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perpetuelledaydreaming · 1 year

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Mamma mia| chapter one

listen to: New Romantics- Taylor Swift | Two Ghosts - Harry Styles (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. Accident in this chapter, very small.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

Three days had passed since summer officially began for you. You were still getting installed into the house with Augustine and James. The second floor of the place was significantly smaller than the first floor but you didn’t mind. Augustine had the biggest room since at the end of the day, she was the one that had put most of the money into the down payment and it was at first not a room but a studio. Either way, your room was perfect for you. Windows from the floor to the roof, facing the ocean, the room was painted with a faint baby blue and it looked perfect, an old-fashion vanity with a bookshelf on the other side.

Happiness didn’t begin to describe how you felt each time you entered that room.

It was a sunny day, and the skin of your body was soaked in the sun as you biked through the town. You were still moving some of your things from your parent's house to the beach house, you still needed to get some clothes and at least one painting you wanted to place on your vanity.

The warmth of the sun seemed to fill your chest as you took a deep breath, your eyes examining the town where you’d grown. It felt different than before, it no longer felt heavy like before you went to New York. Instead, it tasted like paradise.

And then, you received a text from James.

Honestly, it was your fault, you shouldn’t be biking and texting but in your defense, it was one second. One moment you had the road completely free and then you were barely running over someone with gold-framed glasses, it was all you could see. Quickly, you tried to turn the handlebar to the right, trying to avoid them and hoping you remained on the road. Unfortunately, you didn’t. The bike got caught up in the sand, and the sudden shift of your weight pushed the bike to the floor, while you went flying.

You squealed as your body flew through the air, you barely got the chance to close your eyes, instinctively putting your hands up in front of you before you made contact with the sand. A loud ‘oof’ escaped your lips as your wrist twisted painfully, sending a shock through your arm before you were rolling on the sand with a hiss.

You were dizzy and confused as you heard a scream behind you, your head seemed to be in stereo as you tried to move but your body seemed to be overwhelmed by pain.

“M’am!” the voice repeated, now you seemed to understand it as you moved your head to the left, and you saw him. The brownish golden locks fell to his forehead as he anxiously crouched over you, checking you. “Are you okay?”

You stared at the boy in front of you. His skin was just starting to get sunkissed but you could see just on the collar of his shirt that his skin had turned red too. It was probably a mistake, you gathered, he didn’t look like the type to be all tanned. His eyes were a beautiful metal blue, deep like the water in the ocean, his eyelashes stumbled against the glass of his gold-framed glasses while they nervously examined.

“I’m fine,” you lied as you decided to stand up, trying to shake off how your mind was anxiously rambling about how stupid you looked. Suddenly, a shock of pain ran through your forearm, you hissed immediately.

The boy, man- though he did look too young-, frowned immediately as he looked at you. “You are definitely not okay,” he said.

Your brows immediately furrowed together. “Don’t you say,” you snapped at him.

His anxious gaze was suddenly replaced by a doe-eye look, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at you. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, you could see how the blush started to creep on his cheeks. He cleared his throat as he looked down at your wrist. “Can you let me see your wrist?”

You hesitated for a moment but he sounded so sincere, the concern clouding his voice was enough for you to offer your hand to him. It wasn’t intended, your body reacted to the feather-like touch of his fingertips on you without any hesitation, goosebumps erupting over your skin. He held your arm as if you were glass and he was afraid to break it but you could see the focus on his features, how his jaw was set as he pressed and turned your wrist. You tried not to flinch, he was being way too careful in your opinion.

“It’s definitely not broken but it is definitely strained,” he finally sighed.

“Are you a doctor?”

His chin tilted up towards you, his lips quirked up softly. Not enough for a smile, maybe a light smirk. He shook his head. “Oh, no,” he started, and you saw him stuttering slightly. It made you smile. “I just did pre-med when I was younger and first aid courses too,”

You showed him the smallest corner of your smile. “Mr, Doctor,” you teased him.

His eyes widened immediately, he started to shake his head hurriedly as he gazed at you. He was still holding your hand softly but you could feel how he tensed up. “No, I’m,”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m kidding,” you said, a smile now drawn on your face.

His eyes widened. “Oh,” his lips turned to a line for a second, and then nodded softly, a smile appeared on his face as he gazed back at you.

There was a beat of silence, you bit your lower lip as you watched his features and he watched yours. Then, your gaze fell to his hand on your skin, you decided that you liked how he held you, how he’d never let go.

“I want to take you to the hospital,” he finally said as you looked up at him. Then, he looked around you, you let him as you watched softly how his jaw looked, the small stubble that was growing on his jaw. “You know if there’s someplace close? I’m new in town,”

You bit down a laugh as you looked at him. “Of course you are, otherwise you wouldn’t have crossed that ROAD and then regretted it,” you said.

“I’m sorry,” he said looking down again, you could feel the regret in his voice.

You decided you liked that, you liked how easily you could read him. As you’d study in law school, you should know how to read people and you could sometimes, but you don’t know if growing so shelter blinded you sometimes. It made you naive, which wasn’t a good trait for a lawyer or an adult. Instead, this guy felt warm and easy to read. You could tell that he didn’t really know he was attractive, which only added to his charm. He was one of the quiet ones like you were. He must be a good son, his parent’s definitely loved him. If he hadn’t become a doctor, he could be an engineer, you were sure.

You thought that you could trust him, which was the most important thing.

“It’s fine,” you answered as he softly pulled you up and then pulled you closer to him. He smelled like peaches and apricot.“Uhm, I’ll need help with the bike though,”

“Right,” he said as he hurried to get your bike.

Thankfully, the hospital was just a bus ride away. You laughed softly as he struggled to get your bike into the bus, he was definitely a bit clumsy but at last, he managed. When you reached the ER, you thought he might leave after you were admitted, but he didn’t. He didn’t leave your side, not even when you were brought to a room and when you were placed in a bed while you waited for the doctor.

“Baby girl,” the nurse stated as she handed you a clipboard. “I need you to feel the information in those papers before the doctor comes in,”

You gazed at the clipboard and then back at your wrist which was being covered by a pack of ice. You stared at her incredulously but she wasn’t really looking at you, you were going to open your mouth but before you could, an arm took the clipboard from the nurse's hand. You gazed back at him as he took the clipboard with a smile.

“I’ll fill it for you,”

You smiled slightly as you start to mumble your information, date of birth, the town you were born, your parents’ names, and contacts. You see how his lips quirked up when you say that you’re a lawyer, he’s impressed. You feel your cheeks burning up, you like that he’s impressed, and you like men who don’t feel threatened by you being so young and a lawyer.

“Done, ma’am,” He said as he handed the clipboard over to the nurse.

The nurse quickly checked him out, clearly thinking too how handsome he looked, even in that awful hospital light. “Thank you, the Doctor will be here in a few,” she said with a smile before exiting the room.

When the nurse closes the door you look him over. He’s indeed handsome, you think about the story behind him, you wonder and imagine facts about him, quietly writing your own clipboard about him and then you realize that you don’t know his name.

Before you manage to ask, the doctor comes in.

“Dr. Suarez,” The man introduces himself to you and then extends a hand out towards him.“Your relationship to the patient?”

“Uhm,” he struggles, you realized he isn’t too good with his words.

“The guy that caused this,” you explained in a joking manner but his head soon snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I didn’t,” he began but then you quickly raise your eyebrows at him. He sighs. “Robert Floyd,” he explains. He does look like a Robert, you like the way he says his name. “You can call me Bob,” he said, mostly to you.

You feel your cheeks itching with a smile as you nod softly. “Robert, Bob, Floyd,” you let his name fall from your lips, you saw how his eyes fixed on you as you said it.

“Okay, Bob,” the doctor said, snapping your thoughts away from Bob. “There’s no need for you to be here anymore, we are getting her a small cast for a few weeks,”

Bob’s jaw clenched slightly as he heard the doctor. “I’m not leaving,” he stated. It sent a ripple of excitement through your spine.

The doctor gazed at Bob for a moment, processing his statement, and then at you. He sighed. “Whatever you want Bob,” he said as he began to feel your wrist tenderly.

You winced slightly after a certain touch. Bob immediately noticed it. He quickly got closer to the edge of the bed. “You can hold my hand if you want to,” he said softly. You could tell he was unsure of how you would react, but you bit your inner cheek, trying to force the smile down.

“I’d like that,”

By the time you get out of the hospital, the sun is already setting. You lost all your afternoon and you probably wouldn’t be able to ride your bike for at least two weeks but you still couldn’t stop smiling as Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd walks you to your house. He lets you ask the questions now, as he holds your bike and carries your backpack while you guide him through the town. Quickly, you begin to fill up the clipboard of him and mostly, you were right.

He isn’t an engineer though. He explains to you that he’s in the Navy, a weapon systems officer to be exact. He was called to Top Gun, which meant he was the best of the best. You were right about that, his parents were really proud of him.

“So, you’re from Lemoore,” you said as you reached the corner of your street. The sky has cues of purple and orange now, it’s getting dark and cold but you don’t feel it really, you’re too entertained with Bob to mind. “But your parents are from Texas,”

He nods with a tight smile on his lips. “I am and yes,” he said. He knows he doesn’t look like a Californian, people had said it a lot, but he has a bit of an accent. You hummed slightly before you continued.

“And you have only one brother,”

“Big brother,” Bob cleared up. You shake your head immediately, amusement covered your features. It made him smile too. “What?” he asked.

