#i looked it up SOME are on spotify but roughly half of them are not but they are still on youtube i think
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i recently recharged my ipod that used to be the holiest of my possessions before the laptop i had my entire music library it was connected with on broke before i could save it and also after 15 years the battery runs out very quickly so i can’t use it for long anymore sadly but i sometimes recharge it to look for songs i still love and haven’t added to my spotify yet or have completely forgotten about and i came across all the 60s garage songs i had on there from when i used to spend sooo many hours scouring youtube still and many of them are so forgotten they‘ve never made it to spotify and it honestly makes me dizzy to think that these gems could slip into oblivion so i want to share some of them in hopes they’re still out there for all my fellow 60s garage fangirlies (yes girlies includes boys don’t come for me i love that word) to discover and enjoy and keep alive:
taste of the same - bad seeds (1966) // rari - the standells (1966) // can’t tame me - benders (1966) // why you smile - the answer (1965) // cuttin out - the pirates (1966) // i’ve paid my dues - the creations (1965) // i know a girl - the vanguards (1966) // she’s so satisfying - the apparitions (1966) // east river lovers - culver street playground (1967) // she was so bad - the embers (1966) // walk in the sun - the angry (1966) // do like me - the uncalled for (1967) // elaina - the chants (1966) // without you darling - the hi notes (1965) // the best thing you ever had - the savages (1966) // baby no more - the playgue (1965) // let the wind blow - chips and co (1965) // tears in my eyes - one way street (1967) // when you were mine - the revolvers (1967) // so the prophets say - the centurys (1965) // joanne - the grim reepers (1966) // through my eyes - the creation (1967)
#i looked it up SOME are on spotify but roughly half of them are not but they are still on youtube i think#like dont let this become lost media#ah yes the mid 60s when every band would start with THE#60s garage rock
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nobody compares to you
chapter 5
pairing: ellie x reader
synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?
content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, slight slut-shaming, brief mention of death, minors do not interact
word count: 2.3k
chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen
series masterlist
my masterlist
i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎
the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist
featuring the isa song “sometimes you lose your soulmates”
Present Day
Though you didn’t exactly enjoy Mondays, it was at least the one day of the week when you got to wake up naturally instead of at the crack of dawn. Your first class isn't until noon, so when you wake up at 9:30 in the morning, you decide to get your day started early.
You weren’t always the type of person to completely do themselves up just to go to class. Maybe in freshman year for the first few weeks, but you were a seasoned vet now. Most of the time, some leggings and a simple shirt or sweater sufficed. But after such a shitty weekend, you figure you could at least make yourself feel good by looking good.
After half an hour of getting ready, you look yourself over in the bathroom mirror. You smile, fairly satisfied with your appearance. Despite the cold breezes of Saturday night, the forecast called for a rare warm day. As a result, you allowed yourself a floral sundress, decorated with a puffy knitted, button-up jacket on top of it in case the season’s true weather decided to show. A pair of simple white sneakers finished your outfit; not the most stylish, but practically, you still had to walk around campus.
Your lips shine from the bit of lip gloss you’d applied. You’d only applied some light mascara on today (you figured that your Literature and Sexuality class did not warrant your bold, false eyelashes). You’d lightly painted your eyes with colours that complemented those of your sundress, blending them seamlessly onto your eyelids. As you did this, that one memory that was prodding you two days ago became clearer.
“I have no idea how you do that so naturally, dude.” Ellie’d said, watching you in awe from the foot of your bed.
Her ocean green eyes watched the meticulous strokes of your makeup brush applying eyeshadow to your lids. It was early on in your “friendship” and it was still a couple more weeks of her calling you “dude” before you became “babe” and “baby.”
“It’s not that hard, honestly. Just takes some practice.” You’d said, trying to keep your hand steady as you grew nervous under Ellie’s watchful gaze.
“Nah, it’s natural talent. You’re an artist.” She’d replied.
You’d scoffed, saying, “Ellie, all I’m doing is my makeup. You’re the actual artist, remember?”
“No,” She’d shaken her head. “I just draw. You’re the artist here.” She’d said decidedly, eyes full of admiration as she continued to stare.
You’d blushed furiously then, and you would continuously do so when you’d replay that memory the months following after.
But it was two years later and now, the memory instead has you staring at your reflection tight-lipped and frowning.
Why is she still everywhere?
It was roughly a fifteen to twenty-minute walk from your apartment to the university. You lived in an off-campus apartment complex that was in a decent location from both the school and a downtown area nearby. It was less convenient than living on campus like several of your friends still did, and this certainly wasn’t what you’d had in mind when you were planning out your social college experience. But after the freshman year events of Rafael’s death and Ellie’s abandonment, you were far more comfortable where you were.
You liked walking anyway. You found solace in the strolls you took, accompanied only by your thoughts and headphones.
About five minutes into your trek to campus, you pull out your phone to text your friend Tara.
A couple of minutes later, you were just officially entering the campus when Tara texts you back.
You continue walking as you frown down at your phone. Dina had spent most of the previous day at your place, cheering you up and taking your mind off Ellie. Your group chat with your other friends was blowing up and by the end of the night when Dina had left, you were overwhelmed by the amount of unread texts you had. The group chat remained unopened until right now.
The chat consisted of your friends Tara, Sidney, Astrid, Rebecca, Kristen, and Mina. You’d met them all in freshman year. Tara was your assigned roommate and Astrid was Dina’s. They were all initially casual friends, ones that you saw on a usual basis and got along well with, but they weren’t necessarily very close. You were better friends with the gang from Jackson. But after you came back to campus for sophomore year, you detached yourself slightly from Dina and Jesse, knowing full well that Ellie had them first. They both tried to remain closer to you; but they remained inseparable from their childhood best friend, not fully knowing what events led to what “broke up” you two. It wasn’t the same and it was a much different dynamic with this other friend group, but the girls were there for you all the same.
Reluctantly, you click on the group chat named “Wilson Crew ❤️🔥” (Wilson Valley had been the name of the freshman dorm building most of you had resided in the first year). Scrolling up to where you’d left off, you scan the messages your friends had left the previous day. Your eyes grow wider and wider the more you read.
The previous day, Tara, who worked at a campus coffee shop called Ruston Coffee, was tasked to train a new girl. To her, your other friends’, and now your shock, the new girl Tara was training was Freshman Girl. The same Freshman Girl who stayed glued to Ellie’s side for most of Saturday night. The same Freshman Girl who drooled over Ellie’s every word and move. The same Freshman Girl that mistook your Ellie’s signature lavender-laced joints as lilac. The same Freshman Girl who wore Ellie’s old motorcycle jacket the entire night.
It turned out Freshman Girl did have a name: Daniela. Your friends had sent messages with different levels of shock and horror. Kristen called her a whore, to which Sidney agreed, to which Astrid reprimanded and told them both to be nice. Mina sent memes as a response. Tara also texted that Daniela would be working with her again today.
You look up. Ruston Coffee is just down the way. You don't have to go in. You can skip coffee for today and hide out in the library instead.
“I’m not expecting you and Ellie to magically make up. I won’t try to get into the middle of it because I know that’s between you two. But you definitely need to figure out this out, babe. This doesn’t seem like something that should remain unresolved.” Dina’d said.
“But don’t also let it affect all the other parts of your life, okay?" She continued. "She shouldn’t be stopping you from hanging out with me and Jess more often or going out to parties we’re at or anything that involves Ellie in some way. Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.”
And Ellie certainly shouldn’t stop you from getting coffee. If you want to get a coffee and relax before class, Ellie should not be getting in the way of that.
You take a deep breath and march towards the coffee shop, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack and feet stomping in rhythm to good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo blasting loudly through your headphones.
A bell above the door tinkles as you enter Ruston Coffee. The shop was a little busy, most seats taken up by other students sitting with their laptops or biding time before class. There's a line of people by the register and you begin approaching it until you hear your name being called.
Your friend Tara waves you over by the counter where orders are usually dropped off. In one of her hands is a straw and your ready-made mocha frappe.
“You’re the literal best, Tara.” You sigh, pulling your headphones off and walking up to her.
She hands you your coffee order.
“No problem.” She says, smiling. “You know that I don’t mind.”
“Thank you for indulging in my caffeine addiction,” You say, whipping out your phone and sending her $6.
Tara frowns and says, “You better not have given me a $3 tip this time.”
You sip from your straw.
“Dude!” Tara reprimands, laughing.
“$2 tip!” You say, defensively.
“Just for a $4 coffee.” She chides, shaking her head.
You shrug.
“So uh,” Tara begins, her voice lowered slightly. “Did you see what I said in the group chat yesterday? Cause you weren’t responding.”
You gulp.
“Uhh. Yeah, I did, just now. Sorry, Dina was at my place yesterday, so I was busy—”
“Nah nah, it’s cool, man. But like. You saw what I said about that girl, right?”
“Is she here?” You ask, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“Not yet. But—” Tara checks her watch. “—she’s supposed to be here in less than five minutes or so.”
Fuck.
“Oh, okay.” You gulp, your heart rate increasing.
“Are you okay, dude?” Tara asks.
“No, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie. “How did training her yesterday go?”
Tara crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.
“Literally the worst. She kept on looking at her phone instead of listening, she left one AirPod in her ear the whole time, she kept asking when we were gonna be done. And now I have to go through it all again once she gets here.”
You give Tara a sympathetic look.
“I hate that,” You say, sucking on your teeth. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, not hire her?”
“We’re short-staffed as fuck, so we don’t have much of a choice.” Tara sigh.
One of Tara’s co-workers comes up behind her and attempts to elbow her ribs which she dodges easily.
“Get back to work, Maclay.” He says, putting down two cups of coffee next to her before heading back towards the register.
“Fuck off, Khanh!” She replies, shooting a middle finger to his back.
“Should I let you get back to work?” You ask.
“Nah,” Tara reassures. “I wanna shit talk this Daniela girl first before I have to deal with her this morning.”
“Do you know how often she’s gonna be working with you?” You inquire.
“I’m not sure yet, but if Bonnie thinks she’s gonna stick me with a lazy new girl this early in the year—”
You hear the bell above the door tinkle as someone enters the coffee shop. Both you and Tara look instinctively at the new arrival. Tara groans silently and your throat goes dry.
Freshman Girl Daniela walks in. Wearing Ellie’s jacket once again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Crap, I gotta go now, I guess.” Tara whines begrudgingly.
“Y-yeah…” You say, unable to take your eyes off of that same jacket that used to often adorn your shoulders back in your freshman year. You hate that it looked good on Daniela.
“I’ll see you later, dude.” Tara says, wrenching her elbows off the counter and walking towards the register.
“Good luck.” You reply.
You aren't exactly subtle with your stare, but thankfully Daniela doesn't seem to notice. It's a little different seeing her now in the daytime. She was very pretty, you have to admit to yourself. She has a short, pixie cut that complements her sharp bone structure. She's wearing a bright yellow tank top below Ellie’s jacket that clings to her lean figure, making her stand out slightly. The light makeup she has on looks so simple and natural.
Daniela wasn’t Ellie’s first conquest since you ended things with her. She didn’t waste much time dating around after you all came back for your sophomore year. You’d avoided her as much as possible so you wouldn't have to come face-to-face with the girls she’d get involved with. You still heard about them, of course, and you were sure there were even more than the ones you’d known about.
But Daniela was the first you were forced to encounter. You weren’t prepared to be thrust right into Ellie’s love life once more. But here you are, staring at the most recent fling of the girl who you were once so desperately in love with.
As Daniela lazily makes her way through the shop towards the back, you eventually tear your eyes off her and head straight for the exit.
♫ Maybe she’ll come through / If he waits some more
But she doesn’t / No, she doesn’t ♫
You're leaning against one of the trees in the quad, backpack laid next to you and headphones back on your ears. Your next class is in the building right behind you, but you still have a while until it started.
♫ It’s not like the movies / Like you dream it’ll be
Sometimes you lose your soulmates / And sometimes they leave ♫
Your journal and pen are laid out on your lap but abandoned as your fingers pick at the grass around you. Your mostly empty coffee cup sits next to you, condensation dripping into the soil. Your eyes are completely glazed over, watching the clouds in the sky.
♫ She’s not a girl you forget / She’ll run through your head
With all of the moments / You loved but now dread
To remember / Burning like—♫
Your hands and voice react quicker than your mind does. Your sudden movements cause your headphones to fall onto your neck. After a second, you realize that you had shrieked and that your hands had flown up to your face to catch something. As you bring the object down to look at it, you realize it was a football.
“Shit! I’m so sorry!”
You look up to see a tall girl in a dark t-shirt and grey sweatpants jogging towards you, a dirty blonde braid bouncing behind her.
“Abby?”
author's notes:
sorry for the delay in uploading this! i'm back from my brief vacation, and after i settled in after getting home, i almost immediately plopped down in front of my laptop to finalize this ldksfjsdlkds
not very chockful of ellie in this chapter, i know, i'm sorry! y'all got plenty last chapter! but don't worry, more will be coming up soon. i just enjoy keeping y'all in suspense.
i just wanna mention that most (if not all) of the names that i use in this fic are picked out people in the games themselves. also tara's last name is maclay as an homage to my lesbian queen tara maclay from buffy the vampire slayer. she's not the same character obvi, but i just enjoy putting in the reference :)
freshman girl aka daniela may have been named after and based on some whore girl that my ex left me for and that i'm still bitter about it oops
i hope y'all enjoyed the surprise guest appearance at the end of this chapter! she will be integrated further into the story from this point on, so stayed tuned :)
taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnoviecita, @oatmilkchaii, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky
#nobody compares to you series#ellie williams#dealer!ellie#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie x y/n#the last of us#tlou#the last of us part 2#tlou2#ellie fanfiction#Spotify#audio#belle speaks#v#belle writes
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CAT Car (1)
Summary;
Tommy is an invisible attendant on the Cross-Atlantic Train Carriage- also know as the CAT Car. It was a train that ran across the Atlantic Ocean, making headlines before it was even built. He's only there for the money, but it seems he's not the only one.
Suspicious guests aboard its first trip accidentally reveal secrets to their invisible attendant that he can't get out of his head.
A detective, a thief, an actor, a billionaire, two attendants and their boss walk into a train carriage... And not all of them will walk out when the journey ends.
