you had just curled up under the sheets, trying to get comfortable as an oncoming storm began to form outside.  Your phone was constantly indicating that you had a new message, but it was just Ben asking if you were going to the football game tonight.  Like the other messages, you ignored it and continued your favorite show on Netflix.

It was midnight when your phone woke you, realizing that you must have accidentally fallen asleep.  You could barely hear the phone ring due to the weight of the rain outside, but you answered anyway, surprised to hear a familiar, desperate voice on the other end of the line.

━ Y/N… I'm down here… me, something happened.  I didn't know where to go... I just drove, and I ended up here... something in me, I needed to see you.  Let me in, please.

He looked distressed, perhaps because he was crying.  You went down to the front door and opened it carefully, suddenly coming face to face with a saturated Ben Chilwell.  You reached out and dragged him inside, your eyes scanning his wet, shivering body.

━ Ben... you're freezing, you're going to get sick.  ━ You exclaimed as softly as you could,  not letting go of his hand, as you led him to your room.

You gestured for him to stay put before grabbing a clean towel from the bathroom, running back and closing the door before wrapping it around your shoulders.  You sat on the edge of the bed as he stood in front of you, seeming to have something to say, but couldn't think of how to start the conversation.

━ Why are you here?  ━ You finally said after a long period of silence, Ben's eyes strayed to the ground.  He cleared his throat a few times before realizing he was just whispering.

━ I saw Charlie with one of the Aston Villa players.  She was on top of him.  I... I asked her what the hell was going on, she basically said I wasn't good enough. Do you believe that? ━ He said exasperated, his hands pulling at her wet hair as it stuck to her forehead.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you took in this information, able to feel Ben's pain from where she sat.  But it wasn't a new pain, it was like it was the kind that was finally released after being repressed for too long.  As if it knew it was coming and would hold out until the dreaded day.

You pursed your lips and rose from the bed, standing right in front of him before taking his wrists and pulling them down between the two of you, your thumbs gently stroking the skin of his knuckles.

━ But why are you here?  At home?  You could have gone to Mase or called Madders.  ━ You muttered, hoping his tone of voice would calm you down.

Those eyes you fell in love with as a teenager were looking at you, taking in your details, your passion, your heart.  They were kind, just like you always knew he was.

━ Something attracted me to you, as if I was destined to be here. Do you know?  ━ He spoke so low you could barely hear him, but you could hear him clearly.

Were you obsessing over him by running out of words, confused as to what he was trying to say – was it a confession of love or some pity plea because you were the only one who cared?  You nodded your head to understand what he was saying, feeling your own radiance toward him for a long time.

A week later, he had returned to his girlfriend.

Standing by and waiting at your backdoor

All this time, how could you not know, baby?

You belong with me

You belong with me

His eyes traveled to the table where all his friends were sitting, everyone paying attention to his presentation.  Except Ben and his girlfriend.  A pang of pain whistled through her heart.  At Christian's words coming back to her mind.

If he doesn't notice, maybe he's not right for you Y/N.

Have you ever thought just maybe

You belong with me

You belong with me

Maybe Ben didn't belong to you.  Not how you wanted it.

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn��t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he��ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

[madmilkboi]

┈┈⋆

━🧋⌒*. Asking them to buy a non-existent feminine product

summary: you ask your boyfriend to buy you the "breezy cooch 3000"

genre: fluff kinda,crack? Idk lmao

warning/s: suna casually talking abour a vibrator 🥶

a/n: i saw these all around tiktok last time lmao and i decided to write one with the hq boyos—also this has been sitting in my drafts for how long now lmao

₍ ♡ ₎ bokuto, lev, suna

• "kou, can you please buy me something?" You asked, holding your lower stomach as if it hurted

• "oh baby, is it that time of the month?" He asked seeing that you were in 'pain'

• you nodded while trying to hold your laugh

• "Alright,what do you need?" He guided you to the couch telling you to sit, to which you did.

