#(Also no crying. Initially i imagined this conversation coming as part of some kind of full blown emotional breakdown.)

[ckret2]

When I say I've been waiting to draw/write that chapter since April, I mean—

—on April 18 I slapped this picture in discord to show friends my Vision for this scene.

I think the final illustration turned out a little bit better

[art-but-only-sometimes]

SDVE (Stardew Valley expanded characters) Bachelors/Bachelorettes when you (the farmer) get hurt and have to go to the clinic/ hospital.

More SDVE Batchelor/ Batchelorette headcannons! (spoilers for Sophia, Olivia, and Victor's backstories/ heart events (later on))

~ Bachelorettes ~

Sophia:

she will cry

like seriously

she will cry a lot.

when she gets a call from Harvey or the mayor (like in one of her heart events), every sad emotion she ever got from when her parents died comes flooding back all at once.

she is so sad.

she does not want to let go of you.

she's a little bit mad but also mainly said/ so, so, so, so, so glad you're ok.

she says she didn't know what she would have done if you'd died. She can't even get the word "die/died" out. She just stops before the words.

after you get out of the hospital she helps you home and doesn't leave your side, like at all unless you tell her to. (she'd probably be a bit upset honestly.)

she takes time to help you with your farm

I feel like she'd get to know your animals really well if she didn't already.

as you get better she feels more relieved and relaxed but can't help but worry on the inside a lot.

She doesn't want to have to see you like that again.

you try to assure her it won't but she still can't help but worry a little bit.

Olivia:

Olivia seems like the kind of person to be calm in a lot of situations.

but when her farmer is hurt she rushes over to the clinic. (lucky she lives so close, like almost right next door)

she has a few tears in her eyes

but she is so glad to see you are as alright as you can be.

I feel like she'd try really hard to hold it together but when she's all alone she cries a bit.

she lost her husband coming over here from the grotto empire

the fact that you got hurt was just too close, far too close for comfort

I'm not sure how helpful she'd be on the farm

she's not exactly someone I'd imagine being good at something like that

I bet she'd definitely hire some people though

with your consent of course she'd hire people and make sure everything got done the way that you'd want it done

she'd come over all the time and spend time with you and make sure you were ok.

Claire:

at first, she'd think she's hearing things.

but when she realised she's not just sleep deprived

she rushes right over

she's shocked at what you look like

she seems like the kind of character to cover her mouth in shock.

after the initial shock she'd never let go of your hand I feel like.

any spare time she has if she's not at her job (either Joja or the movie theater later on), or at home, I feel like she'd be with you until visiting hours are over.

after you get better she'd help you home.

she doesn't have a lot of spare time but if she did I feel like she'd be there to help you

Idk if she knows about farming at all.

but she knows she doesn't want you to be exhausted like she has been in the past, especially with an injury that needs healing.

I think she'd help out less with farming and more to check on you to see how you're doing.

~Bachelors~

Lance:

lance knows that when it comes to the guild getting injured is a part of the job.

but that doesn't mean he doesn't get worried

he seems like the kind of person to keep it together really well and be brave

but when you two are alone his facade kind of drops and you see how worried he really is

alternatively if he was there when you got hurt he rushed to your side immediately.

trying to help you in any way possible and getting you out of the area where you got hurt, whether it'd be the mines or anywhere else.

any time he has that isn't helping out the Stardew Valley guild is spent with you.

when you start to feel better, enough to go home, he helps you get there and makes sure you're safe.

I feel like you two would have a conversation later on when he says, "I should have been there."

if he can't protect you how is he supposed to protect the valley or The First Slash.

It definitely bothers him.

but when he sees you getting better it bothers him a bit less.

he'd also help you out on the farm, lifting heavy objects and helping you out whenever he could.

Victor:

victor is not someone who ever ventures into the mines.

so after he learns of you getting hurt in the mines he's honestly terrified.

still, he rushes right over nonetheless.

he's relieved to see you.

also feel like he'd try to be strong and hold it together but once the room is empty he'd start to cry a bit.

similar to his mom he's reminded of how he lost his dad escaping the Grotto Empire.

he can't help but think of that seeing you lying there in the hospital bed like that.

after you're good enough to go home he'd help you back to the farm.

he'd also try to help you on the farm as best as he can

I'm not sure how well of a job he'd do. He doesn't do a lot of hard work. He spends a fair amount of time reading. So I'm sure he has some knowledge of farming but never put it into action like you've been doing all these years.

still, he tries. You might have to direct him on what to do though.

I feel like he'd try and have a discussion with you about being more careful about going up to the mines and doing things for the guild.

he just wants you to be careful.

~ Magnus (Edit: forgot about him oops) ~

Magnus has seen a lot in his life

also knowing about the guild and the monsters in the mines he knows you go there for things like copper, iron, gold, iridium, and minerals. (also you accomplish quests for him sometimes)

he's loved and lost twice whether it'd be his wife the Witch or Caroline (idk if this cannon in vanilla sdv)

he definitely isn't willing to lose you too

but after learning you got hurt he would teleport right to the hospital

he wouldn't even bother with running there (why would he when magic is faster)

also dealing with Pierre is something he doesn't want to do frankly

If Harvey is in the room at the time when Magnus teleported in there he'd definitely scare the crap out of him.

he'd be very worried and also I feel like he'd be a little cross

he thought you were more careful than that

but more relieved you are alive

he'd probably have a million questions

what happened, what did you do before this, did you break any bones, were there any monsters around, what did this to you, etc. The questions go on for a bit

I don't think he's big on expressing emotion

like he prefers to keep it inside so he doesn't show his emotions too much but if you two were ever alone he might

he lets his expressions out when you're asleep especially

when you're good enough to go home Magnus might help you home by teleporting you there.

better for you not to walk long ways anyway because of your injuries

if you're behind on farming Magnus would use his magic to help you, and maybe the juminos would help as well.

[greensagephase]

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, Alondra! ❤️ (I’m very late to seeing this 😓 but I’m trying to catch up on my feed!) but I knew I had to read this and OMG I LOVE IT!!! I loved how you included Peter B. and Mayday in the beginning!! her little outfit is so cute 🥺 (it is so cute I had to draw it but that’s at the end!) and I love how you mentioned reader wondering if Peter has his own merchandise store!! because I’ve also wondered that 🤔 he must have, it would be funny if he really had his own merchandise store and he keeps it a secret 😂 and I have to mention for some reason I imagined Peter B. eating the brownie reader made like how he ate the burger in ITSV 😂 But also Peter not questioning reader on seeing the two boxes left in the bag (ok you just know he’s rooting for Miguel and reader silently!)

I love how reader planned out and kept secret the things she was going to bake for Valentine’s Day and made something for all her friends 🥺 it kind of reminds me of when I was in high school my friends and I would give each other treats on that day and little gifts sometimes! When reader sits in Miguel’s office and recalls the days when she didn’t really ever come in there and now she’s there almost every day, with this quote right here: “You smile to yourself. Life can really change.” 🥹 still get emotional over all the change that’s happened in readers life, it’s only been almost 2 years and all this massive change has happened, I really do lover her as a character too! ❤️

Alondra, you got me again with the Peter memory 😭😭 ALONDRA I WAS CRYING!! “His eyes lit up at the sight of you, as if he hadn’t seen you a million times before, as if he was falling in love with you for the first time all over again.” I'M NOT OKAY!! THE WAY HE KISSES THE BACK OF READERS HAND??!! (Ok I drew this out too, I had to!!) HIM PLANNING A WHOLE ROMANTIC DINNER EVEN WITH THE INITIAL PLANS BEING CANCELLED??!! With the soft music playing in the background and soft candlelight??!! The picnic blanket and pillows??!! I just, I can’t!! Ok why can’t Peter be real either 😭 this memory sounded so sweet, this is the perfect date idea!! OMG the night ending in a dance, my heart!! This was too sweet!! I was definitely in my Peter feels reading this (still am 🥺) AHHH!! And then the transition to Miguel tilting his head a bit as he gets curious when you’re lost in thought 😭

THIS WHOLE PART: “Yes, but -” Miguel pauses and sighs. It’s different. You’re different. You’re not just any member. You’re his friend. His close friend. His… Miguel clears his throat. “You… Are different. You know why.” Was literally giggling and kicking my feet reading this, just like in part 12 when he said something along the lines of “you know who we are” 😭 the fact he doesn’t want reader asking permission to enter his lab, he really wants her to feel comfortable!! When reader gifts Miguel the treats she baked in the little containers and Miguel was awestruck 😭 OMG I bet the baked goods looked so cute 🥺 (and so small in his hand!! You know I had to draw this out too!!) AHHH every time Miguel blushes I swear I giggle every time CAN YOU IMAGINE SEEING THAT IRL?! (Ok no seriously why isn’t this man real??!!) 😭 but the heart shaped conchas!!! That is so cute!! I even looked up heart shaped conchas to see what they’d look like and OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE!! it hasn’t even crossed my mind that you could even shape them like that!! 

I can’t believe Lyla helped reader by distract Miguel and moved his tabs around 😭 I don’t know why but imagining that made me laugh, Miguel probably being frustrated and confused why Lyla was doing all that!! Miguel’s frowning face!! 😂 When reader mentions how good the conchas would be be with café de olla and their whole back and forth conversation… I’m not kidding when I say I was giggling!! I mean, THEIR PLAYFUL BANTER!! And I don’t know why but when Miguel said: “Definitely something to think about… which means you have more at home, yes?” I just… hearing him talk like that, like it’s their home??!! THE CASUAL DOMESTICITY IS COMING OUT EVEN MORE NOW OMG!!! They’re already acting like a couple I feel like 😭 and Lyla hovering between them! 😭 I wonder if was taking photos 🤔😂

I’m FREAKING OUT RN because… ok I need to calm down, Miguel making café de olla and him being the one to suggest taking a break… THE PROGRESS??!! DOING THIS MAN SO MUCH JUSTICE!!!! AND THEN THE BOTH OF THEM SITTING ON THE FLOOR AND ENJOYING EACH OTHERS COMPANY WITH THE BAKED GOODS (ok I’m imagining him in his lounge clothes and… do I even have to say 😭) 

that leads me to this: “You take a drink from your mug, noticing a gentle but sudden flush on Miguel’s cheeks. Your gaze flickers to the fireplace for a second, unbeknownst to you that a certain realization of Miguel’s is the true culprit for the rosiness that now cover his cheeks.” ALONDRA- ALONDRA??!! SCREAMING!!! THE WAY I’M READING THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN??!! I’m freaking out, does this mean?… I can’t stop thinking about this, this just makes me even more excited to see how their relationship evolves in the story!!! I can't stop thinking about this- I'm really wondering how Miguel feels rn!! AHHH I LOVE THE SLOWBURN!!

I hope you had a great valentines day, Alondra!! And I really wasn’t expecting another post so soon after part 12, thank you for writing this!! ❤️ This made my day reading it, it was so sweet!! Makes me want to bake some brownies too! Soft Miguel is the BEST Miguel!! Also, I’m trying to catch up on all the things I’ve missed the past 2 weeks 😓 I haven’t been on social media because of school (the capstone is taking a a lot of my time away 😭) and midterms coming up but I just saw your response to part 12 and plan on responding!! (I love reading your feedback on everything because you're really my favorite writer, and to hear your own thoughts on everything is really insightful and I love talking to you when I can!!) I hope you’re doing well!! I'm so OMG I’m going to mention this in my response to part 12 but I’m so happy you were able to relax and read the book you were looking forward to reading!! that feeling when you read and finish a book so quickly is the best!! (and worst because it’s over and you have to wait for the next one 😭) but I hope your week is going smoothly!! (And if you’re practicing drawing, I hope you're having fun with it!!) thank you for everything, friend! Sending you a warm virtual hug, friend!! ❤️✨❤️

I was able to take a quick break today and draw some parts I loved in this!! I really had draw these scenes out and I knew if not now I'll never post them but AHHH just loved everything about this one-shot!!! it's just so sweet!!! 🥹❤️

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, @sunsetdoodler !! ❤️ Don’t worry about seeing the post late, friend, I totally understand!!!! I’m so happy you loved the beginning of the one-shot with Peter B. and Mayday!! I’ve been enjoying including the other characters more throughout the parts, and it just felt right to include them in this one-shot!! Mayday’s outfit - omg, I really loved picturing her cute outfit and just knowing that Peter B. was going to have the perfect outfit for Valentine’s, haha! Also, him possibly having his own merch store and keeping it a secret, imagine!!! But, no, where does he get all of that merch? He’s hiding something! 🤔 Also, screaming at how you imagined Peter eating the brownie because I did, too!!! 😂😂 Exactly like how he ate the burger in ITSV, but I just didn’t want to go too much into detail with it but that’s how I saw it, for real!! And hehe, Peter not saying anything about the last two boxes, yes! You know him and Jess have seen things and Peter is rooting for them (has been for months now!). He just wants to see two of his close friends be happy !🥺

Aww, I’m so happy reader secretly planning and baking treats for her friends reminded you of such sweet memories from your high school years!! That’s seriously so sweet!! 🥺 And omg, reader thinking about the change and how she spends so much time in Miguel’s lab now made me feel so happy for her. Her life has really changed so much in the span of almost two years after being alone for so long and I’m just so proud of her 🥹 and I’m so happy you love her as a character, too!!

Okay but the Peter part - “His eyes lit up at the sight of you, as if he hadn’t seen you a million times before, as if he was falling in love with you for the first time all over again.” I’M SORRY!!!😭 I just knew it was going to hurt to write that specific quote because you know we’ve talked about it so much - about how Peter always had that look on his face, and how you could just tell that this man loved reader so much! It hurt writing it and having reader see, recognize, and remember it - to have it become canon!! (not okay about this at all!!!) HIM KISSING THE BACK OF READER’S HAND, AHHHH SIJIKJ !! I was losing it and just wondering why he isn’t real??? Okay the dinner itself! I thought about it and was just like, “Wouldn't it be perfect if they had a dinner at home, in their little, cozy apartment and they just danced at the end of the night in their living room?” 😭 It just sounded too perfect to not have it go like this and include yet another sweet memory attached to the apartment!! I was definitely in my feels the entire time, just picturing Peter and his face, so full of adoration and love for reader - I need to stop!!! And then, it cuts to Miguel, tilting his head in curiosity! I included this because imagining him like that sounds so cute to me? I don’t know but something about it is so cute!! I also really liked this part because of the transition itself from having Peter saying “Happy Valentine’s” to reader repeating it, to Miguel responding to her- it was like a symbolic and foreshadowing transition of relationships? I don’t know if that makes sense but it’s just a little sign that reader is moving forward to another relationship and Miguel responds to it, so it’s him - her next relationship! I hope that makes sense!! 😭

This whole part: “Yes, but -” Miguel pauses and sighs. It’s different. You’re different. You’re not just any member. You’re his friend. His close friend. His… Miguel clears his throat. “You… Are different. You know why.” I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET, AND SQUEALING !!! Like, yet another time with Miguel admitting indirectly: “WE’RE FRIENDS!!” And that makes me scream every time!!! 😭 He’s trying!!! Also, him asking reader to stop asking for permission about entering the lab, I just love it so much!! He’s really like, “just walk in, make yourself comfortable, this is your space, too” - screaming and crying at this!! (yet again fangirling at my own writing) Also, Miguel being awestruck with the baked treats because he was included by reader - lowkey, a part of him is still like, “you think about me?” - which just makes me so sad that he would feel like that, but also so happy that he realizes he has people that think about him - hence his blushing, which AHHH!! You know I love him blushing, so this felt like a good time to write him with rosy cheeks TWICE (plus it was Valentine’s so it felt even more fitting 🤭)!! And omg, I was going to bake said heart-shaped brownies and try to make conchas (I’ve never made them but I’ve seen recipes online) and take a pic for you guys to have an idea of how small I was talking about, but Valentine’s was a really busy day for me because I had a doctor’s appointment and lent started (I’m Catholic), so I was busy helping my mom with the cooking that day lol (I was also finishing up the one-shot at like 10am hehe). So, by evening I was like, I don’t feel like baking now, but I have a little tray of heart-shaped molds and they’re literally about my palm’s size, so I was just imagining that if they looked small in my hand they would look mini-size in Miguel’s hand probably, hahaha!! And omg, the heart-shaped conchas really are so cute!! I saw a recipe of someone baking them like that last year and I just thought they were adorable!! I think I’ve also seen star-shaped ones, so it’s definitely possible to bake them in different shapes!!