Playlist:
CAT Car - Spotify
Notes:
I know my drawings aren't flawless, but they sure are colorful. They just help me with how I visualize the story, ignoring them does not change the story at all!
Thomas Innes was always one to stand out amongst a crowd. He was loud, annoying, and clingy. Not unlike most children, but definitely more so than his peers. Tommy had learned to cling to his mother at any moment, to laugh and yell despite how much their neighbors complained about the noise.
Clara Innes was a wonderful mother. She struggled to make ends meet with another mouth to feed, but that didn't matter. They had been happy.
But good things don't last. One moment, Tommy was getting up in the morning. Next, he was in a hospital bed with a wound in his back. Doctor Nihachu told him that, while following his mom's car to a restaurant for his eighteenth birthday, somebody veered off and knocked their vehicles into one another. His mom died instantly, but he survived with a scar and newfound issues.
Tommy doesn't like to think about it, nor about how dull the world had become.
Most of his days are filled with grueling shifts at the corner store and forming partial bonds with coworkers that don't last more than a month.
While walking down to the bus station, Tommy hugs his arms around himself, shivering. It was cold, the sun having set, and the buildings around him made of concrete. His only jacket had been destroyed by moths, though. Weaving through the city's constant crowd, he spared a glance to stand he normally would ignore. A paperboy waved a roll of white newspaper around, shouting something Tommy couldn't make out.
Figuring that he didn't have much better to do (Tommy couldn't go out, and he didn't have a television- all for lack of money), he sidestepped out of the way, slyly picking up one of the papers. He cringed as he walked off without being noticed. He didn't like taking things, but Tommy caught the expensive watch and shoes the paperboy wore and decided he wouldn't miss it much. He must not feel bad either way, though. Tommy often 'borrowed' small items. It was a habit now, and he hated himself more each time.
Once he turned to the subway stairs, he unfurled the paper and scanned it- specifically the for-hire side. Halfway through, Tommy's eyes caught by the edge of a photo on another page. He lazily flipped it, using his other hand to pass the gate.
A photo of an extravagant, colorful train over the deep, blue ocean took up half the page. Tommy took a while to look at each cart, painted in a different color than the last. He hummed, smiling. It was about time trains got some flair.
Tommy wasn't going to read the article, but he's rather good at seeing what he wants to see. He saw the word hiring and immediately opted to read that paragraph.
CAT Car- (Tommy looks up to find out it was the Cross-Atlantic-Train-Carriage, CAT Car for short) -is said to be ready by the end of August. The engineer and architect behind it all is Sam Warden, who said, "[It's] been a difficult year, but all worth it. Unfortunately, the building crew can't act as the staff for the journey, so we're hiring maintenance and hands-on workers for the Cross Atlantic Train Carriage. After that, roughly by [the] end of August, we'll have an exclusive ride to and from Greenland."
Tommy, struck with an idea, nearly trips as he attempts to step into the subway. It's fate that when he looks up, he sees an electronic ad for the CAT Car's hiring number. Tommy, unsure about his qualifications, jotted down the number in his newspaper.
Of course, he was using somebody else's pen.
By some miracle (lying on his application and initial meeting), Tommy got past the first round of interviews. The second interview was actually on the CAT Car. Now, Tommy lived in New York City. He had ever since he was sixteen. The CAT Car was in Connecticut. It took a while, but Tommy made it to the station an hour early.
He was in a formerly white button-down, now grey, and wrinkled pants. The only other person there dressed far better than he did, making Tommy flush in embarrassment. Still, he tried to ready himself. This job paid far more than his old job, so he'd need it to have any money.
Slowly, more and more applicants entered the cool room. Tommy sighed, knowing now that this was a group interview. He wasn't going to stand out, and he knew that much. Ever since his mom died, his ability to exist happily, to be loud and boisterous, had gone. He had his moments, but overall, his reality had become dull. That was in stark contrast to the colors of the train cart.
Thirty minutes before the official interview, a familiar face entered from the staff door. Sam Warden smiled at the applicants.
A few of them freaked out, aw-ing and asking if he was the real Sam Warden. Tommy's eyebrow drew down. Was he supposed to be that excited? He noticed as Sam's eyes narrowed in the direction of the louder few. His expression shifted back to normal, but Tommy had already seen it.
"I do commend your earliness, all of you. It's a quality I admire. That said, you have all passed your first test." A few applicants gasped, chattering as Sam ushered them into the next room. It was large and empty, except for a table with a suitcase on it. The room was dull, posters washed of most color.
"I'm a tad unconventional in my hiring strategies," Mr. Warden started, nabbing some papers from a shelf and shuffling through them. Tommy caught sight of the edge of one- an application. He was picking out which hadn't arrived early. "You'll laugh to know that I hired engineers based on how well they built a bridge out of popsicles."
"We did that in my elementary class," Someone said from the side. Sam looked them up and down as though noting them in his mind. "Yes, it is one of those things. Also- it came with the added benefit of picking engineers who could humor ridiculous ideas." Sam
Tommy bit his tongue, waiting for instruction. He probably should've spoken up more, but he was afraid he would speak out instead. Sam put the papers aside and moved onto the briefcase. "We're going to start with balance. I want each of you to balance on one foot, holding one of those bats along the back. Hold them by the bottom, straight toward the ceiling, and please do so with one hand."
Confusedly, Tommy obeyed. A few others asked questions about the how or whys, but Tommy gathered that Sam didn't like that by the way his eyes narrowed again.
There were confusing tasks after this, as well. The balancing act wasn't too bad- only a fifth of them were sent home. The next part was lying to Sam Warden's face. The more believable the lie would be to a clueless moron, the better Mr. Warden's reaction. Tommy lied, with a completely straight face, and told him that the sky was red. It happened once a year. That way, it could rain and replenish blood all over the Earth. He had no clue how he didn't crack, but Tommy was glad he didn't.
A larger portion got sent back after that one.
There were a few easier tasks, like serving him without saying anything and cleaning a stain.
In the end, Sam Warden faced the remaining group. He pointed to several people, waving them to step forward. "You, all of you- you're dismissed."
"What?" One of them was red in the face. "Why?"
"Don't worry about the why. You haven't got the job." As they left, Tommy observed each of them. They were the ones that had spoken up or asked questions. He let out a relieved breath, glad to have noticed Mr. Warden's behavior before he also spoke up.
"Next- I need you all to sign an NDA." Mr. Warden gave each of the remaining applicants a few papers to sign. Tommy tried to read over it but gave up when he realized he didn't know what half of the descriptors meant. Tommy sighed and signed away, potentially giving his soul to a demon. He wasn't sure what he was signing an NDA for, but it wasn't like he'd tell anybody. Who was he going to tell? His mom ?
That's a little dead mom joke for all of you out there. Shout out to the dead moms.
Mr. Warden took up the NDAs with a smile on his face. Finally, he revealed what was inside the briefcase. Twelve vials of cool, blue liquid were laid out for each applicant.
"I haven't told any of you exactly was your new job entails. To put it simply, you are invisible attendants." Mr. Warden smirked to himself. "The distinguished guests aboard the first Cross-Atlantic-Train ride will be under the implied impression that things float due to magnetism and advanced intelligence. This is to enhance the feeling of advanced tech." He turned a vial over in his hand. "That's why I'm left with the quietist of you all. The balancing test was really to see how quiet you can be."
Holding out his arms for them to grab a vial each, Mr. Warden smiled. "It's not designed to make you pass through other people, though, so you'll need to watch out. You'll be able to see- very faintly- your coworkers. This invisibility serum is still in the testing stage, so be careful and understand that you may feel strange after taking it."
Tommy was the one in front. He stepped up and turned a vial over in his fingers. His only thought was, 'What's the worst that could happen? I die?' Tommy gave a considering grunt, uncorked it, and threw it back like a shot.
Before he swallowed, he saw Sam Warden's face- contorted in surprise. His eyes hadn't narrowed, unlike those he had sent home, so Tommy supposed it was a good thing.
Other applicants also took vials and drank them. Tommy waited, feeling something shift slowly. His vision blurred for a moment, returning to him with brighter colors. He felt slightly nauseous, his eyes dancing around the posters on the walls. Colors that had been dull before popped.
Tommy's awareness skyrocketed.
Holding his hands out, his hand faded into a glimmer. He gaped, gasping and looking down at his legs.
"What the fuck ?"
The thought was whispered. Still shocked, he looked up and around to the others. They all faded, and aside from a glossy color overlaying them like glass, he could see through them, clothes included.
The most interesting part to him was the differing colors of each of them. He suppressed a laugh. Mr. Warden nodded approvingly as the invisibility disappeared. One after another (Tommy being first), the applicants became visible. He hummed. "Wonderful, wonderful... Well, I suppose- since none of you had a bad reaction- you're hired. You can come back and fill out the paperwork tomorrow morning. On Wednesday, you'll start living in the cabins." Mr. Warden paused, glancing over them again. "Actually, since you'll be paired with a cabin-mate, I'll pair you up now. Before I forget which of you will probably be best together."
There was a minute of silence, the applicants remaining impossibly still under Mr. Warden's observation. "Attending to the first train cart, I'll put... You ," His voice dropped as he pointed to Tommy, who stepped closer. "And you . You two will attend to cart one, and you will stay in cabin three."
Tommy looked to his right to see his new cabin mate. Immediately, he felt his face scrunch up in distaste. He hadn't noticed the applicant before, but he was unnecessarily tall. Unreasonably so. He's just...
Too tall.
Mr. Warden ruffled through his papers. As he did so, the other applicant looked down at Tommy. They awkwardly waved, but Tommy gave no reaction, so they put their hand down.
"Ranboo Beloved and Thomas Innes," Mr. Warden introduced them to one another. "Please do your best to get along, " His voice cut in Tommy's direction, making the teen turn his head away from Ranboo. "This is a professional environment, after all."
Tommy nodded stiffly. Mr. Warden dismissed them and moved on to assigning cart two. As they left, Ranboo cleared his throat, "Ehm- that was... That was something , right?"
Tommy raised a brow. "Yeah." He stopped in his tracks. "Do you live in Connecticut?"
"Uh... Yeah, why?"
"Do you know any cheap motels?"
Ranboo blanked, awkwardly fixing the black mask on their face. "Not really? I've never had to think about it. Do you have a phone?" The question was meant to have an obvious answer, but Tommy shook his head no. "You don't ?" Ranboo's jaw dropped. "Oh, uhm, let me use mine..."
Ranboo found a nearby motel that went for fifty a night, a little reluctant to leave after. Tommy forcefully said goodbye, hating the pity Ranboo shot at him, and walked in the direction of the motel. The only person he needed comfort from was his mom, and it was a bit late for that. Tommy sighed to himself, already ready for Wednesday.
#fanfiction#CAT Car#tommyinnit#ranboo#heist#trains#writers on tumblr#my writing#ao3 fanfic#also on ao3#wattpad fanfiction#also on wattpad#wilbur soot#technoblade#philza#shubble#nihachu#awesamdude#what else do i put here#fanart#i think that counts as fanart#yeah#tommyinnt fanart#lmk abt any grammatical errors please
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Our Life Jay x reader
Jay x reader
Warnings: none! just fluff (may be some typos, so sorry in advance!)
Authors note: This took my a while to write, and a lot of courage to post it! hope everyone loves it as much as I loved writing it! Jay is my number one bias in Enhypen. Was drawn to him from the very first song I listened to by them (Drunk-Dazed). Please feel free to like and repost if you like it!!
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You lived in Korea your whole life, and you currently worked as a stylist for Enhypen. In fact, you were seen as their best one. You had always loved doing makeup and hair ever since you were a little girl. Your mother had supported this hobby of yours, and put time and money into helping you get better at makeup. You had gotten so good that by your high school year big-name companies wanted you to come do the makeup of their models and K-pop artists.
This was a dream come true for you. You had worked with BLACKPINK, Itzy, Nmixx, Mamamoo, (G)I-DLE, and Girls Generations with female groups. You have also done the makeup and hair for a few male groups, such as Stray Kids, BTS, Ateez, Tomorrow x Together, and Seventeen. You wouldn't say you have a favorite, but you got along best with Stray Kids, your personality being similar. You were a social butterfly when you got to know someone, but like Han, you could also be very anti-social.
A few years ago Hybe Corporation hired you. They had seen all of the work you did with other models and idols. You worked in Korea, wanting to stay close to home, but on rare occasions, you would fly out to help with makeup for shoots and concerts. Other companies would pay you a lot of money just to do the makeup for some of their idols. But now that you worked with Hybe, companies would often try to get you to work for them by paying you more money. You had declined every time. Money did not matter to you because Hybe was considerate that your mother was now struggling with finances. After all, she had recently gotten sick, and if you had ever needed to have a break from work, they would gladly let you have it.
Memories from several years ago would come back to you. This one just so happened to be your first time meeting Jay.
You were currently flying to Seattle, Washington. You got a last-minute call from Hybe Corporation asking you to fly to Seattle because several of their stylists had called out sick and they couldn’t get anyone else to fill in for them. So here you were about forty-five minutes left in your ten-and-a-half-hour flight. Hybe had paid for your plane ticket giving you first class so that you could sleep well on the plane. You had slept almost the entire time. You had this well-worked plan so that you would not have jet lag when you got to a new place. You would do an all-nighter the day before so that when you were on the plane, you would be able to sleep and be well-rested for when you landed. This worked well because you would take the day planes and when you would arrive at your destination, it would be morning.
You spent these forty-five minutes researching the group you would be doing. They were known as ENHYPEN. You went to Spotify and started to shuffle their music. The first song that came on was a song called Drunk-Dazed, and you liked it. As you listened to their music, you did some research on the members. There was no clear pattern you were following, you just looked up different members trying to find out more about them.
First was Jungwon, he was the leader of ENHYPEN. He was born on February ninth, 2004, his height was about 179cm (5’9”). From what you read, he had trained for roughly a year and four months, he has a pet dog named Maeumi from the dog in the drama Heart is. He is a former trainee for SM Entertainment and BigHit Entertainment. His favorite colors are blue and orange.
