#He just pops in a alley and then he's out somewhere completely different

[asexualaromanticautistic]

I love I love I loveeee the "walkability" of Joel's HC10 base. I love that at first glance it looks like a simple town with just 2 main roads. I love that if you take a deeper look you can explore between the buildings and take back alley routes. I love that backdoors have a purpose. I love that it feels cramped because it feels alive and feels alive beacause it feels cramped.

Overall, I love Joel's HC10 base.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 3 - Found

Rated M for violence, past abuse (content warning), and language.

The rogue fails a perception check.

On AO3.

Astarion has, in nearly two centuries of undeath, gotten used to a certain factor of rapid healing. Vampire lords are hard to kill, in part, due to their rapid correction of what should be catastrophic wounds knitting back together, bones snapping and cracking into place, skin stitching itself whole.

Even lowly spawn, on the verge of starvation, utilize a robust sense of urgency when healing. A broken arm lashes itself back together after a day or two. Fingernails grow all the way back in by next evening. Even torn throats or caved skulls typically don’t take more than a few days—the punishment for failing to deliver to the master is an excellent motive in that regard. One can always cover wounds with a scarf or a hat or makeup.

But none of those take into account the accursed illithid parasite currently contenting itself nibbling on his gray matter. Astarion is slower than usual, his limbs far heavier. It’s apparently altered his eyes enough that this measly cavern refuses to present itself to both his elfish and vampiric sight.

And his godsdamned shins are bruised to all the hells.

That is the fault of the boulder field that ridiculous trap dropped him into. He’s on his feet again, trying to use his soft-soled boots to gauge a path. But even his natural grace—hamstrung as it is by the tadpole—cannot save him when a rock beneath his probing foot shifts and he, once again, crashes to his knees onto more rocks.

He suspects his lower legs are more bruise than flesh at this point. It would have been smarter to crawl, he thinks now that his knees are too damaged to attempt it.

Part of him would very much like to curl up on his side and lay there. Close his useless eyes and wait for one of the others to find him. Their illustrious leader is somewhere out there—he can feel her, closer than she was. They’re allies now. And she’s the generous sort (when she’s not being ruthless).

Yet. He’s heard many a tale of the Underdark himself. Even the ghosts of whispers drifting forward from his lost boyhood. Monsters and madness, the dark and its denizens.

It would be extremely unfortunate for him if something other than their leader found him here.

He’s no stranger to pain. He despises it, but he knows a necessity. One cannot leave their own innards lying about on the stone floor of the kennels and expect them to just rearrange themselves. They have to be put back into place so that wound can be sewed mostly shut and perfumed and covered in threadbare finery.

So Astarion grimaces and forces himself back to his feet and his aching hands touch cool, dry stone instead of wet, cool intestines. Dust washes off much more easily, anyway.

The silence presses heavily on him. He keeps working his throat, as if trying to get his ears to pop. It’s oppressive. An actual weight perched like some demented hell creature upon his shoulders, broken only by the occasional drip of water in the distance.

Were he above ground, this wouldn’t overly concern him. The forest is usually quiet when he stalks about beneath the trees. The living know the unliving when they see it, and most animals, it turns out, know when a predator comes nosing.

Down here, it’s different. He can’t see. There are no trees to scale, no alleys to duck into. He can’t even properly disappear into the shadows, because everything is shadows and the creatures of the Underdark know how to see and navigate within it. He could be two feet from something made of teeth and he wouldn’t even know it—

“Eleanor?” he whispers. Even that echoes.

His knuckles pop, fingers wrapped so tight around the hilts of his knives he has to make a conscious decision to ease them before one bursts out of the socket.

No reply. Nothing moves. Water drips and the air is still and perfectly, completely black.

“Fuck,” he allows himself.

But that seems to do something. Carry just enough that something scrapes off ahead of him. Dust and stone crunch. Cloth whispers.

“Hello?” So does their leader when she finally speaks.

Astarion is so very glad of the dark in this instance, as there’s no way the human woman can see his knees almost give out (and it has nothing to do with the damned rocks).

He makes good time towards that voice. Bashes his shins, rolls both his ankles—the left one twice-over—and batters his hands.

“I’m here,” he whispers after a moment, and oh. Oh. Thank his vampiric hearing; once he’s close enough to catch the faintest tha-thud of a mortal heartbeat, he has to take a moment, hands braced against a particularly wide boulder, to gather himself. Wouldn’t do to come scrabbling out of the darkness like some beggar.

“Astarion?” She’s trying to be quiet, poor thing, but she still doesn’t account for how much better his ears are than hers. She might as well be speaking at full volume.

“Right here, darling,” he says. His feet finally hit what feels like smooth floor and he takes a few, delicate steps, tapping with his toes before placing his weight. Just his luck, he landed in the middle of some jumble, while she got plonked down as fine as can be on a gentle, little slope.

“Astarion,” she starts to say. He’s locked in on her voice and starts towards it, walking normally for the first time in what must be hours—

“Whoa, hey, stop!”

Good thing his instincts are as sharp as ever. He catches the snap of her tone before the words even start to translate, and every muscle locks. His front foot isn’t even touching the ground.

“There’s a drop off,” she says.

He takes one step back. Kneels down to run his fingers before him, and she is indeed correct. Half of his foot would have landed on open air and he literally would have plummeted down to join her face-first. How embarrassing. Good thing she was paying attention to his footfalls.

“I landed down here,” she says. “I can reach the top, but I…uh.”

He waits. Is she injured? Caught on something?

She mumbles. Even his hearing can’t decipher it.

“I’m sorry, darling, but you’re going to have to repeat that,” he says.

A moment. Then she sighs, and it’s such an irritated sound he can’t help the slight tug of a grin. She can keep her face as blank to the world as a mirror is to a vampire. But her voice and the movement of her hands tell him exactly what she’s feeling half the time. (The other half is like speaking to a brick wall, which he won’t admit; it detracts from his air of mystery).

“I do not have the arm strength to pull myself out,” she says. She articulates every word very precisely, in her foreign drawl. Which is something else she does when she’s annoyed or embarrassed. It’s almost adorable.

“Well, I suppose as your ally, it falls to me to offer you a hand up?” he says.

Oh, this is so much easier with another person to play off of.

“’Ppreciate it.”

He finds the ledge. Finds her hands swaying about in the dark. He won’t need to dig through his pack to find rope, at least.

He braces himself in a squat. Grabs her forearms as she sort of grasps at his.

“Darling, you’d better grip like you mean it if you want this to work.”

She wouldn’t touch that automaton with her hands, either.

“Right,” she says.

She doesn’t sound happy. But she does grab him back. And on the count of four—she actually starts at three like a wild person, until he explains that one counts to four before doing anything—she gives a hop. Her weight snaps through him, and he digs in his heels even as her boots scrabble as she tries to climb.

Up, up—damned tadpole; this should be easy for him—and she’s nearly free. When his damaged knee decides it can take no more abuse and gives a truly wretched pop, buckles, and gives out on him.

Another burst of pain spikes up through his spine. But that’s obliterated almost as quickly by that awful grate of his left knee.

Scraping and scuffing, and then her voice, “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

His knee is torn. Hasn’t felt that in a long while, but he recognizes it. Which, again, wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t starving and tadpoled.

“Do you have a torch in that bag of yours?” he says. A simple tear shouldn’t take too long to mend. A major one, however…

“I…” she says. And pauses for some reason. “I mean, yeah. Hold on.”

Leather rustles and then things clink around in that muffled way as she sticks her whole arm into her bag of holding. A few moments later, she hums.

“Don’t suppose you got any matches?” she says.

He taps her, finds the torch, and she lets him take it. He feels along until he finds the flammable end, holds it well out to the side, and then reaches within himself to call forth, “Ignis.”

He doesn’t have much cause to use that old cantrip, most days. Has a vague sense he’d learned it to impress some soft-eyed boy when he was barely dressed in adult clothes. He funnels the magic until it takes hold, warmth lighting in his palm.

But…but the darkness doesn’t change. He turns to face where he knows his hand is, yet there’s nothing but that black curtain over everything.

The flame starts to wither with his inattention. He brings his hand to the torch, hears the whump as it ignites, yet the blasted shadows don’t lift. At all.

Magic. This must be some sort of trap. Or part of a section of the Underdark with…with some preternatural darkness. There are spells for that. They must simply be caught in one.

“Well,” he says. “So much for that.”

His illustrious leader, beside him, says nothing. In retrospect, that was the fourth clue or so. But he’s distracted, his knee is an agony on top of an agony, so he sets down the torch and goes about gingerly tracking along the edges of the wound.

It’s bad. Misshapen. It’s not only torn, but the kneecap seems to have popped out and twisted itself at a strange angle.

He sighs and falls back to brace himself up on his hands.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any healing potions, do you?” Astarion says.

In response, the sound of a cork unstopping. She must have had it ready. It’s the second-most wonderful thing he’s heard in the last hour.

He finds his leader’s hand. Fumbles it—he can keep his own hands steady through many injuries, but after a time when those injuries don’t stop, his coordination starts to fall apart. Luckily, it’s too dark for his companion to see that. She still guides him to it and lets him take it.

It tastes like ash, as most mortal things do. He knocks it back, feels it seep through his body like those first rays of sunlight on that beach. Soft and warm and the hint of burning and danger. Healing potions don’t work on his kind. Lead to rather messy purges, actually. But he downs this one and his knee crunches and flesh and sinews all twist and pull his errant bone cap back into place. He grits his teeth as the ridiculous joint mends itself. Then it’s over and he tests it. Extends his leg and brings it back up. Still tender. Easy to damage again; he’ll have to be careful for a couple of days. But it will hold for now.

“Better,” he says, because she tends to ask things like “how are you” and “does it hurt” and “how does one kill a goddess.” He probes the joint, then traces down to his tender shins. Still battered, and that ankle seems a bit weak around the edges. “I hope you’ve got some idea to get us out of here without going the way I came in, darling. That path was rather rough for me, and if I can’t see, you don’t stand a chance.”

Again, that pause. He’s got the sense she’s doing that “gazing somberly” thing she does now and then. Mostly when she tells him not to drink the blood of a dead gur.

Then, “You can’t see?”

And perhaps he was picking up on those clues. The way she warned him about the step. The way she helped him find that bottle. The way even in perfect darkness, he should see something. What are vampires, if not creatures of the night. He’s never had trouble with that before. Not even…even then.

