#and also what the fuck else could I have chosen for him. they’re almost all love songs

[starryluminary]

I’ll be eighty seven, you’ll be eighty nine

I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine in the sky

Oh my, my, my

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 20

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

When laced into his clothing, Laurent’s dangerous grace lent him an almost androgynous quality. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was rare to associate Laurent with a physical body at all: you were always dealing with a mind.

goals

Damen knew his body now. He knew the surprise that gentle attention could draw from him. He knew his lazy, dangerous assurance, his hesitancies . . . his sweet, tender hesitancies. He knew the way that he made love, a combination of explicit knowledge and almost shy reticences.

Stirring drowsily, Laurent shifted a fraction closer and made a soft, unthinking sound of pleasure that Damen was going to remember for the rest of his life. And then Laurent was blinking sleepily, and Damen was watching Laurent grow aware of his surroundings and come awake in his arms. He wasn’t sure how it would be, but when Laurent saw who was beside him, he smiled, the expression a little shy but completely genuine. Damen, who hadn’t been expecting it, felt the single painful beat of his heart. He’d never thought Laurent could look like that at anyone.

cat. energy.

They were gazing at one another.

always

Damen found himself saying, ‘You talk the same in bed,’ and the words came out sounding like he felt: helplessly charmed.

<3

‘I like the way it feels,’ said Laurent. ‘I liked the way it felt. You’re a generous, giving lover, and I feel—’ Laurent broke off, and gave a shaky laugh at his own words. ‘I feel like the Vaskian tribe, in the body of one person. I suppose it is often like this?’ ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘No, it’s—’ It’s never like this. The idea that Laurent might find this with someone else hurt him.

damen going from passive polyamory to determined monogamy after one night with laurent, who doesn’t even know how to fuck like a normal person… that’s love babyyyy

also they’re so good, i don’t have much to say with these passages other than i love them and i love their love and i think they’re both being honest despite the lies between them. i really honestly have to think that, because anything else is heartbreaking. this is real and the text supports it so shut up

‘The Prince is occupied with other matters. You are to leave before he returns.’ He felt unsteady. He understood that what he had missed in sleeping was not his deadline but the last moments with Laurent, the last kiss, the final parting. Laurent wasn’t here because he had chosen not to be here.

In the curve of its metal was every humiliation of his time in this country, every frustration at Veretian confinement, every indignity of an Akielon serving a Veretian master. Except that it was Kastor who had put the collar on him, and Laurent who was freeing him. It was made from Akielon gold.

THERE YOU GO.

‘I can’t,’ said Damen. ‘I can’t have this for just one night.’

He had come to this fort a slave. He would ride out of it Damianos of Akielos. It was like shedding a skin, discovering what lay beneath. The first cuff sprang apart under Guerin’s rhythmic strikes and he faced his new self. He was not the headstrong prince he had been in Akielos. The man he had been in Akielos would never have served a Veretian master, or fought alongside Veretians for their cause. He would never have known Laurent for what he was; never have given Laurent his loyalty or held Laurent’s trust for a moment in his hands. Guerin moved to strike the gold from his left wrist, and he pulled it back. ‘No,’ he heard himself say. ‘Leave that one on.’

i love when things are on the page so i don’t have to analyze/summarize them myself. he’s been changed and he knows he can’t go back to the person he was, nor does he want to

His horse was being led forward. Not only a riding horse but a pack horse, a sword, clothing, supplies. Is there something you want? Laurent had asked him once. He wondered what ornate Veretian parting gift might lurk in those packs and knew instinctively that there was none. He had maintained from the beginning that he had wanted only his freedom. And that was exactly what he had been given.

a kingdom or this i hate it here

‘He’s gone for a ride,’ said Jord. ‘It was his habit in the palace, too, when he needed to clear his head. Not the type for goodbyes.’

horse girl avoidance. ouch.

‘I didn’t do it for Aimeric,’ said Damen.

he just didn't like seeing laurent being scary after they kissed (and cares about laurent and wanted to help him calm down and collect himself)

Against the pomp of the Regent’s emissary Laurent was a single rider casually dressed. But then, he had never needed anything other than his hair to identify him.

yeah damen you'd say that

‘This one pleaded for you. He tried to stand for the wrong side. He suffered the fate of any man who sides with the pretender prince against the King.’ The soldier pulled the bag away from the severed head. It was a fortnight’s hard ride, in hot weather. The skin had lost all the freshness that youth had once lent it. The blue eyes, always his best feature, were gone. But his tumbled brown hair was dressed with star-like pearls, and from the shape of his face, you could see that he had been beautiful. Damen remembered him stabbing a fork into his thigh, remembered him insulting Laurent, blue eyes bright with invective. Remembered him standing alone and uncertain in a hallway dressed in bedclothes, a young boy poised on the edge of adolescence, fearing it, dreading it. Don’t tell him I came, he’d said. They had always, from the beginning, had a strange affinity. This one pleaded for you. Spending, perhaps, the last of his fading currency with the Regent. Not realising how little currency he had left. Whether his beauty would survive adolescence no one would ever know, for Nicaise would not see fifteen now.

this is beautifully written.

In the glaring light of the courtyard, Damen saw Laurent react, and make himself not react.

but he reacted. which from laurent is a pretty big deal.

‘My uncle has killed his catamite,’ said Laurent. ‘As a message to us. And what is the message?’ His voice carried. ‘That his favour cannot be trusted? That even the boys in his bed see how false is his claim to the throne? Or that his hold on power is so flimsy that he fears the words of a bought child whore? ‘Let him come to Charcy, with his hithertos and his wherefores, and there he will find me, and with all the might of my kingdom I will scourge him from the field. ‘And if you want a personal message,’ said Laurent, ‘You can tell my uncle boykiller that he can cut the head off every child from here to the capital. It won’t make him into a king, it will simply mean he has no one left to fuck.’

good speech. especially the last line. you can see how his emotions are bleeding through, but they just give him more power.

‘It’s noon,’ said Jord. The words sounded harsh, like they hurt his throat. ‘He needs me,’ said Damen. ‘I don’t care if you tell the world.’

note from post-chapter 21 sam: the fact that laurent meticulously arranged an upcoming situation in which damen is exposed, partially if not entirely to spite him, because he doesn't realize that damen loves him and cares about him even as damianos, because damen and damianos are the same person... asdfighsdauf

‘You’ve outstayed your welcome,’ said Laurent. ‘Don’t do this. If you ride to meet your uncle unprepared you will lose everything you’ve fought for.’ ‘But I won’t be unprepared. Pretty little Aimeric is going to give up everything he knows, and when I’ve wrung every last word out of him maybe I’ll send what’s left to my uncle.’ Damen opened his mouth to speak but Laurent cut him off in a whiplash order to Damen’s escort: ‘I told you to get him out of here.’ And he put his heels in his horse, and drove it past Damen’s, up the steps to the dais, where he dismounted in one fluid motion, and headed in the direction of Aimeric’s rooms. Damen found himself facing Jord. He didn’t need to look up to see the position of the sun. ‘I’m going to stop him,’ said Damen.

this entire sequence of events is such a masterful culmination of previous scenes and ongoing themes from the rest of the book

Laurent stood still two steps from him, all the lines of his body rigid.

god this sucks for him so bad, especially after the way he treated aimeric before. like it sucks more for aimeric and nicaise, who are dead, but laurent has to live with this, having discovered them both at almost the same time. and all that, after a night of incredible vulnerability with damen and then accepting that he’s going to lose him.

That he had neat handwriting shouldn’t have been a surprise. He had always striven to perform his duties well. On the march he had worn himself into the ground trying to keep up with stronger men. A fourth son, thought Damen, waiting for someone to notice him. When he wasn’t trying to please, he was baiting authority, as though negative attention could substitute for the approval that he sought—that he had been given, once, by Laurent’s uncle. I’m sorry, Jord. They were the last words anyone would have from him.

the immense tenderness of the previous chapters is so abruptly and horrifically offset by nicaise and aimeric. it’s very well-done. it reminds us, and damen and laurent, that much exists outside of their love and their lies to each other.

… but maybe they can get through it, together? (it’ll be a while but it’s where we’re heading. eventually.)

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I was wondering, about Lily!Lookalike, or any version of Harry’s sibling, did they survive the curse too? Cause like, how would Voldemort cast two curses at once, you know? So was the curse still for Harry, and his sibling was just along for the ride? Or did his sibling survive, and he’s along for the ride? If it’s the latter, that would definitely make his tendencies and protectiveness of his sibling worse, to know they almost died, and has an army out to kill them

I love the idea of Voldemort having no clue that the Potter’s had twins so he goes in to finish off what he think is one kid only to find two babies and now he’s gotta take a second out of his plan to do Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo to decide which one to kill first and then shit hits the fan for him and he done fucks up.