You bit your lip as you look over at him and you simply shrug. “You have older child energy,” you explained.

Bob laughed immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re about to explain it to him before you realized that you’re almost passing by your place. “Oh, we’re here,” you said as you look up at the old house.

Bob’s chin tilted up as his eyes roamed your place. You glanced at him as you try to read him, it was the first time that you have technically brought a guy over to your place, so you wait expectantly for him to say something but then a big smile is drawn on his face.

He doesn’t have to say it, you know he likes it.

“I’ll take your bike to the back,” he offered immediately.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” you said but Bob cuts you off.

“I insist,” he states.

Your eyebrows raised a bit. This is the second time he’s actually commanding, you smile. It wasn’t a fluke, maybe he has a little bit more under those big glasses.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh as you open the fence and then walk him to the back of the house.

You explain to him where to leave your bike, and you see how his eyes examined the setup and the other two bikes. You wonder if he’s thinking about what are you doing living here with two other people if you’re a lawyer, you wonder if he judges you but as he insisted he walks you to the back door, the one in the sunroom, you realized that he isn’t judging you, he just wants to know more.

“So, I’m just really sorry, again,” Bob took a deep breath as you reach the sunroom's door.

You smile and shake your head.

“And there’s nothing to worry about, again,”

Bob nodded as his eyes traced your face. He enjoyed how you smiled, he liked the way your sunkissed skin looked even under the last hues of light of the day, you were still glowing like you were this morning. You were soft but witty, he could see how proud you were about what you’d done. And yet, he couldn’t quite figure you out. His head tilted to the side and stepped closer to you.

“I would like to see you again,” he said, mostly stated. Your eyes widened slightly, you looked him through your lashes and you felt your cheeks burning up. “Make up for that awful accident,”

You suppressed a smile. “Yeah?” you asked.

“Yes,” Bob nodded. “I mean, I was wondering if we could go on a date?”

You let out a playful gasp and Bob immediately smile, that crooked smirk he’d given you throughout the day, just now you knew where to place it. “Robert Floyd, you’d like a date with me?” you asked.

But then he bit his cheek, he looked down for a moment and then at you again. He was stumbling with his words again. “I mean, only if you are comfortable with it,”

You rolled your eyes and before you knew it, you leaned into Bob Floyd, raising slightly you pressed your lips against his. He tasted like peaches, the apricot smell surrounded you for a second and it felt like his lips were warm like the sun in the last hours of the afternoon.

You pulled away instantly, afraid of having been too forward with him. You opened your eyes and you stared at him, frowning immediately. He seemed to be frozen in time, his breathing a bit shallow, his eyes not looking at you for a few seconds, and there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

You began to worry.

“That was a yes, in case you didn’t,”

You couldn’t finish. Bob, in one swift motion, had placed one hand on your lower back drawing you towards him and another one on your cheek, his fingertips sending ripples of gentleness as you felt him. He closed the gap between your lips purposefully, kissing you deeply, eagerly. His kiss was gentle but it send shockwaves through your body just by the way he was holding you, with the same tenderness he had held you throughout the day. Warmth spread through your body as his tongue tangled with yours, as he deepened the kiss and you wrapped your arms on his shoulder.

You were too busy to feel the laughter in the house, to realize how the light in the sunroom came up or the laughter behind the door. It was only when you felt the door opening that you pulled away from him.

“What’s going on here!”

SEVEN YEARS LATER

You didn’t know how much you’d held your breath, your ears ringing as you stared at the sea-foam eyes. His mouth was still moving but you couldn’t really hear anything. Your vision began to blur around the edges, maybe coming here without food and sipping on wine wasn’t the best choice. Your throat was feeling tighter and tighter by the second and your eyes were watering, enough for Jake to frown slightly. Swiftly, his hands touched your bare shoulders.

It made you flinch.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice finally makes you breathe again. You take a deep breath as you quickly pull away from him, as far as you could in a bar full of people. “Are you okay?”

Concerned creased his features as he looked at you, his skin always made you feel like you were burning up when he touched you.

“What are you, what are you,” you sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “What are you doing here?” you finally ask.

“Special detachment,” he explains and you simply nodded at him, curtly, quickly placing your arms over your chest, as if it would make you feel less vulnerable than how you were feeling. “I saw you since you came in, I didn’t know you were living here. I thought you’d be living in London,” he continues, you swallow hard, the tightness in your throat wasn’t really going anywhere. He sighs as he looks at your stance, he’s aware that you’re uncomfortable, but he doesn’t blame you. “I want to invite you to a drink,” he offered, thinking it could make you feel better.

Your eyebrows knit together immediately. Your eyes examine his features, he’s being honest. You know he is but you cannot afford to have a drink with him. He shouldn’t be here. None of them should be here.

“Jake,” you said, your voice trembling, head tilting to the side in defeat.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you. But then I knew, I just would recognize you anywhere,”

You felt a shiver run through your spine. You stay there for a moment holding Jake’s gaze, the last notes of the song in the air. Suspended in time, he can barely hide how his chest aches as he looks at you. You knew him so well, you realized that you still do. Suddenly, his gaze falls on your hand. You know what he’s looking for. You watch his adam’s apple rise and fall in his throat, and then a sigh of relief escapes his lips. You’re not married or engaged. He’s a relief. You don’t know why it makes your heart flutter to think that he’s relieved. It doesn’t mean that you don’t have someone, that same dumb train of thought lead you to suffer seven years earlier. You don’t dare to look at his hand.

“Jake, you don’t have to,” you say softly.

It’s strange. You’ve changed so much from that meek little girl trying to be more outspoken you were back then but under his eyes, you feel the same. He senses it, you’re sure because even after rejecting him, he still dares to step closer to you, you’re barely touching the beige uniform he’s wearing. You hadn’t really seen him in this one. White ones, flight suits, and summer outfits.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day,” Jake began, his voice quiet as if you’re the only one in the place.

Your brows come together for a second, a longing looks on your face. You want to slap yourself. You recall how angry you were when he left, how much he hurt you but then you recall that you may have hurt him even more, you’re not sure. Hell, you might have hurt the three of them worse than whatever they could’ve done to you. You swallow softly, he’s too close now.

Suddenly, the bell rips through the tension in the air. Snapping you both from whatever trance you were in, your head turns towards the bar where Penny had one arm holding the rope of the bell and another one placed on her hip. A scowl on her face as she watches the scene unfolding before her. It’s not hard to comprehend that you’re clearly uncomfortable.

“Jake Seresin,” Penny calls, you feel all the looks on you and Jake. Instinctively, you give a step back trying to avoid any more gazes, hopefully, Rooster or Bob can’t see you.

Jake scoffs as he gazed back at you and then at Penny.“What? I wasn’t,” he starts but he sees how this might look. He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t disrespecting, this isn’t how it works!” he starts but is too late.

“Boys,” Penny calls, and automatically, three men walk toward Jake. Pulling you to the side, people start to cheer. They don’t give Jake a chance, not even when he’s saying his call names and asking them not to do this. They still grab his biceps forcefully and with a smirk, they lift him from the ground. Penny tilts her head to the side, and the boys start to take him outside.

Overboard. Overboard. Overboard.

That’s all you can hear and all you can see are Jake’s green eyes lingering on your form in the crowd. As the crowd gets closer to the bar once more, you feel a sense of relief before someone’s calling your name. You glanced towards the bar. Penny quickly throws your car keys towards you, you catch them in the air.

Penny winks as you mouth a small ‘Thank you’ before she points you to Jimmy, who calls your name. The old man had known you your whole life, and a sense of relief washes over you as he pulls you to the side and guides you to the back of the bar, exiting the bar without anyone’s prying eyes over you.

As you exit, you hear the music from the outside. Another cord in the piano, Rooster was non the wiser and if he didn’t know, Bob probably hadn’t seen you either.

“Tell Penny I’ll come to pay tomorrow,” you insist to Jimmy as he nods and mumbles a goodbye. He closes the door without much trouble and you’re left alone.

Finally, you feel like there’s a brief pause, your mind racing a hundred miles per hour as you realize what had just happened. You thought that you had moved on, but just the sight of them made your heart race and your breathing stop. It angers you. Thinking about that summer, how it changed your whole life, how it was haunting you now. You didn’t regret what happened, you wouldn’t have Inés if that summer hadn’t happened but you felt your chest aching and your stomach twisting at the thought of them.

If they saw her, if even only one of them saw her, you knew what would happen. The question that would arise, is the possibility of changing Inés' life. You felt stupid. You really had thought that you were safe, that you wouldn’t see them again.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you curse loudly, angry hot tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

It’s only until then that you realize that you aren’t alone.

“It is nice to see your doll,” Jake states as he leans into the edge of the building.

You groan almost involuntarily. Hot anger simmers softly in the pit of your stomach as you glare at him. Maybe it is the fact that now that you’ve become a mother, you can’t stand the thought of something hurting Inés; maybe it is the fact that now you see Jake as a threat too.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you snap at him as you pull your purse tight towards your body while you try to walk in the sand with your strappy heels. You hadn’t really thought about that.

Jake holds his breath, he pretends that it doesn’t hurt to hear you say that. He pretends that he is okay with not being wanted by you. He isn’t. You have chased every dream he has had for the last seven years. What is happening now, isn’t like in his dreams.