• "the breezy..." you wheezed making him tilt his head to the side in confusion.

• "the breezy cooch 3000" you looked at him hoping that you fooled him.

• "breezy cooch 3000 and?" He asked

• "McDonald's" you added

• "okay! I'll be back in a few" he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead and went to the nearest convenience store

• he opened the door and immediately went to the aisle where the feminine products were

• "breezy cooch...breezy cooch" he muttered while looking for said product

• but to his dismay breezy cooch 3000 was not there

• and so he asked the woman next to him

• "excuse me, miss, do you know where they place the breezy cooch 3000s?" He asked

• the woman looked at him weirdly and quietly left without answering his question

• "oh no, y/n" his hair plopped down thinking about how much 'in pain' you must be right now.

• since he couldn't find the breezy cooch 3000 he decided on grabbing 3 packs of napkins and proceeded to the counter

• after paying for the napkins he immediately went inside his car and drove to McDonald's drive thru getting you your favourite food.

• he hurriedly drove back home, the thought of not getting you the breezy cooch 3000 occupied his mind.

• hearing the soft creak of the front door made you smile

• "hi, did you get me the breezy cooch 3000?" You asked

• he shook his head, eyes glistening

• "i couldn't find it, sorry"

• you don't know if you should laugh or cry, he's too precious

• "but i bought these instead..will it help?" He raised the napkins and food from McDonalds that he bought.

• "yes, it will" he placed down the paperbag on the table and immediately hugged you.

• "sorry"he muttered, nuzzling his head on your chest

• "it's okay, there's no such thing as the breezy cooch 3000 it's just a prank" you giggled while he only groaned in response

• "i even asked a lady about it...how embarrassing" he covered his face with his hands

• "the breezy cooch 3000" you repeated

• "the what?" He asked

• "does that soothe your lady part down there?" He asked, you smiled holding your laugh

• "yes it does" you answered

• "okay, I'll be back!" He exclaimed and immediately walked to grocery store

• "breezy cooch 3000...breezy cooch 3000...breezy cooch 3000" he mumbled while walking down the road making sure that he won't forget

• he went inside the store and quietly walked to the feminine products aisle

• he carefully scanned and read each product

• but he couldn't find "breezy cooch 3000"

• he looked around for employees to ask but nobody was there at the moment

• he went to the cashier and asked

• "Excuse me, do you guys have the breezy cooch 3000?"

• the cashier smiled, holding a laugh

• "I'm not sure sir..." she smiled

• "would you like me to announce it on the microphone?"

• lev nodded his head and hoped that what you wanted for him to buy was there

• "does anybody know if we have" the cashier wheezed making lev look at her in a weird way

• "the breezy cooch 3000" she announced

• most of the women in the store were all smiling and giggling while some of the men looked confused

• lev waited for someone to go up to him and say "Here's the breezy cooch, sir"

• but nobody showed up

• he sighed and left the place, a pout slowly forming the closer he got to home

• he angrily opened the door and plopped on the couch

• you peaked your head from the kitchen and saw that he looked angry and sad at the same time

• he noticed you and muttered something, to which you didn't heart

• "what was that?" You placed your hand over your ear

• "i couldn't find the breezy whatever" he huffed

• "That's because there is no breezy cooch" you laughed

• "you meanie" he mumbled, thinking about how embarrassing it was when the cashier announced it on the speaker

• "hey babe"

• "yeah?" He asked

• "can you go to the store real quick and buy me the breezy cooch 3000?" You asked making it convincing as possible

• "is that like a vibrator or something?" He questioned

• "no, it soothes period pains" his lips formed a small "oh" knowing what it was for

• but really you can't fool him

• he's seen those on tiktok

• he grabs his car keys and drove to the convenience store

• he was hungry so why not go and make you think that you fooled him

• he grabbed his usual favourites

• ice cream, chips, ramen, and his favourite jelly fruit sticks

• he sat inside the store for a bit knowing that him going back after 5 minutes and telling you he has the product would be a bit suspicious

• after finishing a pack of chips he finally decided to go home, thinking what to say to you

• while driving home he was planning everything out from what to say to what he should and all that he could say to his little plan was it was perfect

• he parked his car and immediately went inside the house

• "y/n~" he called

• you peaked your head from the living room

• he walked up to you with a smug smirk while you looked at him confused

• "they had it and it was on sale" he showed you the paper bag that he was carrying.