I could see there being a spell to mirror or duplicate another spell allowing Voldemort to off the twins at the same time. Like, maybe the spell results in the wand shooting two of the same spell out or something. Or maybe there’s a spell that could be used to bounce another spell from one person to the next leading to Harry and his sibling both having a scar of their own if anyone wants to go with them both being the ‘chosen one’

Personally, I like the idea of only one of the twins being the chosen one and having the scar. If it’s Lily!lookalike!Reader then Harry would be 100% so much more protective of his sibling, especially when things really take off and people are very actively seeking out to harm and kill them. I mean Harry’s extreme overprotectiveness would kick in during first year of course, especially after everything happens with the philosopher’s stone and his twin almost dying and him not being able to do anything about it really. I could also see Harry really admiring and looking up to the Reader if they were the one to have the scar, seeing them as having protected him by taking the killing curse instead of him getting hit with it, also if the Reader was already pretty protective of him regarding how Dudley and the rest of the Dursley’s treated him/the two of them. So, in Harry’s mind and given his hero-complex it’s his job to protect his sibling too just like they did (along with their mother) for him.

In the case that Harry still ends up being the one to bear the scar then he’d be grateful that Lily!lookalike!Reader wouldn’t have to deal with it and that they would be safe, at least that’s what he thinks. But in actuality they’re no safer than he is given their relation to him. They’ll be seen as just as much of a threat to Voldemort and his cause as Harry already is, therefore resulting in them being in just as much danger if not more so since Death Eaters and whoever else will use the Reader to get to Harry. And he can’t let that happen. A part of him wants to hide his sibling away to protect them but another part of him wants to/needs to keep the Reader close to his side so he can protect them at all times.

[sillygooseassociation]

for the jru blurb thing: telling the kids they are having a sibbling. i need deets!

omg i feel like this could be a whole fic, maybe i’ll make a formal thing later, idk

in the JRU timeline, you and jason are engaged a couple months after your two year anniversary, at this point, the kids are 8 and 10. they met you 6 months after you and jason started dating and they love you from the beginning. you truly are the other half of jason, you compliment each other so well that the kiddos just instantly vibe with you. jason doesn’t ask them for their permission to propose to you but more so “how would you feel if y/n and i got married? your mom is always your mom, you’d just have extra love and she would be in our family. is that okay with you?”

the kids are just kinda dumbfounded like “i thought y/n was already in our family?” which of course makes jason fucking cry himself to sleep that night while you just hold him. anywho, they were so excited then when you got engaged because omg you’re gonna officially be their bonus mom! so when you find out four months later that you’re seven weeks pregnant, you’re not super nervous to tell the kids.

you know they love you (daisy asks you at least three times a week if it’s the day of your wedding despite you telling her y’all haven’t even chosen a date). so there’s not worries there, however, the two of them have been best friends for literally as long as each of them can remember. what if they don’t want to add someone to the mix? or what if they think you’ll love the baby more because the baby will be your “real” kid and they aren’t (which is absolute bullshit of course).

your anxiety brain and pregnancy hormones fuel your mind with these thoughts, leading to an anxiety attack and jason helping you to work through it. you thought about doing a cute announcement for the kids but with your anxiety, the two of you decide to just sit them down and tell them the exciting news.

“so, you know how y/n is joining our family?” the kiddos eagerly nod their heads, they’re legit so excited, it’s adorable. your anxiety calms enough that you continue for jason, “well, how would you feel about someone else joining our family too?” daisy and otis look at each other super confused before otis gasps, “ARE WE GETTING A PUPPY???” you and jason have absolutely no clue how your eardrums didn’t burst.

both of you chuckle, jason putting his hand on otis’s knee to try and bring him back down to earth, “no, not a puppy buddy, but maybe that’s something to consider based on that response.” jason looks at you with a smirk, you had been begging him for y’all to get a dog since you moved in a year ago, the smug bastard keeps denying you (little do you know it’s because he wants to get a puppy around the time you have the baby so that all the kids can have a built in new best friend, he’s such a fucking romantic it’s almost disgusting).

daisy just looks at you with wondering eyes, sure she would also love a puppy, but what are you talking about? she climbs into your lap, still small enough that she fits perfectly as she lays her head on your shoulder and plays with your hair, “who’s gonna join our family, y/n?”. you smile sweetly at her, then looking to otis, who is just as intrigued. taking a deep breath, you take jason’s hand into yours, “well, you two are going to have a baby sibling.”

you would have thought santa just stopped by to hand deliver presents based on how they react (lol). otis is running around the room, cheering, while daisy sits up in your lap, trying to hug both you and jason at the same time, though her little arms struggle with the reach. after a couple of minutes, otis calms down, sitting in jason’s lap, mirroring daisy on your lap as you sit next to jason.

“so, i take it you’re happy about the news?” daisy nods her head vigorously while otis looks at his dad like he’s stupid, “well, duh!” you smile brightly at your family, tears running down your face, which daisy quickly notices, “what, are you okay?” you nod at her as you wipe away your tears, jason rubbing your back, “she’s okay dais, y/n is crying because she’s so happy, not because she’s sad.”

daisy gasps, looking to otis as if she just found out the end of the world is coming, “wait! but the baby is gonna call y/n mom, won’t it confuse the baby that we call you y/n?” your heart flutters just a bit, this girl was so inquisitive, it made you so proud and she was already caring about the baby. you shake your head, “no, i’m sure it’ll be okay, daisy girl. i don’t want you to feel like you have to call me anything different just because a baby is on the way. i love you two just as much as i love the baby, no matter what you call me.”

daisy sheepishly looks to otis who plays with his fingers as he nervously speaks up, “but what if we want to call you something else?” the air hitches in your throat, even more tears coming to your eyes as jason smiles softly, watching the whole interaction. you smile at otis before looking to daisy who is already staring at you with big doe eyes like her father’s, “th-that would be perfectly alright with me.”

daisy clears her throat, playing with the ends of your hair for comfort, “well, we already have a mom. what if you were our mama?” cleared your throat to push back a sob that wanted to leave your mouth, looking over to see jason crying as well. you look back to the kids, placing one hand on daisy’s back and grabbing otis’s hand with your other one, “i would be so so happy to be your mama.” both kids smile brightly, laughing giddily before jumping off your laps and running to the other room to play.

jason pulls you closer by the hip, placing a kiss on the top of your head as you snuggle into his side, “i’d say that went well.” you nod softly as you wipe away your tears, “no offense bubs, but that was better than you proposing to me.” jason let’s out a loud laugh as he nods, laying his head atop yours, “fair enough, baby.”

[dutyworn]

                                           @parameddic    /    cont. from ↷

TK is  not fine,  but is there any point in arguing that? Wren hesitates. She’s not leaving him alone, not like this, but should she...? This is her fault.

She never would have chosen this. She’d rather be stuck not-home than get back at the cost of him being stuck not-home.

❝ You can  ⸺  you can speak with... ❞    All of her human crew speak English, and Doctor Chakwas could fit TK with a translator implant at the med-bay, easy, but that’s probably not a good idea to suggest right this minute; technology like that doesn’t exist for him, it’ll probably seem insanely invasive; maybe he’s better off being suggested an external, wearable device, for now...

❝ TK, you’re my family, too, ❞    Wren says, with the same gentle tone, though she keeps her distance.

They’re up at her private cabin, although nothing in the room suggests it used to be her space; it’s her crew, on board, now, but the Normandy’s probably been under someone else’s command at some point  ⸺  most of the plants she’d picked for the fishtank (instead of fish) are still there, but her model ship collection is not on display and she can see none of her personal belongings anywhere.

❝ I’m not going anywhere, ❞    she states. Carefully, she sits on one of the chairs, across from the edge of her bed TK’s sitting on.    ❝ TK,  I need you to understand  ⸺  I’m not going to rest until I find a way to get you back home. I don’t care how many people tell me it’s impossible.  I’ll find a way. ❞    She wants to tell him she didn’t want this. Needs him to know she wouldn’t have done this to him on purpose. But this isn’t about what she needs. She’s been in his shoes, she understands what he’s going through, at least to some extent. She... she was always trained to handle impossible situations, and she was trained to sacrifice herself. She also didn’t find herself in the future, in fucking space-flight, in some situation not even plausible for where she came from.

“Shepard,” Joker calls, almost hesitantly, through the cabin’s comms, “not to rush you, but Garrus is seriously going to tear me a new one, over here.”

❝ Tell him he can wait, ❞    Wren snaps.

“Uh, have you met⸺”

❝ He can wait, Joker. Make sure EDI knows access to my quarters is off limits, as well. ❞

Pause.

❝ Just... I’ll be there, later. Please, ❞    she adds, apologetically.

“You got it, Commander.”

She’s developing a headache. She wants to properly reunite with her people, but TK needs her, and TK is her responsibility, and it’s her fault he’s here, and she can’t just leave him alone, no matter how much he wants her to.

[aristocratic-otter]

Shhhh...I'm sure it's still Sunday...somewhere.

Thank you and kudos in spirit to @ionlydrinkhotwater, @facewithoutheart, @otherworldsivelivedin, @cutestkilla, @foolofabookwyrm-activated, @artsyunderstudy, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @katmiscellanious, @hushed-chorus, @yeonjunenby, @confused-bi-queer, and @larkral. I'm spoiled for choice with all the incredible writing y'all are doing.

