#// had to re-read the question a few times and settled on that there's probably a missing S

[hero-of-skies]

What is your association with the word Spirit?

" Mmh, this one's a bit of a doozy to come up with an answer for right away but... "

" I think, if you mean what I associate with the word “spirit”, then I'd say Fi, Ghirahim, the Goddess, and hope or morality. "

He seems to hesitate to continue, " but if you mean my association with the sword spirits, well... Fi is the spirit in the goddess sword, so we were destined to meet but still she's my friend and I enjoy spending time with her! Ghirahim? Well, he's the spirit in the Demon King's sword, so we were destined to be enemies. But... I think with enough time and patience, and the right people around him, he could be a better and happier person, because I don't think Demise treats him very well... "

[chrysalind]

last chance

pairing: kuroo tetsurou/reader wc: 860 tags: pre-relationship, fluff, high school setting (third year), bad flirting, kuroo is really trying

"What'd you get for number 8?" Kuroo asks as he leans over you.

"Umm," you tilt your head and the golden light of the late afternoon sun flickers across your cheek. "I think I put down 1868 to 1912."

"Wait, seriously?" He claps his hand on his forehead. That's five questions he's probably got wrong now, not to mention he'd barely finished writing his second essay, meaning the maximum possible grade he could get is...

"I hate history," he grumbles, trying to redirect his train of thought from its depressing destination. "I'm never taking it in university."

You sigh ruefully. "I feel the same way about chemistry. The moment I walked out of yesterday's exam, every piece of knowledge about thermodynamics just—" you wave your hand near your temple, "—vanished."

"Bet you're glad I gave you my notes though, right?"

The train doors slide open and a crowd of students from another school shuffle in. His legs brush against yours as he tries to make more room around him.

"Only because I gave you my English notes," you counter dryly, moving your bookbag onto your lap as a freckled teen slides into the seat beside you. The small plastic Keroppi charm on its side swings erratically against your thigh.

"A more than fair trade," he reasons. "Especially since I was getting the highest mark in chem, while you were just below Takaichi in English."

"Takaichi's mom is from New Zealand," you reply, with a roll of your eyes. "He's been practically fluent since he was born. Plus, your handwriting sucks, so you get points taken off for that."

Kuroo snorts, but has no choice but to concede. After all, he can barely read his own notebooks from last semester.

He watches as the Tokyo cityscape rushes past, still thrumming with life, even as the sun dips low in the sky. It's hard to imagine an afternoon where he won't be packed into the subway at this time, with his loosened Nekoma uniform tie around his collar, and your occasional company on the afternoons he's able to catch you at the school entrance.

His short spell of mourning is interrupted by the announcer as the train pulls into a familiar station. You both exit onto the platform and make a beeline towards the escalators.

"I'm not staying in Tokyo," he says, as you're halfway through the barriers.

Keroppi's face smacks against your zipper as you pause. "Oh?"

"I'm going to Osaka," he continues, weaving through the crowd. You fall into step beside him and there's a second in which Kuroo thinks he's vastly overestimated his importance in your life.

"That's..." He watches as a crease forms between your brows. "I thought you were going to Tokodai."

"Nah," he says, re-adjusting the strap of his bag. "I think it'd be good to gain some independence, you know?"

"Right," you say, tucking your Suica away. The sound of the city fills in the quiet that follows as you step out of the station.

Truthfully, Kuroo had been hoping for something—anything—more than the pensive silence that now settles between the two of you as you both walk the last few blocks of your high school era. But as you round the corner, the weight of the moment only grows heavier.

From his peripheral vision, he can tell you're sulking with your lips turned down in a pout that you probably aren't even aware of. And even though you've never admitted it to anyone, he's not oblivious to the way you can barely hold his gaze for more than two seconds, or how you linger at the intersection when you part ways.

"You know," he says, as you both stand before a crosswalk, "this is probably your last chance."

Your eyes flash up at him.

"What do you mean?"

He straightens up.

"Your last chance to admit that you're in love with me," he blurts. He had meant for it to come out a bit smoother, maybe aiming for a kind of teasing tone, but something had gone horribly wrong in the last second. Embarrassingly, he feels his own cheeks grow hot at the boldness of his declaration.

The crosswalk indicator changes, but you're both frozen in place.

You blink, looking absolutely bewildered, and he begins to fear that he's broken you.

And then an odd sound emerges from your mouth—a short snicker, followed by an open burst of laughter. Your giggle seems to carry over the noise of the traffic around you and Kuroo tries very hard not to die right then and there.

Instead, he forces himself to laugh along. How could he have miscalculated so bad?

He's sure he'll remember this moment for many sleepless nights ahead.

"Don't worry," you say later with the world's most bemused smile, as you near his building. "It's not my last chance."

Kuroo works up the courage to look you in the eye.

"After all, I still have our graduation ceremony."

[luveline]

i’ve been re-reading some of the kbd au and was wondering if u would be up to writing a little kbd blurb wherein steve’s being all flirty and silly with reader? idk what it is but flirty kbd!steve specifically rips my heart open he’s so cute when he’s trying to charm r make r laugh <3 thank u as always mwah

thank you my love!! ♡ kbd au

Bethie brings a drink with her as she enters the living room. Steve a few steps behind her, your husband leans in the doorway and winces with every drop she spills on the floor. 

The cup is half full when it reaches you, but it is for you. "Here, mom." 

"Thank you," you say, tone enthused with bubbly affection. Bethie looks like you rather than Steve, and her smile is a mirror.

"Daddy says, uhm…" She looks over her shoulder at Steve. He nods encouragingly. She turns back. "Dad says to tell you that it's from a man at the bar. Because you look beautiful." 

You sniff at the drink, take an experimental sip. It's Steve's version of a virgin margarita, lemonade, orange juice and a spritz of fresh lime juice. "Ooh, so yummy. You want to try?" 

Bethie wrinkles her nose. "Will I like it?" 

Probably not. "I'm not sure, but it's got bubbles?"

Bethie shakes her head. You don't take it personally, scooping your second eldest up to sit on your thigh. She's not heavy. It's actually really nice when she leans back and uses your tummy as a chair, to be loved like this. 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "Come here often?" he asks with a wink. 

"Only every day, handsome." 

"Handsome? You're two timing the poor dolt stupid enough to buy you a drink, you know." 

"Poor dolt should've used his eyes." You gesture to either side of you, where Avery, the eldest, sits to your left and Dove, the youngest, lounges at your right. "I'm clearly taken." 

"Can't blame a guy for trying. I mean," —Steve whistles, looking you up and down, but he can't commit to his skit, and he cracks a smile— "hot damn, look at you." 

"Come here," you say. 

Steve's smile turns smug. He dodges the small margarita puddles on the way and leans down to kiss you, his hands on your face, a spritely peck that turns to kisses all over your left cheek. "Was the drink okay?" he asks, rubbing at your cheek with his thumb when he's done. 

You meet his eyes. Sugary brown, little flecks of honey crushed as his pupil grows bigger the longer he looks at you. "It's nice. I like your margaritas more than the store bought. Thank you, honey." 

"Oh," he hums, kissing you again. "You're welcome." 

"Daddy," Dove says simply. 

Steve knows what she wants, he can read their wants and needs from less, scooping her up to perch on the end of the couch. She can still fit into the curve of one arm if she tries. 

"Let me guess, you wanted a margarita," Steve teases, sliding a hand under her shirt to tickle her tummy. 

She laughs but ultimately protests, waiting for Steve to kiss her. He noses at her forehead, kissing her temple softly. "Better?" he asks. 

She settles in his arms and turns back to the TV, content. 

"See? You're not the only one in high demand." 

You sit back and beg him with your eyes to do the same. Steve does so immediately, shoulder to shoulder with you, pressing the tip of his nose to your cheek. Bethie wriggles in your arms and Avery asks about dinner, but for a few silly seconds, it's just you and Steve. 

"Love you. You look really, really pretty today. I had to tell you," Steve says. 

You reach out to squeeze Avery's hand to show you've heard her question. "I love you too, Stevie. Thank you." You make me feel really, really pretty. 

Especially when he says it like that. Three kids and he acts as though you're pretty enough for an urgent telling. Steve would tell you you're even prettier than the day he met you, and he's consistent enough that you genuinely believe it. He's your number one fan, and you're his. 

"Takeout?" you ask.

Steve's eyes glow with love. "Did I mention that you're beautiful?" 

[dirtyvulture]

Peeping Jeff

Natasha Romanoff x Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You and Natasha have some fun when an uninvited guest stops by.

Word count: 2095

AN: Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

No land sharks were harmed in the writing of this fic.

“Eyes on me,” Natasha says.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, as if you’ll dare disobey her. Not when she’s dressed in the thinnest pair of black lingerie she owns and is currently rotating slowly around the stripper pole she had installed in the bedroom almost a month ago. It was probably the best investment the two of you ever made, and even Tony had to comment on its usefulness when he brought the contractors in.

You settle back in the bed, ready for your private show. You’re only wearing your boxers now and the bulge between your legs continues to tent as Natasha scales up the pole almost to the ceiling. She wraps her legs around it, wedging it in the crook of her knee to hold her weight while she lets go with her arms, leaning back until her hair cascades in a fiery red wave. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” Natasha warns when she sees your hand moving towards your own crotch. You can’t always help yourself; seeing your girlfriend like this demands an attention that she is too far away to provide. You sigh in frustration, but force your hands back to your sides.

Natasha slides down the pole a few feet, tilting back until her head is lower than the rest of her body. Your eyes focus on her perfect breasts ready to spill out of their delicate cage and how perfectly they press together when she moves. 

She suddenly releases her hold on the pole with her legs and she drops to the floor.

“Nat!” you cry, almost jumping off the bed until you see that she’s stopped herself just in time, now hovering inches off the floor. 

“I’m fine,” she snips, almost like she’s upset you thought she had so little strength and would hurt herself.

“Okay, okay.”

As Natasha continues her performance, neither of you notice that it’s now become a public showing when two dark beady eyes look through the crack of the bedroom door that you’ve accidentally left slightly ajar. The eyes widen when they see Natasha and the silver, shiny pole. But after a few moments, they are distracted by the rumbling in their belly and continue padding down the hall to the kitchen. 