• "really....?" You looked at the paper bag and questioned yourself whether there really was such product.

• "let me see" you said

• he put his hand inside the bag and pretended on looking for something

• after a few seconds he finally "found" it

• "ah here it is" you walked closer to get a better look

• "here!" He pulled out his hand

• he had his middle finger out while giggling like a little child

• you smiled in disbelief after what this son of a devil did

• "but really y/n it sounds like a vibrator..." he muttered

• "i could buy you-"

• "No, thank you" you answered leaving the room while he tailed behind you.

©️ madmilkboi 2021 do not copy or repost.

🏷: @crescenttooru @leronddesorciere @fleurdedyo @owlnymph (shoot an ask or dm if u wanna be added on my taglist! ^v^)

[bopbopstyles]

harry and y/n are famous and dated privately for a while but it didn't work. they meet again at this event and she's with a date, and he gets super jealous. they fuck in the bathroom and he's super rough?

BETTER NOW

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I’VE BEEN WRITING OTHER STUFF!!!!! BUT I LOVE THIS SO I KEPT IT!!!! 4k of BIG ANGSTY HARRY WARNING!!!!!

It was one of those benefit parties, one of the many Harry had been to in his career. Most of the ones he was invited to he couldn’t make--or didn’t want to attend, but made donations anyways. But this one...this one he accepted, despite the fact that his reason for going was completely selfish. 

He was going because Y/N was going to be there. 

It was a cause she cared deeply about, having had family who were unhoused, and always made a point to attend if she could. So when he got the invitation and saw the organization and its work, he knew she would be there. She was between movies, a rare period of time off, information he was only privy to because of their mutual friends, the same ones who set them up two years ago. 

So on a warm April evening, he was walking into fancy house of a star in the hills, people in suits and long dresses all around him, black cars circling the drive as people were dropped off. Harry smoothed he lapels of his tan suit, straightened the light blue shirt he wore underneath, and sucked in a breath. 

It wasn’t even like he was trying to find her. He just...immediately found her in the crowd, a pale pink dress floating down her body, her dark hair swept up into an up-do he knew she loved. She had a glass of an amber liquid in her hand, because he knew she hated wine. She had always been a go hard or go home kind of girl, no half-assing anything in her life. 

Which perhaps was why the two of them had fallen apart--they were both workaholics in every definition of the word. There would be whole weeks where they’d play phone chase, and when they finally talked they would both be so exhausted it wouldn’t even fill the holes in their hearts. But when they were back together, it was like fucking fireworks, every moment Harry was around her he wanted to be touching her skin, hearing her voice, consumed in her. And despite as hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake that desire, even six months after they had broken up. It was “mutual” but he knew she wanted it more than him, and he loved her too much to force her to stay. 

She’d been filming right after the breakup, a new film that was going to be the highlight of her career so far, and Harry had gone into the studio, pouring his heartache into a microphone and recording booth. He hadn’t seen her face in six months, heard her voice, watched her laugh at someone who wasn’t him. So seeing her in the flesh for the first time since the breakup threw his mind into overdrive. 

What ripped his heart out, though, was the fact that a man had his hand on her lower back. A place that used to be his, a place he had treasured, a place he missed for every second of the day. For some reason, he hadn’t thought she would have brought a date. Perhaps that was because the prospect of Harry even putting his hands on someone else made him want to vomit, but as he watched her turn and say something to her date, it was obvious she didn’t feel the same. She was dating someone. 