As always, I've got more time to write than to post on Tumblr, so I have plenty to share. Under the cut for length:

From: Gates of Ivory and Horn, my Snowflake Exchange fic (and the title will in no way alert my exchange partner, so I'm free to share it):

I must black out, because the next thing I know, I’m back in the white void, the waiting place. That’s what I’m starting to call it in my head. It seems fitting. I’m looking at the two innocent seeming gates again and all I can feel is revulsion. What I saw, what I felt, what I did in there...none of that was okay. Even if only half of it was true, I can’t accept it. 

From Saving Simon Snow, a canon divergence fic:

When I see a very modern looking steel door, I come to a sudden stop and gape at it. This has to be related to the mystery I’m chasing. There’s no way this isn’t a new feature!  And, sure enough, the last glowing paw print lights up in front of the door, glows brightly once, and then fades out before I can even step into it. I’ve reached my destination. 

Simon Snow is here.

From my House AU, gift fic for @yellobb-old:

Fifteen was also the year when Simon’s ‘errands’ for Mage became more dangerous. The Mage knew some dicey customers and Simon frequently ran into trouble with the sorts of people Mage associated with. As I started seeing Snow get closer and closer to death with each close encounter, I grew frightened for him. This translated to me trying to convince him of the Mage’s ill intent, but I’d done my work too well. Simon wouldn’t believe a word I said. 

Especially since I didn’t know how to talk to him with anything other than sarcasm and insults.

From The White Chapel, my Cotta 2023:

Fiona appears like magic on the balcony above. She despises whistling, which is why I was doing it. “Basil! Can that fucking noise before I can your arse!” she bellows. 

I throw the knapsack over my shoulder and then look up and give her my cheesiest grin. “You know what, Fiona? You’re right. I’ve got no business being here. So I’m fired!”

Dev is staring at me like I’ve gone mad, which, fair. “Did…you just fire yourself?”

From: Playing with Fire, Treading Thin Ice:

Lady Ruth and Jamie are watching him with smiles on their faces, but I know they’re not seeing him the same way I am, given my thoughts of last night. He looks like the Chosen One. He looks glorious. 

He’s my Chosen One, my subconscious supplies. It doesn’t matter what else he is. I choose him. 

From Raising Dragons:

He nods against me, and then buries his face into my chest when the next contraction comes. The fates are merciful, this time, however, because the third egg crowns after only two more contractions. When I see it glisten between his thighs, I rub his belly harder, even pressing down a bit, as if I could give him some help by pushing from above. “You’ve got this, darling,” I murmur to his bronze curls. “You’re almost there. You’re doing wonderful, my love. I’m so in awe of you.” 

I'm waving hello from the state where early December means temperatures in the seventies. I hope to hear from you all soon! @angelsfalling16, @annabellelux, @bazzybelle, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @fight-surrender, @fatalfangirl, @giishu, @ileadacharmedlife, @johnwgrey, @jbrrring, @krisrix, @letraspal, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @nightimedreamersghost, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @unfiltered-alice-liddle, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[badgerstep]

(re: tawnypelt and blackstar)

@aerial-jace so!

presenting my thoughts in the form of a numbered list with some elaboration. under a readmore bc holy shit this is long

1. tawnypaw chose shadowclan out of practicality

i think there’s this assumption that tawnypaw was stupid for defecting to shadowclan since shadowclan was led by tigerstar and she was tired of being in his shadow. this definitely isn’t a wholly undeserved read considering the text never really elaborates on it. however! given that only recently has switching clans been explicitly permitted in the code, and the one example of clan switching tawnypaw would have been aware of would have been graystripe to riverclan because he had blood relatives there (his kits), and given that riverclan and windclan would both have no reason to want to accept her, it makes practical sense for her to defect to shadowclab. her father would want her there, and might potentially be bad optics for him not to accept his chid, and it would be a way for her to escape thunderclan.

i also think that she may have actually been offered blackfoot as a mentor. why wouldn’t tigerstar try to do that? he wanted his kin to be leaders, after all. but, setting up what i believe to be an ongoing thread for her character, she rejected this. she doesn’t want special treatment, she doesn’t want the same shit she was getting in thunderclan but a different flavor. she wants to have a normal upbringing.

this, i could see striking a chord with blackfoot. he’s only ever followed orders, and followed them faithfully. he’s stepped as close to power as the system would let him his whole life because what else is there? it’s something to chew on.

2. tawnypaw stays in shadowclan post tigerstar’s death

this is also interesting to me. she technically had nothing left actually tying her to shadowclan. there’s nothing stopping the new leader blackstar from telling her to fuck off and go back home because all she’ll ever be is tigerstar’s kin, right? or anyone else in shadowclan, for that matter.

nobody does that. she stays. she just fits in. shadowclan is her hone, and might as well have always been. it’s almost never even commented on post-tnp that she used to be thunderclan anyway, iirc.

blackstar’s not a father to tawnypelt, and in all honesty, considering the one she had, it’s probably for the best. he’s not her mentor, either. but she’s definitely well-respected, and enough that she’s chosen to represent all of shadowclan on the journey.

3. she never takes the deputy position

i think this is so interesting. as readers we’re already drawn to tawnypelt as a character and have an attachment to her, we want her to succeed. we kept waiting for tawnystar to happrn, right?

see my first point though. i don’t think she’d want that, not really. (i know canonically she has served as deputy a few times but in all honesty i haven’t read those books yet fkjfjdjd)

but i could definitely see her having an aversion to power. tigerstar’s whole thing was power. one of her sons looks just like him. she’s haunted by him and his ideals and she wants to prove that she’s the one in charge of the narrative, not him. so she names her child tigerkit and just tells blackstar that if he lives to be a warrior to never call him tigerclaw. anything else. and she doesn’t want power because she thinks she can do more good for herself as a regular warrior, unburdened by the thought of assuming power over others. she’s seen firsthand how damaging that can be, she was there for tigerclan.

again, a move baffling to blackstar. he uses his power to try and do what he thinks is the most good and he’s constantly led astray. tawnypelt? she’s consistent. he admires that. and i think every so often he’ll ask what she thinks and she’ll give an honest if guarded answer and that’s it. and choosing her mate specifically as deputy? well. that’s one way to ensure her input remains valuable to the clan without giving her power directly, isn’t it?

but they’re always sort of hovering near each other’s lives. it’s hard not to when you live in a clan but even harder considering, well. [gestures vaguely] both their everything.

and again, i think it’s more interesting if it’s nothing romantic or familiar or mentor/mentee. it’s just that sort of gravitational pull between people who are entwined by circumstance and also so ideologically different from one another and are forced to live together.

(i also like to think she tried to convince him not to stay in the shadowclan camp during the flood in brambkestar’s storm. i don’t recall that book well, only that blackstar stayed behind in their camp. i just picture it as this deeply somber moment, blackstar thinking his fate is sealed and that he can finally be judged between his rights and wrongs, and tawnypelt trying in vain to convince him to keep living because what is her life supposed to look like with half that push and pull missing?)

i just. i find them very interesting and i am 100% rambling on zero sleep but !!! them. no easy words for any of it but i rotate it in my mind

[thessalian]

Thess vs Work Ethic

Sometimes I just really wish I didn’t have the work ethic I do.

See, while I appreciate that almost every working person in the world, myself included, is overworked and underpaid, and should therefore not be giving any more than what one’s job description details as one’s responsibility in the office, here’s the thing - one should give no more than one’s job description ... but no less, either. And the job is simple, in this case. There are reports. We type them.

The job description on their contracts might be different, but mine didn’t say a damn thing about “but only when the manager’s not in the office, at which point you can slack off all you want because there’s no one to reprimand you”.

Yeah, Scruffman was at another site that was hella backlogged and having some understaffing issues today. Thank the gods he’s back in the office tomorrow because they cleared the other site’s backlog faster than expected. I can take or leave him as a person, but I’m not in the office anyway. The only reason I’m glad is because of what I went through today, which was basically being the only one spending the majority of the workday actually working. I mean, yes, we’re not doing as badly with the typing queue as we had been. Hell, it hit mid double figures today! And I kind of want to keep it that way, but apparently the other girls don’t agree because things ground to a standstill mid-afternoon. That whole thing where Violet does the long complicated dictations doesn’t really happen when Violet isn’t typing at all, or is doing so at such a slow pace that she might as well not be. Temp stopped working almost entirely around 4pm, and I got the reason for that right up in my face when I went to get a last couple of things with seven minutes on the clock: she’d picked up one four-ish minute dictation, apparently to show willing, then dawdled over the shorter ones she’d picked up and left that longer one for last so that when her time in the office was ... well, almost up (I think she also works until 5:30), she dumped that one four-ish minute one back in the queue and left. If I had time to type it (and I did), so the fuck did she. But nope. Just “Oops, almost out of time, back in the queue it goes...”