“Hey, honey,” Jake calls you, and he reaches out for you. His fingers manage to graze over the skin of your arm. He wants to stop you but by the way, you flinch, he knows he fucked up.

“You don’t get to call me that!” you snap at him. Your voice is higher than you intended but you're flabbergasted at how he dared to touch you. He hasn’t earned it, both of you know it. It scares you, how much of an effect he has on you.

“Please, it has been years,” Jake states as you roll your eyes and continue walking to your car. “I haven’t stopped thinking about us, about you,”

A scoff involuntarily passes your lips as you fidget with the keys of your car. You can hear his step following you, getting closer to you than before but he doesn’t dare to take a single step toward you that might invade your space anymore. He holds himself next to the hood of your car.

“Please,”

You turned towards him, head snapping. “YOU BROKE MY HEART!” you finally yell at him. You refuse to cry in front of him, the tears blurring your vision but not dropping from your eyes.

Jake stays stunned for a few seconds as he looks at you. You take a deep breath before you get into the car, and you try not to look at him. You don’t want to look at him, you don’t want to think about him anymore. You’d spend too much time thinking about him, about them. So, you drive off.

You manage to hold yourself together all through the drive and then pick up Inés from your mother’s place. It isn’t until you’re pulling onto the driveway that you realize that you started crying somewhere in between your mother’s house and your place. You quickly try to wipe your face clean, looking at you through the rearview mirror. Inés is still sleeping peacefully, you’re thankful. She has seen you crying, and frustrated with work but you’re afraid she might know the difference.

With a deep breath, you step out of the car with your purse and quickly unbuckle your daughter from her seat in the back. Quickly lifting her into your arms, grabbing with a little difficulty her backpack from the backseat. You groan slightly as you hoist your daughter onto your hip. It hits you how much she has grown, how she’s slipping through your fingers. You recall how much you thought you needed help carrying her on her basket when she was a baby. You recall thinking about Rooster, Bob, and Hangman. Their stupid pretty faces, how you thought you needed their help. But you’ve been doing this on your own for a while. You did it on your own, you didn’t need them now.

You set Inés down on her bed. Quickly getting her ready for bed. Unlacing her tennis shoes, then changing her into her pajamas, tucking her safely under the covers. It’s such a routine that you can do it with your eyes close but you don’t, you want to treasure every moment with her. You wonder if they knew about her, would they treasure her just the same?

A sigh escapes your lips as you finish, turning off her nightlight, you begin to walk away from her. Until you hear her small little voice.

“Mommy?” she asks, it’s barely a whisper but you hear her nonetheless.

“What happened baby?” you coo, quickly sitting back on her bed and turning on her nightlight. Your fingers tracing small patterns on her face, you often did it when she was a baby, it gets her to sleep right away.

“Are you sick?” she asks, her eyes still closed.

You frown. “No, I’m,”

“You’re sniffling,” her little voice interrupts you.

Your eyes widened slightly. She’s so smart, you recall. With a smile, you shake your head and give her a kiss on her forehead.

“It’s the cold baby,” you lie. “I’m fine my love, now go to sleep,”

She lets out a small sigh as you finish threading your fingers through her brownish-gold locks of hair. You kiss her again on the cheek, and then again on her forehead before standing up and walking towards the door.

“I love you, mommy,” she tells you.

“I love you too, baby,” you reply.

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dantesunbreaker · 5 months

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hey! i love your writing so much :) it’s so week thought out and really true to each character without being stereotypical, i love it. this may be an odd request, but i was wondering if you could head canons for the Papa’s based on Slut! by Taylor Swift? You don’t gotta listen to the song, i just really love the “if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once” theme n like being slutshamed but really is just two people in love. either party can be the “slut” :)

"Slut!" Headcanons

I’m not sure if I responded with how you were expecting anon, but I hope you enjoy them! Also I wrote most of these after working from 6am to 2pm, and then going back to work 11:45pm to 9am the same night with only maybe two hours of sleep in between. So I apologize for any mistakes!

Primo

Of all the Emeritus brothers, Primo would have the least reaction to having a partner with behavior that is perceived as slutty

In all his years, Primo has seen and experienced it all. Why waste time by holding back what the body and mind wants to express?

Encourages you to wear however revealing of outfit as you desire, because Primo would never think to feel jealous of someone else seeing your beauty

Always enjoys your affection, feeling humbled and flattered that you are so openly forward about your attraction and love for him

Doesn’t care for the term slutshaming, because in his eyes there should be no shame in any of that sort of behavior

Primo also does not believe there is no shame when it comes to you, because he knows that the cause is from the love that you feel for each other

Secondo

Of all the Papas, Secondo seems the most well equipped and or has the most experience being with a partner that society would view as being slutty

Being a party animal, he meets a lot of people that would be similarly viewed, and he has been with more than a few

More than happy to let you dress and act however you wish, as long as it is always him you are going home with at the end of the night

If you ever ask if an outfit is too revealing, Secondo will tell you so, but will insist you wear it. Let them see, if only to make them jealous of what they cannot have

Also won’t admit it, but Secondo loves the attention you give him. It keeps him feeling young whenever he is with you

Sometimes if Secondo gets too drunk, he is the one that will act like a slut, especially if you are in a nightclub

There are never any doubts about your love and affection for each other

Terzo

It should go without needing to be said, Terzo is the slut in this scenario

The way that Terzo interacts with Omega on the stage is just a glimpse of how he interacts with you

Is not afraid to throw himself all over you in public, even in situations where he probably should not. Why should he ever hold back his feelings for you?

When you are out in public, Terzo will often make a show of throwing himself at you whenever the opportunity strikes. He loves it when all eyes are on you both

Happily wears the title of slut as if it were a badge of honor, always reminding you that it is all just for you. He is all yours

To everyone in the Ministry, you are both a set of happy love drunk fools

Sometimes however, Omega does have to reign Terzo in a bit to keep him from taking things a bit too far in public. They don’t need Sister Imperator on their case again

Copia

This poor man is so easily flustered, you will have him permanently trying to hide his bright red cheeks beneath his Papal paints

Getting him to admit that he loves seeing you in tight revealing outfits sometimes takes a bit of work, but it is so worth it to see the way he drools over you

Zero issues with other people seeing you in such outfits either, because he would never disrespect you in such a way or treat you as if you were his property. Plus, despite his awkward shyness, Copia is very secure in knowing that at the end of the day it is only him that gets to see you out of such outfits

It is such a foreign concept for Copia for someone to so openly show their attraction and affection for him that sometimes he will get a bit overwhelmed at times. So there may be times you have to dial it back a bit as to not break the old man

But to the same end, Copia is just as eager to similarly display and share his love for you so openly

Actually it is thanks to you that Copia feels the confidence to wear such skin tight lace up trousers, or even how he acts when up on stage

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9w1ft · 9 months

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lord you made me feel importunt..

so basically… i feel like taylor is singing from karlie’s perspective in WCS. and i think she is addressing two people— taylor and josh.

i imagine this song as the culmination of a lot of arguments and negotiations between the three of them over the years about how to proceed with things. i think it’s not too wild to imagine that karlie has been caught in the middle of the two of them a lot, in terms of emotional labor. i don’t have a specific time pinpointed for this song but maybe it is the “night i nearly lost you” that taylor talks about in the great war. it was karlie finally reaching her boiling point, and airing her grievances at both of them.

judging by interviews and karlie’s overall persona and demeanor, i think that karlie is the type of person who puts others before herself, and doesn’t easily let things get to her. so i imagine that when she does get angry enough to raise her voice, that it’s very jarring and would stick with you.

here is a selection of lines that i draw parallels with, which, in aggregate, make me think wcs fits more in the kaylor narrative than anything about jm:

years of tearing down our banners // tore our banners down took the battle underground

living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts // i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired

if i never blushed, then they could've never whispered about this // they whisper in the hallway, "she's a bad, bad girl"

if you never touched me, i would've gone along with the righteous // touch me and you’ll never be alone

and if i was some paint, did it splatter on a promising grown man? // you paint dreamscapes on the wall

i keep on waiting for a sign // you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)

stained glass windows in my mind, i regret you all the time // you say what a mind, this happens all the time

i miss who i used to be // remind her how it used to be

the tomb won’t close // spineless in my tomb of silence

memories feel like weapons // we can plant a memory garden

some other small points are..

i think she sings with a certain tone to her voice that reminds me of karlie. her emphasis on the word “important” reminds me of how karlie famously pronounces that word funnily, and there are a few expressions that remind me of how people in the midwest/southern united states speak “damn sure never would’ve” “but lord you made me feel” “god’s honest truth” “god rest my soul” etc

plus, karlie was introduced to josh at 19 years old so. there’s that parallel too.

so given these things i think the first verses might be addressed to josh and the second verse to taylor and maybe the third is to both of them. “if clarity’s in death than why won’t this die? years of tearing down our banners you and i” at her and “living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts give me back my girlhood it was mine first” at him

and a sidenote: following a similar framework i actually think it’s possible that illicit affairs is also from karlie’s perspective directed at the two of them.. “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby”

i also think it’s sort of important that both of them are older than karlie, in terms of the dynamics. i feel like maybe it had made karlie feel like a toy or pawn or not listened to… or that the way they talked about what karlie should do—their style of communication when risk assessing—might have felt too clinical at times. the muse as object. and over time, perhaps she looked back and wondered, was this right? should i have gone along with everything like i did? or was it just what i grew up knowing?

listening to the song this way makes me incredibly emotional.. getting so close to being together publicly indefinitely, all the praise and centering of karlie as the hero and centerfold of taylor’s life during 1989 era, only for the backtracking and erasing. one might also say we were starting to get flickers of this with early lover era. years of tearing down banners.

so yeah… and, we count renegade as written from her lover’s perspective because of the tn tweet,

so i think it’s not that far out to assume she wrote other songs with karlie’s perspective too

just this idea of taylor taking the time to explore her muse’s perspective.

so yeah, this is my thought.