By the time Natasha is off the pole and sauntering over to you, you’ve given up all restraint and are jerking yourself off in your boxers, stopping only when she climbs on top of you and grinds down on your crotch.

“Did you like my show?” Natasha asks, but it’s a pointless question.

“I loved it, baby,” you pant, tilting your head up desperately for a kiss. You don’t even notice she’s pulled your boxers off and her own panties until you suddenly feel her wetness brush against your cock. “Oh fuck, Nat.”

She sinks down without warning, enveloping you in perfect, silky heat. You buck up instinctively, trying to fit your entire length into her, the ache of arousal in the pit of your stomach slightly soothed as she surrounds you. 

Natasha locks her hands around your neck to steady yourself as you thrust into her. You press your face into her chest, inhaling the scent of her skin and wrapping your arms around her back to keep her close to you.

“Right there, baby,” she moans as you jack your hips up until they slap against hers. “Keep going, keep going.”

“You’re always so tight around me,” you grunt, twitching at the sound of your slick cock sliding in and out of her. “You’re so perfect, Nat. Every part of you.”

She hums in agreement, bouncing on your cock and causing the whole bed frame to shake. 

You hadn’t realized how turned on Natasha was over her own performance until her walls clamp around you, almost preventing you from pulling out, and her wetness dripping down your cock. You thrust up in one final, rough move, emptying yourself into her, your hips raised off the bed until your thighs are trembling from the effort before you collapse back down and Natasha rests on top of you. 

The two of you stay like that for a long time, until your alarm goes off, alerting you that you have to get ready for the next event.

***********************************************************************

“I swear, we go to one of these a week,” Natasha says, snagging a martini from one of the passing waiters. She clinks it against your cocktail glass and the both of you take a sip in solidarity.

“You know Tony. Any excuse he has to party, he’ll put one on,” you respond, turning with her to face the crowd of people swaying on the dance floor. You swear you’ve never seen the same person twice at these parties and sometimes wonder if Tony just puts up a flier on the Internet advertising there’s a party at the Avengers Tower. It would explain the amount of times you’ve been asked to take pictures or sign autographs. 

“You tired?” you ask Natasha as she sighs and leans against your arm. 

“Not any more than usual.” You know she’s not a fan of these gatherings any more than you are.

“We can go soon,” you offer.

“It’s okay,” she says.

The two of you sit at the bar and try to avoid any other interactions. You bob your head absently to the beat of the music as Natasha drinks another martini. Bruce comes over, trying to strike up a conversation with Natasha as you glare at him with your arm looped firmly around her waist. 

“Tony said he had a surprise for tonight,” Bruce says. 

“Is it going to happen anytime soon? It’s almost our bed time,” Natasha yawns.

As if on cue, the music suddenly stops and the lights flash on to their full power. The crowd on the dance floor murmurs their annoyance as Tony appears on the DJ’s stage.

“Thank you to everyone who came out tonight!” he says. “I know I host a lot of these, and I’m always trying new things to keep them interesting. Behold, my latest addition to the Stark party experience!”

Tony holds his hands up, and the spotlights direct to a panel on the ceiling that slides back. Something silver and shiny pokes down, slowly revealing itself to be a singular, metal pole. It takes a second for it to click what it is. 

“Oh God,” Natasha says, shaking her head.

“Is that a stripper pole?” Bruce asks.

“Yep,” you answer. “I wonder if he got the idea from the one we had installed in our room–”

Bruce turns on you incredulously. “Wait, you have a–”

“Who wants to give it a try?” Tony asks as the lights dim, all focus on the shiny silver pole now. No one in the crowd moves at first. 

“I will give it a go!” a deep voice booms and Thor comes forward as people begin cheering and clapping for him.

“Oh, this will be good,” Natasha comments. You move closer to get a better view of your co-worker as he steps up to the pole, sizing it up for a few seconds before grabbing onto it firmly. Women start cheering as Thor hesitantly swings himself around the pole, as if he doesn’t trust such a flimsy object to support him, but with the encouragement of the crowd, he gains some confidence and starts to dance as if the pole is his partner.

“Only Tony could come up with something like this,” you say, impressed at how flexible the god of thunder is.  

“This is definitely going online,” Bruce notes, counting the number of cellphones people have out to capture the moment.

“You want to give it a try, Nat?” you tease.

“Nope. Because that’s a show for you only,” she says, pressing against you to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“All right, all right, give it up for the god of thunder!” Tony says, gesturing for Thor to leave center stage as the crowd of women swarm him from your view. “Who’s up next?” His eyes sweep across the room, searching for another victim. You accidentally make eye contact with him and your heart drops as he points to you. “Come on over, Y/N–” 

“Mrrrr.” 

You pause mid-step as everyone hears the same noise echo in the room. It’s one you’re more than familiar with, but you aren’t quite sure it’s the right one you’ve heard until you see Jeff the land shark, in his one-foot tall glory, waddling towards center stage.

Murmurs carry around as the little shark approaches the silver pole and gives it a few sniffs.

“Is that Jeff?”

“What is he doing here?”

“Is he even old enough to be here?”

“Mrrrr!” he huffs indignantly at that last comment. When you pause to think about it, you aren’t really sure what Jeff’s age is. While he is a great deal smaller than his terrifying, fully-grown counterparts, rumor had it that Jeff aged just the same but simply did not outgrow his smaller form. So for all you knew, he was perfectly of age to be at a Tony Stark party.

“Give it up for Jeff the land shark!” Tony exclaims, increasing the volume of the music. 

“Go, Jeff!” you shout and Natasha smacks your shoulder. “Ow, what was that for?”

“Do not encourage him! He’s just a baby and probably shouldn’t even be here–”

“We don’t know that for sure,” you defend.  

“Watch him be better than Thor,” Bruce says.

Jeff stands on his hind legs to inspect the pole; you wonder if he has the grip strength to lift himself up. Natasha had lectured you on the difficulties of her new hobby, even offering you the opportunity to try it yourself, and while you were plenty strong, you had no flexibility or grace, thus resulting in a less-than-stellar show for her. 

However, Jeff is already showing you up as he clutches onto the pole tightly with his fingers, pushing off the ground with his back feet and using his momentum to swing around the pole with his round body.

People scream and cheer at his first attempt. He steadies himself, carefully inching up the pole until he is at a height where everyone in the room could see him. He tilts his head back as he spins around the pole again, almost like he’s in slow-motion. You had no idea a land shark could be this graceful or fluid. 

Everyone is entranced by his performance, as Jeff flaps his tail to propel himself faster around the pole. He dips back until he’s almost upside-down, before he lessens his grip on the pole just enough to come sliding down at a speed that drops your heart, but he stops before his head touches the floor. 

The applause is raucous.  

“Isn’t that what I did last night?” Natasha says suddenly, but you’re too enthralled to respond. 

“He’s better than you, Nat,” you tease with a nudge. Jeff climbs up the pole again, then clamps his jaws around it, swinging his round body out in a move you can only describe as being the land shark version of a human flag–one of the most difficult calisthenic exercises you’ve ever tried to learn. But whereas it took you months of intensive training to achieve a human flag for even 5 seconds, Jeff seems to have flawless core strength as he holds his body out, perfectly perpendicular to the floor. 

“YEAH, JEFF!” you scream, scaring Natasha. You’re probably one of the few people here who truly understand the difficulties of the exercise, and you want to make sure Jeff’s feat is appropriately appreciated.  

Jeff takes the pole in his hands again, twirling around it while pausing in several positions with his legs split or kicked out. He mimes walking on air for a few seconds during his descent and if the crowd hadn’t been loud already, you’re pretty sure they’re going to shatter the windows. Jeff lands safely on the floor, bounding up and bowing as people take pictures and continue to cheer. 

“I wonder where he learned how to do that,” Bruce says, clapping his hands.

“Yes,” Natasha agrees, a strange realization dawning on her but she’s too embarrassed to say it out loud. She will have to make sure the bedroom door is properly closed and locked from now on. “I wonder…”  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Special thanks to @nameforthemain for this beautiful sketch that inspired this fic!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[hollow-lime-green]

AO3 Wrapped (hana's version)

Since I just did the fanfic writer interview post a while back, this will be short (although I love to yap so send me asks if there's anything you want to hear me yap about RE my writing this year). I'm going to keep it short - something I've never done before! New Year New Me.

Words Written: 139.8k (about 3 great gatsbies, I think)

Works Published: 5! All in the FIYM verse!

Fastest Work (per word): string theory

Slowest Work (per word): 2sorcs chapter 12, probably

Number of WIPs I'm Taking into 2025:

1 posted (2sorcs) I really really really wanted to finish 2sorcs this year, but alas, I did not. But then I'll be able to say I've been writing 2sorcs for two years!

4 in the drafts, also all for the FIYM-verse (man I should write other things)

Favorite Character to Write: Nanami!

I use him sparingly because his narration will get old if I overdo it, but it's such a delight to write him sometimes. As the straight man of 2sorcs, he gets to be an outlet for me to say "look, I know this inconcievably gay situation has jumped the shark multiple times, I know this is ridiculous."

Favorite Moment(s) I've Written:

"The Mario Bros Bully Sailor Satoru"

Kenjaku Reveal

Malevolent Kitchen as a real cooking show (based on Cutthroat Kitchen, which is my Roman Empire)

Hardest Thing I've Written:

The missions in 2sorcs, not even close. Oh my goodness that was such a bitch to write. I just wasn't happy with it for such a long time, until finally it clicked for me and I figured out what I wanted to do.

Some of my Favorite Lines and Jokes:

From string theory -

“...You’re self-conscious?” Suguru stares at him like he’s grown a second head. But Satoru feels like he isn’t even working with one functioning brain at this point, let alone two. I know I’m not the shape of someone you could love. “I…” Satoru bites his lip. He shrinks back as Suguru settles next to him on the bed. Please don’t hate me for wanting to pretend.