So the queue’s going to be back in the 150s, probably, by the time people turn up at the office tomorrow. I was actually trying to work at a moderate pace for once because I know I’ve been dancing on the precipice of epic burnout (because, you know, the disability that comes with chronic pain and fatigue?), but by mid-afternoon I was back at breakneck pace and doing the long ones that nobody else seemed keen to touch on top of everything else. I mean, it could have been worse, but everybody knows that the techs crank to high gear after 5pm; the decks should be as clear as possible before then. And nobody should require the manager’s presence to do some fucking work once in awhile. If I can do it from home, with all the temptations of faff to distract me, they can do it in the office.

It’s people like them who lend those stupid articles about how much better working in the office is for productivity any kind of weight whatsoever, you know. Though it’d be entirely the reverse in my case either way; not only does not having to commute help me actually be able to work better, but when shit like this happens, I only fume about the work not being done instead of fuming over the work not being done and grinding my teeth in rage because I’m having to try to do my own work through the distraction of their chatter.

(To some people, noise is noise is noise. I cannot explain to those people the difference between chosen background noise, like music, and not-chosen background noise, for instance chattering colleagues - or, here at home, construction work going on nearby and the neighbour’s kids using the corridor as their personal playground. Again. It’s a beautiful day and there’s a lawn right out back, and they’re using our hallway, with its grubby carpet, as a place to play. I DO NOT GET IT. Anyway.)

So here’s me being grumpy and fed right the fuck up. Huzzah. I will veg a little, take my meds, and gear myself up for the preparation of dinner. I don’t really want to cook but I want to get ahead of the curve on ready-to-eat meals, and also I did a lot of walking for some of those ingredients I got yesterday and am keen to enjoy them and not procrastinate on cooking until they’re kind of skanky.

[leatherbookmark]

Hmmm, who would be the opposite? Not necessarily hypermasculine but like, the most into conventional masculinity in a non repressedGNC way?

i had a huge reply drafted for this ask and then i was like “damn i don’t think abt fashion enough to answer this” lol

N E WAY, you see anon (sorry for the late reply btw). it’s like. i don’t really understand fashion as this thing that you Think A Lot About And Use It To Express Who You Are. it seems very time-consuming and exhausting to my shrimp brain. that being said, i can imagine characters who possess enough Funky Flavour to have it in them to Experiment with Garments, or to perhaps wear Unique Clothes just because it makes people go >:O! so, let’s say, wwx or xy, i think mxy is also canonically implied to at least have something Going On with the way he chooses to present himself, although i’m not sure if it’s more “fashion statement” or “gender presentation” than “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA FUCK YOU ALL PEOPLE”. and ljy, because ljy is great and i love him.

but then. but then i have characters who i cannot imagine Caring About Fashion, painstakingly picking out clothes to Reflect who they are inside, and in this group we have for example mr lwj who, as i have seen when i cared about wgxn a bit more, has been kindasorta chosen by the fandom to be Fashionable and wear Fancy and/or gnc clothes which. is very much the opposite to how i see him, because lwj imo doesn’t have anything he wants to communicate to the outside world via his clothes. if he had, he would be a different person. his clothes have to be durable, comfortable and pleasing to the eye, yeah, but not exactly “making him the most noticeable person in the room”. so i guess he does qualify for someone who sticks to the conventional masculinity, mostly out of habit and because he feels comfortable in it.

the same rule applies to lqr and nmj, with an addition that they would... feel almost offended by the suggestion that they could wear anything else than things Standard and Masculine-Adjacent because like, what? rainbow neon colors? a dress? this is ridiculous and attention-seeking. i’ll have my good quality durable and comfortable pants and shirts, please and thank you. lqr leans slightly towards “and also it should look Appropriate”, and nmj towards “associating the concern for Aesthetics with his silly brother who really should calm down and get this rubbish out of his head. who gives a fuck if i’m wearing brown shoes with black clothes. they’re just fabrics?”.

i could list more and more characters and reasons why, but i don’t really feel like it, since the list would actually be long as fuck. obviously, if it was a Thing in a fanfic, i could accept a lot, on the condition that -- like everything else -- it’s justified in-universe and doesn’t clash with how i see the characters. it’s physically impossible for me to accept or even imagine lwj going out clubbing or seeking one night stands or being a hashtag fashion king (or having a... social media account that he uses to Socialize... lol). i’m also *tilts head dubiously* at the idea of gnc nmj, simply because it leans too much into the fan-favourite laid back Chilldude Nice Mingjue who’s Dealt With His Problems. i don’t see jgy approaching anything outside his basic elegant and appropriate but not too eye-catching outfits, but it’s less because of his actual Deep Inside preferences and more because uhhh His Position Would Suffer and he’s not really interested in that, etc, etc.

i’m afraid that wasn’t really an interesting answer. sorry!

[chevelleneech]

I thought Oliver saying 8x05 was T*mmy heavy, would include background info on him as a character or at least showcase BT in ways that would develop their relationship. It did not.

T*mmy was just as important here as he was in 7x04 really, except they didn’t kiss thus didn’t change anything regarding who he or Buck is. LFJ is also so fucking bland as an actor, it’s impossible to really tell if he’s intentionally playing T*mmy as mildly interested in Buck due to what’s in the script or if he’s just not capable of acting like a guy interested in his boyfriend.

I’m also very curious if the writers have chosen not to write much intimacy between BT on purpose or if it’s the result of what LFJ said, and they’re just taking it to the extreme? Because all the couples in the show tend to have some sort of physical intimacy. They hold hands, hug, cuddle, etc. yet, BT have been together for about four to six months in canon, right? So they should be physically comfortable with each other at the very least, yet we don’t see any of that. T*mmy is literally just around. He doesn’t do anything, he hasn’t offered any insight into who Buck is or what Buck could be looking for in a relationship, nothing, and it’s irking me, because WHY?

I get people don’t like BT, and I get Tim chose him because he didn’t want to write in a new character, but the chemistry is non-existent, the writing is as deep as a pen-tip, and LFJ’s acting does not give audiences anything to work with. You know? I’d get it if it was all bad, but the actor was charming and fun to see perform, but he isn’t. So what is the point of continuing the relationship? I can say with complete and utter confidence now, they are giving BT shippers absolutely nothing, but because it’s Buck having a boyfriend, it’s being accepted. And for whatever reason, BT shippers are obsessed with LFJ, so they’re willing to accept the relationship, but like… why?

Y’all saying they have chemistry and are being built up in a sweet and romantic way, but they don’t and they’re not. They barely do anything other than stand beside each other and talk, and majority of the time they do that, Eddie is also around. Which is a point toward what I meant when I said they should have ended s7 with Buck calling T*mmy up for a first date redo, because right now in s8 is where they could have been building up to a full blown relationship. 8x05 feels exactly like what I’d expect from two guys just getting to know each other, and T*mmy being mildly weirded out by Buck’s spiraling about Billy Boils. Not a boyfriend of damn near six months. Six months is a long time to date someone, so to not also have small info such as, “Buck goes on info spirals when his attention is pulled by something specific.” Just feels like something T*mmy should know by now.

Which is probably due to the writers clearly forgetting Buck and T*mmy are not in fact a recent development, but have been dating for almost half a year. Especially since we’re also being shown T*mmy as being comfortable in Buck’s apartment. It’s as if they’re giving us time stamped moments to prove BT is moving forward, but they haven’t given us anything to believe it.

Also, as I said above, it’s hard to know if T*mmy is meant to be mildly disinterested in Buck or if it’s how LFJ is unable to play him any other way, but either way, it’s still being written in the script that T*mmy brushes Buck off a lot, cracks jokes at his expense, and doesn’t like being physical with him. And without any scenes between them to show the opposite of that and show him as also caring and complex himself, then I ask again, what is the point? T*mmy is just a, “Hey! Don’t forget, Buck is finally bisexual! We did that fan service thing!” and that’s it.

Therefore, in conclusion, we not getting anything else. Not to shit on anyone else’s parade, but I think this is it. BT are going to remain this stagnant, “Here, damn!” couple, with no new development, and Buddie ain’t happening, because they would require the writers and network putting in effort to make Buck’s sexuality (and Eddie’s if they actually go for it) worth more than a fan service check mark.

I mean, Henren deserves so much more screen time and storylines, but at the very least neither of them exist to meet a diversity quota or fan service. Buck is bi because Tim wanted to throw something new into s7, but his first queer relationship is bland af. They could replace T*mmy with a talking dog after 7x04 and it’d be the same. Then again, Buck kissing a man for the first time then knocking himself into a hallucination where he has a talking dog, would be more interesting to see play out.