No, I was actually laughing at the thought of Lyla distracting and making Miguel waste time at the lab by moving his tabs around because imagine Miguel switching tabs only to discover that tab 3 is now tab 5, and so on, and then it keeps happening over and over again with all the tabs switched!😂 But I love that Lyla was so onboard with the plan!! Also, Miguel’s frowning face - the way I pictured it perfectly!! Their whole conversation around café de olla - I WAS TYPING AND GIGGLING WITH EACH LINE - LIKE THIS PLAYFUL BANTER??? It’s the way Miguel is actually engaging in it, and the way we get to see reader not only show a little more playful side but also her being playful with Miguel in general, something that I feel like she’s always holding back on to avoid making Miguel uncomfortable!! OKAY THIS QUOTE: “Definitely something to think about… which means you have more at home, yes?” - YES, it sounding like it’s “their” home - believe me when I say that I had to take a moment to calm down because ?!?!?!!?!?! But then, the difference with reader saying that yes, there might be more at the “penthouse” - not using the word “home”- hehe, it will be a little something for chapter 13 and it will make Miguel happy to hear! 🥺 But I love the way he really does make it sound like it's their home!! I also found it somewhat significant that he called it "home" when we know that word is usually not how he describes his living space. Reader truly makes the penthouse feel more like home for Miguel!! 🥹But seriously omg, the casual domesticity WE’RE HERE FOR IT!!! Also, I love that you feel like they were acting like a couple - SAME!! I was just like omg, this playful banter 😭 😭 I was just like “wow, this is a peek into the future and I love that for you guys!!” I was going through emotions with this one-shot, you can tell!! Also, Lyla hovering above them sjsjsksk you know she was assessing the playful banter with a smirk, she was thinking things!! And Lyla and her photo-taking tendencies - I love that it’s become a thing that you wonder about now!! 😂😂 My guess is that… she was, and that’s all I’m saying… 👀

I totally understand FREAKING OUT over Miguel making café de olla and him suggesting the break!! So much PROGRESS!!! I seriously love seeing how much Miguel has grown since the first chapter!! It makes me want to cry but for good reason, you know? I just love seeing him develop more and more, and see more of that sweet, tender side to him that we only got a glimpse of in ATSV through this fanfic. I've seen these words a lot of times throughout the years and they're somewhere along the lines of, "write the fanfic you want to read" and so, I really wanted to see this side of Miguel more, and I'm so happy that I've been writing it because it really does make me happy to give some happiness to Miguel and to explore this side of him through my writing.😭Also, crying at the fact that the café de olla was Miguel’s Valentine’s gift for reader !! 🥹 (I’m okay, really… not!!) Okay and then them sitting on the floor and enjoying each other’s company got me screaming!! They’re SO CUTE (just imagining future situations...)!!! (also, I was imagining him in lounge clothes, too, and I was just like AHHHHHHH!!! The way reader gets to see him like this, too, now that she’s staying there right now 🥺)

This quote right here: “You take a drink from your mug, noticing a gentle but sudden flush on Miguel’s cheeks. Your gaze flickers to the fireplace for a second, unbeknownst to you that a certain realization of Miguel’s is the true culprit for the rosiness that now cover his cheeks.” So, my goal with this little line and Miguel’s thoughts right before it, is that Miguel realizes that reader is not just a friend, or a close friend, she’s actually… his best friend 😭😭 I need to leave for a few minutes while I collect myself right now, please excuse me because 😭😭😭 Also, earlier in the one-shot reader has the same realization (right where Miguel tells her she’s different because she knows what they are), so they have the same realization on the same day, they just don’t finish their thoughts because the realization is kind of like, woah, you know? It’s them lowkey realizing it and knowing that this means they love each other in this way and that’s a big deal for the two!! (I’m fine really, don’t worry about me)!! I’ll be going more into it in part 13!! And the slowburn!!! I’m dying because of it but also really loving it!!!

Thank you @sunsetdoodler !! I hope you had a great Valentine's Day, too!! I'm happy that l was able to surprise you guys with a short update after posting part 12!! I actually had this planned out since January but it was nice to actually get it out just in time!! Also, if you bake brownies, I hope you enjoy them!!! And yes, omg soft Miguel is the BEST!!! 🥺❤️ I totally understand how busy you are, especially with a capstone (getting flashbacks right now and 😭 yeah, I wasn’t having a good time) !! And omg, I can’t believe midterms are coming up already! The semester literally started last month and it’s already midterm season? That’s insane!! But I hope you’re doing well and that you’re finding time to relax just a bit, and that everything with school is going well despite how much of your time is spent on it. Just remember, you’re almost done, friend!!! You’ve made it this far and now it’s just down to weeks really. (Also, that’s so sweet of you, thank you!! It means so much to me that you love reading my responses even though sometimes I go overboard with them, and that I’m your favorite writer - you’ve made my weekend!!! THANK YOU!!! ❤️ And I also love talking with you whenever we can!! It really does mean so much to me and I enjoy our little talks!!!) And haha, I loved that I was able to relax and just read my book even though now it’s over, haha!! (also, right? It’s the worst feeling finishing and realizing now you have to wait two or more years 😭) Thank you friend, I hope your week has gone smoothly, too despite school!! (About drawing, it hasn’t gone well this week, I’ve been a little busy but I’m hoping to get some practice in this weekend along with writing!! Thank you for the well wishes with my drawing journey!!) And thank YOU, friend!!!! I love receiving your asks and reading your thoughts on the fic, along with getting to read about your schooling and life!! As always I’m sending you the best of luck and well wishes!!! I know right now it’s a lot but you’re so close to finishing, and accomplishing this amazing milestone!!!! I’m rooting for you and cheering you on, friend!!! And I’m sending you a warm virtual hug!!!! ❤️✨❤️

OKAY THE SKETCHES!!!!! THEY’RE SO CUTE AND SWEET!!!!!! I love Mayday’s sweater SO MUCH!!!! (I need Peter B. to get me one, to be honest!!!) Also, the fact that you drew her with the action figures AHHHH!! I’m so happy they made a little appearance again!!! OKAY BUT PETER KISSING THE BACK OF READER’S HAND???? I’M SCREAMING AND CRYING!!!! The way we’re only seeing his side profile but EVEN THEN you can see THE LOVE ON HIS FACE?!?! (it hurts so much 😭😭 why is he not real and alive?) I LOVE THE WAY YOU DREW HIM, THANK YOU @sunsetdoodler !!!! It’s such a treat every time you draw Peter!!! 🥺🥺 ALRIGHT BUT THEN MIGUEL HOLDING THE HEART-SHAPED CONCHA? AND HOW SMALL IT LOOKS? AND THEN THE BLUSH ON HIS FACE AND THE WAY HE’S LOOKING DOWN AND STARING AT READER, AND THE SINGLE HAIR STRAND - I AM SCREAMING!!!!! HE IS SO CUTE !!!!! Why is he not real, too?!?! AND THEN THE COLORED SKETCH - THANK YOU FOR DRAWING THAT MOMENT!!!! HIS BLUSH? HIS EYES (his eyes are so beautiful, I swear!!!)? THE SLIGHT HINT OF HIS LOUNGE CLOTHES (which I have to say, the color of his top, I imagine it was a sweatshirt, was also this color in my head!!!!! But can I just mention again the idea of Miguel in lounge clothes?? So cute!!!)?? I LOVE HIM AND THESE SKETCHES SO MUCH!!! THANK YOU @sunsetdoodler !!!! Thank you so much for drawing this even though you’re so busy!!!! This entire ask has made my weekend!!!! 🥹❤️ I hope you’re doing well, and I hope to hear from you soon, friend!!!! Please take care and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!! ❤️✨❤️

[i984]

After writing all this for 2 hours, I realized it's not really a fic review, it's more just me breaking down my thought process when writing this fic very badly. Enjoy.

The space feels vast. Suffocating.

I put two obviously opposite things together to insinuate ...something. Usually, vast spaces feel lonely, but this is a standard dorm room. I guess I wanted to say that the room feels empty but that emptiness suffocates. I really don't know how to write my thoughts (ironic) but you know when a room just feels so empty it presses on your chest? Yeah.

Atop your desk, the trigonometry workbook is still there where she left it; the pages closed before much is filled in.

This one is a call back from the second chapter (it's really funny to think that chapters 2-5 happen on the same evening) where Wednesday gifted the reader a trigonometry workbook as an attempt to woo them. 

'The pages closed before much is filled in' reflects what Wednesday felt like at that moment. Their involvement with each other started some time ago, but apparently not enough for her to make it clear how she feels about it. With the sudden falling apart and the reader essentially pulling back, the relationship feels exactly like that; the story ends before much is done and explored. 

The room was dark, save for the dim light from your stained window. Somehow that made Wednesday feels tense.

Her aesthetic is all about darkness and stuff. It's her thing and when she doesn't like this certain darkness then you know something is really wrong. 

She doesn't like you.

Just wanted to prank you guys a little.

"What did you come here for?"

Your voice was hoarse. You must've been crying.

"I wanted to talk."

Her voice was frail. She felt weak. 

Experiment with literary devices. I was just really trying to make this one sound poetic, so I used parallelism. 

"I'm sorry."

You can hear the strain in her voice [...]

"You should be."

And Wednesday can see the agony [...]

Switching between perspectives; I thought it would be neat to kind of show that for a line Wednesday says, we focus on what the reader is feeling, and when it's their turn to say something, we focus on what Wednesday is feeling. 

You were her light. Her flame. But now it's flickering, and Wednesday fears herself getting plunged into darkness. The kind she has grown abhorring.

Associated stuff with fire, more literary devices. Also, the part where Wednesday hates darkness thing returns again.

Because she knows she deserves every sting and burns that blazes her entire being now

Fire. Fire. Fire.

It was unfair that she'd put herself into this position, a conversation she couldn't finish. A sentence she can't end.

I think it's almost childish to put Wednesday in this kind of mindset where she thinks things are unfair when the situation's got nothing related to fairness. I like to imagine Wednesday blaming the reader for not understanding her, for essentially demanding her to explain directly what she wants. She thinks this is unfair. 

Also, I thought it was interesting to see Wednesday being inarticulate overall.

Defeat, she couldn't admit it. Succumbing to it would mean losing herself. Losing you. Did she already lose you?

We all know Wednesday loves winning and hates losing. This is initially a recurring theme in chapter 2, putting emphasis on Wednesday feeling like she should beat the reader in who's better at making the other get flustered. I ended that one with Wednesday getting the upper hand.

Too bad she slipped and lost the reader in the process. Or at least at that time, she's afraid she had because she's so used to the reader being so whipped for her and all.

"I feel things," and she stole a quick glance your way, "for you."

Just Wednesday being cryptic, unable to fully communicate what she feels. It's almost like she's embarrassed and scared. 

Was that enough for you to understand?

"What things, Wednesday? Because I thought we felt things before, and you said those things weren't true."

I thought it was just tragically funny and frustrating how she hoped that somehow she could get away with saying something so vague, after essentially telling the reader nothing about their relationship is real. 

Oh, death. Even death wouldn't bring her the sweet relief from this torment.

Wednesday romanticizing death hehe. Also, the fact that Wednesday feels like being put on the spot is torment.

She feels small, and she wants to give up.

A jab at her height LMAO

"I feel things," Wednesday tries again, "things that aren't clear, aren't simple."

More cryptic Wednesday.

"Things I've found in countless pieces of literature, books, and poems. In music, in rhythm, in harmony. In people, in their homes, and in their voices."

Three things have influenced Wednesday's life greatly. Her love of literature and music is obvious, as seen in her writing a novel and frequently playing cello in the middle of the night. The third one, however, refers to her family. She sees it in her parents, and her brother. Her home, the tone of Gomez's and Morticia's voices when they talk to each other. 

She's obviously referring to love, although in a very roundabout way. Just the idea of Wednesday finding writings and songs about love yucky, but now finding herself relating to those things is also pretty sweet. 

"I'm scared. Because I thought I've been here before."

I think we all kinda forgot that Wednesday thought she had felt enough for that Tyler boy, but she got betrayed. I have to admit, I'm just heavily self-projecting on Wednesday here. I feel like getting betrayed like that would probably traumatize you from the idea of love or something resembling it.

"I'm scared. Because the last time I was here, I was wrong." Wednesday felt her vision blurring, and she almost didn't care. Almost.

The same point from before, she's afraid to get hurt and lied to. Also, her putting her guard down and baring herself, but not fully yet. 

"Because I don't know what I'm feeling, and though I have a sneaking suspicion of what it is-" she paused, her eyes scanning your face, searching for any trace of judgment on it, "-I'm afraid I would be wrong."

Wednesday being insecure, also again; JUST HER BEING SO AFRAID OF BETRAYAL FRICK.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you," a tear rolled down the raven's freckle-painted cheek.

"I'll hurt me."

Finally, she said it. She's afraid to get hurt. I feel like it takes everything on Wednesday to admit this. And she didn't refer to love that will hurt her, it's herself that would hurt her. Which I think is just very interesting, Wednesday blamed herself for not knowing that Tyler was manipulating her, using her. Kind of fucked up. 

It feels hot. The blaze consumed her body, her mind.

More firey stuff HAHA

Now you're both set on fire. The tears did nothing. 

More firey stuff, and before this line I try to insinuate how much Wednesday holds back from crying (or I guess showing emotions in general, and in this situation, that kind of mindset wouldn't really work). The tears did nothing as she had said; tears wouldn't fix anything. But it's there, and I just thought that it'd be nice to get Wednesday to realize that emotions and responses don't necessarily have to be useful. It's just a natural thing to have. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," you hug Wednesday like there's no tomorrow, like this was the last time you'll feel her close to you, "I understand now."

I think this will subtly set up the reason why Wednesday could just ugly cry later. Wednesday tried really hard to convey her feelings as best as she could, but she knows it isn't much. The fact that the reader is comforting her after all that happened and acknowledging her feelings and her trauma is what finally gives her relief. 

She's in pain. She's in agony. She hurt you because she thought you would hurt her.

But you would never.

Basically last point but more explicitly delivered. Makes sure the point is successfully delivered across to you. 

What sounded like hiccups turns into painful wails; Wednesday's cries tear through the thick, stifling air, slowly dispersing it as you join her. Your hand patted her back tentatively in fear that the act would break her even more.

But she pushes herself to you, burying her head in the crooks of your neck. You can feel her tears drop and wet your side as she screams openly to your shirt, the sound of it muffled.

Just this. All of this. Wednesday finally lets herself go. It's heartbreaking for me to imagine someone who stays so composed and impassive all the time turning into this. But like good kind of heartbreaking.

It feels messy, like you both are melting into each other. Your bodies are drenched in sweat, but neither of you wants to let go.

More heat/fire-related stuff. Also, I personally hate feeling sticky because of sweat, so the amount of commitment I feel it would need to continue to hug each other in this kind of situation is just beautiful. 

You want her. She wants you. 

The doubt was gone.

I contemplated if I should've written need instead of want. But I guess to be wanted by someone is more romantic and fluttering than being needed? Want and need are not the same thing and the fact that they are going through all this pain because they want each other I think just feels better. 

You might need to eat your medicines but you wouldn't necessarily want to eat them? 

Also yeah, finally reader and Wednesday know for sure now where they stand in their relationship. That's nice.

You press your foreheads together, and Wednesday still has her eyes closed. It's red and puffy, and you're sure yours are too. She looks terrible. And pretty.

Look at me trying to slip fluff in this hell of a scene. Also, reference to the first word of this fic, and ALSO a reference to chapter one, which is basically the reader being a simp and going like "Oh god my girlfriend is SO pretty". Also, reference to chapter 4 where the reader cries like shit (and also earlier in this one it gets mentioned implicitly like twice). Now they've both cried ugly. Love that. 

You forgive the pain because she has let you in. 

More emphasis on Wednesday finally opening up and being vulnerable. 

Okay, the whole song thing:

Basically, some anon requested a fic about the reader and Wednesday having a fight, and later on, the reader gives Wednesday a back hug and they sing Good Little Girl from Adventure Time and they dance to it.

Yeah, so that's why I made them fight, partially because I was trying to bridge it to this scene, among a request from @vorsdany that I kind of write for throughout the mini-series. I honestly don't know if you even recognize your request because well- just look at all this-

BUT THEN SOMEONE ELSE POSTED FOR THE REQUEST AND I WAS LOST. LIKE I DON'T WANT TO JUST WRITE THE SAME THING, so then I thought I will do something else, which is...

"I held that damned boom box above my head not because I wanted to," Wednesday rasps, "Enid forced me, just so you know."

Yeah. I wrote a scene about Wednesday trying to woo the reader this way but with the Aerosmith song, obviously a reference to Say Anything, a romance movie meme LMAO. 

But oops, the fluff turned into HURT. IM SO SORRY.

"Shut up. I hate you."

Wednesday grasps your hand tightly as if she's afraid you'll pull back; her gaze doesn't dare to falter from yours. 

That's a reference to the first chapter. Wednesday says the exact same line at the end of the fic, just like this one. But right now, she feels afraid that the reader would take that line literally.

"I love you too," and you see the corner of Wednesday's lips twitch, "I really do."

A mutual understanding. An exhale of relief.

Reader responds the exact same way as in chapter one, but now they reassure Wednesday that they really do actually love her. That what they say is true, that it actually matters.

They understand each other better now. Neat.

"Promise?"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

You press your lips to hers; it's soft and gentle, dizzying and passionate. It was light as a feather, sweet as cotton candy. It was strong like waves, burning like an inferno. You've become one and the same; servants of Aphrodite. It was a pledge, an oath—though unspoken—that you'll never leave her side, never betray her. 

The whole thing contrasts each other; I just wanted to convey how the kiss meant a lot of things (definitely more than when Wednesday frickin' did it in chapter two). Soft because the reader was trying to calm Wednesday. Also fierce to really SHOW Wednesday they want her. 

Also kissing is like already a thing from chapter one, with the reader blurting out accidentally how they want to kiss Wednesday in the middle of a coffee shop (Also oof that they went back to Weathervane after getting heartbroken by Wednesday in chapter 3 and chapter 4).

Also yeah, I really like the bolded line LMAO

The shade, the scarlet, the tricks, the echoes. 

References to titles from previous chapters. 

"Promise."

Yeah. Done!

Tl;dr: The fic is basically about Wednesday struggling to be vulnerable and conveying her feelings--her love--to the reader because she was betrayed before. And then them finally opening up and understanding each other and finally being end game. Also, me trying so hard to fit multiple requests into one mini-series LMAO

Also, if you find other things that relate to fire, heat, or the color red, like blushing and stuff, yeah that would explain the titles of the fics and the title of the mini-series. Just thought it was a nice detail. 

I MISSED A BUNCH OF OTHER STUFF because this is GETTING LONG BUT LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO BREAK DOWN MY OTHER FICS. THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH! <3

@alexkolax Here you go!!

Blazing Promises

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: Hurt so much hurt God pls help our poor souls, Wednesday has severe relationship trauma because of a certain normie, comfort at the end tho, kiss the pain away, you both cry in this one, tell me if I should add more warnings

|Summary|: Wednesday Addams breaks down in front of you.

|A/n|: Here is the last chapter to the mini series, check end of fic and replies for more. Song is I Don't Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Terrible.