From 2sorcs -

“Maybe,” Suguru shrugged. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” “Mmmm. Very panopticon of you.” Panopticon? Suguru considered himself bisexual, but he was kind of fluid with labels.

also

You see, Kenjaku was not an artist, Kenjaku was a patron of the arts. Best to let the real artist work his craft. Of course, Kenjaku had theories about the plot. Multiple theories, in fact. These ‘anime-onlies’ (so to speak) were so invested in what would happen to their precious Starks, while true manga fans (in a sense) like Kenjaku were already well into arguing (on online forums) about the identity of Azor Ahai, The Warrior of Light, The Son of Fire, wielder of Lightbringer, the Prince That Was Promised. Anyway, if the old man didn’t get his shit together, Kenjaku would have to take steps. They had connections. All it would take would be a few galas, a donation here and there, and they’d be in the writers’ room by Season 7.

From relativity (I just posted this yesterday, so check it out if you haven't) -

Because every top in gay porn is some muscle hunk with a buzz cut, twenty tribal tattoos, and enough oil on their bodies that George W. Bush would accuse them of hiding WMDs in their pants. (And he’d be right).

This list is mostly inspired by @fushiglow's wrapped post! (Also thanks for the tag @marichild - since I have only really been writing in one ship/fandom this year, that set of question/answers wouldn't have been super interesting to read for my stats, probably).

[imwall-e]

Until we meet again : Chapter 1

Pairing : TB!Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warning : MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAY THE GAME, major character dea•th, tuberculosis, angst, (tell me if I forgot some), reader but external POV

A/N : I wrote this a few months ago and finally decided to post it. I'm really proud of this chapter, my best work so far (imo). I first wrote it in French and mostly used Deepl to translate the text, and even if I re-read it, they may be some mistake so don't hesitate to tell me! This is not beta read. This is my first work for the Red Dead fandom and I hope it's good. Consider liking, rebloging or commenting if you like my work (and feel comfortable with that of course).

The atmosphere of Beaver Hollow was already being felt long before we arrived at the new camp. The area was dark, damp, stinking. It was as if it were haunted. Cursed. As for the cave, it was a concentration of all that, only worse. Once home to a local gang nicknamed The Rejects of Murfree, it bore indelible traces of the horrors it had harbored. The smell outside was unbearable, but inside was a vision of dread. Blood was visible from floor to ceiling, pieces of decomposing corpses smeared all the way down to its entrails. Impossible to settle inside.

Where just a few weeks earlier the gang had been celebrating their exit from the snowy mountains, and everyone was ready to give their all to make a new place a comfortable place to live, now there was no laughter to be heard. Not a smile was to be seen on any of the faces. Only whispers, distrust, fear and death reigned.

And Arthur… his coughing fits were becoming more violent, and more frequent. His skin was pale, contrasting with the blue of his eyes, which betrayed his illness and fatigue.

Outlawed, hunted by the Pinkertons or opposing gangs like the O'Driscolls, he'd been shot at many times. And yet, he was dying of tuberculosis. A fucking disease. After all, he'd probably earned it with the life he was leading… had led. His punishment for beating up Mr Downes. A good man, always ready to help others even though he didn't have much.

Arthur, who'd never done anything right. Or so he thought, but she was always there to remind him otherwise. After Mary, after Eliza, he never thought he'd fall in love again. Then she'd come along, and offered him more than he thought he deserved.

Arthur had met her while hunting. She was wearing a long white dress. At first, he thought he saw an angel. Then their eyes met. He saw the fear in her eyes and decided to put down his bow. He introduced himself and she gradually seemed to calm down. After a few minutes' silence, she finally told him her name. Her voice trembled, but she'd asked for his help: she was supposed to be getting married that very day to a man she'd never met. But what she was looking for was freedom.

She wanted to travel. To discover. To live. And Arthur had offered her all that. For five years, they'd been happy together. Arthur had even proposed to her while they were still in Blackwater. But they'd kept it a secret until things got better.

Unfortunately, the moment never arrived.

Micah was a traitor. And Dutch had blindly followed him, going so far as to question the words of John and Arthur. He'd rather believe a dangerous madman than those he considered his own sons.

Arthur should have left after the Blackwater massacre. Hosea had tried to warn him when they'd all fled to Colter. Or he should have let Micah hang at Strawberry. If only he'd been willing to open his eyes to what Dutch had become. To his true nature. If only.

But it was too late now, and there was no point in dwelling on the past. Now he had t o protect those who remained. Tilly had already taken Jack to safety. Abigail was safe thanks to him and Sadie, and the two women had left to join Tilly. Mary-Beth and Karen had probably escaped too. She was the only one left. And he knew exactly where she'd be safe.

He helped his young fiancée onto her mare, then settled down behind her. He wanted to smell her hair while he still could. He wanted to hold her close. However, time was running out and lingering was a luxury they couldn't afford. The person he was looking for was passing through the Annesburg area, but they'd better get moving fast. He nudged the horse's flank to move it forward, and whistled for the stallion carrying the young woman's belongings to follow.

The journey wasn't long, but it went by faster than he would have liked. A dilapidated house appeared in the distance. Arthur had exchanged a few letters with the man who had taken an interest in his bleak landscape, a man he had helped not long ago. He was standing outside, setting up his camera. His gaze wandered to them, and he soon recognized Arthur.

"Mr. Morgan! I'm so happy to see you again! As you may have noticed, I've given up taking pictures of wildlife. I'm now content with the magnificent landscapes" exclaimed Albert, warmly greeting the man who had helped and saved him on numerous occasions. But his familiar enthusiasm soon disappeared when he saw the young woman's tears and Arthur's sickly pallor. "What's the matter?" he asked worriedly, abandoning his camera.

"Mr. Mason, I need you to…" but Arthur was interrupted by a coughing fit causing him to cough up blood as he stepped to the ground. "I'm dying and I'd like you to take care of my fiancée."

The young woman tried to smile at Albert, but knowing that the man she loved would soon be leaving her was too much to bear. It dashed all memories, all hopes of a better life with her cowboy.

"I'm sorry I haven't written to inform you, but recent events haven't given me the opportunity," Arthur resumed after helping his beloved off his horse.

The tears continued to roll silently down the cheeks of the woman who was to become Mrs Morgan. She was silent now, staring into space.

"Mr Morgan…", Albert didn't know what to say. This kind man, who had come to his aid so many times, was going to die. He could see the sadness in the lovers' eyes. And Albert saw only one way he could do something for them: "Don't worry, I'll take care of mademoiselle."

Arthur was relieved: she would be safe. She would live. He turned to her: she seemed no more than a ghost. But she had to fight. For him. For her. For them.

"I love you, Princess," he began, taking her in his arms. "More than you can imagine. I wish I'd said it more often. I regret so many things. But I promise we'll meet again. Not in this life, unfortunately, but in another. I'll find you again."

"We… we… we didn't even have time to get married," she managed to articulate between sobs, the crying resuming in earnest following Arthur's words.

"It wasn't our time. Now you must stay with Albert. Live, princess. Do it for me. I'll always watch over you, but promise me you won't let yourself die."

"I… I promise, Arthur."

That was all he needed to hear. He had to go now. He had unfinished business with Micah, but also with Dutch.

The sun was setting as he rested his forehead against hers. His way of kissing her for the last time, wanting to avoid her contracting tuberculosis too. He squeezed her hands and heard her whisper "I love you, Arthur".

He gently let go of her hands and she kept her eyes closed, not wishing to watch him go. To tell the truth, she was so focused on remembering his scent, his laugh, his voice, that she didn't even hear him mount his mare and gallop away.

When she opened her eyes again, the sky had darkened. A storm was approaching. Arthur was gone. Only Albert remained, looking after the stallion carrying the young woman's belongings. He knew she wouldn't move immediately, but it was time to go. He'd better get back to the cabin he'd rented before nightfall.

"Mademoiselle, I'm sorry but we must leave now. Tomorrow we'll go to Rhodes, my house is close to the city."

"Of course," was all she could reply, her gaze fixed on the mountains.

The journey to the cabin Albert had reserved was silent. The storm was roaring in the distance. She held back from joining Arthur. But she had to keep her promise.

Without Arthur, life would be difficult. Her heart would be broken forever, but she had to try. And one day, they would be reunited. She had to believe that.

The rain finally came, falling on her cheeks and mingling with her tears. She couldn't stop thinking about all those mornings she'd wake up alone. She couldn't accept that he wasn't coming back. Ever.

"Mademoiselle?" Albert's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "We've arrived. You should try to eat something and get some sleep." He didn't know what to do or say.

She followed him silently. Inside, she sat by the window, where she could see the mountains near Beaver Hollow. Soon, she closed her eyes, tears still flowing.

Her mind took her to a river in the middle of the woods. The light wind gently moved the leaves on the trees. She was wearing a long white dress. A branch cracked, startling her. But it was only Arthur, wearing the hat he always wore and the blue shirt she loved so much.

"You're beautiful," he said, and she threw her arms around his neck. "Dance with me?" Was there an answer other than "yes"?

And, each immersed in the other's gaze, they danced. Without stopping, they talked about their future: having a ranch, raising horses, starting a family. A quiet life away from traitors and the Pinkertons. Just them.

"I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, princesses," he replied, kissing her tenderly. A deer passed by them. Then nothing.

When she opened her eyes again, she knew Arthur was gone.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Albert and the young woman began their journey to Rhodes.

"I think you'll like Rhodes very much, mademoiselle. It's much quieter and warmer since the Gray and Braithwaite families, two rival families, entered… well, since they left."

The young woman smiled at the mention. It brought back memories that were certainly recent, but seemed so long ago. But her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared as she recalled Sean's death.

Then came Kieran's turn. Hosea. Lenny. Eagle Flies. John. And Arthur.

Sensing that she wouldn't talk any more than she had the day before, Albert decided to talk to her about anything and everything, in the hope of distracting her from the sadness that overwhelmed her, even if only for a few minutes.

"The landscape is also much brighter. Annesburg offers beautiful scenery, but it's a very dark, eerie area. Rhodes is nicer, warmer."

Albert was right: the further they got from Annesburg, the fresher the air seemed, the more colorful and welcoming the surroundings.

She glanced back one last time, to where Arthur had remained. Her heart sank. She felt she was abandoning him. But she had to stay strong.

Finally, Rhodes appeared before them as the sun tinted the sky orange, ready to give way to the moon.

"Miss, look!"

A majestic deer had stopped in the middle of the road, staring at them with its big dark eyes.

"It's the first time I've seen one approach like that. They're usually very frightened," Albert continued.

The deer approached the young woman and rested its muzzle against her leg. She gently touched its large antlers, then the animal moved away, disappearing among the trees.