Next was Heesung, he was the center for ENHYPEN. He was born on October 15th, 2001 making him a Libra. His height was 183cm (6’0”). Heesung trained for three years and one month. He is the only one with a solo dorm, he got it because he won a game of rock, paper, scissors between all of the members. You laughed quietly to yourself, ‘he must be living the life then. Not having to share a dorm and all. But I bet it gets lonely after a while,’ you thought. You continued scrolling trying to see if there was any more good information about him. Heesung is also a former BigHit Entertainment trainee. You wondered if Heesung and Jungwon had met there. He is also close to the members of Tomorrow x Together. His favorite colors are purple and ivory. He is in a friend group called ee-z with I.N from Stray Kids, Beomgyu from TxT, and Lim Jimin from Just B. His motto is “Let’s live diligently as life passes by”.
You scrolled down a little and saw a very good-looking male looking back at you from the picture on the screen. Your cheeks flushed pink, you looked at his name, Jay Park. He was born in the United States on April 20th, 2002. He was exactly 180 cm (5’11”). His training period lasted two years and eleven months. You learned that he knows a little bit of Japanese, and had learned it from watching anime. Jay trained at LP Dance Academy before joining BigHit. His favorite color is purple. His role model is Kai from EXO. He says he enjoys cooking and eating delicious foods and when he was young, he dreamed of becoming a chef. You giggled quietly, remembering when you once had the idea of becoming a chef. Being able to make people smile with your food. But you are glad you chose this path. It pays well, and you are able to meet so many different people. You scrolled a bit more to see his motto: “Live your life the way you were born”.
Just as you were about to scroll to the next member you felt the plane touch ground. You jumped in your seat, the rough landing making you grip the armrests of the seat of the plane. After about five minutes you made your way off of the plane, grabbing your carry-on bag on the way in the overhead carrier. After you were off the plane you made your way to the luggage pickup area. You had to pack clothes in your carry-on and put things like makeup, brushes, blow dryers, and many other things in the other bag. It was much bigger because it also carried one of your toiletries and your stylist uniform your mother had made for you a few years ago.
Finally, you reached the luggage pickup area, and that's where you saw three males waiting with your suitcase. You started to freak out. Your heart was pounding away from inside your chest so much so that you thought it would burst out. You walked cautiously over to the three males.
“Hello, I think you have my bag,” you said politely. They turned to look at you, “You are miss y/n?” a male in a black suit asked. You nodded, “yes, I am she. I’m sorry but I do not have time to fool around, I have places to be. I still have to check into my hotel. And I have a very early morning tomorrow”
“Oh!! You're really y/n?! Like no joke?” one asked, surprised. Once again you nodded. “Yes, as I said, now please,” you went to grab your suitcase's handle, “give me my suitcase please.”
“Did Jungwon not tell her that we were going to pick her up?” a tall male with dark blue hair asked the boy next to him. You paused, brows furrowing. “What? Did you say Jungwon?” He turned to you, his eyes wrinkled into little crescent moons. He was smiling, even if you couldn't see it due to the mask he was wearing, it was still obvious. “Yup, that's our leader,” he replied as if it was obvious.
You paused. ‘Leader? Leader…oh my god!!!’ “Oh my god! Your ENH-” a hand quickly covered your mouth. “You can't just go throwing it around like that, we were barely able to sneak in here.” The male with black hair hushed you.
Your eyes widened and you nodded. He took his hand off of your mouth slowly. When you didn’t say anything he let out the breath he was holding. “Alright, we got your stuff, the car is right out front. You're going to be staying at the same hotel as us. Jungwon already had the staff get you a room.” the boy with dark blue hair said. “Alright, that sounds great,” you smiled. “I can’t wait to work with you guys!” The two boys’ eyes crinkled into crescent moons as they smiled down at you, “Yeah, we can’t either miss y/n,” The one with black hair said.
You got into the car and made your way to the hotel. Once there you went to your room which was on the 5th floor. You saw that the boy with dark blue hair was following you. You paused and looked back at him, “Are you obsessed with me already?” you joked.
He laughed, his smile was so cute, he had taken off his mask once he saw the hall was clear, “I’m walking to my room,” he replied, “It looks like we are right next to each other.” He said as he stopped at his room. ‘529’ it read. You looked at the room next to him, it showed ‘530’ in gold wavy writing. You took the key card out, unlocking the door. Before stepping in, you looked at the boy next to you. “Do you mind telling me your name?” You asked, and an embarrassed laugh escaped you. He laughed lightly, “sure, it’s Jay,” he smiled.
You paused. ‘Jay… like Jay Jay?! y/n that’s him!! OH MY GOD, THAT’S HIM!!! HOLY CRAP! Oh my god, you're going to be right next to the hottest guy you have ever seen!!’ your mind and heart started going a hundred kilometers a second. Jay noticed how you paused and walked a few steps so that he was right in front of you. He bent down so he was at eye level with you. “You alright y/n?” he said, concern evident in his voice.
You quickly snapped out of it, “Y-yeah, I’m g-” you stopped mid-sentence as your brain registered how close he was to you. Your cheeks and ears going as red as Chan’s hair had been. Jay laughed as he stood back up to his full height. “You know, you're pretty cute,” and with that, he unlocked his room and went in.
You stood there for a few seconds before you went into your room, cheeks and ears still beet red. Closing the door, you took a deep breath and took your shoes off. Walking over to the bed you flopped yourself down face-first, landing on the pillows. The embarrassment of what just happened flooding through your veins.
This was almost three years ago, you and Jay had gotten together and had been dating for a year. ENHYPEN had a concert in LA soon and so you were supposed to fly there two days before the concert. Several members of ENHYPEN were already there and exploring the city. This gave you and Jay some alone time together.
It was about 8 O'clock in the morning, you were snuggled up in your bed with Jay laying next to you, his arms wrapped around your smaller frame. His bare chest up against your back was warm, and since it was getting colder outside, it made you snuggle up against him more. The sun was peeking out from behind the curtains, slowly waking you up from your deep sleep.
You groggily opened your eyes, blinking the sleep out of them before turning around in your boyfriend's arms. You looked up at him. He looked so calm and at peace when he was asleep. You pecked his lips before burying your head in his chest.
“Good morning my Star,” a groggy voice quietly whispered, before you felt a light kiss placed on the crown of your head. “Morning my love,” you smiled, looking up at your boyfriend.
You could tell he was tired. You could hear it in his voice, as well as see it in his beautiful dark brown eyes. You leaned up to peck his lips, but he met you halfway, shocking you. The kiss was meant to be quick, but Jay placed his hand on the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You closed your eyes leaning into his, your hands placed on his strong chest. When you pulled away, you both looked at one another, you smiled, a small laugh escaping you as well as you shook your head, burying it back into his chest.
“You always have to take something cute and sweet, and make it into something hot and steamy, don't you.” you sighed, a smile still on your face. Jay laughed, and you felt his chest vibrate from under your hands. “I can’t help it,” he pouted, “you're just too hot for your own good,” You laughed lightly, looking up at him again. “Well st-”
You were interrupted by his lips meeting yours once again, his hand already on the back of your head. You laughed against his lips before he pulled away, giving you one last quick peck before pulling you into his chest. You inhaled his scent, he smelled good, the smell of his body wash hitting your nose, making you feel calm. It made you drowsy, and you slowly fell back into a light sleep. The lack of sleep from your activities from the previous night still catching up to you.
Jay looked down at you, a soft smile making its way to his face. He wanted to go ahead and get up because he had planned a great day for the two of you, starting off with a homemade breakfast which he was supposed to be starting right now. But he couldn't bring himself to wake you once more, so instead, he pulled you closer to him - if that was even possible - his chin resting on the crown of your head. “I’ll wake you in a few minutes Love, until then, sleep well,” he said, getting ready to get up. But instead of you letting him, you only held onto him tighter. “Stay with me, please,” you grumbled sleepily. Jay smiled down at you before cuddling back up next to you. “Of course cupcake,”
Several years later
You could not have been happier than you were right now. You and Jay have continued to date, things have been going smoothly. So smoothly that Jay had popped the question to you after his concert in LA, telling you he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life, even if he was young, he still knew that he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. And of course you said yes. The ring was beautiful. There was a bright shining diamond, on the left side, small dark blue gems ran down the side of the band, it was representing your birthstone, Sapphire. On the right side clear blue gems ran down the other side of the band, before the two gemstones met and blended together in a beautiful sky blue color. About ten months later, you both got married. You had invited BLACKPINK, Stray Kids, Ateez, Seventeen, and a couple more groups that you had done makeup for in the past. The wedding was beautiful, and Enhypen ended up singing a love song Jay had written for you. He had written the whole thing, for you on the day of your wedding.
Once more, you both lay in bed together under the covers of the bed shielding you from the bitter cold of the room. Jay stirred when he heard the door leading to your bedroom creek open quietly. His eyes blinked open slowly. He squinted, the light from the sun affecting his visibility. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw your beautiful little girl standing at the door. She looked exactly like him, but she had your mind. Pure, sweet, comforting, and warm. Jay smiled at her, she smiled back.
Your daughter was getting ready to turn 6 years old. When Jay held her for the first time he was so nervous, it was honestly adorable. You had shown him how to properly hold your little girl, and he followed your instructions perfectly. The soft look on Jay’s face was so rare to see, but it was a sight that only you and a few of his members were able to get a true look at.
Your daughter tiptoed into the room, Jay lifting the covers for her to crawl in between him and you. She immediately snuggled up against your back, the smile on Jay’s face resembled that of the one the first time he held your daughter, soft, kind, and without a care in the world except for what was right in front of him, his two girls.
You felt a small presence behind you, so without opening your eyes, you carefully turned around in the bed, facing your, now, sleeping daughter. You peaked an eye open, and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head. Then you looked at Jay, who still had that fond smile on his face as he looked at the two of you. You motioned with your hand for him to lay down again, and he did. He wrapped both of his arms around you and your little girl. Before he drifted back to sleep, he placed a kiss on top of your daughter's head, as well as yours. A soft hum coming from you as you held onto your daughter and snuggled into her and Jay even more before drifting back to your dreamless sleep.
#jay x reader#jay park#enhypen x reader#jay scenarios#jay enhypen#jay enha#jake sim#jungwon#jay park x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen#enha scenarios
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about me
Tagged (ish) by the wonderful @landwriter (feel free to be nosy all you like!)
Nickname: Crow, among many others given to me by my family which shall remain anonymous unless some of my irl friends decide to clown me (looking at you @levi1088)
Sign: Sagittarius sun, Libra moon, Scorpio rising so... yeah, do with that what you will
Height: 5'4" last time I checked
Last thing I googled: synonyms for "hollowed" which, I'll admit, is not my proudest google search but it's not the worst either so I'll take it
Song stuck in my head: Currently empty but I had No Cyrano from the Cyrano soundtrack stuck in my head earlier today
Number of followers: a humble 382 (and I'm thankful for every single one of you, I love you all!)
Amount of sleep: Last night? Less than four hours altogether. Normally? Roughly six, though my winter break just started so that will increase drastically soon
Dream job: university professor of some kind, undecided as to which subject (the current plan is biology or genetics, though my heart has been swayed towards history recently and I do love creative writing, so who knows where I'll end up)
Wearing: black and white lounge pants with elephants on them, a black Levi's hoodie stolen from my first ex before the pandemic struck, black socks, and my hair tied in a half-up bun (it's really not long enough to do so, but I bend it to my will with copious amounts of hair gel, clips, and hair ties)
Movies/books that summarize me: I have to agree with Gloam on this one, it feels like a question others must answer for me so hold on, let me ask my roommate... she said The Hunt for the Red October, Cyrano, the All For The Game series, NBC's Hannibal, and the Martian (the book). All very odd choices, yet I do love them, so I can't disagree lmao
Favorite song: oh where to start... I have a rotating spotify playlist of songs I'm obsessed with, but for the sake of the game, I'll say either Wild World by Marc Scibilia or Monsoon by Hippo Campus (though I could list about ten more and still not be satisfied by my answer)
Favorite instrument: the church organ, based on religious trauma and sound alone. For obnoxiousness (because I'm a younger sibling, obnoxiousness is in my blood), the bagpipes (though there is a soft spot in my heart for the bagpipes, genuinely, as my parents hate them so I love them out of spite. The same could be said of the harmonica, which I have recently become intrigued by)
Aesthetic: it can best be described as "dark" and mainly comprises of black hoodies, black jeans, black doc martens, and an inordinate number of piercings (though still not enough). I've been trying to get more into dark academia and thus, half of my wardrobe has been overtaken by white collared shirts and brown sweaters, but I much prefer my signature black. A friend has recently described me as "always looking like you're ready for the apocalypse" possibly due to my penchant for wearing pants with lots of pockets... still unsure about that one
Favorite authors: it hardly needs to be said but Neil Gaiman has to make the list. I also quite enjoy Edgar Allan Poe and I've been recently getting into Nikita Gill's poetry especially her book "Where Hope Comes From." As a former gifted kid, I read young adult novels for far longer than I probably should have, so any foray into "adult" literature (not in the dirty way, get your mind out of the gutter) has been recent and somewhat hesitant. My dad has recently introduced me to Charles de Lint, and I'm excited to unearth what's in store for me there.
Random fun fact: I can lick my elbow, which is a fun party trick, I rode horses for over ten years (which makes me a certified former horse girl, you have permission to clown me), I own over 20 tarot decks (don't ask me why, and also don't ask me exactly how many because I haven't counted in a while and the actual number would probably be astounding), and I currently have blue hair (in fact, I've dyed my hair every color of the rainbow except orange)!
I'm not sure who's been tagged for this but I'm tagging @btwimkindagay @pellaaearien @10moonymhrivertam @staroftheendless and anyone else who wants to do it! (but like Gloam said, please tag me in it so I can be nosy!!)
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the corruption of Huening Kai // part III
part I // part II
pairing: subby huening kai x fem!reader
word count: 1.6k
warnings: brief mommy kink
summary: kai eats you out for the first time and then you take his big dumb virginity
a/n: as with the other parts, this is standalone✨ and this will be the last one for this series!!!! <3
You and Kai decided to plan for today to be the day that you finally have sex. You figured that would make it easier on him, so he could emotionally prepare ahead of time. So here you are snuggled up in bed with Kai on top of you, playing on your phone is the first playlist that came up when Kai searched “sexy music” on Spotify.
“Can i please…” Kai mutters into your neck. “You know,” he says, nudging you with his nose.