[dameronology]

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

--

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

[honeypiehotchner]

My Deep Blue Love (Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader) -- Soulmate AU one shot

This was 100% born out of boredom and loneliness and those damn Soulmate AU POV Tiktoks that I have seen practically 24/7 for the past WEEK on my fyp

(I’m not sure if I’ll do a part 2, rn I have no plans for it)

quick note on the technicality of this one: you lose all ability to see colors when you turn 12 and you don’t regain the ability until you meet your soulmate. but! you have to meet them in person and it has to be a mutual eye contact. pictures/videos of them don’t work, and if you just saw the back of their head or something in person, that doesn’t work either. it’s all about the shared eye contact babeyyy

small disclaimer: Brie Larson is mentioned in here and she has a wife, but that is very much only in this fic, and as far as i know Brie doesn’t have a wife irl lol (i also don’t know if she’s spoken about her sexuality at all so what i’m saying is take it with a grain of salt ok)

Summary: Everyone around you is meeting their soulmate, but you still see in black and white. You’re ready to give up, and basically have, when you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Warnings: None! Just a bit of angst, lots of fluff toward the end 

You knock on your mom’s bedroom door at 4:58am. She’s already awake, sitting up in bed, ushering you over.

With tears in your eyes, you crawl onto her bed, snuggling close to her chest.

“I don’t want to lose my colors,” you whimper.

“I know, baby,” she whispers, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

You were born 12 years ago on this day at 5:08am, so in a few short minutes, when you officially turn 12 years old, all color will drain from your life.

Or the colors could stay, but that’s only if you’ve somehow already met your soulmate. And that’s rare, nearly impossible.

You squeeze your eyes shut at 5:07 and you don’t open them again until 5:10.

The colors are gone.

+++

twenty years later

You sigh heavily as you receive yet another wedding invite. You are invited to witness the official beginning of Olivia and Jeffrey’s lives together as husband and wife, soulmates for all of time.

The glitter sticks to your fingertips, tiny black dots against your skin. Your friend told you it’s gold. You barely remember what that looks like.

Lately it seems like everyone has been meeting their soulmate. Just yesterday, you were having coffee with a friend when she looked up at the girl sitting behind you, and boom.

“It’s like the world just exploded,” she had said. Colors were everywhere. She immediately left you to go talk to the girl.

You don’t blame her for that. If you had met your soulmate, you probably would’ve done the same thing. But you can’t say for sure because you don’t know.

You wouldn’t be so cynical of it all if your boyfriend of five years didn’t meet his soulmate while the two of you were out at dinner. You wish you could say that he was faking it. But it was clear from his face (and the girl’s) that he wasn’t kidding. It was real. He had met his soulmate, and it wasn’t you.

It’s never you.

You’ve had guys cut off dates before they even start, all because they didn’t see colors when they laid their eyes on you. They refuse to even be friends with you.

All anyone is doing anymore is searching for a soulmate and it’s exhausting when none of them are yours. When all of your friends see color now. When everyone assures you that it’ll happen soon. What does soon even mean?

You grab your ice cream from the freezer and fall onto the couch, flicking to whatever channel has late night shows that aren’t complete garbage.

As usual, you find yourself watching a talk show, and tonight Tom Hiddleston is one of the guests.

You’re sort of familiar with him from a few movies, but other than that, you hardly know anything about him.

“So, Tom, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on with you and Brie Larson?”

“Brie?” Tom asks, clearly shocked to hear this question. “We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, she doesn’t make you see any colors?”

“Ah, no, actually, she does not,” Tom chuckles, but doesn’t sound sad at all, surprisingly. “Her wife does that for her, not me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh really?” The host brushes past the mention of Brie’s wife and keeps the focus on Tom, of course. “So is that true, you still don’t see color?”

Your ears perk up at the mention of someone else not seeing in color. It’s rare for anyone to talk about this on television. Most celebrities don’t talk about whether or not they’ve found their soulmate, but more often than not, those that have are quite loud about it.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tom answers. “I still see the world in a lovely black and white.”

You snort, harshly jabbing your spoon into your ice cream. Lovely. Yeah, right.

“Do you really think it’s nice? Do you not miss the colors?” The host asks.

“No, no, I do. I do,” Tom admits. “But I like to think I’ll see them when the time is right.”

You groan, going to Google to look up his age. And when you see he’s 40, you groan even louder. He’s older than you and he still hasn’t met his soulmate. That’s just depressing. How can he sound so optimistic?

“Alright, well, if there’s one thing you wish you could tell your soulmate, what would it be? Maybe they’re watching right now, you never know.”

Tom smiles wide. “Maybe, maybe, um… Oh, so many things,” Tom exhales deeply. “I guess I could be cliché and say I can’t wait to meet them and wait for me, but I think I want to say… I think I want to say I understand. It is frustrating, still seeing in black and white, but our paths will cross soon, I’m sure of it. Until then, my eyes are blue.”

Blue. Blue.

You roll your eyes. You don’t even remember what the color looks like.

+++

seven months later

“I am not going to a movie premiere. You’re insane!”

“Please!” Your friend, Catherine, cries. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

You glare at her over your coffee. “That just makes it sound like you have a trick up your sleeve.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I just want you to take advantage of this and come with us! When will you ever have the chance to go to a movie premiere again?”

She has a point. Dammit. “Touché. How did you get tickets, anyway? Please tell me you didn’t spend thousands for this.” You wouldn’t put it past her, even though you tell her not to every time before she does something like this.

“God, no, Joe surprised me with them earlier. He said he went to school with the lead.”

“Oh. Cool. Who?”

“Tom Hiddleston, I think. Have you heard of him? He’s British, but that’s about all I know. Joe just said they ran into each other the other day and reconnected.”

You stop halfway through a sip of coffee, careful to not choke on it. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. I...I’ve seen him in a couple things.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t met his soulmate either…” Catherine trails away, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “I heard,” you set your cup down. “He’s probably met them by now though since he blasted it on television like that.”

“Or he’s still searching and you’re still being too cynical.”

“You’re probably right,” you chuckle.

“Sooo, you’ll come?”

You sigh heavily. “As long as you help me pick something to wear.”

+++

“I’m regretting letting you talk me into this already,” you mutter when you nearly trip in your heels.

“Oh, hush,” Catherine swats your arm. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up and look hot for no reason. Take it.”

“Fine.”

Catherine’s soulmate, Joe, was whisked away almost as soon as the three of you stepped inside the venue by some director (you think), but he promised to return in a few minutes. Catherine told him not to worry. She’s used to him being dragged away for conversation. You can see from her face that she’s more proud of him than anything, and not at all annoyed.

Currently, you and Catherine are standing near the small bar, waiting for them to announce that it’s time to take your seats. You desperately want a drink, but part of you knows it would be a bad idea.

One glass of wine can’t hurt, though. Maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain in your feet.

You peel away from Catherine when you see Joe coming back, and you flag the bartender down quickly.

After ordering a glass of white wine, you wait patiently, wishing you had chosen a dress with sleeves. It’s fucking cold in here.

“Darling, you’re shivering, are you alright?”

Your head turns toward the smooth voice, face set and mind trying to decipher whether or not it was a sincere or creepy comment when the world quite literally explodes.

There, standing beside you, concern written all over his face, is Tom Hiddleston. Only now the concern has washed away into awe when your eyes lock with his.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, stumbling even though he’s standing in place.

“Blue,” you murmur. “Your eyes are blue.” Without even thinking or asking, your hand lifts to cup his cheek, and then you pull back, “Shit, sorry—”

But he grabs your wrist gently, placing your palm on his cheek. “It’s alright.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you whisper in reply. But here he is. His eyes are blue, his lips are pink, he has tiny brown freckles all over his rosy cheeks. You look back to his eyes, narrowing your own. “You liar. Your eyes have green in them, too.”

“Do they really?” Tom chuckles. “I never would’ve known.”

“That’s why you have me,” you tease, and you don’t know where any of this is coming from, yet it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. It feels like you’re finally yourself.

His other hand tangles with yours as he nods. “That’s why I have you, indeed.”

At this time, the lights in the theatre begin lightly flashing, signaling that it’s time for everyone to begin making their way to their seats.

But neither you or Tom move one inch.

The only issue is people are beginning to stare.

You notice it first, so you slowly pull your hand from his cheek. This movement shocks him back to reality, too, and he blinks a few times, yet he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I, um, I have to make a speech,” he says. “But then I can come back to you. Will you save me a seat?”

“Don’t you have to sit up front?”

He nods. “I do, but—”

“Then I’ll come with you.” You aren’t sure if it’s the fact that he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, or if it’s because you’ve been waiting so long that now you don’t want him to be further than an arms length away from you, but you mean what you say.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but you both need to make a decision quickly because you can see someone waving from the wings, most likely trying to get Tom’s attention.

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t question it, in fact, he grins, and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

[strawberry-nugget]

Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets​ 's  Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night. 

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

[greenbergwrites]

while snooping your account (as I do) I saw you posted about a dream you had where Steve was a sick lil omega and needed to go to the doctor and was assigned bucky as a heat partner and I just!! bc I love that idea. I could see Bucky having so much respect for omegas (especially runts like Steve) and maybe he only signed up as an assigned alpha bc he was low on cash but takes his job very seriously. maybe his first assigned omega is little innocent Stevie who’s shy bc they assigned him to the most attractive alpha he’s ever seen in his life and bucky just reassures him that he’s enough and he’s safe, while giving him his knot of course lbr

I barely remember the dream, but omega Steve needing a heat partner is always a beautiful thought.