Because those words leave her and punch through him, his instincts shrieking. Those same instincts level his voice, twist up his tone to his usual, light mockery. “We’re in a cave, darling, and there appears to be a darkness spell, in case you hadn’t noticed?”

He picks up the useless torch and waves it about. The black air doesn’t even shift.

His leader sits quietly. Only the increase in her pulse gives her away when she says, “Astarion, that torch is lit.”

“Yes, I know,” he says. Probably more sharply than he intended to, but there’s something rising up, pulling his vocal chords tight and that horrible, fetid iron taste coats the back of his throat again. “I just lit it.”

“But you can’t see it.”

“Repeating yourself won’t change my answer, dear.”

Cloth rustles. He feels that strange intensity in the air she carries close to her skin, and the scent of her blood—still tucked safely away in her veins—wafts over his face.

“Nothing?” she says.

She’s waving at him. Treating him like some…some doddering old…hag.

“What are you getting at?” That’s a snap. He knows it. Doesn’t care.

And she stays infuriatingly calm when she says, “This cavern is filled with some kinda bio-luminescent moss. On the ceiling, anyway.”

Which only halfway makes any sense at all.

“And you got that torch lit.”

He’s still waiting for a point to this vapid conversation of one.

“You really can’t see nothing?”

A dozen different ways to cut at her with his words. But she’s his ally. His only ally. She supposed to be useful (she has been). Keep the others on his side, be a shield should that bastard come looking. And to keep an alliance, he can’t go calling her a stupid, ignorant peasant to her face.

He settles for a clipped, “No.”

She pauses. And it’s the last time. His mouth opens, because if she’s going to draw this out any longer, all bets are off and he’s going to bite something, quite literally—

“Because I can,” she says. “I saw you the second you stumbled in here. Astarion, I can see that torch.”

There’s the fear. Cold iron rushes up from his gullet as the dread seems to spear down through him and drop his guts to the floor.

Previous - Index - Next

[nightcall99]

Dreams from 27.6.24

Dream 1: I'm at work preparing for something big like a head office inspection. It felt bigger than that though. MN was on the sidelines guiding me with tasks left to do. I was running around everywhere like a headless chicken but I didn't feel panic, I was just focused on what I had to do. The place looked completely different, bigger, like I was taking care of shopping centre almost. I remember in the back room there was a huge pile of gifts which were orders that had never got delivered to the recipients. I never knew this section even existed. It was something that the intern KA knew about and had been trying to handle. I saw a list of orders on the computer screen, one of them was from someone called 'Bob Boss' (prob K) who had cancelled his order. I deleted the message so it wouldn't pop up again. They were also going to check how we presented ourselves. My staff card needed to be changed to the temporary version which is something we print out on white paper. Everyone had them in their lanyards and I was the only one with the normal red hard-card.

At one point I was in a large room putting away stock. I was trying to avoid SM who was talking with a few other people nearby. As I got close, I became hyper-ware of my body and felt really awkward. We didn't acknowledge each other which I was upset by, but felt there was no choice because I was busy. Also, MN had been helping me but I thought he was about to go home and basically leave me to handle everything. But it turns out I'd misunderstood and he'd only been on his lunch break because he put his uniform back on. Throughout this dream, there's just this feeling like something big is happening which I was preparing for.

Then at the conclusion of this dream, my brother's 'spirit' came down from upstairs (irl he doesn't live with us) and just stood there in the dark, by my bed. It was really freaky, I got really scared. I tried to move away from him but it's like I was paralysed. There was a really strong energy emanating from him, and he seemed taller than ever. Then he leant down and opened his mouth to suck my soul out, exactly the way dementors do in Harry Potter. I tried to scream and woke up.

After I woke up and as I was jotting down this dream in my notes, I suddenly remembered a dream from yesterday where I was finally getting round to doing that forgotten assignment from all those recurring dreams. I was getting into the nitty gritty of it.

Dream 2: I was at the airport to go on holiday to Europe. This time, everything had been taken care of and we were inside of a small plane, which was probably just a helicopter. There were 8 people of us. The pilot told us the flight was for 12 hours. As we were flying I asked, How can we go to the toilet? Because I don't think there was one. I was really concerned about not being able to go for that long. The pilot made a stop somewhere.

Then I was walking around in the streets of London but it was whatever. It didn't feel different at all, it's like how it always feels when I'm walking around in my home city. I was walking through an alley when some shady guy tried to get my attention. I quicky brushed him off and kept walking. Then I kept thinking about how I need to get back home for my shift on Sunday which was 'tomorrow'. It turns out I'd only taken a few days off for this trip and didn't realise it would run into Sunday for some reason. I was thinking about the fact that I could easily just forget about it and stay here. Should I even tell MN? I could just not show up. I was enjoying this time off. In the end I decided I needed to get back.

I ended up catching a plane back which only took 8 hours and I was home again. In the next scene I was at work, doing all the usual things. I was putting stuff away. I had not told anyone where I had been the past few days. Then I realised that I had to get back to London/Europe. This time it felt like it would be for a duration even less than before, perhaps only for one day. I wasn’t sure if i should tell MN or just go and not say anything.

Dream 3: There's a movie or show that's about to start and I'm waiting with my friend in the foyer. We befriend two other dudes, and we're all waiting together. We had just brought some snacks from the kiosk and were sharing them, pouring them into each other's containers. Mostly it was just candy. They had started it so I was retuning the favour since it was only fair. It felt like we were just passing time too. They seemed nice. Then we were about to go in but it turns out my friend and I had left our 'keys' in the car. (I think without them we wouldn't be able to get to our seat, so read: ticket, I guess). I looked at my friend (not someone I recognise) and I hadn't noticed it before but she was pregnant. She said, My parents gave me some in the car so I'll go get it now. She turns to leave. I think about how she'll have to go through all the checks to get inside again but there was no way around it. All I know is it's time to get seated because it's about to start.

Dream 4: I went into the hair salon with my friend (who I don't recognise) and to see how much it would cost for a cut. I could see they were finishing up with another client. It was one of those cheapo Asian places, and there was a language barrier with the ladies. I asked the how much it is to get a perm and she didn't answer my question, just started talking about clozapine (anti-psychotic drug) which was so random. I ended up leaving since we were getting nowhere.

Dream 5: In the dream, a long time ago, a customer at the shop I used to work at (a middle aged white man) gave me his divorce papers for safe-keeping. I was only just remembering this now, as if I had to go take them out now or something.

[mechieonu]

"Something's definitely missing here..."

She frowns, brows knitting as she peers at the monitor. She clicks a few times, and the sudden explosion of dialogue boxes widens her eyes. "Yeah, 'kay, so there's definitely a virus there."

Monty asks, "How can ya tell?"

"I got a glance at some of the numbers, before, well, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—" she gestures towards of the mess of uninstall driver and an error occurred and task completed successfully and would you like to continue would you like to continue would you like to continue "—and something's wrong with your storage files. Well, not wrong." She tugs at a strand of brown hair nervously. "Some of them are gone."

Bonnie blanches. "Gone? Where could they go?" But the woman's already shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. The better word is replaced."

"With what?"

"Corrupted files, mostly. That's how it hid under the radar; it's not deleting the files themselves, it's just scooping out what's in them and stuffing something else inside."

He exchanges a glance with Monty.

"Is that...bad?"

"Not yet. How do I...okay."

She swivels back towards them.

"All of you have a sort-of machine learning algorithm. And part of that is the ability to make predictions, asses risks, and calculate accuracy. If you see a bench that's broken, you're not going to sit on it, right?"

Bonnie nods, "right."

"What sets you guys apart from, say, the staff bots, is that you guys are making experiences. You're building and changing your learning model every moment you're awake, and whatever this is—" her nail makes a thunk when she jabs the monitor, and, now that he notices it, is a really pretty shade of blue "—keeps deleting those experiences and replaces it with something else. And the more empirical data you lose to it, the less you're able to make predictions based on what you know, and the more vulnerable you become."

There must be something on Bonnie's face, because she hastily adds, "but you don't need to worry about that! Because we're going to nip this in the bud right now."

"Good," Monty says, tearing his gaze away from Bonnie's expression, somewhere between horrified and haunted. "That's—that's good."

She sets to work, slowly reducing the pop-ups all the while, but all Bonnie can think about is ending up in the gut of the pizzaplex, at night, during his charge cycle, waking up delirious and terrified, needing Monty's help to walk past his friends and human employees alike, counting two then three then five then four.

"What would happen?"

She turns to him. "I'm sorry?"

"If I lost all my—if it ALL got replaced," he clarifies. "What would happen then?"

"You don't need to worry about that," she says, and it unseats the heavy pit in his chest, smacked right off the alley and into the gutter.

—

"There, and...almooost...there!"

She finishes her work with a final click, and smiles at the two of them. "That should be the end of that."

Monty turns to him. "You feel any different?"

"You'll need to go through a charge cycle," she says when Bonnie shakes his head. "It'll reset those servos, and you'll feel better in no time."

"Thank you," he says emphatically, hand over his chest. Just one night, and it'll be over. "I don't know what we could've done without you, Miss...?"

He's about to peer at the name on her nametag when she laughs and waves him off.

"Don't worry about it." She smiles again. "And call me Ness."

i really love the idea of bonnie realizing he's under an afton takeover and asking monty to be the one to dismantle him

[quillsareswords]

when the moon goes home, so do you

DAMIAN WAYNE X WEREWOLF!READER

SUMMARY: Let's face it: being a werewolf is hard. Especially the morning after a full moon. Lucky for you, your boyfriend likes to make it easier on you.

WARNINGS: mild description of body horror, strong language, description of eating (burger and fries)

MASTER LIST in BIO

The sun's too bright, the air is too cold, the softest hoodie you've ever touched in your life is too coarse, and by some fucking miracle, it smells too much like Damian Wayne. You didn't think that was possible. On any normal day, you might be shamelessly burying your face in it and wishing it was all you could ever smell for the rest of your life.

The morning after a full moon, however, you'd rather be floating facedown in a pond somewhere in Nowhere, Idaho.

The darkest tinted sunglasses you could get your hands on still aren't enough to spare you from the onset of a migraine as you wait for your ride to rescue you from the overstimulation of standing just off the sidewalk in Gotham City.

A storage unit four blocks from Crime Alley had not been your first choice of locale for a safe place to suffer, but it's worked out for you so far. Nobody comes knocking when they're pretty accustomed to hearing folks wail and beg for mercy. They probably aren't quite as used to the sounds of a werewolf trying desperately to rip into a state-of-the-art, Wayne Tech certified chew toy, though. Well, not until you set up shop.