#by popular demand 🥴#i’m emoshunul

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chiramffn · 2 months

Text

Sorry, It Was Me

(Rafayel x OC(f); hurt with comfort, fluff in the end)

(author made this while listening to Afterglow by Taylor Swift and Love Me Again by V a lot)

***

“Seriously, what was wrong with me?”

He yelled at his canvas for the fourth time of the day.

It was wrong. Rafayel knows this. Yelling and arguing with each other were not the answer to a problem. Perhaps they can blame their work for taking tolls on them.

Thomas kept bothering him with the deadline these days. He said something about the sponsor of the exhibition? Or was it something about the venue? He can’t remember anymore. And for her, the wanderers are just going rampant in Linkon. The news about the hunters is always in the air even now. All those stresses just resulting them head-butting each other on one rare occasion when they finally met. They are just on the edge of anger all the time and very sensitive. The usual playful banter just spiraled down into a yelling contest. A clear mind was nowhere to be found.

(Flashback)

“Oh, I’m sorry that I can’t be there for you, Rafayel. I’m just busy keeping the city safe these days. Have you seen the news? Wanderers appear more and more in this one week!”

Sara is walking back and forth, trying to calm herself. It’s not working though. She hears a scoff from the couch.

“Oh yeah? Sorry that I bother you so much by asking for your attention. This particular painting has just been so difficult and Thomas keeps pressuring me about it. So, I just want some attention from you! My lover! Who would have thought that you FINALLY could come here because he asked you? It’s been a while, Sara! And you came because he asked you?” tells him, eyes very intense with anger.

“I told you, I AM busy! And Thomas just worried about you, you know? I can’t help-”

Rafayel stands from the couch. “Ah, so you side with him!”

“There is no side here, Rafayel.”

“Well, you just defended him. You are on his side! I can’t believe it. I want some attention from my girlfriend, but she keeps working non-stop, and one time she finally came here, she defended another man.”

“Rafayel, you are being so childish right now. “

“Sara! I just want you to prioritize ‘us’ more!”

“That is rather demanding. You know how I love my job!”

“And I. Love. You. Honestly, Y/N, why did you agree to go out with me? Do you even love me?”

Staring at him from across the room, she didn’t believe what she just heard.

“Of course, I do! I wouldn’t go out with someone I don’t like?”

Crossing his arm, Rafayel stared back at her, “But your action now said the opposite!”

Silence followed for a while and she just murmured, “I can’t believe this.” and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I can’t be around you right now, Rafayel.”

And with that, she just walked out of the studio.

***

All of that happened three days ago. Yet, there is still no news from her.

He tried to reach out to her, yes. Even three days ago, after several minutes after she walked out. It clicked right away in him that they said things they shouldn’t have to each other just now. But of course, she didn’t answer her phone. Again.

Three days. Three days without anything from her. His heart cannot help but keep beating anxiously. Being new to this relationship thing, does not help with negative thoughts which are swimming around his mind. Is he being forgotten again? Was she walking out because she was giving up on him? Is this relationship going to be okay? Is she okay? What if she is hurt because of him?

He cannot help but keep making mistakes in his painting these several days. Every brush stroke that he did just feels very wrong. Nothing is right. All is a mess.

“Maybe I should just go to her place.” is what he is thinking. This will be going nowhere if both of them keep whatever is happening right now in between them.

He was just cleaning his hands in the bathroom when he heard a faint call of his name.

“Rafayel…?”

Oh, how he misses her voice.

Sara is walking in his studio. Her head is turning left and right, searching for him. And then their eyes met. Rafayel can’t help but walk fast towards her. But as he got closer, he noticed there are some bruises in her face and hands. Sweet smile that just adorned his face slowly fading into a concerned frown.

“What happened?”

“Rafa-”

His eyes are observing every bruise that he can see now. Very unhappy with them.

“Are they coming from a wanderer? Or is there someone I need to get my hands on?”

Sara is confused at first but then he realizes what he means. “What? No. No. It’s just wanderers. It’s okay. I want to talk to you first.”

He took her hand in his and said, “As much as I do want to talk to you first too, I can’t, you are hurt. Let’s take care of them first.”

“But, Rafa-” She is silenced. The intense gaze that he suddenly gave her made her lips just shut. And seeing her finally agreeing, he ushered her to sit on the couch.

“Wait here, I’ll take the first aid kit.”

***

Sara is staring at the beautiful man in front of him. God, he is beautiful, she thought. And I think I hurt this beautiful and kind man.

She still remembers them clearly. All the words that they threw at each other. She called him demanding, and childish, and then just walked out. What in the world was wrong with me? She thought. Now regret just keeps filling up her heart and mind. And so is sorry.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened or am I supposed to wait until you finish looking at me like I am an art piece?” says Rafayel who is cleaning up the last bruise on her knuckle.

She chuckles a little.

“It was just as usual. Wanderers. This one type is very fast and I was…not in the right head space so it got me. And apparently, they keep happening again after that.”

“You hesitate?”

“I was thinking about our..fight. Rafayel, my love, I-“

The pet name is back, Rafayel thought. And he cuts her to the chase and says it first, “I am sorry.”

She was just about to open her mouth again, but close it again after seeing him about to continue his sentence.

“I am very sorry that my stresses and emotions took the better of me three days ago. I know I shouldn’t have said all those things to you. I am very very sorry.”

He took both of her hands. His eyes are staring at his thumb rubbing gently the area he just bandaged.

“You have no idea how precious you are to me. Priceless. No one can compare to you, princess. And the idea I just hurt you with my words, I can’t bear that. I keep thinking about you. Especially after the fight.”

He continues again, “I said many thing I didn’t mean at all. Asking if you love me at all? I shouldn’t do that. Then, I keep thinking if things gonna be alright. I keep thinking of where you are at the time. I keep thinking if I should contact you first or give you some space. ‘Is it okay if I gave her some space?’ I said to myself. ‘Or will the space make things worse and make you feel I don’t care about you?’ Not to mention I was being so demanding of you so I don’t wanna burden you more. I have all these thoughts. Making me realize once more how irreplaceable you are to me, love.”

He moves his hands to hold her face. Unconsciously, Sara is leaning on one of his hands while maintaining their eye contact.

“I love you with all I am and with all I have, princess. And I am sorry for hurting you with my actions.”

Moved is an understatement to what Sara is feeling right now. Her heart is just bubbling with emotions and she can feel her eyes are getting misty. She tried to fix her sitting position and trying to get closer to him.

“As much as you hold my heart preciously…”

Sara took his hand and put it in her chest, right above her heart. Then Sara leaned down and kiss the area above his heart too.

“… yours is something I hold very dearly too. This is very precious for me…”

Sara heard his gasp. She also can feel the faster beat of his heart. Then she leans her forehead to his chest.

“I love you very much, Rafayel. You have no idea.”

She kisses his chest again.

“My love.”

And then she kisses his collarbone.

“My treasure.”

Another kiss.

“My amazing other half.”

Sara keeps muttering sweet-nothings as she kisses his jaw, his cheek, and then his nose. His face is getting redder and redder. Yet, his eyes hold so much. When their eyes met, Sara can see affection, love, and eyes that getting misty. Holding his face in her hands, she says what she has been itching to say since she entered this room,

“And I am very sorry if I hurt this precious heart. It was very wrong for me to call you childish, and demanding, and then just walk out like that. This love you have for me. There is no single intention in me to hurt you, my dearest. I love you.”

Rafayel’s gaze is intense right now. Those blue and magenta swirling emotionally around each other. Suddenly he turned his head away from her,

“Now you’ve done it! I can’t help but accept the apologies, aren’t I?”

He turns his head again and covers her hands with his on his cheeks. Smiling while leaning down, he said something that she would never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you very much too, princess. 'Till the end of time."

***

(a/n: sorry if this is still farrrr from good. I am still learning to write more and more these days. If you guys want to leave your critics, I’m open to them. Thank you for reading!^^)

#love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel x mc #rafayel x oc

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 days

Note

can we get a little sneak peek of part 3 of can you please be mine? it’s my favorite series of yours 🥺💛

Thank you so much for loving this series anon 🥹 I have not really had a chance to work on that one yet. This week I’ve been working on two one shot Taylor Swift inspired pieces and am trying to get the next chapter of Dark Shades of Innocence Lost done. I plan to work on more of Can You Please Be Mine very soon! That’ll be my next priority. I’ll give you a little sneak peek of a scene I’ve been thinking about in my mind for the next chapter ☺️

“Hold still, stop smiling!” you giggle as you tap the edge of the shading pencil on your sketchbook. Joel just smiles wider as the Crow’s feet pull tighter to make his honey eyes crinkle and sparkle. You think he looks so dreamy when he smiles like that at you. It’s like he’s already a perfect painting.

“Joel! I’m serious, I’m trying to draw you. Stop looking at me like that,” you laugh as you throw a small eraser at him playfully. He catches it with no hesitation and throws it back to you.