"Goodbye, Arthur."

I hope you liked this first chapter!

[curioussubjects]

Feedback Fest 2024

Since everything I've read for the past 1.5 years has been pilots, all 10 of the fics here are Kara/Lee from Battlestar Galactica. I'm only listing one fic per author, so be sure to check individual author pages if you liked their style.

(go here over on @transformativeworks for more info!)

1. In the Whole World by pennyante (M, ~80K, WIP)

Summary:

The Cylons aren't quite human, and the humans haven't quite forgiven them. Political stability is less certain than ever now that the war is over: Lee Adama finds himself up for re-election, where being defeated will mean a Gemenese theocracy puppeteered by Leoben Conoy. Meanwhile, Kara Thrace has nothing but questions about her death and destiny. The only answers available come in the form of the vision of a temple, and from her hybrid/comatose husband's cryptic ramblings about a sister artifact to the Arrow of Apollo.

There's violence in the air. Civil war looms. Can Lee and Kara save each other, and keep the fledgling colony whole?

Thoughts: The best season 4 fix-it, lives in my head rent free, rewired my brain, etc. Also I've read it, like, 3 times (and I cried).

2. We're Not Friends by ninety6tears (M, ~25K)

Summary:

When two soldiers in the middle of a war can't seem to like each other, baptism by fire is apparently the natural solution. (AU in which Kara never knew Zak and first meets Lee after the fall of the colonies.)

Thoughts: I love a different first meeting AU, and this one takes pilots on a fun rivals to lovers spin that works surprisingly well. They're still very unwell about each other, though, make no mistake.

3. Artemis Rising by clairza (M, ~11K)

Summary:

The next morning Lee makes a few phone calls, and when everything has been organized and his credit card has been used for the first time in three months, and he’s had the pleasure of telling his mother that no, he has plans this week, he tracks Kara down in the quad. 

She's lying on her stomach poking sticks upright in the grass. He sits down beside her, and he can see the tension in her shoulders.

“So,” he says casually, and he’s very proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake at all. “I hear the Aegean Peninsula is nice this time of year.”

“It probably is.”

“I’ve booked a unit.”

“Where are you going with this, Lee?” Thoughts: I have a huge soft spot for fluffy academy pilots and this fic absolutely delivers. Happy baby pilots go to the beach five stars no notes.

4. An Arranged Meeting by lark_ral (E, ~11K)

Summary: Even outside of wartime, you might be surprised by the pressures our service men and women are under. The most effective among them either have, or need a release valve. Thoughts: Lee and Kara are scene partners for years, then the Cylons come. Somehow less messy than the show, but still delicious.

5. Rota by leda13 (E, ~2K)

Summary: The days are arbitrary, in space. Bereft of the guide of a planet's rotation around the sun, they live in slices of time, stealing as many as they can. Thoughts: Emotional support curtain fic of pilots sneaking around.

6. Sufficient to the Day by rachelindeed (T, ~1.5K)

Summary: At the sound of Lee’s voice, she feels her stomach twist and drop. Reluctantly, she opens her eyes and sees him come to a stop an arm’s length away, settling one elbow onto the corner of the bleacher behind her. His jacket is unbuttoned, his hair mussed, jaw ghosted with stubble, and the frakking sun is rising behind him. The look on his face is casual and fond, but he breathes as if he’s been running. Thoughts: Mandatory UB morning after fix-it...sort of. I really like this one because all I wanted was for Lee to get to Kara first. Or for him to call her bluff. This fic is both. It's not a showdown on main street like I enjoy joking about, but it's quiet and it's them (so it's better!).

7. Contrecoup by Fahye (T, ~2.2K)

Summary:

Contrecoup (n): A concussion or shock produced by a blow or other injury, in a part or region opposite to that at which the blow is received, often causing rupture or disorganisation of the parts affected. (One story told right-way-up, the other told upside-down, but both in the same narrative.)

We begin at a single point in time. The present goes forwards. The past goes backwards.

The story is AU-within-canon and set after episode 1x11, "Colonial Day."

Thoughts: I can't say too much because I don't want to spoil the fic. So: a bit angsty, a lot sweet, with a side of Kara's amazing problem-solving skills.

8. Lee's Emo Coffeehouse by haycorn (M, ~2.9K)

Summary: Lee has a bar, and sometimes Kara makes his life more interesting. Thoughts: I love cute modern AUs in general, and I love them even more when there's pining involved. There's not nearly enough of this type of fic for pilots, either! Many thanks to the author for their service. Would read 100K of this 'verse.

9. Breathing Room by callmeonetrack (M, ~12K)

Summary: Kara and Lee adjust to their new, very separate lives on the Pegasus. Badly.

Thoughts: My favorite Pegasus fic! Being on the Pegasus sucks, but then Lee and Kara find each other and things get better. Chef's kiss, peak pilots.

10. And I Feel Fine by hazellazer (M, ~2.4K)

Summary:

“That was… that… why?”

Her hands stay firmly on his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. “I was just thinking—”

Cutting her off, he smirks. “You think?”

She swats at his arm, hard enough that it might actually bruise. “I thought you were dead, Lee.” Her gaze is harsh on his, voice rasping, before something softens. “And I should’ve done this the second I knew you weren’t.” Thoughts: Season 1, but Lee and Kara are together. It's nice, refreshing, and plain good.

[nocturneindream]

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”

[sk8termikey]

Chapter 3 of 21 Questions

(better interface on wattpad)

Matt had just been chilling in his room when he heard his phone. His brothers – triplets actually – and he were spending the evening alone on their own as they had spent the whole day together filming for their YouTube channel. It had only been two years and a half since they started making content but they were already quite popular on social media. As Matt thought it was either Chris or Nick asking him to drive them somewhere – Matt was the only one among them with a driver’s licence, he took his phone, mentally preparing himself to get dressed and leave the comfort of his bed.

With an obvious surprise on his face, Matt unlocked his phone and saw that it was actually an unknown number that had texted him.

**********

Heyy stranger, wanna play 21 questions? :)

Matt was confused because he wasn’t used to receiving actual texts from random people, except for an occasional wrong number which he would never respond to. As he thought about how he didn’t have anything to do at the moment, why not play.