You really do appreciate Damian picking you up every morning, but you're going to cry if he doesn't get here within the next five seconds.

As overpowering as the cedar in his favorite cologne is, it's nothing compared to the general stench of this side of the city. Like rot and blood and rats. So many goddamn rats. You'd rather be drowning in an expensive blend of cedar and bourbon right now.

You lean your head back against the brick you're pressing your back into and close your eyes. It's too much. All of it. The noise, the smells, the sun, the air, the hoodie, the voices, the rats, the ache in every muscle–

A discarded newspaper crinkles as a car rolls over it, and your eyes crack open to find the saving grace you've been praying for.

No sooner than the sleek hunk of German engineering slides to a stop are you practically lunging out of the alley and across the sidewalk. You dip and lean around the slow-moving stream of bodies, mindful that if you shoulder into someone on accident, you're likely to bruise.

That's your least favorite part of the morning after—the weakness. Even in the few days leading up to the change, when something flu-like overtakes you, you're still about as durable as Nokia 3310. You've tripped out of three story windows and bounced back in five minutes or less.

Unfortunately, the aftermath of your entire body ripping itself apart and then fusing itself back together in a completely different shape apparently leaves everything much more susceptible to damage. You're just glad it only lasts for a few hours.

You pop the door open and sling your backpack to the floorboard before promptly collapsing into the seat and slam the door. Immediately, pine air freshener and bourbon-themed cologne washes out the stink from the sidewalk, and you feel one step closer to peace.

You groan quietly, slouching into the reclined seat he hasn't moved since you clambered out last night and close your eyes again. The tint on the windows, in addition to your sunglasses, is finally enough to fight off the brightness of the sun.

You hear the clunk as the locks flip into place on the doors, then the mechanical grumble of the car pulling away from the curb. "You look like shit," is the first thing he says to you, smooth, deep voice filling your ears like a cool balm on a red-hot rash.

You turn your head toward him slowly. He knows better than to return the favor. "Damian. Honey. Love of my life. I love you. But shut the fuck up."

He chuckles, low and deep in his chest, the way he does when somebody faceplants or slips on an ice patch. A real laugh. "Someone had a bad night."

You narrow your eyes at him behind your sunglasses. "Someone else had a far too good one." You shift around, rearranging until you find a position in which most of your muscles stop whining at you.

He moves too, swapping which hand is wrapped around the steering wheel, and reaching the newly free one across the console to you. His fingers tap against your leg until you relent and offer yours to him. "As a matter of fact, yes, I did have a decent night. One might even say it was good."

You can't find any energy to form a reply, so you hum instead. Your fingers slot nicely between his. The skin there is still hypersensitive, defining every callus and scar that presses against your palm. You find some comfort in the familiarity, and a little more in the warmth.

"Hungry?" He finally glances toward you. If he didn't know any better, he'd say you were unconscious, the way you're sprawled in his passenger seat, dark lenses obscuring half-open eyes.

The noise you make is deep enough to be called a growl. "Fuckin' starving."

His thumb soothes over the skin on the back of your hand. "Anything particular?"

"Grease," you sigh wistfully, even though you're voice is still hoarse from a night of snarling and growling. "The greasiest burger money can buy." There's a pause, and you're looking at him again. "Please."

He releases a long breath. "Of course that's what you want. I don't understand how I'm ever surprised."

Your eyebrows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean? It's not like I ask for weird stuff."

"Last month you begged—begged—for an entire box of doughnuts."

You roll your eyes. "You try transforming into a man-eating monster and back again in one night and we'll see what you want to eat. Won't be a vegetarian after that, I bet." You pause, and he's about to argue the monster comment when you beat him. "Is it gonna bother you to have a burger in the car? The smell won't make you sick, will it?"

He has two options here. He can tell you that, yeah, it may make him a little nauseous, and he'd really appreciate it if you could wait to tear into it when you're home and not in an enclosed car; or he could lie, tell you no, and hope that you don't pick up on the fact that he's lying right to your face.

"No, I'll be alright."

You don't reply right away. You just sit there, staring at him. Wrong choice. "You're a bad liar, you know that?"

He scoffs. "My lying capabilities are perfectly adequate, thank you very much. It isn't my fault that you're a walking lie detector."

"Okay, fine—you're a terrible liar to me." You're smiling just a little, despite the ache it sets in your cheeks, which had been forced to stretch into the shape of a muzzle not three hours ago. "I'll wait til we're at my place to open anything. Thanks for the thought, though."

The last part, you say a little quieter. Or perhaps softer is a better word. A better reflection of the tenderness in your tone and in the small action he tried to take for you.

The more you think about it, the kinder he seems. You already knew this, of course, but it doesn't make your heart race any less. Here he sits, just after dawn on a Saturday, driving you home so you wouldn't have to walk or fret about your car getting stolen. He's carved out a piece of his consistently stacked schedule to make sure that you get home alright, that you're okay after your least favorite night of the month.

You never asked him to do this. You never had to. You told him about your make-shift containment method, about how much it sucked to walk home, and there he was the next morning. You didn't ask for the—what do you even call them? Toys? Distractions? The contraptions that you stuff with raw meat to keep the animalistic side of yourself preoccupied to limit the risk of the beast taking over completely and breaking out. The ones Tim designed for you, at Damian's request.

You never expected him to get involved. As far as you were concerned, this was exclusively a you problem. Just like work or house chores; something you alone handle, and get to complain about later. The most you expected from him was understanding of your situation and patience for when you spaced out staring at birds or growled at the mailman. You wish that was a joke.

In typical Damian Wayne fashion, he decided that he'd singlehandedly prove that your bar is set far too low. So he drops you off in the evening, picks you up in the morning, and insists on buying you breakfast. On his off-days, he even stays with you for the morning.

You like it when he calls you Darling. It reminds you of all the period piece romances you've seen over the years. You may be biased, but you like it better in his Frankenstein accent than you do the British ones. Why are you thinking of this?

"Darling." He gives your hand a shake, still holding it in his own, and you only realize that you'd drifted off when you wake up. "I know you're tired, but do you want anything else, or only the hamburger?"

You slide a knuckle beneath your sunglasses to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When you brave opening them, you find that he's parked the car outside of that little 60's themed diner you found last year. "Oh," you mumble, "uh...fries. Big thing of fries. Thank you."

"Of course," he dismisses. He leans over the console, presses a kiss to your temple, and then pushes his door open while he tugs his hand out of yours. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back in a moment."

"Mhmm."

You flinch when the sound of the door slamming cracks through your ear. You don't plan on dozing off again, but you catch yourself jerking back into wakefulness when the aroma of burger grease and melting cheese wafts in with the reopening car door.

He hands you the bag as he ducks back in. He tries very hard not to laugh at you when you all but rip the paper bag open and shove your face inside with a deep breath. You hear him snickering, but you're too focused on food to acknowledge him.

"Oh sweet baby jesus," you sigh, only pulling your face away long enough to fish out a cardboard to-go box of fries. There are grease stains lining the inside of the deep fried potato slices and enough seasoning to make your nose itch—a heart attack in a box, really, but there's so much saliva flooding your mouth that you're about to reach back in for a napkin to stop yourself from drooling all over his very nice car. "You're a goddamn saint, Wayne."

He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, the most life-like you've looked since you sat down. He glances over impulsively, and finds you stuffing a handful of fries into your mouth. He makes a face, somewhere between amusement and mild disgust, accompanied by a surprised chortle. "Don't choke."

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. You at least have enough humanity left in the depths of your mind to finish chewing and swallow before you speak. "If I choke on these fries right now, it'll be a good death. I'm okay with it. I've made peace." You stick another three in.

He scoffs again. "Well I haven't. So don't forget to breathe between mouthfuls."

You roll your eyes. "Oh okay, 'cause that's important to me right now. Psh. Who needs air when I've got food." Another one bites the dust. You pick one out, though, a little more delicately than you had the first bunches, and hold it out for him. "Try one. They're good. Maybe you'll understand."

Despite himself, he admits that they are very good french fries. And like every other time he's admitted to liking something you have access to, you make up your mind that you'll be sharing the rest of them. You spend the rest of the drive more awake than you had been now that you aren't starving half to death, handing him fries when traffic is slow.

He walks you up to your apartment like he does every month, pretending not to notice the way you clutch the paper bag in your hand like a gazelle caught between a leopard's jaws. Always a gentleman. You invite him inside, with a warning that you fully intend to feast on this burger before you chug half a bottle of NyQuil and pass out for a few hours. He smiles when he accepts the invitation.

You stand over the kitchen counter, backpack long forgotten by your front door, and absolutely demolish aforementioned hamburger like you haven't eaten in days. As in, you have to alternate between taking a bite and wiping the grease and ketchup off of your face to retain at least a little of your pride.

He sees only the start of this, looking on in a twisted, pained sort of awe. It's never judgement that you find in his expression. He understands that you can't exactly help it—the few days leading up to the full moon see the same kind of appetite, but with a much shorter temper. He's accustomed to it, six months in.

Secretly, he finds it fascinating. How wolfish you can be immediately following the change. Predatory, almost.

In other ways, too, not just your appetite. You always sit a little closer, stare a little longer, when you think something may be a threat to him.

He leaves you to enjoy your well earned breakfast while he moves into the living room. He gathers things he knows you'll want; the pillow from your bed, a throw blanket you like, the water bottle from your backpack. He sets it all on the couch and makes himself comfortable. His jacket is tossed into the chair, his shoes pushed under the coffee table and out of the way.

He knows the routine. He flicks through his phone while you finish eating, you shuffle into the room looking twice as tired as before, and drop your head onto his shoulder from the back of the couch. "I'm taking a shower, be right back," you mumble. He wastes that time on his phone as well. When he hears the water shut off, he turns on something mindless from your watch history to fill some silence. You amble back into the room in a fresh set of pajamas, move the pillow so it's either in his lap or butting against his thigh, and flop yourself onto the couch with the balnket.

He takes pride in his involvement with your situation. He can't understand the way some characters in your inane werewolf movies can act—like having to assist their friends or family or partners with it all is a chore. He can't imagine complaining that you trust him so much that you want him around in your weakest moments. That you feel safe enough to ask for help when you need it.

You're more physically vulnerable now than ever, not to mention too exhausted to stay awake for more than twenty minutes and being sore everywhere. Instead of holing yourself up in your bedroom to ride it out, where you're safely alone to recuperate, you let him drive you home, and seek comfort in his presence. He likes to think that you also know that if trouble ever came knocking when you're like this, he'll do anything to keep you safe from it. That he'll always protect you, but especially when you inarguably need it most.