“Stop lookin’ at you like what? Hmm?” he smirks as he relaxes back into his leather couch.

“Like… well, just relax your face. Alright? I’m almost done, but I can’t finish it if you keep smirking like that,” you say as you shake your hair out.

“Jus’ can’t stop starin’ at my gorgeous girl. The way you’re so fixated on your art when you work, it’s hard not to look at ya. You’re like a piece of art yourself, darlin’.”

Your breath hitches as you listen to his deep timbre voice carry through the dim lit living room, your pencil forgotten as it falls from your fingers and hits the cream colored rug. He called you his girl. That meant you were his. He did want you, he does want you.

“My girl?” you ask quietly, wide-eyed like you can’t believe it’s actually real.

“That’s right, sweetheart. My girl.” He smiles at you then, his face almost glowing as his warm brown eyes shine every single time he looks at you. And you know now this will be the ride of your life, him. A ride you don’t want to get off, maybe not ever. Maybe you’ll just stay here, put the ride on repeat, and never let go of his calloused hand.

#joel miller wip #ask response #can you please be mine #Joel miller

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dakotakazansky · 1 year

Text

Look What You Made Me Do

OC x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Written for @cherrycola27 1k Celebration Top Gun: Taylor's Version. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW, Enemies to Lovers, Smut 3k Word Count

Click Here for MasterList

Today was like any other day of training, except for some reason Mav only had single pilots out today. Both Rooster and Hangman come up behind me, and like clockwork I know Hangman is about to ridicule me again, as Bradley wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Hey Swift, if your father is the legendary Iceman, why is your callsign Swift, shouldn’t you be more along the lines of Frost, since you’re always giving us the cold shoulder.” Hangman says, as I do give him the cold shoulder.

“Ignore him Mack, he’s just trying to get under your skin.” Rooster says rubbing my arm trying to keep me calm before I go off and do something I might regret or worse, get me kicked from the program or the Navy as a whole.

Hangman isn’t getting the reaction he really wants so he tries even harder, “For being called Swift, I've never seen you do so in your entire career, and for you Rooster, you’re always snug on that perch just waiting. Honestly you two are the perfect pair for each other.”

I take the sharpest, most deepest inhale I think I’ve ever done in my life, while Rooster is holding on to my shoulders, as I whip around to face Hangman, “Listen here you little shit, I don’t like your little games you are trying to play, I don’t like how you try to play me for a fool. If you want Swift, oh buddy, you’ll get Swift today.”

“Oh come on Darlin’, you know you can’t keep your mind off me, you’re definitely in love with me.” I freeze in my tracks, and lightly shove Hangman backwards, spitting back at him with as much venom in my words as I could muster, “Listen here, I. Don’t. Like. You. You’re cocky, arrogant, annoying as all fucking get out, and the only thing you’re good for in the sky is leaving your team high and dry. You’re not even worthy of being called a Wingman.”

Rooster and I walk off towards our seats in the hangar while we wait for our hop today, while unbeknownst to us, Hangman was standing where we had left him, hurt written all over his face. We waited while all the rest of the single pilots joined us in the hangar, Hangman eventually taking the seat the furthest away from Rooster and I, but I could feel the daggers he was boring into the back of my head.

Maverick drones on about how he wants to see how each of us solo pilots are doing so far in the program, and that today we’ll be joined by another instructor. We all turn to look behind us, as the aviator now comes into view, I slump down into my seat, of course it would be my father. “Today we are being joined by Admiral Kazansky,” Mav introduces before joking with Iceman, “It’s for you guys to decide who’s the better pilot.”

“Swift. Hangman. You two are up first.” Maverick says as he and my father walk off towards their jets. I look over to Rooster, sighing, “Well this oughta be fun.” I run my hands down my face, before pushing up out of my seat, and placing my silver rimmed aviators on my face. Hangman quips in front of our class, “How does it feel Swift, knowing you’re about to have your ass handed to you in front of the legacy that is your namesake?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, pushing my aviators down my nose a bit, before looking up at Hangman with the most deadly glare I could ever give to one person, “I don’t know, how about you tell me how it feels when I become the actress starring in your bad dreams?”

I’m now full of rage, venom, and an ungodly amount of spite. I walk over to my jet, do my pre-flight checks to make sure that little arrogant asshole hasn’t sabotaged my plane. Once I determine everything is as it should be, I start my climb up the ladder to my cockpit. I reach the height that is where my name is on my jet, and I run my hand over the painted-on letters of Mackie “Swift” Kazansky. It was something I always did for good luck before flying, just like how some people would touch the outside of a commercial plane before flying.

I finished my climb into the cockpit, and did my pre-flight controls checks, and made sure all my planes flaps, navigational equipment, and other instruments were working. “Fuel, both engines full, Check. Primary Flight Display, Blue over Brown currently, Check.” I mumble to myself finishing my checks. I make sure all my gear is on accordingly, i’m all strapped in, and place on my helmet and oxygen mask. I speak into my mask, “Swift to Maverick, checks complete, ready on your go.”

Not too much longer, everyone was ready and we were up in the sky. “Alright Swift and Hangman, your guys goal is to work as a team, to try to shoot both Admiral Kazansky and I down. If we shoot you down first, that’s 100 push-ups, and a mile run. Fight’s on!” Maverick says and Hangman immediately goes into pester mode. “Hope you’re ready to run when you get shot down first.”

As I'm checking the sky around me once, I say venomously, “You know Hangman I keep a list of all the people who have wronged me, to show myself I eventually prove them all wrong, Your name just happens to be in red and underlined. Eat my jet wash.” I check the sky around me twice now, spotting one of the Jets below me, and mutter, “Shit. There’s one coming up on my tail, Hangman!” I look over to Hangman’s jet, and hear him softly question, “So if one’s on Swift, where is the other?” That’s when Hangman spots my father out in the distance. “Swift, you look like you’re doing alright, I’m going after Ice!” I groan, really annoyed now, “Don’t you leave me Hangman!”

He scoffs, “You’re fine! I’m going to get Ice!” I hit my fist against the canopy, saying “Time to get smarter, in the nick of time.” and immediately break off to the left, as Hangman leaves me breaking off to the right to go after my father. I start flying and dodging as much as I can, remembering everything both of these pilots had taught me when I was younger, and in class at my current age. I’ve heard all the stories about Maverick and his exploits and use that to my advantage, and I swoop around behind him. Maverick drops low thinking this is the perfect chance to confuse my targeting system but what he doesn’t know is that Ice taught me how to target with a dead eye, and not my system.

What I hadn’t expected was to now watch my father zoom in front of Maverick, allowing Maverick to get missile lock on Hangman. He was out. I got Maverick into missile lock, getting him out, now it's just father versus daughter. I was sure I was about to have my ass handed to me. “Alright Swift, time to rise up out of the dead, you can do this.” I say trying to convince myself that I can in fact do this. After what felt like forever, chasing, and evading my father, he got me into missile lock. I was out, but at least I had put up one hell of a fight to prove I could be the best here.

As we all landed our jets, Jake and I did our push-ups. “Swift!” he calls out to me, just before we are about to start our run. ”I’m sorry, but the old Swift can’t come to the phone now, Why? Oh cause she’s dead,” I growl, “You realize if that was a real mission, you’d have to explain to Mav and my father why I’m dead right?” He gives me pleading eyes, “Swift please.” I scoff, and run off to start my mile run.

After my 13 minutes of peace and quiet I called the mile run, I started to make my way back into the building and towards the locker rooms. Jake was definitely faster than I was so he was waiting by the door as I walked in. “Well I’m glad I got smarter when I did, thanks for living up to your name yet again.” I said my voice was laced with snark. “Swift, come on.” I heard Hangman plead as I walked away giving him the cold shoulder.

I feel two callused strong hands on either of my shoulders, pushing my back against the wall. “Mack, please just listen to me.” I bring my knee up to connect with his stomach, “oh, look what you made me do.” I say smarting off to him. “Does that at least make us even now Mack?”

I’m now fuming, smoke pouring out of my ears, “No! Not even remotely close to even.” I growl beginning a tirade to him. “If that was a real mission today you’d have killed me, you’d have to explain to my father and uncle mav how your arrogance got me killed, and how do you think Rooster would feel…” I’m stopped by his soft lips crashing against mine as I’m pushed up against the wall again. “Mackie please,” he pleads once more, giving me those huge green puppy dog eyes, that would be so adorable if I didn’t hate this man’s guts. I’m still stunned by the kiss, so he takes this moment to speak again. “Mack, listen to me please. I’m so sorry, I got too full of myself. When I first saw you it was love at first sight.”

Love at first sight, this man can’t be serious. He hates my guts. I think to myself. “Mack I didn’t know how to tell you and I got so jealous seeing you so close with Rooster, that instead of being honest I just made your life a living hell and made you my enemy, but I don’t want that anymore, I want us to start over. Please.”

I’m too stunned to speak, he really just admitted this all to me. “But..I thought you hated me.” Was the only thing I could choke out, while he shakes his head no towards me, “Mack, no, I could never hate you, I really am sorry I made it seem that way.” I grab him by his flight suit and pull him towards me, capturing his lips in a needy kiss, which he immediately reciprocates. He slides his hands up the sides of my flight suit, until he makes his way to the zipper, slowly unzipping it before I push us apart, my hand square in the middle of his chest. I whisper to him out of breath from that kiss, “no, not here. Follow me.”