You run your hand through his hair. “i can’t read your mind, baby. What do you want to do?”
“i wanna… e—“Kai pauses to sit up, straddling you awkwardly in an accidental cowgirl position. He clears his throat and looks at you with pleading eyes. “i want to e—eat you out first. Please?” His voice gets quieter on the naughty words but you’re proud of him for getting it out at all.
“Of course you can, baby. If you’re good, i can return the favor after?”
Kai nods emphatically and you giggle at his excitement. He wiggles down your body and lifts up your skirt. In this moment you realize his pure eyes have still never seen your bare chest. You’ll save that for later.
After pulling off your panties Kai rubs around like he thinks he remembers you taught him. “Like this?”
No, not quite like that, but you tell him “Yes, good boy.” Nonetheless.
“Do i just… l—lick?” He stares up at you with the most innocent eyes you’ve ever seen, strong hands spreading your legs open in contrast.
“Kind of?” you question back. “Imagine you’re eating a really good watermelon.”
With this prompt he lays his tongue flat against your entrance and then sucks. You see him flinch a little bit at the taste before easing into it. ‘Like a person’ was how he cutely described your taste previously, but you suppose you may have accidentally made him expect watermelon this time.
He goes on like this, mostly repeating the same motion. You place your hand gently on his head. “A little higher, baby. Where i showed you the clit is.”
Kai follows, now sucking directly on your clit and making you moan. “Circle it like you did with your fingers, honey,” you tell him. With a pointed tongue he roughly circles your clit, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You find yourself wanting to buck into his mouth. “Fuck, good boy.”
He groans against you from the praise and the vibrations travel through your body. You notice he’s now grinding down on the bed, trying to get some release himself. You have half a mind not to spank him and tell him to wait his turn. But your mind is too clouded with pleasure, you feel so warm from his mouth, so overwhelmed by Kai’s unpredictable movements. He’s the outsider artist of sex.
“Just keep doing that and i’ll cum, baby. Okay?” you whine, not sure yourself why you’re practically asking permission.
“Mhm,” Kai hums into you again. You grab his hair with both hands now, holding him in place to keep his tongue right where you need it. “Cum for me, mommy,” he begs, muffled by your body.
“Mommy?! Fuck—“ Before you can even think about it you’re cumming on his mouth. You’re wailing and twitching as he keeps going while you’re orgasming, it’s the hardest you’ve cum in a long time. Your whole body feels lighter than air. You pull Kai’s hair a little, pleading, “Stop, stop. That’s enough.”
Kai pulls away and looks at you sweetly. He sits up in between your legs and grazes his hands along your upper thighs in big circles.
You sit there in relative silence for a few seconds as you catch your breath. The only noise filling the room is the low volume trance house coming from your phone that someone on Spotify deemed sexy. “… Mommy?” you eventually ask.
Kai breaks eye contact with you in favor of staring at his hands as he plays with them nervously. “S—Sorry. i just said it without thinking. i—“
You cut him off before he can ramble on, “No, it’s okay! I didn’t know you were into that though.”
Kai scratches his head and laughs softly, finally looking at you. “i didn’t either,” he says.
“We can worry about that later,” you say, sitting up and pushing him down on his back so you’re hovering above him. “But right now, i need to fuck you so bad. Can i touch you?” you ask, slowly sliding your fingers beneath the waistband of Kai’s briefs, making contact with his warm skin.
“Yes, please.”
You pull down Kai’s underwear and he hisses as his hard cock is exposed to the air. You scoff, “If you got that hard from me doing nothing, how are you gonna survive this?”
Kai hides his face in his hands. “i won’t,” he sobs with a pained laugh.
“Okay, if you’re gonna cum, tell me then. Because i need you inside me before we’re done here.” You take his cock in your hand and spit on it. Kai groans and squirms at the sight of something so filthy being done to him. His moans only get higher and higher and more pathetic as you stroke him up and down.
You move to take him in your mouth. He’s a pretty big boy, just about the perfect length and thickness to fill you up without hurting you.
“Oh my god,” Kai cries out, accompanied by an embarrassing voice crack. He lays his hands on your head so gently that it‘ll do nothing in the way of keeping you down at all.
You humor Kai and take him as deep down in your throat as you can go. You swallow around him and he bucks his hips involuntarily, accidentally gagging you. You pull off with spit still connecting you to Kai’s dick.
Kai hides his blushing face in his hands yet again. “That’s probably all i can take,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.
“That’s okay,” you assure him, patting his leg. “Grab a condom, baby.” You point to the unopened box of condoms on the nightstand and Kai fiddles with it to get one out and put it on. He’s clumsy and his hands are shaking but he gets it eventually.
You ask, “Do you want me to ride you or do you wanna do the fucking?”
Kai sputters, “i hadn’t really thought that far L—lemme fuck you, lay down.” He clears his throat again, those words feel so unnatural coming from him.
He hovers above you once you’re on your back with a couple of pillows stuffed behind you. His big brown eyes bore into yours, you’ve never seen this look from him. It’s raw, untapped arousal. It’s nerves and desperation and love, pure love.
You guide Kai inside of you and at your instruction he bottoms out slowly. “It’s so good… you’re so warm,” he says with shivers in his voice. His arms at your sides are shaking, his hips are unsteady.
After sitting there for a moment enveloped in your warmth, Kai begins to thrust into you. He can’t seem to find a steady pace but just having him inside of you sends shivers down your spine. Your precious boy, your innocent boyfriend with twinkling eyes and a shining smile, the most lovely baby you’ve ever known, is now rearranging your guts.
Before you even know it Kai is speeding up, fucking you fast and hard. It looks like he’s going to cum soon. All logic has drained from his head and he can no longer control his own strength, one of his erratic thrusts hits you too deep and he apologizes when you yelp but he can’t stop now. “It feels too good, i wanna cum. Can i cum?” Kai rambles, out of breath. He’s dark behind the eyes, you’ve never seen him so sinful.
“You don’t have to ask permission, honey. Just let it happen.” You cup Kai’s face with one hand and pull him in for a kiss. He moans debaucherously into your mouth as he keeps fucking you. His thrusts get more and more shallow as he approaches his high.
“I’m gonna cum,” Kai whimpers pathetically. He sounds like he could cry. “Gonna cum inside you, oh my god!” he shouts aloud and you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he spasms through his orgasm.
“Good boy, good boy, good boy,” you coo at your boyfriend as you pet his hair. He pulls out of you and throws the soiled condom in a trash can near the bed with a wince on his face.
Kai collapses on top of you and nuzzles into your neck. You take this as an invitation to continue petting him. “i feel kinda gross,” he says into your neck.
“Why? You did so well, sweetheart.”
He wraps himself around you tightly like an overgrown koala. “i dunno, i’ve just never done that before. i don’t want you to see me differently.”
You pout at him although he can’t see you. You assure him, “You’re still my baby. My baby’s just not a virgin anymore.”
Kai laughs softly into the crook of your neck. “i guess so.” You both lay there for a few moments, the music playing comes back into focus where it was drowned out by moans and the connection of skin before. “i love you. So much. Thank you,” Kai mutters against you.
“I love you too,” you say. “Thank you for sharing that with me, honeybun.”
#txt smut#huening kai smut#txt scenarios#txt imagines#txt x reader#txt drabbles#txt headcanons#txt hard hours
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AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️
word count: 22.9k
warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol
//
Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine
Were there clues I didn't see?
- Invisible String, Taylor Swift
//
Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.
His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.
“Rough day?”
“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”
“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”
“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.
He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.
Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”
He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.
He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.
When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.
“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.
“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”
“I’m good.”
Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.
It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.
The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”
“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”
Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.
With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.
Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.
“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.
“The Grammys.”
Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”
“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”
“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”
“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”
He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”
“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”
“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”
“Are you going?”
“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”
Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.
It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.
Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.
It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.
That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.
“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”
“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”
“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”
He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”
“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”
“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”
“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”
“Julia…”
“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.
“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”
“Why not?”
“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”
“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”
“She won’t.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”
“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”
“Not everyday.”
The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.
He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.
Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?
//
Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.
Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.
He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.
Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.
“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.
“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.
You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.
I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me
“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.
Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”
Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”
“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.
You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.
Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.
“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”
You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,
“I love it.”
You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.
She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.
Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?
Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.
So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.
It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.
“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.
“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.
“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”
“I don’t—“
“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”
In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.
So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.
Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.
This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.
Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.
The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.
“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.
“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.
It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”
“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”
“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”
“Sure is.”
Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.
Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.
“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.
“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Nervous?”
The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”
“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”
“I guess.”
“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”
“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.
“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”
“I know. I know.”
“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”
“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.
“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”
“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.
True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.
It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.
From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.
You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.
The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.
A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.
It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.
Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.
It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.
“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.
“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”
“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”
“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”
“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.
From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.
“Nothing I’ve never done before.”
“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”
There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”
You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”
You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”
“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.
“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”
“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”
“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”
A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”
You sigh. “I know.”
“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”
“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”
“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”
The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.
It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.
The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)
What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.
The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.
Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.
It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.
Because they call out your name.
Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.
Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.
Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.
Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.
The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?
There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:
Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?
//
Harry’s not having a good day.
He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.
On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.
But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)
He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.
He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.
Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.
“Fucking--”
His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”
Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”
There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.
At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.
Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.
“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”
“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”
“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”
She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”
“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”
Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.
The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.
Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.
From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.
Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.
It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.
Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.
The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.
So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.
Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.
Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.
“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”
Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.
Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.
It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.
He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.
What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.
He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.
It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.
Why does this place have to be so fucking small?
His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.
Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.
The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.
“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.
His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”
“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”
“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.
“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”
“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”
You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”
“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.
“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.
True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.
As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.
His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).
Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.
“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.
“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”
At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.
Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.
It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.
As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.
His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.
“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.
She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.
The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.
Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.
“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.
With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.
Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.
After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.
During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.
It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.
Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.
It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.
The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.
“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”
Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.
“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”
“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.
“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”
Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.
“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”
“Oh.”
He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”
“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”
Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”
You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”
“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”
“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”
He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.
Which could explain why he feels this nervous.
“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”
“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”
“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”
“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?
“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”
“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”
“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”
He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”
The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.
He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.
“The same one, yeah.”
“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”
“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”
“Still, that’s…”
“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”
The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.
How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.
Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.
After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.
That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.
So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?
The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.
After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.
And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.
Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.
Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.
And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.
The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.
Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.
But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.
You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.
“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”
To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”
You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.
Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.
The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.
Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.
For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.
It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.
Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.
Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”
“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.
He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.
Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.
Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”
“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”
He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”
Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.
You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.
But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”
He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”
“I guess that’s it, yeah.”
There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.
You shake your head. What is wrong with you?
You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.
Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”
“What?”
“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”
You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.
“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”
Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”
“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”
“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”
He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”
Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”
“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”
“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”
You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”
His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”
“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”
You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.
“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”
His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.
It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.
You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.
Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.
You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”
“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”
You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”
“I took the tube here.”
“Let me drive you back.”
“You don’t have--”
“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”
He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”
“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”
“Okay, then.”
//
As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.
That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.
You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.
It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?
But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.
The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.
Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?
He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.
It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).
Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.
Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.
He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.
When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”
“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.
“Hi.”
“Are you home right now?”
His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”
“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”
“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.
“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.
“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.
“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”
“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”
Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.
He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.
From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.
Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”
“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.
“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”
The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.
Oh.
You’re drunk.
“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.
You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.
His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”
He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”
You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.
Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.
Because that’s the thing.
He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.
A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.
He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”
“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.
Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.
He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”
“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.
“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”
“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”
“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ll be right here!”
Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.
He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.
“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”
He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”
“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”
“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”
When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”
“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”
You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come join me here.”
“I don’t think it fits us both.”
“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”
He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”
He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”
“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”
“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”
“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”
He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.
It’s all much too confusing to him.
“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.
The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”
Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”
“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”
“I do.”
“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”
He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”
When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”
Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.
“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”
“Yeah.”
You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”
He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”
“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”
“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”
“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”
Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”
Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”
Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”
Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”
“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”
“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”
“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”
“Sounds great.”
You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”
He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”
“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”
“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”
//
A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing
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Ignore this if you don’t want to answer, but you’re the first person I’ve run into who actually uses magnification tech and it’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while. Does what you use allow you to adjust the zoom fairly freely, to where the text size on a website can vary without causing you too much difficulty? Or is it a hassle to adjust and/or an analogue thing (eg. literally using a magnification lens), and having larger text is still helpful or important?
So magnification software itself doesn't alter the text size on a website and its overall functionality. Basically, the way it works is that it takes your screen and enlarges it by a certain percentage, and your screen looks as if it's zoomed in to a certain area of your screen determined by the location of your mouse. Meaning that if you have your magnification software turned on and have your mouse focused in the top left corner of your screen, that's what'll show up on your monitor. In order to move to a different part of your screen, you just move your mouse to the edge and the screen will sort of push around by the direction of your mouse. I find it very easy and intuitive to use, and often times there are keyboard shortcuts that allow you to toggle the magnifier on or off, or adjust the level of magnification. However, I've also been using magnification software for as long as I've been using computers (so roughly twenty years), so it's second nature to me at this point. For someone who's never used it before, I imagine it can be a learning curve (at least so I've observed from seeing my friends try to use my computer at any given moment and suddenly having no idea how to move the screen around lol).
(Keep in mind though my experience is limited to ZoomText, Magic (is this even still around?), and the built-in screen magnifiers that come with Windows and Mac OS. If there is other software out there, or if certain Linux distros have their own things going on, I have no idea how they work because I've never used them. Also, what I described above is just one setting, there are lots of other ways to magnify your screen, especially in ZoomText as far as I can recall. Like splitting your screen so that only the top or bottom half are magnified, or the left or right. Or only a box around your mouse of a chosen size, etc. These software also allowed you to change the color schemes of your screen, and I distinctly remember ZoomText having an option that was very similar to how dark mode works on most devices now, but back in the mid 2000s. Lots of other features too like for your mouse and text cursor, but I digress.)
What you're thinking of with text getting enlarged on a given website sounds more like some of the built-in features in certain operating systems or web browsers, where you're able to choose either a font size based on the pt or the percentage. Personally, I find that these work more reliably on desktop than on mobile, as a lot of mobile apps don't test properly to make sure the higher font sizes they offer don't end up breaking the entire UI layout and become unreadable (looking at you, Discord mobile app and Spotify).