He sees the way your whole body relaxes when he smooths his fingers over your hair. You exhale deeply, like you'd been holding your breath all morning and only now thought to let it go.

He wonders what it was like for you before you told him. If you really did just come home and pass out alone in bed or if you tried to power through it. If you let yourself stop for breakfast or if you choked down something out of your cabinets and said good enough. If you wished he had been there or if he never crossed your mind until now.

None of it really matters, he supposes. It doesn't matter how you handled this on your own in the past. You've got him now, and he'll be here to help for as long as you'll have him.

Especially if it means he gets to spend a whole Saturday morning with you sleeping hard on his lap, watching any television show or movie he's been meaning to because it doesn't bother you as long as the volume is kept low.

You called it a curse once. You'd been half asleep, only a week or so after you'd told him. You said it should make you hard to love. That it made you more monster than human.

But he's seen monsters. He's known them personally. His family tree is crawling with them.

You're no monster. Capable of monstrous things, he'll allow, but that doesn't make you a monster.

When he looks at you, he doesn't see a monster. He sees the person who memorized how he takes his tea. Who gave him his first bouquet of flowers. Who waits up for him to make sure he gets home safely. Who uses their enhanced strength to make sure he feels safe. Who holds him like he's all that matters in the world when he wakes up in tears. Who makes sure he feels loved and valued for more than his capabilities and usefulness. Who wolfs down huge orders of fresh french fries in two minutes or less. Who can't walk past a dog without asking to pet it.

You're not a monster. You're simply the love of his life, curled up on a couch, sound asleep beside him. He'll change your mind one of these days; but for now, he's content to sit on your couch and pet your hair. You're safe with him. He's safe with you. That's all that really matters.

[piedpiperworld]

Freelance Crafter [Semi-career]

Hi guys! I'm very excited to present you the Freelancer Career.

You are talented and ambitious individual who is looking for a side way to make some money from their craft? Or maybe you have dreams to open your own business one day? Yet, you need to start from somewhere, to gather experience working with clients, sharping your skills and most importantly gain recognition for your skills and crafts!

Look no more, this is the right place for you! Welcome to Crafters Alley, all types of crafts at one place. All you need is your phone, a good internet connection and craft to offer.

To begin your journey in the world of freelancing, you need to open your phone, under Work Menu you will find new option:

Freelance Crafts Makers

This is where all types of gigs can be found. When you press on the option a window will pop-up on your screen, to choose what type of category you want to look.

It's split in three main categories:

Arachne's Wonderful Weavers - this agency connects clients with freelance Textile Artists. If you are Textile Artist or just good at weaving, this place is for you, to seach for available gigs.

Soaptopia - this agency is completely dedicated to help clients find their best Soap Maker. If you have talent at soap making, you can find quite a few gigs here, that require your skills, to fullfil their need for handmade soaps and salts!

Production Bee - this agency is more broaden, it's ideal for farmers who want to sell their production, most of the gigs don't even require specific skill, aside from being able to produce stuff at home.

Technical information

Weaving and Soap Making gigs require certain level of Weaving and respectively Soap Making for each task. To know what level you need, it's written under each gig in green color.

Production Bee category is mixture of gigs for oil distillation, grinding and dairy production. Gigs that look for dairy will have certain dairy production level required. For the rest the required level will be stated as 'NONE'.

There are 16 weaving gigs, 18 soap making gigs and 16 production gigs. Which means that you can enjoy 50 brand new gigs!

With each successfully finished gig, your Sim will increase tiny their popularity. 

With each cancelled gig, they will gain small negative reputation.

Gigs are available from 8AM until 6PM

IMPORTANT NOTE:

Note that this is my first time making a career. Originally I wanted to make a real freelance career, like a job. but I couldn't make it show up in the game. That's why it's used the Odd Jobs template (therefore Island Living is required). For now the jobs don't have time-out, which means that once picked, you can take as long as you wish to finish it. If I learn how to change that I will update it later on.

When you use the dairy churn to fullfil objective, you need actually to press on the Churn and choose 'Collect product', if you don't and your Sim do it automatically, it won't count towards the objective. So when you start using the churn cance your Sim's waiting, like this you can manually collect the product.

When you press on the mail box the Sim doesn't actually go to the mail, but instead send the package from the position they are standing (I tried to fix this but only caused other issue, so I left it this way). So, if you want to see them do the interaction on the mail, first you need to call them there and then to send the package. 

The gigs are available only from 8AM to 6PM, however the interaction is visible all the time, it doesn't grey out when the time is different, so if you press on it, out of the available times, nothing will happen. 

REQUIREMENTS:

ISLAND LIVING

Get Famous (recomended for the fame points, but you can use it even without this pack)

Spa Day (recomended for the SPA membership reward)

Credits:

Sims4Studio, the wonderful program that allow us to do miracles

Mirai for the idea to use Odd Jobs template

Scumbumbo for the multiple script tutorials, thanks to his knowledge and what he shared, the community keep progressing

All other creators whose script/XML tutorials I found on MTS and Sims4Studio

And of  course Geri for translating all this in English

DOWNLOAD (Early Access until 4th of January)

@maxismatchccworld @luthsthings

[diaphragmjellyfish]

Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz NSFW Alphabet

Not my gif

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Hawk is pretty quiet after sex. He likes to lay there with you draped over his chest and a smirk on his face while you both catch your breath. If it was a particularly rough night he will get a wet cloth and clean you off before getting snacks and turning on some rock music or an action movie. He’s almost always the big spoon when cuddling.

B: Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also yours)

His favorite body part of yours is your face. He thinks you look so innocent and pure like a literal ray of sunshine. A complimentary opposite to his look. He especially likes how sweet you look while doing certain *ahem* activities. His favorite body part of his are his abs. He worked hard for them and they give him confidence. He loves when you run your hands down them while y’all are making out.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Hawk likes to cum on your face or inside you. You guys are young and not at all ready for kids so you always wrap it up, which is why he usually cums on your face. He could honestly finish just thinking about how you look covered in him like that. When it’s a super passionate or romantic night he prefers to finish inside you with or without the condom. He just likes to look deep in your eyes.

D: Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He’s always wanted to try anal. His tattoo buddy Rico told him it was awesome, and he’s wanted to do it ever since. He’s nervous to ask you though because he would never want you to be in pain. When you eventually tell him you want to give it a go, he’s beyond excited but also super gentle.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Hawk is somewhat experienced, but his confidence makes up for anything he might not be sure about. He was with Moon for a few months and learned all the basics, but it’s with you that he really starts to experiment. He’s also a super quick learner.

F: Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

The boy loves to try new things. You guys are making your way through the Kama-sutra. He still thinks you can never go wrong with the classics though- missionary and cowgirl. As long as he can touch you he’s a happy guy.

G: Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they more humorous, etc.)

He almost always is wearing a smirk when y’all are going at it. He’s more serious than goofy at first just because he feels like he has something to prove but once you guys get comfortable and he knows he can be himself around you, he lets loose a little and will crack a joke or two during.

H: Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)

God I wish I could say the carpet matched the drapes lmaooo imagine a little mini mohawk. But fr he’s probably trimmed. Nothing too fancy but he keeps it clean.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He’s a romantic at heart, but only for you. He’d never tell anyone but on Valentine’s day he goes all out. Rose petals, candles, a massage. And he loves to buy you lingerie to wear for him.

J: Jack off )Masturbation hc)

He does it a lot when he’s by himself because he can’t believe he got such a sexy mf as his girl. He always thinks of you. If he’s ever too frustrated from training or a tournament he’ll rub one out by himself so he doesn’t take out his anger on you. He’d never want to hurt you. But if you’re there, he obviously prefers you over his hand.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Anal, Hair pulling, choking, he loves when you bite his shoulder when it feels good, or scratch his back so when he takes off his shirt at practice everyone knows he did a good job. He also loves to leave hickeys all over your neck and thighs. He’s a confident boi but he has an insecure past so he wants everyone to know you’re taken and taken well ;)

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He’ll take you anywhere and everywhere. Bed, the dojo, the canyon, on his motorcycle in an alley somewhere, he literally does. Not. care. You guys even did it in his mom’s Sentra while it was in the middle of the car wash

M: Motivation (What turns them on, what gets them going)

Any time you bend over, or ask him to help you with something like opening a jar, he likes to feel needed and wanted. You could honestly look at this boy funny and he’d pop a hard one.

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do)

Anything that causes you pain. He would never slap you or make you gag on him or anything like that. Also threesomes are out, whether that’s with another guy or another girl, he wants it to be just you and him always.

O: Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

The first time you went down on him he thought he was gonna explode. He couldn’t believe it was happening. But the first time he went down on you? He’d never heard such beautiful noises and he knew from then that he wanted to hear those little moans every day for the rest of his life. He’s got the basics down when you first get together, but after you show him what you really like and y’all start experimenting? God tier head.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Honestly depends on the day. When you guys first meet he just wants to impress you so he’s super fast and rough, but once you tell him that slow and steady wins the race, he starts to take his time. You still enjoy a good pounding every once in a while though

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies)

He’s the king of quickies (not too quick tho if ya know what I mean). He’s a young guy, he’s horny all the time and doesn’t care if anyone sees. He’s doing what he wants when he wants as long as you’re ok with it.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment)

YES. It’s his favorite thing. You both love to get freaky and try new things. He’d do anything you ask him to do, and do it well.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for)

Ngl, when y’all first got together, this kid would bust in under 10 minutes. He’s a young guy, you were his second girlfriend ever, and he spent most of his childhood thinking he would never even talk to a girl like you. He bounced back fast though and could go for multiple rounds. And he’s built up stamina over time so no issues here.

T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

He loves to use toys on you. In the beginning, you were having trouble reaching the summit *wink wink* no matter what he did. He was amazing, but for whatever reason you couldn’t quite finish. You told him it was fine but he said he couldn’t enjoy it if he knew you weren’t enjoying it. So one day he bought a tiny pink vibrator and held it between your legs while he fucked you and you LOST IT. Now he has several different toys that he uses on you all the time.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He’s not much of a tease. He likes to let you both have what you want. But he loves when you tease him. The anticipation of you hovering over him, not knowing when or if you would finally sink down, gets him that much more excited.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Kind of quiet, but lots of swearing and groaning. Literally the “ugh fuck” right in your ear as he sinks into you. He doesn’t like to be too loud (his old shy self is still there) and would rather hear you scream for him.

