#Sorry pal! I guess we were watching different shows!

[amtrak12]

[Image ID: AO3 comment with the username cropped out that says “The characters in this story are just so unlikable, Lucifer in the first few chapters, and Chloe in this one. Their dialogue makes it seem like they never had anything but a contentious relationship.”]

Yikes! Looks like someone’s just been watching fanvid highlight reels for the last three years. :S

[mydarllinglover]

SafeHouse || Three

Previous

I spent most of the time in lessons looking out for Malfoy and waiting for his arrival, dont ask me why, I had no idea myself, but I would tell you it was to make sure he was okay, for Hagrids benefit.

The rest of the time was spent in the library, trying to catch up on my studies and incase I had missed anything from the two years I spent at Beaubaxtons on a different learning course.

I hadn't seen a lot of Ron and Harry, only really Hermione and that was mostly just in silence as we both studied.

It was Thursday, in potions class with the Gryffindors when Malfoy swaggered in, his right arm bandaged up and wrapped in a sling, he was acting as though he was this heroic survivor who had just slain a dragon to save a poor village, not a prick who decided to piss off a Hippogriff. 

"How is it, Draco?" Pansy simpered after him "does it hurt much?"

"Yeah" Malfoy replied, putting on a brave grimace. But I as well as the rest of the class caught the wink he sent to his two cronies when Pansy looked away, making me roll my eyes at the show.

"Settle down, Settle down" Professor Snape told the class, I rolled my eyes again at the fact that the only people who were talking was Malfoy and Parkinson.

We were making a shrinking solution today.

Malfoy decided to set up his cauldron next to Ron and Harry so they would be preparing their ingredients on the same table whilst I worked on a table with Hermione.

I heard Malfoy call out to Professor Snape "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm-"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoys roots for him" Snape had instructed my twin without looking up.

I watched how my brother went Brick red

"Theres nothing wrong with your arm" I saw him hiss at Malfoy.

I looked at Hermione, her giving me a grimace back as we sensed Ron would be losing it very quickly, and with Snape in charge this surely would end badly for my dear brother.

"you dont mind do-"

"Go, make him switch with you, its fine" Hermione told me

I walked over to Harry and Ron, trying my best to go unnoticed By Snape, I may be a Slytherin, but it didn't mean he was that keen on me.

"Hey, Ron do you mind switching with me, I cant quite see the board from my place, but I don't wanna leave Hermione on her own" I hinted to him

"Really? maybe you should just write to mum, she can- Ow, okay, see ya Harry" He finally got it after I kicked him in the shin, then picked up his own stuff and brought it over to my old spot.

"Thanks" Harry mumbled to me, probably glad that he wouldn't have to pull Ron off of Malfoy and most likely ending up in detention.

"I'm pretty sure Snape meant the other Ginger, but you'll do, I guess" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

I returned it as I cut up his daisy roots neatly, knowing nothing else would be good for his Majesty "will that be all your royal highness?" I asked him with no emotion.

Instead of answering me, he called to Snape again "And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned" he told the greasy man with a malicious laugh

"Potter, you can skin Malfoys Shrivelfig" Harry made quick work on it, throwing it back to Malfoy, almost hitting me in the face with it in the mean time.

"Seen your pal, Hagrid lately?" Malfoy asked us quietly

"Mind your business" I whispered back at him, not bothering to look up just to be met with his stupid smirk.

"I'm afraid he wont be a teacher much longer,' Malfoy explained, putting on a voice of mock sorrow, as if he actually cared "Fathers not very happy about my injury"

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I don't remember asking, I'm much more interested in making this potion" I snapped, finally breaking to lift my head up to face him, I could hear Harry let out a chuckle next to me, making sure to keep his face well out of sight.

Malfoy didn't find my comment near enough as funny as he furrowed his eyebrows, a glare of hatred seeping onto his dull pale face, but before he could say anything my attention went to poor Neville, and Snape who had a ladle of his potion and sneering at him.

"Orange, Longbottom" He dropped the ladle back into the cauldron, letting it splash so that everyone in the class could see. "Orange. Tell me boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?" my jaw dropped at how cruel that horrible man could really be, no wonder he was Slytherins Head of House, no offence to myself.

"Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly that only one rat spleen was needed? didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? what do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

Neville was pink and trembling, any more and he sure would be a fountain of tears.

"Please, sir" Hermione pleaded "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

"I dont remember asking you to show off Miss Granger, Longbottom at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."

"Sir" I couldn't help myself as I grabbed his and the rest of the classes attention

"Keira, what are you doing?" Harry hissed at me

"Yes, Miss Weasley" He drawled

"Dont you think that if Neville is constantly messing up his potions in your classes, but hes good in everything else, that maybe, you're the problem? Hm, because, aren't you the teacher?" I saw Ron and Hermiones eyes bulge, but a proud smile on Ron's face that I actually just said that to him

"Detention Miss Weasley! I will not accept those sorts of accusations in my Class, Your lucky you're in my house, other whys there would be a lot more of Points missing for the hourglass, Back to your potions, all of you!" He ordered all of us

"Keira, well done! why would you do that, its only gonna come back and bite you!" Harry lectured me" Who knows what he's going to make you do in detention"

"I cant stand bullies!" I rolled my eyes

"Maybe your dumber than I thought, Weaslette" Malfoy chuckled

"Nice one, Weasley!" Seamus Finnigan told me as he came up beside Harry. "Hey, Harry" he greeted him as he leaned over to borrow his brass scales "Have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning- they reckon Sirius Black has been sighted."

"Where?" Harry asked him, Malfoy lifting his head to listen closely.

"Not too far from here" Seamus said excitedly "It was a Muggle who saw him. Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles just think hes an ordinary criminal, dont they? So she 'Phoned the telephone hotline'. By the time the ministry of magic got there, he was gone." 

Catching Malfoy still eavesdropping I thought it best No more was said until it was safer to talk

"Thanks Seamus, for letting us know" I gave him a smile

"Anytime, Keira, see ya round? maybe up Hogsmeade for a butterbeer?" He asked me

"Seamus, Haven't you got a potion to explode?" My brother called from his table, making Seamus glare at him and walk back to his table

"Wait was he asking me ou-

"Yes, Weasley, wow your obliviousness is really astounding, you could give Potter a run for his gold" Malfoy said

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now. This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away whilst it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's ..."

Harry and I packed up our unused ingredients, then met Ron at the Wash basin as Hermione mumbled instructions to Neville out of the corner of her mouth.

"Your an idiot, Keira!" He told me

"Gee thanks" I deadpanned "love you too"

"You should of just kept your mouth shut, dont be surprised if mum sends an howler" 

"Wow, didn't realise talking bad to a teacher is as bad as stealing a flying car and getting caught by muggles and ending up on the front page of newspapers"

"Sorry, mate but she's got you there" Harry chimed in

"shut up Harry!" Ron said

With the end of the lesson in sight, Snape was by Nevilles Cauldron

"Gather round" Snape told us "And watch what happens to Longbottoms Toad. if he managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. if, as I dont doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

I held my breath as the Gryffindors looked fearful and the Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Nevilles Toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into his now green potion. He trickled a few drops down the toads throat.

There was a moment of silence, in which it gulped, followed by a small pop and a tadpole was wriggling in Snapes palm.

The Gryfindors and I broke into applause, clearly dampening Snapes mood, as he fixed the tadpole, bringing back a toad.

"Five points from Gryffindor" said Snape, cutting short their cheers

"What!?"

"Something to say , Miss Weasley, you've grown into the Gryffindor Cheerleader lately, we might have to have another sorting ceremony" Snape said in a bored monotone voice

"Sir, how is that fair?! Your taking points away, because your student got a potion right, I would've thought that would make you glad, that your teaching seems to be working"

"Miss Weasley, if you speak again during this lesson, you will be in detention until you finish seventh year!" He told me.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me now, Most of the Slytherins laughing amongst each other, all but Malfoy.

After class, instead of joining my friends for lunch I went to the library, this time just to cool down and be by myself for a while until my next class.

I hated potions with a passion, it was a class I was good at but everything about it just pissed me off, especially the professors that taught it, I've never met a good Potions Professor.

I had managed to fall asleep where I was sat at the library, meaning I would be late for my Defence Against The Dark Arts class, once again with the Gryffindors.

I raced to the classroom, throwing the door in a rush but luckily Lupin wasn't there yet, but everyone had their eyes on me as i stood there panting. Luckily Hermione had saved me a seat, as I rushed to get my stuff out of my bag

"Where were you?" Ron asked me, rather louder than I would of liked, from the table next to us "And why weren't you at lunch, you've been skipping a lot of meals lately, mum wont like that"

"Shut up Ronald, its not like you dont eat enough for the both of us" I sneered

"Har har, but why are you late, you coulda got in trouble if lupin wasn't late either"

"I fell asleep in the library, alright, why are you so bothered" I rolled my eyes.

Lupin then walked in, looking a considerably lot better than when we saw him on the train.

"Good afternoon, would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands,'

Ron and I met eye contact Instantly, curiosity obvious in both our eyes.

Lupin led us to the new classroom "What d'ya reckon we'll be doing?" I asked the other three

"Whatever it is, I hope it has nothing to do with Cornish Pixies" Harry grumbled

I quirked an eyebrow in confusion "is this another long story thing?" I asked them

"Not really, lockhart brought cornish pixies to our lesson last year, and caused chaos, poor neville even got stuck on the chandelier, bless him" Hermione sighed at the memory

"Glad I wasn't there than, I hate heights"

Turning a corner we were met with Peeves, who I had met very quickly when Fred and George planned a prank with him after telling me they were going to give me the Fred & George grand Hogwarts tour, there was nothing grand about it.

Peeves was floating upside down in the air and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

"Loony, loopy lupin" Peeves sang repeatedly, we waited for Lupin to put an end to Peeves shenanigans as most teachers did but were surprised to see him still smiling

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole, if I were you, Peeves, Mr filch wont be able to get in to his brooms." After the only reply he got in return was a loud wet raspberry, Lupin sighed and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell,' he told us "please watch carefully"

he pointed his wand to shoulder height "Waddiwasi" than pointed it at Peeves. I watched in amusement as the Piece of gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves left nostril, causing the poltergeist to zoom off with a string of curses.

I let out a laugh, some of the class joining me

"Cool, sir!" Dean Thomas said, his eyes shining bright with a smile up to his eyebrows as if he just met his idol

"Thank you, Dean, Shall we proceed?" He asked us as he put away his wand

We started of again and I took notice how most of the class looked at our Professor, with much more respect.

We finally got to our destination "inside, please" Professor Lupin ushered us in.

We were stood in a staff room, full of mismatched chairs was empty apart from one teacher.

Professor Snape, he looked surprised to see us coming in, before Lupin could close the door, he interrupted him.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this" Getting to his feet he strode past us, his black robes billowing behind, giving him a dramatic flare. Before stopping at the door. "Possibly no ones warned you, Lupin but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear" He sneered. Neville had gone considerably scarlet.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation" Lupin replied "and im sure he will perform it admirably." Wow, Lupin was making fast work of becoming my favourite Professor already.

Snape curled his lip, clearly not liking the response "Miss Weasley, you must not forget your detention tonight, you might want to discuss with some of your beloved Gryffindors on how to properly clean things, maybe" and with that he left, shutting the door with a snap. it was now my turn to turn red as some of my fellow Slytherins laughed

"How the hell did you become hated by your own Head of House so much, Miss Weasley?" Lupin asked me, making my eyes go wider

"Wow, thanks Sir" he gave a laugh at my reply

"Now, then" he beckoned our attention back to the class and leading us towards the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old Wardrobe. Lupin went to stand next to it.

I jumped back as the Wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about" Professor told us calmly "There's a boggart in there.' for someone who told us not to worry, he was sure going the wrong way about it. "Boggarts like dark enclosed spaces,' said Professor Lupin as he continued to list spaces that Boggarts like.

He then asked us what a Boggart was, and of course Hermione answered, giving an answer that belonged in an cyclopedia, then Harry answered a question, trying his best to concentrate with Hermione a bundle of answers ready to untangle. 

I was starting to get nervous about the practical, if we really had to go up against a boggart, what even was my biggest fear that would scare me so much, surely it wouldn't be heights, how scary can that be when I know that i'm safe and on the ground.

Luckily my last name was Weasley so there was probably a fat chance that I would even have to go up against it in the time for our class, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of someone knowing one of my weaknesses.

I tuned back into what was being discussed when professor Lupin told us "The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practise the charm without wands first. After me please, ... Riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus" we chanted after

"Good, very good. But that was the easy part, i'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville"

The wardrobe shook again, all I could think was, better him than me, As Neville walked forward.

"Right, Neville."

•

"Whew, thank God for Harry Potter" I sighed as I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead as the class walked out of the room

"Gee thanks, glad to be of service" He deadpanned

"Thanks to you, I didn't have to be humiliated by having whatever my worst fear shown in front of the whole class, ugh, I could kiss you right now" I gushed as I cupped his face in my hands, his eyes going wide

"Wait, really?" He looked at me with this sort of hopeful look in his eyes as I held his face

"No!" Ron said as he pulled the back of my robes away from his friend

"You're no fun, Ronald" I complained.

"So, Harry whens Quidditch starting again?" Ron asked, quickly changing the subject

"I dont know really, I kinda just wait for Wood to tell us, my own personal alarm clock" Harry joked

"Who's wood? sounds like a pretty weird name"

"He's Gryffindors quidditch team Captain, he's in seventh Year" Hermione told me as we neared the Great Hall

"Wait, hang on, So this kid-

"Keira, Hes seventeen"

"Anyways, He rides brooms, team captain, and his names wood, that's the most boring but funny thing I've ever heard" I laughed

"Potter, I wanna talk to you about the upcoming season" A Scottish voice said behind us, I turned to see who had coincidentally brought that up after just discussing it, and I was met with the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life.

I was transfixed as I stared at him, how could someone be so perfect, i'm pretty sure this is what love at first sight was

"What are you doing?" I broke out of my trance to see My friends had left with Captain dreamy and Malfoy had took their spot

"Who's that?" I pointed at the love of my life

"Him? Gryffindors captain, Oliver Wood, he's got this weird obsession with Quidditch, its like his only personality trait" Malfoy drawled

"Thats wood?!" I stopped still, My future husband was an athlete, better yet, captain.

"Yeah, why?"

"Is he single?" I faced Malfoy now

"He's like four years older than you" He blinked at me

"You didn't answer my question" I sighed after Wood had completely left my vision

"whatever Weasle- wait where are you going?" He jogged after me as I walked away from the Great Hall and to the dungeons

"To my dorm? to mentally prepare myself for my detention with Snape" I told him the truth

"What, and your not going to have dinner?"

"No, I don't wanna sit at the table, and its more stricter at dinner, anyways, its none of your business, bye Malfoy" before he could say anything else, I sprinted away from him so I could nap.

I was currently in the freezing cold dungeons in Snapes Classroom, cleaning up the mess from this morning as Snape marked Homework.

As I cleaned I was singing a muggle song "just the two of us" under my breath, to keep my spirits bright.

"Weasley!" Snape shouted over my singing as I got louder without even realising

"yep, yeah, sorry sir"

"Just...the ...two of us" I started again, pretending as if I were singing into a mic

"Goodbye, Miss Weasley!" Snape pointed at the door.

Score, that wasn't even my intention.

Next

[fictionkinfessions]

i'm not super into the bnha fandom much anymore, but sometimes i get glances into it from the people i still follow and, in an even smaller sometimes, see myself & the way i am and my relationships are perceived and... it's quite funny honestly. take aizawa shouta. i'm a shinsou hitoshi fictionkin - he's my mentor in canon. everyone thinks he's my dad or dad figure. NOT TO ME! lmao. he was just... my teacher. as a newbie student, he was a cool guy that i was lowkey afraid of. i liked him and our preferences for fighting styles matched up, and of course he was my way into the hero course/the hero industry. so i wormed my way into becoming his apprentice, and when i got to know him, my feelings towards him were like... sympathetic. i felt bad for how hard he worked all the time and the way he didn't have many breaks (i can't remember what he was like in canon, but where i'm from he was extremely involved in both his job as a teacher and as an underground hero). i never sought his protection or support like a father. just a high mark on my tests (validation feels good in every universe).

then, when i became an adult and a full blown hero, he became much more relatable. i also became quite the workaholic, although i only went into hero work so not to his degree. we went on missions together regularly because when my quirk failed and i got into a tough spot, 9 times outta 10 his quirk would work. and vice versa. we also hung out and would sit with our stupidly unhealthy spicy takeout ramen on the top of rooftops and just be in each other's presence. we were friends. we texted often, mostly cat pictures/videos and blurry sightings of each other when we were on separate but same-time patrols. i showed up and berated his students for him when he was too immersed in his paperwork and i had some free time. i think... maybe the mentor & apprentice thing showed, but not much. i learned about his past. he learned about mine. we were each other's support pillars. each other's sounding boards, places to bounce bad and not so bad ideas off of. he's my guy that i always know has a lighter on him even though he doesn't smoke. they're different every time because i keep stealing them lol. (sometimes on accident, mostly on purpose.)

i dunno where i'm going with this. i guess i just wanted to talk about him. i think of him more often than most of my source mates because of how different the canon/fanon & my source is. i think he would laugh at it too.

and also. happy valentines day. i'd probably send you some long bait-and-switch message bullying you for still being single at your geriatric age. and i know you'd have a good day on valentines because i'd climb through the teachers lounge window and be there that day to watch your students be idiots with crushes n we'd laugh at them behind our capturing scarves together. but since i'm not there, if any aizawa is reading this - or, hell, just anyone, i'm not an asshole - i wish you a good day. or night. or... morning, evening, whatever. good timezone to you pal. o/

- hitoshi. 💜 [no need to emoji tag that, it's not an anon signoff.]

p.s sorry for the bulky paragraphs and probably many run on sentences.

placeholder text because tumblr wont let me post ask messages without something in the reply box

[sinnershavesoulstoo]

I'm just. We all know I'm in love with the guy at work.