To answer your question, though, I'd say that yes large font is still necessary even when using screen magnifiers. The less I have to struggle to read text - and the less I have to increase the overall magnification of my screen (and lose how much of my screen I'm able to see at once with the increased magnification) - the better. I'd just advise that if you're uncertain of if the website or app you're using has adequately functionable larger text options to just test it yourself; you should have no trouble telling if the text on a platform suddenly looks janky when enlarging the font (assuming you yourself are a sight reader).
Hope this answers your question!
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“Me? Jealous of your dance moves?”
jeongguk x reader
genre: fluff
word count: 1.7K
note: this piece was written by mads, @aurorassadprosee. This was the first piece she ever wrote and that makes me so soft :( a little bit into our friendship she told me she had written a drabble but didn’t think it was good enough to post, so I had her send it to me and this was the drabble. IMAGINE thinking this wasn’t good enough to post. Ha! Ok, Mads :) It’s still one of my favs. It’s adorable, playful, and just feels like Kookie. We both hope you all enjoy! xo
YOU were making your way around your apartment with swinging hips, beats blasting through your headphones, a hum on your lips.
You were meant to be tidying, cleaning up your small apartment, however, the boring task you started mid-morning was still not done.
You had caught yourself diverging from your set jobs more times that you could count, but no matter how many attempts you made at refocusing your attention back to clearing the clothes off the floor or wiping down surfaces, nearly every couple of minutes you involuntarily break into song and dance.
The clock that sat upon your side table had just clicked over to 3pm, but you just turned up the volume, the hum of tunes on your lips now becoming louder. With a dusting cloth in hand swinging above your head, and hips moving from side to side, you ‘grooved’ around your room, giving the empty space your all.
Although, so involved with your ‘cleaning’, the repeated knock at your door remained unnoticed, you didn’t hear it open, nor do you hear your name being called.
Jeongguk peered his head around the entryway and took one step into your apartment, dumping his bag on the polished floorboards, expecting to be met with your wide smile.
However, he found himself alone in the open space that was your lounge.
Confused at first, believing the apartment to be unoccupied, his gaze fell on clothes strewn over the couch, a plate with half eaten toast and a tea stained cup resting on your wooden coffee table, and a glowing TV, the muffled voice of a news anchor filling the room.
However, it was the hallow squawk that sounded from down the corridor that let him know you were home.
As he slowly made his way closer to the noise, a wince appeared on his face, and it stayed there.
Palms rising to protect his ears from the sound of your unrelenting, off-pitch screeching, he made his way to the doorway of your room.
There he saw you.
You with your back to him, hair half out of your high bun, violently moving to a beat he couldn’t hear.
Leaning against the arch of the entryway, he removed his palms from his ears and brought them to cross his chest.
A smile broke out across his face, an involuntary giggle coming out of his mouth.
You stayed unaware however, tunes too loud, too immersed, going hard.
It wasn’t until mid-twirl you noticed him standing there, laughing.
Frozen, you quickly snatch the headphones off your head, arms dropping limp and face immediately reddening.
“Guk!” you gasp, “what are you doing here?!”
You had not expected him for another three hours, you had plans for those three hours!
Some of those plans had been a possible shower, getting changed in something other than your pajama top and sweatpants, or hell, maybe even brushing your hair?!
“Oh! nice to see you too, baby,” he said, a smile from ear-to-ear. “Those are some real moves you’ve got there!”
Oh my god, you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
It wasn’t like Jeongguk hadn’t seen you dancing before in the two years you had been together, he has witnessed your numerous drunken shenanigans, especially when an 80s shuffle came on.
For goodness sake, you both jam out regularly together - rap battles included.
But there is something different, and completely embarrassing about being caught in the act.
“Shut up! How long have you been standi-wait, I don’t want to know how long you’ve been standing there,” you say, face still red, embarrassed to the core. “You haven’t answered my question, why are you home so early?”
“Well, we had sort of finished up for the day so I really didn’t have any reason to stay back,” he said. “Plus, I wanted to see you!” a smile still encompassing his entire face, “is that not reason enough? You’ve been busy with work and study all week, and I’ve been held up with rehearsals and recording, I just thought we could grab a bite to eat?”
You toss your phone and headphones onto your bed, and cross your arms tightly across your body, “well some prior notice would have been nice, I’ve been working all day and now I won’t have any time to get ready,” you say with a pout.
“Oh really?” he drawls, still beaming, “working hard, all day?”
“Yes really!” you say, eyes narrowing, “why is that so hard to believe?”
Still laughing, Jeongguk slowly made his way over to you, mimicking your dance moves as he went along.
Your face becomes redder, if that’s even possible, skin and ears burning.
You smack him lightly in the chest when he gets close enough, but he just continues to giggle.
Wrapping his arms around your frame, he looks down his chin at you, his warm brown eyes scrunched by his wide smile.
“Hmmm…yeah um, seems as though you have been really busy,” he said sarcastically, eyes widening in false sincereness.
He looks away, gaze roaming around the small space, pausing and pointedly looking at your unmade bed.
You cocked your head to the side, eyebrow rising.
“Excuse you! what are you insinuating?” you huff in false exasperation, “I am a hardworking individual!”
He looks back to you, eyes crinkled in humour, bangs slightly pushed to the side, skin bare.
He throws his head back with a chuckle, your eyes falling to the scattered and occasional light freckles that cover his jaw and neck, appearing like stars on a clear night.
Your heart thumps.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” his arms squeeze tighter as he rests his forehead against yours lightly, the echo of faint music still making its way out of the headphones laying on your bed.
You’re struggling for excuses now, you’re struggling to even breathe, his gaze intensely meeting yours, waiting for your rebuttal.
“Well the thing is, not like you’d know anyway, but cleaning is a time-consuming task!” you say with the same determined tone, your eyes moving down to your fingers that were playing with the strings of his hoodie.
But your voice wavers toward the end of the sentence, fading as you look back up to him and see a smile creep back onto his face, eyes sparkling.
He scoffs.
You gulp.
“Okay whatever, shut up!” you finally cave with a whine, “hey! It’s not my fault my Spotify playlist is full of bops!”
His boyish giggle fills the room once more.
Waiting for his response you lift your gaze to meet his expecting a witty remark, you instead get his lips.
Your mind goes instantly blank.
Your senses are consumed by him.
His hands moving to your hips, sliding to the cotton waistband of your sweats, the pressure of his thumbs on your hip-bones.
He pulls away, bringing his lips close to your ear, you shiver at his breath.
“God you’re an idiot.”
You can hear the smile on his words as his lips make their way along your neck and jaw.
“You’re just jealous of my dance moves,” you mumble back, eyes half closed, one hand pulling at his cotton jumper, the other to the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in his soft hair, trying to bring him back down to your mouth once more.
“Me?” his eyes come back into line with yours quickly, eyebrow raised, “jealous of your dance moves?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you be?” you say with a cheeky grin, “I mean look at this!”
You push away from him, twirl on the spot, hand on hip as you stop abruptly, looking over your shoulder dramatically, wiggling your eyebrows.
Jeongguk almost doubles over, stumbling back and landing on your bed, clasping his stomach.
Once he catches his breath, he hoists himself back to a sitting position, shoulders curved, chin in hands.
“Oh my god, you really are an idiot!” he chuckles. “A cute idiot though! a very cute idiot!” he quickly adds in response to your furrowed brows. “Hmmm, maybe I am jealous,�� he smirks, “you might have to teach me some of these moves?”
With you now further away, he is able to see you completely, shamelessly scanning up and down your body.
With a small smile and a knowing expression, you make your way back over to him, slowly taking a seat on his lap.
“Yeah maybe,” you sigh, shaking your head, “but, I’ve got to warn you, if you want to learn these moves, it’s going to take rigorous and intense training. My technique is hard to master.”
His hands clasp at the small of your back, the last of his giggles fading away.
He lifts his chin, nose brushing against yours, his lips inches away.
“Hmmm, rigorous and intense training hey?” he hums. “That’s fine with me,” he says, roughly bringing his lips to yours.
He pulls you closer, hand shifting onto your hip, the other moving to the side of your cheek, deepening the kiss with every breath.
It was a few minutes before your brain re-activated, you bring your hands to his neck, and pull away, ignoring his mewls and attempts to pull you back
“If we’re going to go for something to eat, I need to get ready,” you murmur softly, starting to detach yourself from him.
He grumbles in response, gripping you tighter, his strength immediately outweighing yours.
You land with a thump back onto his lap, face-to-face with his pout.
“No, no we can order in,” his lips making their way back to the side of your neck. “I don’t really want to go out anyway.”
“Mmmmm, fine,” you say with a false hufff, smile on your lips. “But at least let me make my bed!”
Jeongguk smirks, shifting his weight, your back now suddenly against the blankets.
Hovering over you on his forearms, Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours shining, his skin hot.
“Oh sweetheart, there will be no need to do that.”
#fics by mads#jungkook x reader#jungkook fluff#jungkook drabble#jungkook drabbles#jungkook fic#jungkook fics#jungkook imagine#jungkook imagines#jungkook scenario#jungkook scenarios#bts#bts jungkook#bts x reader#bts fluff#bts drabbles#bts fics#bts imagines#bts scenarios
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Blank Space
An idea came to mind so here. Just gonna say I made a playlist for Albus and Sann on spotify. Here. You can go listen to it here.
Taglist! Hope you liked it! Thank you for reading and sticking by for so long! :D
@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker
CW// child abuse and domestic violence, children going missing, child neglect, starvation, and useless child services.
“…ller…Mu…”
Someone was calling for him. But there was a ringing on his ears and his head hurt. The cap on his head with the chipped borders, protected him from the annoying white light of the school´s infirmary. He had been sent there during E.P. After he had refused to continue doing sit-ups because of the pain. In the distance, he heard a sigh.
“Serra”
“Don´t call me that” the boy´s lips moved instantly.
The guy with the white lab coat let out a sigh.
“Sorry, Muller. But I can´t do anything if you don´t show me what´s wrong” the boy exhaled, trying to dissimulate how much it pained him to do even that.
“Can´t you feel it above the clothes or something?” the boy tried to negotiate. The shame swallowing whole. The man gave him an exasperated frown as reply. Muller sighed, wetting his lips before putting his hands on the dirty gym shirt. The last tower standing between him and the reality the doctor shouldn´t see. Shouldn´t know. “Please?”
“Muller…” that tone was the signal to drop it. So he braced and lifted it up to the man, straying his eyes to a corner. The man´s eyes turned into brown plates, mouth hanging disgusted at the way his bones looked like they were trying to pop out the thin layer of bruised skin.
“Oh my god…” he exhaled just before he saw the shirt fall. The man opened his mouth a few times. Like a fish trying to breath out of the water. Gasping for just a bit of precious oxygen. But he was just a man who rubbed the side of his head and leaned on to him with those eyes full of pity he didn´t want. “I know you´re no fighter, Muller. You´re the quiet kid with regular notes. Can you tell me where did you really get those?”
He stayed quiet. Locking his jaw as he breathed in.
If he said the truth it would be worse. It would hurt and not only for him. It would be bad and even worse for Annie. Who was in class. Surely talking with her friends and bragging about the cake he had bought for her birthday. Smiling despite the bandages on her wrist.
He had tried before. To tell someone with authority about his father. He had been hopeful. They had patched him up and let him bath and eat a normal meal. But what happened then was that he was sat in a cold room with a chair in the middle. Talked with a woman that simply took notes, before giving him back to the man they had told him he wouldn´t see again. Just to go straight back home and resume what had made him call child services in the first place.
“I got into a fight” He said.
“Tell me the truth”
“I got into a fight”
“We both know-”
“It won´t change anything if I say the truth or not” Muller said with red eyes lit up in rage.
“Serra…”
“Don´t call me that. I got into a fight and lost. That´s the truth” The ringing on his ears went up. “Just…Just do your damn job and give me something for the pain, doc” the boy said scrunching his eyes, passing a hand over them roughly, in hopes it would end the headache. His dad had grabbed the broom on his hands while he cleaned the living room´s floor of the carpet of beer cans. Said the sound woke him up. So he shoved him to the floor and let it rain down until it broke. Then he had lost interest and gone back to sleep. That´s when he could scramble outside. Forgetting his backpack on the way.
The doctor let out a long, long breath that just made Muller grit his teeth. He finally rolled down to a cabinet. Unlocked it and let his fingers navigate the few pill cases there were. Nothing strong. Nothing that would stop the fear and the pain forever. Just a pill of ibuprofen.
Muller wasn´t amused in the slightest, but it would help. That and a bit of ice on his eye. The doctor put a bag of it on his lap. Taking off the cap, he let his head hang. Letting the cool sensation of the ice wash the pain away.
“Lay down and don´t take the pill just yet, ok? Do you like sandwiches, Muller?” He asked digging on his backpack next to the desk. Taking out his wallet.The boy snapped his healthy eye open going red of embarrassment. Of course, you need to eat something before taking pills and that had happened yesterday afternoon. Around seventeen hours ago.
It vaguely reminded him of Don, the doctor’s clinic where appointments were profusely refused to be paid and the man even gave them his own children’s old clothes. The boy had tried to keep the smell when he did laundry, but it inevitably started to smell like his father at some point.
“Y-yes, Thank you…” he muttered before the man turned to the door. Or tried to, before the albino grabbed his wrist. “Doc, please, don´t tell anybody about this” the man gave him a pained look as the ice bag slipped off his face. “I…Albinos bruise easily…it was just a fight I lost. Please…” Muller hoped it was enough. He was aware he was known among his classmates as a troublemaker. Coming with bruises and scratches almost every day kept people at an arm length. He would use that. He could use it and keep people away from the truth. That he didn´t search for trouble because going back home was enough.
Just so she wouldn´t need to do the same.
The man slowly put away the boy´s hand. “It´s absolutely impossible to call someone, Muller? Child services?” he knelt next to him. Taking the ice pack that had slid to his lap and putting it against his swollen eye. “You don´t have anyone you could stay with? Just for a while?”
The boy´s face went dark. Even as it formed an ironic smile.
“Why would I be here if I had a place like that, Doc?”
—-
When he went back to class, patched up and cradling his ribs, changed into his normal wear from the secret backpack on his locker, to enter art class. He saw a few people muttering something when he came inside the classroom before pulling his cap down. Looking at his red sneakers as he navigated to his seat at the front. Then tried to blink into focus the words on the board.