That's the word for how you look right now.

And that's also the word to describe what Wednesday had done to you. She knows this, so as she stands outside your door looking at your puffed-up eyes and your quivering lips, her feet dread to take a step.

Get inside. Just do it. Now.

So she did. Her gaze tears away from yours to the floor, and she shuffled across your room. The space feels vast. Suffocating. What had she done?

She noticed the sweaters first. Her sweaters sprawled across your bed. Then the tissues—you quickly pick them away and throw them into the bin near your desk. Atop your desk, the trigonometry workbook is still there where she left it; the pages closed before much is filled in.

The room was dark, save for the dim light from your stained window. Somehow that made Wednesday feels tense. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like you. Not in this state. 

"What did you come here for?"

Your voice was hoarse. You must've been crying.

"I wanted to talk."

Her voice was frail. She felt weak. 

You kept your distance from Wednesday. Like you were scared of her, revolted of her. And you should be. After all, she'd hurt you.

Say it. It's now or never. 

"I'm sorry."

You can hear the strain in her voice—like she had to shoot her ego down with a silver bullet. Like it was hard for her to even say she was sorry. To show that she's apologetic.

"You should be."

And Wednesday can see the agony, the rage in your features. Your chest was heaving while you pressed your lips into a thin line. You were trying to keep your cool, to not scream at her; her words, her actions, the foolishness that comes with it.

You looked like you'd been robbed of your vitality, your strength. And the sight ripped a giant hole in Wednesday's heart. How could she hurt you that badly? You give her honey, and she feeds you poison. Wednesday feels a terrible weight pressing her shoulders; thick fog enfolds her mind.

You were her light. Her flame. But now it's flickering, and Wednesday fears herself getting plunged into darkness. The kind she has grown abhorring.

And though Wednesday's little black heart wrenched and twisted at the coldness in your voice, she couldn't bring herself to show it. Show how much it hurts her. Because she knows she deserves every sting and burns that blazes her entire being now; you must've suffered through worse. 

"I know," Wednesday feels like her skull was about to bust open, "and I..." She couldn't find her words, and it was killing her. It was unfair that she'd put herself into this position, a conversation she couldn't finish. A sentence she can't end.

"You what, Wednesday? I don't have all night."

Run. Or stab your heart and pull the blade out. Do something.

But she did neither. She did nothing. Wednesday only stands there, her body slumped in defeat. 

Defeat, she couldn't admit it. Succumbing to it would mean losing herself. Losing you. Did she already lose you?

Wednesday lets out a shaky breath, her fingers messing with the hem of her black shirt. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she speaks, "I feel things," and she stole a quick glance your way, "for you."

Was that enough for you to understand?

"What things, Wednesday? Because I thought we felt things before, and you said those things weren't true."

You were pricking needles to her skin; the truth carried in your words slitting open wounds in her mind. Was this what you felt the last time you were with her in this room? Oh, death. Even death wouldn't bring her the sweet relief from this torment.

"I don't know." 

You scoff into the room at that. "Of course, you don't."

Wednesday feels herself shrinking in place. She feels small, and she wants to give up. But even that feels wrong. She doesn't know what to do.

Just say anything. Choke yourself if you have to. Jump off the balcony after all this is over. But right now, talk.

"I feel things," Wednesday tries again, "things that aren't clear, aren't simple." She looks up to see you staring at the wall, unable to face her or her words. Maybe that would make this easier.

"Things I've found in countless pieces of literature, books, and poems. In music, in rhythm, in harmony. In people, in their homes, and in their voices."

Wednesday doesn't know where she's headed with all this. But she knows she has to speak, however confusing and debilitating it might be. Her feet staggered front a few inches.

"I'm scared. Because I thought I've been here before." And you look at her now, really look. Vulnerable. She looks like she's about to crumble if you speak a word.

So you don't. You listen.

"I'm scared. Because the last time I was here, I was wrong." Wednesday felt her vision blurring, and she almost didn't care. Almost.

"Because I don't know what I'm feeling, and though I have a sneaking suspicion of what it is-" she paused, her eyes scanning your face, searching for any trace of judgment on it, "-I'm afraid I would be wrong."

You take a step in Wednesday's direction. It felt like the right thing to do.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you," a tear rolled down the raven's freckle-painted cheek.

"I'll hurt me."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Wednesday knew she was one word away from combusting in tears. It feels hot. The blaze consumed her body, her mind. It threatens her to crumble, to sink, to wither. 

And so she did. She had said it all; her fears, her deepest secrets to the only person she cared about. You. 

Her weakness, now you hold the key to her doom. If you wanted to, you could kill her. And she'd let you. Wednesday feels her knees buckle and fail her, body landing with a thud on your floor.

You rush to Wednesday's side, hands coming to clutch her body. Now you're both set on fire. The tears did nothing. It was just there, staining both of your clothes now.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," you hug Wednesday like there's no tomorrow, like this was the last time you'll feel her close to you, "I understand now."

She's in pain. She's in agony. She hurt you because she thought you would hurt her.

But you would never.

What sounded like hiccups turns into painful wails; Wednesday's cries tear through the thick, stifling air, slowly dispersing it as you join her. Your hand patted her back tentatively in fear that the act would break her even more.

But she pushes herself to you, burying her head in the crooks of your neck. You can feel her tears drop and wet your side as she screams openly to your shirt, the sound of it muffled.

It feels messy, like you both are melting into each other. Your bodies are drenched in sweat, but neither of you wants to let go. 

You want her. She wants you. 

The doubt was gone.

You press your foreheads together, and Wednesday still has her eyes closed. It's red and puffy, and you're sure yours are too. She looks terrible. And pretty.

You forgive the pain because she has let you in. 

Her breathing starts to even out, and you can feel her muscles relaxing. You're both in the eye of the storm; there was only peace, quiet, and silence.

Then, familiar melodies played. The song you heard coming from outside your window earlier that evening. The same song you cried to alone—just moments ago.

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing

You take Wednesday's hand in yours. It feels warm.

Watch you smile while you are sleeping

She shifts in her seat, intertwining her fingers with yours.

While you're far away and dreaming

You lift her hand and kiss her knuckles.

I could spend my life in this sweet surrender

She opens her eyes.

I could stay lost in this moment forever

Wednesday is now looking at you. 

Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

Her gaze was kind, though bittersweet.

Don't want to close my eyes

You hum to the tune.

I don't want to fall asleep

She listens.

'Cause I'd miss you baby

You smiled.

And I don't want to miss a thing

She whispers the words to you.

At that moment, it felt perfect. Two broken fools, sitting on hard cold wooden floors. It was messy, but it was right. You belong together.

"I held that damned boom box above my head not because I wanted to," Wednesday rasps, "Enid forced me, just so you know."

Giggles burst from your lungs. A red coat now paints Wednesday's cheeks. 

"I didn't know you did that." You smiled at her; it was soft and teasing.

"Shut up. I hate you."

Wednesday grasps your hand tightly as if she's afraid you'll pull back; her gaze doesn't dare to falter from yours. 

"I love you too," and you see the corner of Wednesday's lips twitch, "I really do."

A mutual understanding. An exhale of relief.

"Promise?"

You press your lips to hers; it's soft and gentle, dizzying and passionate. It was light as a feather, sweet as cotton candy. It was strong like waves, burning like an inferno. You've become one and the same; servants of Aphrodite. It was a pledge, an oath—though unspoken—that you'll never leave her side, never betray her. 

The shade, the scarlet, the tricks, the echoes. 

"Promise."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

|A/n2|: Thank you so much for going through this mini journey with me, I poured my heart out for this one, I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing it.

[tofumedic]

Solomon Crushing HCs!

(MC is gender neutral!)

summary: a mix of hcs and small paragraphs about Solomon being tested about how much affection he can take before his composed disposition breaks!

It actually takes very little from you to ruffle up poor Solomon's feathers

A gentle touch or squeeze to his shoulder while you're not wearing any kind of glove, even if its over his robes or uniform his blush settles in

However, to get such a soft reaction from your companion it would have to happen alone or if you aren't feeling the best. if it happens in front of the brothers it helps boost his confidence before he shortens the affection not wanting to get hurt by your 7 demonic bodyguards

Solomon's hands are pressed into the flat of your back and against the nape of your neck, supporting your posture of you folding your body into his. He's leaning a bit down only by lowering his face to check your breathing, his ear close to yours and yours to his, letting you also hear his own for however it may ground you.

The way he holds you is protective by every right, the hand on your back is spread as far as each of his digits can reach and pushing slightly into you instead of just acting as a shell, reminding you he is actually there and that you can feel as much as his presence as possible. The hand against the back of your neck is more gentle to the sensitive bone underneath, not pressing but covering as much as it can, slightly upwards to start to cup the bottom of your hairline as well so you don't strain your neck too far.

He almost feels quite guilty, reveling in you picking him for comfort having to be pushed to be thoughts he remembers so he can currently focus on keeping you grounded, calm. You had left and came to him in Purgatory Hall, purposely leaving possible comfort from the brothers to seek out his specifically. It was an honor, you wanting to be held by him, wanting his warmth to protect you from whatever snapped the final thread keeping you together for the day. It wasn't completely necessary, he would have come as immediate as he could've if you had asked but it did make the slow process of moving you to sit on the edge of his bed quite easier as he presses gentle kisses against your hair, certain you'll forget about them the next day.

He enjoys sharing things with you, always confident and composed when he is the one to initiate, yet when you do it he needs a few seconds of hesitation to restart his internal systems.

He further enjoys showing off whatever you two share, maybe a new set of matching keychains or a necklace. Certain brothers more outwardly jealous than their counterparts call him out for being arrogant yet are too busy to recognize the softness in his eyes of having a piece of you with him.

You had woken up from your small nap with all of the gross qualities of crying before the rest, rubbing your eyes and needing to seek out something for your nose. But in the slowness of waking up and further coming to your senses on where you were, you recognize the room style and suddenly it clicks back.

Going to Solomon, wanting his specific hold and no other as it wouldn't be the same as the texture of his clothes pressing into yours or the same density of muscle holding together the pieces of you threatening to break. No one would keep you whole the same way so you had sought him out, now only being left alone in his room with his robe at the end of the bed and the door slightly open to show his leave is quick.

The robe was free real-estate at that point for you to settle into like a child's sleeping bag as you cocoon, wrapping it around yourself and holding it tightly wrapped from holding it on the inside. Like it was programmed to recognize being stolen, Solomon just peeked into the crack in the door with some water in hand not wanting the door to creek if you were still resting.

Yet there you were, resettling into his bed in his robe in his blankets. His face was lit up as if painted in the pink as he speaks up.

"I'm back. Ah, were you waiting for me to show up?"

He's embarrassed, his face is blotchy and after he takes a step in and closes the door goes to rub at this face as if trying to scratch it away. He didn't expect you to actually put on his robe and cuddle into it like that, don't get him twisted he did put it there just in case you did wake up and he wasn't there, he just clearly was not mentally prepared for the image.

Something he can't handle is your pleased smile with the similar glint that reached your eyes to be directed at him alone, especially when it was still sleep ridden and clearly extremely comfortable.

"Just kidding, don't look at me like that I'll get the wrong idea."

Solomon has this thing about making plans with you, or making plans for you

He will plan out every time he gets to see you, trying to have words ready for what he will want to say. He plans out walking with you to classes, to lunch, to inviting you out places just to imagine how it will go after you say yes.

Even if it doesn't go exactly to plan since you tend not to follow his, always so full of surprises, he doesn't get upset by any means if you're the cause

Especially when it's something subtle, you reaching out to pat him if he's busy in a conversation wanting to give a quick hello, or you possibly being on of those who like to lean into others when they laugh

Stuff like that sends him out of wack, he builds off of what energy you give him like any calm response he had to welcome you back with gets replaced with something more genuine as you rush over, having caught his gaze with a grin when you found him

You unwrapped your robe burrito of sorts, your arms outstretched and waiting. His footsteps stuttered looking at your changed position beckoning him to look at your face to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding. His blush had yet to disappear as he chuckled, setting your two glasses on the small bedside table.

You are the first person he lets himself be so genuine with for a long time, something about you other than your abilities is just so special.

He's missed this, such a feeling of genuine love that fills him completely that he feels connected to every part of his body, that no space is empty yet instead inflated pumped full of pure bliss. It is hard to remember if the last time he felt something like this if it's true or was just a bad copy because this and you feel so unique and new and fresh

Solomon is full of love in a way he didn't know was truly possible, it was true and genuine and you two shared it.

He settles into your side, arms caging your middle and yours in turn wrap around him to further press him closer, and he gives a pleased hum. It was strange and perhaps narcissistic but this felt like you had turned to comforting him instead compared to him comforting you earlier, though he understood this probably helped you too he couldn't help but to feel special like that.

Maybe this wasn't a misunderstanding on his part, maybe it was alright to test the waters, this theory.

"I just can't help but to think you might like me too, no?"

[yanderes-of-inkwell]

Maybe some root pack headcanons, if you don’t mind? 💚

The Root Pack - General Headcanons

Note: Nope, I don’t mind! I love these veggie lads and I’m happy to write for them. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Delusional mindsets, implied manipulation, implied murder, obsessive behaviour, overprotective behaviour, possessive behaviour, violence.

♤ Since first setting up their little farm on Isle One, the Root Pack have generally been regarded as a very kind and hard-working bunch. Though a bit withdrawn at times, they’re actually quite welcoming to anyone who cares to visit them. Sal, while definitely the most distant of the three, is undeniably a sweetheart beneath his aloof exterior. Ollie, meanwhile, is much more shy and sensitive, being both easy to make cry and awkward around strangers. And Chauncey, in addition to being a laid-back jokester, is also the most open to interacting with folks outside of their little tight-knit group.

♡ As you can imagine, it’d be rather difficult for them to find a darling that they all like. Having such distinct personalities means that each member of the Root Pack wants something different in a potential partner. Sal wants a person who’s hard-working and honest, and who values fairness above all else. Ollie is quite drawn to patience and compassion, two traits he believes his darling must have, as well as a willingness to provide him comfort should he need it. And Chauncey has always been fond of people who possess a great deal of wit and humour, those who can keep up with him but don’t take themselves too seriously.

♧ By all means, finding a darling that’s perfect for them would be near impossible. And yet, they somehow managed to, despite all odds. Chauncey’s likely the one who meets them first, being that he’s the most social of the group. Whether he’s busy running errands or simply out on a stroll, his darling will instantly catch his attention. Though their initial conversation is brief, Chauncey immediately feels a connection with them. Being both relaxed and easy to talk to certainly aided them in capturing his interest, and it left him thinking about them hours after they’d parted ways.

◇ Upon returning home, he’s quite eager to recall his encounter with them to Sal and Ollie. The two are certainly intrigued, to say the least, wondering just what kind of person managed to capture his attention so quickly and easily. Sal, being the voice of reason that he is, expresses his happiness for Chauncey, but is also quick to remind him that they are still a stranger and that he should approach the situation more carefully. Ollie, meanwhile, is much more enthusiastic than the former and even encourages him to bring them around the farm if given the chance.

♤ Even after taking both sides into consideration, and despite the more logical part of his mind urging him against it, Ollie’s enthusiasm is what ultimately wins him over. And because of this, Chauncey is more than happy to invite his darling over when the two eventually cross paths again. Though he tries to maintain his usual laid-back attitude, their presence does fluster him a tad, and he becomes almost giddy at the prospect of getting to spend time with them.

♡ Whether he takes them to the farm himself or they find their way there a few days later, it doesn’t matter; he’ll be over the moon about having them over. As for Sal and Ollie, the two will be hesitant to greet them. Sal due to his caution around strangers, and Ollie due to his social anxiety. Nevertheless, their darling manages to leave a good first impression on them, much to Chauncey’s delight. Ollie in particular becomes quite smitten with them after the ice is broken, being drawn in by how sweet they are towards him, and how patient and understanding they are when it comes to his anxiety.

♧ Sal, on the other hand, takes a bit longer to charm than the other two. He’s naturally wary around strangers and as a result, is rather closed off from his darling in the beginning. Though that’s not to say he doesn’t admire them from afar. In fact, he’s quite star-struck by just how charismatic they are, and the fact that they had both Ollie and Chauncey wrapped around their finger within minutes of meeting them. It takes some time but eventually, Sal comes to fall for them too, which becomes inevitable once he sees just how honest and diligent they are, in addition to being kind and patient.

◇ After the Root Pack’s darling manages to enrapture the three, they soon come to realise their shared feelings for them. It was bound to happen, given their inability to keep secrets from each other, especially due to their shared history and time spent together. Once the truth comes out, the three come together to discuss their rather peculiar situation. As none of them are particularly selfish, the decision to simply share their darling comes easily to them. They are brothers-in-arms, after all, and know they can trust each other with their darling.

♤ Once this decision has been made, the three will gradually start to welcome their darling more and more into their lives. Inviting them to visit more often, asking them for help on the farm, even leaving their home to visit them occasionally; all of these become regular occurrences for them, all so they can become closer to their darling and eventually lure them into their trap. Though, they don’t quite see it that way. From their point of view, they’re simply taking the steps necessary to protect their darling, whom they believe is far too naïve to realise just how dangerous these Isles truly are.

♡ And just as they had hoped, their darling is none the wiser about the severity of the situation they’ve found themselves in. Sure, their partners may be a bit overprotective at times, but it’s only because they mean well, right? Surely their beloved boyfriends would never harbour any twisted feelings towards them, especially not one as lethal as obsession. Regardless of how they try to justify their boyfriends’ behaviour, the Root Pack gladly play along with whatever excuse their darling comes up with for them.