Fuck, Harry thought as he grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray to his left. Usually champagne wasn’t his thing, the headaches after making it not worth it, but he needed something. He wanted to rip his eyes away from her, but he just couldn’t. Because she looked magnificent. 

Color in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes, the rise of her breasts visible from the scoop neck of the dress, dainty straps that sat on her shoulders that he used to pepper kisses across, the neck he used to leave love bites on visible because of her hairstyle. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he knew what it would sound like if he did, because he still heard it in his dreams. When he told Mitch that in the studio, he had been given the most pitiful look, but it was true. It was why he slept so much lately. 

Harry leaned against a wall, eyes on her, ignoring everyone else in the room. He was sure people were trying to get his attention, but he didn’t care--he wasn’t there for them. He had come for her, and he was going to absorb every second of being in the same room as her, even though it made him want to sob. 

After about five minutes of watching her, of being an utter and complete creep, her eyes finally swept over to his. Their gazes locked and it was as if the room fell away, as cheesy as that was, because the feeling of her eyes on him made Harry’s mind go haywire. Then he saw her step away from her date, just enough to wear his hand dropped from her back, and he couldn’t help but smile smugly. 

He could feel her eyes trace up and down his body, just as his had been doing for the past few minutes. It felt good to have her eyes on him, like a drug being pumped into his system after being without it for so long. A relapse back into loving her. 

As if he had ever stopped. 

Harry once told her he was built to love her, and he still felt that way. Even though it was hard, even though their relationship was far from perfect, it was still the happiest he had ever been. As she looked at him, her brown eyes swirling over him, he wondered if she felt the same way. 

But then she turned her head, her eyes focusing back on the people she was talking to. So Harry went to the bar and got a glass of straight tequila, because he was going to put himself through his own personal torture, he was going to at least have a drink. 

An hour and a half later, Harry desperately had to pee. He found his way to an bathroom, almost running into a potted plant he didn’t see. 

“Be careful.”

His head snapped up, knowing the owner of that voice immediately. She was leaning against the wall opposite him, a glass perched between her fingers. “What--what are you--”

“Escaping my date,” she replied, and his breath caught in his throat. Escaping her date? This had to be a dream.

“Why is that?” He was trying to keep his cool, but he knew it was slipping fast. 

She took a sip of her drink and Harry couldn’t help but watch her lips around the rim of the glass. “He’s had too much to drink and is being obnoxious.” 

That immediately made Harry nervous, although he knew he no longer had any right to be. “Are you okay?” He asked anyways, wanting to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable or felt unsafe.

But she just nodded, eyes focusing on his. “I’m fine. Thank you though.” She twirled the glass in her hand, and Harry had forgotten all about his need to go to the bathroom. “So, how are you?”

“Um,” Harry mumbled, trying to figure out how to both make it clear he wasn’t great but also wasn’t the disaster he actually was. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Same,” she replied and Harry suddenly found himself analyzing that single word. Did that mean she was still as broken up about their breakup as he was? Or was she actually okay? Because he certainly wasn’t. It was just a better word than “mess” or “disaster” or any of the proper words to describe how he was doing. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question threw Harry for a loop, making his palms sweat. How could she just throw that out there so flippantly? “No,” he said, watching her face for a reaction, which he didn’t get. “You--oh, I guess your date--”

She shook her head though. “No, he’s not...we’re not together. Just a friend of sorts.”

“Oh.” Now Harry was wondering if they were fucking. Which was something he had been actively trying not to think about. “Well, that’s...good.” 

Her eyebrows raised at his words and Harry could’ve kicked himself. “Why is that?”

Because it means you could date me. “I--no reason. Fuck, sorry, didn’t mean that.”