I don’t know if they’d have a facility for heats or not. On one hand, the Omegas would probably be more relaxed at home, but on the other, inviting someone into their home seems overly personal.

But let’s just go with a facility for now, because making sure the Omegas are safe during their heats would definitely be a priority.

The Omegas arrive a few days before their heat, probably, to get acclimated to the environment and for a suitable partner to be chosen.

Steve, runt that he is, is obviously a late bloomer. This is his first heat, and his instincts are all over the place. The room they’ve given him is cozy, but he spends the days leading up to his heat nesting. He’s fussy about the placement of everything, fussy about the pillows, the blankets, the sheets, etc.

I also imagine that one of his nesting instincts has him building his own little den in a corner that’s almost like a blanket fort–somewhere he can hide away when he’s feeling especially vulnerable.

And when he isn’t nesting, he’s rejecting every Alpha partner they send him. He tries to be nice about it at first, but their scents aren’t right, and he doesn’t want them touching anything in his room, or staying long enough that their scent lingers.

The Alphas probably aren’t happy about the rebuff, but there’s fuck all they can do about it. It’s Steve’s heat, and he’s in charge.

The closer his heat gets, though, the more upset he is at being without his Alpha. He’s especially sensitive, and probably spends hours upon hours hiding in his little den, trying to find a sense of calm and safety that instinctively, he knows won’t come until he has an Alpha.

It’s not just about the biological need to mate, it’s that Omegas are never more vulnerable than when they’re in heat, and an Alpha is, above all else, a protector. An Alpha would protect him, would make sure no harm came to him, while also fulfilling his baser needs. Steve is close to his most vulnerable state, and there’s no Alpha to protect him through it.

And then, suddenly, there is.

He hears the door to his room first, that particular knock that tells him it’s another Alpha sent to tease him with what he craves. The door opens after a moment, and Steve doesn’t even bother to crawl out to make whoever it is go away. Leaving the safety of his den would expose him too much.

The footsteps that come toward him aren’t particularly loud, but they’re confident in a way that only an Alpha’s footsteps could be. A tall, broad shadow falls over Steve’s den, and then as he watches, the shadow squats down. The flap to his hiding place is pulled up.

The scent hits Steve’s first. Masculine, woodsy, Alpha. A shudder runs down his spine, his belly tightening as heat spreads inside him. His cock is instantly hard, his hole growing wet, his nipples aching for attention. He whines softly, an instinctive sound meant to entice an Alpha closer.

A face appears in the opening. He’s older, this Alpha. His features are as rugged as his scent, stubbled and strong-jawed, with full lips and bright, warm eyes that look at Steve like Steve is already his.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” the Alpha says softly.

Another shudder wracks Steve’s body. He feels his Alpha’s voice on his skin like a caress, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“Alpha,” he whines, reaching for him.

Steve wants his Alpha inside their den, wants to be under him, skin-to-skin, the way Alpha and Omega are meant to be.

His Alpha doesn’t make him wait. He crawls inside the cozy space, stretching out as much as he can on the other side of the wall of pillows Steve is hiding behind. He takes hold of Steve’s outstretched hand, twining their fingers.

As soon as they touch, the tension drains out of Steve. He moans sweetly, laying down on his little barricade as he guides that big, warm hand to his throat. Encouraging the Alpha to touch him. His whole body throbs in pleasure when this earns him a deep rumble of pleasure.

“Well now,” the Alpha murmurs, his fingers brushing along Steve’s throat. “You can’t be the one giving everyone such trouble. Not a sweet little thing like you.”

Another deep shiver runs along Steve’s spine.

“Alpha,” he whispers, turning to nuzzle against those fingers. “Where were you?”

He turns to look at the Alpha, his lips forming a pout very much against his will. He says it as though they’ve known each other longer than these past few seconds.

The Alpha smiles crookedly at him, his warm palm curving around Steve’s shoulder and trailing along his arm.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes.”

Such a silly thing to say, to think, but it feels true. It feels as though he’s been waiting all this time for this Alpha. His Alpha.

Another rumble of pleasure. Steve feels that sound in his core, heating him from the inside out.

“Careful, pup,” his Alpha says. “It’s dangerous saying things like that to a man like me.”

Thick fingers take Steve by the back of the neck, pressing in firmly to either side, the way teeth would dig in if they were wolves under the moon. It’s a dominant hold in either form, one that Omegas are especially susceptible to. Steve’s cock stiffens to the point of pain, threatening to release just from this–from his Alpha’s presence, his scent, his dominance.

Steve falls onto his back, showing his belly, lifting his chin to bare his throat. It’s what a touch like that demands, and it’s what he craves. With a groan, the Alpha follows him, easily decimating the pillow barrier and rolling on top of him. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, another shiver overtaking him as he’s finally given what he wanted. His Alpha on top of him.

The Alpha isn’t shy about putting his weight on Steve, pinning him in place. He leans down to nuzzle at the throat bared for him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his nose following the line of Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply. “And so close to heat. I can already smell it on you. Are you going to take me to your heat bed, beautiful? You gonna let me mount you the way your body craves? Or should I leave?”

The very thought of his Alpha leaving is a wound on his soul. He cries out, grasping at him hastily, his fingers digging into the meat of his Alpha’s shoulders. It’s a useless gesture; if his Alpha wanted to leave, he would. Steve isn’t a match for such strength, not even at his best.

“Don’t,” he begs hoarsely. “Don’t, don’t–please don’t leave–Alpha, please–”

The domineering hand around his neck is back, squeezing again, and Steve instinctively goes limp. The Alpha kisses his throat, sweetly.

“Shhhh,” he soothes. “That’s it, pup. Just relax. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

Steve starts to shake his head again, but the pressure on his neck stops him. His Alpha doesn’t want his denial, only his obedience, and he gives it happily.

Lips brush over his throat again. “Tell me your name, beautiful.”

“Steve,” he whispers obediently.

“Steve.” The lips on him curve into a smile. “My name is Bucky. I want you to remember that, because I won’t knot you until I hear you scream it.”

Steve moans, but he’s settled once more by his Alpha’s dominant hold.

“For now, beautiful little Steve,” his Alpha says, “you’re going to try to get some sleep. And I’m going to lay here and hold you while you do, so you can feel me near. Your heat is close, baby, and once it hits, you won’t care about anything but my knot. You need as much rest as you can get.”

Steve nods clumsily. “Yes, Alpha,” he says.

He wouldn’t have thought he could sleep, not keyed up the way he is, but his Alpha soothes him until it’s almost too easy, curling up in his arms and falling asleep.

It feels like only minutes later that he’s woken by a fire under his skin, every part of him aching for something that he can’t provide.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but his clothes disappear and then his Alpha is there–also gloriously naked–settling his weight between Steve’s thighs and taking his mouth in a bruising kiss. Their cocks slide together, and then he’s being shifted, thick fingers pushing into his aching hole. He cries into the kiss, his hips jerking, but there’s nowhere to go. All he can do is lay in his Alpha’s arms and feel.

“Are you going to let me take you to bed?” Alpha asks, an endless eternity of pleasure later. His teeth scrape along Steve’s jaw. “Once I mount you, beautiful, I won’t care where we are. I’ll keep mounting you as long as you let me.”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, no. Here, here.”

Alpha glances around the darkened space, before his eyes spark with understanding. He smiles down at Steve as he repositions himself, guiding his long, hard cock between Steve’s legs.

“Of course,” he murmurs. His cock nudges against Steve’s hole; it takes almost no pressure at all for Steve’s body to give, all too eager to take him. “Of course it should be here. Can’t let all this hard work go to waste, can I, baby? It’s so cozy and warm here, filled with your sweet scent. You deserve to be knotted in the den you made for us, don’t you?”

Steve comes. He isn’t sure if it’s the fat cock opening him, lighting along nerve-endings he didn’t even know he had, or if it’s the words. But molten pleasure lights up deep in his core and he whines helplessly as his cock spurts against his belly, untouched.

That pleasure drowns him, and he doesn’t resurface for days.

[dxmmymxmmywrites]

Steamy Kisses

Rock Lee x F!reader smut

Warnings: oral sex, nakedness (yeehaw!), the start of wall sex, sexy kisses, mutual simping

Life has been wild on my end, and I actually ended up accidentally deleting my original draft for this 😵 this is a little shorter than what I usually do as well, but I have more goods for Lee I want to write in the future, so this is definitely not the last you’ll see of him! Also special credit to Gab for this one for getting me in the mood of wanting to spoil our boy with some kisses.

@gaideservedbetter @idorkish @thing-winged

He was at his usual routine in the shower after a grueling workout, not expecting you home until later. You had gotten out of your commitments earlier than expected— so why not come home to your loving boyfriend? Errands could wait.