♧ As for outsiders, the trio become much colder towards the other Isle residents once they have their darling in their grasp. Those who once considered them friends are now turned away every time they try to visit, being told that they simply don’t have time to entertain guests. Eventually, people learn to keep their distance. While the Root Pack are not known for being scary or intimidating, it’s common knowledge that the three are a rather strong bunch, and are perfectly capable of holding their own in a fight.

◇ Should anyone come to cross a line, they’re most likely to have to deal with Chauncey. Though Sal and Ollie are not weak by any means, they generally prefer to keep outsiders away by simply not engaging with them. If they just ignore them, they reason, eventually they’ll take the hint and leave. Chauncey, on the other hand, has no problem with confronting anyone he believes has bad intentions. Hell, even those with good intentions are turned away, as neither he nor the others like sharing their darling with anyone outside their group.

♤ If a confrontation ever escalates into a full-blown fight, Sal will be quick to join him. He may not enjoy confronting people but that doesn’t mean he won’t, especially when it concerns his darling. While the other two deal with the problem, Ollie will be nearly glued to his darling’s side, making sure their attention is never on Sal or Chauncey. The last thing they want is to upset their darling, so Ollie is sure to keep them away from the potentially bloody fight in order to avoid just that.

♡ All in all, the Root Pack try to keep their darling as closed off from the world as possible. Not only does it keep them safe, but it also ensures that no one else can possibly steal them away. They are more than happy to provide them with a comfortable, quiet life on their little farm, where the dangers of the world can never reach them. And as for those who try to disturb their peaceful lives, well... Their corpses will be put to good use as fertiliser.

[bonny-kookoo]

Cat Eyes (JJK x Reader) ❤️☁️🔞🐾

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Human!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Fluff/romance, Strangers to lovers?, slight angst, smut

Warnings: discussion of homelessness and unfairness against hybrids, mild mention of past abuse, trust issues, Sweet Koo, smut because duh, lovemaking it’s so sweet yall, dirty talk but only minor, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, doggy style, mild biting, yeah that’s it this time wait for part two oh my

Summary: on the streets, cast out. Just another week for you, but somehow you wonder if this stranger might mean a change for you.

Or alternatively: Jungkook feeds you and you’re kinda grateful for that.

Its cold, but you've been preparing for that outcome for a long time already. Being born as a hybrid, a simple housecat at that, you had nothing special or rewarding about you, making you just a pet getting passed around from person to person as soon as you got too boring to keep around.

This was a regular thing for you. The fact that you got kicked out so many times already made you wary of actually possessing any belongings at all, not even owning a phone or clothes you could consider your own- merely the things you currently wore, drenched in the water that had been dribbling from the skies in rough speeds, hood over your head already useless at keeping your hair and ears dry. But it was okay. This was normal for you, after all.

Sitting down between two glowing vending machines located behind a small convenience store, you tried to warm yourself up with the small amount of heat radiating off of the two metal machines- not really being successful, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It's been three weeks already like this, trying to find a place to catch some sleep before roaming the streets again, searching for food and sometimes even finding a bit of money on the street. You didn't have a collar, so you had to hide your hybrid features well- not like you'd like to show your dirty fur anytime soon anyways.

Yawning before turning a bit, shoes squeaking a bit with the amount of water inside them, you closed your eyes, mind focusing on the buzzing next to your head, trying to use it as a form of lullaby to soothe you into sleeping a bit. Yet you were disturbed by someone pressing the buttons and inserting money into the vending machine, the loud noises of the soda can banging against the metal interior loudly enough to make you press your ears flat against your skull. You hoped whoever was craving the beverage was a human or didn't pay attention to you; but again- you were out of luck.

"Huh?" Came the humming question of a male voice, and you instantly tensed up as a warm hand was placed on your wet shoulder. "Hey.. you okay?" The voice asked, and you imagined his Umbrella shielding him from the rain, the pitter patter of it on the plastic fabric an indication that he probably used one. You weren't an impressive predator like a Tiger or a Leopard, but you certainly could distinguish noises from one another to see things around you, even without using your eyes. "Can you hear me?" He asked gently, and you wanted to turn around, scoff in his face that yes, you did, you just chose not to. "Do you have an owner.?" Well, piss. Seems like hiding your features didn't do much as well.

You only turned a bit, hood catching on a pointed piece of metal from the vending machine, making it reveal one of your wet ears to him, as well as a piece of the side of your face. You only saw him with one eye, but you already knew he was on the far opposite of the food chain- expensive suit and sparkling rolex on his wrist, connected to the tattooed hand holding his black umbrella almost mocking you as he looked at you with pity. You spotted his ears, or more lack thereof, already wanting to cry at them; a human like him didn't know the things you were going through. That's probably why he'd asked if you were owned immediately, and you wanted to laugh. Yet your croaky voice didn't say these things. It only stated the obvious. "No." Because you really didn't- the official timespan was two weeks, after that, a formerly owned hybrid was officially considered a stray if it went missing. You didn't belong to anyone other than the state itself- which was why you had to hide so well, to not get thrown into an adoption center again.

The stranger furrowed his brows a bit, before leaving. Well, at least he took the hint, you thought, before he came back again, placing a white bag with some plastic items down in front of you, before putting his umbrella over your head, the rain suddenly stopping from falling down on you. You looked downwards, at the plastic container- sushi? Dumplings? And another one that steamed a bit- rice? You didn't get it, but still turned around a bit, watching him warily as if you were waiting for him to yell sike and run away. Yet he didn't, simply scooting a bit closer to not get the rain onto his head, and waiting. The sound of cars passing by and some music being played somewhere was the only noise surrounding you for a bit, before you hesitantly reached out for the containers, always keeping an eye on him. He simply smiled when you started to unpack the plastic foil of the cheap chopsticks, digging into the hot rice as if it was a five star meal. You could practically feel it warming up your belly, making you suppress a sigh as you got lost in consuming the food he'd bought.

Only once you were finished, not being able to eat everything, did he actually move. He grabbed some of the leftovers, eating them until he took the boxes and put them into the trash nearby. You looked at him with a questioning gaze. Would he want anything from you now? You didn't trust his angelic features at all if you were being honest. "You're probably not gonna want to come home with me and thats fine." He said, before looking at you. "I'll leave the umbrella here, alright? Lets hope the rain stops soon." He mumbled, getting up, making you look up to him as he slowly turned around, giving you a small wave. "Goodnight. Stay safe." He simply said, before jogging to his car.

Huh. What a weird guy.

Jeon Jungkook was his name as he'd introduced himself on the second day of visiting you behind the convenience store, and he was indeed a weird human. He made it a simple casualty- visiting you every day after work with food, having full conversations with you, and asking about your day and life in general. He himself noticed a slight spark returning to your eyes, interest peaking in those orbs as you talked to him more and more. You were a quiet girl, not really giving away much about you, but managing to make him feel like he knew you. You were smart, and he liked that. After almost a week of daily conversations, he finally popped the question.

"Do you want to come home with me?" He asked, making you look up from your can of soup he'd bought you this time. You thought for a bit before shrugging. At this point he'd invested so much into feeding you that it felt like you had to- simply as a form of repayment. He smiled, before leaning his head a bit to the side, voice low and serious. "You don't have to. I'm simply offering." He said, and you put down the empty can, nodding.

"Alright." You said, and he grinned, standing up and putting the trash away before closing the umbrella still hanging over the vending machines, turning around. His eyes widened a bit at just how short you were, yet he found it endearing. He led you to his car, not caring that his cream colored interior could be stained with your admittedly dirty clothing and shoes. He'd pay someone to clean it the next day, and all would be fine.

"So uhm.." You began, unsure what would happen now. "What am I supposed to do when we get to your place?" You asked, and after a moment of realization, his ears turned red.

"No no no, I'm, oh my.." He cleared his throat for a moment, before he threw one leg over the other, as to make himself seem more sure of himself than he actually was. "I'm not that kind of person." He explains calmly, as he waves his hand to the driver, who nodded, before the window to the front closes, giving you two some privacy. "I simply saw you there and.. I don't know. I couldn't just leave you there." He said, and you nodded.

"So it's for your repuptation." You said. "I guess you're an investor then?" You knew people like him. Their initial thought was nice, but at the end of the day it was only for personal gain. Well, at least he'd keep you around for some months before the public would slowly forget about you again. You've been through that as a young kitten.

But he shook his head. "I am an investor, yeah- but I don't plan on showing you to the public eye. I don't want anything of you other than your company." You opened your mouth again, but he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. "Not like that." He began. "My apartment is.. big. Huge. But it's also empty. A friend of mine had told me I should get a hybrid, and I genuinely considered. I was actually at a shelter the day we first met." He explained, and you nodded. "I didn't find anyone I was.. okay with, I guess. I can't just let anyone into my life, you know. Most people only want something, just to leave right after. When I saw you, yeah, at first it was pure pity, I won't lie." You nodded, watching him. "But the more we talked, the more I realized how compatible we were." Well, this was new. "I won't be home much, because I work a lot, but I don't like being lonely." He turns to you, serious. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like you to simply be a companion. Someone who shares my home with me, accompanies me to those absolutely boring dinners I have to endure every week or so, and who sometimes maybe comes to work with me. If you simply want to stay home however, that's fine as well." He says, and you nod.

"Can I.. think about it?" You ask, and he nods, a gentle smile adoring his lips. The rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence, and you almost drift off to sleep, but you arrive at his apartment complex before you can fully float away. There's nothing said between the two of you as he leads you inside the hallway of the building, a hand on the small of your back as if to make sure you won't get lost, his figure always close to shield you from wary eyes of the security and other residents walking by. Inside the elevator, silence is still present, until someone joins you two; a tall man, a little older than your now soon-to-be Master, who looks at you, and then at your Master.

"Ah, so you have finally found someone for you? I'm happy for you Jungkook." He says,a smile on his lips. "My name is Kim Seokjin my dear, may I ask yours?" He speaks, and you look at Jungkook close to you as if you were expecting him to answer for you- like it was typical. But he only smiled as well, nodding towards you in encouragement, so you, quietly, answered with a small bow of your head. "Ah, a shy one isn't she? But very pretty, I have to say." He said, and Jungkook chuckled as if to accompany that statement. "Ah, well. Please think about the company dinner next saturday, and oh!" Seokjin said as he left the elevator, hand holding the elevator door open for a moment as he looked at you one last time. "Bring her along, yeah? I heard that Jimin is bringing Yoongi as well. A good chance for her to make friends.!" He said, before winking, and waving goodbye- leaving you and Jungkook inside the elevator to climb a few more levels higher.

"Don't feel pressured now, please." Jungkook said, as the elevator chimed, the two of you stepping out as he walked past you to open his apartment door. "You don't have to if its too soon." He said, before opening his door.

He didn't lie when he said his apartment was big, but you never truly saw a skyline like that. It was a breathtaking view outside the windows, and it took a moment until you could finally avert your eyes to scan the rest. It felt.. almost sterile, in a way. Nothing truly screamed his name at you, neither the furniture, nor wall decorations. A few pictures were hung up, but other than that, the apartment looked like it got pulled straight out of an interior design magazine. "It's pretty bland, isn't it?" He lowly said, as he turned on some of the lights, hanging up his coat on the hanger next to the door as he untied his shoes. "I know it does. I.. hope that'll change, maybe." He said, before he made his way into the open kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can just show you your room and leave you be as well, yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Let me show you." He said, and you followed him after taking your own shoes off as well.

It was a rare occurence to have a room for yourself- so much so, that you only remember having one as a kitten, when it had been necessary. Stepping inside, you noticed the crisp air; he'd opened the window to air it out, it seemed. There was a bed in the corner, a wardrobe and a mirror- as well as a door that connected to a bathroom, right now void of light. "I'll leave you be for now. There are some of my old clothes so you have something to sleep in- don't worry, I washed them so you won't get my scent on you just yet, I know it makes hybrids a bit fussy." He chuckled, and nodded towards you with a smile. "If you want to, you can come out, if you don't stay inside, I won't be mad. I'll have the day off tomorrow and after, so we should use that time to get you some clothes if you want." He suggested, and you nodded into his direction. He bowed a bit, before leaving the room, and you alone.

You waited a bit so his footsteps got out of reach, before you walked around a bit. The room was bigger than the one you had as a kitten, but still small enough to be considered a guest room. Your first goal however, was the bathroom. Grabbing the clothes he had left you, you noticed immediately that it had been washed with hybrid proof detergent- a brand called 'noscent' which was typically used for newly homed hybrids so they wouldn't get overwhelmed. How he knew of that was unclear to you, but maybe he did have a hybrid before, or a friend told him. It didn't matter though, because you knew this was timed. Better make the most out of it. So as you climbed into the bathtub, soapy scent around you as you washed yourself squeaky clean, you felt okay again. Now was the time to mend yourself together, figure out what your master liked so you could make your stay as comfortable for everyone involved as possible, and just enjoy the good sides while rushing the bad.

But somehow there was a weird feeling in your gut.

Maybe things were really about to change this time.

The next morning was calm. Apart from something clattering in the kitchen, you awoke by yourself, shocked to see it almost being twelve. Why had he not woken you up, when he so clearly implied yesterday that he had plans with you today? For a moment you wondered if maybe this had been a test, but judging by his whistling in the kitchen, he was in a good attitude still.

So you went for it.

Simply brushing your hair and tail, you stepped out the room, smell of food immediately meeting your nose. "I was about to wake you." He said without turning, as he grabbed another bowl to fill. "I figured I'd let you sleep after all that change so you could rest well. Good morning." He said, finally turning around, making you gasp internally a bit.

You knew that his hand was tattooed, but what now showed was his entire forearm covered in ink. Completely different from yesterday, he wore a simple grey sweater and sweatpants combo, hair in a messy tiny ponytail on his head. He looked so.. young, yet masculine, not at all like the businessman you had encountered before. But it was a nice change; because if he let you see himself like this, he really was intending to have you around for longer, and was working towards a more personal companionship. Maybe he really did want you as a companion for himself, not his outside persona.

You sat down at the table before stopping immediately, eyes widening. He seemed to notice this however, chuckling as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, helping you on the chair properly. "You can sit at the table with me, don't worry. Please move around freely; my home is as much mine as it is yours now, okay?" He said, and you nodded. "Thank you." He said, and you watched him for a moment, before you started to eat.

"How.." You started, and he wiped his lips with a tissue before looking at you, attention now on your words. You were grateful for that small gesture. "How do you know that much about hybrids?" You asked, and he smiled.

"Yesterday, Jin-hyung said something about Yoongi, you remember?" You nodded, a bit eagerly, since you were used to remember things that your master said all the time. "Good girl." He said, and it made your skin tingle a bit, as he cleared his throat, a bit shy after letting that slip. "He uhm, Yoongi-hyung is a cat-hybrid as well. His owner is Jimin, who's my coworker. Yoongi was a rescue a few years back, who I asked a bit about what to do if I take someone in who.. you know, wasn't from a shelter. He told me a few things." He explained, and you nodded.

"Why are you calling him Yoongi-hyung though, if he's a hybrid?" You asked, before taking another spoonful. You liked warm food. It made your belly warm.

"Ah." He mused, as he finished his plate, leaning back. "I'm not really following the whole foodchain-order stuff, to be honest. Yoongi-hyung is older than me, my hyung, so that's that. Oh, that reminds me, how old are you?" He asked, and you answered.

"I think.. 22?" You said, and he seemed a bit sad. Did you say something wrong? Did he want someone younger? Someone older?

"Ah, sorry.. but, you think?" He said. "So.. you haven't celebrated your birthday, at all?" He asked, and you shook your head. "Ah thats no good. We'll celebrate it this year, promise!" He said. "You're a bit younger than me, by the way. I'm 25." He said, and you nodded, saving that information inside your brain for future reference. "If you're done we can either go shopping, or if you don't want to, we can shop online. We should do that now though, otherwise you'll have to wait too long for delivery and stuff." He said, and you nodded.

"Do you have a collar for me then?" You asked, and Jungkook grabbed your empty plate to put away. A collar wasn't something he could just not give you- he knew from Yoongi that it wasn't demeaning in any way. Wearing a collar was a form of comfort, it wasn't just an accessory, it was a physical evidence that you were claimed and safe.

"Yoongi gave me one of his older ones, but we can buy a proper one you like today." He said, and dried his hands on a dish towel as he looked at you. "Go and get your shoes, I'll give you one of my coats to wear, and then we can go, yeah?"

Shopping was always a hard one to crack.

This was when you would somehow have to figure out by simply picking the opossum on the road to know if its dead or not- in a sense of; simply point, and wait for the blow. With Jungkook however, there never was one, and it confused you how calm and somehow even happy he was. For example, when you pointed at a pretty expensive collar that wasn't your style just to see how he'd react, you didn't know how to react when he smiled. "Ah, let's look for something more delicate, yeah? The price doesn't bother me, but I doubt that heavy chains suit you kitten." He had simply said, and somehow, the petname made your ears turn towards him, making a nearby bunny hybrid and her owner chuckle.

He'd somehow managed to wiggle under your skin in just a day.

Because somehow, every time he looked at you, helped you reach something, or talked to you about what you liked, it felt so genuine. It felt like he really cared.

"Okay, how about.. oh, this one!" He said, pointing at a collar hidden behind glass- one covered in velvet, with a pretty pattern and a silver plate on the front where your name would be. It was expensive; absolutely mind blowing however, but what made your eyes glisten were his words. "There's a jeweler next door, so we can have your name and ID, as well as my emergency information stamped in." Because, until now, you only had the one's where you slide a paper with all needed info underneath a clear cover- it was easier to replace or give back. But, getting it stamped onto such an expensive collar was definitely something that would last- well, forever. "Or- wait, hey hey, whats wrong? If you don't like it we can buy a different one-"

"I love it." You said, and he led you away from all noise, into a more secluded part of the shop, where he squatted down to properly look at you. "I just.. I..it's..-" You began, and somehow he understood, and had this absolutely frustrating smile again, as he helped you wipe your tears a bit less harshly than you did yourself.