W: Wild Card (Random hc)

He is very much into foreplay. He likes to make sure you’re on the brink of orgasm before he even gets in you. Your only sexual experiences before you met him were guys just shoving themselves into you completely dry and when you told him that, he promised you he would never do that to you. He’s been a foreplay prodigy ever since. It’s his thing.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Probably about 5 or 6 inches, average girth. Honestly size really is overrated. The G spot is only 3 inches in I’m tired of everyone acting like bigger is better. You Don’t Need Much if they’re using it right and he definitely does.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

On a scale of 1 to 10, Hawk is an 11. He could fuck you all day every day for the rest of his life. Morning, noon, and night. Rich or poor, in sickness and in health (I got carried away lmao)

Z: ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep after)

Hawk likes to cuddle, eat snacks, and watch a movie after. Maybe it’s because he always felt insecure sleeping around other people as Eli but he always lets you fall asleep first. He loves to feel like he’s watching over and protecting you while you sleep on his chest. Literally when you’re in such a vulnerable state around him he feels so honored and would die before he let anyone lay a finger on you.

[caralara]

hi cara, chequered anon here. since things have changed a bit in past week when do you think it would end? I read posts where some said chequered might be the theme of this album but it still stuck in my mind that H wore kiwi shirt and chequered pants so it's somewhere definitely related to bbg. I saw that Louis is trying to expand his audience and trying to reach out to a different set of fans so idk he would want to do that with bbg still on. if he's planning to begin fresh why drag this stunt anymore? it would create double drama if bbg is dragged more because now he's reaching a different audience. what's you opinion on this? I also read a post where the blogger said "there's a different between Louis wanting to make his fans think F is his son and Louis wanting to make his fans think he think F is his son" this point really does it for me. I hope it ends before the album release. he's getting better don't want him to shoulder this burden.

hi chequered anon!

so i'm not gonna lie, during the quiet weeks we had and the onslaught of chequers in regards to his new album i was a bit... doubting. but then the king himself comes back and does something utterly unhinged like singing fucking 7 LARRY with a chequered board as a background at LTWT Milan and now the promo season so i am back full force hopeful hehe

i don't think he's wanting to start over fresh completely - i think he's just refining his fanbase. just the interview quotes today with wanting to have a certain kind of live audience over one that pays a lot of money is very telling, and I also think that a lot of the people that are into walls are gonna fall off the wagon organically bc the sound is not really up their alley anymore as he's moving away from pop dare I say the outrageous thing that the louies that are obsessed with otp will not like faith in the future so much lol

long story short - he's refining his fanbase, not starting over. and the fans joining will get sucked into the drama super quickly and get invested with the whole bbg scandal, if you come in fresh it's simply a drama and isn't carrying all the implications it does for the people who know and have been here for the history yk?

I really think they're gonna end it before his album comes out, quickly and swiftly, as soon as the news are out. and then they'll let it get forgotten as quickly as possible!

[helnjk]

Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader 

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork. 

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf. 

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true. 

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together. 

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store. 

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that. 

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave. 

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above. 

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?” 

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.” 

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley. 

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships. 

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence. 

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?” 

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet! 

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said. 

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!” 

“So tell me about your shop!” 

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work. 

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!” 

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend. 

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?” 

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him. 

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on. 

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!” 

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.” 

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother. 

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes. 

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop. 

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!” 

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.” 

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over. 

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws. 

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand. 

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.” 

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment. 

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you. 

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!” 

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything. 

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation. 

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!” 

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!” 

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.” 

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop. 

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around. 

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.” 

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.” 

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt. 

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted. 

Weekends were usually spent together as well. 

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee. 

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project. 

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.” 

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure. 

 “That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!” 

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him. 

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.  

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back. 

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup. 

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly. 

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.” 

Friend. 

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you. 

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.” 

It was now or never. 

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression. 

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say. 

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.” 

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.” 

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?” 

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost. 

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. 

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well. 

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return. 

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks. 

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly. 

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.” 

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully. 

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.” 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

[chisheya]

hanahaki disease [niragi x reader x chishiya] highschool au!

Summary: love is reckoned to make us powerful; not susceptible - as much as i tried to convince myself that. as much as i tried to stay strong; tough and heroic, enough to risk it all and let my emotions surge on the exterior. strong enough to be crushed yet again, to love and be loved again - knowing my fragility. 

 i’ve known the agony and lament sufficiently enough that it demolished my sanity, left my soul burning away, gradually fading into ashes and disappearing like dust under the moonlight’s breeze. and the funny unfunny part is - i wish i had told him, perhaps one day i will. 

‘‘I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. My love bloomed like a flower in my chest.’‘

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged, let me know because the previous post got deleted for some weird reason lol)

Word count: 2.5k

The sun's soft twinkles crawl over house rooftops, and in an early hour, despite it, it still felt like a chilly morning. Early as it is, the neighborhood was caught up with parents rushing with their children, some going to work, some even rushing late. Thankfully, the riots of youngsters were vetoed by the sound of Supermassive Black Hole by Muse playing through my earphones. I was deliberately walking down the alley on my way to school, gripping the hem of my uniform and cursing to myself that this skirt was of no use to at least keep my legs warm. 

The reckless gust reaching from my left side provoked me to jump out of my skin, revolting me from my daydream. 

‘’God's sake-’’ I turn my head only to see Chishiya standing next to me, with a smirk on his lips. The sudden view of him caused me to blush, as my brain screamed oh-look-your-crush. Although you could rarely see this guy smiling and being friendly, his agenda was incompatible. Clever, crucial, and cunning as he is, he always had a special place in my heart. Why, you ask? I'd love to know that too... Maybe because he has been my friend since forever. 

''You must be that cold, huh,'' Chishiya says sarcastically. ''Y-yeah.'' I murmur, ''anyway, again one of early practicals at the hospital today?'' ''Correct.''

''Yikes,'' I add, clicking my tongue, ''good luck.''

''Have you decided if you'll stay here in Tokyo?'' Chishiya pops a question, clearing his throat, as his face remains immersed on the boulevard in front of us. ''Huh, what do you mean?'' I add, looking up at him, wishing he'd look back at me. But he never does... 

''For university.'' ''Oh, that,'' is all I say, before taking the next few seconds to think what to proceed with, ''yeah, Tokyo - I guess, still not sure yet.''

''It better be Tokyo or I'm disowning you.'' He says in a stern voice, delivering it with a smirk as he quickly runs his hand through my hair, resulting in becoming a mess.

''Hey!'' I chuckle, about to return the favor but he succeeded to grab my wrist and stop me just on time. Shucks.

Chishiya and I have been friends since childhood, as our dads have been friends since their early school days as well. He's in his third year in med school and I'm about to graduate in less than a month and enter university in few months. Not to mention, living close enough in the same neighborhood visiting Shuntaro's family every Sunday for dinner was a ritual that my dad, Aguni, and I couldn't stop doing. My mother has had enough of Tokyo so she decided to leave for England. Yeah, pretty simple...it has only been dad and me since. Not like I regret staying with dad, and if there was the father that would win The Dad of the Year award, it would be him. Playing cards meanwhile drinking wine was a post-dinner ritual for our dads, later through time, Chishiya joining them as well. In most cases, I'd end up just observing how they play and anticipating who's going to win. From Aguni being the best to, Shuntaro's dad, a few years later as Chishiya evolved enough his cunning games he beat them in it. He became a card game master, no jokes. 

I didn't notice it has come for the time for us to go different paths, as my school was in the complete opposite direction.

''So,'' I murmur, stopping and turning to face him, ''I guess time to say goodbye.''

''Good luck, kid.'' He says, giving me a soft smile. Ah, if he only knew how something so insignificant and minor to him has such a consequence on my heart. But he never will though. As I know, what we are and what we are not. 

I just smiled as I watch him turn his back on me and leave first. He always leaves first. I stayed few more seconds as his figure slowly fades of to distance I get ready to go my way.

                                                        ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ 

 After the last class, I choose to go to a nearby library to catch up on some assignments. The library is a soft of the enormous coffee shop yet one can stay all day and feel good even if one buys nothing at all. That's the discrepancy. It is a place of welcome for everyone rather than for "customers." This is not a money-nexus venue yet a love-nexus space, and that makes it a real treasure in this city.

I was relinquished and dazzled by the book in front of me, until the moment someone’s voice yanks me out of my thoughts.

''Since classes are over, want to grab lunch?'' I feel a hand placing softly on my left shoulder as a soft boyish voice peaks behind me.

''Niragi,'' my lips stretch in a smile as I embrace my best friend in a hug, ''of course, you mind if Chishiya tags along as well?''

''Oh,'' he mouths, providing it with a vague look, as I feel him stiffen up a bit and breaking the hug before proceeding, ''Chishiya..too?'' 

''Yeah!'' 

''Sure,'' he says, providing it with a soft smile, ''definitely..'' 

''Great, I'll let him know then.'' 

                                                        ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ 

Niragi and I walked after school side by side, on the way to Shibuya where we agreed to meet up with Chishiya. As we have arrived early, we stand by a big poster advertisement. I gently lean my back onto it, facing the industrious avenues of Shibuya wandering with people. Niragi, leaning as well, right next to me. 

''So, have you decided? Is it going to be Tokyo or London?'' 

''Hm,'' I murmur as his question breaks me out of my trance, ''regarding studies?'' He nods. 

''Honestly, not sure,'' I hesitate, before proceeding, ''but I'd love to stay in Tokyo.'' This was not a lie, but London on the other hand, was just an excuse in case my health gets worse. An agreement was made with my dad that it'd be best to stay there with my mom and focus on getting better. 

''Tokyo.'' I sigh, still caught up thinking what if I have to end up having to go back to London. What do I do then? And more importantly, what do I tell them? The minor, simple thought of lying to the people I deeply care about stings. 

''And you?'' 

''Tokyo,'' he says softly while looking down, smiling - as the thought if he had something that binds him to dwell in this city, ''I already got accepted in for game engineering.'' 

I knock him softly on top of his head, standing on my tippy toes. Though he was portrayed as the delicate and sweet guy he is, he was taller than both Chishiya and me. 

''Ouch,'' he exclaims as his hand rests on top of his head, my action catching him off guard, ''why did you do that?'' 

''Why haven't you told me, little idiot?'' 

''I planned to,'' he giggles, a wide smile as I've never seen scattering across his delicate features, ''I was waiting for you to confirm you got in your desired major as well.'' 