But like why? He's not even as good of a friend as i make him seem. I'm the good friend. I'm the one keeping our friendship afloat. I message him first, I bring him snacks, I start the conversations, I'm sending the memes. Honestly - if I stopped? I'm not sure we'd be friends? We'd be work friends for sure (uhh we'd be pals, probably not bffs) - but outside of that...for sure not. And recently, he's been pulling away from our friendship. We used to message more often, he used to talk to me more at work. I know he's been talking to this girl and my assumption is it's moving in a good direction because they FaceTimed for 3 hours the other night. And he hates talking on the phone. He's also come into work and has complained about being really tired (which I assume is because he's up all night talking to her?) And I don't want to be jealous? Because that's not helping anyone. Especially since the feelings are mutual and it's a one sided thing here.

I can keep feeding my delulus, but that's not going to work in the long run. I've asked my tarot cards and they have all hinted at me and him working out eventually, the tiktok trends have been the same. But I want him to be happy. But I want to be happy too.

A girl at work tells me I need to meet new people all the time but this dumb false hope I have about him makes it to where I don't want to meet new people because I'm so hung up on him and hoping something comes of it.

I know people are different and I know they show emotions differently.

We're so different though.

Different love languages, different levels of intelligence, different world views. He doesn't like pets. (Unrelated)

Different lives. Completely different.

I grew up in a fucked up house with fucked up family all around - he grew up with 3 brothers and 2 parents. He had (and still has) love and support from a big family. He lived a fairly normal life, had friends, had purpose, had a life. I had an estranged sister, parents who fought all the time, parents who weren't involved, a mother who wanted / wants to suffocate me... He was married, he has kids. I barely had a functional relationship with 2 people.

I feel like i'm not good enough to be his friend because I feel inferior. He's so smart, and he uses big words and has actual conversations... the conversations I have with him and with people in general feel... shallow? Like, he's out here having conversations about the world. Things happening at work that means something, conversations about how to fix things in a fundamental manner. He uses words like fundamental? I don't know what that means, really. He watches the news, he has a lot of 'adult' qualities - and I feel like I'm a kid parading around in a kind of adult body. He can make educated guesses and he's definitely got better control of his emotions. Again. I'm like an unregulated toddler and he's a normal functioning adult.

I cry all the time and get my feelings hurt all the time, and I take things too seriously. And he's so even keeled and calm and doesn't let things get to him too much.

He's not good at...a lot of other stuff, though.

I think my emotional intelligence is definitely higher than his, he isn't good at helping people, he'll even tell you so. He always tells me he's the worst. Sometimes it feels like he's doing a...? "Oh woe is me I'm not good enough, I'm sorry but I'm going to keep being the worst, but I want to acknowledge that I know it" I don't know if I'm projecting because that's how Jacob acted or if he really is and I'm just ignoring it.

I don't know. I'm just talking it out I think because ???

Like. I really and truly like him - but the compatibility levels? Low. I think. He's into other girls and definitely not me. If he were into me, wouldn't I know? I see how he looks at girls he finds attractive, he can barely look at me when we talk.

I don't know what I'm even talking about. I'm trying to convince myself we're not good for each other, but I want to continue feeding my delusions about us working out. But if we worked it out, it wouldn't last long. I wish it would.

[cornfieldsrambles]

no but you know what else

He always shows up in places where people have just died (the Serpent Sister that got turned to gold at the pie factory, a bunch of the Baker's Dozen getting exploded with the unicorn horns). which makes sense; even if he's going out of his way to target Puss, he's still Death and has a job to do, so he'd be there to collect up their souls or whatever

WHICH MEANS

That not only was Death following him around for the entire movie

BUT

He was DRAGGING AN INCREASINGLY LARGE NUMBER OF DEAD PEOPLE'S SOULS ALONG WITH HIM

WHILE FOLLOWING PUSS EVERYWHERE

FOR THE ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE

Which is the FUNNIEST THING IN THE WORLD to me

like can you imagine

...

"DEAR LORD DID I JUST TURN TO STONE"

"Gold, actually. Name's Death. Nice to meet you."

"...wait, I'm dead?!"

"I mean your instinctive reaction upon being shown a golden hand called 'The Midas Touch' was to grab it with both hands. I don't know what you were expecting."

"Uh. Crap, I didn't think this through. So what, are you going to escort me to the afterlife or something?"

"...Well. Not yet."

"Huh? Why not?"

"I've got some, shall we say, unfinished business to attend to. I wasn't planning on having to pick up any other souls along the way, so I... guess you'll have to come with me."

...

"Gonna be honest. Of all the ways I thought I'd go out. 'Being ripped to pieces by sentient flowers that then went on fire for no reason, right after watching Jared be digested alive by another sentient flower' was not how I imagined it."

"Well, not that it makes a difference. You're all with me now, so..."

"At least we're all here together!"

"Not really. There's like... five of us. Including that random Serpent Sister over there."

"'Sup."

"So... what, we're following this overdramatic furry around on his weird revenge scheme before he finally takes us to whatever's next?"

"I mean yeah, pretty much."

"I would kill all of you if I could."

...

"He... shot me! He actually shot me!"

"Yeah, surprise surprise, throwing your lot in with the evil plum-pie man was a bad idea. The rest of the club's right here."

"HI, GUYS!"

"This is great! I mean... not GREAT, we're all dead, but we can be dead as a team!"

"Honestly I've been wishing I was dead for eight years now."

"Huh."

"Working for Mr Horner will do that to ya."

"That or it'll just kill you directly."

"Alright - you lot sit tight, I've got to go pose dramatically on a rock for a few seconds, then I'll be right back."

"...why?"

"It'll freak out Puss."

"Yeah but how does that help you kill him?"

"Hey, that's a good point - if you're Death, why can't you just waltz in and kill him right now so we can all move on?"

"Juego con mi comida."

"...seriously?"

"Especially when the food deserves knocking down a peg, having a few feathers ruffled before the final blow. You know?"

"Uggggh..."

"How long is this going to TAKE?"

"Same, I wanna die already!"

...

"Wow."

"Dang, that looked like it hurt."

"Oh, not at all, falling from a cliff and being crushed under a massive carriage is just a Tuesday for me. Yes, it hurt."

"I mean, I knew Mr Horner was capable of some pretty messed-up stuff, but wow."

"Right, that's it. How many of you, exactly, are there here now?"

"Wait, hold on, let me check - one, two, three..."

"So we started out a baker's dozen - hence the name, but now there's only one left - so twelve - plus Python over there, so..."

"...thirteen, yep."

"Rrrrrright."

"Well, sorry pal, but like... none of us WANTED to die."

"I did."

"As if."

"Speak for yourself, Jared!"

"I meant none of us CHOSE to die. We didn't sign up for this either."

"I know. I know."

"So can you take us to wherever you're taking us, please?"

"Soon."

"How soon is 'soon'?"

"For as long as it takes. In fact... yes, I feel our final confrontation is near."

"Greeeeaaaaat..."

...

"Looks like it's just Sage now. Poor her, she looks terrified."

"How long d'you think it'll take before she snuffs it and joins us?"

"Oh, she's not even making it to the Star."

"You're on."

"C'mon, Sage!"

"You got this, girl!"

"Ok, seriously, how long's Death been in that dumb cave?"

"Hey, we don't know how long it takes to just grab one single measly cat and kill him when you're a literal unstoppable force of nature- oh, hi there Death, didn't see you coming back!"

"That's evident. And for what it's worth, I was closer this time than I've ever been."

"Cool, cool-cool-cool."

"You should have seen the look on Puss' face... this was the most terrified he's ever been, I know it."

"You STILL haven't caught him?"

"Oh, COME ON!"

"Right. First of all. I told you, juego con mi comida. And second - there were others. I couldn't risk being seen before our final confrontation."

"Great. So will this next one finally, FINALLY be the actual for-real final confrontation?"

"Yes. Yes it will."

...

"H-h-he just left me there. Didn't even think twice... he just... left me to die."

"Aww, Sage, it's okay, we've all been there."

"Yeah, welcome to the 'Mr-Horner-is-a-jackass' club. We've got jackets."

"Anyway - how's the fight going? We can't quite see from down here."

"Oh - pretty fantastic. Everyone's going at each other, they'll probably tear each other apart before anyone gets the wish. Though I got a glimpse of the ol' Stabby Tabby myself, and I could've sworn he looked... really freaked out."

"You don't say."

"Yeah, he was terrified."

"So you know the weird giant wolf dude that dragged you out of the Star?"

"Um. Yeah. Said he was 'Death'. I think he was being metaphorical though..."

"Oh, he was NOT. Trust me."

"Anyway, yeah, he's primarily after Puss in Boots. We all just happened to... die in his presence along the way, I guess. I've been here since the river."

"I was here since those flowers."

"Hah! He's been lugging me around since the factory."

"...who are you again?"

"So after this actual totally-for-real last big showdown, he's finally going to take us to... whatever's next. The afterlife or whatever."

"Yeah, he's been fobbing us off for a while now, but he verbally promised us this time. When he comes back, he's going to have Puss in Boots' soul in his hand, and then we can all finally die in peace."

...

"You didn't get him."

"YOU DIDN'T GET HIM?!"

"No... no I didn't."

"Oh, come ON!"

"Literally after all that time, you finally have him in your grasp and you just... WALK AWAY?"

"Did you just miss the entire life lesson there or...?"

"Dude. We're villains. I couldn't give less of a rat's ass about your life lesson."

"Well, I could."

"No. You're seriously telling us you dragged us all around the Dark Forest-"

"Or even longer than that!"

"-for the purpose of killing that stupid cat, and then the time finally comes and you won't even DO it-"

"I KNOW. I know."

"...So what gives?"

"I... abused my power, would be the simplest way to put it. I would've abused it infinitely further had I taken a life by force."

"I mean, you are Death. Isn't that what you do?"

"No. Not like this. Not before it's time."

"Well, to be fair, the little scamp kind of deserved it."

"...Not anymore."

"For real?"

"Huh. Note to self: get a redemption arc to avoid dying."

"Nice try, chico. But that's not all. I was misleading you. I drew out your punishment by bringing you with me on this wild goose chase. None of this ever needed to happen. I... am sorry."

"Wait."

"Does this mean-"

"Are we finally-"

"That's right. I'm taking you straight to the afterlife. No more detours."

"YEAH!"

"Oh, finally!"

"I've never been so stoked to be dead before!"

"Hear that, Mr Horner? I DID IT! Now I can finally lay down and die."

...

"...wait, what's that?"

...

"Look at the Star... what's happening to it?"

...

"Is that..."

"Did he..."

"Is he really ginormous or is it like a perspective thing?"

...

"Oh no."

"Please, please not now..."

...

"Death?"

"Death, please don't tell us you have to go back and get him..."

...

"Wait right here."

"NO!"

"Oh, COME ON!"

"Urgggggh..."

"Not him, not him, dear lord why did it have to be HIM..."

"He couldn't have waited like ten minutes to die?"

"Or just stayed in that dumb infinity-bag?"

"Seriously, we can't even escape him in death..."

...

Needless to say, I think the final trip to the afterlife would've been... awkward.

AND ANOTHER THING I think it's absolutely batshit hysterical that Death just fuckin follows Puss around like his own personal sleep paralysis demon for the whole movie and no one fuckin knows that literal death is tryin to get his ass until he just waltzes through the barrier at the climax to throw the fuck down and everyone is like shit who's this guy what's his story like NO ONE IS AWARE THAT DEATH HAS BEEN WATCHING THE WHOLE TIME NO ONE EVEN SEEMS TO KNOW IT'S FUCKIN HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE HE'S JUST THIS GUY WHO SHOWS UP OUT OF THE BLUE TO WRECK PUSS'S SHIT AFTER THEY ALL WENT THROUGH A WHOLE LOT OF BAFOOLERY FIGHTING EACH OTHER OVER THE MAP AND THE WISH AND I JUST UGH THIS MOVIE I LOVE IT SM

[caitimetravels]

she's insignificant

chapter 9: i missed you.. say it back

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: none

masterlist

"klaus?" y/n stepped upstairs, hoping he was home. she was worried after he disappeared but was relieved to feel him now. she wandered through the house, looking around for him. she called out as she walked.

finally, she caught sight of him in the bathtub. he looked distressed, eyes blown wide and flickering around in fear. with quicker steps she knelt beside the bath, reaching out and shaking his arm. "klaus?" she called but he didn't seem to hear her.

"klaus?!" she shouted, worried. he shot up, shaking. "hey, hey, are you alright?" she placed her hand gently on his shoulder, speaking softly so as not to startle him. he breathed heavily before staring blankly at her for a moment, eyes teary.

"klaus? what happened to you?" she slowly moved to take his hands, examining them. she frowned at the blood and dirt adorning them. where had he been?

klaus didn't answer her question for a while, instead sobbing quietly, leaning back in the tub. he looked broken, it was the worst she had ever seen her brother in his life. she could practically see his heart torn to shreds in his chest. not wanting to worsen his mood she reached for some soap and a cloth, letting go of his hands for a moment. she moved back to sit beside him. she took his left hand first, softly wiping away the blood and dirt. 

neither of them spoke for a while, both just enjoying the others presence. 

"i was worried" she eventually broke the silence, voice almost a whisper, "i couldn't feel your soul and i thought.. i thought we lost you"  there was a pause, "where did you go?"

klaus frowned, looking up at her now, eyes still glassy with emotion. "i met someone" he slowly begun, "i time travelled, back to 1968 in vietnam.. i fought in a war" he chuckled bitterly, "he was.. beautiful, i loved him- i love him more than myself.. we spent almost a year together before.. " he begun to choke up, eyes filling with fresh tears.

"hey, hey, it's okay" y/n reached a hand up, caressing his hair. she shifted so that she sat on the side of the bath and he could lean his head against her hip while she continued to thoroughly clean his hands. "i'm sure he was lovely. probably sweet and he'd have to be able to keep up with you" she gently teased, poking his wrist. he laughed feebly, nodding against her side.

"he was so sweet. very handsome, he was so supportive.." 

"he sounds perfect for you" y/n smiled sadly, wishing she could have done something to bring him back for klaus.

"he was perfect" klaus sighed shakily, whispering quietly. y/n didn't want him to spiral, he was probably hurting a lot right now. so, she continued talking, anything to help ease his pain. she knew it wasn't much in comparison but she couldn't just let him hurt. 

"i'm sure he would have done well at a family dinner" she joked, hoping to direct the conversation elsewhere. klaus laughed a bit louder, imagining him interacting with their family.

"oh, he'd be so intimidated" she smiled, "you'd all probably scare him off"

y/n gasped in mock offence, "i would not! i'd be very nice, thank you very much!"

"hm, i'm sure you would. i can't say the same for diego and luther though" klaus hummed, much more at ease now.

"what about five? he'd be so grumpy" y/n teased her brother and klaus chuckled too, "that's if he even showed up though" 

"the little gremlin, probably wouldn't even acknowledge us" 

"gremlin?" y/n snorted, "i suppose he always has been, huh? i have to say, he's a lot worse now than he was"

"now?" klaus raised his eyebrows, pulling back to look at her. he thought about it for a moment, "he's not too bad i guess, just doesn't want to ask for our help" 

"we never really talked much so i can't accurately comment on when we were younger but he's definitely a solo rider now" she nodded, 

"what about me?" klaus gave a small grin, 

"what about you?" she hummed, amused.

klaus rested back against her, "how have i changed?"

"you didn't change that much, i suppose" she paused her movements with the wash cloth, thinking about it. "i think you've matured though, you've been through a lot, we all have and we've all done it alone.. i guess that's just made us all grow up a bit more.. depressed then we should've. you're still the same though, you're still funny, you make me laugh, you're still drug obsessed.. you should stop but i know you probably won't.." she gently resumed washing the blood away. "you're familiar, i guess.. i really did miss you, you know?" 

klaus smiled, although it looked a sadder than before. "i know, little sis. i missed you too.. sometimes i wish i had taken you with me when i left but i knew i couldn't.. i'm sorry i left you all alone"

"mm, well.. it's okay, while i was lonely i'm glad you all found your own lives" she shrugged it off, calmly. she dropped his arm now, standing up. "now, come on, the water's probably cold by now" 

"hey.. little sis" klaus made her stop and pause for a moment. "i lied to you.. when we were younger"

"what do you mean?" she frowned,

"about ben.. he was there, he's always been there" klaus looked down, "i should have told you when you asked but i.. i was scared dad would realise i wasn't completely hopeless or some crap like that"

"no, no, i get it.. sort of" she smiled, "i lied to everyone as well"

they shared a soft look, both really having missed each other.

she then turned to wash the cloth in the sink while klaus got out, he pulled the plug and took a towel with him to his room. while she washed the cloth he dried off and got dressed. she looked up as she heard footsteps. using her powers she knew it was five. he stood in the doorway to klaus' room, looking at the bloody hand prints on the bathtub and the red trail that lead to his room.

he slowly walked into the room as klaus pulled a shirt on. he knocked softly,

"you okay?"

"yeah.. just uh long night" klaus shrugged it off, shirt hanging on his arms. noticing that he begun to pull it over his head.

"more than one from the looks of it" five stepped into the room.

"yup"

y/n wrung out the cloth, seeing as it was no longer red and left it on the side of the sink, folded over. she walked down the hall, grimacing at the trail klaus left.

"don't remember the dog tags" five pointed out as she stepped closer.