“Free assignment. High contrast. Acrylics. Due next Wednesday. Be sure to return the materials clean and dry. Be creative!”
Muller sighed slowly. They weren’t sure if they really had a teacher or if they were being given classes by a ghost, as they would have the instructions written on the board and had to leave them on the desk that day or the date written. Receiving their scores through email he had to check on the library.
It was odd, but it was also easier to not be disrupted on the only place he could take his cheap mp3, put the earphones to silence the room and just paint. His moment of full relaxation of the week.
After putting the earphones, he had no idea what to paint, however. He stared at it with a pencil on his hand for a long time, drumming it into his jeans, until an idea came to his head, making him smile. He rolled up the sleeves of his oversized sweater and dipped into sketching light lines over the smooth surface. Halfway through an upbeat song, he felt eyes on him. Brown eyes staring into the purple of his forearm. Not shiny from the cream the doctor had rubbed on it to numb out the pain anymore.
Muller rolled back down the sleeve, pulling his eyes away, before he stood up to grab the paint tubes in the other side of the room. A few girls scooting away as they spotted him. Always looking down, averting his sight from other’s curious eyes.
Two hours of work later, the black paint had reigned over the canvas. He had had to squint harder to get the tiniest little details of it right. Using negative space to frame the silhouette of fruit plate, a candlestick with hanging jewels and a chalice. Leaving them completely white.
A blank space in the immense blackness.
Happy with the result and having played the list four times, he accidentally put the brush with black paint over his cheek. Rubbing it away just smudging it. Letting out a groan, he noticed nobody was there anymore. Had left their half assed paintings on the desk or simply left.
He began to pick up the dirty brushes left from his classmates and went to the sink to clean them thoroughly like always. He didn’t need thanks, but it would be easier if they didn’t try to put out the desperation of the exam periods on the poor brush by smashing them open. There always was one that couldn’t be saved. He was about to throw it out, right when he saw the bruise on his forearms. Going darker in long stripes.
He pressed his lips together as he dipped the brush into the white paint and stroked his arm with it. The cool sensation of the sticky material covering his bruised skin, almost melting into his natural color made him do the same to his other arm.
When he finished it was almost as if he hadn’t fled his house after being hit with a broom that morning. It had been so easy to cover them as it was easy to wipe it off in a rush for the next class. Half finishing up and putting the painting on the desk. Trying to run as fast as he could, when he heard someone coming closer.
The woman saw him scramble outside the classroom as she went in through the other door. She just came in to take the paintings to her car to evaluate, but that time she found herself absorbed on the painting. Taking it into her hands, shocked. Noticing to a smile the same little “A. M.” Painted on the far corner, always there on her favorites of the class. She turned to the door, light brown wavy hair jumping swiftly at the motion.
She put the painting on top of the others as she marched back to the parking spot her old Tsuru was on. She would make sure to arrive early next time and offer him that little place on the students exhibition.
She did wake up early, to most of her disgrace and her co worker’s surprise. She did arrive to class with the announcement of the school’s artistic exhibition, spooking her students and earning groans, but she didn’t see a kid with a white ponytail in oversized clothes. Not the next week, or the one after that.
His painting hanged on large boards among other student’s works, regardless. But he never came back to see it
#you came back a stranger#wru#oc#original fiction#hurt comfort#angst#emotional whump#whump#my writing#writing#whumpblr#albus#annie#tw domestic abuse#tw child neglect#tw starvation#tw child services#tw bruises#trauma response
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mice on venus (1.1)
summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh?
wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical.
warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world...
author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!
mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2)
title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link)
idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing
— — —
Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.
Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —
"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.
"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."
"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.
Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"
Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."
Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.
Roman, meanwhile, is falling.
His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"
With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.
That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…
Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —
As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.
"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.
"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —
"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."
"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.
Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.
"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.
The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.
"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."
Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.
"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."
Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.
Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.
“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.
Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”
“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”
“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”
“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”
“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.
Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.
The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.
“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.
Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.
“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.
“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.
When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”
Another round of silence.
“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.
“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”
Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.
Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.
Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.
Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.
Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.
“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”
“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.
“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.
Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.
After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.
“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.
“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”
The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”
“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.
#sanders sides fan fiction#royality#prinxiety#analogical#ts deceit#dani writes#minecraft au#sanders sides#romantic royality#qpr prinxiety#romantic analogical
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Here me out: Who Killed Markiplier but make it Phantom Of The Opera
Okay, so roughly this is the plot:
Mark was a very successful singer at the opera, with admirable looks and a beautiful voice, he was one of the main singers at every play they had. He adored this lifestyle and loved to share everything with his childhood friends, a fellow singer named William, the Major, Damien and his sister, who claims to have strange powers, Celine.
One day though when they have an act with fire props, one of the columns that holds a bowl of burning oil falls on him badly burning half of his face. They have to get him off the stage while he's screaming from pain and they end the act urging the shocked audience to leave.
They try to recover Mark but sadly the burn is too severe and his face cannot be recovered and it's damage cannot be looked for a long time. This means that he can't be an actor anymore, but instead he will be one of the people handling the props backstage.
He lost everything and his best friend took over his place. With the thought of how replaceable he is and how he was robbed from a wonderful carrier eating at his mind it doesn't take long until he commits suicide during one of the plays William stars in. He hangs himself on one off the ropes and as the opera tried not to avoid scandals they didn't hold him a proper funeral. His friends, William, the major and Celine were the ones begging for some kind of funeral, and that's how they bring him down into the catacombs under the opera in a coffin with some of his personal belongings (one of which is a mask given him as a present for his successes from his friends).
While his friends silently mourn him, he wakes up in his coffin, not understanding anything and being afraid, then thinking that his attempt was unsuccessful but seeing where he was thrown rage takes over. That's the birth of the Phantom. He goes up haunting the opera, mostly spectating what they are doing after he's gone but after enough time and with enough witnesses killed the ehole staff starts to believe that the opera truly is haunted by the ghost of the singer. They turn to Celine, asking her to visit and do something if she can given her powers. She accepts, coming with her brother who wanted to come along since he's worried both of William, who is not just broken after the loss, but fears for his life too, knowing that Mark's rage is because he stole the stage light.
Another person comes along, a little child who is adopted and raised by Celine and Damien, them being a guardian of some sorts of the child.
While the child is given to the staff to look after them, Celine, Damien, William and a few others go down to the catacombs, to be met with Mark, who kills almost everyone out of pure rage. Almost anyone, but William, for whom the very last thing before he loses his sanity is seeing his friends being killed, and then seeing another person, who was clearly dead, standing up and fleeing.
After Mark leaves William stumbles back onto the surface, wailing and shouting in despair and people finding him don't hesitate to get him a medic and take him to his room where he stays for a long time to heal and for his mind to shift into madness and thus, creating the persona we all love. He also gets fond of makeup, at first just trying out more feminine ones, then stronger and stronger ones, asking for dresses and crothets, and this is how the Primadonna stepped into the spotlight. William, now Wilford or Primadonna also had the habit of accidentally killing or driving insane his butlers who were put next to him to help him heal, and when the management of the opera gets tired of this they put Wilford on stage to see if he even worth all the hard work and all those butlers. Wilford though puts on such a show that had the audience in awe and the management had the hope that they can finally get out of this curse Mark put them in.
In the meantime the child was almost put back into foster care but the opera adopted them instead, mostly because they realized that when the child was put next to the Primadonna, he didn't kill nearly as many people and he didn't even hurt the child even once. So that's how the child became the Primadonna's new friend.
Mark also saw this and at first he wanted to kill the child too but grew fond of them so instead he thought who would be better to keep his talent alive than someone who was treated with respect and was put besides someone who (even though he hated it) got the most spotlight.
So that's how it all began, that's how our Christine, the DA started to learn to sing and talk to a mirror (which others just acknowledged as the effect of the Primadonna, and Wilford didn't mind at all, because,,, well, he was talking to things and invisible people too).
In the main event I don't want to change a lot of things from the plot of POTO, only minor things like, you know, the whole engagement. I mean, Damien and Celine were parent figures to DA, I don't want Dark wanting to marry this child. So instead, how about something else that could also tear DA from Mark, like an adoption? Yup. Also Dark will absolutely fall in love with the Primadonna because who wouldn't fall in love with the Primadonna, really? (Yes, this is just for the Darkstache I long for in every story)
So far that's all I could think up and be able to translate about this from my rambles, maybe sometime in the future I will be able to start writing this story because this was one of the main reasons why Lloyd Webber got on my Spotify wrapped (I got this idea in October. Yes, I was addicted to POTO that much)
#I don't really know how many works are already out there for this idea#but I'm obsessed#so I'm absolutely gonna write this one time#even if my bilingual ass sucks at writing#who killed markiplier#wkm#phantom of the opera#poto#markiplier egos#actor mark#Darkiplier#Wilford Warfstache#DA#I don't know what tags I should add to this#please don't mind the grammatical and logical inconsistencies#I'm sleep deprived#darkstache#Mo's writings
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"My Little Pogchamp"
Nagito Komaeda X My bestie this is not for anyone else
TW: Kinky, Knife Play, Big boy nagito, Seggs, Orange Juice, Hajime, cussy words, MINORS DNI
Topic: Lemon/Smut/Nsfw
Nagito, M/b, And hajime were being baddies and playing some Minecraft. M/b and nagito put their minecraft beds together but singled out hajime and put his outside where he would constantly die. Nagito was down in the epic mines and M/b was out getting more doggos while hajime was being ganged up on by- uh- mobs that are now killing him. A couple hours passed and they stopped playing minecraft. nagito got up and grabbed M/b and took them to his room. hajime pouted and flopped onto the floor "Guyssssssssss not now i dont wanna hear that shit!" "Shut the fuck up hajime" "ok." nagito closed the bedroom door and threw M/b onto the bed. immediately stripping himself down to his boxers. M/b blushed and just looked away, nothing they havent seen before but they always got flustered. dont get me wrong theyve never done the deed, theyve just seen nagito in his boxers because they would sleep together sometimes. nagito picked them up and stripped them down to their undergarments'. He smirked as they tried to cover themselves but he grabbed his belt and tied their wrists to the headboard and crawled over them, he grabbed a small pocked knife out of the nightstand then flicked the blade open, trailing the tip against M/b's stomach. chuckling, with a devious smirk. he moved the blade up and to their chest, gently crossing over and stopping at their neck. he chuckled once more and slowly slipped a hand behind M/bs back and unclasping their bra, throwing it aside and quickly kissing down their neck to their chest and licking gently over the sensitive buds. While listening to the moans of M/b like it was nagitos depressing and very concerning spotify playlist, he left marks all over their neck, chest, shoulders, and even their collarbone. When he finished marking your upper half he moved down slowly, eagerly slipping their Panties down their legs slowly and tossing it with their bra. he nipped and kissed at M/bs inner thighs and left marks. he then moved to their pussy and licked it slowly, he then focused his attention on their clit and licked and sucked it roughly, moving a hand down and sliding a finger into them slowly then pumping it back & forth and slipping in 2 more, a couple minutes passed and M/b had came and such, nagito chuckled, standing up and grabbing the blade once more, trailing it all over their sensitive skin then pushing down his boxers, the blade drew the smallest amount of blood before he kissed the small cut and aligned the tip of his erection to their entrance, slowly entering and letting them adjust then starting at a fast pace. "A-ah nagito-" M/b moaned nagitos name as he moved in and out of them at a rapid pace. he bit down on their neck and left more hickeys. growling in their ear "Do you like that? hun?" He reached down and toyed with their clit, the mentally unstable male chuckled and quickened the pace more. going harder and harder, listening to M/b's moans was like music to his ears. a while passed before nagito came along with m/b. they had gone a couple rounds before that but now was the final one. nagito pulled out and tossed the blade aside and lay down next to M/b. pulling the blanket over them and as soon as they got comfy, hajime kicked down the door "I GOT ORANGE JUICE! oh- did you guys just fuck-" "Get out" "but orange juice-" "GET OUT" "ok ok sorry." Then Hajime left the orange juice on the nightstand and left.
the end bestie im so sorry this was so dry HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
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For @casualmaraudering who is having a bad day. Have some artist!Remus schmoop.
***
Remus sat with his legs crossed in the center of his art studio, an unknown streak of blue paint on his cheek. He scratched his cheek with the back of his paintbrush, unsure why it was itchy to begin with. Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he smudged his thumb over one of the lines to soften it slightly.
The sounds of a motorbike pulled his attention from his canvas just as it always did at 5:15 pm when Sirius Black returned from work. Remus glanced out the slightly ajar window, his head just barely poking over the sill from his place on the floor. Sirius was whistling what appeared to be Another One Bites the Dust as he made his way up the driveway to his front door.
Feeling inspired, Remus grabbed his phone and pulled up Spotify, letting a playlist of Queen fill the room. He lost himself back in his art for a while until what sounded like hail on his window made him jump. He found a few small pebbles by his feet and went to the window to find Sirius Black standing underneath it.
Remus put his hands up the bottom of the window and yanked it upwards. Sticking his head out, he found Sirius beaming up at him from his front yard. “Care for a walk?” Sirius asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Remus blinked a few times in surprise. Never mind that Sirius Black was unfairly attractive but they had never spoken more then ten words to each other despite being neighbors for the past two years.
“Why?”
Sirius shrugged in response. “You coming or not?”
Remus considered for a moment and then spent another few moments wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Gorgeous blokes didn’t show up at your window every night for moonlit strolls.
“Be right down!”
Remus turned the music off on his phone and shoved it into his pocket. By the front door he crammed his feet into his sneakers before grabbing his wallet and keys. When he opened his front door, Sirius was standing on his front stoop waiting for him.
“Overalls?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Really?”
“Shut up,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. He stepped outside and made sure his front door was locked. “They’re comfortable and I don’t care if I get paint on them.”
Sirius walked backwards down the steps in a manner so smooth Remus would have thought it had been rehearsed, however he doubted Sirius Black was practicing on Remus’ front porch. He looked up at Remus expectantly from the few steps the separated them. Remus chewed his bottom lip for a moment and then joined Sirius on the sidewalk.
“So…” Remus said, breaking the silence as they fell into step with each other.