I grabbed his hand interlacing our fingers together and began pulling him towards the women's locker room. “Mackie, wait, are you sure about this?” He says apprehensively. I nod to him, “Jake it’s fine, I’m the only solo female pilot, there’s no else here.” I say dragging him into the locker room with me.

Jake wastes no time, as soon as we are in the door, he’s pressing his body tightly against mine up against the door, once again taking my lips in his, for another needy and longing kiss, which I don’t resist. He swipes his tongue against my bottom lip begging for entrance, I part my lips for him, and our tongues dance along with each others. He tastes of sweat and spearmint, not that I’m complaining. Without disconnecting our lips, we both quickly rid ourselves of our flight suits and boots. After what felt like a mind numbing forever, we break apart panting, and Jake questions between pants, “Mackie, will you please be my girlfriend?” I nod while panting for air.

He leans down to place a soft kiss, on the sweet spot of my neck, nipping at it lightly, and that's enough to already soak me. He whispers in my ear, “Jump.” I do as he says, jumping up into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist, as he leads us further into the locker room. He pushes my back against the cold lockers, going back to the sweet spot on my neck, one of my hands grips his bicep tightly, while the other hand makes its way up his arm, up the back of his neck, and into his hair. He kisses down my neck to my exposed collarbone, before getting fed up at my shirt. He teasingly slides his hands slowly down my sides until he reaches the hem of my shirt, pulling it off over my head before discarding it somewhere along the floor of the locker room. I take the quick chance to pull his shirt off, tossing it near mine, before placing my hands on his pecks, and admiring the man in front of me.

I can’t take it anymore, I take his lips in mine again, kissing him until we are breathless once more. He takes the chance to remove my bra, bringing one hand up to caress my breast, and keeping one hand on the small of my back to support me. I let out a soft moan at his touch, his calloused fingers knowing exactly what to do. My right hand finds its way back up to the back of his head, tangling into his hair again, while my left hand trails its way down his pecks, his gorgeous washboard abs, and to the front of his pants as I begin to palm him through the fabric.

He lets out a low guttural groan, and I smirk, because two can play this game. “Mackie..” he gasps as I slip my hand up to his waistband, pushing his pants down the best I could. He drops me down to my feet, discarding the rest of his pants and boxers, and then discarding mine in the process as well. He picks me back up, and begins walking us towards the shower, as I kiss and nip at the sweet spot of his neck, while taking his dick into my hand and begin pumping him slowly and teasingly. He moans into my ear, which just soaks me even more. He turns on the shower, and presses my back against the wall, and his eyes darken, “Enough teasing Mack, my turn” he says while pinning my hands above my head, taking one breast into his mouth, and his other hand finding its way to my slick folds. He toys with my already sensitive clit, and I arch my back off the cold shower wall, and let out a whining moan. “Jake please..” I gasp as I feel two fingers enter and pump against my velvety walls until he finds that rough spongy bit that makes me scream.

He releases my hands and I grab his bicep, digging my nails in, and roughly pulling on his hair. “Oh god, that.. Feels so good..” I moan. I reach down once more taking his dick into my hand, pumping him greedily. “Jake please, I need to feel you.” I say whining as he pulls his two fingers out of me. He kisses my lips softly, then looks me in the eyes, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, making sure this is 100% what we both want. I nod to him, but he shakes his head no, “Darlin’ I need to hear you say it.” I groan as he rubs his dick between my folds lining up to enter me, “Yes baby, please.” He enters with such a slow and agonizing pace, I whine “faster Jake. ” he chuckles, “You’re so needy for me darlin’” as he grips my hips, and begins to thrust into me faster. We are both moaning messes, he begins to slowly circle my aching bundle of nerves, which sends me even closer to the edge. “Jake please, just like that, I’m so close.” I moan, tossing my head back against the shower walls, and my eyes rolling back. “Look at you all cockdrunk for me baby, cum for me darlin’.” He says while rubbing a little harder on the bundle of nerves enough to send me over the edge. My walls clench around him, as I finally hit my climax moaning all sorts of profanities, which causes him to reach his climax as well. He shoots his thick ropes of cum into me, and we ride out our climaxes together. Once he goes soft, he pulls out and we hear a knocking on the locker room door, before it opens slightly. I quickly cover Jake's mouth, as I hear, “Mackie you in here?!” I whisper, “Shit, it’s Bradley.”

Jake takes advantage of this, and begins to fondle my breasts, as I try to quickly yell back without giving away what’s going on in here, “Yeah, don’t come in, I’m showering, what do you need?” Bradley replies, “A few of us are going to head to the hard Deck for drinks tonight, did you wanna tag along?” I groan quietly at Jake before replying, “Yeah that sounds great! I’ll be there in say an hour?” I try to swat away Jake’s hands from my body, when Bradley replies back, “Sounds good see you then! Hey, have you seen Seresin anywhere? We wanted to invite him along too?” Jake then trails teasing touches along my sides, down towards my clit again, and I yell back sounding a little flustered, “No, I haven’t but don’t worry, I’ll be the bigger person and invite him.”

“Okay sounds good, I’ll see you later Mackie!” Bradley says shutting the locker room door. Jake gives me his biggest puppy dog eyes, and a pout, “Aw look what you made me do Darlin’.” I hiss back at him, “You almost got us caught!” he chuckles, “Well we still have an hour.” Wiggling his eyebrows, I catch his drift as we go at it for another round before finally finishing our shower, changing and then heading out to the Hard Deck, hand in hand together.

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 2 years

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„Who is [name]?“ with a soft ending? Maybe with Undertaker where a lover he thought died and therefore tried to repress comes back millennial later because they became immortal or something?

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 \ sentence starter pack, i.

who is (name)?

yes hi hello I am going to CRY BUCKETS over this man

DISCLAIMER: This piece is accompanied by a few sections of lyrics from the song “This Love (Taylor’s Version)” by Taylor Swift! I don’t own the song, don’t claim to, and am not profiting off this piece at all.

tossing, turning struggled through the night with someone new baby, I could go on and on, on and on

They haven’t seen those beautiful eyes in decades.

There are no mistakes to be made, however. The UNDERTAKER is just as breathtaking as ever. He’s changed, but not much. Not so much that he’s unrecognizable.

He’s cut his hair. It looks like a few inches chopped off, from past his hips to maybe falling around his waist. There are glasses on his face again, even though it seems like he’s not been back to doing his real job. As he never would.

Just seeing him makes their heart speed up. They’ve been looking for him for so long.

When they take him in their arms, he pushes them away, looking at them with wide eyes. Like he’s confused. Like he doesn’t know who they are.

When they assert, “Love, it’s me! It’s (Name)!”, he simply blinks at them.

“… Who is (Name)?”

lantern burning flickered in the night for only you but you were still gone, gone, gone

Time doesn’t just freeze to a standstill; it cracks into shards like an hourglass shattered apart with a bullet. Despite the fact that they knew they’d disappeared from him for hundreds of years, they never imagined he could just forget them. Forget everything they’d shared together.

They never could. So they don’t understand why he doesn’t remember them.

Then they look into his eyes, and they see a glimmer of anguish, and they think about the way they left him. They were one more person he’d loved and lost, one more taken away from him.

Maybe he couldn’t take it anymore.

Maybe locking those memories away was his mind’s way of protecting him from the trauma of losing them.

And if they’re locked away, that just means (Name) needs to find the key.

in losing grip on sinking ships you showed up just in time

“It’s me,” they say quietly. They reach for his hand, and he lets them take it, even though he looks shaken. His nails are a bit longer than they recall. Still painted black as night. Still careful with them ― his brain may not remember, but his body does. “(Name) is me. I know… I know you don’t remember me. It’s been a long time.”

He tilts his head, and tries to smile. It doesn’t look right. It looks broken, the ghost of something happy come back to haunt its killer. “Must’ve been. I’m sure I’d remember someone like y’, pretty as a picture. But… y’ might be mistaken. I ain’t got close t’ other people in quite a while.”

God. They could fill an entire journal with prose about that. They remember that he hadn’t let himself get close to others for years, decades, centuries, before he met them. “No, I know. I know. It’s been hundreds of years,. But I didn’t die. I’m going to be alive until the stars burn out, Adrian, and I’ve been looking for you.”

this love is good, this love is bad this love is alive back from the dead these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me

“Listen, haha, I’m… sorry, love. If this is a joke, it ain’t funny, ‘n’ I got places t’…” Suddenly he cuts himself off, eyelashes fluttering in front of those phosphorescent orbs. What is it? A flicker of recognition? “Wot… wot did y’ call me?”

Although he’d been starting to pull away, (Name) tugs him closer. He offers no resistance, even as their other hand lifts up to rest on his cheek. “Adrian. That’s your real name. Not Undertaker. That’s just a nickname. I’ve called you Adrian for as long as I can remember. I’ve been looking forward to being able to say it again.”

He stares at them, right into their eyes, and they see it. They see him trying, desperately attempting to conjure up any memory, wanting to remember. “That’s… it ain’t possible. The last time I told anyone my real name, that was… it was…” He shakes his head. “What was their name…?”

Their hand gives his a gentle squeeze. “Adrian. My darling. It’s (Name).”

The click of the key turning in the lock is almost audible.