Yeah, I have, Niragi. It's just that I might not even be able to go because of my health. The phrases, the verdict, that I desired I could have mouthed out. But I couldn't, not now. Not when we're about part ways, and the way I want to remember these recollections is by them as their happy-selves, us cycling through alleys of Tokyo, eating noodles in the park during chilly nights, by city lights as the background noise of crickets was vetoed by our laughter. The recollections, moments I'll protect in my psyche permanently. 

I just remained silent, looking at my friend as he was smiling and looking off to distance till he started waving to someone. I shift my gaze only to see Chishiya's figure approaching us, hands in his pockets as usual. 

''Hello there, peasants.'' Chishiya teases, as he finally approaches us.

''Excuse me, lord Shuntaro.'' Niragi scoffs at him, crossing his arms.

''So where will we head to?'' 

''Whoa, Morizono, not even embracing your friend in a warm hug and you're already talking about eating,'' Chishiya says falsifying pain in his voice, ''I'm hurt.''

 ''Chishiya,'' I let out, rolling my eyes at his statement, ''I know you don't do hugs.'' I proceed, nudging his forearm slightly, hoping that the warmth I felt growing in my cheeks wasn't showing. 

''Fuunji or Ichiran Shibuya?'' Niragi says, clicking his tongue. 

''Fuunji,'' I mutter, at the same time as Chishiya adds, ''Ichiran.'' Our eyes met instantly as we both realized our choices were different.

Do I have to mention that I'm probably already blushing? No, because heck - yes I am. 

Oh boy, here we go. Let him have his way, Y/N. 

As you always do. 

''You know what, let's go to Ichiran,'' I exclaim, looking in between my best friends waiting for them to agree. 

''Ichiran it is,'' Niragi exclaims. 

A little while later, our food has finally arrived. The moment it lands on the table, Niragi digs at his sweet and sour soup and pulls out all the cubes of carrot. I don't say anything, I really couldn't care less about table manners and there's always something interesting going on in his head. Chishiya calm and collected as he is, starts eating at a slow pace. After swallowing his first bite, he breaks the silence, ''we must go somewhere to celebrate your birthday, Y/N.'' 

''I'm not sure-''

Niragi peeks up at me with sticky fingers in his mouth. Meanwhile, Chishiya adds, through the mouthful, that I could just about make out the name "Kyoto."

As my mouth was full of food as well, I just nod seriously. 

"That's a great idea, Chishiya. I never thought of that." Niragi grins, still with the fingers in his mouth, then he scoops them up and lines them neatly next to his stocking.

Chishiya holds out a cup of soju, "for Y/N." Niragi's hand comes over and snatches it up, his grin as wide as his cheeks will stretch, and scatters back.

Chishiya and I just exchanged looks, laughing at his silliness.

We drank soju, we were already merry and full, we told the most terrible of jokes. That was us. Casual, informal, yet caring enough to make the time we spend together joyful. 

                                                         ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ 

After grabbing lunch with Chishiya and Niragi, I headed straight home. The thought of visiting Kyoto for my birthday with them was still bouncing on my mind. The thing is, how to bring it up to Aguni? Hm? As loving and fond as he is of both of them, the thought of sending his only daughter away with two boys on a trip probably sounded far away from a brilliant idea. Sigh, I guess it'll take a lot to convince him. 

''Dad, I'm home!'' I exclaim, meanwhile closing the doors behind me and taking off my shoes in the hallway. 

''Someone's back home early, huh?'' Aguni says chuckling, as he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. 

''Yup, something smells delightful,'' I say, meanwhile slapping my hands in excitement and taking my seat. 

''Ah, you sneaky,'' He adds, taking the seat as well across me, ''it's your favorite - pad thai chicken wok.'' 

''So,'' I began, meanwhile randomly picking food with chopsticks in my plate, ''I have a question.'' 

''Yes?'' Aguni murmurs, mouthful, gazing up at me. ''So you know that my birthday is next week...'' I say awkwardly, placing my chopsticks gently on the table. 

''Of course, how would I forget my daughter's birthday?'' He scoffs, butthurt that his daughter thinks he's that forgetful. 

''No, of course not.'' I chuckle, ''but I did want to ask you something, uh...'' 

''Go ahead, silly.'' 

Just say it. Now or never. And I do - ''I've been thinking of visiting Kyoto with Chishiya and Niragi-'' 

''Not happening.'' 

''But-'' 

''You? On a trip? With two boys?'' his voice stern as he glares up at me, causing me to swallow, ''you must be out of your mind to think I'll let you, Y/N. Boys your age are wild.'' 

''No, there's going to be more of other friends...too, from school.'' I start, slightly panicking as I was also trying to think of the ways to get him to approve, ''not just Chishiya and Niragi, although you know they're my closest friends.'' I proceed further, looking around the food on the table, as I noticed he has almost cleared out his plate, and yet there was still chicken left in mine. Splendid, a perfect way to bribe him now.

''Plus,'' I mutter, as I start taking out the chicken from my plate, putting on his, his eyes now fully focused on that chicken, ''I know you trust them enough to protect me if anything happens, right?'' I grin, awkwardly. 

''Only because they are aware who's your father and someone not to mess with.'' He adds, still not convinced enough, but still taking the small pieces of chicken with his chopsticks. 

''Uh, yeah,'' I murmur, as I watch him, eating up those last few pieces of chicken as if they are his last, ''beside your protectiveness, what do you think?''

''Y/N, you've forgot one thing.'' Aguni says with a serious tone, placing down his chopsticks. 

''What?'' I question, acting dumb. Expecting him to answer, he just remains silent and gives me an even worse glare now, ''doctor's appointment,'' I add, ''come on, it doesn't have to be next week as well. Just check with them if they can postpone it.''   

He preserves silent, still staring up at me with a serious look on his face. Sigh.

''A trip with my friends is more important. Not to mention, it's our last as we're all parting ways soon because of university.''  

''To you. But to me, your health is more important Y/N.''

''I...understand, dad,'' I sigh, looking up at him, falsifying a smile, ''but look at me, I'm feeling fine. I've never been better.''

''Same as you claimed in the past, until it happened again and I was close to losing you forever.'' He asserts, this time his voice louder than before.

''Dad...cheer up,'' I exclaim, as I reach out my hand, placing it on top of his, ''it's...just because it happened then, doesn't mean it will happen again.''

''You don't know that. Your condition is serious-''

''I'll take care of myself. Alright?'' I murmur, squeezing his hand, ''please, can I go?''   

''Alright, alright. Under one condition, take care of yourself and as soon as you get back we're going to the doctors. Promise?''

''I promise.'' I holler, lunging from my seat to hug him before storming off to my room. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I lean my back on it. 

There was an eerie sentiment I felt within, a good sort though - just not sure for what exact reason yet. It felt like it was the calling card of an adventure, paths awaiting, what will transpire. Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be tears, but it was an exploration to take and so I smiled. The inklings would come, perhaps when I’d least expected it, so I’m ready to take this leap of faith.

[joshslater]

End of Shift

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My life is over. I've been playing a high stakes game, and somehow landed on one side of the odds all the time, but my luck was bound to run out sooner or later. I guess I should be happy that it turned out to be later, but it sucks no less. I got sloppy. I was looking through the items near the cashier, as always, trying to mostly use reflective surfaces to see what was going on, as always. I need to be within 15 feet or latency becomes an issue. Some old lady still using the old wallet was buying KokaKola and a pack of Ziffs. This would be easy, as always. I discreetly pressed my watch as she was ready to make the purchase, activating my EM-swiper. I wouldn't take much, a few credits more. She probably wouldn't notice it, or think the store stiffed her, or think she bought two packs of Ziffs and lost one. I'm not stealing to get rich, just to get by.

As the EM-swiper went off a high pitched beeping starts behind me. I barely have time to turn my head enough to see the charging police officer, before he slams me into the side of a KokaKola fridge. Shit, I hadn't done a survey pass through the store as I always do. I could barely register what he was screaming in my ear. "Drop it," I realize, and let go of the magazine. He must have thought I had the EM-swiper in my hand. He told me to put my hands against the wall and performed a pat-down. It's only him, so he must be off duty or not on a real patrol. He empties my pockets on the cashier table. Nothing of value, and certainly not something incriminating. I may not have been fortunate enough to afford academy, but I'm not stupid.

"You are detained under suspicion of committing proximity fraud. Do you understand?" he asks me in that commanding yet bored tone of a laborer having to recite corporate bullshit, only in his case it is in the pretense of justice. "Yes," I answer him. He doesn't have anything on me or he would have arrested me right away. Probably. "Put this on to acknowledge you've read the Citizen Rights Act and agree to an investigation in this matter." He hands me a pair of handcuffs to put on. I hesitate for a second. He is behind me and in the way of the store exit. I can stall for time and tell him to recite the CRA, but that immediately counts against you, as it is your duty to know it. I have no choice but to put them on. It's the latest model. I haven't seen any up close before. Light, thin, all metal, no key hole. Probably opened remotely or only inside a police cell or some shit. I put them on.

"Turn around, pick up your stuff, and exit the store." I do as told, turn around and begin to pick up my stuff and put them back where he took them. It's an older police officer. None of them young, jacked up types. Perhaps he is one of the fair ones. But then I am the criminal, so what good would that do me? There's a small, black duffle bag by his side. So he is on his way home. Perhaps he is tired. Perhaps I can shake him. Have Leo remove the shackles and then stay low for a fucking long time. Or this just doesn't amount to anything more than a slap on the wrist. I walk towards the door, him behind me.

"Nice watch," he says, pointing at my wrist as I reach or the door.

He knows. Unless I can get away now my life is over. All I can think of is the monstrosities the state churn out as punishment. Equal part labor force and sadism. I open the door as little as possible and as soon as I am through I dash down the block. I don't dare look behind me, but I don't hear him in pursuit. Halfway down the block I swerve into the alley that cuts across the building and out on the block on the other side. If I can cross that block and then down south I'm in the park and there are plenty of places to hide there.

My hands are not on fire. This surprises me as I look down on my hands, screaming in pain. There is a high pitched sound coming out of the handcuffs, like capacitors charging, but it is continuous. The pain emanating from my hands is something unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My legs buckle. I know I need to move, somehow, somewhere. It's just so difficult to think of anything but my hands that are not on fire. It would probably be a good idea to not scream my lungs out, but I don't really have a choice in that.