"I haven't said it clear enough yet, haven't I?" He asks, voice warm. "I plan on forever, not just for the moment. What I said when you first came into my apartment was directed at you. I hope you'll make my home feel like a home one day. How can I think about giving you away, when I just got you?" He questions, and you shrug. "I know trust isn't something you give away easily, and thats completely fine. I can also Imagine that you're not too sure of things right now, considering where you came from. But I promise you, I really do-" He says, and takes your hands in his. "I'll stay by your side for as long as you let me." He finishes, and you nod after a moment. "Alright? Alright!" He says, and takes your hand to buy the collar, your eyes still sparkling when you later on watch the lady at the jeweler stamp in your name- and his at the bottom.

Maybe this really was permanent.

At the dinner table with all his colleagues, and the infamous cat hybrid Yoongi next to you, you felt less awkward than you thought you would. Yoongi was a huge help, his calm demeanor helping you to stay composed as well, even under the watchful eyes of the rest of the people. Seokjin had been sweet as well, immediately making you feel welcomed. Jungkook never let you out of his sight, and it made you feel save as well.

It felt good.

Yoongi and you conversed here and there, and occasionally, Jungkook or Jimin, Yoongis owner would chime in, which made it feel as if you were always a part of this. You started to smile a bit, converse more openly, all until a waitress came and turned everything upside down.

"Would you like us to escort the pets to a different table, sir?" She asked Seokjin, who you had learned owned the company Jungkook and his coworkers worked for. He cleared his throat, and shook his head; almost an apologetic look in his eyes as he looked at Yoongi, you, and Taehyung- an independent Tiger-Hybrid with working license, he'd told you. He seemed to clench his teeth as to stay quiet, as the waitress left, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

"I'm sorry, please continue." Seokjin said, but the reminder of your status made everyone a bit.. uneasy the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry about the waitress, by the way." Jungkook said, as he helped you into your coat, when everyone was leaving. You shook your head, but he held his unsure expression. "No, I really am. It was uncalled for, and I'm genuinely upset that she phrased it like that." He explained, and you smiled.

"It's okay, Master." You said, which made Yoongis and Taehyungs ears shoot towards your direction, as if on instinct. They didn't look, no, they were discreet. But they still wanted to know what would happen next. "She probably didn't know- after all, it's still quite uncommon to keep hybrids as equal partners nowadays. Change comes slow." You said, but Jungkook suddenly seemed even more serious as he placed his hands on your shoulders, as you looked up at him.

"Jungkook." He said, and you leaned your head to the side in question. "Please, don't.. please just call me Jungkook." He explained, and you nodded, unsure why he was so upset by this. He sighed, before he traced your metal nameplate with his thumb for a fracture of a second, smiling again. "Let's go home." He said, and you nodded, walking after him as he lead the way, not noticing the way that Yoongi and Taehyung shared knowing glances at each other.

When Jungkook came home, he didn't know what exactly made him realize at first. Maybe it was the way your shoes were placed where there used to be none, or how the clothing hangers held your coats and scarfs as well now. Maybe it was the scent, or the rug that was placed on the lightwood laminated floor because your feet were always cold- or maybe it was your body on his couch, covered by a thick blanket he'd bought you recently when the winter became colder. No, it wasn't that- it was what came next. Your ears which flicked into his direction from their place ontop of your head, and the words you uttered next. "Welcome home Kookie!" You said, and he smiled.

He simply walked over to the couch, letting himself lean ontop of you as he squeezed himself behind your body on the couch, holding you securely to his chest as you turned around to face him. He looked tired, but happy and you took in his scent, so distinctive you could probably tell his from a million others just after a second. He sighed, before he ran a hand over your back, cold palm warming up slowly. You were both unsure what exactly you two were- but it was clear that this wasn't just an owner-hybrid companionship anymore. No, the way Jungkook looked at you had something in it that you knew only lovers had; which made you feel so comfortable around him, after all.

So it was only natural, in a way, that after a moment or two, or maybe more (you didn't really notice anymore), you two found each other in his bedroom, a place you had spent your nights before as well. But this time there was no sleeping involved, at least not in that moment, as his hands roamed around, lips chasing yours as you mewled underneath him needily. He wished he could record it, but even if he did it would never sound as sweet as it did right now. Everything felt so good he didn't even care about his own noises, as you two began to shed your clothes one piece after another, until there was nothing to cover you anymore.

"You're so sweet, you know that?" He hummed against your neck, as you squirmed underneath his hands, his inked fingers wandering down between your legs, were you were aching for his touch to make you fall apart. "Even right now, with my fucking hand between your legs, you look so cute." He chuckled, while you could only rut into his palm like a touch-starved pet. He was teasing, and in a way you hated it, but somehow you couldn't tell him to hurry. No, you didn't want him to hurry at all, because you were at the point of realization;

"I love you, Koo." You said, and he stopped for a moment, some seconds that made you feel absolutely humiliated, before he groaned, pushing your legs against your stomach.

"You can't drop something like that onto me like this, Kitten." He scolded playfully, with no harm intended. No, he simply took hold of his already leaking length to guide himself into you, making you squeal in delight before you sighed out. "I love you too, I adore you so much, I swear to everything I have.." He said, as he began to move, almost as if he was unable to quite control himself. Technically, you were the one to act like an animal; but instead, it was him nipping at your skin, and growling out curses that sounded way too filthy to be uttered out from those lips.

You loved it.

The way he held you, played you like a well tuned instrument, how he sped up his pace without warning because he knew you could take it. You were his good kitten after all, all his, and he knew you would be good. You were lost in your own little cloud as his hand went between your bodies again, fingers suddenly flicking your nub in a sadistic movement that had you scream without sound- pleasure shooting through your veins so violently you were unsure if it was pain or heaven that you felt.

"Ah- Koo- I-" You pressed out, but he simply moved his hand away, never stopping however. "I can't-" You said, but he pulled out before you could finish, flipping you onto your stomach where he pulled your lower body upwards, entering you again as he teasingly stroked your tail which flopped down to one side to make space and give him a clear view of where you were connected so intimately.

"You can, kitten. And you will." He growled out, noticing how you were slowly clenching again. "I can feel you, greedy kitty." He growled out, pace growing harsher and harsher as the sound of skin against skin got louder and louder. "Come on. Give me one more, yeah?" He said, and you were unable to answer him. "Come on- come on, there we go-" He pressed out, a whining sound leaving his lips as well as he grew more sloppy, more desperate as you came again, your clenching core pushing him over the edge as well as he spilled inside you, before he pulled out, watching almost hypnotized how his cum dripped out of you after a moment.

"I love you." He said, uncaring of how you two probably stained the sheets right now. "I really do." He said, whispered like a promise, as he pulled your body against him, palms still kneading your breasts.

Because if you thought he was done with you, you were very wrong.

I apologize for how short it was, but I only have my phone for now. Sorry if this sucks, it's not my best work, but I didn't want to leave you hanging and without content for this long.. :< Love, Bunny <3

[phoenixyfriend]

That One Fucked-Up Rexwalker AU

OKAY so people showed interest in this! Cool! This is... actually you know what, yeah, this falls into dead dove territory. It's kind of angst with a happy ending? At the very least it's hurt/comfort.

Warnings: rape as psychological torture by an enemy party, later dubious consent by parties that are at least trying to make it consensual but the situation makes it difficult to navigate

This was inspired partially by the first chapter of this collection by @the-writing-mill, which features Obi-Wan getting absolutely railed by a fucking machine set up by droids who don't understand consent. I got to thinking about the set-up and slid sideways into a slightly different context.

So Anakin, in all his shitty luck, gets captured, as one does. Whoever captures him has strict instructions to avoid physically damaging him or permanently fucking up his connection to the Force, because they'd like to use him as a weapon eventually, but to play around with his psychological damage in whatever way suits.

We'll say it's Ventress, who vastly prefers horrifying physical damage for torture, or killing/hurting people's loved ones in front of them, and now has to get creative to deal with Skywalker, because for whatever reason, she only managed to get Anakin and not any of his friends.

Obviously, Palpatine is the one saying 'don't damage the good.' She doesn't know that, though, just that Dooku said His Sith Master said to leave Skywalker intact for later.

So the easy route to psychological damage is, well, rape. But she's not into him, and there aren't really any other sentients in her little torture castle, but last she checked Skywalker is really needy? She's picked up on the fact that this guy really loves Having people.

She handles it: strip him down, strap him down, and get a fucking machine involved. Naked and cold and with a pipe leaking from the ceiling. Let a protocol droid keep an eye on things so he doesn't have some kind of permanent physical damage, but basically just have him unceasingly fucked for like a week, sometimes edging and sometimes forcing and sometimes just really digging into the oversensitivity, whether he's awake or asleep or what. Nothing but air and metal, and sometimes Ventress when she comes by to taunt him. There's magic involved to up his sexual craving without making it any easier on him.

It's fucked up but he does get saved! Eventually!

Ventress did her job, didn't enjoy it, and doesn't care that he's gone. She has people to kill, okay, she's bored.

So, you know, Anakin needs time to recover. He doesn't try to argue that he doesn't, at least partly because he's having trouble standing. He'll be fine! Stop worrying, guys! It's fine!

It's not fine, everyone tells him, because that was fucked!

It takes a while to get back to Coruscant. It's normally a few days, but there's a disruption on the hyperlane they'd use, sooooooo they're stuck.

Anakin tries to make some calls to Padme. When the calls connect, she helps. Obi-Wan was part of the rescue team, so he's there to do what he can, but Anakin keeps flinching away. Ahsoka is helpful because Anakin's hindbrain reads her as Not A Threat, but nobody's telling her what kind of torture Anakin was dealing with, because she's Designated Baby.

Anakin is alternately overwhelmed by physical touch and craving it, and the fact that he just got the Force back isn't helping.

(It later comes to light that the reason he flinches from Obi-Wan and Ahsoka is because they've got the Force and a person with the Force approaching for that week meant Ventress, and that's--not great. And it's just a LOT and REALLY BRIGHT after his time in the Force-nullifying cuffs.)

So Anakin spends a lot of time alone, craving people while being deeply unnerved by the ones he's most able to ask for that sort of thing (his master and padawan). Rex is one of a handful of clones that volunteer to check in on Anakin until they get to Coruscant. He's not the only one who walks in on Anakin shifting uncomfortably and looking red in the face, but he's the one that actually asks about it.

Anakin, with some prodding, does not admit to the problem. He does, however, admit to a different problem, and asks if Rex would be okay with a hug, or maybe putting an arm around Anakin's shoulder, or--actually, no, this is stupid, forget he said anythi-- Rex sits down next to him and pulls Anakin into his side and just lets Anakin relax into him.

Anakin starts shivering. Shuddering. Crying, after a while. Rex lets it happen and tries not to panic, just rubs an hand up and down Anakin's arm.

They don't really talk about it, but Anakin does end up cuddling with Rex for a few hours a day while they try to get everyone home, and Anakin's kind of on enforced medical leave, so he can't really help until Obi-Wan comes up with a solution that gives Anakin a job directly.

Rex finally gets an answer to why Anakin keeps looking uncomfortable and close to tears but embarrassed about it. He doesn't, for the record, press for that answer. Instead, he accidentally walks in on Anakin three fingers deep in his own ass and whining into his pillow.

Which is. Awkward.

Obviously.

Turns out whatever Ventress did to him has him feeling incredibly empty without something to plug him up! It sucks! He hates it! He's been trying very hard not to submit to this need, but it's still there and he needs to be filled up and just snapped and had to do something about it!

This is, as you can imagine, not a comfortable conversation for anyone, but Rex tries to cheer him up with "Well, Jedi have stipends, right? You can probably find, uh, a toy, right? Once we're back on Coruscant? Or the Senator...?"

Anakin doesn't want Padme to know.

Anakin is also near tears but that's. Well. Rex is used to that by now.

(Anakin isn't using shipboard fabricators to make a dildo or plug because have fun explaining that on the expense report!)

So Rex is in this awkward position of having to comfort his recently-more-traumatized-than-before superior officer, whom he just walked in on furiously and tearfully masturbating due to said trauma...

And Rex is pretty much just like "Dude, please call your wife and have her talk you through the... whole... thing... I'm just, I think you'd probably feel less upset about having to fill yourself or whatever if she was talking you through it?"

They drop the subject for a bit, but Anakin is still Fucked Up in many ways, including new and exciting ones, and it turns out he hasn't been sleeping! And only sleeps if there's someone he trusts nearby!

So obviously Rex volunteers because fuck it, it's not like there's anything about his General he hasn't seen yet, right? So, yeah! Sleepy cuddles! Intended to be platonic!

Rex wakes up hard and flushed and with a very much still asleep Anakin grinding his ass against Rex's crotch.

Which, under significantly different circumstances, he'd not be upset by... But given literally everything going on, um. No?

Rex has no idea what to do, so he just kind of lays there and tries to shift away so his back is pressed to the wall and Anakin isn't accidentally trying to fuck himself in his sleep. Which works.

For about fifteen minutes.

And then Anakin is whining and shuffling back and Rex just tries to wake him up like Dude, You Don't Actually Want This, You Told Me You Don't Want This

And they separate and avoid each other and shower, and Rex leaves to go do Things while Anakin continues to try to meditate away what trauma he can before they get back to Coruscant for extremely long mandated therapy.

Rex shows up that evening to cuddle again, but Anakin tries to turn him away because He Can't Be Sexually Assualting His Friends In His Sleep, so he should honestly just sleep alone, right? Right, okay, bye Rex, Anakin is so sorry about this morning--

And Rex interrupts that he's not actually upset about it, he's just upset about Anakin being in this position, and Anakin doesn't actually want Rex so that's kind of upsetting, and Rex would be very open to this later after the war when they're not in a position to fuck up their entire legion with a change in dynamics--

And this goes back and forth for a bit before Rex realizes that Anakin does actually want him, and did before this whole Situation happened, and Anakin realizes that Rex is interested in him and NOT just trying to 'do his duty for his Jedi' or whatever.

And anyway, it turns into some very sweet lovemaking every night where Anakin gets to fall asleep with a cock in his ass, filled with cum, with Padme's blessing, until they get to Coruscant and he can find a plug for the nights they're not together (and also some therapy).

When Obi-Wan finds out they're fucking, he's actually furious and ALSO unsure of which one's taking advantage of the other.

Initially assumes Rex is taking advantage of Anakin's recent emotional traumas. Anakin protests that he asked Rex for this, and Obi-Wan is asking in horror if Anakin ordered one of the soldier under his command to do this, and it all just kind of goes very poorly.

Everyone means well. Nobody really succeeds at it.

[aminiatureworld]

Hiraeth

From the prompt to celebrate 900 followers.

Word Count: 1,314; Kazuha x gn!reader

It was so hard to think of Inazuma; it was so easy to remember Inazuma.

The claws of nostalgia were waiting in every budding tree in the spring, and in every golden leaf in autumn. Every breeze that brought with it a scent that was unplaceable and yet so familiar, every drop of rain that fell, unforgiving and unstoppable, every piece of slightly burnt fish cooked after a long, cold day at sea. These things were a beautiful sort of torture, keeping a memory alive, cruelly tormenting the exile with things he could no longer touch.

It was hard not to grieve, and Kazuha knew there was a great deal to grieve about. A friend gone forever, a land that had turned its back on him, friends, family, enemies, archons, people Kazuha would never meet again. Sometimes anger rose at these images; anger and spite which threatened to consume Kazuha from the inside. On those days he dreamt of plans to sneak back into Inazuma and find whatever resistance was active at the time. He would rush into battle, regardless of risk, he would find the Raiden Shogun and challenge her to a duel, he would avenge his friend’s death. Other days there would be grief, a waterfall of it. Tears, regrets, sadness, it would come rushing over the cliffs of Kazuha’s memories and then the exile would find himself wishing none of it had happened, wishing that he could’ve lived in blissful ignorance, in the land of his birth. Kazuha didn’t know which of these two mindsets was the most damaging.

It drove a wedge between him and the outside world, and Kazuha knew that. Still, it was difficult to find the energy to break that wall down, to cross the every widening gulf. What did it matter if he was alone. He was an exile after all, was that not to be his fate? Why should he continue to get hurt, continue to hide his sorrow, when he could just as much sit in the crow’s nest, the wind in his face, pretending like he was the only living person in the world. It was rather freeing to be alone after all. You could trust loneliness, it never changed after all.

So why was it then, despite all these promises, these wishes, these cynical proclamations, that people had still managed to worm their way into his heart? First it had been Beidou, that indefatigable captain who laughed despite it all and who never failed to read Kazuha, despite his cryptic poetry and his attempts to eat at the table farthest from the other sailors. Then it had been the sailors themselves, then the traveler, then the traders at whose ports Beidou did business. Slowly, surely, Kazuha began to find something to ease the longing, something to make the pain bearable.

And then he had met you.

How Kazuha loved you, loved with the sort of recklessness that only some sort of intimacy could create. You were a friend, you were more than a friend, you were something even more than that. You were the soulmate that young romantics liked to imagine right before they went to sleep, hoping their perfect half would somehow appear in their dreams. You were the person with whom Kazuha could have utter, total trust, the kind of platonic soulmate that was so few and far between. Yet his love for you also burned in different ways, as if his feelings for you couldn’t concentrate themselves in one aspect, one facet of love. Kazuha loved you utterly. Regardless of flaw, or temper, or good or bad, he loved you.