That one spark in his eyes snaps into microcosms of glitter, every single memory he has of them dancing across his face at once. He gapes at them with all the wonder of someone whose pieces have fallen back into place, and only seconds later he breaks down in their arms.

He doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is sob and breathe as they hold him, as they kiss the top of his head and his cheeks and his lips. It sounds like he’s trying to laugh, but it’s weak and wheezy, as if he hasn’t laughed in the hundreds of years since he lost them.

“It’s y’,” he cries with his arms circled round their neck. “(Name)… my love…”

And they hold him close, so he can come apart again.

The way he breathes out against their skin, shuddering and relieved and hurt and healed, is something they’ve been waiting for.

“… I missed y’.”

this love left a permanent mark this love is glowing in the dark these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me.

#Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Undertaker #scenario #meme reply #romantic #angst #drama #hurt/comfort #YOU MADE ME CRYYYYYYY-#one hell of a queue

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youngblood-182 · 2 years

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Hi, my name is Yael and I'd like to be matched up with a man from Narutoooo ✨

I'm 23 years old, I'm 1.55 cm tall (don't know how much is that in inches lol), I'm female, my pronouns are she/her and I prefer men, I have black straight waist length hair, parted in my left side, my eyes are deep brown almost black, you can barely see my pupils and they are also big, my skin is a sort of tanned, not much tho, I have a curvy buddy, my waist is not entirely petite but my butt and my breasts are big, I like working out. I'm an ENFJ-A, love to meet people, I'm studying Fashion Design bc I'm obsessed with clothes and how these represent us, I love to see beauty in everything, I love art, in every representation, I love paintings, music, sculpture, books, I'm a creative person, I love singing and playing guitar so much, I like my singing voice, I'd say I'm pretty good at it, I love watching movies and tv shows, the main thing I notice is the beautiful photography and the clothes ofc 🤭

I love old music, classic rock and 80's music🎶 my favorite artists are Frank Sinatra, Taylor Swift, David Bowie, Eminem and The Rollings Stones. My dream date would honestly be anywhere we could just talk, I'd say, buy some food, sit on a rooftop and eat, and then walk around the city at night, just walking and talking under the night sky and the street lights, for me there's nothing more romantic.

When it comes to what I want in a partner I would like somebody a little bit shyer than me, I'm an extrovert and I like that whole opposites attract kinda thing, someone who isn't afraid to make the first move but still I have to take out of his shell a lil bit, who makes me laugh uncontrollably, witty sense of humor, someone who can hold up a meaningful or intellectual conversation, I honestly don't mind if they aren't into PDA, bc I'm not the most affectionate person but that when we are alone he can be touchy feely, like in his apartment or such, and I'm the only one who gets to see that side of them, also it would be a huge plus if he's into movies and books, bc a date in reading or just watching movies on the couch is gold to me 💓💓

I probably wrote too much haha sorry if it was annoying, what ever your answer is I'm sure gonna love it, hope you're having an amazing dayyyy 😊💖

OMG UR ADORABLE OK 🥹 I ship you with Yamato/Tenzo 💖

-in personal matters this man’s is very shy but your idea of a perfect date made me SCREAM TENZO!!

-Tenzo is shy when he doesn’t know someone, so ofc he’d let you do all the talking right off the bat but once he gets comfortable?? He’s a whole different level

-he’d still be shy, but I can see him opening up to you. I don’t think he’d be super super talkative but he would 100% love to listen.

-kakashi 100% pressured him into asking you out after he watched Tenzo stare you down as you talked to someone in the market. Kakashi a real one for that, eventually Tenzo finally asked you out after Kakashi so gracefully introduced him and ran away.

-at first he stuttered and couldn’t form a coherent smile but after you smiled at him he rushed out the words to ask you out (AHHH THIS IS PRECIOUS) cue kakashi behind you with both thumbs up PRECIOUS I TELL YOU

-man’s is touch starved so he while he wouldn’t be super affectionate out in public in private he would be all over you.. He just likes being near you, and that’s enough for him.

-days spent inside reading on the couch are a favorite of his, he loves doing absolutely nothing with you and it’s still the time of his life ok 🥹

-he likes to use his jutsu to make you things and it’s SO PRECIOUS OK AHHHH

-please protect him he’s a baby 🥹

FOR SONGS:

Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police

Enchanted by Taylor Swift

This Must Be The Place by Talking Heads

#naruto matchup #Yamato x reader #MY BABY #MY LIL TREE MAN #skys ship event

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youreallyneedtocalmdown · 14 days

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THE GIRL I WAS

“I act and react, and suddenly I wonder, ‘Where is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?”

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

After reading these lines, I wonder where that girl that I was last year or two years ago is. Thinking about it makes me want to cry my eyes out but sometimes just stare silently at a wall. It always confuses me whether I am on the right track or not; whether I should do something different than what I am doing right now or whether I should say or do something or not when I feel like doing it or just be silent and never express.

They say time heals everything or to put it in simple words, things go away with time. I honestly don’t know about everything but yes some things, are surely healed with time but some of them always stay with you forever in the back of your mind. Just like that, there are thoughts of past experiences, thoughts of the things that scare me, and thoughts of the future which are always playing peek-a-boo in the back of my mind. This makes me want to scream into a pillow but at the same time, I just want to sit quietly at the beach, staring at the waves hugging the pink sunset.

“Stop, you are overreacting”, “come on don’t cry like a baby”, “stop being a coward”, “you are such a gullible person”, etc. are the voices that echo inside my mind when it goes back to two years ago. There is she, that 17-year-old girl, crying herself to sleep almost every night. She cries because she hates herself; she hates how she trusts everyone, how she always forgets her self-respect to save bonds, how she apologizes every time because she thinks everything is her fault, how she is always unable to say “no” to someone or something, how she always ends up giving up because she thinks she cannot do something, and how she gets mad at someone or something easily, and for why she is so gullible. But she also loves herself so much because of the love that she receives from her close ones, how she does not feel judged when she is dancing or singing, she loves how listening to music just gets her, she loves how confident and straightforward she is sometimes.

Now, I would say that things have changed. Rather I would say I’ve grown a lot. Some say I’ve changed, and I don’t mind them saying that because that is true. I have changed in so many ways. I no longer trust anyone easily (of course I’ve got trust issues now, *wink*), I say “NO” to things that I feel like saying no to, and I have kind of lessened apologizing for things because I have realized that not everything is my fault, I have learned that not everybody is your friend, not everyone wishes well for you so it is perfectly healthy to set boundaries, I no longer care when someone judges me and I have started to distance myself from toxicity because I know self-love is so important. But at the same time, I constantly think about what someone would think of me, I have kind of become a people pleaser in some sort of way. I overthink everything, I have started to procrastinate a lot, and I have stopped practicing Bharatnatyam, it’s been a long since I’ve painted, and I tear up easily when someone raises their voice at me or when I try to explain my feelings and what not.

I do miss the old me sometimes, of course for the positive habits and traits. I find myself in little fragments of the novels I read, the pictures I click, in the trees, in the waves, in paintings, and sometimes in Taylor Swift’s lyrics. And those are the moments that make me wonder what would that 17 year old me, would think after looking at the mess that I’ve become now. Would she be ashamed of me? Or would she be proud of me? Am I letting her down? I guess I will never know.

I just want her to be happy and proud of me, and I want to do everything that she dreamt of but at the same time, I want her to guide me when I am on the wrong path. I promise to never let her down in any sort of way.

Madhura Jadhav

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afro-elf · 4 years

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fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on.

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent!

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

#me #taylor swift meanie hour #long post

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tillidontneedfantasy · 3 years

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A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Both of You

Tony x Reader based on this request!

Warnings: mention of nightmares

Word Count: 1803

a/n: This one makes me feel warm inside. We're just pretending Pepper does not exist because any mention of killing her off is too sad for me to deal with right now. Tony deserves happiness. Featuring The Best Day by Taylor Swift.

Also, I'm currently working on a Reid request, two Steve fics, and an idea I had for Bucky, but somehow this one was the one that got me motivated.

Masterlist

You were relaxing, aka being forced to recover from a gunshot wound before going on any more missions, on the couch in the living room for the third night in a row. To say you were absolutely bored would be underselling it.

You spent the past few days alone roaming the compound because everyone else was out on missions. Typically this would mean hanging out with Morgan, but Happy's been monopolizing her time.

You were just about to start another movie when your phone started ringing.

"Where are you?" The voice was desperate.

"Nice to hear from you Happy. How are you, today?" You sassed him back.

"Y/N, I'm serious." His tone put you on high alert.

"I'm in the main living room, what happened?" You sat up from the couch, ready to come to him at a moments notice.

"I'm in the elevator, I'll explain in a minute." He hung up before you could ask any follow up questions.

You were up and standing at the elevator in no time, anxiously awaiting Happy's arrival.

After what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the elevator carrying a sleeping Morgan in his arms. He walked past you to set her on the couch before explaining.

"May had a bit of an emergency, I need to go pick her up. She's fine, just a little shaken up. Can you watch Morgan?" You could see the lingering fear in his eyes.

"Of course. Please, let me know if there's anything else I can do!" You spoke in a fast whisper, getting the words out quickly but quietly to account for Happy already boarding the elevator and Morgan still asleep in the living room.

"I'll call you if anything else happens."

And with that he was gone.

You made your way back into the living room while trying to decide if you should bring Morgan back up to her bed. She would sleep better there, but you might wake her up on the way.

You were just about to pick her up when she let out a strangled sob.