Errands could especially wait when your handsome boyfriend was finally alone, away from the world for you to play with him. Upon hearing the shower when you locked the door to Lee’s apartment, you flicked off each piece of your outfit with ease as you made a clothing trail to the bathroom.

Lee doesn’t even realize you’ve come home until you open the door to the shower and he screeches.

“Y/N?! I didn’t expect you home so soon!”

His voice is still shrill, but you smirk and move beside him to get under the hot water. “What, not happy to see me?”

“No— I mean, I am happy to see you! Just surprised!”

He was like a giddy puppy. You could see the blush settling into his ears now and the soft smile he kept just for you.

Lee turns you around and admires your lovely face as you hum, appreciating the calming steam from the water.

“Here, you deserve a proper greeting,” he tells you— calmer but all the more enamored. His calloused hands come up to hold your cheeks as tender as he can manage, and he takes the careful time to kiss from your forehead to your lips.

Lee wasn’t a greedy kisser. But he was sweeter than honey, and you could feel his affection for you in how he closed his eyes, how he melted into your body, how he pulled you as close as possible. He was a love-drunk gentleman any partner could appreciate.

And he was all yours. It puffed your chest out with pride that he had chosen you, out of an entire village of options. Fuck anyone else that didn’t see him as such— Rock Lee was a catch. And you were a hungry, hungry woman.

Your strong presence against him makes Lee take a step back, and makes his skin erupt in goosebumps when his back hits the shower wall. He was more than familiar with your moods— one moment you could be so sentimental, kissing the back of his hand and giving him the most precious compliments— the other, you could be ravishing his body, pushing it to the peak of pleasure with your fingers gagging his mouth.

He could see it as being possessive occasionally, but you were always respectful of his limits and boundaries. And besides... the feral look in your eyes when you called him yours in those moments drove him wild in a way he had never known before. He couldn’t get enough.

But he’s snapped out of his haze when he feels your lips on his neck. All of the sudden he’s a teenager again— nervous and sweating at your touch, anticipating your next move. All the same, he gasps when he feels your tongue trace up his Adam’s apple.

“I’m incredibly fortunate, getting to come back to such a beautiful sight after a day of paperwork,” you muse, making intense eye contact with him.

Lee gulps. He was so hopelessly smitten. And it didn’t help that you were gifted with your hands, either. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hipbones as you held his waist, grinding your front ever-so-slightly over his growing hard-on. They travelled deliciously up his sides, relishing in the slick of water over his tanned skin, and you work a moan out of him in an instant when you flick his nipples.

“S-stop that! You tease me too much,” he pants, but it doesn’t phase you. His breath hitches when one of your hands drops to his cock, standing at attention, sliding your pointer finger from his balls to the tip of his head.

“Do I now?”

God, it looked like you were glowing in the shower. Hot skin, that devilish expression. Was he dead? Was this heaven?

He’s so weak at how your pretty lips curve into a smile. Lee loves your lips. They’re so pretty, just like you. So soft, so nice to kiss and touch.

So divine wrapped around his cock.

You had kissed your way down from his chest to his manhood in an instant, and he was already at your mercy. He gaped for any oxygen at all, almost drowning in the overwhelming heat of the shower. You drove him nearly up the wall massaging his legs as you sucked him deep, spurred on by his little begs and his hand trying to find purchase in your scalp.

What a treat it was, having such a sweet boyfriend with a sensitive cock. Lee deserved the world— so you wanted to give him the best head of his life, and take him until you could see tears in his eyes.

You halted your rough sucks long enough to roll your tongue around his angry red tip, and you feel your pussy throb when Lee whimpers like a dog.

“I— ahh, I— please not in your mouth, please Y/n—“

Pretty boy. So obedient. Why not indulge him a little?

“You don’t want to cum baby?” You tease, running your thumb over the slit of his cock.

Lee bites his lip, trying not to let his eyes fall back into his head as he rolls his hips into your hand.

“I do wanna cum—! Ssshit, wanna cum with you!”

Your heart might as well have throbbed alongside your pussy again. You couldn’t deny him his taste though— it was always better when you worked each other over the high together.

Your nails traced over the outside of his thighs, releasing his cock.

“Think you could pick me up? Or are your legs too shaky?” You jest, getting back to your feet but taking the time to lick up from his pubic mound to the top of his stomach.

There’s a determination in him now— “I will persist! I want you to feel as much pleasure as I do!”

What a sweetheart. You can’t help but swoon a bit as well when he lifts you with ease and turns to set you against the wall. It’s also very intentional on your part as you lightly bump his forehead with yours, trying to make it less of a competition.

He meets your knowing look, and you kiss his nose.

“I love you, Lee.”

At one point, he would have cried. But he slips his cock into you in that moment, and relishes in your keen.

“I love you too.” He sighs, and melts into your kiss once more.

[maximoff-pan]

l’amore de ma vie | fred weasley

Summary: When Fred invites you to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, your feelings for your best friend are stronger than ever before. What happens when you realize just how much you love him?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Fluff...i-is that a warning?? Anyway buckle up for some sickly sweet goodness....

A/n: I know, I’m terrible. It’s been a little while longer than I’d intended but I hope this makes up for it! Feedback is very very much appreciated! I love seeing what all of you think of my writing! Without further rambling from me....enjoy!

Sidenote: This is a total AU. It completely deviates from canon, as Bill and Fleur’s wedding goes smoothly in this version. No violence here haha...only happiness! (I guess what I’m trying to say is, in no way shape or form is this an accurate recollection of the books, this is purely from my imagination...)

• • • • •

“Fucking weddings...” you mutter as you walk through the massive white tent that adorns the front lawn of the Weasley residence. Everything is perfectly displayed, tables meticulously set, with delicate flowers littering the venue.

The romance of it all makes you want to throw yourself into Bill and Fleur’s masterfully crafted, six-tier cake. And watching as Molly rushes in and out swiftly with the brightest smile on her face, it all reminds you of how you should be getting ready right now. But you just can’t stomach that.

It’s not that you’re not happy for Bill....you’re ecstatic and you absolutely adore him. He’s been a role model for you almost your entire life. And it’s not like you’re not an absolute romantic, because you are...but weddings always make things complicated. They manage to dig up feelings that you’d rather not confront.

Feelings for a certain Weasley twin...

That’s why when he (said twin) and George invited you to the wedding, you were reluctant to say yes. It’s hard to pin point exactly when you felt your friendship with Fred (at least on your end), morph into something more, but you’ve managed to keep your feelings for him locked away for the better part of four years. And as far as you’re aware, the only person that’s truly caught on is Hermione...because you’re convinced at this point that she just knows damn well everything.

“Something on your mind?” A voice startles you, bringing your attention back to the bustling world surrounding you.

Turning around slowly, you’re greeted with Bill’s towering figure. You huff out a quick, teasing laugh. “You know, it’s not nice to interrupt a lady’s thoughts.”

“Forgive me,” he chimes with a chuckle of his own.

Bill knows your humour, and he knows you well enough to recognize when you’re using it as a defence mechanism.

“It just looks like you’re about ready to make a run for it,” he continues, “and I wanted to make sure my favourite guest doesn’t ditch me on my wedding day.”

“You know I would never ditch you.”

Bill sends you a look, clearly not impressed by your jokes. You can tell he knows something’s wrong, but you don’t want to be the first one to bring it up.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I promise.”

He only nods at you, and he’s not quite sure if he’s convinced, but he’s confident things will work out in the end. “You know, I best be getting ready.” He grins wide. You reciprocate his grin with an additional giggle.

“You best be. Or else Fleur might divorce you on the spot.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame.” Bill shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’d have the record for the shortest marriage in wizarding history! Mum would have an absolute shit fit.”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, before you’re nudging him out of the tent and towards his home.

There’s a comfortable pause of silence as Bill thinks to himself. He can see it in your eyes exactly what you’re thinking about. Having been around you for years and Fred even longer, and watching the two of you grow up together, he knows what’s troubling you. Bill Weasley is not a stupid man, and he knows love when he sees it. Better yet, he knows the fear of losing that love that runs rampant in your mind. If Bill has learned anything in his years on this earth, it’s that love allows for the greatest of happiness but it also allows for the greatest manifestation of fear. Unrequited love can be more painful than the relief of returned feelings, but Bill Weasley knows you both well enough to know that these feelings you and his brother share, they’re anything but unrequited.

“I should probably be getting ready too.” You break the silence and remind yourself of the upcoming event as you step through the front door of the Burrow.

You both turn to each other, acknowledging your parting of ways. You hear Arthur shouting for his oldest son from above. “I guess that’s my cue.” Bill simply nods in the direction of the staircase, taking a step towards it. You stand still, just watching him for a moment.

He leans his head over his shoulder for a brief second, already a few steps up the winding stairs. “Oh and (Y/n),” he breathes, “my brother may be an oblivious twat, but to give him some credit, I see the way he looks at you, and I’d be blind to say he isn’t in love with you too.”

In love with you too....

And as soon he’s said it, the cheeky bastard’s disappeared up the stairs, leaving you dumbfounded and completely still.