Her lips pursed as her thoughts rolled over in her head, an action Harry knew well. “We’re just...seeing each other? We’re not like hooking up or anything.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.” She stood up straight from the wall and turned away from him. “I--I’ll go, I assume you were here for the bathroom--”

“Y/N,” he said, her name a prayer on his lips, a memory of something he clung to in his moments of need, a name on his phone screen that he barely restrained himself from calling. Then he took two steps towards her, her back facing away from him where she was frozen in place, and against his better judgement, fastened his fingers around her wrist. “Wait.”

He could hear her shaky breath, the drag of air in her lungs when he touched her skin and he wondered if she could hear his heartbeat quicken. 

“I--I know I have no right to say this, that we’ve been broken up for months, that you’ve probably moved on.” It was easier somehow to say these things to her back, easier than see her face as he poured his vulnerable heart out to her. “I still love you.”

She exhaled sharply at his words. “You don’t get to do this,” she replied, turning to face him. “Not like this, not right now, not here. You can’t just...do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, voice breaking. “I know, I just can’t pretend anymore.”

Finally, her eyes fastened on his properly, and that same feeling that had captured him when their eyes met across the room ran through his body. That tension. “Pretend?”

Harry threw abandon to the wind, knowing this might be his last chance. “Pretend like I don’t think about you every second of the day. Pretend like I’m not jealous of your date. Pretend like I don’t want to kiss you right now. Pretend like I don’t want you.”

Before Harry even knew what was happening, she was surging towards him, crossing the distance, her lips slotting against his and her hands curled around the lapels of his jacket. Harry barely paused before his hands were in her hair, her hair that he was messing up, but he didn’t care because he could taste her on his tongue and feel her body against his, and he could touch her. God, touching her was euphoria like he had never felt before. 

Kissing Y/N had always been an experience like nothing else, but after not having it for months it was even better. Their kisses had always consumed him, and this was no different--her hands were all over him, fingers gripping his body through his clothes, breathy moans in her mouth when he pulled on her lip and tugged her closer to him. He was going to take every advantage of this moment, he decided, and not think of what would happen after or how much harder it would be to get over her after this. 

So he turned her against the wall, and pressed a hand next to her head for leverage. The angle had her arching into him, chasing his lips with her own, and when her hands tugged on his hair he groaned, low and deep and unabandoned. Then, she slipped her heeled foot up the back of his leg, her dress sliding up, and pressed the back of his thighs. The action had Harry’s pelvis moving closer to her, and they both moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Y/N,” he rasped against her lips, his hands moving to try and cover every inch of her exposed skin. His mind wasn’t even operating anymore, overwhelmed with the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her skin under his palms. 

“Bathroom,” she muttered, a hand to the nape of his neck. “We--we can’t do this here.”

He didn’t know what this was other than a steamy makeout in a hallway, but he knew she was right. He pushed open the door of the bathroom and flicked on the light. Suddenly, he remembered his need to pee the second he saw a toilet. Her lips were searching for his, but he pulled away, taking a shallow breath. “I like really need to pee.”

Y/N laughed into his neck, before nodding. “Go.”

He didn’t move though, not an inch from where she was leaning against the closed door. 

“I won’t leave,” she said, softer this time. 

Harry nodded, and with that he stepped away, turning to the toilet in the corner. Perhaps with someone else the sound of him pissing in the same room would’ve been uncomfortable, but he was comfortable with her, even after the breakup and she seemed to be as well. When he was done, he moved to the sink, washing his hands, his eyes flickering to her heaving chest. “C’mere,” he said when his hands were dried, still standing next to the bathroom counter. There was a double wide bathroom counter and only one sink, which meant an open counter. 

Without pausing, she was moving towards him, hooking her arms around his neck and leaning in. But Harry had other ideas. He grabbed her hips and turned her against the counter, and then pulled her legs up, scooting her up and onto the top of the counter. He looked up at her to see if it was okay and all he found was puffy lips and blown out irises staring back at him, a tongue darting across her lips to moisten them. 