“So,” Sirius echoed, grinning mischievously. “Hi. I’m Sirius.”
“I know that,” Remus said, playing with one of his longer curls by his temple. He really needed to get a haircut. “Is there a point to this?”
“Does there have to be?”
“Two years of pleasant greetings and suddenly you want to go for a walk.” Remus sighed and kicked as a rock. “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
Sirius turned and stepped in front of Remus, blocking his path. “Would you ever consider painting me?”
Remus managed to keep his jaw from dropping but it was a near thing. “If that sentence ends with like one of your French girls I will hit you.”
Sirius snorted. “I am actually French but we don’t have to go full nude on the first portrait.”
“Oh you imagine there will be many, do you?” Remus sidestepped Sirius and continued walking. It felt a bit like running away from the handsome man who had just offered to pose nude for him.
“Don’t you want to know why I want my portrait done?” Sirius asked, following after Remus.
“Probably so the portrait can grow old for you and you can stay youthful for the rest of time?” Remus quipped over his shoulder.
“You know,” Sirius said, catching up to Remus. “Oscar Wilde believed art showed more about the artist than the subject. What would you reveal, Remus?”
Remus swallowed thickly and picked up the pace of his walking. “I want a milkshake,” he said, changing the subject entirely. “Would you like a milkshake?”
“Remus!” Sirius called out, hurrying to keep up with him. “What’s the rush?”
Remus didn’t slow down until they’d reached the little diner on the corner. Remus sat down at the counter, as sitting in a booth across from Sirius felt too intimate. Sirius sat backwards on the rotating stool next to him, his elbows on the counter as he lounged back, his legs crossed at the ankles.
Remus ordered a chocolate milkshake for himself while Sirius got a strawberry one and a plate of chips.
“You’re a strange one, Remus,” Sirius said as they waited for their order.
“Am I?” Remus asked, pulling a napkin from the holder and beginning to doodle on it. Before he knew it he’d drawn Sirius’ mouth. He quickly sketched his eyes and nose so it wouldn’t be quite so weird. He always doodled when he was nervous.
“You know you’ve got paint on your cheek,” Sirius said, grinning that same wicked grin. Remus found himself pulling out another napkin so he could attempt to capture it. “And it hasn’t bothered you in the twenty minutes we’ve been together. Not once.”
“Shit,” Remus said, licking his palm and attempting to clean his cheek. “Hazard of the trade, unfortunately.”
“Let me,” Sirius said softly. He dipped a napkin into his glass of water and gently began to rub at Remus’ cheek. “May I tell you why I want my picture done now?”
Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“When I was little my mother had our portraits done, it was a family tradition. Your portrait went on this wall that formed a family tree. Well when I was sixteen I came out to my parents and my mother proceeded to take my portrait off the wall and throw it into the fireplace. Symbolic gesture, right?”
“Sirius –“
“Last year my brother went into rehab and guess what? His portrait also ended up in the fire. She’s got high standards, that mother of mine, and unfortunately neither of her sons quite lived up to them. He’s getting out soon and he’s going to come stay with me until he feels like he can be on his own. I thought I would start a new tree, you know? Turn a negative into a positive. Start with my portrait and then his, if you’d be up for it. Then maybe my best friend Jamie, his wife Lily and my godson Harry. New family, new life, you know?”
“Sirius,” Remus said, wrapping his fingers around Sirius’ wrist to still his hand. He didn’t know if the blue was off his face but he didn’t care. “Fuck, of course. I’d be honored.”
“Really?” Sirius asked, his smile so bright and wide it made Remus’ heart clench. “It’s not a whim, by the way, although it might seem like it to you. I’ve been trying to gather up the courage to ask you for months.”
“Why?” Remus asked, shaking his head in confusion. “I’m not exactly intimidating.” Remus gestured with his free hand to his paint splattered overalls.
Sirius huffed out a laugh and broke eye contact. It was only at that moment Remus realized they had been staring at each other quite intently. “You know when you first moved into the neighborhood I was going to make you a cobbler. It was Jamie’s mum’s recipe and I tried so hard to get it right because it reminded me of home. But it was rubbish. I went wrong somewhere, I’m not sure where but I’m not great at baking. All that measuring, bleh.”
“You were going to make me a cobbler…” Remus said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I wanted you to feel at home,” Sirius said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I wanted you to stay, I wanted…”
“Sirius?” Remus said softly, barely audible even to his own ears as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
“I wanted to be your home, eventually. You were so cute and fuck I’m so gay and I left it too long. It got to the point where I didn’t even know how to say hi to you without getting fucking lost in my feelings.”
Remus opened his mouth to respond but the waitress interrupted them by bringing their order. Sirius let his hand drop and quickly spun around to face the counter, his head ducked down as if embarrassed. He shoveled a handful of chips into his mouth as if he was trying to get himself to stop talking.
Remus watched him for a moment with a bemused smile on his face. Sirius Black, the unattainable gorgeous bloke that liked to cut his lawn shirtless had been…pining for Remus all this time. “So what kind of cobbler was it?”
Sirius began to choke in surprise at the question, thumping his fist against his chest. Eventually he managed to swallow, bypassing the straw to take a large gulp from his milkshake. “Blueberry.”
“Maybe you should try again,” Remus said, playing with his own straw, dipping it in and out of his milkshake.
“I did,” Sirius said grumpily. “They never came out right.”
Remus bit his lip to keep from laughing. “So there were several cobblers.”
Sirius made a funny noise in the back of his throat and then mumbled something that Remus couldn’t understand.
“What was that?”
“I said eleven!” Sirius snapped, biting a chip roughly. “I drew the line at an even dozen.”
Remus turned to the side so he could look at Sirius. He rested his cheek in his hand and just stared at him in a mix of flattered and bewildered. “You made eleven cobblers that all turned out wrong?”
Sirius shot him a look and then drained half his milkshake in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They weren’t good enough, okay? Sure they were edible but when has that ever impressed anybody? When Mrs. Potter made them they were amazing. I never quite got to amazing.”
Remus took a chip and dunked it into his milkshake before popping it into his mouth. “What did you end up doing with eleven edible cobblers?”
“I’d take them up with me whenever I visited my brother Reg,” Sirius confessed, taking a napkin and beginning to shred it with his fingers. “Do me a favor and let me wallow here for a while alone in how pathetic I am. I’ll pay for this.”
“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
Sirius gave Remus a wary glance. “You don’t?”
“A little misguided, perhaps,” Remus said, taking a pensive sip of his milkshake. “Maybe you just need a little help, not that I’m that good at baking myself, but two heads and all that.”
Sirius stared at him in awe. “You want to come back to my place?”
“For cobbler.” Remus said sternly, poking Sirius in the chest. “Don’t get any funny ideas.”
“Of course,” Sirius said, slipping off his stool and going to the register to pay for them. Remus finished off his milkshake and went to the door to wait for Sirius. A few moments later, Sirius joined him, bounding over like an excited puppy. “Ready to be amazed?”
Remus considered it for a moment and then laced his fingers through Sirius’. His face broke out into a wide smile matching Sirius’ own. “I’m ready.”
#wolfstar#I write things#unprompted#casualmaraudering#fluff#neighbor au#oh my god they were neighbors#artist remus#long post#now I want a milkshake#sirius black x remus lupin#feel better love!
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drummer!billy fucks steve after robin drags him to billy’s band’s concert at the gay bar and he swears he hates the band until he sees billy... please :)
I’m so hot for drummers I became one. That’s TRUE.
This is some modern lovin’.
Also I have a friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band and they fucking suck.
Pansy Division is a real queercore band they are AMAZING super recommend they have a song called Fem in a Black Leather Jacket that I can SO see Billy singing to femme!Steve to be teasing one day.
Queer Bar is the name of a REAL BAR my friends and I (used to, thanks Miss Corona) go to to watch drag performers and queer punk bands.
Ayoo3
Porn Porn.
Steve didn’t go to a lot of concerts.
He didn’t do great in sweaty crowds, and the loud music would leave his ears ringing for days. But Robin would still drag him out to see her friends’ shitty bands play at shitty dive bars.
“You have to come. It’ll be fun. They’re actually, like good.” Steve rolled his eyes.
“That’s what you said about the last two bands, Rob. And they fucking sucked.”She had dragged him to some house show for her friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band which is apparently a thing that exists in this world, and they sucked. It was like someone screaming about global warming over a Bon Iver song. It made Steve want to actively go out and litter.
“What’s the genre?”
“Queercore. You can listen to them! They have an album on Spotify that’s done pretty okay. They’re called Pansy Division.” Steve gave her a cold look as he pulled them up. He listen to their three most popular songs, That’s So Gay was a pissed off track about people using the word gay as a derogatory. Fem in a Black Leather Jacket was self explanatory, and Luv Luv Luv was a more chilled out song, but the lyrics were all about how love isn’t real and “we’re all just animals at the core”. Steve was sold.
“Where are they playing.” Robin grinned at him.
“Queer Bar.” Steve groaned. Queer Bar was small. A divey place that got hot and sticky. Steve didn’t like going as he always left covered in spilled drinks, and other people’s sweat, and had hooked up with three of the bartenders and just didn’t really wanna deal with all that.
“I don’t know, Robin. You know I don’t like Queer Bar.”
“You like it just fine. You’re just a slut. You do realize that if we could only go to bars where you haven’t fucked one of the employees, we would have like, five bars to choose from.”
“Don’t slut shame me. I am a young flower, who must dance on the wind and take a dip in every pond.” Robin stared at him.
“Steve that makes no fucking sense. Just admit you’re a sloppy whore and let’s move on.”
“Fine. I’m a sloppy whore. So when is this terrible night scheduled?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Robin!”
“Dingus!”
“You couldn’t’ve given me some notice?”
“You’re getting like, thirty hours of notice right now.” She rolled her eyes. Steve always told her one of these days they were gonna fall right outta her head.
“You are a nightmare and the bane of my existence and I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.” Steve deadpanned. She leaned over on the couch to smack a wet kiss to his cheek.
“And you should probably bring condoms. These guys are just your type.”
-
“So, that’s what you’re wearing?” Steve just glared at her.
“If you’re dragging me to this thing, I at least want to be comfortable.” He was wearing short denim cutoffs, ones she had cutoff for him. They were high-waisted, and he tucked a baggy Jane’s Addiction t-shirt he had stolen from his ex-boyfriend into them. He had just done a little eye shadow and smoked liner.
Robin was in a black body-con dress, her old brown leather jacket over her shoulder, but her arms were not in the sleeves. It was very fashiony of her. Steve tugged on a red bomber jacket.
They would be meeting Robin;s girlfriend, Heather, at the bar. Apparently she was friends with someone in the band.
“Let’s go, Dingus.” Robin was holding The front door to Steve’s apartment, swinging it between both hands. He pinched her side as he walked past.
They had to take a Lyft to Queer Bar, another reason it was the worst. It wasn’t in walking distance. Their driver was this quiet guy who wouldn’t stop staring at Robin, even when she loudly started talking about her girlfriend. Steve only gave him four stars, a serious deal for Steve, who would probably give five stars even if the driver fucking murdered him.
Steve had met Heather quite a few times, and he liked her. She was cute, and easy to talk to, and made Robin so happy, but she also kept talking about Billy and how he was going to come out with them later, and kept winking at Robin.
They traipsed into the bar, Steve ducking to avoid one of the bartenders he had slept with. The guy had been real clingy after and asked Steve to get breakfast while Steve was trying to get dressed and get outta there.
So, they’re in the club, and it’s about time for the band, well, it’s twenty minutes after time for the band, and Steve is tired and is nursing a vodka cranberry and has been hit on more than he wanted tonight.
But then the band is taking the stage, and Steve is ready to lose his mind at this perfect specimen taking his place behind the drums.
He had tattoos on nearly every inch of skin Steve could see, his arms, his legs, his neck. He was putting his long hair into a ponytail, a few curls escaping and settling around his face. He was laughing at something the bassist was saying to him, twirling his stick in one hand.
“Heather’s friends with the drummer. His name is Billy.” Robin was giving him a knowing look.
The band was pretty good. Played a lot of loud songs. People were slam dancing around the front, far from where Steve was standing, watching the drummer. He really fucking whacked the drums, broke about three sticks during the hour set. He was all sweaty. Would play with a big grin on his face, blue eyes crinkled, tongue between his face.
By the time they finished their set, Steve was sporting a half-chub in his shorts, was rearing to get fucked by this gorgeous drummer.
“What did you think!” Heather was beaming at him.
“Yeah, they’re okay.” Robin rolled her eyes.
“So, we’re just waiting for Billy, then we can get outta here.” Steve’s heart stopped. He had fucking forgotten they would be hanging out with this perfect Billy.
He came up behind Heather, picking her up from behind, laughing loud and beautiful.
“Stop, Billy! You smell like shit!” He rubbed his head onto her neck, making her slap at him. He released her, turning those eyes on Steve. He put out a hand.
“Billy Hargrove.” He took both of Steve’s hands in his, made him blush.
“Steve Harrington. I’m a friend of Robin’s.” Billy ran his tongue along his teeth, looking Steve up and down.
They ended up going to a club and getting hammered. Steve danced pressed against Billy, ended up laying on the bar while Billy led a few random guys in taking body shots off of Steve. He ended up making out with Billy in a dark corner, hands roaming until
“My place is close by. You wanna get outta here?” Steve shivered as Billy rasped in his ear.
“Yeah, let’s go.” They found Robin, who slapped Steve on the ass as he left, tucked under Billy’s arm. They walked a few blocks to Billy’s place, a little apartment over a Thai restaurant. It was cozy, had posters all over the walls, and lots of plants. He had a fat little cat he introduced as my chonker, Diablo.
They made out on the couch for a while, but then Diablo started yowling at Billy, so Billy hefted Steve up, and tossed him on the bed, refilling the cat’s water. Steve wrestled out of his clothes as he could hear Billy cooing to his cat in the kitchen.
“Holy shit you’re hot.” Billy shut the door behind him, staring at Steve, spread out and naked on his bed. “Heather said you were just my type.” Billy came to the bed, crawled over Steve, settling his wight over him. Steve reached up, tugging his hair out of the ponytail.
Billy ducked to kiss him, nudging his thighs open. He leaned to dig through the night table, brought out a bottle of lube and a condom.