"yeah, they belong to a.. friend" klaus waved it off, pulling his shirt down.

"how 'bout that new tattoo?" five was obviously pushing him, wanting answers. 

"you know, i don't totally remember even getting it" klaus shrugged, "like i said, it was a long night"

"what are you questioning him for?" y/n spoke up, leaning against the door. klaus didn't need five picking on him right now. he glanced at her before looking between them.

"he did it.. didn't you?" he asked, smirking.

"what are you talking about?" klaus frowned, taking a seat.

"you know i can recognise the symptoms klaus" five walked further into the room, right up to him.

"symptoms of what?" 

"the jet lag, full body itch, the headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain" five paused, watching as klaus ran his hands down his face. "you gonna tell me about it?"

"your pals, when they broke into the house and they couldn't find you. they took me hostage instead" he

"and in return you stole their briefcase" five smirked,

"yeah, i thought there was money in it. or i could pawn it, you know, whatever" klaus looked away, sighing "and then i opened it.." he looked down and five begun pacing.

"and the next thing you knew, you were where? or should i say when?" he paused to look at klaus.

"what difference does it make?" klaus threw a hand up, annoyed.

"what diff-? okay, how long were you gone?" 

"almost a year" klaus sighed.

"a year.." five breathed before leaning in towards him. "do you know what this means?"

"yeah, i'm ten months older now" he joked, 

"no, this isn't any sort of joke, klaus. hazel and chacha will do whatever they can to get the briefcase" five leaned in, pausing his pacing "where is it now?"

"gone, i destroyed it. poof!" klaus made a motion with his hands,

"what the hell were you thinking?" five glared, speaking through gritted teeth,

"what do you care?" klaus annunciated, 

"what do i care?! i needed it, you moron- so i could- i could get back, i could start over!" five begun to yell, getting angry.

"just.." klaus stood, shaking his head. he was done.

"where are you going?" five asked, watching him walk away.

"interrogations over.. just.. leave!" klaus called back, annoyed.

"nice going, five" y/n called, rolling her eyes. five's head snapped towards her.

"nice going? y/n i needed that-" he seethed but she cut him off with a hiss,

"i don't care, that's not an excuse to harass your family. klaus is having a hard time right now and you just barged in here like you own the place, getting angry at him for getting kidnapped!"

"i don't have time-" five scowled, beginning to argue,

"for what, five?! for us? for your family?" y/n took a moment to calm down, glaring at him "you can save the world all you want but remember.. if you ruin your relationships with us, they can't be fixed with a simple equation" 

she was about to leave before five grabbed a piece of paper, sitting down and using his knee to write.

"what are you doing?" she leaned closer to get a good look,

"i have a plan" he simply stood up and walked to his room. what was he up to this time?

she followed along behind him, watching as he begun to write on his walls, having run out of books and paper. she sighed, flopping onto his bed, waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing so that he would finally talk to her.

"ben.. he was there, he's always been there" he was there when she felt him in the room, she knew she wasn't crazy. would he be happy.. proud of her? would he have seen her fighting with her siblings? did he know about her powers and her efforts to find five? did he see all her training with dad and the long days she would study to help their brother? 

she wondered if her father could see it too.. could he see them all fighting? their problems all resurfacing? did he see her possess that assassin.. see what he didn't discover?

ben stood in the doorway, watching as five wrote away on the walls. he walked over to the bed, reaching out to take y/n's hand. he frowned when their skin never made contact, he only phased right through her. 

y/n frowned, sensing someone else. she sat up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and concentrating. ben stood in front of her, confused. he bent down to see her face clearly, her eyes were black..

"ben.." she whispered with a smile, her normal e/c eyes returning. the said boy smiled back, at least she knew.

tag list: (if your name is crossed i couldnt tag you) @rxses-and-reverie @lostgreekgod @on-yourmark-99 @bicyhot1 @navs-bhat @midnightmystic @shawkneecaps @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah @velveticxyyy

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

¤°~Let's Meet The Newbies?~°¤

"[Name]!" Yuki calls out to the female, who was sleeping in their plain room compared to miss protagonists. "Mhm, what's the haps' dudette.." The taller girl slurs out sleepily, her eyes still closed. "It's morning already, we have to get ready." The brunette whispers softly like a mother, shaking her friend gently.

"Ugh.." [Name] groans, finally sitting up. "Alright I'm up, no need to shake me like a blind bag." Yuki smiles at the fellow human, then the girls eyes peer at her friends pajamas. Surprised at the plainess of it, heck now that she looked around the other girls room.

It was a lot less dazzling than her own.

Yuki frowns a bit, she kinda thought all the guests room looked the same. Guess she was wrong.

"Are you waiting for a strip show or something? Cause if you want that your gonna have to-" Yuki squeaks at the idea and jumps off the bed. Her face aflame at the thought. "No! I just- I didn't!!" The gal sequels out like a mouse.

"... Pft!" The other human giggles, grasping Yuki's arm and pulling her into a headlock. Ruffling the brunettes straight hair into a frumpy mess. "I'm just messin'! But if you do want that sorta thing, ask Asmo. I bet he'd be down." [Name] replied thoughtfully. Yuki, finally having enough of the other humans teasing, nudges herself out of the headlock and grabs [Name]'s head pillow. Hitting the girl with fury.

After a the small pillow war, Yuki leaves to go fix up her crumpled state. Leaving the battle field as [Name] laughter follows her out.

-

Stretching her limbs out, a yawn escaped [Name]'s mouth. Descending down the many hallways of R.A.D. Uncaring if her fellow human was with her. Knowing fully well that the brown haired human had a slightly different class schedule than her. "Oh, it's you." Pausing in her foot-steps, [Name] saw the person who spoke to her.

"Hey, Rapheal. What's up?" The human asked with a cheesy smile. The angel stares at [Name] with confusion written on his blank face. It finally clicked on why he was staring at her like that. "Ooohh, your used to two humans. Not one. Welp sorry to burst your bubble. But I'm a single pringle at the moment."

Rapheal nodded, though he didn't seem down casted. Actually, from what [Name] could tell he looked pretty elated from her words. "If you want, you can wait for Yuki after her class. She'll be.. Uh, thrilled!"

The human stated, watching the angel like a hawk for any movement. But, the guy just kept staring before he stood beside [Name]. "Are you heading to class?" Rapheal asked. "Nah, I'mma' skip-" before the rest of her sentence came out, a loud and bubbly voice interrupted her.

"YO! If it isn't less average human!" Thirteen exclaimed, standing in front of the two. "Heya, what's shaken' bacon!" [Name] said, revelling in the chaotic energy as they do finger guns. Thirteen smiles devilishly, coyly giggling.

"Heh, not much, sayyy, where might you be heading?"

"Away from here." Rapheal said for [Name] bluntly.

Before Thirteen could snap back, Mephistopheles decided to join into the fray. "Fancy seeing you here, [Name]."  "Hey Mr. Gossip. What's on the agenda today?" The purple haired male chuckles at the nickname.

"I was thinking if you'd liked to do a small one-on-one interview with me for the R.A.D Newspaper club. "What's it like being a human in Devildom?" What do you say?" His green eyes kept her in place, waiting for her answer.

"Uh, yeah no. But I'm sure Yuki wouldn't mind. She'd love a interview, also she's a human too!" The radical human deflected easily.

Before any words were spoken further, [Name] started to back away from the new dateables. "You know what, I'm gonna uses the little humans room. 'Scuse me." Courageously walking forward like a bad bitch, than ran after they thought they were out of sight.

Thirteen vs Yuki!

"She's my best friend!" "She's my gal pal!

(Ta-Da! This was inspired by [The Idiot (Yandere! Obey Me x Reader)] It's so good check it out! If y'all are wondering yes I'll write more for Obey Me.)

[fanficmaniatic]

For the ask: IDW or G1 Soundwave please :)

Okey! A bit of a disclaimer. There is much of IDW1 I have yet to read… like every thing before the death of optimus prime, and I have watched G1 just once, so instead of picking one, I am doing both, but just answering for the ones I feel I really can give answers to!

favorite thing about them

G1: Funny enough… His rivalry with Blaster. Just Imagine this single dad having to listen to EVERY SINGLE decepticon Comm unit, take care of his kids, and the only thing that he has to blow steam (not counting killing autobots- plus other stuff I’ll explain later) is making this red DJ know he is better than him. I love a good petty king.

IDW: … Wow, I am, where to beging? I know I am missing all the early stuff, but… Gosh, It kills me how loyal he is to the decepticon goal… I just… There is something so soft in IDW Soundwave that I don’t know how to describe.… He is admirable, and so noble, while still being that piece of scrap I love to pieces, you get it? I can’t even-

least favorite thing about them

G1: … Dont know, pal. Classics does no wrong.

IDW: … Okey, So I wouldn’t say that I 'don't like' this next point, but rather that it deeply pains me in ways I am no sure I can explain… but it is the fact that he doesn’t like music… And I understand why and…. idk man… makes me sad.

favorite line

G1:… About EVERYTHING that dude says is music to my ears, so I can't choose... but honestly? those moments when he is talking with one of the cassettes and he sounds a bit anxious????? YES

IDW: Dont think I have one for him in IDW… yet…

brOTP

G1:… Blaster…. Okey… OKEY, I know I said I loved their rivalry… But HEAR ME OUT!!… What if they were friends?…. and that’s why I have my roomates au

IDW: … I really like to think he and Cosmos are amica endura….

OTP

Okey, so… Is the same person in every continuity, but for different reason, (Except TFA I don’t know how I would work out that ship in that show… yet…)

G1: … Is Jazz… Jazz/Soundwave.… While I see TFP Jazzwave as reluctant allies to enemies to lovers… G1 Is just lovers who pick oposite sides, are angry at eachother, but, hey, “we are still meeting in the fountain for cuddles at 3?” “Soundwave: will be there.” just…Soft cross faction lovers… who meet each other in private just to relax form a long day of work....

IDW: Also Jazzwave, but this is a more mischievous take I guess? this is the we are enemies but I really admire/hate how good you are at what you are doing. No prewar connection, just uncontrollable crossfaction admiration that cannon could only wish to live up to. Is Jazz being attracted to danger and Soundwave hating not having the answers. Is each of them being a puzzle the other can only dream of solving.… Oh, but if they just got the chance…

nOTP

Soundwave with either Starscream or Prowl... This applies to all continuities and almost all of my favorite characters.

random head canon

G1: Some times Soundwave hacks radio stations just to see how many people enjoy his music... He, Jazz and Blaster also have a special comm link that is ONLY for music, they send each other remixes all the time.

IDW: ... Look, the problem here is that I wouldn't know if it was cannon, most of what I know of IDW comes from fandom osmosis... but always though IDW Soundwave to be the type of bot to get easily overwhelmed, be it by emotional or external in put. Thats why he prefers dealing with communications and screens... It is easier to deal with.

unpopular opinion

G1: ...idk, im sorry 🥺

IDW: Look... I feel like people are always describing IDW Soundwave in particular as a brick wall in sense of emotions... and Like, I AM SORRY, but that dude cries under his mask all the time, am I really the only one that gets those vibes?? like yeah, he keeps his EM field close to his chest and all that, but behind that mask? he is listening to everything people say about him, and he is really volatile. If he takes that mask off productivity goes down 70% because he HAS to make sure his emotions are not visible, and it takes a lot out of him to do so.

song i associate with them

G1:

IDW:

favorite picture of them

G1: these ones

...buttons....

IDW:

HE ANGY.

[randomshyperson]

Left Behind - Chapter 8 - Fine Line

Gif was made by my friend @abimess

Summary: The one where you lived in the apartment under the Maximoff family in Sokovia, or, your journey as a Sokovian civilian to Avenger.

Warnings: (+16) Violence, fighting, cursing, civil war environments, abuse of power, assault, torture, underage kissing, psychological torture, substance use, mention of assault/fighting of children, smut, kissing, teasing, insinuation of sexual and moral harassment, verbal offenses.

Words: 4.183K

A/N> I have no idea. Good reading.

All Works Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Series Masterlist

//-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-//

Chapter 8 - Fine Line

As soon as the jet landed on the compound, things started to change.

Nick Fury was waiting for the Avengers at the entrance, and you exchanged a look with Natasha as you walked alongside everyone.

"I would like the twins to attend this meeting." Nick asks as soon as Steve leads the team into the office. You sit down next to Bucky on the couch in the common room, and he looks at you, as if wondering if you were going to contradict the other man, but you are looking at the Maximoffs.

Wanda and Pietro nod in understanding, and you try to give a reassuring smile when the girl looks at you, but it doesn't seem to help much as she just looks away and walks inside with her brother.

"What do you think they're talking about?" You ask a few minutes after you and Bucky are left alone. The winter soldier sighs lightly.

"Ultron, of course." He says. "Nick will want to know everything the twins have on him since they were working together. And I think some legal questions about them being here, like we did with you."

"Do you think they will want to become Avengers?" You ask a moment later, twiddling your fingers anxiously. Bucky gives a little smile.

"Depends on how much Tony talks."

You laugh, leaning back against the armchair.

"Maybe that will take a while, wanna eat something?" Bucky asks next, and you glance at the meeting room door before muttering, "Sure."

You and Bucky stand up toward the kitchen counter and he reaches into the cupboards, pulling out some ingredients as you prop your elbow on the counter.

"I'm going to make my secret recipe." He comments with a smile, taking two plates and placing them on the wood. "Grab some cheese for us?"

"Sure." You reply as you walk over to the refrigerator.

For the next few minutes, you watch Bucky prepare what resembles a cheese sandwich, but which he calls the Barnes secret recipe, but which is only different about the tomato and the fact that he heats the bread with oregano.

"Are you sure about that?" You ask as you watch him put on even more oregano. Bucky laughs lightly and then closes the bread, handing you one piece and taking the other.

"Come on, tell me what you think." He asks and you grimace uncertainly still biting into it. It is surprisingly good tasting, but deciding to tease him, you don't smile and the man looks at you wide-eyed.

"Dammit, pal, I don't think that turned out so good." You start and he takes a quick bite of the sandwich, and realizing you were joking, he nudges you lightly as he chews, making you laugh.

"Idiot." He grumbles but ends up laughing too.

You are in the middle of laughing when the meeting ends. Distracted by the interaction, you don't see the Avengers leaving the room, much less notice the way Wanda quickly catches the scene of you and Bucky laughing, and misinterprets it all.

"Barnes' secret recipe? Do you still have any for me?" Steve asks as he approaches, and you look at the Avengers who have entered the kitchen, scanning around for Wanda, but she is looking at the floor.

"I'll make one for you." Bucky says as the captain sits down on one of the stools. "Are you going to tell us what happened in there?"

Steve smiles, propping his elbow on the potty.

"For the current time, you guys are looking at the new two members of the Avengers." He counters and you widen your eyes, looking immediately at the twins. Pietro matches your excitement, but all you get from Wanda is a quick, almost annoyed look.

You leave your unfinished sandwich on your plate, and thank Bucky before walking over to the twins.

"Can we talk?" You ask them half-heartedly.

"Of c-

"Are you sure you're not busy?" Wanda interrupts her brother halfway through, crossing her arms. You frown in confusion, but Natasha approaches you.

"Why don't you show them the compound, Y/N?" She suggests with a smile. "They're going to be your door-mates too."

"Okay." You agree and exchange a look with Pietro before waving the direction where they should follow you.

It takes a few minutes to show them around, but you ensured that if they ever got lost, all they had to do was call out "Jarvis" who was already restored to the compound, plus there were maps in every corridor.

And then you led them to the hallway of rooms, and Pietro was the first door.

"I guess that's you." You say, and Pietro takes out the magnetic key he must have gotten from Fury in the briefing room to open the door.

You let the twins in first, and then follow them with your hands in your pockets, smiling at the impressed hiss Pietro gives.

"I know, it's fancy." You comment and he gives a short laugh, looking around.

"I never thought I'd be under the same roof as Tony Stark." He speaks and you bite the inside of your cheek, looking away to the floor.

"Yeah, me neither."

Have a moment of silence as they look around until Wanda, who is standing with her arms crossed and beside her brother, looks at you.

"Did you talk to him?" She asks. "About... Sokovia?"

You sigh lightly.

"I kind of did." You say. "Tony is... difficult. There' s not much to say about it if you ask me. I learned about how he had no idea that Stark Industries bankrolled the war, because he was busy spending his own fortune."

"Great guy." Pietro mutters and you give a weak little smile.

"Yeah, I know." You continue. "I'm sorry about that. I know you guys always wanted to find him and make him pay, but he didn't even know about the whole thing."

You shift the weight of your feet, and then sigh. "I know that doesn't change anything, but he apologized. And then he made me a suit, and let me stay here."

"You're right, it doesn't change or fix anything." Wanda retorts, but her gaze softens, "But, it's a start."

"And now we promise to help defeat Ultron." Pietro adds and you shake your head.

"What did Nick Fury say to convince you guys?" You ask with mild amusement and Pietro laughs, exchanging a quick glance with his sister.

"Your name." Wanda replies and you stop laughing because you feel your heart race, and your face heat up at the intensity of her gaze. Pietro seems to find the whole interaction amusing.

"W-what?"

"It doesn't matter. Can I see my room now?" Wanda asks quickly, already walking away to leave. You exchange a quick glance with Pietro, who just shrugs and then follows Wanda down the hall.

"Is this the one?" she asks as she stops next door and you shake your head.

"No, I'm in the middle." You clarify. "Yours is next."

She gives a smile as she looks at your door.

"I've never been in a room that was yours."

"That's because I've never had a room of my own before." You comment with a chuckle. "Wanna take a look?"

Wanda glances at you and then nods. You move closer to open the door, and try to ignore the way your heart races and your hands tremble because Wanda doesn't move aside and you have to lean in to open the lock.