Just as suddenly as it started it stops. I'm still writhing in pain, but my hands are not on fire in a much more comforting way. "The payment proxy is in your watch, is it not?" the policeman asks, standing a few steps away. I'm panting, I realize when I attempt to answer him. Panting and sweaty. I can't manage to speak. I just nod my head.

"The state vs. item RK-220553 finds the defendant guilty to breach of contract with the state, executed by judicial AI 5" he reads off his handheld screen. I'm confused to what just happened. "No trial?" I manage to wheeze out. "You entered into a cooperation contract when you put on the handcuffs, as you are aware of as you claimed to know the Citizens Rights Act. Disobedience at that point allows for immediate trial by AI as long as no forensic work is needed." He sounded like the same bored cop as he was in the store, reciting memorized text for the thousandth time.

I struggle to get up on my feet. Not only am I shaky, but having my hands locked together makes it surprisingly difficult to get up. "You know, this is bad timing," the cop starts. "I was on my way home and don't have all the standard gear. It's supposed to be a swift punishment, for deterrence, but there is really only one thing I can do." Why is he so apologetic? He opens the bag and pulls out a fucking tactical human transformer. I've never even seen one in person before. He turns it on, selects something on the screen, and points the device towards me. "No, I can..."

This time I am on fire, if only so briefly. There is a blinding light, a pulse of heat, and the smell of burnt plastic. As the transient heat subsides it keeps falling colder and colder. I'm naked. All my clothes have been singed from my body. My watch is gone. My shoes are gone. Underwear gone. And, I realize, my hair is gone. The cop keeps punching in selections in the menus of the devices. I manage to get up on my feet. "Stay on the ground," he tells me. Not so much as an order, but as an advice. I sit down again and he trains the device on me.

I don't know how to describe it. It's not pain exactly. There is something about rewriting the code and cellular structure of your body while your brain is engaged that makes it give up in disbelief. "This can't be what's actually happening," it thinks and gives you completely nonsense sensory interpretations. But it also gives up on all other tasks. Time becomes irrelevant. Critical thinking put on hold. When the device stops you are utterly confused for seconds. Possibly by design, but it makes sense that you can't rewire the brain in flight without some glitches.

"I want you to stand up," the cop says in a firm voice. "Who?" I ask, still dazed, just to make sure. "You. Get up on both feet. Take this." He throws an orange bundle to me, and I feebly grasp for it but my one arm yanks the chain to the cuff of the other arm. The bundle brushes by and lands on the ground next to me. He looks disappointed, more at himself for thinking it would work than on me for not catching it.

I look down at my hand and see something orange in my grip, but it is not the orange that interests my but the grip. My arms, thin from lack of food and nimble from grabbing P2 storage modules out of vendor racks. are enormous. Big, well defined muscles with popped veins going up and around them. They look longer than before and even the hands are larger than they used to be. I can see that not only my arms are different. My chest is all lean and strong-looking as well, the legs have these weird lines showing different groups of muscles under the skin, and I can almost bet that the ground is further down than it used to be. Orange! I'm holding something orange in my hand.

"I only have an emergency kit with me, so not very many options for you I'm afraid. If you had come with me I think they would have found some better use for you, but as I said, I didn't have much to chose from beside himbot," the cop said while putting some beat-up looking boots from his bag next to me. He grabs the chain between my cuffs, and both of them pop open instantly, and he folds them up and begins to place them back into the cuff holder in his belt.

There was something he said that was important. Like, really important. I feel cobwebs like I had just been awakened from a deep sleep. "Put on the jock," he tells me, and again I am confused, but of a different kind. It's like I urgently need to know what he means, somehow. "You're holding them in your hand." I again look down at my hand and see the orange piece of cloth, which obviously is what he meant. I flip it around in my hands and finds it to be an orange jockstrap with a generous pouch. Looking down I also see the reason for that, since my dick and balls are large. Much larger than I remember them to be. I don't want to keep him waiting, so as quickly as I can manage, with my balance a bit off, I manage to place one leg in each loop and pull up the jockstrap. It neatly collects everything in front into a large orange ball.

Himbot! That's what he had said. It's like the government robots but human. What was the I and M now again? Wait, those are just mindless sacks of muscles roaming around doing whatever menial task is available.

"Himbot?" I ask him. "Yes, you are a himbot," the cop answered. "Put on the shirt."

I immediately grabbed the orange bundle from the ground I assumed to be the shirt. To my delight I was right and with just a few tries I managed to get it on me. It isn't a real shirt, but one of those without arms, whatever they are called. Quite a lot of skin showed. The shoulders were bare, as were the sides and the nipples unless you positioned the strings just right. Stringers! It's called a stringers, or something close to it. I feel so tired thinking of words.

"And the boots"

I grab one of the boots. There is something missing, but I'm not sure what it is. I has something to do with the small holes, I think. Well, the large hole is missing a foot, so I put one in it. Then I put the other foot in the other boot, and looked at the cop to see if he approved. He looks about the same. Good enough I hope.

"Face me and raise your hands" I comply immediately. He is pointing the large gun at me again. I don't like it, but I must do what he says. He presses a few buttons and then there is a sharp headache.

"Who are you?" "Himbot 220553." "What is your assignment?" "Walk along path 228-red responding to requests." "What types of requests?" "Any type of requests."

[justasimplesinner]

Yay! I was wondering if you can do different versions of Riddlers (The Batman, BTAS, YJ, Zero Year, etc) meet s/o who is a cute idol (a famous pop star singer)?

i only did those three because i honestly couldn't think up of more ideas for the others, hope you don't mind darlin!

BTAS!Eddie metting a cute idol hcs:

funny thing, you two met before he became a supervillain! you were doing a marketing campaign for the company he worked for, and fate had it that he was in charge of perfecting all the details and he also had to explain to you what you were even advertising. he was also familiar with your music, it often played in the background, and occassionally he saw some news about you

he's... surprised, to say the least. he expected you to be snotty and shallow and a complete idiot. you're none of those things. you don't treat him like a "nerd". you're actually... really nice. and genuine when you don't have to pretend. you're... really pretty, too. and you... treated him like a human being and not a tool. he's really trying not to act like all of your fans and fuss over you or come up to talk to you only to freeze and make a fool out of himself

you're a pleasure to work with - that's what he said. he really enjoyed talking with you, even outside of work when you two had some coffee together - that's what he admitted. he'd really love to meet up with you again after your work is done - that's what never left his mouth. you have to take initiative and ask him out, because he won't. he doesn't quite think himself suitable to ask you to go on a date with him and needs a little push in the right direction

Zero Year!Eddie meeting a cute idol hcs:

he recognized you from the radio. he usually doesn't go for music stations, but sometimes he's too lazy to change it or just hears it somewhere else. he honestly doesn't care for you. your music is alright enough to make him tap his leg sometimes. but he has little to no interest in you

obviously, you being a big deal and Bruce Wayne being a big deal, it was inevitable that you'd show up in Wayne Enterprises at some point in life. some of his colleagues are totally smitten with you, he honestly doesn't care. you two meet when Bruce is showing you around. you comment on some of his work, he dissmisively responds "you wouldn't understand" and wants to call it a day. but you tell him to try you. you challenge him. and of course, he does try to confuse you as much as he can, but you still make some sense of his rambling, and that's way more than he'd expect of you. or anyone for that matter

you two have a little chat. he's trying to find out just how well you can connect the dots he draws for you. you simply enjoy talking with someone that isn't fussing over you or being a creep. obviously, since you're going to work with Wayne Enterprises on a new charity/foundation you'll be the face of, you two "stumble" into each other more than once after that. you're the only person to stand being around Ed. he slowly stops purposefully making you feel stupid. both of you realize you're actually decent people (if i dare say that about Edward), and somehow, it all turns into something more

Arkham Knight!Eddie meeting a cute idol hcs:

Eddie knew you from... well, everywhere. your face was plastered everywhere, on the news, on the internet, on billboards, everywhere. and he's heard some of your songs in the radio whenever he stumbled upon the pop music station. he unconsciously bobbed his head to your songs whenever they played as background noise

you two probably met at some store late at night undercover (both undercover for way different reasons), and you can bet your ass he will immediately assume you are an utter fucking idiot and will talk to you with this hella condescending tone. like, he will literally come up to talk to you but at the same time act like you're bothering him or lowering the level of his IQ simply by existing in the same space. he's an asshole

you just tell him that for someone who calls himself The Riddler he sure as hell does suck at going undercover. a small argument ensues. which turns into an actually decent conversation. the store clerk is fuming, you're thriving. you probably stayed after closing time, browsing the alleys like you actually had a purpose and the clerk had to tell you three times to get to the damn checkout. soon enough, Ed found himself with your private number (god only knows why you trusted him this easily, but he likes to think it's because you've liked him so much) and a small, dopey smile on his face. even he has no idea how the fuck he managed to make someone like him enough to want to meet up with him again

[that-guy-sleepy-miles]

Enucleator

A short story about Macaque and @kitkat1003's Yin/Spirit, and an idea I had. TW// Eyeballs, Eating Eyeballs, Gore Word Count: 989 ______ When Macaque had gone into town he hadn’t expected the kid to be there, but the type of market they worked in whispered to the shadows so the name ‘Spirit’ reached him one way or another. And, truth be told, he was excited. He knew it was childish, to be excited to see someone he hadn’t heard of for years upon years. To be excited to see the match that held that light he snuffed out. He slipped through the shadows, following Spirit’s trail as it winded through the streets. As he traveled the streets they got closer and closer, dingier and dirtier. He saw signs of a struggle down the last alleyway, a tipped-over bin, and 2 sets of footprints. His shadow expanded as he slipped down into the alleyway, ready to protect Spirit. It was stupid, but the instincts rose in his chest anyway as he snarled. A scream tore through the alleyway before it was cut short by one clean slash. Blood splattered over the wall and Macaque’s face, or more appropriately the shadow where his face would be. He slipped back to the mouth of the alley and swelled with pride. An effective kill. He stepped out of the shadow and went to start walking when Spirit crouched down. He watched as the kid readjusted their grip on the weapon and leaned down over the body. What in the world were they doing…? The kid’s tail went still, stopping its constant movement as they focused on their work. Macaque went closer with silent footsteps, holding his breath as he tried to see what the kid was doing. There was the sound of something squelching, a pause as the kid exhaled in some sort of relief. Macaque got right behind them and almost leaned over, but they whipped around. And then he saw it, in their hand. They’d cut the full thing out, the nerves too, there was nothing sloppy about it. It was done with precision.