Her dress was pushed up on her thighs, exposing the length of her legs and Harry’s fingers dug into the exposed skin, pulling them apart to slot himself between. Then, he pulled her waist towards him and the minute his covered cock pressed against her center they both moaned, deep and wantonly. Her head fell back and Harry took the opportunity to pull and suck on her neck, no one place too hard to leave a mark, but enough to have her scrambling at his chest to push his jacket and shirt open, searching for exposed skin. 

The strap of her dress was slipping down her shoulder, and Harry ran his tongue over the skin, a hushed gasp leaving her that made him smile. He had missed her sounds, the reactions to his touch that had been his anchor to the world. “God, you feel so good,” he mumbled, words escaping his mouth before he could stop them. 

But she just scratched at his chest, thumb pushing against the butterfly tattooed on his abdommen. “Harry,” she rasped, and the sound had him thrusting against her, the sound of his name on her tongue making him need her like ever before. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, hand crawling up her body to hook his fingers around the back of her neck. He lifted his head from her skin and found her face, her lipstick a mess. “I want you so bad, Y/N.”

“Then have me,” she replied, and Harry thought he had died and gone to heaven. 

He wasted no time pushing the other strap of her dress off her shoulders, letting them slip down and expose her heaving breasts, a bra nowhere in sight. “Beautiful,” he mumbled to no one in particular. Then her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants and his focus was sharpened. When she popped the button and pushed down the zipper, his hands moved under her skirt, pushing it up around her waist so he could see her underwear. 

Which were pink and lacy and practically see through. “If you rip them I will never forgive you,” she told him. “Harry--”

It was too late though, he was too desperate, the material too flimsy, that he pulled on them too hard and the material came apart in his hands. “Shit,” he said, looking from her panties to her. “I didn’t mean--”

She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled his head to hers, whispering in his ear, “Just shut up and fuck me.”

This was one of the many reasons Harry had fallen in love with her. One of the many, many, many reasons why she lived in his mind rent-free. He pushed down his pants and his briefs, leaving them in a pool around his knees, and tugged the remnants of her pants away. His shirt and jacket were still on but he didn’t care, he just wanted her, wanted to be inside of her finally. 

“I--I don’t have a condom,” he told her, mind swirling. He hadn’t needed one in forever, had stopped carrying one in his wallet for whenever things like this would happen with her, but also they had stopped using one a year into their relationship. 

She shook her head. “I’m on an IUD. And I--I haven’t...”

His eyes widened. “Not you and...”

“No.”

The information didn’t really properly sink in, but it had settled enough for him to process the basics. That she hadn’t been with anyone since him, that maybe she was as ripped apart by their break up as he was. Maybe he wasn’t the only one suffering. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, fingers flexing across his skin. “Please, H, I--”

He didn’t wait any longer, he needed her as much as she did, if not more. He swipe a finger across her slit, seeing how wet she was, and he groaned when he felt her slickness. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he mumbled in awe. “All for me?”

“Yes,” she rasped, pushing her hips towards his fingers, “all for you.”

He could still read her body like a book he had memorized, a song he wrote himself. She was ready, even though they’d done barely any foreplay, and he was too--he had been ready for her since the moment she kissed him. He nudged his tip to her slit and she gasped at the feeling, his eyes darting to hers to make sure she was okay. But then she hooked her ankles around his waist and pushed his waist, making him slide into her, and he nearly screamed from the feeling. She was wet and hot and tight--fuck she was too tight--and his mind couldn’t focus on any one thing. His hand was clenched against the countertop, barely holding himself together. 

“More,” she said, pulling his hair. “Please.”

So he gripped her waist and pushed all the way in, her broken moans filling his ears. She was so tight he could barely breathe and she felt so good, like coming home and finally being able to think again. “Fuck, Y/N, holy fuck.”

“Move, please--”

He didn’t make her wait to finish the sentence. He had a feeling neither of them were going to be able to wait. So he gripped her waist in his hands, his rings sitting heavily against her skin, and drove into her fast and hard. Their skin slapped as his hips moved into hers, and he knew she would probably have bruises on her inner thighs, but she didn’t stop him, simply egged him on with moans and begs for more, his name leaving her tongue every time he pushed into her. 