She walks in as soon as the door opens, and you follow her in silence, trying not to look so affected.

"I think I just have the stuff the Avengers gave me here." You explain as you watch Wanda look around. "Not that I had anything in Sokovia."

Most of the rooms in the tower had a pattern of furnishings, and colors. As they became more comfortable, the team members would add their own personality to the room. In the short time you stayed with them, the most you had were sweaters with the team logo all over the place, or training shoes. There were also, however, drawings. And Wanda noticed.

"What are these?" She asks as she reaches for the small notebook on the armchair. You ran your hand through your hair shyly.

"A hobbie, I guess." You count with a smile. "It's new, it's...therapeutic, I think that's the word."

Wanda looks at you curiously.

"Since I've been here, I've had some trouble getting relaxed." You explain and Wanda frowns slightly. "So Bucky suggested finding a hobby of some sort."

"Who is Bucky?"

"The guy with the metal arm." You say and continue talking, not noticing the way Wanda squeezes the sketchbook a little too hard. "Since we've been through similar experiences, he figured that what his therapist taught him would probably help me too. He cooks, and I draw."

"Got it." Wanda murmurs, shifting her gaze to the notebook again. She opens it and looks at the pages carefully, smiling at some of the drawings. "When you say, similar experiences, what do you mean?"

You hesitate. Wanda doesn't know all about it. Everything you went through to get there. You wonder if you would like her to know.

"Maybe that's something for another time." You say as you look away and she looks upset.

"You used to tell me everything."

"Maybe there are things you don't need to know."

Wanda stares at you with her jaw locked. You look back, not sure what it is exactly that you're trying to hide.

You give in, with a soft sigh. You have waited so long to see them, only to have this strange nervous tension between you two.

Running a hand through your hair, you gesture to Wanda to return your notebook.

"Let me take you to your room..."

"No need, next door right? I'll be fine." She interrupts angrily, tossing the notebook into your hand.

"Wanda..."

But she's out of the room before you're done. You take a deep breath, staring at the notebook in your hands. Wanda never got to see the drawings you made of her.

Figuring that you should give them time to settle into their rooms, and take a shower after a mission like that, you return the notebook to your desk and decide to do the same.

With luck, you will be able to talk properly to each other in no time.

//-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-//

Wanda and Pietro joining the team, seemed to have been the essential advantage for the Avengers to be ahead of Ultron.

Once you were back in the common room, Natasha handed you a mug of coffee while making a joke about Tony bragging about deciphering Ultron's entire plan, and you just laughed when she commented that it was easy to decipher when the twins had already shared the key information.

"We're going to Korea early tomorrow morning." She counters. "I think Steve wants to know if you're still going to be a part of it."

"Why wouldn't I?" You ask confused and she raises an eyebrow.

"You found your friends." She retorts and you sigh.

"Oh, yeah." You say. "B-but I can still help. I...I still want to"

"Is this about Ultron manipulating your friends?"

"Maybe."

Natasha laughs lightly.

"Well, the captain is in the conference room organizing everything." She says.

"I think he will be pleased to know that you are not heading off to Sokovia."

"Yet." You retort with a smile making Nat laugh as you take the coffee mug back.

When you arrived at the conference room, Steve was distracted by some paperwork, and you knocked on the door before entering.

"Hey, kiddo." He said as he turned his head to look at you quickly before returning his attention to the papers. "Everything okay?"

"Sure, Steve." You replied approaching, deciding to stay on your feet. "I wanted to let you know that I can still help."

Steve looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amazement.

"I thought..."

"Yeah, I know what I said before."You interrupt with an almost embarrassed smile. "But I want to help. I don't know what Ultron is planning, and I thought this was not my fight. But then..."

"It affected your friends." He concludes and you nod. Steve sighs and leans on the table, crossing his arms as he looks at you. "You know, I think I should give you a speech about how being a hero is about helping everyone, not just the people who matter to you."

You laugh humorlessly, looking away. You were going to contradict, but Steve quickly adds.

"I'm not going to do that." He says. "I won't because you grew up in a war that wasn't yours, with no one to fight for you. So you three were the only heroes you ever knew."

"We weren't heroes, Steve." You retort with a sigh. "We were just orphans trying to survive."

"My point is, I'm in no position to lecture you." He clarifies and you cross your arms, waiting for him to finish. "Your motive for fighting is nobody's business but your own. What matters is that you will be helping."

"Thanks, Cap." You grumble and Steve smiles.

He grabs a clipboard, and starts telling you about them finding out that Ultron had intention to create a better body made of Vibranium, and how they would be going to Korea to stop that and get the scepter back with the stone.

He is in the middle of the sentence about putting you on the support team when you can hear his heartbeat.

The sudden noise startles you and you frown in confusion.

"Everything okay?" He asks as he notices your expression, before you can say anything, your head starts to spin.

It's not just his heartbeat, but all the blood circulating in his veins that can be heard next. You suddenly find it hard to breathe, and just as you notice Steve's full molecular presence, you're able to know Natasha is in the next room, hear Tony chew in the basement, or feel Clint scratch his back.

It is oppressive and overwhelming and you stumble back in despair.

"W-what's happening?" You ask trying to breathe normally.

"Hey kid, breath, are you okay?" Steve asks worried, approaching you with his hands raised.

His heartbeat accelerates because he's scared for you and you gasp, covering your ears because you feel your head is going to explode.

"Please stop it." You ask in desperation, feeling your eyes fill with tears with all that information at once. "It's too much. please..."

"Tell me what's wrong." He asks but you just sit on the floor, burying your heads in your knees, and covering your ears as you try to breathe. "I'll get help."

Even after he leaves, you can feel his presence in the other rooms.

And it gets considerably worse when all the Avengers are around you, worried and asking what's wrong. Their heartbeats feels like it's going to pop your eardrums, and you want to scream.

"Hey Y/N, I need you to focus on my voice." It was Bruce, kneeling in front of you. "It's your powers increasing, remember how we talked about that? Try to focus on me."

"I can't. " You cry. "Please Bruce, it's too much. Tell them to be quiet."

"This will help." He says and you feel a sting in your thigh.

Little by little, the sounds become muffled, until they disappear. You get a taste of iron in your mouth, and you look up to see the whole team looking at you with concern, and Bruce in front of you, giving you a short smile.

"I'm sorry." You mumble awkwardly, feeling exhausted.

"Do not worry kid." Bruce says. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

Bruce helps you anyway, one hand around your waist while your arm rests around his shoulders.

"I think you'd better lie down for a while." He says and then you are walking. "Guys, let's give her some space, alright?"

Bruce asks the team and they stop following you two. Bruce takes you to his room, and helps you to bed.

"Here we go." He murmurs as soon as you lie down completely. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted." You respond weakly, feeling your eyes grow heavy. "Thanks for help."

"Any time." He says. "Rest kid, we have a lot to talk about when you wake up."

You want to tell him you'd like to know what's going on now, but you're falling asleep right away.

You don't know Wanda is standing at your door with a pounding heart.

//-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-////-//-//-//

Waking up is surprisingly unpainful.

You expected at least a headache, but your powers do the job right.

"Good Morning." Bruce greets you as soon as he notices you fidgeting with the sheets. You frown.

"Morning? How long was I gone?"

"Thirty-eight hours and twelve minutes." He responds by placing the tablet he was holding on the table beside him. You widen your eyes in surprise, sitting up quickly. "Hey, take it easy."

"B-but the mission..."

"Do not worry about it." He says as he approaches your bed, sitting next to you at knee level. Bruce assesses you quickly and then sighs. "Are you feeling something? Any dizziness?"

"No." You say. "Where are the others?"

"The twins also went to Korea if that's what you want to know." He responds while looking away to fiddle with his jacket. He takes out a small lantern and holds it close to your eyes, examining something in them as he mutters to himself.

"What was wrong with me?" You ask as soon as he puts the object away. He adjusts his glasses.

"Don't talk like that." He asks. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"I was out for two days, doc." You retort with irony and he gives a short laugh.

"Yes, because you were exhausted." He says. "Don't worry about it, it's not a bad sign."

You mutter, crossing your arms. Bruce clears his throat as he reaches for the tablet on the table and then hands it to you.

"I did some analysis while you were sleeping." He says, and you stare at the graphics without understanding much. "They are good news."

"What did you inject in me back there?" You ask then, handing the tablet back to him.

"An alternative to Hydra Serum." He clarifies. "Without the obeying part, just the controlling of your abilities."

"Thanks, I guess." You mumble. Bruce locks the tablet before looking at you again.

"I'll ask Bucky to cook you something to eat, and then we'll go to the lab." He warns you. "We have some things to talk about."

"Whatever you say, doc."

//-//-////-//-////-//-////-//-//

After eating, and thanking Bucky for the favor, you returned to the lab.

Bruce set up a kind of glass room that made you frown.

"I have a cell now?" You joked and he grimaced.

"It's not a cell." He retorted. "It's a training room."

"It looks like a cell."

"It is not."

"But it looks like."

Bruce sighed and you giggled, crossing your arms as you look at the glass in front of you. He walked over to open the door through the holographic lock and you took a closer look.

"Why did I get a training cell?"

"Your training room is special." He says entering the glass box. You follow him, and as soon as he enters, you notice that the glass muffles all outside noise. When the door closes behind you, you can only hear Bruce. "I needed something that could block out everything else when your powers awaken again."

"But I don't have super hearing, Banner." You retort. "I don't understand why an anti-noise room is the best option."

"That's not what it's for."

You tap the glass with your fingers while Bruce fiddles with the tablet. And then the glass gains a new layer of protection, which glows golden before becoming practically invisible.

"Cool." You whisper and then turn to him again. "But what is it for?"

"Well, as I said earlier, I did other tests on your blood." He counts. "By my calculations, and from your little scene two days ago, you're going to be showing an immediate growth in your healing abilities over the next few days."

"Okay..."

"Shield tries to classify the enhanced humans as best as possible, and after working with Maria, we put you in some of those categories." He counts and with a flick of his fingers, a hologram comes out of the tablet into the air in front of him.

It was your file, and lots of texts and some photographs that you thought were images from your time in Hydra. Those were Shield's files on you.

"Of course we'll just have to wait for it to happen, but you're already classified as an enhanced beta level with biotherapeutic skills."

You looked around the files, surprised about the pics of your young self that Shield managed to recover. Even images from your childhood.

"For now, you've only demonstrated cell regeneration and close-range healing manipulation."

He narrates. "And two days ago, you had a small episode."

"I could hear everyone's heartbeats." You clarified still looking at the files. "I felt them in the next room."

"I understand." Bruce grumbles as he writes something down on his tablet. "This is called biomolecular detection. Depending on how you evolve, you might be able to detect injured people meters away."

You frown in surprise. Bruce is thoughtful.

"Not only detecting the injured, but also being able to tell exactly where the wounds are." He says. "It's impressive."

"You forgot the part where I couldn't breathe and I curled up on the floor like a scared child." You mock.

"That's what this room is for." He retorts with a smile. "You need to learn to handle your powers in a controlled environment."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's better than putting you in the middle of the fight, I'm sure of that."

You sigh, crossing your arms.

"What else does Shield have on me?"

"You want to look at childhood pictures, don't you?"

You laugh, shrugging.

"Obviously."

After showing your files, Bruce also explained how the room was designed to block, at a molecular level, your ability to sense other people outside the room.

Since the team wasn't in the tower for the next few days until the end of the mission in Korea, Bruce and Bucky would help you practice with your powers.

And as soon as the serum Bruce developed started to wear off, you felt your powers come back with a vengeance.

"I need you to focus on my voice until we get to the lab." Bucky asked worried as he found you on your knees at the living room floor, hands over your ears. You muttered weakly, feeling him help you to your feet as you heard the air rush in and out of his lungs. He started humming a song, and you whimpered, trying to concentrate, but everything was overwhelmingly noisy.

It seemed to take forever, but then everything went quiet next.

You look up to realize that Bucky has left you in the room, and then close the door.

"Thank you, buddy." You say, adjusting your balance by leaning against the glass.

"Don't worry." He says giving you a gentle smile. "Do you feel better?"

"Fuck, yes." You grumble as you quickly wipe your tears. Bucky watches you carefully.

You sit on the floor, closing your eyes. It takes Bruce a few minutes to get to the lab, but when he does, he looks worried.

"Sorry for taking so long, I was all the way downstairs." He clarifies as he approaches the glass. "How do you feel?"

"It happened again." You count. "But as soon as I got in here everything was quiet."

"Well the room works, that's great." He says and you laugh weakly. "I think we can start your training then."

"But who will train her?" Bucky asks confused.

"I thought you could do that." Bruce retorts and Bucky looks at him in surprise.

"What? I thought you were going to do it."

"I don't know how to train anyone, I'm just a doctor." Bruce argues.

"Well I'm a sergeant who was brainwashed for eighty years, I'm not the teacher type."

"But you're a still a sergeant..."

"I was never a drill Sergeant..."

"Jeez." You grunt humorously, clearing your throat to stop the argument. "I have an idea, as clearly none of you are in the mood to train me, I suggest Bruce give me some more of the special serum until Natasha or Steve get back."

"We can do that." Bruce agrees. "I'll get the serum. Hopefully you'll learn to control this soon."

"I hope so, doc."

/-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-///-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife

[taetaespeaches]

“You know I prefer apple jacks.”

yoongi x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.3K

a/n: Eeeek ok this is actually nerve-wracking posting this because like, it’s min and kid!!!! Anyways, you know the drill- they’re soft and in love and nothing is different here. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :))

Mornings with Yoongi were always your favorite. The stress of the outside world was yet to intrude upon you both as you slowly moved about the apartment. It was quiet, peaceful, serene.

Or maybe you loved mornings with Yoongi so much because of his adorable bed head that he waddled around with, yet to comb out the evidence of a heavy slumber.

With a coffee cup in hand as you sat on the kitchen stool, you fondly watched Yoongi water your small patio garden outside the glass door. He was especially stunning under the glow of the warm rising sun, making it a challenge to look away from him. So you didn’t look away.

Emptying the watering can, his puffy sleep-filled eyes looked toward you through the glass barrier, a cute honey boy smile overtaking his features as he realized you were watching him. Ducking his head, he bashfully evaded your stare as you giggled from inside.

“Stop staring,” Yoongi complained in a playful grumpy tone the moment he stepped back inside the apartment.

“You’re so cute though,” you told him with a pout, the man scoffing as he set the watering can on the table next to the patio door. “My favorite movie,” you added with a smirk.

Avoiding your gaze, he walked across the living space toward you. “Speaking of, you fell asleep again last night,” he pouted adorably, you giggling as he easily slotted his legs between the v of yours.

“It was late,” you defended as he took the mug from your hands, bringing it to his lips to take a drink despite your glare. “And that movie was boring,” you whispered under your breath, the man meeting your words with an exaggerated gasp.

“That is one of the best movies ever made,” he pointed out, handing your coffee back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you put sugar in that?” He questioned, nodding down to the beige beverage with a small winced expression.

“Why would I?” You teased, Yoongi chuckling lowly as he leaned toward you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thanks for watering my plants,” you told him softly.  

“Someone has to,” he joked in a whisper against your skin. You tried to hold back your laugh but a single giggle left your lips before you used one hand to reach around his frame and playfully smack the side of his ass. “Do you want breakfast?”

Looking down at you as you sat on the stool, he raised his eyebrows. “Are you cooking?”

“I can make you something,” you told him with a smirk, acting cocky all of a sudden in your average cooking skills.

“If you really want to,” he chuckled, triggering you to push him away just slightly so you could stand. “Ok, Kid, show me what you got,” he teased.

Setting your coffee cup down on the counter, you then stepped behind your boyfriend, placing your hands on his hips as you directed him to sit on the stool. “Watch and learn,” you bragged, appreciating the way Yoongi’s shoulders shook slightly in laughter. Placing a kiss to the back of his head, your lips touching his messy hair, you stepped away and made your way around the kitchen island.

“Welcome to Cooking with Kid,” you announced, your arms held out to your sides as you showed off the space. “I’m Kid,” you said with a smile, Yoongi flashing his own gummy grin at you as he watched you in amusement. “Today we’ll be cooking a bit of a controversial meal, as many disagree on the order in which you prepare this queen of all breakfast foods but first,” you paused, Yoongi’s eyes widening in response, “coffee for grampa.” The smile on Yoongi’s face only widened as he shook his head at your antics. Pouring him a cup, you placed it in front of him. “Made by my boyfriend, of course,” you informed him.

“Ah,” Yoongi said with a nod as he chuckled lightly. “Thank you, Kid”  

“No flirting, I’m working,” you told him in feigned offense, Yoongi’s mouth falling open just slightly as he scoffed at you because that was hardly flirting. “See me after the show,” you winked before moving right back into your act. “Ok, for this meal, we’re going to need two bowls,” you continued, Yoongi’s eyes intently watching you as you moved around the kitchen, fetching the ceramic bowls from the cupboard. “Any guesses on what the main ingredient is?” You pointed to your boyfriend, the man opening his mouth to respond, but you cutting him off before he could. “That’s right, it’s cereal,” you said enthusiastically with a nod. “But what kind?” You exaggerated the excitement of the decision.

Bounding over to the cupboard, you opened it to display a box of fruit loops. Raising his hand, your eyes widening. “Audience participation, love it,” you called out excitedly, gesturing at him to answer.

“I’m gonna guess fruit loops,” he played along with your act as he scanned the cabinet and saw just one single box of cereal, a wide smile spreading across your face in response to his cute playfulness.

“That would be correct!” You cheered. “Because I forgot to go to the store yesterday so it’s literally all we have,” you added in your celebratory voice, Yoongi silently chuckling at you.