In their hand, the kid held the man’s eyeball. They raised their weapon, but then their eyes zeroed in on him. “...Mac?” “I-I told you not to call me that.” His voice was shaky as he tried to act like himself. He couldn’t stop looking at the eyeball. “Oh my gods-” The kid got up and went to hug him, but they stopped suddenly and brought their hands back. “I- I never- Wow.” “It’s good to see you too.” Macaque chuckled emptily. “So… Uh… how have you been?” “Oh! Oh!” There their tail went like he wasn’t holding a human eyeball, wagging back and forth. “I’m good! I’ve been better- but I’m okay!” Macaque smiled, “That’s good, that’s good…” The kid smiled back. Macaque took them in and they looked just the same and so very different at the same time. They were still taller than him, they looked stronger than him with the muscles in their lanky arms. He felt small. He felt like they could rip out his eyeballs. They seemed to remember the eyeballs too and perked up. “Oh! Give me a second, will you?” They didn’t wait for his response and went back to the body, making quick work of the other eyeball. They hummed and wiped his brow before turning back with a big smile. “Sorry- I’m on the job!” They were apologizing again, Macaque hated that. They waved their hands around a bit before resting their hand on the back of their head. The hand that wasn’t holding the eyeballs. “I’m just finishing up, actually!” “Don’t say sorry when you haven’t done anything.” He groaned. “You know nobody wants to hear that.” The kid curled their tail around their leg and rubbed their arm. That was so familiar, Macaque could almost forget what had just happened. Almost. “Hey, don’t do that.” Macaque huffed. Then he looked back to Spirit’s hands. “Soooo, what’s with the eyeballs?” “Hm?” Spirit looked up to him and then smiled, happy to change the topic of conversation. “Oh! I’m on the job it’s something I, uh, do!” “So they asked you to removed them..?” Macaque was glad to think that. The kid was too soft, they’d never do that just to do that! Of course, someone asked them t- “Huh? No, I- just like doing that! Do you- Uh, do you want one?” What? “Y- you..” Macaque lost his voice but then forced himself to find it again. “Do I want one?” “Y- Yeah!” The kid smiled and put their hand to their chin like they weren’t talking about wanting eyeballs. “I think they’re pretty tasty, but not so good by themselves. They go well with jam, but I don’t think I have any on me- by the time we got somewhere they’d be cold and I hate them cold.” Macaque could barely stop the gag rising in his throat, and swallowed the bile. He looked up at the kid and blinked, trying to think through this situation. Where- Where was his kid? Where had they gone- Who was this and why were they eating eyeballs? Macaque thought back to the head they’d given him all those years ago, the way they’d sewn its eyes shut. “I-” Macaque stopped and inhaled, steeling himself. “I don’t want any eyeballs.” Spirit smiled, seemingly not bothered. They were bothered by everything except Macaque not wanting their eyeballs. Of course. They opened their jaw and popped the eyeball in like it was a regular snack, like it wasn’t what it was. Squish. They chewed the eyeball, the sounds making Macaque cringe. He watched their jaw work, watched them swallow, in complete silence. He felt smaller than he already was, watching them eat the eyeball with as much casualness as their body was capable of holding. “Wh… Why do you do that?” Macaque found his speech and looked up at the kid. “Hm? Oh! They can’t look at you if you eat their eyes.”

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Tere Bin - Chapter 7

Read from the beginning | Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Mehrama (listen while reading)

Arnav

Khushi was silent as he pulled out into the road. The confines of the car magnified her floral scent. His memory had not done it justice.

“Where am I going?” he asked as they approached a junction with a much busier road.

“There’s a place I can catch another auto there,” she gestured vaguely to the right. “Just drop me off.”

Arnav rejected the idea after a brief consideration — he was not going to leave her alone at night. He turned towards the river.

“I said I’ll drop you home. Just tell me where to go.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“What was it you said to me? Your family worries about you. Your Jiji cries when you’re late. Think about them.”

A necessary cruelty, he told himself as she fell silent.

He took a bend slightly too fast, felt the force push him towards the centre console. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Khushi press against her door as she clutched the handle for support.

She wasn’t wearing her seat belt.

“Put your belt on,” he snapped, concentrating on finding a way back over the river.

When he didn’t hear the click of her belt a few seconds later, he flicked his eyes in her direction to find her struggling with it. Irritation burned hot and bright in his chest as he pulled over with a curse. She startled as he unsnapped his belt. His pulse stuttered as he noticed the sheen of tears.

Damn it. Why do I always make her cry?

He leaned over her, yanking the seat belt across her body as he spoke. “It’s late. You’re alone. But I can turn around if you really want.”

She seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. A hunger awoke under his exasperation, turning his glare into something else as his fingers tried to linger. He clicked the belt into place.

“No,” Khushi voice trembled as he eased back into his seat. “Keep taking this road. Turn towards the market where the shop is.”

“You live near the shop?” he rejoined traffic smoothly.

“Behind it. It’s called G-Gomti Sadan.”

He remembered enough about Lucknow’s roads to guess they were twenty minutes away.

Not long enough.

He slowed, noting the tension uncoil from Khushi’s body as he did so, and felt irrationally angry at her fear.

As if I’d let anything happen to her.

The unwelcome memory of her fall from his cabin’s window rose to the surface of his mind.

“What were you doing out here?” he asked to distract himself.

“I … uhh … I was visiting a clinic.”

“At night?”

“N-no. It was afternoon when I got there but there was a misunderstanding about Babu— about something … and now I’m late.”

Khushi gazed out her window, “Amma will be worried.”

“Don't you have a phone?” his own worry sharpened his words. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

“You broke my phone, remember? I was using Babu-ji’s but the battery died.”

The way she spoke — words glum and tone resigned — prompted him to study her at the next traffic light. Her shoulders were drooped, her eyes fixed on the twist and untwist of her hands in her lap.

A hollow opened somewhere in the region of his chest. He’d been thinking of her father in the abstract — the illness something to be handled and fixed — but now it dawned on him that she might be on the verge of losing a parent.

Her adoptive father, he recalled the gossiping women. She’s gone through this before.

“Khushi …” his tone was gentle. “Are you alright?”

She twisted in her seat, her mouth falling open, and he was surprised to see that her cheeks were dry. “I … yes … I’m fine.”

The jut of her chin reminded him of Teej.

“Have you eaten?” he asked suddenly.

“No.”

He swung onto a side-street without a word, heading towards a late-night cafe he knew and liked. Predictably, Khushi objected.

“Where are you going? You said you would take me home!”

“I’ll take you somewhere to eat first.”

“No!”

She reached out, maybe to place her hand on his arm, but faltered before making contact.

He pushed aside his disappointment.

Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

“I don’t want you to faint on me again,” his words were clipped.

Khushi turned away with a huff, crossing her arms across her chest as she mumbled something. He caught the words “Laad Governor”. His question died on his lips as she squealed and pointed to something on the other side of the road.

“Gol gappe! Let’s go there.”

Her eyes were bright, her smile wide in childish delight. Without a word, he found a place to turn around and parked near the stall she’d pointed to.

She was out of the car in a flash, rounding the front to speak to the vendor. When Arnav reached her, the owner was already smiling at Khushi’s enthusiasm and letting her taste his wares for free. She popped one into her mouth, eyes closed in ecstasy as she savoured the taste.

And he forgot his own name.

Recovering himself with a small cough as she opened her eyes, he bought two servings.

“You don’t have to …” the beginnings of her protest faded away as he walked off with both.

He felt his lips curve in amusement as Khushi stared after him and only called her name when he reached the car.

“What?” her irritation was clear in her tone.

“You don’t want to eat?”

She was still scowling when she joined him. He passed some over, watching as she used the bonnet of the car as a table. She ate two pieces before looking up at him.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“No.”

Shrugging, Khushi went back to her plate. When she was done, he silently handed her the second, ignoring her confused outburst. She ate slowly, pausing often to glance up at him, but her thoughts remained a mystery.

His own words kept getting lost on the way to his tongue.

“Get in,” he inclined his head towards the passenger side once she’d eaten it all.

Khushi stepped around him with a nod. Her shoe slipped on the loose gravel, and she reached out with a yelp. He caught her on instinct, his hands wrapping around her waist as she clutched his arm. The slight breeze fluttered her hair around her face as everything inside him seemed to come to a standstill.

Weeks of not seeing her, of barely hearing her voice, had turned him into a starving man. Arnav was hyper-aware of every point of contact between their bodies. His heart hammered, heat expanding from his chest to his fingertips. Khushi blinked at him slowly, her chest rising and falling as her breath came in sharp pants. He watched the way her eyes drifted to his lips before flicking back up. Her bottom lip trembled before she pulled it between her teeth. Barely stifling a groan, he dared to hold her closer, sliding a hand across her back. She tightened her grip on the sleeve of his jacket in response.

It felt like absolution.

The flow of time only restarted when she made to pull away. Releasing her with great reluctance — and wanting nothing more than to somehow prolong the fragile moment — he watched Khushi toy with the hem of her suit as she recovered her composure. It was only when she glanced downwards that he realised his hand was still in the air. He lowered it slowly, profoundly aware she was not his to hold.

In the car, their silence was only broken by her softly spoken directions as she led him to her home. She navigated him to a narrow alley, and they reached a large sign that proclaimed they’d reached Gomti Sadan too soon.

Arnav parked the car, his mind busily generating ways to convince her to stay another minute or two.

She spoke before he could. “ I … I mean … th-thank you.”

He acknowledged her with a nod. “Do you want me to drop you inside?”

“You don’t have to—”

“—I didn’t have to do any of the things I did tonight,” he said simply.

Another silence.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

But it was. Not for the first time, he wondered how things would be between them if their beginning been completely different. Gentler.

Would we get along?

Would she say my name?

A part of him understood that Khushi was unaware of just how profoundly things had changed for him. He had no name for what he wanted, only the knowledge that he burned with wanting it. But her heart and mind lingered at the guesthouse, unable to process the rescue she’d all but given up on while her father remained ill.

The gates to the residence opened, revealing a blue-clad figure that bent to get a better look inside the car. Arnav realised his time was up.

“Khushi,” he spoke moments before she opened her door. “I have an idea.”

She glanced back at him as her sister approached, “What?”

“Well, it’s just that you like arguing so much, and we argue so often …”

The curiosity on her features morphed into outrage, but he continued nonetheless. Outside, her sister froze as she recognised him.

“… I think we should keep in touch.”

A speechless Khushi Kumari Gupta was a sight to behold.

Chapter 8