Tattooed fingers nudged at his hole, rubbed lube around the rim. Steve started tugging at his shirt, making Billy laugh while he had to tangle it off of himself.
“Relax, Pretty Boy.” Steve whined as Billy went back to circling his hole, so he pressed in. He pressed up to the knuckle, curling his finger. He fucked it in and out of him slowly for a while, pumping his finger in and out.
He pressed another in, curling and spreading his fingers, stretching Steve out.
Steve took hold of his wrist, angling his hand.
“Curl you fingers.” Billy smirked at him, curling his fingers. Steve jolted as they shoved into his sensitive little nerves.
“You know just what you want, don’t you?” Billy was mouthing at his chest, sucked a dark mark on his left pec. “Not afraid to ask for it, either.”
He was drilling into Steve with his fingers, fucking him roughly with his hand, bending his fingers, opening them up. Steve was gasped, his legs opening even wider. He added another finger, pouring more lube over his hand, over Steve’s hole.
“I’m ready, just fuck me.” Steve’s eyes were wide, being sure to pout just the way he knew guys liked, voice all perfect and whiny.
“You’re bossy is what you are.” Billy added another finger, making Steve cry out at the stretch. “Think you can cum on just my fingers? I think I’d like that.” He bite gently at Steve’s nipple, making him arch into his chest, pushing his hips down onto Billy’s fingers.
“I want you cock. Please, just fuck me. Please, please.” Billy grinned, resting his chin on Steve’s chest, speeding his hand up, jack hammering it into Steve. “Holy fu-uck.” Steve came all over himself, choking around a few breathy moans.
“That was hot. You’re gorgeous.” Billy pulled his fingers out gently, letting Steve catch his breath while he took off his jeans, tossing them on the floor. Steve took extra notice of the lack of any underwear.
Billy was hard, his cock flushed red against his stomach. He rolled on a condom, settling himself between Steve’s legs, spread wide.
“You ready for me?” Billy was stroking Steve’s cock, smirking as Steve whined, oversensitive. Steve modded, wiggling his hips, whimpering for Billy to fuck him.
Billy pressed himself against Steve, holding his hips down as he gentled himself in, going slowly, inch by inch.
“You’re so tight Baby.” He was pressed flush to Steve, grinding his cock deeper, making Steve choke. He pulled out, immediately setting a brutal pace, sitting on his knees, one hand holding onto Steve’s upper thing, the other gripping his hip.
Steve was fisting the sheets under his head, clawing at them to try and hold on.
Billy was gorgeous above him, hair messy and wild, skin glistening, his muscles moving so beautifully under his tattooed skin.
Steve was hard again, trailed on hand down his body to wrap his fingers around his cock, jerking to the speed of Billy’s thrusts. He was getting close again, Billy was expertly hitting that sensitive little spot inside him, was panting and muttering about how hot Steve is, was making him whine and flush and fly closer to orgasm.
It hit him like a fucking train, making him cry out, adding to the mess on his stomach, tightening around Billy.
Billy gave one final grunt, slamming into Steve, emptying inside the condom. He caught his breath, staring down at Steve, running a finger through the spunk on his stomach, pressing it into Steve’s mouth, his eyes going dark as Steve moaned around his finger, eating his cum off it.
“You’re ridiculously fucking hot.” He huffed a laugh, pulling out of Steve to ditch the condom. “Now I actually owe Heather. That sucks.”
Steve laughed, slapping Billy’s chest.
#steve in super short jorts is my RELIGION#yikes writes#lemons#steve harrington#steve harrington x billy hargrove#billy hargrove x steve harrington#billy hargrove#harringrove#harringrove fic#harringrove ficlet#harringrove drabble
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1273
What was the longest time you’ve had the hiccups for?
Maybe for half an hour? Mine are never that bad.
What type of TV shows are your favourite?
Not a big TV show type of person to begin with since it seems as if my attention span wasn’t built for once-a-week, season-breaks kind of content haha. I do like sitcoms, I guess...bite-sized ones like Friends, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Big Bang Theory, etc. Drama shows I’d bite into if the plot is extremely intriguing to me or relevant to my interests, like The Crown or Breaking Bad.
Have you ever been a complete fangirl/fanboy over anything?
I was before then I wasn’t for a very long time, then I came back just recently with this BTS shit I got myself into.
Do you know anyone who has died in battle?
Hmm. I don’t think so. My great-grandpa lived a few more decades after the war.
When was the last time you went on an adventure?
July. My friends and I spent the whole day driving around and stopping by sooo many spots around the metro. It was a lot of fun and we were fucking b e a t after.
What brand is your vacuum cleaner?
I dunno. My mom mainly uses ours.
Are you good at rapping?
I have a number of songs and verses memorized that I can recite quite okay, but I can’t write any of my own.
Name one world issue that upsets you.
Racism.
How do you feel about tanning?
I never saw the the big deal. I will say tanning beds and salons are such a culture shock to me, though. Are some people really that obsessed with modifying their skin tone?
Have you ever given a public speech?
Hmm, just the one time I was entered into a public speaking competition and was given a topic to talk about on the spot. That was honestly a lot of fun and I wish there were more opportunities to do that exact same thing.
Do you read comic books?
No. I tried getting into that whole thing, but didn’t see the appeal.
Do you force your way into conversations in which you are not involved?
Not always but if I’m starting to feel left out or awkward, I will start to ask a question here and there to ease my way into the conversation. But if the topic is clearly none of my business then I do stay out of the way.
Kiss with your eyes open or closed?
Closed.
Do you believe you can change someone?
This isn’t a black and white matter, I think. The idea of changing a person can have a lot of layers; in my org, for instance, I got to pick up a few quirks and behaviors from my friends just by being around them for a long time – in that sense, I changed. But you can also strive to change someone who’s struggling and try to make them become happy, which I tried to do with my ex – which of course I learned the hard way that you can’t change someone if in that context.
How did you react when your first pet died?
I was bummed out but didn’t throw a fit.
Have you ever drawn anime?
No.
Can you use a pogo stick?
I’ve never even seen one in real life. I’m dying to try it out just once.
When’s the next time you’ll see the person that you like?
I don’t like anybodyyy.
Do you like bathing/showering?
I mean...yes? Like I’m not obsessed with showering, but it’s a necessity that I have to regularly do anyway lmao.
Have you ever considered entering a race?
Sure! Just give me a couple of weeks to practice because my endurance and stamina are embarrassing.
Rihanna or Lady Gaga?
Rihanna.
Who was your first good kiss with?
My ex.
What accessory do you want in your bedroom?
SHELVES
What do you take the most pictures of?
My experiences.
What are you always in the mood for?
Starbuuuuuuckssssssss.
What is something that you never turn down?
A day out with friends. I’ll always make time.
What is something that you always turn down when offered?
Food, if I’m a guest at someone else’s place.
Name something sexy about your significant other.
I don’t have any.
What is one of your hobbies that you refuse to give up?
Surveys, I guess. I enjoy them too much and have been doing them for nearly a decade.
If you could be a professional in any sport what would it be?
Tennis.
If you could be a professional at any instrument what would it be?
PIANO.
Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician?
Surgeon. I would be too terrified seeing dead people, anyway.
Have you ever been on a subway?
Nope.
Are you in love?
No.
Do you like having your lip softly bitten when you’re kissing?
Sure. Softly, roughly...both are fine hahaha.
Do you want to get married when you’re older?
I hope so. I want my turn, too.
What was the last band shirt you wore?
Eh, I don’t own any. I wore a fanmade V-themed shirt yesterday, if that counts.
You can have a milkshake right now. What flavor do you choose?
OMGGGG that sounds so fucking good rn. Chocolate chip cookie dough.
Have you ever given someone flowers?
Mhm, I used to give my ex bouquets whenever it was our anniversary.
What day of the week is usually your busiest day?
Monday like 98% of the time, so I hate them. It ultimately varies, though. Sometimes some days are a hell of a lot more hectic than others.
Do you have any concerts coming up?
I mean...obviously not.
Do you like or hate the smell of fish?
Oh yessssssss. The smell of seafood/ocean always makes me fucking drool.
What’s your favorite brand of chips?
Pringles, or this local brand of salted egg chips that I love to get.
Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud?
Yeah, once. We had to write a poem as our homework and my teacher picked out a couple that he thought were the best-written, and one of them was mine even though I still firmly believe I did a shit job.
Do you like pineapple?
Oh god no. One of the worse fruits I’ve had.
Does your house have a dishwasher?
No. It seems to be just a Western thing.
Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo?
I probably do, but I just can’t give you a lineup of names. Flower tattoos seem to be trendy these days, especially in the line style.
How many different languages can you say goodbye in?
So I have goodbye, paalam, 안녕히 가세요, adios, auf wiedersehen, sayonara, au revoir...so that’s 7.
Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies.
Ummmm definitely childish and I can feel that the humor tries so hard sometimes but I do enjoy some of his movies, like 50 First Dates.
Have you ever had to get a tooth pulled? If so, what for?
Yeah, I mentioned this on a previous survey.
Have you ever dated anyone while they were in jail?
No, I’ve never dated anyone who’s been imprisoned.
If you’ve ever babysat, do you like it?
I ‘babysat,’ but technically all eldest Asian daughters are expected to look out for their younger siblings and cousins anyway. I didn’t actively enjoy it, but sure, it was fun playing with them and it’s always nice to be viewed as responsible.
What is your favorite flavor on sunflower seeds?
I don’t eat sunflower seeds. I don’t dislike them, I just really never seek them out.
Do you get cold easily?
Yes.
Do you get a lot of spiders in your house?
Hmm no. If we do get visited they are almost always too small to be seen.
Do you admire nature?
Yeah, I try to be around it as often as I can.
Name one naughty thing you’ve done.
Had sex while a few people were in the same room. I pay for it now hahaha; those friends who had the misfortune to be in that situation have never let me live it down and it’s one of their go-to stories when I’m being introduced to new friends.
Name two of your favorite things as a child.
I loved everything Bratz. I also liked Play-Doh.
Do you own a Pillow Pet?
No, I’ve never even heard of that.
Do you tend to solve problems with violence?
Never.
Have either of your parents gone to jail?
Nope.
Do you know a hoarder?
I heard my grandma had been one, but I didn’t see traces of it when I used to visit her. I guess she had been when she was younger and stronger. I show traces of hoarding too, but I don’t think it’s at a concerning level; I literally just threw out a bunch of shit in my room I’ve hoarded over the last five or so years.
Do you wax, pluck, or leave your eyebrows?
I don’t touch them; I’m never all that worried about my appearance. On very rare instances, I will shave some of the excess hair off.
Do you have any interesting scar stories?
None of them are interesting tbh, just results of my own stupidity.
Do you hate the texture of meatballs?
I don’t hate their texture but I also just don’t enjoy meatballs in general. I find them boring, which has always led me to think if they’re really supposed to be just boring clumps of meat or if I’ve just always been served average meatballs.
Do you get migraines?
Yes, I usually get one after work. They’ve decreased in frequency now but one will drop by every now and then to give me a shit time.
Do you like guns?
No.
Are turtles amazing creatures?
All animals are. :') < Yes! Except cockroaches.
How much time do you spend taking surveys?
I dedicate an hour or so every weekend. I often wish I can allot more time, but I also have other hobbies and interests I would usually want to catch up on during the weekends. 48 hours is just too short :(
Would you rather visit: The Eiffel Tower or Egyptian Pyramids?
Pyramids, in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even need to think about it.
Would you like to work at a candy shop?
Uh no. If I had to, it would be on the back-end, maybe in the corporate side of things lol.
Do you have feelings for someone?
Nope.
Which one of your guy friends is the best looking?
JM.
Do you have anything to say to your ex bf/gf?
No.
Which band do you have the most of on your iPod/music player?
I don’t use music players anymore but my Spotify always reminds me of how much I listen to BTS whenever they do one of their quirky listening habit reports lol.
Which song describes your mood at the moment?
I want to go with RM’s Bicycle just because I’m feeling quite content and relaxed at the moment.
Which movie(s) do you quote the most?
Eh, I’m not a big movie quoter.
Which one of your best friend’s friends would you most likely date?
I honestly don’t see any of them as date-able.
Would you ever let anybody else drive your car?
Sure. I’ve let Hans and Gab drive it countless times when I’ve had too much to drink. It’s a small car and is fairly easy to use and navigate. I would let Anj use it too at some point, but I want her to perfect her u-turns first hahahaha.
Which one of your friends will be the most successful?
It’s already one of my friends to begin with but I’m not naming names. They come from a privileged background to begin with and their godfather already handed one of his companies down to them, so. They were also told the CEO position is already a sure slot for them.
What store did you last shop at?
I wanna say NCAT, this Korean-themed store that sells trinkets and jewelries and plushies and stuff. They also sell BTS albums so Anj and I dropped by to check out and touch all the albums we can’t afford yet HAHA
Do you think telepathy is real?
No.
When did you last draw something for fun?
Last Saturday when I played an online drawing/guessing game with my uncles and aunts.
Who makes the most in your entire family?
My dad.
Do you like writing essays?
I love essays, it’s my favorite writing piece to make.
Do you think plastic surgery is no big deal?
It turns into one when it gets obsessive, like when people get excessive plastic surgeries specifically to look like another person. I’m looking at you, fucking Oli London.
Do you take your trash to the dump or have it picked up?
It’s picked up.
When you sneeze do you sneeze into your shirt or your hands?
I look away and just sneeze. Sometimes I’ll put up my elbow.
Do you usually have sex in the morning, noon or night time?
Erm, I usually had it at night. I only had morning sex when we would spend the night; and I nearly never had noon sex.
Did you ever fail your learners/drivers test?
No.
Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne?
Gun to my head, Lil Wayne.
Name someone you’ve become a lot closer to recently:
Reena!!! I’m so grateful Angela introduced us to each other :) We both tend to get shy so we don’t actually actively get chatty when we see each other irl, but I love her presence and I love that she is my friend. I make up for it by being super friendly and wacky in our group chat haha.
Does your car have a sunroof?
No. We used to have a car that did, but we had to sell that during the peak of the pandemic.
Are you closer to your mom or your dad?
Dad.
Have you ever had a friend with benefits?
No.
Who’s the last person you cuddled with?
My ex.
Are you friends with any of your teachers on Facebook?
Yeup.
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