Grabbing the cereal, you set it on the counter next to the bowls before going to the refrigerator. “Anyone who has made cereal before knows that milk is absolutely necessary. A crucial ingredient,” you noted, Yoongi giggling as he took a drink of his coffee. Raising his hand once more, you gasped. “Yes, Mr. Min?”

“Does the cereal or milk come first?” He asked curiously, leaning forward to hear your answer.

“Ah, that’s what makes this meal so controversial,” you noted, trying not to smile at the feigned seriousness in Yoongi’s face. “Some idiots like my good pal Jeon Jeongguk will do stupid things like pour the milk first, but that’s wrong,” you said, Yoongi nodding as if he was actually interested. Well, perhaps he was. “The cereal should come first if you have any common sense, I mean milk first? Why would you do that?” You ranted, falling out of character for a moment. “You know, that’s actually so annoying of him, you should douse the cereal, what good does putting cereal into mi-”

An adorable giggle left your boyfriend’s lips, his glowing face stealing your attention and cutting off your rant as you both stared at one another. His eyes were amused and fond, and as soft as ever. Biting your bottom lip, you shyly looked to the bowl on the counter in front of you. “Let me show you how this is done,” you commented quietly, feeling Yoongi’s adoring gaze still on you.

As you poured the cereal into one bowl, you watched as Yoongi’s hand came into your vision as he closed it over your free one that held the bowl lightly. Your orbs settled on his hand as you began slowly trailing them up his arm toward his face. “I said no flirting until after-” you started to playfully protest.

“You should marry me,” he suddenly spoke, cutting you off, your heart racing instantly as your gaze met his stunning features. His hand enclosed over yours, holding it sweetly, his eyes dripping with honey sweet affection and a sincere intention.

“What?” You asked just as a small breathy laugh left your lips while they spread into a smile.

“Will you?” He asked, letting you know it wasn’t a slip of the tongue. He meant it. He wanted to marry you. “Marry me?

“Really?” You questioned him, setting the box of cereal down as the man chuckled fondly.

“It would make me very happy,” he told you sincerely. To emphasize his point, he scooped up a fruit loop from the bowl with his hand that wasn’t holding yours. Holding it up to you as if it was a ring, he asked once more. “Will you marry me, Kid?”

As tears gathered in your eyes, a smile spreading on your face, you cocked your head to the side. “You know I prefer apple jacks,” you teased, Yoongi’s gummy grin growing affectionately.

“I can get you apple jacks,” he assured with a fond grin. “I’ll make that happen,” he added with a tiny nod.

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Min,” you told him, tears forming in his own orbs.

You both started around the kitchen island quickly to get to each other, meeting at the side of the counter as Yoongi’s hands found the sides of your face, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Fruit loop ring, or apple jacks, a real ring or no ring, you wanted to marry that man. Before you knew Yoongi, you hadn’t thought much about marriage, or what it all meant. But now, you just knew you wanted to marry him.

It wasn’t until later that night that you realized his proposal that morning wasn’t quite as sudden as it appeared. Yoongi took you out to celebrate your engagement, returning to the café where your second date took place; an impromptu meeting in which Yoongi had trekked several blocks in the snow to surprise you with a visit simply because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

As you sat together, Yoongi suddenly interrupted your mindless but never meaningless conversation by saying, “I know you don’t mind, but I’m sorry it took me so long to propose.” Shaking your head at him, you disagreed with the apology because he was right, you didn’t mind. However, before you could say anything, he reached across the table and you expected him to intertwine his fingers with yours. When you didn’t feel their touch, you looked down at his hand to find a ring sitting in his grasp, your jaw dropping open. “I’ve had this for a few weeks now,” he admitted.

Pulling your gaze from the jewelry to inspect his features, you found him smiling at you with that soft gummy grin you adored so much. His cheeks were plush, a pink tint upon them as he chuckled at himself.

“I was on my way home from the studio one afternoon and you called me just to tell me that Holly had actually eaten some celery,” he smiled as he recalled the conversation. “Then you told me to hurry home because you missed me and I just- realized I want to be your husband.”

“Yoongi,” you whispered in surprise as he slid the ring on your finger. Both of your gazes bounced to the ring, you and Yoongi appreciating the way it looked at home on your digit.

“I started ring shopping the next day,” he informed you, you giggling as tears formed in your orbs.

Despite the touching moment, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease your now fiancé, shooting him a smirk as he sighed, knowing something was coming. “Who helped you?” You joked, Yoongi feigning offense as he sat back against his chair and scoffed.

“You think I need help picking out a ring for the love of my life?” He asked through a pout, you laughing as you leaned across the table, grabbing his hand in yours, the ring twinkling beautifully on your finger.

“The ring is stunning,” you assured him. “I love you so much,” you continued, a soft smile overtaking Yoongi’s features. Standing, you made your way to Yoongi, hovering over him as you stared down at him fondly.

Brushing your fingers through his hair, his hand grasped your waist. “I love you more,” he confessed, you smiling as you lowered your head toward his, kissing his lips softly.

“I still want my apple jacks ring,” you teased against his mouth, Yoongi chuckling as he squeezed the flesh of your side in response.

“Whatever you want, Kid,” he mumbled before deepening the kiss just slightly.

Though a marriage proposal didn’t change much in regards to the feelings you shared for one another, you were thrilled to be able to spend forever with him, devoted as husband and wife.

You both finished the day a few hours later, wrapped up in bed in one another’s arms, your bare skin pressed together as you dozed into slumber. And it was then that he revealed with a gummy smile that he didn’t just recruit the help from one or two people for ring shopping, but rather had an entire posse made up of Jin and his soon-to-be wife, Jungkook and his girlfriend, and Taehyung and his girlfriend.

“They were no help at all though,” he insisted.

“Oh my god, you had a whole ring shopping gang,” you giggled against his chest, staring at the jewelry adorning your finger.

“I actually took them all at different times and had them look at the same rings to ensure I was making the right decision,” he laughed at himself as you kissed his chest before your lips spread into a massive smile. “They all chose different rings though, but Tae and Peachy Keen agreed with me on this one.”

“You’re so fucking cute,” you beamed, trailing kisses up his body, pressing them to his neck alluringly. “You made the right choice,” you assure him as you glanced once more at the ring. “Just slightly better than an apple jack,” you teased, Yoongi groaning as he suddenly pushed you so your back was against the mattress, the man hovering over you.

“Would you shut up about the fucking apple jacks?” He beamed, unable to even feign annoyance.

“Make me,” you flirted, the man chuckling as he brought his lips to yours. And he did make you. At least until the next morning when you woke up and ate fruit loops for the second morning in a row.

Everything was different but the same; better but as good as ever. Watching him eat his fruit loops as he zoned out looking at your ring on your finger, you once again realized, for the millionth time since you’d met him, that you would be loving him for a very, very long time. But sooner rather than later he’d be your husband, and that was pretty fucking cool.

[lunavadash-creates]

Your The real pleasure story got me idea of AC character walking on reader changing clothes and getting surprised and embarrassed, but spotting a tattoo on reader's ribs and since it surprised them even more, they couldn't help but checking out reader?

Could you make it for Altair, Edward and Shay, since they're my favorite and maybe for someone of your choice?

Since I have tattoo on my ribs myself I know it makes people peeking on it without even knowing. And let's be honest, tattoos since forever were relating to outlaws and God forbid any normal and decent woman has one. My granny refused speaking to me for 4 freaking days after she found out I have tattoo because in her opinion I look like someone who is straight out of prison..

🔪

Hello Knifey! 

Sorry it took a few days I’m a bit slow lately ;; Also when I start writing it, it turned out a little bit different but it’s still about a reader with a rib tattoo. I hope you will like this little thing. 

Also, I don’t have a tattoo myself but I adore looking at other people tattoos because they are all little works of art. So don’t worry about people being weird about it. It’s your skin, your tattoo and you can do whatever you want with it! Don’t let others tell you how to live your life!

Ayyway - here is the lil thing:

Altaїr

“Why would you stain your body like that?” Altaїr looked at you with a frown, after he spotted a tattoo covering a good part of your ribs. He was unfamiliar with that practice and people around tended to call tattooing a sin that was changing the Gods creation. Altaїr had never been a believer, especially since he saw the Apple, but he couldn’t help the disapproving tone of his voice.

“Stain?” You asked, mimicking his expression. “It’s not a stain! It’s a work of art!” You exclaimed angrily. He wasn’t the first person disapproving of your life choices, treating you like a worse kind of person only because you had a little bit of ink inside of your skin. You knew they were all wrong, but you had hoped that a person like Altaїr wouldn’t judge you. Yet, it appeared you were wrong.

Altaїr hadn’t said another word and let you leave the room.

He came back to you after a few hours, when you were preparing to go to sleep. You were still angry at your friend for his words, and it led to a minor injury during training that left you a little bruise on your arm.

“I never intended to upset you.” Those words knocked you out of your thoughts, so you turned around with an accusing look on your face.

“Don’t you knock?!”

“I did,” Altaїr was still standing near the door with a bowl of dates in his hands. “I came to…apologize. I’m not familiar with people stai- tattooing their bodies. But I am not judging you nor think lower of you.” He promised as he finally came closer, to put dates on your nightstand, next to your weapon.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t outburst at you like I did. I just heard people accusing me of the weirdest things because of that tattoo.”

Altaїr nodded, accepting your apologies and soon you were sitting on the floor, eating fruits and talking about the future, novices, assassins, war, crusades… It was until Altaїr finally asked you the very thing he wanted to ask since he saw your tattoo.

“Can I see it again?” He asked and you, after a second of hesitation, raised your clothes to show him. Altaїr stretched his arm towards you and then you felt his warm fingers tracing the lines of your tattoo.

“It suits you well.”

Shay

“Oi, were you a pirate?”

With a frown you looked at Shay, that was casually leaning against the doorframe, watching you change your clothes. You really didn’t want to walk around in those kinds of clothes among the crew. You preferred the casually, comfortable clothes you could work and, most importantly, fight in.

“Why? Are you afraid I will steal your gold and sell it for a bottle of rum?”

“Ha! Very funny! As if you could steal from me! But I saw ya tattoo. So, were you a pirate?” He asked again, watching you like a hawk, After all, so many people wanted and tried to kill him, no wonder he was cautious around everyone, except Grandmaster. You joined the Templars only a few months ago.

“No, I have never been a pirate, but I saw them. When I was little I saw them with their bodies covered by tattoos, they looked like giant maps of undercover secrets and I just… I just wanted it too.” With a shrug, you put last piece of clothing over your body.

Shay had been looking at you with a grin, sparkles in his eyes as he finally took a few steps closer. His fingers brushed over your tattooed skin as he pulled you closer.

“You wanted to become a map of undercover secrets… Well, I have always wanted to be an adventurer. I think we may actually have a lot of fun together.” Just as he said it you felt a shiver going through your spine.

On that day you discovered he was both an adventurer and an owner of a tattoo kink.

Edward

“Nice ink you have there!” Edward said with a grin. You were both messy and tired after a fight and your clothes got torn, so now they were exposing part of a tattoo on your ribs. “Watcha got there?”

“Why? Want to copy me, pal?” You asked, dusting off sand and dirt of your skin. You could really use a bath, but you had to wait for Jackdaw to get the hell out of this godforsaken island.

You earned another grin as Edward suddenly took of remains of his shirt, exposing his tanned skin, almost fully covered in ink. You hardly suppressed a gasp as you saw his handsome, muscular body. You knew the bastard had a lot of tattoos but not that many.

“If ya find some free space.”

“Yeah, I guess your pale ass has some space on it,” You said and almost immediately regretted those words as you saw Edward turning around.

“Jaysus, mate, don’t you dare flash your ass at my face!” You screamed and throw a fistful of sand at him when you heard his loud laughter. Fucking pirates.

“So, now it’s your time. Show me what you got there.”

After a roll of your eyes, you finally tore off your shirt. It was hanging on a few threads anyway and way beyond saving point. Edward examined your body, looking at the tattoo with interest sparking in his blue eyes. It took him a little bit of time and you were about to throw another joke at him when he finally spoke.

“Suits you well. Not really my type of a tattoo but it’s perfect for ya.”

“Oh yes. Because you prefer to have a giant fucking hourglass tattooed on your nipple. Your taste in ink is questionable, Kenway.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 300: Days of Our Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: Hawks was all “hey Jeanist, wanna go on a road trip with me to my mom’s house?” Jeanist was all “you know it,” and so they hopped into Jeanist’s jercedes and took off. Hawks took a nap and had a flashback to his Dickensian childhood living in a abject poverty with his jerk mom and jerk dad, thinking heroes were make-believe until one day Endeavor arrested his dad and Baby Hawks was all “OH SHIT.” And then he saved a bunch of people, and the HPSC was all “what do we have here,” and blah blah blah, you know the rest. Back in the present, Hawks was all “well my life is currently in shambles, but on the plus side there’s no one bossing me around anymore so that’s pretty cool,” and then decided he was going to talk to Endeavor. Fandom was all “I can’t believe Hawks would side with his childhood hero over the man who burned his wings off and posted a video calling him a violent murderer who took after his abusive dad,” so that was fun and stuff. I can’t wait to see what piping fresh takes this new chapter will bring.

Today on BnHA: Our old friend Carbonation Carl tries to loot a Starbucks and gets his ass kicked by a senior citizen. Society is all “YEAH, WE’RE REALLY STARTING TO GET SICK OF THIS SHIT.” Old Man Samurai is all “this room won’t stop me because I can’t read it” and abruptly decides to retire, which, fun fact, is literally THE LEAST HELPFUL THING ANYONE HAS EVER DONE. Anyway so then a bunch of other punkasses follow suit, and while I won’t say that I’m actually starting to root for Stain to kill some peeps, just for the record I’m not not saying that either. Back in the hospital, Endeavor cries some tears because his life sucks, and then is confronted by his entire family, LED BY QUEEN REI, FIRST OF HER NAME, BACK IN BUSINESS AND LARGE AND IN CHARGE. Rei is all “fuck feeling sorry for yourself, we have a rogue Murder Son on the loose” and I swear to god I have never felt so alive.

so here we go! and just for the record, even though the last two chapters have been phenomenal, I don’t necessarily have any sky-high expectations for chapter 300, mostly because chapters 100 and 200 consisted of Mei Boobs, and Toadette and her horrific quirk lmao. so go ahead Horikoshi, what are you gonna pull out of your hat for this one

oh, back to this stuff again. sob

I guess there was only so much time we could spend having hospital antics and exploring Hawks’s past before we got back to dealing with the whole “the world has gone to absolute shit” issue huh, lol

omg

what’s with these bizarrely cute Noumus. why do I want to pet them

so the narrative text is going on about how people have been super paranoid about the Noumu ever since the USJ incident a year ago. so yeah, I guess the fact that there are now a bunch of them confirmed to be running around is really freaking people out even on top of everything else

wtf is happening here

what did this poor lil glass ever do to anyone. r.i.p.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

SODA SAM IS BACK ON THE LAM

tsk tsk tsk. my man has graduated from snatching purses to raiding cafes. going after that big money. this man has no business sense whatsoever lmao

OH BUT WATCH IT NOW!!

OH SNAP THE PEOPLE ARE FIGHTING BACK. WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW SAM

THIS MAN IS 172 YEARS OLD AND HE’S NOT HERE TO PLAY GAMES!!

WTF IS HE LIGHTING THIS THING ON FIRE OR SOME SHIT. GETTEM GRANDPA YEAHHHH HE’S CHARGING AT EM YEAHHHHHH

lmao so that was fun. and now we’re cutting to Wash!! omg. look at him

he’s so dedicated. too bad you don’t have a car like Best Jeanist. probably takes a while when you’re just running everywhere

you see?? you were too slow!!