However if real love is supposed to fix every problem, then perhaps real love is simply overrated. For as much as Kazuha loved you, he could not stop the ache in his heart, the pieces of him that cried out for his homeland. Inazuma, there was always Inazuma. You never begrudged him his moments of loneliness, the fact that he couldn’t simply leave behind the only place that was his true home. You merely sat next to him, hand on his, breath tickling his hair as Kazuha leaned on your shoulder, mourning the homeland he’d surely lost.

It seemed selfish, to dwell so much on something in the past. Like he was dragging you and everyone else down, bringing something up that you surely didn’t care about that much. There were only so many platitudes a person could say after all, until it all became unbearable. Yet the days that he told himself he should no longer complain, the days that he promised to himself he’d keep it all locked away inside, you still managed to coax all the grief out of him. If Kazuha was unfailing in his longing, then you were unfailing in your kindness, your determination to listen, to tell him that he wasn’t being a nuisance. And slowly, things began to feel a little better.

The first time you had to go on a trip for a long period of time was a shock to Kazuha’s system. Who knew that something that looked so close on a map could be so far away? Mondstadt, as much as it shared a land border with Liyue, felt as far away as the moon. Every day was a trial, every night desolate. He missed your presence, your smiles, your warmth, your even breath as the two of you drifted off to sleep together. Kazuha hadn’t expected this to happen, and for two weeks he waited in bated breath, his every thought consumed by your absence, by the strange feeling of having an integral part of one’s life missing. He wondered if you felt the same way, if you lay awake at night in a Mondstadt in, wishing that he were besides you. He wondered if you needed him as much as he needed you.

The day that you came back Kazuha spent in tears. They started the moment your silhouette was spotted on the docks, mixing with the surprised embarrassment, the wonder of whether it was too much to run to greet you. It was as if he was newly in love again, and Kazuha didn’t know whether he relished the feeling or whether it made him uncomfortable. Ultimately he met you halfway, walking slowly, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

“Welcome back,” he declared. Then there was an embrace that no one could sure of who initiated, as the world fell into place again.

“I realized something while you were gone,” he revealed. It was the evening now, and the two of you were cuddling together in bed, relishing the feeling of limbs once more entangled.

“What is that?” There was something in your voice, a sort of excitement that hadn’t faded throughout the entire day.

“I realized that Inazuma isn’t the only place that I long for.”

“Oh?”

“When you were gone, it was like I was grieving two homes. The home that was long gone, and the home that I had just found.”

“That’s very poetic,” you giggled softly. Kazuha could sense the slight shift in your expression, as you continued. “But funnily enough. I also felt that way. I knew you were important to me darling, but I didn’t realize how important.”

“Despite all my, complaining? Despite how self-centered I can be sometimes?”

“Grief isn’t self-centered Kazuha. And you aren’t complaining by talking about it. I’d rather you cry in front of me every day than keep it to yourself. Okay?”

“Are you sure?” Kazuha couldn’t help the question.

“Of course I’m sure! Believe me, I know my feelings about you very well.”

“And they are?” Slowly the confidence, the candidness that Kazuha felt around you was coming back.

“Love, of course.” You leaned over towards Kazuha, kissing his gently on the lips.

There was very little conversation after that for a while.

[theseerasures]

why is it so hard to defect from Atlas?

Barbara Dunkelmann said during Comic-Con at Home last year that this season’s theme would be “distrust,” but i’m wondering now if the more appropriate word is “discontent.” since Divide, we’ve had arguments big and small, teams splitting up and recombining, and of course, :( and :/ galore at all the war, all the crimes, all the war crimes, and all the general bad decisions (not to be confused with James Ironwood, General Bad Decisions). we’ve now had our first major defections of the season with Hazel and Emerald, which is...interesting to me; they’re both long-runners, certainly, but part of the reason they’re long-running is because their arcs have ALWAYS been on a slow boil. for the defection to happen around the mid-season mark, a lot of things (particularly for Hazel) had to happen very quickly, particularly since they both skipped out the previous season altogether. this is made all the more interesting by the fact that the Atlesian supporting cast who filled the time in season 7 are similarly discontented, but...well, a generous reading of it would be that they’re still “figuring things out,” but we’ve also been watching them “figure things out” for two seasons now, Winter and Marrow especially. why did Hazel and Emerald defect first when they work for the main villain, when Winter and the AceOps--who have taken up more screen time cumulatively during the Atlas arc--are still hemming and hawing to various degrees?

long discussion under the cut--but the tl;dr is: it’s because they live in a (narratively constructed) society

i’m actually gonna start with the discontent that DIDN’T result in defection, which is obviously the Yang-Ruby split. we’ve known that members of Team Protagonist--most notably Yang and Ren--have had doubts for a while now, and sure enough, when push comes to shove they pick a path separate from their implicit leader. as protagonists Yang and Ren are frequently our POV characters, so we’re predisposed to sympathize with them as they doubt Ruby’s agenda, root for them as they bring it up to Ruby in conversation, and...watch as they...regretfully but cordially agree to disagree...

wait, what?

that’s the thing about Team Protagonist, especially at this point in the narrative: everyone feels safe and secure enough in themselves and in each other to communicate openly, even when they disagree. every time Yang felt uncomfortable she talked to somebody about it, and even Ren--Mr. Weaponizing Repression himself--was able to express how he felt. even if it took some prodding from Nora/Yang, even if the direction of his emotions ended up misfiring and hurting his friends--they’re his friends. his family, even. Team Protagonist is able to act and stay together so effectively because they make open communication a priority: they follow Ruby’s lead, but they also trust that Ruby will LISTEN to them, even if she doesn’t always agree.

(the reason they had this disagreement at all is because of the time they couldn’t talk things through, and just had to uncritically back Ruby’s play--when they first entered Atlas. funny, that.)

Team Salem obviously doesn’t work the same way, and this season has made it particularly explicit just how much everyone lives in a state of constant fear and surveillance. what makes solidarity and eventual rebellion possible (though terrifying), though, are two things: first, Salem--being an upstart herself--actually encourages a level of individual initiative in her followers (well. encouraged; i have a feeling with the Hound being a success and Hazel and Emerald’s defection she’s about to change her tune). she’s a master manipulator, and uses people’s individual wants to sway them to her side; but she’s also not a mind-reader, which is kind of biting her in the ass right now.

second, Salem herself is so many LEAGUES beyond everyone else on her “team” that (unless you’re actively trying to be a tit) there...isn’t actually much of a hierarchy beyond “Salem’s in charge.” Watts and Cinder--both Atlesian to varying degrees, mind--are the two who try the hardest to carve out some authority of their own, but even Watts is at least convivial with everyone (except Cinder). to be on Team Salem you have to accept that this is her world and you just live in it, and that ends up equalizing people from very disparate backgrounds with very disparate personalities and skillsets. no one, not even Tyrian, is under the delusion that Salem cares about them, or will listen to their counsel. so when it comes to the least of her followers--Emerald, who (joke copyright @professorspork) is basically Salem’s grandpet, this gerbil who follows her around now for some reason and occasionally makes weird noises (”you mean crying?” Emerald asks, crying)--it’s actually quite easy for her to escape Salem’s notice until it’s too late, while firming up the solidarities that she has (Hazel and Mercury--not Cinder).

to defect, Emerald and Hazel need a degree of narrative interiority, some sense of security with each other (even if it’s just subconscious), and time. time to work things out from their point of view, pull the wool from their eyes. this season’s narrative has given them all that and more.

our Atlesian potential defectors...haven’t been so lucky, and the most recent episode has made that contrast very explicit.

i’m sure i’m not the only one who assumed, when Ironwood first floated the bomb plan, that we’d be getting some kind of Mission Impossible sneaky stealth shit. we’re used to seeing the AceOps do small squad missions, after all, and the timing felt right thematically too, since we left War with Ren literally expositing to all of them that they do, in fact, have feelings. an extended mission to themselves would give them a chance to air out those feelings away from Atlas’ own system of surveillance, figure out what to do together...

but we didn’t get any of that. instead, we got the whoosh laser kapow version of a Sassoon poem, and the AceOps barely talked to each other at all. the only points of view we got were from Marrow, and Winter.

this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to them this season, either--remember the Penny Retrieval mission that wasn’t? there were also hopes that Marrow and/or Winter would turn at that point, but then Salem invaded. Winter and the AceOps have had the potential to defect for a while now, but the narrative has been actively withholding opportunities for them to actualize on any of that potential. it’s been actively withholding opportunities for them to act as a team, period.

it’s possible to handwave this as writerly convenience--everyone can’t defect at the same time, the episodes don’t have room for it--but the ways that defections have been prioritized so that the Atlesians come after also points to a recurring motif with Atlas, which Elm says explicitly in Witch: you can deal with your issues later.

there’s always some kind of delayed promise at Atlas, isn’t there? the Amity project will help. Mantle’s Wall will get fixed (until it wasn’t). when Penny confronts Winter about leaving Mantle to die, Winter says first that they don’t have time, and it seems like they never actually do, except for in this imagined later, when they’ll reckon with every thing that they’ve done.

it doesn’t exist, of course. fascism is only able to remain effective through the engineering of crisis, and Salem might as well be a crisis perpetual motion generator. you can’t conscientiously object if your conscience is constantly stifled by the next emergency.

what the Atlesian scenes in Witch demonstrate is this: Atlas presses down all around them, at all times. even if the AceOps want to stop policing each other and work as a real team, they can’t right now, because they are now officers in a war, because they’re constantly looked to, because they’re part of an infinitely greater machine that demands their service. and right now lasts forever--you will NEVER have time to talk out your discontent...

and even if you steal time and perspective like Marrow does (like Emerald has been doing, thief that she is) with Winter, there is no guarantee of any solidarity. what makes their conversation so simultaneously fascinating and frustrating is that there is clearly some level of rapport, or at least recognition. Marrow goes to Winter because Winter’s in charge, but Marrow also goes to Winter because Winter might hear him out...and she does. Winter does what Winter has consistently done when a person seeks her out and earnestly asks to be heard, and responds compassionately. but at the same time, Winter does what Winter has consistently done when a person seeks her out and earnestly asks to be heard: she turns away. in a conversation that is supposed to be about a shared trust between the two of them, Winter cannot bring herself to trust Marrow. the Atlesian system is built out of these hierarchies within hierarchies, distrusts within distrusts (well i guess Barbara had a point after all), and Winter, abused kid that she is, has played this game all her life. so she defaults to rank and duty--what they have to do now--and the conversation goes nowhere. Marrow leaves it as alone and bitterly resigned as when he’d entered it.

so when is this moral inertia gonna go somewhere? IS it going somewhere? well, i’m still holding out hope that the AceOps will get some time to themselves as part of Bomb the Whale, and i’m certain that even if it doesn’t fall into their lap Marrow will eventually demand it. the fact that they still work well together on the field as partners should mean something. the question is, though: what will it take to bring that later to the present?

and at what point does it become too late?

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

+

MY MASTERLIST.

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The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

+

The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

+

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I …"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just—I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

+

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

+

My inbox is here

[blush-and-books]

i am always yours

canonverse juke one-shot, light angst with a happy ending :) as a part of the effort to get juke back on the tumblr fandometrics ship list! title from the end of all things by p!atd. again, fuck brendon urie, but i’ve had this hc about luke for awhile (you’ll see what i mean) and had to get this out! <3 enjoy!

When Julie told Luke about Panic! At The Disco, she didn’t just give him a list of songs to check out. She advised to listen through entire albums. 

“You have a lot to catch up on,” she said, grinning over a mug of steaming tea. Her smile could convince him to do anything. “And these guys were a phenomenon. Despite… A lot that has happened with their lead singer, you’ll appreciate the music. Just give it a try when you feel like it.”

Julie never rushed him on anything. It was one of the things he loved most about her -- she only really insisted he know how to use her phone and the internet and maybe know some memes, but the rest was up to him. She loved him -- he hoped -- even if he wanted to stay in 1995. 

However, whenever she told Luke to do something, like “look into it if you’re interested” or “check it out if you’re ever bored,” he would jump on it in an instant. 

He wondered if she ever noticed. Acts of service was one of those love language things that Flynn was always talking about, right? Does making the effort to show an interest in the other person’s life by listening to every album by a band they like count?

He would ask Reggie or Alex, but Reggie doesn’t have much experience in the love department and Alex and Willie are much better at communicating than he is with Julie. 

To be clear: Luke doesn’t have experience either. In fact, Reggie probably has more romantic experience between the two of them. 

But none of it was as serious. This weird thing he has with Julie; this undefined, label-lacking supernova of passion and emotion that he has curled up in his chest is so strong sometimes it hurts. When Julie was upset at him and ignored him, it felt like the time his mom took his guitar and locked it away for a week. 

But when Julie is around, and she’s smiling at him, he could swear that not even a roaring audience could spark the kind of nirvana he feels. 

So, the day after she gives him the name of every Panic! album to date, she goes to school for six hours and he sneaks her laptop down to the garage and starts his deep dive. 

(Yes, Julie gave him computer privileges. He knows boundaries. She’s just broadened hers.)

Blissfully and with few interruptions from his other bandmates, he goes through the first albums quickly. He skips most of Pretty Odd -- Julie should have warned him about that one -- and is enjoying himself until he gets to the later projects which are significantly less his sound. 

But he keeps going. He reaches their album from 2013, which has this neon-angsty-alt-pop vibe that he honestly has a neutral opinion on. The songs are all good until he realizes that half of them have a painfully romantic overtone that ropes his mind back to Julie every time he tries to stray. 

Fuck, one of the songs is literally titled Girl That You Love. How is he not supposed to have a montage of Julie in his head?

And then some shit called Far Too Young To Die comes on, and yes, he agrees, he was far too young to die. He also vows to never listen to it again in the next 24 hours because he is ultimately tempted to loop it until Julie comes back and kiss her breathless the second that she walks through the door. 

Moving on, Collar Full doesn’t make things much better. He is sick and tired of waiting and dancing around his feelings for her, and every time they are together he is filled to the brim with lyrics and love from just minutes in her presence. 

(“If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” definitely shatters him. But only briefly. He wants to soak up every ounce of love he can get from her before the world catches up to them and he’s crossing over without his consent.)

Luke thinks that he’s out of the woods when he hits the album-ending ballad, The End of All Things. 

And then he sees that he’s still in the thick of it. 

The way it hits him is nearly indescribable -- but every line hits like a read-aloud of his diary. 

No matter where he is, or where he ends up, his soul will always belong to Julie Molina. And that’s the truth of it. He can cross over or the band could break up and he could wander the planet as a lost ghost for the rest of eternity, but his soul will linger; tied with Julie’s in an unsolvable knot. 

He is hers. 

He is hers, he is hers, he is hers. 

And he’s in love with her. 

He can’t ask her to love him back. But he can hope, right? For just a single moment where they can lay together and be Julie and Luke like they should have been.

The tears on his cheeks and under his eyes don’t register until they are streaming down his neck and onto the pillow that he’s laying on. 

He doesn’t deserve Julie, he knows that. And he knows how fucking selfish it would be to even try. But sometimes the wanting reaches inside of him and individually snaps each and every one of his ribs, and that feeling keeps him pushing and pulling like the tide. Get close to her, make her smile, make her laugh. 

Leave her alone. Stop flirting. Don’t you dare hurt her. 

Think about somebody other than yourself. 

This song, he ends up looping. Over and over and over until his emotions are exhausted and he doesn’t have any tears left to cry. He’s on his… Probably his ninth listen when the doors crack open, and the piano music is leaking out of the garage as Julie slips in. 

“Luke! Hey, uh… Oh! You’re listening to Panic!”

He guiltily allows his heart to skip at the pleasant surprise in her smile. Clearing his throat, he swipes his hands viciously across his cheeks to rid of the tear stains and shoots her one of his classic smiles. “‘Course, Boss. You told me to.”

Her backpack hits the coffee table as she slowly approaches the couch to settle next to him. “Yeah, well… I didn’t actually expect you to. People normally just say ‘yeah, I’ll check it out!’ and then no one talks about it again.”

Something rubs him the wrong way about her not thinking that he would actually follow through with her recommendation. Does she doubt him? How does she not know that she could say jump and he would ask how high?

“Well, I’m not normal people. I care about what you care about.”

He knows he got her when she averts her eyes to Alex’s drums across the room; giving Luke a perfect view of her blush. Maybe he lets himself revel in it for a moment longer than necessary. 

“Anyways, how was school? Did you have a good day?”

“It was fine,” she shakes off her previous flusteredness, tucking her leg under her body so that she can turn to fully face him. “But there's nothing to tell. I would much rather hear about what you thought of Panic! And you have to tell me why you were wiping tears off of your face when I came in.”

Luke mirrors her position and gives her a joyful grin, trying to ignore the fact that she clearly noticed him trying to clean his face and wants to talk about it. The two of them have been so good at communication, and if it were about anything else, he would tell her. 

But he was nearly sobbing because of how much he loved her and couldn’t have her, so… 

“They were pretty cool, I’ll give it to you. I liked the album… Vices and Virtues?” Julie nods her head. “Yeah, that one. I was finishing the Vegas one when you got home.”

“Did you like it? The album you just finished. It sounded like End of All Things when I came in.”

With wide eyes and an exaggerated nod, Luke is praying internally that she will move on and go on a tangent about her favorite albums and songs because he just wants to listen to her talk and quietly love her instead of dodge questions about his emotions. 

“Okay, and did you like it? Is that-” She chuckles. “Is that what got you emotional? I mean, I get it, that song hits different sometimes, but-”

Luke stays quiet. If he keeps his mouth shut, and just smiles and stares and nods, it won’t slip. 

“... Luke? Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“... So? Are you… Are you okay? Did it remind you of your mom?”

It reminded me of you, he instantly corrects her with the little voice in his head. 

But the voice sounds louder than usual, and then Julie’s eyes widen, and Luke couldn’t even smile and nod well enough to cover this up. Since when is he so bad at bottling up his emotions?