And so, as Matt replied to the stranger, he learnt that the girl on the other side of a screen was almost the female version of his brother Nick: she loved autumn and had a nose ring – ok it’s not much but this was enough to compare the two. The conversation was nicely flowing between the two teenagers until Matt ended up being called by his youngest brother as Chris was in need of McDonald’s at ten o’clock. Therefore, he had to quickly find a way to leave the girl he was talking to on his phone and took the opportunity of discovering that she was a cat person to funnily exit the discussion, hoping not to appear rude to her – well he was a bit, mystery girl and her best friend had judged him a lot.

~~~

During the next couple of days, Matt actually forgot about the girl who had texted him on a random evening. To be fair, his brothers and he had been busy filming – they had come back from tour last month and settled back into their usual routine. This was the reason why Matt hadn’t responded to the girl. Of course, he wasn’t feeling guilty as they weren’t even friends – yet – but when he saw on the Messages application that he had unread texts from her, Matt remembered that he actually had a good time talking to the mysterious girl; and the fact that his day was sort of over – over in the sense that Chris already ate and thus wouldn't be interrupting Matt again – pushed the middle triplet to get back to know the cat person who he had suddenly abandoned. Now opening their conversation, Matt finally read the last messages from a few days ago.

**********

I’m not apologising tbh

Bc i love my cat with my whole heart

He’s the best

I hope you were joking bc our convo was fun

Anyways, bye then-

Hi stranger, our convo from yesterday was really nice so I hope you might still wanna play even tho  I'm a cat person and you're a dog person but yk what they say: opposites attract :)

Matt had not expected her to re-engage the conversation the day following their first one but he hoped that it was not too late to come back to her.

*********

Good evening stranger, ig I’m a bit late to the party

Been a few busy days lately but if you’re still down it could be fun to continue our game

(dw ab the cat thing, it was maybe too much from me)

While Matt was waiting for the girl to reply – how long it would take, he had no idea as she could be living on the other side of the world and currently sleeping, he tried to make an effort of thinking about a couple of questions he could ask. Matt wanted to keep things engaging, even though they were just getting to know each other. In any case, it was either Saturday or Sunday for his chatmate so he would probably get an answer before the week-end was over.

Matt actually only had time to brush his teeth and change into his pyjamas after a short shower when he heard his phone. Curiosity took over him as he quickly grabbed his phone and a light smile appeared on his face when he saw the positive reply from the girl.

*********

Good evening stranger, ig I’m a bit late to the party

Been a few busy days lately but if you’re still down it could be fun to continue our game

(dw ab the cat thing, it was maybe too much from me)

Hiii!

No worries, we each have our life so you had some right to be occupied w smth else

(i think i can forgive you for that, we’ll see later)

Matt felt relieved in the sense that talking so light-heartedly to someone completely unknown was calming in a way. From the little conversation they had had a few days ago, he already knew that this would be a safe place where he wouldn’t be judged – apart from liking dogs more than cats. He decided to immediately write back for he wanted to get to know the girl better.

**********

Glad we’re ok now

By rereading our last messages, I see that it should be your turn to ask a question so I’ll wait for it

Ok ok lemme think quickly

We’re gonna start back w smth simple i hope

What’s your go-to comfort food?

My stomach needs to take over for this question

I feel like it’s an easy one but I have multiple choices rn

It’s ok, give me a top 3 ig

So I’d say tacos, nuggets and pasta

(in no particular order)

I want YOUR top 3 now

Yepp ofc

Mine would be pizza, sushi and fries maybe

No particular order as well

Yours are absolutely valid

I fuck with pizza and fries but not sushi sorryy

If I were fucking petty I would leave the convo like you did

But I’m not, soo :))

That’s low

I deserve it tho

Self-aware king!

We need to find common ground tho

Like a question we FULLY agree on

So much pressure on me rn

This is a serious question (like every other one honestly) so you can only choose the right answer

Damn pressure on ME now

It’s technically a double question if you answer negatively to the 1st one

Do you play pokemon? Or have you played as a child?

OMG

HAND IN MARRIAGE NOW

WHAT

WHY

(DO I NEED TO SCREAM TOO?)

BRO

I LOVE POKEMON

(AND YEAH WE SCREAMING RN)

REALLY???

YEAH OFC

MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD

Even nowadays i still play sometimes

Wow

I wasn’t expecting that

I mean I was hoping

But it’s really nice to know that you do

Which ones do you like?

My faves are probably X and sapphire alpha

Honestly just the ones on DS bc they slay

Like

I don’t have the nintendo switch so I stopped buying the latest games

But i like to come back to them sometimes

And i also played a couple on game boy color as well

Ok ok good to know

I’m more of a pokemon go guy tbh

Like when I’m driving I have this thing that catches pokemon for me

That is so cool!!

I’ve never really been keen on pokemon go

But the whole universe in general has always looked amazing to me

Yeah I totally agree

See

This is common ground

Yayy you’re right :))

I thought of a next question but you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable

Go ahead dw I’ll tell you if I am :)

What’s your name?

I can even tell you mine first if you prefer

I just don’t wanna keep calling you the random guy I texted

And maybe putting a contact name would be nice😅

Matt unconsciously started typing his name when he paused to think about it: this was a stranger – a nice one though, there was no way she would find out who he was just from the information he had given her. How many Matts out there in the world have brothers, love pokemon and dogs? Quite a lot he hoped. This is fine, what are the odds? – turns out that the odds were actually pretty fucking huge from the beginning but let’s not spoil it and just keep the foreshadowing light.

**********

My name’s Matt

I don’t mind giving it out, it’s fine

Not like you asked for my fucking address lol

Bro I would never- this would be so messed up

I’m Lily btw

Nice to meet you Matt

Nice to meet you too Lily

As Matt and Lily were both finally able to change the contact name of the other, their faces were illuminated with genuine smiles due to the bond they were creating. And although it was simply the beginning of a blooming friendship, the door to a new chapter of their lives was about to open.

Thank you for reading. Votes and comments are always appreciated if you like this story :) The story is co-written w @/little_grapejuice on wattpad

[thesweetnessofspring]

Hi there lovely person. Happy Sunday 💜

I was re-reading THG and I had a question about sponsors: how do you think they work exactly? We have Effie tell Katniss and Peeta about Haymitch: “You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts”. So does this mean that Haymitch gets to decide what is bought with the money they get from sponsors or that he decides who gets the gifts? I’m always confused by this. We know that prior to the rule change, Katniss was getting sponsors and that Peeta got nothing. So was Katniss really the only one getting sponsors or perhaps they were both getting money for gifts but Haymitch used all of it for Katniss? This makes sense to me because he had chosen her. But why would Haymitch have to choose someone if sponsors determined who got the gifts? He could just tell them: “I will coach you both, but sponsors pick whoever gets the gift, so don’t take it personally if you don’t get anything, it’s just how these things work”. Also, I remember Katniss said that the best looking tributes always got the most sponsors, and it’s only logical that if you are going to invest money on a competition, you get to decide who gets it. But what confuses me is that Effie said that Haymitch would dictate the presentation of any gift and that he confirmed he had indeed chosen Katniss in CF.

Moreover, I think that it is more complicated for District 12 since Haymitch was the only mentor. In other districts, probably each tribute has their own mentor which makes things less complicated as far as sponsors go.

Or did it mean that he would only try to line up sponsors for the person that he chose? So in this case, he chose Katniss so he lined up and/or worked hard to get sponsors for her only. I know that we don’t get much information about this in the books, but I would love to read your thoughts about this topic. Thank you 🫶

Hi nonny! You've brought up some interesting questions and something I've wondered about myself.

In TBOSAS, sponsors gave money alone and the mentor decided when and what to send their tributes. However, that was the 10th Games and while a lot was developed in those Games, they're clearly still the Games in embryo form.

My guess is that by the time the Games are settled in their patterns, sponsors are somewhat similar to giving to charity. Some people will donate specific items or pledge money for a specific purpose. Others give an amount and leave their money to the charity to do what they need with it. So I imagine that Finnick had a sponsor (or a few) who gave enough money to get him a trident specifically, but Katniss had sponsors give cash and Haymitch decided who got it.

As for Katniss and Peeta, they were a special circumstance. From the start with the opening ceremonies, they were presented as a team. That builds and builds until Peeta shares that he likes Katniss and they become the star-crossed lovers. I think that Haymitch from the get-go sold them as a team. Donating to one was donating to both.

Also, the reason Haymitch in particular seems to have "chosen" Katniss by getting her gifts while he didn't get any to Peeta was because he was selling up Katniss more. He could have gotten Peeta sponsors, but focused on Katniss instead. I think you're right that most other districts had at least two other victors (we know from CF that each district had a male and female tribute each at least). Haymitch was on his own, though, and that might have led him to be stretched out and also have to make decisions about who he chose to focus on each year.

Thanks for the ask!

[iblameashley]

König first-date rewrite

back to the fluff-fun with König and my OC. 2,210 words Decided to go back and re-write my original first-date idea for König found here. Expanding on the original idea and making a few changes. I tried to give König a little more depth this time around.

Content: Nothing really. Kissing.

Only Gay stuff below.

As Alex sat at the coffee shop, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, he couldn't help but reflect on how he and König had first crossed paths. It all started with Alex's persistent staring, unable to take his eyes off the handsome giant across the room. After several days of Alex's attempt at furtive glances, König had finally approached Alex. He slid a small note across the table, gave Alex a glance and then walked off.

Alex's heart skipped a beat as he read the message: "Staring is rude. If you want to get to know me, here's my number." It was a bold move, if not a bit elementary school.

It wasn't until later that evening when Alex decided to give the number a go, and fired off a text. 'It's probably a fake number.' He told himself. But to his surprise, he had got a reply.

Alex's eyes lit up when he spotted König walking through the door. But to his amusement and slight annoyance, König was still wearing his black face mask. Alex couldn't help but chuckle, finding it endearing yet teasingly exasperating.

"König, you're still wearing that mask?" Alex remarked with a playful smile as König approached the table. "Are you trying to hide your handsome face from me?" König's cheeks reddened behind the mask, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement evident in his eyes. "I-I guess old habits die hard," he stammered, fidgeting with the mask's straps. He was worried about taking it off, though. He didn't want to scare Alex.

After a pleasant conversation at the coffee shop, Alex and König embarked on the next part of their date. König had chosen a local pub that he and his 141 comrades frequented after missions. It had a cozy ambiance, and König thought it would be the perfect place to share a drink and continue getting to know each other. It also helped that they served German beer. As they settled into their seats, Alex's curiosity got the better of him. He couldn't help but inquire once more about König's mask, realizing that it would hinder his ability to eat. "König, how do you plan on eating with the mask on?" Alex asked, a grin on his face.

König's expression grew slightly pensive as he considered the question. "I'll eat later," he replied, his voice tinged with nervousness. "Honestly, Alex, I'm just really afraid of taking off the mask right now. I want you to like me first, without any judgments based on my appearance."