"Morgan?" She still appeared to be asleep, but her face showed fear. "Morgan, honey, wake up."

You spoke gently while running a hand soothingly through her hair. Despite your best efforts, she woke with a start. Her little fingers balled into fists, tears pooling in her eyes before you could say anything.

"Morgan, it's okay! You're okay. I'm here." You gathered her in your arms to rock her back and forth. "You're okay. Everything's okay."

You continued rocking her back and forth while whispering words of affirmation until her crying stopped.

"I- I want my- my dad." She hiccuped.

"Oh sweetheart, he's not home right now." It broke your heart to disappoint her. "Do you wanna tell me when you dreamed about?"

She nodded slowly, but clung to your arms.

"I had a bad dream." You could tell she was till scared. "There was a monster and he took Peter away!" She was getting worked up again.

"Peter's fine, baby. Do you want me to call him?" You spoke softly while reaching into your pocket for your phone.

She nodded solemnly. "With video, please."

"Of course, honey."

It didn't take long for you to facetime Peter. You could only hope that he would answer on the first try. While it rung, you angled the phone against a candle on the table to include you and Morgan in the frame.

"Hi Ms. Y/N- oh! Hi Morgan!" Peter's cheerful voice rung through the living room.

"Hi Pete!" Morgan's voice matched Peter's cheerfulness, but you could still tell she was shaken up.

"See, baby. Peter's okay." You gently prodded her mind to accept that the dream was just that, a dream.

"Petey, I'm so glad you're okay! I was so scared." She ignored your comment, but you could tell the call was helping her.

"Oh Morgan, did you have another nightmare? I'm sorry! You can always call me whenever you need to. I promise." He did well to cheer up the young girl.

You sat back against the couch, just listening to Morgan and Peter conversing for the next hour or so.

"Alright, I think we've got to try to go back to bed now. Say goodbye to Peter."

Morgan pouted, but didn't put up much of a fight.

"Bye Petey! I love you!" She called happily, the nightmare all but forgotten.

"Bye Morgan, I love you too. Bye, Ms. Y/N!" Peter called out.

"Bye, Peter." You smiled as you hung up the phone. "Let's get you up to bed."

"Nooo!" She whined. "Can I just lay down here with you?"

You knew you were a goner the minute she started pouting. With a sigh, you easily gave in to her demands. "Yes, but you still have to sleep."

"Yay! Can you sing to me?" She laid down on the couch, putting her head in your lap.

"Sure, sweetheart. What song?" You began running your hand over her hair in an attempt to calm her down.

"The one about being 5 and having a good day!"

You let out a small chuckle at her description, but you knew the song she meant.

"I'm five years old, it's getting cold. I've got my big coat on. I hear your laugh and look up smiling at you, and run and run."

As soon as you started singing, she closed her eyes and stopped moving around. You didn't really believe her, but she's always said your voice makes her feel calm inside.

"Past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides, look now, the sky is gold. I hug your legs and fall asleep on the way home."

You were so intently focused on Morgan, that you didn't hear the elevator doors opening and closing just down the hall.

*In the elevator*

"Someone's singing?" Steve phrased it as a question, but he knew he could hear it as the elevator moved up a few floors.

"Who?" Tony, although uninterested, asked.

"I hear it too!" Bucky chimed in, feeling weirdly at peace just from hearing the melody.

Everyone else in the elevator strained their ears to hear the voice, but came up empty until the elevator doors opened.

Slowly, Tony, Steve, Bucky, Nat, Sam, and Wanda piled out of the elevator.

"I don't know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you're not scared of anything at all."

"Y/N..." Tony whispered, so as not to disturb you.

"Why would she be singing?" Wanda questioned. You always refuse to sing karaoke with them, so it doesn't make sense to her that you would be singing to yourself in the middle of the compound.

Suddenly, a much younger voice joined in on the song.

"Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today."

"Hey, missy. You promised me you'd try to sleep. That means no singing, just listening." Tony felt his smile grow as you playfully scolded his daughter.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'll be quiet." Morgan promised.

The group of Avengers listened as you began singing again. They slowly made their way toward the living room, moving silently so you wouldn't hear them and stop singing.

"There is a video I found from back when I was three. You set up a paint set in the kitchen and you're talking to me."

Tony was just far enough past the doorway to peak over the edge of the couch. The sight of Morgan curled up in your lap made his heart flutter.

"It's the age of princesses and pirate ships and the seven dwarfs. And Daddy's smart and you're the prettiest lady in the whole wide world."

The entire group of Earth's mightiest heroes wore matching expressions of complete and utter adoration watching you sing to Morgan.

Tony silently gestured for the rest of the group to leave, ultimately staring them down until they did so. He watched as you sang the rest of the song, stroking her hair until she fell into a restful sleep.

"I didn't know if you knew, so I'm taking this chance to say: that I had the best day with you today."

You hummed a bit to ensure Morgan was asleep before you stopped singing entirely.

Tony realized you were going to pick her up, so he softly cleared his throat to gain your attention as he walked around the couch.

The soft smile on his face warmed your heart.

"Hi Tony." You greeted him as he picked up his daughter. "She'll be glad you're home." You decided to leave out the heartbreaking detail of her tears and broken cries for her father.

"Where's Happy?" He questioned lightly.

"C'mon, I'll tell you on the way." You grabbed Morgan's stuffed Iron Man from the couch and started toward the elevator.

"Happy had to go pick up May. He said she was fine, but it was some sort of emergency." You spoke quietly so as not to disturb Morgan.

"Thank you for watching her." Tony couldn't hide the smile that grew on his face at the thought of you and Morgan being so close. "Even if you kept her up way past her bedtime." He added playfully.

"She was actually asleep when Happy brought her down. He was probably going to take her with him if he couldn't find me." You felt yourself start to smile just from looking at Morgan in Tony's arms.

"What happened?" Your smile fell at the memory of Morgan's tear stained face.

"She had a nightmare. Something about a monster hurting Peter." You couldn't stop your eyes from welling up at the memory of how scared and upset Morgan was. "She's okay now though. We talked to Peter for a while on facetime. Well, Morgan talked to Peter. I just rocked her back and forth so she'd stop crying."

"My poor baby." He pressed a kiss to Morgan's forehead, lingering close to her. "Thank you for helping her with that."

"Of course, Tony. She's a brilliant little girl. You're doing a great job raising her."

You let out a small chuckle when you suddenly realized neither of you pushed the button for the residential floor.

Tony laughed as well when you leaned forward to push the button.

You walked with him to Morgan's room, helping to tuck her and her stuffed toy into bed. Just as you gently closed the door, Tony cleared his throat again.

"Y/N, I really mean it. Thank you for being there for her. It means a lot to me." Tony's face show a rare vulnerable side as he spoke. "You mean a lot to me."

"Oh, Tony. You mean a lot to me too." You glanced back at Morgan's bedroom. "Both of you."

Permanent taglist:

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@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #morgan stark x reader #morgan stark x you #morgan stark x y/n #morgan stark fic #tony stark fic

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outofsstyles · 3 years

Text

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.

He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage.

As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.

On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare.

It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.

Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.

Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.

Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.

“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”

“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”

He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.”

“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.

“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.

“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands.

While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.

As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.

“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.

He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her.

As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice.

He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.

It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.

Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters.

So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”

“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower, “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”

“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.

“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.

Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door. “Just got something today.”

Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”

“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”

The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.

The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual.

Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.

Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!

He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.

So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.

Juls: no :(

With a chuckle, he pockets his phone, noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.

It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.

It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.

Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.

He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building.

Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers.

It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.

Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.

“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”

“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”

“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”

Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”

“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”

For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips.

He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.”

“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”

“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.

“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”

“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”

You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”

The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.” He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”

“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”

A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”

Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”

“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side. “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”

This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.

Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room.

You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.

What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him.

Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it.

You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”

“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”

“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”

“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information.

Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again.

There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask, “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”

He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”

You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”

“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”

Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”

“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee. “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”

“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Course.”

Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”

Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”

“Us?”

“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them, “I wouldn’t want any headlines.”

This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.”

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”

“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”

A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.

There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.

Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one.

This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.

“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”

His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip. “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”

"It took a while for it to happen, actually.” He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”

Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”

“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.

He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”

“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”

“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.”

Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all.

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.”

“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.

“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”

“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”

“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.

You smile, and he smiles, too.

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.

Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately.

The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.

The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire.

And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.

In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.

But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.

“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.

“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”

You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”

“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”

Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.”

The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you.

And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.

So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.

Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.

With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen).

However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”

Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”

You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”

“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.

“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”

That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”

“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”

You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”

There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them, “Okay.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”

“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”

“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”

“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”

Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”

The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her.

You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.

Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message.

A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.

The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

“That’s definitely too much.”

You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”

“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”

“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”

He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”

“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.

And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”

You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”

“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”

This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”

Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).

It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire.

When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.

Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.

So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.

The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected.

“Told you it would work out.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”

“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”

“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”

You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”

“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”

“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”

He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”

“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds.

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one.

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings.

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it.

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house.

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand.

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…”

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.”

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen.

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity.

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.”

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.”

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.��

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves).

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in.

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky.

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them.

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach.

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house.

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion.

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground. “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!”

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.”

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead, “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert.

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to.

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one.

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it.

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.” You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.”

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him.

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.”

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.”

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.”

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.”

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.”

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile. “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?”

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from.

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.”

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!!

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