Right. Since he couldn’t write songs about his feelings. Because if he did, Julie would see them, so every word of affection toward her was shoved into an overflowing filing cabinet in his brain that was probably waiting to explode at any moment. 

“It- Really?”

Mental checklist: She isn’t running away. She isn’t crying. She isn’t running away while she’s crying. 

She isn’t slapping him, or screaming at him, or expressing any negative emotions. 

Maybe he can push another inch… Just for some relief.

“Y- Yeah.” The single word takes considerable effort to stutter out, but he says it. 

Julie formulates her next move. “And… Like, what about it? What reminded you of me?”

Is Luke imagining things, or did she just shift closer to him? Oh, God. The selfishness has already done it’s damage. He’s initiating something that he definitely shouldn’t for both of their sake, but-

God, why does she look so pretty?

“Y’know,” he scratches the back of his neck, “the… The lyrics.” 

“The lyrics?” “Yeah.”

“Which ones?”

She’s leaning in. Her fingers are trailing up the side of his leg, and he wants to poof himself out of this conversation but what would hiding do? Just create a bigger gap between them?

His mom always told him he was selfish. He really, really doesn’t want to be selfish to Julie. He wants to protect her. He wants to put her health and happiness and life before his. Hurting her will never give him peace. 

Is he being selfish either way? Telling her his feelings to make himself feel better, and avoiding his feelings because he thinks it will be better without talking to her about it -- neither are ideal, are they?

His hand, which was previously resting in his lap, inches down to brush against hers. “The first verse…” Their index fingers wrap around each other. “And the chorus, and the second verse…”

Both of their hands tangle until Luke doesn’t even remember what his hand looked like before, because all he sees is a bronze-ivory marble of skin and he knows he doesn’t ever want to see his hand without hers again. 

“Luke…”

“Yeah, Boss?” “Why were you upset?”

She really won’t let it go. She clearly knows him too well, because he would hope any other person would be distracted by the fact that they were about to kiss, but this is Julie. They’re friends first. Family first. 

He owes her honesty, doesn’t he?

“Because the song was right,” he answers, staring deadlocked at their joined hands. “No matter where I am, or how much time goes by… It’s gonna be you. On my mind. My feelings will never change.”

He can’t tell, but Julie’s heart ignites in her chest. 

“Feelings? What-”

Somehow, the words still don’t want to come out. The eight letters are resisting every opportunity she has offered him, so he resorts to actions and cuts her off by raising their joined hands to kiss the back of her hand. 

His lips linger before their union drops back into the space between them.

“... Oh.”

“Yeah.”

In a moment of courage, Luke peeks up at her, just to see how she looks. If he can read everything she’s feeling in a millisecond of a glance. 

There are tears in her eyes. 

“Whoa, Jules, why are you crying?” “Why were you crying?”

“Because I’m afraid of doing this!” Her hand tightens around him at his volume. “Julie, I- I don’t want to do anything selfish. I can’t have you thinking I’m selfish. I’m afraid of-” He has to take a deep, shaky breath. “When we hold hands or when you smile at me and I just feel so much and then I tell myself that I can’t, because you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t even know what’s in my future.”

The tears well in her eyes. “What would you be doing that’s selfish, Luke? You have a second chance at life. You should fucking live it. You have a future, and it has the boys, and the band, and me. I’m in your future.” 

There’s a beat, because he’s looking at her, and he wants to cry but he wants to say it so badly. 

He still doesn’t know how much time he has in the future, but Julie is telling him that she’ll be there. And he needed that more than anyone would understand. 

“Well, aren’t I?”

Julie’s question shocks him a little because he hadn’t realized that he had been quiet for so long. Her bottom lip trembles the smallest amount when she sucks in a deep breath, and it sets him off to do what he had once deemed to be the most selfish act of all. 

His free hand tucks itself in the hair on the base of her neck and tugs her towards him before he covers her mouth with his in a kiss that he has furiously dreamed of for a long time. For such a sweet moment, there is an overload of passion behind it. All of his fantasies were rushed and adrenaline-fueled after shows before he would talk himself down; and now, that is translating to this kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as he pulls away. “That’s the selfish thing I was worried about. Fuck, I-”

Her hand wrestles free from his, and suddenly, two hands are on his cheeks like the night after the Orpheum and the love of his life is pulling herself into his lap. On autopilot, he untucks his leg from underneath him and shifts to sit normally on the couch while Julie’s legs hold her up on each side of his hips. 

And she’s kissing him again, touching him again, before he can let the panic set in. She moves her lips against his like she has her own overflowing filing cabinet of feelings and fantasies and lyrics just for him.

Her hands wondrously drain every jolt of worry and anguish from his nervous system as they run from his face to his arms to his chest and back again. Kissing Julie Molina is a thousand little feelings and it’s own feeling  in itself.

When you get cold water from a water fountain and it’s so refreshing that you insatiably want more. When the set ends and Luke is taking his bows and watching people scream and clap for their performance, knowing once again he’s succeeding in the one thing he’s ever wanted to do. 

Only now, making music is now tied with making Julie happy on that list of priorities. 

Holding her under his hands is stupidly one of his favorite things, and in this context, it is leaving him clawing for more. He applies more pressure against her back to try and press her closer, but it never feels like enough. 

Julie is an endless fountain of fervor, and he can only drink up everything he can get. 

She’s the one who pulls away this time; but she keeps her fingers knotted in his hair because she plans to not stray far. 

“You’re not selfish,” she sighs, chest heaving with deep breaths. “If you think that’s selfish, then I’m selfish. And we can do this together. We deserve it.”

Hearing the words tumble from her lips cancels out every fight he’s ever had with his mother. 

She’s right -- they do deserve it. She shut the world out for a year, he was locked away from the world for 25, and by some miraculous turn of fate, they were brought to each other. 

“We deserve it,” he repeats, a little distracted by her blown pupils and delirious smile. “We deserve it.”

They lean in at the same time to fall back into one another like it’s a new routine they’ve set. Luke doesn’t say the words, not yet, at least-

Because like she said, they deserve this. Julie Molina is on his lap, in his arms, playing him with her soft hands like his skin is the ivory keys she’s been playing since childhood. He loves her, and he’s pretty sure that she loves him -- so maybe, even though the future is uncertain, he can just wait a little longer to tell her. There’s simultaneously less of a delay and less of a rush. 

Later, when they’re in her room and staying up way too late for a school night in deep discussion, he mumbles it against her forehead while she has her head tucked into his shoulder and their shared earbuds are playing The End of All Things. 

Any concerns of selfishness fade when she wastes no time in reciprocating his declaration and punctuating her feelings with a cripplingly soft kiss above his collar bone. 

If any of this is selfish, they can be selfish together. Luke can find himself to be content in that if Julie is right there with him. 

--

tags: @lydias--stiles @bluefirewrites @willexx @moreflowersthanweeds @ruzek-halstead @xxprettylittletimebombxx  @unsaid-emily

[we-are-inevitable]

OKAY BIG AU RANT BUT I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS (even though i posted all of this in the discord last night) AND UH:

modern au where most the newsies are straight and in a frat and jack is the frat president

very stereotypical frat bro, wears his letters everyday (whether it's a t-shirt of a cap or a pin on his bag), throws a whole bunch of parties and is really respected and stuff

he gets around, and has been with a bunch of girls throughout college- nothing really serious, but whatever.

everything is going great, until he meets David Jacobs at a party the frat is throwing.

and obviously jack has seen him around campus before (they're in their fourth year of college by now), and they had a few labs together back in like. freshman year, but they've never *talked*

and now, here's david, at a party with Katherine, and jack decides to talk to him.

they actually hit it off pretty well, but then jack mentions something about david taking Katherine home and David laughs and says, "Yeah, she's gonna help me weed out my grindr matches."

cue jack being like "???" because OH! jacobs is gay. huh. okay

and jack obviously makes a big show of it ("oh, sick! being gay is okay, bro, y'know, love is love and shit like that") and it's so obvious that he's out of his element but he doesn't wanna be like. homophobic or anything

and they kind of talk for a bit longer before jack drifts off to another group of people, and he doesn't think much of the interaction- at least, not until he runs into david at another party on campus the next weekend. this time, they're alone; jack is only there bc one of his buds in another frat told him to come, and david has lost Katherine in the crowd, so jack and david talk in the kitchen and get to know each other a bit more. again, everything is pretty New and they kind of friends now but they're talking and that's fine.

later on that night, jack sees david making out with some guy on the staircase, and to get his mind off of it, jack makes out with a girl in the kitchen.

over the next few weeks, david and jack run into each other a lot- enough times for them to exchange snapchats, and follow each other on Instagram. and they talk more on social media; jack invites david to some parties and david always comes, and they always end up talking- for longer and longer each time, like ACTUAL conversations about the past and their future goals and stuff

about three months after their initial meeting, though (after they've become good friends, who talk/snap everyday and hang out at least once a week), they're at a party, and jack gets pretty drunk, and he sees david making out with some guy on the couch. and jack doesn't know why, but he feels bad. angry. kind of upset. he approaches and tells david he needs to talk to him, and David says no ("uh, i'm kind of in the middle of something?")

and jack tries getting him to move and the other guy- the one David is making out with- starts getting in jack's face and calling him names, so jack... decks him.

he decks him, and he's immediately feeling guilty and bad and the commotion has stopped all around him and everyone is staring and david looks so confused and pissed off

and all jack can do is say "i'm so sorry" and run off

it's not until he's home that he realizes that, the reason he punched that guy in the face, was because he didn't like the idea of him having his hands on david.

because jack wants to be the one with his hands on david.

as soon as that realization hits him, though, jack basically has a meltdown. he's frustrated and crying and kind of throwing shit around but not really because, no. he can't be gay. right? he can't be. he literally has like 3 gay friends and he doesn't know anything about being gay and he's never been into a guy before but, fuck, he's into david.

naturally, though, jack avoids david for as long as he can. he avoids him like the plague

until one night, about six days later, when jack is drunk again (not from a party; more like self pity) and around two am one night, he walks to David's dorm room and knocks really loudly. and it takes a minute, but David answers, and as soon as the door opens, jack starts talking.

"Davey! Hi!"

"...Jack, what are you--"

"Listen, I'm very drunk. Very drunk. and I get it, ya probably don't wanna see me ever again, but I need to talk to ya, because- cause I ain't talked to ya in days, and I miss you, and I'm sorry."

"Jack, it's late, and--"

"Y'know, no one has been talkin' to me since the party. None'a my friends, no one from class... I fucked up, and I'm sorry, and I don't have an excuse, but I just... Do you know what's goin' on right now? 'Cause I sure as hell don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you been flirtin' with me?"

"I- I'm sorry, what--"

"'Cause I can't tell if you've been flirting with me or not, and I can't tell if i like it or not, but if you're flirtin' with me, then I've been likin' it, and thats fucking terrifying. Seein' you with that guy... I- I know we ain't a thing or anything, but it fuckin' sucked, and I don't even know why! Okay? Because I think I like you, but I've never been into a dude, and you're a dude and that's- that's fuckin' scary, man. But it'll be fine, and I'll deal with it, and I'm sorry. Night, davey."

and all david can do it watch jack stumble back down the hallway, and pray that jack remembers this in the morning.

and obviously jack remembers, because around noon the next day- a sunday- david gets a message from jack that says, 'we need to talk.'

so, david meets jack at one of the benches in front of the library, and jack looks so... broken, and defeated, and hungover as fuck.

"...You remember last night, huh?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. Look, Dave, I... I'm sorry. All of that was- was a lot, and you shouldn't have had to deal with my bullshit, and--"

"Did you mean it?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I did."

and they're silent for a long time, until david rubs his arm and says

"For the record, I don't even know the name of the guy you punched."

"You two ain't--?"

"No, we aren't together. I... I've sort of had my eye on someone else."

and then david slowly takes jack's hand, and he san feel how tense and how shaky jack is, and he can see how scared he is, but then jack squeezes david's hand, and things start looking up. obviously they still have to deal with the fallout (and david is still very ,, Not Happy about jack punching that guy), but for the most part, they take things slow and figure it out as they go.

when jack comes out to the rest of the guys, he's really nervous and he does it in one of their weekly frat meetings, and of course there are a few of the guys who try to start shit, but the majority of the frat (other newsies included) are fine with it and are proud of jack.

i imagine all if this happening around,, December, so then once second semester hits, jack is less focused on partying and more focused on developing his relationship with david and working on accepting himself for who he is.

also HUGE shout out to the discord server for dealing with me spamming the chat with these paragraphs last night, namely @tarantulas4davey , @starz-in-our-eyes , and @santagae !!!!!

[soldierswar]

Kobik - Chapter II

Bucky x Reader

Fluff/Angst

Chapter summary: You and Bucky begin to face your new reality.

Chapter 1

“Sam was right. You do have a staring problem,” was the first thing said between the two of you after you broke the news almost 5 minutes ago.

His face was still white even after sitting down. You sat across from him, you both being in the same spots that you were in before your outburst.

Out of all of the ways that you had imagined telling him would be like, this wasn’t anything close to any of your scenarios. Granted, the reaction itself was pretty on par with what you expected.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked still in a trance. His eyes continued to dart from the ground to your stomach back and forth.

“I found out a couple of hours before you left. I didn’t want to freak you out before—”

“And how long did you plan on keeping this from me?”

“Really? That’s your first thought?” you snapped.

“Yeah,” he retorted.

“Well maybe I was just waiting for the right time, but obviously things don’t always go as planned!”

You and Bucky had never planned to have kids. The mere idea of it scared the hell out of you guys. So for the most part, you were pretty careful.

“How did this even happen?”

You leaned forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Bucky,” you said.

“I’ll give you one guess.”

He shook his head.

“You know what I mean.”

Suddenly a little voice crept up on you startling the both of you for a second.

“Is everything okay?”

Bucky was the first one to look at her, and you couldn’t help but notice the softening of his features; especially in his eyes.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, kid. We’re just talking,” he said in a comforting tone.

She frowned suspiciously as though she wasn’t convinced, but she let it go.

You thought that seeing her after Bucky told you about her whole history would have made you even more afraid of her. But looking at her now, you saw the innocence in her that Bucky was so adamant about convincing you that she had. Honestly, she was kind of adorable once you got used to some of her unnatural features.

You turned your gaze back over to the house where Sam was standing at the doorway. You wondered if he heard anything from your intense conversation.

“Are you guys done with your little moment or not?” Sam shouted.

You looked over at Bucky whose eyes were still on Kobik with a nervous expression. You realized that once again you had almost completely forgotten the whole point of your little argument, and now he was struggling with what you told him and what to do with Kobik. Now you kind of hated yourself for doing all this to him.

So you did what you now felt you had to do and let out a big sigh.

“I don’t have a car seat.”

Bucky’s face looked a little confused.

“And I guess she’s tiny enough to sleep on our giant couch,” you continued. Now he was understanding.

“But I swear if there’s a moment where we’re in any type of danger—”

“Y/N, I would never—”

“I know.”

You knew that he wasn’t lying. One thing that you always trust was that he would do anything to protect you; even when you didn’t always trust his judgement with some of his risky/impulsive decisions. But him protecting you from bad people was how you two had met in the first place.

“Hooray!” she exclaimed jumping into Bucky’s arms. Something that would be seemingly normal for a child of her perceived age; except for the fact that she jumped from an impossibly far distance, and seemed to float slowly as she went down to wrap her own arms around his shoulder. Almost like there was an invisible parachute over her.

This was going to be interesting.

…

In the hours since Kobik had come home with the two of you, there was no denying that you were avoiding her. You felt a little bit guilty about it, but it wasn’t hard to tell that she was kind of avoiding you too. You couldn’t blame her, you didn’t exactly react in the best way in your initial interaction.

You checked the time on your computer. 7:00. You hadn’t realized how long you had holed yourself up in your office under the guise of catching up on emails. In all fairness when he saw how anxious you started getting when she began exploring the apartment, Bucky did suggest that you go rest or something said that he would handle her. Whatever that meant. You also had to admit to yourself that Kobik wasn’t the only one you were avoiding. You and Bucky were incredibly tense after your outburst, and you haven’t had space or time to talk about it yet.

When you walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water you could see Bucky sitting in the living room with Kobik on his lap.

He was reading her a story from his iPad. It was what you remembered to be an excerpt of a story from his favourite book of short stories. She looked calm, and honestly quite comfortable. In fact, she was in the midst of falling asleep. Your heart might have melted if you weren’t so freaked out about the thought of her having some type of trauma-induced nightmare and burning a hole through the ceiling or something crazy like that in her sleep.

You decided to shake that thought and walked over to the bedroom to let yourself collapse onto the bed. And yet, when you got there you could not let yourself relax. All you could do was lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling wishing that you could feel numb inside instead of feeling everything else it was that you were feeling weighing down on you.

Not too much later you felt Bucky sit down on the bed right next to you. With that, you began to feel something along the lines of dread. You knew that this was the moment where you’d have to face whatever new reality you both had looming over you. The short-term ones, and the long-term ones.

After you sat up you both stared at each other not knowing where to start.

Finally, you decided to talk first.

“So how long do you think this is going to go on for?”

“Not too long,” he stated.

“We just need to find out who it is trying to find her and why. We have a few people looking into it now.”

“And then what?”

He let out a slow tired sigh and shrugged.

“After that, we just need to figure out who with and/or where she’ll be able to live with long term.”

You nodded, feeling a little relieved that he wasn’t going to try to convince you to keep her forever.

“Speaking of long term.”

‘Oh great,’ you thought.

“Yeah,” was all that you could say looking down at your still flat belly. You were still too scared to touch it like there was something or rather someone actually in there.

“How long?” he asked.

“I already told you how long I’ve known.”

“I mean how far along?” he clarified.