"König, we've talked for three days, exchanged countless messages, and agreed to this date," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I already like you. I'm interested in the person behind the mask, not just your outward appearance." Though truth be told, he was very much attracted to König's body.

König's eyes met Alex's, searching for reassurance. He hesitated for a moment before confessing his fear, almost reluctantly. "I'm worried you'll find me ugly because of my face scars," he admitted, his vulnerability shining through.

“I knew you were... are military.” Alex began. “I always knew there was a chance you'd have scars or a prosthetic leg or something.” This was never going to be an issue for me. Alex took a deep breath, "König, I'm not here to judge you. But if it matters that much to you, I won't ask about the mask again, and you can keep it on if it makes you more comfortable."

The weight of König's decision hung in the air, a mix of confusion and stress visible on his brow. After a few moments of struggle, he took a breath and made up his mind. With a determined expression, he reached up and slowly removed the mask, revealing his face to Alex.

Alex's eyes scanned König's face. The one that ran from his temple to his jaw, the one on his lower lips, the small piece missing from his nostril, and the burn on the other side of his face. Regardless of the scars, König's strong bu slim jaw, soft pink lips and bright blue eyes made him incredibly attractive. “You're beautiful.” Alex whispered.

König shifted, uneasy in his seat at the compliment. It was a lot to take in. No one had ever called him beautiful, but he couldn't deny the sincerity in Alex's words. “Danke.” He finally said, a small smile creeping at the edges of his mouth.

“So, tell me about yourself, König.” Alex asked.

König, kept his gaze fixed downward, unable to meet Alex's eyes. He can feel his heart racing, the weight of his insecurities pressing upon him. He becomes a fountain of words, enthusiastically sharing his passion for photography. He describes his ongoing projects, from capturing the vibrant landscapes of Austria to the rugged beauty of the German countryside. König's eyes light up as he talks about the moments he has captured through his camera lens. Alex simply smiles warmly and continues eating his food.

Next, König shares his love for hiking, recounting his adventures in the picturesque mountains of Austria, Germany, and even his time stationed in England. “Ya, photography fills mein heart with joy. Every click of ze camera, it's like freezing a moment in time forever.” He remarked before vividly describes the breathtaking vistas, and the joy of being immersed in nature.

As the conversation continues, König's enthusiasm spills over into his misadventures of cooking. He passionately discusses his favourite Austrian and German dishes, the aromatic flavors, and the art of blending ingredients to create culinary masterpieces. The fires he started on the base.

Ah, well, there was dis one time in the kitchen at the 141 base... I may have gotten a bit too adventurous with mein cooking skills und accidentally set the whole place on fire.” He took a swig of beer. A”ch, it was quite the chaos! But hey, we all learned that day that I'm better at hikin' und photography, ja? He laughed awkwardly as he recounted the tale.

Alex was enjoying the fact that the mixture of anxiety and the third beer were revealing themselves in the form of his accent slipping through. König's hand waving in the air he talked. To König's surprise, Alex listens attentively, occasionally interjecting with questions about his experiences; “where do you shop for the ingredients, they cant be easy to find,” He asked, or requesting recommendations for traditional Austrian and German meals; “What are some easy recipes to start with?” he probed. König felt a sense of validation, realizing that Alex was genuinely interested.

Amidst their conversation, König mentions his sewing skills, proudly stating that he even crafted his own face mask. He explains the intricate process of sewing and designing the mask he had been wearing earlier, showcasing his attention to detail and creativity. “And look!” König exclaimed, pulling the mask from his pocket. 'It even has a space for a filter, so it filters germs.” He beamed with pride.

“Very nice!” Alex replied, looking the mask over. “Its very well done.”

“Danke!” König said.

Alex was surprised König's large hands could sew with such detail.

Eventually, König realizes how much he has been talking, “Ich bin so unhöflich. I'm so sorry Alex, I have been talking non-stop.” He says looking down at the table.

Alex finished the bite of food he had in his mouth and shrugged. “I really don't mind.” He reassured. “I enjoy listening you talk about the things you like.”

After dinner, Alex and König sat back in their chairs, satisfied and full, though König's food was mostly cold by the time he got to it. The bill arrived and a playful debate began about who should pay.

Alex insists, "König, I appreciate your gesture, but let me take care of the bill."

König leans forward, a determined look on his face. "Nein, I asked you out, so it's my treat, ja?"

“That's very kind of you, but how about a compromise? I'll pay for my portion? Or the drinks?”

König takes a moment to contemplate the offer before shaking his head in disagreement. “Nein. This dinner is on me. You can pay for the next dinner, ja? Is that acceptable?”

“Already planning the second date, König?” Alex was grinning like an idiot at the tease. Of course there was going to be a second date. König was a catch, and there was no way in Hell Alex was going to release him back into the wild.

“I- I...” König stuttered, flush with embarrassment. “If you-”

Alex raised a hand to cut him off. “I was just joking, handsome. I'd be happy to pay on our next date.”

König nodded, "Good. It's a deal, then.”

They decided to take a walk in the nearby park to walk off the food and beer, and König discreetly put his mask back on as they left. “I'm sorry Alex,” He mumbled. “I only took this off to eat, I'm uncomfortable in public without it.”

“You don't have to apologize to me, König.” He gave König a playful tap on the arm.

As they walked, Alex struggled a bit to keep up with König's stride. Noticing that the man was starting to tense back up again. It was odd as the park was mostly empty, only a few stragglers and some ducks in the nearby pond.

"König, I can tell something is on your mind. Is there something I've done to upset you?" Alex asked.

“Was?!” König was taken by surprise. “No! Not at all!” He stopped in his tracks. His mind was racing. He did have something on his mind, it had slowly crept up on him over the course of the date. It always felt like he had to climb over walls to make connections with people, and this was a connection he felt certain was important.

“There is a secret I have been keeping from you,” He finally admitted. “Its personal, and embarrassing... and” He trailed off.

“...And...?” Alex inquired.

König, feeling vulnerable, truly vulnerable for the first time, took a deep breath. The tension clear in his brow and voice as he opened up to Alex.

“This is actually the first time I have been on a date with a man. Ja. I -” He was stumbling with his words as his thoughts started to spiral out of control. “I mean, I have been with other men. I've had sex with other men, but I have never dated another... man.” He rubbed his eyes with a hand, “How many more times can I say 'man' in this conversation?”

Alex listened attentively to König, giving him the time he needed to process his thoughts and put his words in order.

“I am worried this would be a deal-breaker for you.” König finally continued. “Between my face and my lack of experience with dating, most people give me the...” He thought on it. “Ein Affentheater aufführen. To sing and dance?”

“Ah!” Alex replied, the light bulb going off “They gave you a song and dance about your inexperience.”

“Ja. Yes, exactly.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Alex asked.

König nodded.

“I haven't dated in well over five years. I wouldn't say I have much experience either.” He gave a half-hearted smile. “Besides, I think you are a handsome, sweet mean, and I want to spend more time with you. So like it or not, you're stuck with me.” He joked.

“I'd like that.”

König lead Alex over to a quieter part of the Park, a little more secluded as well. In any other situation, Alex might have felt uneasy or suspicious of this, but König had a disarming effect. 'Well, if he's a serial killer, it won't matter much in a few minutes anyway' Alex jokingly thought to himself.

"Alex, I have to be honest with you. I... I want to kiss you. If that's okay with you." he confessed.

"König, I would love to kiss you too. Asking for permission was sweet, but I've been wanting you to kiss me since the moment we met. In person... not when I was staring incredibly disrespectfully at you in the cafe."

König gave a hearty laugh at Alex's admission, and with a mixture of relief and joy, he removed his mask once more. Despite their noticeable height difference, with König towering over Alex, they close the physical distance between them. Their lips meet in a sweet, lingering kiss. His mouth lingered on Alex's to the point Alex had forgot to breathe. As He pulled away, Alex took a gasp of air.

König's face was bright red as he stood back up and put his mask back on. “Was I good?” He asked shyly.

“Took my breath away.” Alex chuckled. You reached up and re-adjusted his mask a little. “Look forward to you doing it again, handsome.”

König's heart soared with an exhilarating mix of joy and relief, realizing the significance of his personal milestone. A warm, giddy feeling enveloped him, as he delighted in his first kiss with a man. It meant so much more than his one-night stands with men in his company. There was potential here, and he wasn't going to squander it.

[transsextual]

absolutely no obligation to answer this at all but i saw your post abt yr hysterectomy and i was wondering if you are receiving that procedure as gender affirming care or something else ? i just have been trying to look into how to go about something like that and if it’s a gac thing i’d love to hear more about yr process ! regardless i hope the procedure goes well & am sending you good thoughts

hello!!! yes, it is considered gender affirming care. i'm getting my procedure done thru kaiser permanente, and i'm from CA. i'm also a little over a year on testosterone, and in order to start testosterone i had to get a diagnosis for gender dysphoria from a kaiser affiliated therapist (done in one 45 minute session (with a trans therapist!)). given that i already had that diagnosis, i can't say for sure that you'd need one within kaiser to be approved for a hysterectomy as GAC, but i'd imagine you probably would. my process was long & inconsistent because it consisted of mostly phone calls + appointments + reading&signing contracts, all things that almost physically pain me, but here's what it has looked like thus far:

- talked to my primary doctor about a referral to the center for reproductive health for fertility preservation + hysterectomy as gender affirming care

- she gave me a referral to the kaiser offices in the bay area, since that's where most of northern CA's gender affirming surgeries + procedures happen

- got a call from an RN to schedule an appointment with a fertility preservation specialist + a gynecologist

- gynecologist appt was first, she gave me the rundown on types of hysterectomies & told me i had the option for fertility preservation and that, because i live in CA and have non-MediCare insurance, i have partial coverage for fertility preservation services in a situation where i'm undergoing an operation that could lead to infertility.*

*we have a bill here, SB600, that basically illustrates that if you are undergoing a medical procedure that could result in infertility (like a hysterectomy or hormone replacement therapy) AND your insurance is something other than MediCal, fertility preservation care is at least partially covered by your insurance, and is treated as medically necessitated basic care.

- i said yes, I'm in the process of taking care of fertility preservation stuff & that is really valuable information to me, thank you!

- she referred me to a therapist to discuss different hysterectomy procedures + recovery time + resources for care, as well as a surgeon to have a consultation with

- few weeks after that was my appointment with the fertility preservation specialist, and we discussed how egg freezing works, what my options were in terms of continuing/stopping testosterone for a while*, and established a loose timeline we wanted to follow. she also ordered some labs (blood drawings) for me.

*the most research about egg freezing has been done on menstruating people, so while it's an option to stay on testosterone during the process, i opted to go off of it just because there are less unknown variables there, which comforts me

- met with surgeon for consultation, she read the notes my fertility preservation doc had taken, asked me some basic medical questions (re: drug use, sexual activity, etc), and we settled on a tentative date for my surgery