“Like that?” He asked, his voice rough with desire. “Hmm, baby, like the feeling of me inside of you? Bet he couldn’t make you feel this good. Doesn’t know you like I do, doesn’t know how to fuck you right.” 

He was babbling, he knew that, but that didn’t seem to bother her because she clenched around him when he spoke, dug her fingernails into his scalp. She had always loved it when he spoke like this to her, told her what she did to him, how good she felt. That didn’t seem to have changed. 

“Fuck you so good you didn’t want anyone else,”  he said, dropping his head to her shoulder as he thrusted in and out. The sound of their skin hitting filled his ears and he loved it, loved fucking her, loved how she held onto him for dear life. 

“Best I’ve ever had.” Her words rang in his ears and he growled into her skin, nipping at the flesh at her shoulder, his former care for her skin gone the moment she said that. “God, H, please, I need--”

“Need more, baby?” He grunted, his hand falling to her clit, sensitive and delicate for him. He rubbed at it in a circle and she gasped, bucking up into him. “Like that? That good?”

She couldn’t even reply, just moved her head up and down, her eyes screwed shut as pleasure wracked through her. He could feel her tightening on him, her high coming fast. His own was barely over the edge, holding back because he needed her to come, needed to feel her spasm around him, needed to feel her hold him inside of her. 

“Close, baby?” He mumbled, pulling at her hair, the updo long gone. It was falling around her shoulders in pieces, some still clipped up, but most of it falling. 

He gripped the pieces into a fist, pulling her head back so he could suck onto her neck. When he did, her hands scrambled across his chest, finding purchase anywhere they could, red scratches across his skin that he knew would be there in the morning. 

His teeth grazed across tender flesh and she shook in his arms. “Come for me, baby. Want to feel you come around me.” He doubled the pace on her clit and drove into her deep, knowing the combination sent her into overdrive. 

He wasn’t disappointed. She gasped, her breath leaving her body as she shook and squirmed in his arms, her high crashing over her immediately. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” she chanted, his name the only thing on her lips. 

When he pulled her into him, their lips refastening, she tugged on his hair, knowing he loved it, and then broke away to murmur, “Come for me, baby, please, I need it.”

It was as if his pleasure was connected to hers, because the moment she said the words, he had to pull out of her, coming in long spurts across her lower stomach and her pussy, strings of come decorating her like a masterpiece. His breath heaved in his chest and Y/N scratched down his chest, knowing it made his orgasm prolong slightly. 

When he was done, he slid his head into the crook of her neck, struggling to find air to breath. He sucked in air, focusing only on the sound of her breathing and the feeling of her fingers pulling through his hair softly, tenderly. “You okay?” She finally asked him, voice dry. 

He lifted his head and looked down at where his come marked her skin. “Better now.” He grabbed a kleenex, not daring to see her eyes, and brushed his come away, stealing just one taste that made him moan. 

“Harry.” He looked up at her, her dress still around her waist, rest of her body exposed. “I--”

“I love you,” he said, cutting her off. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so in love with you. Never stopped.”

“You interrupted me,” she said, an admonishment that made him smile despite himself. “Was going to tell you the same thing.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he kissed her, the sound of her giggle made his heart soar, as if he was being sewn back together on the spot. “Will you come home?” He asked against her lips, sucking and pulling on the flesh. “Need you to come home and never leave.”

It didn’t faze her when he called his house home, because it was their home for a while. What he didn’t know yet was that their home had always been hers, because he was her home. She dusted a kiss across his eyebrow, tenderness seeping from her. “Take me home, H.”

somehow this became a fucking 4K ONE SHOT help me please this took me an hoUR ANd a HalF! i had THINGS I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO!!!! whoopsieeeee

masterlist | concepts/requests always open!!!!