You suddenly thought about how cuddling with the tiny humanoid weapon in your living room might be more fun than having to go through this conversation.

“I mean I haven’t really gone to the doctor yet,” you stated.

“But if I did that math right…about 2 months.”

He didn’t say anything. Or rather, couldn’t say anything; which did nothing but succeed in driving you mad.

“Again with the long pauses?” you snapped.

“Y/N…”

But one look into your pleading, probably now red and puffy eyes made him stop.

And that was the moment when you began to cry. Days upon days’ worth of tears fell down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. So instead of saying anything yet, he just held you. He wrapped his arms around you and rocked you side to side until you were finally able to calm down again.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly against the top of your head.

You furrowed your brows and looked up to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry about how…terribly I’m reacting to this.”

You weren’t sure why but you suddenly felt a little laugh bubble over you, but you held back.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you sniffled.

“I immediately threw up, and then cried for three days straight. So I think I win.”

He let out a light chuckle before his eyes began to glaze over as he sunk deep into his thoughts.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze bringing him back to earth grateful that you were finally being the calmer one in this situation.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” you said giving him a soft smile.

“Yeah?” he responded wearily, returning the reassuring squeeze.

You shrugged.

“I mean we haven’t really been left with much of a choice now have we?”

He kissed you on the top of your head and sighed lightheartedly.

“No, I guess not.”

He turned to lay down with his head on his pillow and pulled you to lay comfortably in front of him.

“You know I love you no matter what, right?” he whispered while carefully resting his hand on your belly. And now you wanted to cry again. But instead of crying, you assured him,

“Always.”

You laid there for a while in silence but in peace. Also, you were exhausted. You both were. No matter how anxious you two might have been, it was one of those days where you would definitely not be fighting sleep. So as sleep came, you let it. You let it take you away into blissful oblivion.

But moments after you found yourself properly asleep, you were suddenly awoken by a child-like scream followed by a loud bang.

Kobik.

...

Thanks to all of you for all of the love I got for chapter 1. I'm pretty excited for the next few chapters. I hope you enjoyed.

Tagged:

@typicalnerd98 @veroxloki @white-wolf-buckaroo @closeyoureyes---makeawish @acciosiriusblack @pastel-boy-sungjae

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

Hi I would love to request one of those sfw alphabets for last boss? loved the one with niragi and your writing style is so good! <333

Yes of course! I never thought to add Last Boss onto my masterlist so I’ll do it now so if anyone wants something written for him just let me know! 😘

SFW Alphabet | Last Boss

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character: Takatora Samura

Genre: fluff

Samura gif credit

*based in the borderland, not in real life

A - Affection

(How affectionate are they? How would they show affection?)

I have a feeling he doesn’t enjoy affection all that much

He doesn’t hate it, but he wouldn’t ever really ask for it

His love language would be more words of affirmation

So by showing his love and care for you, he would say it through words and compliments

And you would be able to tell he means it seriously, because he’s honestly not much of a talker

Probably only does it when it’s the two of you though

He would become shy in front of anyone else

B - Best Friend

(How would they be as a best friend?)

He’d be the quiet yet feisty friend

If you are a more louder personality, you two would get along really well

He wouldn’t open up much to you, but he would honestly trust you with his life

He’d definitely not leave your side during games

Like he would be right on your tail the entire time

He’d be quite inseparable from you

Like no matter where you went, he would always be standing right nearby

If anyone was caught giving you a hard time, no matter who, he would make their life flash before their eyes 

C - Cuddles

(Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He would actually not mind cuddles that much

He wouldn’t be shy to do it in front of other people

Like sometimes he would push your head down on his shoulder when you’re sitting together

Or he would put his head in your lap and talk about random topics when you were alone together

He’d just need some small affection sometimes after completing a cruel game

D - Domestic

(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking at cleaning?)

He’s not really one to settle down quickly in terms of moving in together

That kind of domestic stuff doesn’t cross his mind a lot

And he also is quite bad at communication, so you would never really know how he would feel about simple things like moving into the same room together

I feel like he would just go along with whatever you would want

He’s not fussed about it

But when it comes to things like cleaning your shared room

You would end up doing most of that

Because he would be quite busy around The Beach, so he’d expect you to cut him some slack

E - Ending

(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be a very quiet break up

If he was to break up with you, it would be very careless and unempathetic on his side

He’s not the best with emotions, but I think he wouldn’t do something unless he was completely sure about it

Afterwards, he would pretend like nothing between you ever happened

He’s cruel when it comes to it

If you broke up with him, I think he would try his best to act like he didn’t care

But deep down, he would be devastated

F - Fiancé(e)

(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He’d probably think about being married to you a lot

And how it would be like

He’d always talk to you about it, not trying to bring up the fact that he wants to marry you

Would always mention what you would do together if you managed to return to the real world

So he wouldn’t be rushed, but he would think about it a lot

He’s very committed to you, even if he doesn’t outwardly express it

G - Gentle

(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s actually so gentle

Wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you if you didn’t want him to

Physically, he would avoid making sudden contact with you out of fear of frightening you

So you would feel quite safe around him, because he knows your boundaries

Sometimes you would have to reassure him that he doesn’t have to ask to put his hand around your waist

Emotionally, he would try his absolute best

He’s not the best with emotions, but if he was to see you cry in front of him, it would make him so upset

But I think he would be very good at making you feel valid and loved

He has a way with words, so hearing him spill compliments and affection out to you would always be the best way to cheer you up

H - Hugs

(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He’s not big on hugs

He would probably only ask for them if he was feeling down

Or when he sees you return from a game safe and sound

But in general, he wouldn’t initiate them much

It’s not that he’s shy, he’s just not a physically affectionate person

He does have a weird love for back hugs though

Whether you hug him from behind or he hugs you, he enjoys them much more than he wishes he did

I - I Love You

(How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take him a very long time

He wouldn’t feel like he’d have to say it

He would assume that you already know that he loves you

The first time he would ever say it out loud would’ve been in a rather stressful situation

Like if he volunteered to do a dangerous part of a game, he would quickly turn around to you and just blurt it out

He thought he was going to die, so he wanted to say it just in case you didn’t already know

J - Jealousy

(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s actually such a jealous person

Always gets jealous over the smallest of things

Even something as simple as someone placing a hand on your shoulder, or giving you a hug

But he’s the silent jealous

So he doesn’t say anything, he would just pull you to his side to kind of indicate he wasn’t happy

Or he would lean his head against yours, just to show the person that you were his

K - Kisses

(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

A good mix of loving and rough kisses

Kind of like his cold and mysterious personality

But he would get so nervous when it came to kissing you

But would kind of just go for it?

Like the first time he kissed you was very sudden

He grabbed your jaw and just smashed his lips onto yours, taking you by surprise

His favourite place to kiss you would be simply be the crown of your head

His favourite place that you kiss him would be his cheek

Nice and sweet, and never fails to make him smile

L - Little Ones

(How are they around children?)

No, doesn’t like children

They’re loud and high maintenance

He enjoys his quiet time

And I also think he’s probably a bit awkward around kids

Like he doesn’t know how to look after them or talk to them

So he would always put off the idea of having kids

Maybe one day, but not soon

M - Morning

(How are mornings spent with them?)

You always wake up hugged tight to his chest

Probably overheating, because he just doesn’t let you go

You’d have to poke him until he wakes up

So you would both get out of bed at the same time

I can see him and his S/O going out on little mornings strolls around the hotel, just before everyone else wakes up

N - Night

(How are nights spent with them?)

Late nights

You both would sit outside on the balcony, wrapped in each others warmth while enveloped with a thick blanket

Watching the stars in the sky and pointing at different constellations

Samura would always get so infatuated when you spoke about all the different patterns in the sky

I can imagine the scene exactly hold on

Samura sitting on a deck chair with a pillow underneath him and you sitting on his lap laying your back against his chest. You have a grey fluffy duvet from your bed pulled over both of you and Samura has his chin tucked on your shoulder, watching your face with heart eyes as you point up at the sky and talk about the stars and moon

O - Open

(When would they start revealing things about themselves?)

I can actually see him opening up eventually

It takes him a while, but when he realises that he can trust you with basically anything, he opens up

Tells you about his past, as how he ended up in the Borderland

But in terms of general things, he would bring it up randomly in conversation

But for more deeper subjects, he would prefer to sit you down and speak with you

Probably gets a little teary when speaking about his negative emotions, but is so happy to have you there to comfort him

P - Patience

(How easily angered are they?)

He’s impossible to make angry

Literally, whatever you do, he would never raise his voice or even show a hint of agitation

He’s the most chill person you would ever come across

Never gets involved in any arguments, prefers to sit back and watch it unfold rather than become involved

The most he would ever show that conveyed emotion would probably be an eye roll

But even that was towards Niragi, so it was understandable

Q - Quizzes

(How much do they remember about you?)

He probably knows everything

Surprisingly, he remembers everything you tell him

Sometimes he would bring it up again in conversation days later and you would always be shocked that he remembered

He may be quiet, but usually quiet people listen the most anyway

R - Remember

(What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

His favourite moment he ever spent with you would probably when you both snuck away from a game and spent a night in Tokyo

You both didn’t have to play the game because your visa wasn’t ending for days, so you went against Hatter’s rules and decided to have some fun

Samura watched you as you ran through the empty streets, yelling out random phrases and laughing at the echo

He could’ve literally watched you for hours, you were that entertaining

He loved this moment because it was the first time he had seen you truly happy since he met you

As well as you were able to make him smile for the first time in years

S - Security

(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He would only become protective when it came to your safety at games

Only during times when he was scared you would get hurt would be show his protective side

Would always throw himself in front of you though, no matter what the threat was

But nothing was going to get passed him and his katana sword

So you felt safe

But he would absolutely love it if you backed him up and defended him if anyone was ever giving him shit at The Beach

Like if Hatter/Aguni were ever giving him too much stress or pressure, you would always confront them about it

T - Try

(How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Definitely puts a lot of effort

Tries his absolute best on special days

On anniversaries, he would try to find something in Tokyo to give to you

But if he couldn’t, he would maybe draw or make you something

He wants to make the best impression on you, as well as show that he cared enough that he wanted you to stay with him

U - Ugly

(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He can sometimes be very emotionally unavailable

You can probably already tell that he’s not the most emotional person

Or the most empathetic

But at some points it would get frustrating because you just want him to understand how your feeling

But he just wouldn’t get that

He’d try his best to understand, but would always fall a bit short

V - Vanity

(How concerned are they with their looks?)

I feel like he is quite concerned about his looks

I mean considering he shaved his head and tattooed his entire body to look more threatening

He wouldn’t be overly insecure, but he would always keep shaving his hair so it doesn’t grow out again

Regarding clothes, he doesn’t care

He’d wear anything, as long as he can freely move in it

W - Whole

(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

I think he would get very dependant on his S/O

At first he would refuse to become attached, but over time he would realise how badly he wanted love

So losing you would be a tipping point for him

He would lose all faith in happiness, believing that he was to never escape the Borderland and that he would never be happy again in his life

Probably becomes just like Niragi, mindless killing machine with no sense of morality

X - Xtra

(A random headcanon for them.)

I actually think he’d be very good at drawing

Like realism drawing

So he has a sketchbook in his room that is filled with so many drawings of people all around The Beach

It would be so messy, pages sticking out everywhere and random added bits of paper just shoved in the book

But would love drawing you out of all people

Probably has a whole little folder of drawings of you

Sadly though, I think he would paint a big red X over the drawings of people that have died

Y - Yuck

(What would be some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t like people who care too much

He doesn’t have a huge care for a lot of things

So he would view very opiniated and overly caring (not in a nice to other people way, but in that they worry about minor things) people quite annoying

In general, he hates swimming

You would never be able to get him in that pool at The Beach no matter how hard you tried

Z - Zzz

(What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He becomes very paranoid when he’s asleep, being worried if something was to happen to you

That’s why he keeps you hugged really close to him, almost suffocating you in his chest and the blankets

You would literally be so close to him you would disappear

Wakes up at the slightest of noise

Some nights when he was really anxious, he wouldn’t sleep at all

He would just keep you close and stroke your hair to keep you feeling safe and asleep

[crow-mlm]

Yandere SilverAsh/Flamebringer Headcanons. (Arknights)

Anon: “hello☆ I really adored your Childe fic and I was excited to see that you write for Arknights! Can I request some general yandere headcanons for Silverash and Flamebringer? Tyty :^D”

Notes: I’m so sorry this is so late! Thank you for the request, dear anon, I love the arknights boys and there is next to no yandere content for them! (Also I apologise for the image quality, I could not find a singular good Flamebringer pic)

Warnings: Stalking, yandere, abuse, threats of violence, non-consensual touching, confinement, kidnapping, manipulation.

SilverAsh

- As head of the Karlan Trade Company, SilverAsh is well-acquainted with the underhanded tactics that are necessary for attaining economic advantage. Deceit, coercion, or exerting duress are all means he’s more than capable of employing to achieve success. There’s little room for ethics when one dominates an entire commercial empire, and you - well, you’re simply another luxury he’ll attain by any means necessary.

- He’s vexed, initially. You’re a distraction, one that lingers constantly on his waking mind. He imagines you on his lap while he converses with his various business contacts, or stroking your skin as he wades through paperwork; he simply can’t shake the image of you from his head.

- But SilverAsh is a man of assurance. The frustration you evoke fuels his motivation to utterly monopolise you. For what reasons he finds himself so hopelessly infatuated with you, despite somewhat piquing his curiosity, is irrelevant; one does not concern themselves with the intricacies of an object’s value, but rather by what means they can attain it. 

- You’re doomed from the start, really. His wealth, influence and unmatched cunning leave little hope of evasion.

- Most likely, you’d find yourself entrapped by an insurmountable debt - one that you’re certain you had no part in. It’s then that you’re approached by the head of the Trade Company himself, who graciously offers to relieve you of your debt in exchange for a few conditions. You’re sceptical, of course; his intentions unclear, and there’s something deeply unsettling about the cold, self-assured tone of which he speaks. However, as he’s quick to remind you, you’re in no position to reject his generosity.

- It doesn’t take long for you to be totally ensnared. The relief of your debt, that you’d only later surmise was his own doing, is a short-lived comfort. You’re required to live within his extravagant home, expected to obey his every command like a trained pet. SilverAsh coldly reminds you of just how much you owe him when you show the slightest hint of disobedience - just be good for him, and he’ll take care of you.

- You’re showered with expensive gifts, things you could never hope to afford. He’s particularly fond of buying you cute outfits and asking you to wear them for him, knowing full well you’re too scared to protest. He enjoys feeling the fabric against his fingers, although he prefers your adorable reactions even more.

- Your captivity is more than just a gilded cage - SilverAsh is quick to display his intolerance for misbehaviour. His discipline is strict; ‘cruel to be kind’ he’ll remind you as he tends to the lashes against your back or the bruises along your thighs. He makes you guess exactly what you did wrong and coerces you into promising to never do it again. He’s so gentle when you comply; cooing praises into your ear, kissing away the wet streaks against your cheeks, touching you with a preciousness that you missed so very much during your punishment.

- His threats extend much further than just your own well-being. Reminding you that your family and friends lay under his thumb is an effective method in taming you. Your compassion for those you care about, your desire to see them safe and happy - he loves that about you.

- He loves you, he knows he can be the perfect partner for you, more than anyone else ever could. If he has to blur the line between person and object to make you realize that, he is more than happy to do so.

Flamebringer

- Flamebringer is a complete and utter wild card. His insatiable bloodlust and unpredictable demeanour are amplified when the object of his infatuation is involved. To say you’re unlucky is a complete understatement.

- He is not one for subtlety. Each kill he delivers for your sake is one more euphoric than any slaughtering of the faceless opponents he’s vanquished. He wants you to witness it, to behold his love given palpable form as the bloody heap at his feet.

- ‘Gifts’ find their way into your home. A finger, a tooth, a heart still slick with blood. They’re trophies, akin to a cat leaving its prey at its master’s feet. Although his gifts are given with the utmost sincerity, he can’t say he feels slighted by your terror upon finding them. He loves that look on you. It’s cute; it’s enticing.

- Surprisingly, flowers sometimes appear in place of the gory offerings. They’re beautiful, well-cultivated and accompanied by a small note concisely detailing their meaning. ‘Pink tulips - love’ or ‘Peonies - joy’. If not for the circumstances surrounding them, it would almost be romantic.

- One of Flamebringer’s most cherished pastimes is simply watching you. He keeps note of the people you talk to, setting himself special reminders for those with lingering touches and too much fondness in their eyes. Although he’s especially fond of his alone time with you - looming over your sleeping form, listening to the quiet noises you make. He wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and hold you to his chest. Soon enough, he assures himself.

- No matter if it’s your friends, your close family, or the barista that gave you their phone number - Flamebringer is swift in his culling. Competition must be eliminated, and you need no one but him. Only when he’s completely isolated you will he come to claim what’s rightfully his. He’ll whisper it in your ear, like pillow talk between lovers, that he’s all you have left.

- The ensuing captivity is turbulent. Flamebringer is surprisingly needy, touching every inch of your skin, ghosting his lips against your neck, whispering his love for each and every one of your features. But there’s no mistaking his love for your fear - watching you squirm, cry, hearing your cute begs for him not to hurt you; it’s all too adorable for him to deny.

- One moment he’s tenderly holding you upon his lap, the next he has his teeth set into the nape of your neck, smirking when you squirm. He’s fond of displaying his strength, the source of his overwhelming pride. He’ll pin you down and tease you, or crush you against his torso to mold your bodies together. He enjoys smothering that slim hope you have of ever overpowering him.

- You’re left subject to Flamebringer’s mercurial moods, a constant swing between sadism and tenderness. What he lacks in predictability, he makes up for in his assurance that nothing will ever stand between the two of you and live to tell of it.