NOOOO, GRANDPA. he defeated Pepsi Pete, but lost his life in the process. this is too tragic

anyway so the good news is that the cafe has been saved! but the bad news is, there really isn’t much of a cafe left. huh. I guess that’s one of the reasons why people are supposed to get a license to use their quirks like this

oh snap and now everyone is coming outside, and they’re none too happy to see poor old Wash over here

seriously Wash, get a bicycle or something. also the way this guy is gesturing so dramatically with his hand in this sort of “YOU SEE!! YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS!!” manner is sending me

OH MY GOD

HE SPEAKS. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS. IT MEANS JEANS PUNS ARE YESTERDAY’S NEWS, FOLKS!! MAKE WAY FOR THE LAUNDRY PUNS. CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH THIS ALL... UNFOLD

“the heroes had dwindled away” okay real talk you guys, it is literally only a matter of time before they press-gang the children into picking up their slack. I still don’t know how to feel about that, but it is happening one way or the other regardless. Child Soldiers 2 Electric Boogaloo. wonder if we’ll see a rise in vigilante action as well

OHO WHAT’S THIS? THIS IS A CHAPTER OF GRANDPAS HUH

-- no fucking way

WOW. WOW. WOWWWWWW

wow. so he didn’t do a fucking thing while the rest of the top ten were being turned into red mist in the previous arc, and now that it’s all over and they need his help more than ever, he decides... THAT IT’S TIME TO RETIRE. holy shit. “fuck you” doesn’t even begin to cover it my guy. you stand there and soak up those boos you coward

ohhhhhhh shiiiiit you guys. oh shit

the “I am not here” breaks my fucking heart for real though y’all. oh man. everything he worked for is gone just like that

(ETA: okay so a couple of the takes I’ve seen on this make it seem like All Might is somehow the bad guy here?? “this is what happens when society puts a bunch of glorified cops on a pedestal”, “finally the cracks in hero society are showing”, etc. etc. so, just a friendly reminder that this isn’t happening because of too much trust and a lack of critical thinking; this is happening because the villains killed all the heroes and broke a bunch of murderers out of jail. it’s happening because an organized league of terrorists succeeded in terrorizing, and so society is now understandably awash in fear and panic. like, it’s just wild to me that AFO is RIGHT FUCKING THERE, and yet week after week fandom still has their “IT’S ALL THE HEROES’ FAULT” signs still up on their lawns. BUT WHATEVER, MOVING ON.)

also though, so exactly how much time is passing here now? I wanted to go straight back to the hospital and see what happens with Deku and the Todorokis. please don’t tell me we’re jumping ahead sob. my aaaaangst

OH SHIT

STAIN. LISTEN UP BUDDY. I KNOW WE’VE HAD OUR DIFFERENCES, AND I STILL DESPISE YOU FOR CRIPPLING TENSEI AND TRYING TO KILL MY BEST BOY TENYA. BUT AS IT HAPPENS, THERE ARE ONE OR TWO OTHER HEROES OUT THERE NOW WHO I WOULDN’T MIND YOU PAYING A VISIT I’M JUST SAYING

LOL BUT IT ACTUALLY ISN’T THIS MAN, FFFFFF

sob. yeah I was talking about Old Man Samurai actually but YEAH. HEY THERE ENJI

also is this entire hospital actually run by characters from Super Mario Bros though. first Yoshi and now this guy, come the fuck on that is not a coincidence

lmao they stuck him in another one of these cavernous creepy hospital rooms

wtf is it with Horikoshi and these giant fucking rooms lately. Kacchan’s in chapter 298, then Tomie’s colossal house furnished with like one table and a TV, and now this. and the weirdest thing about it though is that “huge space with nothing to fill it up” is like the exact opposite of what you’ll usually find in Japanese homes lol

so now Enji is just sitting there thinking things like “my head is fuzzy” and “I’m alive” lmao okay. not quite all there yet, huh. I’ll give you a minute

I’m so fucking curious as to who his first visitor is going to be omg. either way it’s going to be interesting af, and either way fandom is probably going to feel some way about it but OH WELL

okay now his thoughts are getting more coherent! and he’s remembering Touya, and feeling regret for freezing up and forcing Shouto to deal with everything instead

!!! OH HERE GOES BRACE YOURSELVES Y’ALL IT’S ABOUT TO GET SPICY

NO TOUYA PLEASE DON’T CRY HONEY NO PLEASE

ohhhhhhh man

okay, I mean I didn’t expect you to, but so instead then you’re just going to do... what? lie there and wallow in regret and self-pity for the rest of your life? son you know that’s not how we deal with our problems here in Shounen

though also, I totally do get it though. honestly, thinking on it, I probably would have been disappointed with any other response. but so this is where the rest of his family (including his adopted son) come into play now though, because like it or not they’re all in this thing together. and so friends, I am once again asking you WHO IS GOING TO BE THE ONE TO VISIT ENJI FIRST

AHHHHHHH

KRANCH!!!! OMG AND THE OTHERS ARE SO TINY NEXT TO HIM THAT I ALMOST DIDN’T SEE THEM AT FIRST. IT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE TWENTY MILES AWAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS REGULATION HOCKEY RINK OF A ROOM

holy shit I’m so excited lkjlklhlglkasdsjldfk

SDKFJLSKHLKJL

the way she has him by his collar lmaoooo. “lol nah you’re not going anywhere pal.” damn straight, siblings have to be ride or die in situations like this. banding together for survival. strength in numbers

OH MY STARS I’M JUST WARNING YOU NOW THAT I’M ABOUT TO DISSECT EVERY LAST REMAINING PANEL OF THIS CHAPTER PROBABLY YOU GUYS. WE COULD BE HERE A WHILE

love how Fuyu has absolutely no idea how to segue into THE SINGLE MOST AWKWARD CONVERSATION SHE’S EVER HAD, so she just GOES FOR IT in pure small talk mode like they’re meeting up for brunch somewhere

I KNOW IT’S A SMALL THING, BUT I APPRECIATE THAT THE FIRST THING ENJI ASKS IS WHETHER THEY’RE OKAY

lastly while I can’t wait for more of this delicious Natsu angst, I also just have to say that Enji has as much reason to cry right now as anyone on the planet. you can’t deny that being confronted by your not-dead-but-you-thought-he-was-dead son who’s all “SURPRISE DAD I GREW UP TO BE A MASS MURDERER AND I HATE YOU AND EVERYTHING IS ALL YOUR FAULT AND NOW I’M GONNA MAIM YOUR OTHER KID” with a side order of “EVERYONE HATES YOU AND SOCIETY IS CRUMBLING AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD EVER AGAIN” is enough to bum pretty much anyone out. there’s a Pagliacci the Clown joke here somewhere. BUT DOCTOR, I AM THE NUMBER ONE HERO

oh man lol he is seriously falling apart

damn. like you guys, I’m sorry, go ahead and cancel me, but I do feel compassion for the man. it’s therapeutic for me to see an abuser actually feel remorse and be truly sorry and want to change and want to make it up to his family. and it’s also compelling as fuck to read a narrative about a family that’s trying to grapple with that, because let me tell you straight up, as someone who’s done a version of that song and dance -- it is exhausting. it is a piping hot mess. it’s a gigantic mishmosh of extremely volatile emotions that all somehow all contradict one another. love, hurt, hope, anger, betrayal, resentment, attachment, longing. it’s something you can both be desperate for and also want nothing at all to do with. and attempting to portray all of that and write about it is a monumental task, and one which Horikoshi has done so, so delicately thus far, and damn but I appreciate it. anyway, so I’m here and I’m ready for my latest helping of Todoroki Fam Feels you guys

GASP

oh man. OHMANOHMANOHMAN. CAN IT REALLY BE. IS THIS THE REDEMPTION ARC OF CHAPTERS 100 AND 200???

LMAO SHE’S ALL “WE ALL FEEL BAD YOU JACKASS STOP CRYING ABOUT IT”

LAY INTO HIM REI!! SORRY ENJI YOUR PITY PARTY HAS BEEN CANCELLED IN FAVOR OF A “SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT” PARTY COURTESY OF QUEEN ELSA OVER HERE. THE PEOPLE TOOK A VOTE AND WE WANT LESS WHINING AND MORE ACTION

oh my god look at this lady folks

NOTE THE HAIR BLOWING IN THE NONEXISTENT WIND. NOW WE KNOW WHERE SHOUTO GOT THIS POWER FROM

(ETA: btw guys, seeing Rei handle this crisis like an absolute champ despite everything she’s been through is everything, though. I’m reminded of Hawks’s line last week about people sometimes unexpectedly finding liberation when they’re backed into a corner. like things may be shit but goddammit her kiddos need her.)

THE CHAPTER IS ALREADY ENDING SOB, IT’S ONLY A 17-PAGER THIS WEEK, BUT GODDAMN WHAT A WAY TO CLOSE

oh my god. oh my god oh my god. AND FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI FOR CUTTING IT OFF THERE sob. it’s like each week the wait for the next chapter becomes more painful. the Todofam is about to get real, and on top of that Hawks is gonna crash the party at some point down the line, and on top of that we’re still waiting for Kacchan to have his own heartfelt discussion about What The Fuck Are We Supposed To Do Next with his best friend who’s currently in a coma. all I want to do with my life is read about these three things, and all I can do is simply wait as they are portioned out in agonizing, addicting little installments every week

anyway! tune in next time as we answer the question of whether or not fandom will finally run its train of logic all the way through to its natural conclusion and somehow manage to cancel Noted Abuse Apologist Todoroki Fucking Rei. don’t act like it can’t happen. you all know nothing is sacred lol. anyways but I’m ready for anything lol, bring it

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Tues 15 June ‘21

Venice MP filming is underway, romantic canalside walks and gondola ride are a GO, as seen in pap pics and many (many) videos from fans gathered on site! I’m sure they appreciated all the little sheer polo showing off Harry’s tits, who doesn’t love a good hiddies moment huh? GQ probably did too; they already wrote a whole article about the outfit Harry wore yesterday! But even they can’t say anything better about those shorts than that they look “presentable” LMAO. TAKE THAT corduroy shorts! What about those fans though? Well, they are certainly bringing us plenty of videos- Harry handing co-star David up out of a boat like a sweet gentleman, aww, Harry skipping about between shots, Harry with a lil purse, Harry just trying to live his life and like go eat food when not working, etc etc... maybe folks could take a few steps back? Looks like Harry is really getting hounded through the tiny Venetian streets and on set, by pretty large crowds, to the extent of disrupting filming, oh no. Harry signed a picture for a nearby school-- “stay outrageous”, again dating it (June ‘21) but possibly by the end of the day he was wishing people would not be quite so outrageous.

Meanwhile the antis stuck at home are frothing at the mouth trying to convince larries (or maybe themselves?) that we now ship David and Harry- uh sorry sweaty but having the ability to understand that holding hands for cameras does not have to mean that people are really fucking is actually a pretty major core component of the whole larrie thing?! But good luck with that! It makes sense that seeing Harry acting lovey dovey with someone that they know he isn’t actually sleeping with would throw them in a tizzy though, after all their whole identity is based on denying that’s a thing that’s possible... poor things, baby’s first cognitive dissonance! It can really make you question things huh, and that’s always rough.

But they’re not the only ones with things to say about Harry! Superstar of stage and screen Mandy Patinkin posted video of himself and his wife getting four minutes’ worth of lightning round pop culture trivia questions wrong, but he nails one of em- asked what a Harry song (WS) is about, he remains silent. Well done, that’s just what Harry would have said! And Selma Hayek told a story about Harry coming to her house where her pet owl (who Harry was enthralled with and wanted to hang out with him) regurgitated an owl pellet in his hair! LOL poor Harry; naturally she said he handled it very well and was very sweet. Yes, it’s possible Harry’s interactions with her were because she’s in Marvel’s Eternals; it’s also possible he was at her house because her husband is the head of the company that owns Gucci, or for some other reason entirely.

Liam’s Lonely Bug NFTs went on sale today!! Liam was excited and happy and all over the internet posting and chatting and watching it all happen. The auctions are still open for most of them so final news on that tomorrow! Today was just Liam being hype about it- “Fandom is working its magic thank you!” he said when his request to get LB trending got it up there worldwide in like half an hour, he said more interactive content will be added to the NFTs as time goes on, that Louis cooking was “very funny”, when asked to describe his NFT collection in one word he chose “liberating,” and his hair guy reposted comments Liam has been making in the discord talking about maybe going blond with a “hmmm”. Oooh? He did a long live talking about everything, patching in the other Lonely Bug creators and quite a few other NFT people (enough that at one point Liam jokes that there are enough of them to dress up as the band to satisfy commenters asking for 1D stuff). Anyway one of them compares this NFT to ‘the original Nirvana recordings’ hmmm I mean… that is another thing that is rare I guess yes, but that’s very specific and random sir? “I know for some of you this NFT world is slightly different than what you’re used to from me,” said Liam, “but your support so far has been amazing (as always!)”

And not only that- another new Liam song coming?! We haven’t even got the one yet! (or maybe this is the same one..?) Anyway, school pal S-X (Liam hyped his music a couple weeks ago) talked about him in an interview, saying "Liam is a good friend of mine and we've got stuff coming soon. I don't want to say too much as you know how those One Direction fans get [HEYYYY… oh wait yeah he’s totally right]- when I mention him I can't even open my Twitter. But we've got a song coming and it's a smash. It's sooner than you think and that's all I can say." OH RILLY?? INTERESTING! I was just eyeing him for the artist showcase Liam said he was gonna do on veeps but OKAY! He also said "We're both from Wolverhampton and I was in college with him at the same time, and going from that to global stardom at 17 is not normal for any person. To have toured the world, done stadium tours and everything, he is one of the most famous people in the world. So he will go through scrutiny from the media and whatever, but I can tell you he is one of the nicest people, one of the most genuine people I've ever met. He's a real good friend of mine."

And speaking of unexpected songs; another Zayn demo leak was posted! This time he’s singing You with Ellie Goulding; the song ended up being released by Troye Sivan.

And Anne Marie posted “rehearsals for #OURSONG live! I just love this song so much. I also miss your face @niallhoran” with a picture of them singing away; apparently she’s referring to the recording of the acoustic version which is out on Friday. Niall posted a picture of the Danish football player who collapsed during play the other day giving a thumbs up from the hospital; indeed it is very good to see that he’s all right.

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [two] // daisy johnson

summary: same as the first chapter – it was too long to post in one so this is the remainder of it!

part one | part three | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | wattpad

"What do you think?"

I raised an eyebrow as I poked my head inside the van, glancing around at the cramped space that had stupidly been turned into a living space. There was also, weirdly enough, a computer in the corner which made absolutely no sense.

"I think I have no idea what I'm looking at," I admitted, before looking to an excited Skye beside me. "What is this?"

She bit her lip to contain her grin as she patted the van's door proudly. "This is my new rig."

I almost laughed. "You're kidding."

Her smile lessened. "I'm not."

Now I definitely laughed. "Skye, c'mon, be serious. Whose van is this?"

Her smile disappeared as she clenched her jaw with annoyance. "It's mine. Sorry it isn't fancy enough for you, your majesty."

When I realised she was serious, I lost my smile and looked between the van and her. "Skye, where the hell did you get a van? You can't even drive!"

Clearly holding in her anger, she began to push past me and slide the doors shut. "He said you wouldn't get it," she mumbled to herself, but I heard.

"He?" I questioned with raised eyebrows. "Who the hell is he?"

"Miles," she snapped, stopping moving and looking to me. "Miles is the one who got me the van. He said it was a bad idea to show you and clearly he was right, Y/N. You took one look at it and laughed. He was right."

I smiled tightly, trying not to get worked up at the mention of Skye's new friend. She'd befriended this 'Miles' guy within the past few months and wouldn't stop meeting with him and his friends. He was in the grade above us, but just like her, he'd skip class and do God knows what.

Ever since she'd been hanging around them, she'd been standoffish and distant. She wouldn't contact me as much when she ran away, and she'd been skipping school more often than usual. They were clearly a bad influence on her, but she reassured me she was in control of her own life and knew what she was doing. Being the idiot I am, I fell for her pretty smile and convincing eyes, but this was getting too far now.

"No offence, Skye, but I wouldn't start listening to a guy who can't even make it to class on time," I said to her with a hint of annoyance. "Why do you need a van anyway?"

"Why not?" she countered with her arms crossed. "I thought you'd be happy that I'm finally taking responsibility. Growing up."

My expression softened. "I've never once said that you had to do either of those things."

"You don't need to say it," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes with a frown. "I know you think it. Everyone does."

I stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder and finding her eyes with mine. "Where is this coming from? Skye, I have never thought that. All I've ever wanted for you is to be safe and happy. I'm just worried."

She shrugged me off. "Well, now you don't need to be. I've got this."

"You're seventeen, you should be in school studying, not staying in a van," I said tiredly. "You've been missing so much. How are you gonna graduate?"

She avoided my eyes. "That's another thing... I've been thinking and, well, I don't think I want that."

I widened my eyes with disbelief. "What?"

Still avoiding my eyes, she continued, "I don't think I want to graduate."

I was too surprised to find words so quickly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"How can you not want to graduate?!" I asked suddenly, finding my words. "It's what you do! It's what we all do!"

She met my eyes with apologetic ones. "It's what you do, Y/N. I don't want to be at a place that makes me feel like shit. I can't keep pretending I fit in when I don't."

"This isn't you," I told her sternly. "We were supposed to graduate together. You're not stupid, Skye. I can help you study. You can't just give up."

"I'm not," she said with certainty. "I finally know what I'm doing. That's all."

I squeezed my fists together to contain my frustration. "And what's that?"

"The Rising Tide–"

"For fuck's sake!" I cut her off, before hitting the van door with frustration.

"Miles has taught me a lot!" she defended. "They do a lot of good, Y/N! I just want to be apart of something bigger. Something that can help me help others. And something that can help me find my family. My real family."

I clenched my jaw, knowing I was too late in convincing her otherwise. Whatever Miles and the others had told her about their stupid hacking group had worked – she was dropping out of high school and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

"You're gonna be going to university and we both know I can't afford it," she said gently. "We couldn't stay together forever, Y/N. And my foster family definitely don't care what happens to me. I don't fit in anywhere."

I looked to her with glassy eyes. "You fit in with me. You always have."

She pursed her lips as she stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear enough," I added bitterly.

"That's not it and you know it," she muttered, shaking her head. "I have to do this. I have to figure myself out. Alone."

I felt stupid for letting her do everything she did leading up to this point. If I had just tried a little harder, maybe things could have been different.

"You're not alone though, are you?" I asked rhetorically. "You've got your new pals at the Rising Tide. It's their damn fault you're doing all this."

"They're not as bad as you think!"

"You've changed because of them!" I argued back. "They created a barrier between you and I. It's because of them that you've... that you've..."

"What?" she snapped, glaring at me. "That I'm finally thinking for myself?!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and straightened up. "Forget it, just– forget it. I've got a midterm to study for."

She snickered harshly. "Of course. Don't want me slowing you down."

I stayed quiet and turned around to leave. I couldn't see past my anger as I left her with her stupid van. 

Of course, the two of us had been friends for a lot longer than that silly argument, so I was quick to realise how much I actually cared about her and her life, and wanted to apologise for how harsh and unsupportive I sounded.

The next day after school, I decided to head over to her foster family's place to hopefully talk to her. I'd had enough time to think about it and knew I was a lot more levelheaded now that I'd had some space.

I knocked on the front door and waited before an older blonde woman answered. I recognised her as Skye's foster mum, Sally.

"Hi, Mrs Collins," I greeted with a smile. "I'm looking for–”

"Mary doesn't live here anymore," Sally cut me off instantly, surprising me.