- had a mostly useless therapy(?) session to discuss hysterectomy recovery, settled on the operation i wanted, took notes about recovery time, etc, but most of my questions had already been answered by my surgeon + fertility preservation specialist.

- that brings us to about now. i haven't had any other appointments, but my current to do list consists of:

getting those labs done for fertility preservation

signing contracts about health+safety info, legal info, and other services related to fertility preservation

getting my birth control removed

right now, i'm aiming to have my birth control out by the middle of the month (June), egg retrieval complete by early July, and my hysterectomy is scheduled for the end of July. fertility preservation has been and will be by far the most annoying part of the process for a number of reasons, but if you're just looking into a hysterectomy it should be much more straightforward.

[bwela07]

Octonauts - A new Generation

Chapter 3

Stella’s temporary guardian

Tweak’s pov

All of the little ones have settled down in their room now. The Octonauts had spent the rest of the morning giving them a tour of the Octopod. Tweak proudly showed them all the new upgrades and extra rooms that have been added. Now the kids are unpacking their bags in the rooms she had added for the junior Octo-agents while they’re in training. Now she’s standing in the HQ with the Octonauts, discussing how the rest of the day should go. Peso was going on and on about important medical conditions of some of the kids, making sure Tunip pays close attention to all of the food allergies he’s mentioning. Tweak takes a peak out of the window into the wide, open ocean. The rest of the crew all have close relationships with at least one of the kids. Even Kwazii, who isn’t related to any of them, has formed a close relationship with Pinto. Tweak is the only one that doesn’t. Knowing that, she misses her home and her father even more.

“…Shellington with Periwinkle, Tweak with Stella and Kwazii and I will be with the twins. Understood?”, the captain’s naturally loud voice cuts through Tweak’s thoughts when her name is said. Everyone each says their form of agreement before going wherever it is they’re going. Not really knowing what to do, Tweak decides to go find Stella.

Arriving in the girls’ room, Tweak finds Dashi already helping out Koshi. “Do you need any help Stella?”, she asks. The fox lifts her head and looks her straight into her eyes. After a moment of her staring at Tweak, she finally replies: “Kind of. I need help re-folding my clothes.” Tweak walks over to her, kneels down and begins folding her clothes and putting them in her assigned wardrobe, a great silence upon the two of them. From the left side, Dashi and Koshi can be heard talking about mystery books. From the right side, Ursa can be heard telling the captain about everything she’s been up to in the North Pole. I should probably try and start a conversation with her. I’ll be her temporary guardian for a while after all.

“So what do ya like to do in your free time?”, the bunny asks. “Reading, writing, studying, helping my uncle with his work, watching the fresh snow fall, watching the sun set…”, Stella starts rambling on about the beautiful sights in the arctic. Wow, she seems really passionate about her home, Tweak thinks to herself. She can’t really blame her. There is no other place quite like home. After some small chat, Tweak starts noticing how Stella shoots a few glances at her every now and then. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”, she asks, “You have been givin’ me weird looks for a while now.” “I-It’s nothing. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. It’s just that…I have never seen a green rabbit before”, Stella tries to explain. It takes a while for Tweak to process what the fox just said. No one else has ever questioned her strange colour before. Maybe they just didn’t want to be rude. This fox one the other hand, can’t hide her curiosity. Tweak grins at that thought. “Yeah, it’s an unusual colour indeed”, she says with a smile. She looks over to Stella, who seems to be shocked by her answer. This just made Tweak smile wider. She put away the last piece of clothing before getting up and ruffling the pup’s hair. Stella shrieks in response. Tweak is starting to like this pup already.

With Tweak’s suggestion in mind, the two girls make their way to the game pod. Only to find Kwazii and Orson already there, playing ping pong. “Maybe we could do something else”, Stella suggests, “We should get to know each other more anyway.” “Good idea”, Tweak says, trying to think of where they should go. Maybe I should take her to the launch bay. I could show her how to play my video games and then we could talk while playing, Tweak thinks to herself. Leading the way, Tweak shows Stella where her room is. “How come all the others get a proper room, while you have this open space in the launch bay?”, is naturally Stella’s first question. “Don’t get your ears in a twist. I want my room to be here. Wouldn’t have it any other way”, with that, Tweak takes a bite into a carrot that she pulled out of nowhere. The pup tilts her head in confusion as she lets Tweak’s words sink in. “Okay…”, she finally answers, her voice portraying confusion and concern. “C’mon, let me show ya how to play”, she said, making hand gestures towards her gaming console.

An hour of more small talk, gaming and solving riddles later, Tunip comes in to let the two know that lunch is ready. Tweak gets up from the bed, looking back to see if Stella’s following her. Instead, she sees the girl’s head tilting once again, as she observes Tunip. “Did I say something wrong?”, Tunip chirps confused. That’s when Tweak realized that, other than the Octonauts, no one else knew much about the Vegimals. Looking at the curiosity portrayed on Stella's face, Tweak starts laughing. “This here is Tunip. He’s what Shellington calls a Vegimal. He and his crew are the ones in charge of cookin’ our meals. He may not necessarily speak out language, but he can still understand us”, Tweak explains. Tunip chirps happily while waving at Stella. Stella returns the gesture. “C’mon, let’s go see what the Vegimals have cooked for us today”, Tweak says while heading towards an Octo-shoot.

Tweak observed Stella throughout the whole meal. Stella, just like Periwinkle, never spoke unless spoken to. They both gave awkward and shy vibes. It’s obvious to everyone that they aren’t the best at socializing. Tweak has learned quite a lot about Stella and has gotten quite fond of her. She now worries that Stella won’t be able to make friends her age at this rate.

After dessert, the kids are told to get to know each other more. Orson, Ursa, Squirt, Koshi and Pinto enthusiastically go down an Octo-shoot, leaving Periwinkle and Stella behind. “Go on Peri, it’ll do you good to make friends your age”, Shellington said, trying to motivate the young sea otter. Tweak opens her mouth in an effort to speak, before getting interrupted by the captain: “You should do the same Stella. It will certainly calm your uncle’s nerves to hear that you have made some friends. That is one of the reasons why your uncle brought you here, isn’t it?” The captain’s voice is much more softer than it usually is. It sounds soothing, calming and reassuring. It’s not often that Tweak has the opportunity to hear his voice like that. Stella sighs and joins Periwinkle on their quest to make new friends. Tweak can only hope that all goes well for them.

Other chapters

[writersblockedx]

Protector of the Party: Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Night Will Byers Disappeared 

PAIRING - Steve Harrington X Reader BASED OFF - 1X01 WARNINGS - Drug abuse, very small implication of sex  WORDS - 1.7K A/N - This is more of a prologue than a proper chapter as the others will be much longer. And also, welcome to my first re-write on Tumblr, I hope you enjoy reading :)

Read on AO3 / Wattpad Masterlist

On the night of Will Byers disappearance, Y/n Henderson, the local outcast of Hawkins High School, had been about to get arrested.

It must have been around eight before her peaceful tranquillity by Lovers Lake was interrupted. She had told her aunty Claudia that she meeting up with a few friends. A few friends that didn't, in fact, have names. Y/n did have friends. Well, she had people she knew and she had Johnathan Byers. But Johnathan certainly wasn't one for smoking.

Sat next to her at the lake, was a small tin box. It's lid flicked over to expose the packets of unlabelled herbs and a load of rolling papers. The setting was dark but the light from Hawkins reflected back onto the ripples in the water. For what had been an hour now, Y/n had been alone to it all.

She spotted the red and blue first.

The water she had been starring at was infected with the flashing lights that glowed back at her. Following it, the sirens that blared loud enough Y/n thought her ear drums might have popped.

There was only one cop car that pulled into the dirt space that was situated behind her. Y/n sighed as she flicked the half-smoked joint into the lake before pulled herself from the ground. The lights dimmed and the alarms finally stopped. Hopper got out of the car first. His expression was one Y/n would have imagined a father would send as to silently scold their child. An expression Hopper was used to wearing in the presence of the young girl.

"Got nothing better to be doing on a Sunday evening, Hopper?" She quirked as she threw her bag back over her shoulder.

"I have actually, got a nice date." He spoke as he slowed a few meters from the girl. "Which is why I'm going to take you home."

Y/n smiled a devious smile which made Hopper wish he had never said anything. "Oh, a date, what's her name this time?"

He huffed; he never should have said anything. "Sandra." Hopper walked over to the girl, gently trying to push her into the direction of the car. "Now let me go on that date after I drop you off home, huh, kid?"

The devious smile never dropped. "I didn't know the cops had enforced a curfew now?"

"No, but smoking cannabis in the state of North Carolina is illegal so I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Her smile dropped and they dead panned one another.

It was a stare off. Which may be childish, but as a police department which experienced little to no serious cases, Hopper stared back. "If I don't drop you off home, Callahan will just have to take you to the station. And, when I tell you these officers, they can barely work a 9-5 sitting on their asses all day. It's your pick."

Y/n broke first.

She huffed as she blinked, already beginning the wonder up to the cop car. "You know Claudia's going to kill me, right?" Y/n yelled back to him as he followed.

"Yeah, you said that last time." Hopper commented, more to himself than it were to Y/n.

Hopper jumped back into the drivers seat and Y/n into the back seat. "Can you just promise me you won't have the lights and sirens on? It'll scare Mews." She told the Chief as if he were one of her peers.

"For Mews? The hell is a Mews?" Hopper replied as he settled in the leather seat.

"A cat." Y/n answered as if her cat were local town knowledge. Which to be fair, with how much Claudia banged on about him, it probably was. "Idiot." She said under her breath.

Callahan glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. The girl stared back so piercingly that he broke eye contact all together with an awkward cough to fill the silence. "You alright?" Hopper questioned his co-worker as the car engine started again.

Callahan nodded through a stiff neck, "Yeah." He dared to glance back at her again. "Seatbelt." He instructed the girl through clenched teeth and infrequent case eye contact.

Y/n took a moment as her brows knitted but, nevertheless, she pulled the seatbelt across her body and clicked it into place. Then Hopper started reversing and headed down the empty roads towards the Henderson house.

At this time, everything was quiet. A Sunday evening meant catching up on homework due to the next morning, or salvaging what remained of the weekend snuggled up on a sofa watching reruns. When Y/n had left the house, Claudia was doing just that, with Mews sat in her lap purring - of which, Y/n doubted she had moved from. Dustin, her equally nerdy cousin, was at the Wheelers, finishing a 10 hour long campaign. But, by now, he should have returned home. Just in time to watch his cousin get dropped off in a cop car.

Hopper parked, and switched the engine off. The living room light still glowed. A small part of Y/n had hoped maybe Claudia had gone to bed by now. Truth was, she never got mad at Y/n for incidents like these, it was the disappointed glint that lingered in her eyes. And, usually, that glint was followed by a comment, something about how Y/n got her recklessness from her mother.

Still, the girl opened the car door. "See you soon, Hop." She forced a smile and exited the car and wondered towards the front door.

Hopper then too exited the car, leading for Y/n to speed up, thinking if she got to the front door first the man would somehow disappear too. "Please, this was not apart of the deal." She begged with her puppy dog eyes as the two stood on the porch.

Now, Hopper wore the devious smirk. "Just doing by job, kid." Y/n crossed her arms and shared an expression similar to a toddler in the midst of a temper tantrum.

Hopper knocked on the door and they both waited patiently as the voice from behind the wall came.

"Did she forget her keys again?" Yelled Dustin.