Fucking hell. Your mind wanders, his words at the forefront....so apparently Bill knows and surely if Bill knows, George must too. Are your feelings for Fred that obvious?

• • • • •

You step through the doorway to Fred and George’s room hoping to find a certain twin. You spot him sitting cross legged on his bed, fiddling with a prototype for the shop that you’re sure you’ve seen him working on before. His ginger hair is messily in his face, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He’s the picture of a working artist....pranking materials being his art. You heave a sigh. Like you, he’s nowhere near ready for the wedding that is going to take place in a few hours.

“Do you know?” His head whips up at the sound of your voice. It’s such a vague question, one in which a normal person would question what it itself is in relation to, but George knows exactly what you’re getting at. But maybe he’ll screw with you a little first....

“I know lots of things love. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

A groan passes your lips. Maybe he doesn’t know....but the way his lips are turned upward, the smirk that seems to be growing on his face tells you otherwise. You’re not blind; you know the games George Weasley likes to play.

“Don’t be coy asshole.” You send him a look that says ‘try me.’ “I know you know. My question is, why haven’t you told me that you know?”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.” He continues testing the waters of your frustration, seeing just how far he can go before you snap.

“Oh fuck me!” You exclaim, hands thrown up in the air. You point at him, eyes narrowing in his direction. “You’re a prick George.”

His grin only widens. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong twin (Y/n). Last time I checked, Freddie’s the one you want to fuck.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And....Bingo. There it is. The exact confirmation you wanted and feared.

You recoil, eyes widening at him. Your voice goes soft, serious. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

His warm eyes meet yours, a calmness to them that is surprisingly reassuring. “I’ve made a living out of not taking things seriously and meddling in other people’s lives (Y/n), but what you and Fred have, I won’t meddle in that.” He pauses for a moment, his voice softening. “It’s not my business to push you two together. You’ll realize it at your own pace.”

“Realize what at your own pace?” Fred leans his body against the doorframe. He’s dressed in a suit, his hair done up nicely, and unlike his twin, he looks entirely put together. The irony almost makes you laugh. You’ve always known George to be the prepared one, ready hours before he needed to be. And Fred a scambler, leaving everything to the last second, to be fashionably late was his life motto.

“Just how stupid the two of you are going to look all dressed up with no dates.” George answers for you, keeping the true nature of your conversation a secret. “Even Ginny’s managed to catch the chosen one.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ah,” George muses. “But I am an idiot with a date.”

Fred grins at the two of you and your banter. “Angelina’s better off without you as her date.” He jokes.

A laugh passes your throat, Fred joining in with you. “Oh, sod off!” George pipes before shoving the two of you out to get ready.

• • • • •

Hours later you find yourself ready on time, a shocking revelation to you and each of the Weasley’s. And George is too. He sits beside you grinning like a mad man. Fred is on your other side, smiling all the same.

The ceremony is wonderful and quaint. You knew the moment you saw Fleur all those years ago, just how beautiful she was, but you never could have imagined just how much you’d grow to think of her like a sister. And it’s funny because you’re neither a Delacour nor a Weasley, and yet you feel like you belong. It’s different from the love you know Harry and Hermione feel for the Weasley’s, because ultimately, they’ll both marry in and it will be official, and as much as you love Fred, you know that will likely never be the case for you. But that’s the thing you love most about Molly and Arthur and their children: you don’t have to be related by marriage or blood to be a Weasley.

And seeing Fleur and Bill smile, seeing the pure happiness that they exude in this moment, it makes you forget why you ever questioned coming. It makes you hope that one day you can find what they have. You’d spent the last few minutes mesmerized by their first dance as a married couple. You’re so caught in a trance that you don’t hear the clapping when they’ve finished and stepped off the dance floor.

Your eyes snap up at the clearing of a throat beside you. George nudges you and you turn to look at him. He points at Fred who’s gazing at you curiously. You must have looked like a daft idiot, an utter love struck expression on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You laugh. “Did you say something Freddie?”

“Dance with me?” He asks.

Fred’s question lingers as you contemplate whether or not to accept his outstretched arm. But then your eyes drift up to his, and you catch the mischievous glint that rests in them. It’s in that moment that you know there is no turning back.

Groaning, you relent into his touch. “One dance.” You say, but you know that if he asked, you’d dance the night away.

The grin that spreads onto his face is nothing short of beautiful. It’s unmistakably perfect the way the light catches his features, his ginger hair glowing in the overcast moonlight, and an ethereal aura glistens from his skin. Fred looks youthful...and he looks undeniably happy.

Gripping your hand, he leads you to the dance floor. You catch a brief glimpse of Bill whose lips are tugged into an encouraging smile. Fred snaps your attention back to him as he pulls you into his body, bringing your arms to rest around his shoulders. You can hear the faint thrumming of the slow and melodic music drifting towards you, but all you register is the sound of Fred’s heart beating against yours. Wrapping yourself in his embrace, you allow yourself one second to believe that he might feel the same.

Your feet move in sync almost flawlessly, and it’s as if you’re reading each other’s movements without any effort. (Despite being known for your clumsy nature). But if you’re being honest, it’s always been like that with Fred....easy that is. Easy to read each other, easy to be with each other. It’s just natural. 

“You’re quite graceful Freddie.” You nudge him playfully, breaking the silence between you. 

“And you’re quite...” his voice drifts softly, “something.”

The half scoff, half laugh you let out rings in his ears. “Are you implying that I’m not a good dancing partner?”

“You’re a formidable partner love, just a shit dancer.”

Your eyes light up in amusement. “Well we can’t all be as graceful and beautiful as you Fred Weasley.”

He plays along happily. “No.” He agrees. “I guess we can’t. But I reckon everything else about you, your beauty, your wit, your affinity for kindness, makes up for your lack of dancing skills.”

It’s that self assured attitude that draws you to him. Yet he’s not the slightest bit arrogant. He simply believes in himself, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, is completely aware of his self worth, and he won’t let anyone tell him otherwise. It’s addicting to be around, and a quality so desperately you wish you could find in yourself.

And when Fred compliments you, you can believe that he’s telling you the truth. He makes you believe things about yourself that you would never dream to think about on your own. As cheesy as it sounds, he makes you feel seen. He makes you feel special. And it’s so strange because for as long as you can remember, everyone has always thought of you as merely the best friend of the infamous Weasley twins. Hardly to anyone had you been your own person with your own identity. But Fred never made you feel like that. You’ve always been someone to him, not just a product of who you chose to be friends with.

“You shouldn’t say things like that you know.” Your voice goes quiet.

Fred notices the change in your body language as you begin to close yourself off from him. “Why not?” He asks. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

Your eyes catch his and your breath hitches. This feels like something. It feels like a moment, the moment that you’ve been waiting for. You never believed Fred could ever feel the same for you, but the look he’s giving you feels so so real.

“Fred, do you-“ You start, but he cuts in for you.

“Feel it too?” He finishes.

“Yeah.”

“I do.” He replies.

Your heart races in your chest as he pulls you closer into his embrace. This confession of feelings is nearly wordless, and yet it feels perfect. You’ve never needed to say a lot to Fred for him to understand you.

You’ve always just had that kind of connection.

You barely notice that you’re still dancing, your bodies moving on autopilot. And the people around you fade to nothing. Your focus is solely on the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your movements slow as Fred tilts your chin towards his face. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 11 years old.” He says. It’s nearly impossible for your mind to process it. “I’ve known for so long, I just didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I reckon if there’s ever a time to do it, now seems pretty good.”

A gentle smile rests on your face, your heart warm at his words. “Now is perfect.”

Fred hums softly, his warm brown eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. He sees nothing but adoration staring right back at him.

“Can I kiss you?” This is the first time you’ve seen Fred so timid.

You smile coyly, nodding your head. “Such a gentleman.” You tease, pulling him gently towards you. Your lips meet so softly and briefly that you almost miss it.

But no matter how brief, it’s a feeling you’ll never forget. You both want more of each other, but you also know that standing in front of Fred’s immediate and extended family and friends, you can’t simply put on a show for the world to see, as much as he wants to.

You pull back for a moment only to find yourself wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to the music. Most people in your situation would say something. Maybe they’d profess their love, or whisper sweet nothings into their lover’s ear, but right here, right now, words don’t need to be used.

You don’t need to say I love you to feel that you are loved. And you know Fred feels the same.

• • • • •

Off to the side, Bill takes a moment to part from his wife, approaching his younger brother with a shit eating grin.

“Bloody hell.” George runs a hand through his hair, spotting Bill striding towards him.

Their eyes lock for a moment and George notices his oldest brother’s lip quirk upward. “You owe me 20 galleons.” Bill states matter-of-factly.

George grumbles, reaching into his pocket to pull out the payment. Handing it to Bill, he smiles. “Get back to your wife you tosser.”

Bill nods, taking a step towards Fleur. He turns to face his brother, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just know, when they get married, I’m telling everyone I won.”

///////////////////

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