I had almost forgotten that Skye's foster family knew her as the name she was given by her orphanage – Mary Sue Poots.

"She doesn't?" I asked with confusion. "But I thought–"

"Goodbye, Miss Y/L/N," Sally interrupted, before slamming the door in my face.

I blinked with confusion before turning around and walking down the steps. It had been a while since I last visited Skye at home. In fact, she made sure I never visited her at home. I guess now I knew why. But then where the hell was she living?

As I walked around the neighbourhood trying to think about where Skye could be, I saw a familiar van parked up on the side of the street and put the pieces together.

Guiltily, I approached the van and sucked up a deep breath before knocking on the side. It didn't take long for the door to slide open and reveal Skye herself.

"Hey," I said quietly, noticing her surprised expression. "Can we talk?"

She licked her lips nervously and nodded, before moving to the side to let me in. I climbed inside and watched as she shut the door before settling on the seat in front of me. I looked around and realised the little details I hadn't noticed yesterday. The little things that made this place Skye's and nobody else's.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I don't have any," she joked to lighten the mood, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile.

I breathed out before meeting her eyes. "Skye, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted like that. If I had known that this was your home, I–"

"You didn't know," she said, shaking her head with embarrassment. "I didn't want you to know. It's my fault."

I pursed my lips, watching as she looked away with pink cheeks. It hurt me to know that she was embarrassed when I didn't care about any of this, I just cared about her.

"I want you to know that I respect your decision to join the Rising Tide," I said gently, making her look up. "If it's what you want, you should go for it."

"It is," she said with certainty.

I chewed on the inside of my mouth before asking, "Is there no way you can finish high school though? Graduate with me?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to, Y/N."

"But that's the bare minimum," I pleaded. "Hacking isn't a lifestyle. You need to work, too, and I can promise you that most places won't look to hire a high school dropout."

She leaned back in her seat and shrugged nervously. "Miles isn't graduating either. And he's got some friends who haven't graduated. They're all doing fine."

I looked down and pinched the bridge of my nose to contain my frustration. I promised myself I wouldn't argue with her, but the mention of her other friends was like a trigger.

"What now?" she asked with annoyance, realising I was annoyed. "You clearly have something to say about them."

"It doesn't matter," I said, biting my tongue.

"Sure it doesn't," she played along.

"It doesn't," I agreed.

"Yeah, and the Hulk isn't bright green," she said sarcastically.

I looked up and glared at her. She stared back challengingly, practically daring me to speak. So, I did.

"Your new hacker friends are the reason you're making these choices," I told her straight. "They're the reason you're making a huge mistake. The reason you're dropping out. And for what? So you can hack like them?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you look down on us, but we're more than that."

"Skye, I don't give a shit about them!" I shouted without meaning to. "I only care about you!"

"Then stop talking crap about my friends!" she returned angrily.

"Why do you care about them so much?!"

"They gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere! They made me feel like I belonged!"

I frowned, anger replacing with hurt. "I always offered you a place to stay. I only ever wanted you to be safe. You never needed to be different with me. You belonged. Always."

She swallowed hard and looked away from me ashamedly. "Well it doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving."

I breathed out deeply. "School? Our town? Leaving what?"

"All of it," she said quietly. "I don't expect you to understand."

I looked down to my fumbling hands, a tear slipping from my eye. I had never felt so angry at someone before in my life. She was treating me like I was a stranger, as if I wasn't somebody who knew her inside out. She was treating me like she treated everyone else except her new friends. And I couldn't deal with it anymore.

"Fine," I said, before moving to open the door. I jumped out her van and didn't spare her a glance as I said, "Have fun with the rest of your life. Sorry I didn't care enough."

She didn't say anything and I didn't expect her to. With a broken heart and headache, I left and didn't bother turning back.

—

"What do you mean she's run away?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Mr Lock said apologetically. "Her foster family got the note this morning. They're doing what they can to find her. She always turns up, you know that."

I knew her family didn't care if she was gone or not, so I knew Skye definitely wouldn't be found. Unlike usual, Skye hadn't contacted me before leaving, so something told me she wouldn't be turning up.

Our argument was over a week ago and I hadn't seen her since. It had been eating away at me the way we'd left things, but I couldn't find it in myself to face her. I had no idea what to say anyway. And I wasn't sure when she was planning on leaving, so I didn't think it was important right now. Clearly, I was wrong.

"I just thought you should know," Mr Lock said with a nod. "The police will come by soon to get a statement from you."

As usual. Except this time, I actually had no idea where she was.

I nodded, my mouth going dry. "Thank you... can I go now?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Of course."

I left his office and headed straight outside behind the bleachers where nobody could hear or see me. The first thing I did was try to ring Skye, but there was no answer and no way to leave a voicemail. I tried several times, hoping she'd pick up, but she didn't. And that's when I remembered the burner phone.

Immediately pulling it out, I turned it on and saw the message from her appear on my screen. I was quick to open it, my heart racing like it did every time she ran away. I knew she wasn't coming back this time though.

Hey, Y/N. I know you probably hate me, but I felt like I owed you this. I said I was leaving and I have. I can't tell you where. And I'm not good at goodbyes. I've had too many of them and I couldn't bring myself to say it to you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to, but I guess some things are inevitable, huh? I've managed to do it all my life, this isn't any different. I'm just sorry if I hurt you in the process. Anyway, this is pretty long and I don't even know if you read it, but yeah. I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different.

The text ended there and I found myself rereading it to myself over and over, her words imprinted in my mind. I knew we'd argued and exchanged hurtful words, but I never in a million years thought she'd leave without saying goodbye. I thought I meant more to her than this. But no. I was just another foster family she ran away from. And I wasn't so sure I'd see her again.

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

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

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

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

Story Playlist:

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

+

MY MASTERLIST.

+

The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

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

And he fucking loved it.

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

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

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

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

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

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could be such a man sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt like you were floating that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

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

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

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

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

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

Maybe that was the design of it.

+

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

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

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

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

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

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

And even now, he's still got them.

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

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

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

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

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

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

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

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

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

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

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

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

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not sure?"

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

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

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

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

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where else, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

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

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

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

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't get angry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed again, "It's not."

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

Probably one more time.

"So …"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't hear that."

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

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

I don't think we can keep doing this.

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

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

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

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

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

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

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

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

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

He's not sure about playing the song.

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

But he plays it.

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

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

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

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

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

The song ends. And you're glad.

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

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

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

+

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

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine."

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

"I wasn't sure either."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink once.

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

"That's not—

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

"I'm a private person—

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

And they won't.

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

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

+

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Magnetic: Chapter 4 - Routine

Pairing: The Mandalorian x You (just getting to know each other. nothing serious.)  (female reader insert; no ‘Y/N’)

Word count: 6,234

Rating: None necessary. Maybe some language? Mentions of canon-typical violence

Summary: Taking off from Nevarro and entering hyperspace for the first time with Mando and Grogu, you’ve got a lot to learn. Is the man going to welcome you onto the ship, or will it be much different than you imagine? 

Author’s note:

Check out the earlier parts of this story by visiting my Masterlist

Thank you for coming back and reading! I hope you enjoy this one. It’s a lot more setup, but there are a couple very important conversations in here. 

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(banner made by @malionnes)

The following day, Karga and Cara walked with the four of you back toward the ships, Grogu floating next to the Mandalorian. You caught Terys still giving the man looks every now and then, a blush rising in her cheeks when he spoke, even though you knew she was regretting her behavior from the previous night. It’s her own fault. She’s embarrassed, and he’s acting like nothing happened. 

 You knew in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter; Terys likely wouldn’t be your pilot when it came time to go back to the Academy, and she’d probably never see the Mandalorian again - unless she looked on purpose. I wonder how many women try to … and how many he takes up on it. You glanced over at the man as he walked, the beskar glinting in the early morning sun, and couldn’t help smiling. “So this is it, Mando.” Karga spoke as you stopped in front of a ship - something that looked to be a pre-empire gunship - and looked up at it, eyes narrowed. “Heading out with some help this time?” Terys continued walking, leaving your group behind, and Karga turned, his back to the ships and his eyes on the taller man in front of him. “Not like -”

 “You act like this is the first time he’s taken off from Nevarro with the kid, Karga.” Cara’s arms were crossed over her chest and she eyed you before she looked at him, lips twitching into a smirk. She said your name and you swiveled your head, waiting. “Don’t let him or the kid lie to you, he flies much better when there’s someone with more than three fingers in the co-pilot’s seat.” You caught Grogu’s thoughts at that, a loud “hey!”, and immediately began to laugh, one hand rising to cover your face. “What’s he thinking?” 

 “He’s a little upset, Cara.” You raised an eyebrow, seeing the look on Grogu’s face, his tiny teeth bared and eyes screwed almost shut. “He -” You laughed again, even as the gangway of the ship began to lower, the Mandalorian pressing buttons at his wrist. “I think he believes that he’s the best co-pilot that this ship has ever seen.” You heard a noise that could have been considered a snort from the Mandalorian’s modulator, but he didn’t say anything else, even though Cara and Karga joined you in quiet laughter. That’s good to know. I made him laugh.  “Let me say goodbye to Terys, and and make sure I didn’t forget anything. Then …” You took a breath. “Then I’m ready.” 

 “Five minutes.” The Mandalorian spoke directly to you, and with a single nod you turned away, headed back to the ship you’d flown to Nevarro on. It was quiet in the hold, and you knew that she was in the cockpit, prepping for takeoff. Quick goodbye, a quick thank you, and a … 

 “I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?” You heard her voice as you stepped through the doorway, the woman busy flipping switches on the console. “I threw myself at -” Yeah, you did. 

 “No.” You leaned against the seat, watching her. “You just had a few too many after a couple days in hyperspace, and you … it happens. I’m sure he’s dealt with it before, and you … you won’t be the last, but I wouldn’t …” You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m sure I’ll say something really stupid to him while I’m on board, so there’s that to look forward to…” I do always end up running my mouth. 

 “Doesn’t help.” But she finally laughed, rubbing a hand over her face. “The ale here is strong, so I …” If that makes you feel better. “Take care of that kid, alright? I don’t know him well, but this is a pretty … this isn’t a small thing, and I know …” She looked over at you. “He could be the future.” I know. So do Luke and all of the … “You’re supposed to check in every few weeks, unless something goes wrong. You know how to send the -” We’ve gone over this. 

 “Encrypted if possible, yes. Not from our… his ship, and only right before we leave one planet for the next, unless there’s an emergency. There’s…. There’s no current threat, but we can’t be too careful.” Not with Grogu. Not with Mando. Not with a … “Thank you, Terys. For getting us here. For getting him back to his family.” The woman waved you off with one hand, but you saw that she was smiling, too. 

 “Yeah, yeah.” She took a deep breath. “Hope you have better luck with him than I did.” What does that mean? “It’d be a pretty long couple months if he only says ten words to you.” You laughed at that, agreeing, and then pushed away from the seat, turning toward the cockpit doorway. “Take care of yourself.” You murmured the same to her and stepped out of the room, back toward the lowered ramp. With one final look around the hold, you set your shoulders and nodded to the empty room. Alright, I guess it’s time to go.

 Karga and Cara were gone, and it only took you a few steps to reach the Mandalorian’s ship, your feet light on the ramp as you climbed it. The cargo hold wasn’t quite spacious, but it was larger than the ship you’d flown in on, and it had two levels. Where you at, kid? Up. You lowered your bag to the floor and then climbed the ladder to the cockpit entrance, seeing that Mando was already seated, Grogu in one of the extra chairs. Pretty far back for a copilot, but… “Hey, pal.” You swiped at the top of his head with one hand, lowering yourself onto the other seat, but before you got comfortable, Grogu was climbing down from where he sat and toddling toward you. “No, kid, co-” But you bent down to grab him nonetheless, shifting him into one arm while you buckled up. “Sorry that took so long, I -” The ship. The ship. 

 Grogu struggled in your arm, twisting his head to look up at you and whining quietly, paying no attention to your frown. Calm down. “What’s he saying?” You were still at least a few minutes from taking off, and he turned his head toward the two of you. “If he’s -” Different. Different ship. Not home. You stared down at him, blinking. What? Do you want me to say that? Yes.

 Gritting your teeth, you closed your eyes. “He… he says it’s different. The ship.” Not home. “He says it’s not home.” You winced as the words came out, but the Mandalorian didn’t even move. “I don’t know what that means, I’m -” 

 “It’s not the same ship.” Huh? He spoke quietly. “I … he wouldn’t have …” The Mandalorian’s head lowered briefly and then he pressed another button before you heard the ramp closing, the cockpit doors sliding shut. “Let’s get out of here, and then I’ll explain.” You tightened your hold on Grogu, eyes on the window in front of you. I don’t know what any of this means.

 It only took seconds for you to feel the gentle vibration of the ship beneath you as you lifted off from the surface of the planet. Calming slightly, Grogu cooed in your lap as he watched the Mandalorian. The man’s gloved fingers wrapped around the shifter, his other hand firmly on the knob to his left as he faced forward. It was different than being in the cockpit with Terys; you could tell the man was comfortable in his ship, like he’d been flying in it for years - even though, according to him, it was new to him. 

 You left the atmosphere of Nevarro, and instead of setting a course for one of the puck destinations, he set the ship to drift, fingers tightening around the controls. “The kid… Grogu is right. This isn’t the same ship he was last in.” Why? 

 “He asked why.” You spoke quietly, feeling Grogu’s tension, his entire weight settled against your side. “He’s -”

 “The day that he got … that he reached out to the Jedi on Tython, Moff Gideon, he …” The Mandalorian turned toward you and Grogu, finally reaching out for the kid. “He blew it up, pal. It’s gone.” The cooing turned into a low whine, and as you transferred his weight to the man’s hands, you felt your heart beating faster. Oh, no. The Mandalorian looked down at Grogu, whose eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. “Had to come get you with some new friends on a different ship, and it took me a while to find another one like this.” His helmet tilted up and toward you. “It’s the same design. Same … era, same ship, but it’s not the Crest.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing ever will be, but at least it’s familiar.” Sorry. 

 “He apologized.” You whispered the words, fingers curling into tight fists as you felt the tension in the room rise. “I think he’s sorry for -” The Mandalorian moved quickly, lifting Grogu and tucking him against the beskar on his chest. 

 “No. No, no, no, pal. Don’t be sorry.” He hugged Grogu tightly, head ducking all the way down. “Lost almost everything - weapons, supplies, ammo… I’m just glad we weren’t on it.” He shifted, using his free hand to reach down and into a pouch on his belt, and when he brought it back up, you saw something round and metal held between his fingers. “Not all gone, though. I k-” Both of the kid’s hands reached up, fingers grabbing for the object. It’s the thing I saw in his memories, the thing he dreams about. “Whoa, kid, it -” Ball! As soon as it was in his hands, Grogu turned toward you, holding it up proudly between his fingers. Mine!

 “He showed that to me a lot, Mando. In his thoughts, and even in his … in his dreams, too.” 

 “You can … see dreams?” He sounded curious and a little afraid, but he didn’t waste time, spinning away from you to settle Grogu down onto the third seat, and then facing you again. “Is that … are all Jedi -” 

 “No.” You closed your eyes. “Again, like I said to you before, I’m not a Jedi, but …” You lifted a hand and chewed on the tip of your thumb. “People use the Force differently, depending on …” How do I explain this? “It’s like you.” You licked your lips, leaning slightly closer to him. “You’re good at tracking - it’s a skill that you’ve improved over time, right?” He nodded once. “You can sense people, sense what they’ll do, and where they’ll be - how they’ll act, because you’ve been around different kinds of people enough to see the patterns.” Taking a breath, you glanced down at Grogu, who’d climbed from the seat back onto Mando’s lap, and then back up at the Mandalorian. “I know those things about other people after meeting them once, because I can focus in on what’s in their heads. I don’t need the patterns or the experience, I just need to concentrate. It’s nowhere near as useful as the Jedi and others that are one with the Force that can actually see the future, because I can’t do that. I just see now… or in the past, I guess. And it helps me to predict how people will act in the future, or to know how I should act around them.” 

 “Then how did you see his dreams?” You bit your lip, thinking about how much to tell him, and decided to go with as much as you knew. Why not? 

 “The kid’s really smart, and really strong. He’s …” You reached out, taking one of Grogu’s outstretched hands between your thumb and forefinger. “He’s very powerful, and he’s still learning to control it, which means he’s different than other people, other … beings.” I am? You nodded at him. You are. “So his dreams are more like thoughts because there’s so much power within him, and when he sleeps? He can’t control what he dreams.” You squeezed Grogu’s hand, then let it go. “I felt him. When he called to Master Skywalker? To Luke?” The Mandalorian barely moved, but you heard him take a quick breath. “Even from so far away, I felt him, and there was no reason for it to be that way. So I think we’re … connected somehow, but no one knows … why.” The cockpit was silent, and even Grogu looked down, returning his attention to the metal sphere. “Most, um, most Force … users?” You shrugged. “They speak to each other with thoughts. It’s a way to communicate without giving anything away, and it’s helpful in combat or in negotiations.” At that, the Mandalorian nodded multiple times. Of course he understands that. “But usually, those abilities come with others, too. Strength. Agility. The ability to move things, like he did with you and the mudhorn.” 

 “You know about that?” Your eyes moved to the Mandalorian’s shoulder, the signet on his pauldron gleaming in the low light and reminding you of their connection. “About how -”

 “Yes.” Swallowing, you clasped your hands together. “He protected you for the first time that day. And it’s a good thing, because he …” Grogu had the ball near his mouth, paying no obvious attention to the two of you, even though you knew he was listening. “You needed each other.” 