"Mews," Cooed Claudia, bypassing Dustin's question. "It's okay baby."

Then the door swung open and Claudia's expression fell. And there it was: that disappointed glint. Y/n swore it would haunt her forever if she weren't careful. "Sorry to disrupt you at this time Mrs Henderson, I'm just bringing Y/n home." Hopper grinned. A grin of which Y/n noted was the same one he used when trying to impress some of the women that walked into Station. The same one she was sure he'd use on Sandra later tonight.

Claudia sighed, "What'd she do this time?"

Hopper glanced down at her. Y/n didn't look back. "We suspected her of smoking cannabis." He informed. "But rather than taking her to the station at this time, we thought it best to bring her home."

To be fair, Y/n should be grateful to Hopper. Had it not be for him, she should currently be sat in some christen, youth, rehabilitation camp, learning about the consequences of drug use.  Alas, the man had avoided every law, taken every loophole and looked the other way for everything he could.

"Thank you, Hopper." Claudia gently dragged the girl back into the home. "I appreciate it."

"Keep an eye on this one." Y/n deadpanned the man as he still smirked. But, with that, he said his goodnights and left.

And before Claudia even started, Y/n was already throwing her hands up in surrender. "I know, I know, I'm very much irresponsible just like my mother." Y/n was taking her jacket off as she spoke, throwing it back to the floor where it would stay until she left (probably late) for school the next morning.

"I was just going to ask if you were okay." The women corrected.

The girl came to a halt before spinning on her heels to face her aunt. "Oh." That was the only thing to slip out from her mouth.

She tiled her head as she went on, "Grab some food as well, me and Dusty already ate." And with that she went back to her seat on the couch and cooed Mews back to her lap.

A delightful surprise.

Y/n wondered her way into the kitchen where Dustin was leant against one of the counters. He had been previously searching for a drink after his cycle home from Mike's. But Chief Jim Hopper returning his cousin home certainly provided a kind of entertainment his science project couldn't.

The girl reached around the cupboards, finding two slices of bread for herself. She popped them into the toaster and leaned against the counter, Dustin still lurking. "What's up with you?" The girl questioned with knitted brows and crossed arms.

Dustin stumbled and shrugged. "Nothing..." There was definitely something. The longer Y/n stared the more likely Dustin became to break. And he did. He broke every time. "It's just, on the way home, me and Will made a bet."

Her brows raised, "A bet?"

"You know, as kids do." He spoke as if he were a full blown adult. "And in that moment I made a stupid, stupid decision." This conversation was beginning to sound all to familiar for Y/n.

"The hell did you bet on Dustin."

"It was just...you know..."

"Dustin."

"Your X-men 134!"

The toaster popped.

"Are you shitting me!" Y/n snapped at her younger cousin whose face was beginning to grow head.

And from the comforts of the living room, there came a loud, "Language!"

Y/n huffed and shook her head, turning to tend to her dinner. "You know Will's not taking it." She said as she took a knife that made Dustin somewhat nervous.

"It was a bet, I have no choice." Dustin attempt to defend.

The older girl scoffed, "I don't care, Dustin. You need to say sorry to Will and explain that you betted on something this isn't even yours." Y/n turned, plate in hand that emitted the scent of fresh toast and cold, strawberry jam. "Give him your talking iron man action figure instead."

With that, the girl finally escaped into her room for the night. In that moment, she couldn't have thought anyone else could have had a worse night than hers.

[enhas-bestie]

Idol Crush! [17]

► SEVENTEEN: the offer (takes place shortly after chapter 16)

1.3k words

The next morning, Jungwon finds himself sprawled across one of the couches in the dorms.

With his eyes barely open and his hair still slightly damp from his shower, he finds himself scrolling through his messaging app out of boredom. For some reason, his thumb lingers over your contact name, but he shakes his head and decides against messaging you.

The thing was, he didn't want to come across as clingy or anything. After all, he had spent time with you just yesterday during the IDOLZZZ variety show...Maybe sending you a good morning messages would be a bit much.

Did friends even send each other good morning messages? It's not like he knew. To be honest, he couldn't even recall himself wanting to send "good morning" messages to anybody first thing after he woke up.

Not to mention, you probably weren't even awake this early in the morning, so truly, there was no point in sending you anything.

Instead, Jungwon decides to settle for the next best thing - reading and re-reading the chat history between you two. Unknowingly, a smile tugs on his face, dimples peeking out as his eyes linger on your messages.

You were so optimistic and cheerful, it was honestly so endearing to him. Even the way you texted sounded so animated - it was almost as if these shared conversations over text had happened in real life - as if you were right there beside him, instead of miles away in your dorm room. He could practically visualize you saying certain things, an unconscious smile blooming on your face as you chattered away.

It made him want to see you again.

After a few more minutes of scrolling, Jungwon reluctantly decided to exit your chats. If any of his members decided to walk up to him and take a peak over his shoulder, garunteed, he would never hear the end of it.

As he exited your contact, his eyes naturally fell onto the most recent chat to date - the one with him and his manager.

Honestly, the fact that Manager Choi was supposed to be paying a visit to the dorms this morning had been pushed back to the furthest corner of his mind.

There was no use in worrying over anything. Especially since yesterday, Sunghoon seemed to be on cloud nine, sauntering around the dorms and giving him cryptic smiles as if he had unknowingly done Jungwon the biggest favour in the world. That alone calmed down Jungwon’s nerves. At this point, all he was left with was curiosity and a dull sense of anticipation.

Unfortunately, a certain someone was not as calm as he was.

Jungwon stifled back a yawn as he shot a half-hearted glare at Sunoo, who was pressed up against the window, his sharp eyes monitoring the calm streets for any sign of their manager's black SUV.

Of course, only Kim Sunoo would decide to make everybody camp out in the living room at 8 in the morning so they could wait for their manager's arrival.

Jungwon appreciated all of the concern Sunoo was showing, but honestly, Sunoo could've shown it later during the day - perhaps when the moon wasn't still visible in the sky.

“Did you really have to wake all of us up this early?” Jungwon finally asks, and a chorus of sleepy groans from the rest of the members follows him in agreement. 

Jungwon looks at the rest of his friends and despite everything, cracks a smile at the ridiculousness of the situation. Heeseung and Ni-ki were sprawled across the floor, having immediately fallen back to sleep after Sunoo quite literally dragged all of them to the living room. Jake was huddled in a bunch of blankets, eyes trained on the blank screen of his phone. And even Jay- “I’ll chain myself to the HYBE building before I let them fire you! - Park could not be bothered to stay awake.

“Uhm, obviously.” Sunoo answers, like he can’t even believe the question that just came out of Jungwon’s mouth. God, it was like he was the only one who cared around here.

“Besides,” Sunoo turned to glare at Sunghoon, “None of you would be awake right now if he just told us what the hell is going on, so blame him. ”

The boy in question, Park Sunghoon, says nothing to defend himself. In fact, despite his eyes being wide open, Sunghoon didn’t even look like he was awake. His blank eyes focused on the void of nothingness in front of him as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He just looked so…out of it. Truly, it was sight to see.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Jungwon sneakily snaps a picture of his older friend. And fuck, it was definitely meme worthy.

The self-proclaimed "mature" leader of Enhypen stares at the picture in his camera roll with barely concealed glee, his mind already flashing forward to the end of the year when he would upload it onto Weverse for Sunghoon’s birthday. Karma, Jungwon thought, for indirectly making Sunoo wake him up at this ungodly hour on their day off.

“Oh my god, he’s here.” Sunoo gasps, and Jungwon immediately stiffens at the sudden outburst. Jungwon watches with a mix of amusement and trepidation as Sunoo flings the door open, scaring their manager half to death as he's dragged by Sunoo into the dorm.

Manager Choi manages to pry Sunoo's hands off of his jacket's sleeve, his eyes curiously roaming around the living room and scrutinizing the zombie-like state of the Enhypen members. To be honest, it was quite shocking for him to see all of them awake. Actually, scratch that - it was quite shocking to see all of them even barely conscious before 11am on their days off.

Mr Choi was so used to dragging them from their beds to wake them up, that he couldn’t even hide his slight concern. Not to mention, he definitely wasn't expecting to have Sunoo pounce on him first thing in the morning, “Are…are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Jungwon insists, trying his best to give their manager a reassuring look while he bites back a yawn, “We’re only up so early because Sunoo couldn’t go back to sleep. For some reason, he decided to wake all of us up too.”

“Well it’s not like I could help it okay!” Sunoo retorts to the dirty looks sent his way, “You telling me all of you aren’t worried about that weird message Jungwon got from Mr Choi?” 

At that, their manager stiffens. It was almost like he forgot his reasons for making such an early trip to the dormitory in the first place. But now that he was here, he had no choice but to unleash the news upon them.

His eyes landed on Jungwon, an nervous expression marring his face, “All of you are probably going to want to sit down for this…”

Ten minutes later, everyone finds themselves seated around the little coffee table in the living room.

Jungwon, despite telling himself that everything was going to be fine, feels himself getting nervous. He sneaks a quick glance at Sunghoon, and because his hyung seems calm, if not a bit excited, Jungwon finally gets the courage to address their Manager, “What is it that you needed to tell me?”

Manager Choi takes a deep breath, a feeling of sympathy settling in his gut as he looks at Jungwon, “Honestly, there’s no easy way to say this…” the man begins, his words immediately causing a shift in the atmosphere of the room, “Jungwon, Belift…had an offer.”

“An…offer?” Jungwon states confusedly, his heart rate speeding up even though he doesn’t quite understand his manager’s words. 

“An offer for what? From who?” It’s Jay who speaks up, his voice calm despite the edge to it. 

“From Starship Entertainment…You know... the company that IVE is under.”

Starship Entertainment? IVE? Jungwon frowns, what did any of that have to do with him?

“There has been an offer from Starship Entertainment to have Jang Wonyoung pose as Jungwon's girlfriend…and Belift has accepted it.”

“What?”

prev ⇥ SEVENTEEN⇥ next

Idol Crush! 💞 Masterlist

SYNOPSIS: Y/N knew that once she and her group, IKONIC, finally debuted, there'd be a chance that she'd run into YANG JUNGWON: The leader of the global rookie group ENHYPEN. But JUNGWON isn't just the leader of a famous 4th gen boy group... he's also the boy that she confessed to three years ago and got rejected by. The last thing Y/N needs to do is fall back in like with him, because even something as simple as an idol crush! could bring about some unwanted drama and Dispatch worthy headlines.

[TAGLIST #1 ] : @acciomylove @mitsukifilms @ncityy04 @ja4hyvn @navsnct @hwalllllllelujah @shit-idek-meself-at-this-point @lullabyinparis @masterofdoom @enhacolor @mochisnlix @hiqhkey @vlykai @pshwyfie @hyuka-luvbot @yvesismywife @one16core @en-boyz @moon-lys  @liliansun ​ @jungwoniie @spicynlong @ramenais @bigtoewinwin @catbitchh111 @c9tnoos @missmadwoman @haoreo @staysstrays @enhaswab @alyselenai @moasworld @yyunari @chirokookie @yjwfav @kyutekyuala @giyyuzz @andromedawillburryyou @tlnyjoong @sarahxy537 @darlinluvsu @fairycheol @love-4-keum @ohmy-fandoms @yyunari @centheodd @mavlogist @jungwonnieee @emoworu

[CAN'T TAG #1 ] : @vlykai @pshwyfie @jungwoniie @spicynlong @itboyjungwon @jjiaaww

[nationalharryleague]

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that. 

Genre: Famous Fake Dating! 

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries​) and Lu (@meetmymouth​) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N  looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.  

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.  

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.  

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.  

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

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