 “We did. We do.” You watched as he tweaked the end of one large, green ear, his visor turning back to face forward. “Can you do that? Move things?” At his question, you froze. 

 “No,” you whispered. “And I won’t try.” Grogu’s whine surprised you, the child struggling in the arms that held him, twisting toward you. Won’t hurt anyone. “I -”

 “Hey.” The Mandalorian loosened his hold on Grogu and then held him out toward your lap, letting him go only once he’d made his way onto your legs. “I didn’t mean to -” 

 “No, it’s fine.” You swallowed hard, letting out a shuddering breath. “You didn’t …” He didn’t know about my sister. He didn’t know about my … “I did that once, the first time I realized that I could … that something was …” You felt the tears rising in your eyes, Grogu pressing himself tightly against your body, cheek against your chest. “I ended up hurting someone, and so I … even at the Academy, I …” Raising your gaze to meet the visor, you didn’t bother trying to wipe your tears away. “That’s one of the reasons I ended my training. The fear that I couldn’t control it? It’s dangerous. Being too emotional is …” 

 “I understand.” It went quiet again, and though you thought that the Mandalorian was looking at you, you had no way of knowing for sure. Not dangerous. You looked down, seeing that Grogu was staring up at you, the ball in your lap and both of his hands gripping your shirt. Not to us. Us? Do you mean you and me, kid, or ...Your eyes flicked to the man in the pilot’s chair and then back down. You’ll see. His belief in you slightly comforting, you finally reached up, swiping beneath both eyes. Enough.

 “So, Mando.” You tried to lighten the mood, settling back into your chair. “It looks like you don’t have to worry about me in your head or in your dreams. The kid and I have a connection, so that’s why I … plus, you’ve got that helmet on, so -”

 “I sleep with it off.” The casual admission stunned you into silence, breath catching in your throat. “If it will make you more comfortable I -” 

 “This is your ship.” You felt your heartbeat hammering behind your ribs. “You can sleep however you -” Just the helmet, or all of the armor? I don’t know why I … You blinked furiously, glad he was looking away from you. “Don’t change your routine just for me, it isn’t -” 

 “I won’t.” There was a finality to the statement, but it wasn’t unkind. “And you shouldn’t either.” With that, he leaned forward and began pressing buttons with one hand, reaching into his pouch with the other. What does he mean? I don’t have a routine, I … He thumbed through the pucks, setting one onto the flat surface of the console and pushed a button, a pale blue glow reflecting off of the beskar he wore - and off of the glass in front of him. “We’ll start with most difficult one.” 

 You didn’t know why he was announcing his plans - if it was for his benefit or yours, or even Grogu’s, but you didn’t say anything, just watching as he moved. He do this before? Yes. You smiled, finally feeling your heart rate dropping back to normal. Good. 

 “It’s going to take a few days to get out to Ryloth, and then from there, we’ll head to…” You listened as the man spoke, but somehow knew that he didn’t want - or need - you to answer. He’s just … he’s happy to have someone here to listen. You looked down, watching Grogu as he continued to play with the ball, sitting on your lap and once again facing forward. Well, two someones.

 --- 

 In the days that followed, the three of you settled in to life on the ship, the Mandalorian calling it simply Razor II. Grogu still kept to a schedule as if he was at the Academy, the two of you taking time each day to continue practicing with his abilities, you keeping a log of what you did so that you had something to report back in each check-in. 

 Sometimes the Mandalorian watched, perched on a crate in the corner of the cargo hold, asking questions as you and Grogu worked together, getting involved himself when necessary. You had a sneaking suspicion that the kid got him involved on purpose a few times; forcing the items he was lifting and moving off in the man’s direction and faking fatigue instead of retrieving them himself, perking back up at the man’s numerous praises. When they would begin that, you gracefully bowed out, giving them time together and retreating to your sleeping quarters, which were on the top level of the ship. The Mandalorian - Mando, you reminded yourself each time - had explained that after finding the replacement ship, he’d made some adjustments to it and to the layout. He made it more comfortable. More of a … a home. 

 On the first night, while Grogu slept in his carriage in the corner of the cockpit, the man showed you around, pointing out the fresher and telling you you could leave your personal things there if you wanted, showed you the weapons locker, a small, deep compartment that he’d said had been the sleeping quarters on the Razor Crest. It was filled nearly from top to bottom with a stockpile of weapons that you’d never even imagined before; guns and ammo, rockets, spare fuel for his jetpack - there were even canisters of gas packed neatly into crates; the charge for his blaster and pulse rifle. 

 The Mandalorian spent a great deal of time showing you the weapons and explaining how they worked, voice catching as he touched the stock of the longest gun in the space, explaining that of all the things he’d lost when Moff Gideon blew up his original ship, that specific weapon had been the most difficult to replace, since it had been passed down from another Mandalorian, not simply bought. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was sentimental about it. You couldn’t help the small smile as he talked about the need for such an armory - his words weapons are a part of my religion echoing in your ears, even as he closed and locked the door. 

 His bunk was against the wall between the where the weapons locker and the fresher were, and where the carbonite system near the back of the ship was located; a tiny, narrow cot that could be folded up and out of the way when he wasn’t using it. That would be better off for me. He’s way too big for it. You’d wondered where Grogu would sleep, but before asking, your eyes fell on a large cubby just above the man’s pillow. It was essentially a blanket nest, and you knew the kid would love it, especially since it meant that when he opened his eyes, he’d see the man sleeping right in front of him. Good. Perfect. 

 The last thing he’d shown you was where you’d be sleeping, and it was on the second level - a larger space just in front of the short hallway that led to both the escape pod and the ship’s reactor. The bed was small - larger and wider than the cot, but definitely not huge, though it looked comfortable. That room was the actual sleeping quarters, and you knew it, but before you could raise that point, Mando had cut you off, both arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder leaning against the doorway. 

 “I thought you’d want some privacy. I don’t usually have women on the ship with me, except Cara, and she’s … she’s used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, so it’s never bothered her.” Not wanting to offend him, you’d just thanked the man, setting your bag down on the mattress and looking around. “It gets loud sometimes, especially during takeoff and landing, but I wouldn’t do either of those things if I knew you were sleeping here, unless it was an emergency.” 

 He was considerate, despite his no-nonsense reputation and his penchant for silence, and as the days passed, you became comfortable with him. He’d called the bounty on Ryloth the most difficult, but it still took him less than a day after you landed to bring his prisoner back, the man roughly forcing a Twi’lek he’d caught in Nabat through the ship’s door and directly into the carbonite chamber without a word to either you or Grogu. 

 Instead of taking a break, he immediately plotted a course for your next destination - Cadevine, and then to the next after that, a nondescript place called Kothlis. He’d collected three of the five bounties in just over a week and a half, sleeping in short shifts as you traveled between locations. 

 You spent time with Grogu, wrote in your journal, and spoke to the Mandalorian whenever possible, but true to your word, you kept out of his way as much as you could. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to talk to him; you just didn’t want to talk too much. It wasn’t what you were used to - the isolation, the quiet - but you couldn’t complain, because it gave you plenty of time to think. 

 Grogu spent his time sleeping near Mando as expected and you’d been right about that too, the child not once attempting to sneak into your room, even though you could still sometimes hear his thoughts, catching flashes of his dreams. You were happy for him. He seemed more focused than he’d been at the Academy, but when it was the three of you in the same room - cargo hold or cockpit - you were constantly answering questions for Mando, acting as the mediator between him and Grogu. That was when the man was more talkative, never hesitating to ask you to intervene and include yourself in the conversation.

 They communicated fine without you - they had for the time they’d been together before, but you being there changed things, giving them an easier method for speaking to each other, even though it tired you out after a while. On the way between the third and fourth bounties - a four day trip to Neimoidia - you waited until Grogu had fallen asleep before returning to the cockpit, where Mando was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He’s sleeping. I - “I’m awake.” It surprised you, but you took the admission as an invitation, entering the room and taking a seat in the chair Grogu typically sat in, the one closer to the man. “I heard you coming up the ladder.” 

 “The kid’s asleep.” You sighed, eyes on the window ahead of you. “He was a handful today.” 

 “He was.” I don’t know what I… “It’s hard, on the ship to -”

 “Maybe after Neimoidia, Mando? We could stop for a day or so, and land somewhere. There’s so much I’m sure he wants to show you that he can’t do on the ship.” Your words were met with silence, but you continued. That’s a good sign.  “I don’t know that sector well, but there must be a safe planet where landing won’t attract too much attention. We can stay near the ship, but … open space. Fresh air. Time for the two of you -” 

 “Where will you be?” He turned his chair to face you, arms dropping and his hands resting on his thighs. “If Grogu and I are -” I … “You’re not here to babysit him, you know. You’re here with him, and …” 

 “Bari … My fr…” You swallowed. “Someone at the Academy said that that’s what I’d be doing here, with him. Acting as a nurse droid, basically, but it’s never …” You looked up, lips pressed together. “I’ve never felt like that’s what I was doing with him. You know how he is - he looks helpless, but he isn’t. He can get his own food if he’s not on the ship or stuck in a building, he can protect himself when it matters most, and he’s smart.” You laughed. “Well, most of the time. I mean he’s -”

 “When we were together before?” The Mandalorian shifted in his chair, his armor clinking softly as the edges of the plates on his thigh and chest met. “He’d help me around the ship sometimes. Tried to do some electrical work with him once, but it -”

 “Mando!” You were laughing, one hand reaching up to cover your mouth. “He’s just a kid, he can’t - “

 “No, he couldn’t.” You heard him clear his throat. Did he just tell me something … funny? “But you’re right. Grogu’s … capable. And after spending time with you and the Jedi, he seems …” Trailing off, the man cocked his head to the side. “More.” You understood without him going into detail. He is. I’m glad you see it.

 “We don’t know much about how he ages, because there are only two other confirmed … well, sort of confirmed beings like him, and they’re both gone now, but the best we can tell…” You leaned in, using your hand to prop your chin up, elbow resting on the console next to your chair. “In some ways, he’s like a five or six year old child. But in others?” You shook your head. “He’s seen and done so much. Survived so much, and he understands way more than…” 

 “Do you know more about what happened to him? Before?” 

 “No.” Your answer was fast - almost too fast, and you saw the way that the man stiffened. “No, and every time anyone tries to ...see? Or to ask? It… it isn’t …” You lowered your head. “He doesn’t even think about it. I think he’s blocked it out, because even when I tried to …” 

 “They asked you?” He sounded surprised, the stiffness leaving his body. “To look -” I didn’t think I’d have to tell this story so soon, but … 

 “Yeah.” You rubbed at your lower lip with one finger. “Like I said, for some reason, he and I get along better than … they thought that I’d be…” You thought back to the day you’d tried to access the memories in Grogu’s head, the way he’d actively worked to keep you from seeing anything, despite your persistence, the way it felt when your back hit the wall, limbs held in place with almost no effort on his part. “It was the only time he’s ever used his ability to … not hurt anyone, because he wasn’t trying to …” 

 “What did he do to you?” There was concern in the man’s voice, and you could feel it too, his posture changing as he moved to the edge of his chair. “Grogu. Did he -”

 “He kept me out.” You shrugged. “Knocked the wind out of me, but I can’t blame him. He’s kept it to himself for so many years, and it was so soon after he came to the Academy. He was still missing you, he was still upset, he was still …” You took a deep breath. “In any other kid, I’d call it a temper tantrum, but with him? He was telling us no, absolutely not, and so … I never pushed again. I don’t know if the other Masters have, but I …” 

 “You care about him.” You nodded without pause, eyes focused on the t-shaped visor of the Mandalorian’s mask. “Even after -” Of course. 

 “He’s a kid, Mando. He doesn’t realize how strong he is, and back then he had no idea who to trust… I still don’t think he does, sometimes, to be honest, so how can I blame him?” 

 “I guess … You can’t.” Crossing your legs beneath you, you watched the stars for a few minutes. “Why haven’t you asked more about me?” Here we go. You had questions - hundreds of them - but didn’t know where to begin. “About the bounties, about my past, about my armor… or Mandalore?”

 “Do you want me to?” Turning your head toward him, you narrowed your eyes. “I’ve heard you’re not … that you don’t talk much. Keeps things mysterious.” You tried to lighten the mood, but when he didn’t reply, you continued. “I guess… like I said on that first transmission, I’m at an unfair advantage, because there are things about you that I know that I’m sure a lot of people don’t, because of the kid.” 

 “Like what?” He was curious, but didn’t pry. Where to start? You flipped through the information you had, trying to pick out some of the more important things. See, Terys? I knew this would happen. “Your profession requires you to be brutal most of the time, but you’re always gentle with Grogu, so I think you … stars I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you.” Taking a deep breath, you locked your eyes on his visor again. “I think that’s one of the things you missed most when he was gone, getting to separate parts of your life like that.” He didn’t acknowledge your words, and you chose something much less pointed next. “I know that you believe in your creed, and would only even consider compromising it if it was absolutely worth it.” That got a small nod. “I know that you considered the Guild your clan at first, but didn’t hesitate to do what you needed to get Grogu to a Jedi once he … was yours.” 

 “That’s not true.” There was regret in his tone, even the modulator couldn’t hide it. “At first, yes. But by the time I … when I realized I’d have to say goodbye? I questioned it. I didn’t want to -”

 “Well he was your family by then. Your … aliit.” 

 “You know Mando’a?” The regret turned to surprise. “There aren’t -”

 “I know a few words. We have historical texts at the Academy, I’ve read some of them, but I can’t … I can’t speak it. I’m not fluent.” 

 “Neither can I.” There was a pause and then you heard him laugh, the sound short but infectious, and after a few seconds, you were laughing with him, the mood shifting. “I know more than you, but it’s … not many people are know it well. On Mandalore, there are more that can speak it, but …” He went silent, taking a deep breath, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall. “What else do you know about me?” Maybe this isn’t as disastrous as I thought it would be.

 “I know how he sees you. I know what he feels about you. I know that your armor is a symbol of your success and your skill. I know that you didn’t want what happened on that light cruiser, but you’ve accepted it.” Licking your lips, you continued. “I know that this past year has probably been really damn hard for you, because he’s not my kid, and even the thought of having to say goodbye to him has kept me at the Academy for much longer than I would have stayed there otherwise.” 

 It was the first time you’d admitted it out loud in such clarity, and you clapped a hand over your mouth in surprise. I shouldn’t have said that. “You stayed… for him?” 

 “I did.” Your words quiet, you looked down at the console, focusing on the shifter in front of you. “Before he came? I was considering leaving, just because I wasn’t doing any good there. I wasn’t training, I didn’t have a Master, I couldn’t advance … and then he called out, and I… it made me reconsider. And here I am, a year later, on your ship with that kid.” 

 “Why don’t you call him by his name? After Ahsoka told me what it is, and I started using it...he changed. He seemed to like it.” Rubbing at your eyes, you swore under your breath. 

 “Asking all of the big questions tonight, aren’t you?” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Everyone else at the Academy calls him by his name. But one of the first memories I saw… well… heard was of you calling him “kid” and “pal” … and it just slipped out. I remember my sister had a nickname that she liked, too, and I thought that…” 

 “And it stuck.” You nodded, still focused on the control panel. “So you called him that because of … me?” I did. “I… knowing his name made it harder to let him go.” You had a feeling that the conversation was the most talkative that the man had been in months - if not longer - but even though the topic was difficult, you weren’t in any hurry for it to end. 

 “I slipped sometimes, and called him Grogu, and he… he didn’t like it much. I think he wanted to be reminded of you, even though you weren’t there. And I’m not you. I never will be, but I like to think that I made it easier for him to …” You searched for the word. “Adjust.” 

 “So what should I call him? Grogu? Kid? Pal?” He shifted in the chair, moving closer to you. “Can you ask him?” 

 “I don’t think it matters, Mando.” You lifted your eyes and turned toward him, the chair creaking softly beneath you. Hesitantly, you reached out, your hand hovering over his knee, but at the last second, you lost your nerve, pulling it back and settling it in your lap. “You’re his father. You can call him anything, and he’ll be happy about it because you’re doing it in person.” Why did you do that? You know he doesn’t like to be touched without permission, you shouldn’t have even …  The cockpit was silent, and then the Mandalorian abruptly stood, causing you to take a surprised breath and straighten up in your chair. Oh, damn. I made him - 

 But before your thoughts ran away, you felt his hand settle in against your shoulder, his gloved fingers curling slightly. “What does he call me?” The weight of his hand on your shoulder was a shock, but you were determined to not let him know how much it affected you - or the way it made the way he was feeling that much easier to read. Just because I wasn’t expecting it, nothing else. “The kid, wh-”

 “His father.” You saw his fingers flex out of the corner of your eye; the yellow material at the tips curling inward against the dark material of your shirt as his surprise and curiosity changed to anxiety. “Sometimes it’s Mando, but not … not often.” Why lie? “That’s how I… what I call you to him, too. His dad.” He squeezed your shoulder once more, fingers lingering and then the weight was gone, the cockpit doors opening. Oh, Maker. Frozen in your seat, you waited until they slid shut again to lean forward, resting your head on your forearms and taking deep breaths. I didn’t touch him, but he … it was just … what does that mean? 

 You took a few minutes to collect your thoughts and then stood, too. I should sleep. It’s late, and I don’t think he’ll come back unless… You exited the cockpit and paused at the top of the ladder, glancing down into the darkness. You couldn’t see, but heard the sound of water running in the fresher, your fingers gripping the metal railing tightly. Don’t. 

 But it was too late, your mind already focused on the cargo hold - and the only conscious mind present. Things were still mostly undefined, emotion the strongest takeaway, but just as you opened your eyes again, determined to go into the bedroom and get to sleep immediately, you caught one clear thought - your name. 

 --- 

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