#and what could have been if they'd gone through on some of those ideas and not fucking fired all the senior writers

[lookingforcactus]

Literally seeing those scans of the Veilguard art book was physically painful. What could have been!! What could have fucking been!!!

[l4mplight]

Miquella and Trina; A Tragedy

Hey Tumblr. I have a lot of thoughts about Shadow of the Erdtree, and these ones... let's just say I don't think they'd do well on Reddit. It's not often that I feel particularly impacted by a particular fictional character. Usually I connect more with narrative arcs and themes, which is why I think I'm so drawn to the ephemeral, vibes based storytelling of Fromsoft's games. Playing through SOTE, though, I found Miquella (and St Trina) to be extremely emotionally compelling and relatable, and I wasn't sure exactly why. I think I've put my finger on it now though. First of all, know that I am writing from the perspective that Miquella is a sympathetic character. I know that it's not uncommon to read him as a manipulative Machiavellian villain, but I think that's both a misreading of the text as well as just plain boring. Like, he's not a Griffith clone you guys, give From some credit. Anyway, here we go.

"You have no understanding. Of Miquella the Kind. Of St. Trina's Love.

Content Warning: I'll be discussing themes of depression, and the implication of suicidal ideation.

So, a classic Fromsoftware theme is despair, and the ways we cope with a world full of it. It shows up twice in Shadow of the Erdtree; with Midra and the Frenzied Flame, where despair leads to a selfish nihilism that asks us to burn everything down, and with Thiollier and St Trina, who offer sleep as a comfort to the weary. Running a small errand for Thiollier has him say the following.

"If you find yourself… weary of the weight of this life, then just give me the word. Sleep is a balm, and eternal sleep… is an elixir."

Drinking the elixir he offers will, of course, result in an instant death. This is our first encounter with the idea of "Eternal Sleep," a more potent form of the sleep status effect that only appears here in the Shadowlands, after St Trina has been abandoned. The Velvet Sword of St. Trina tells us as much: "Silver sword of St. Trina, now stained the color of velvet. Inflicts eternal sleep. When St. Trina was abandoned, the faint, light-purple mists coalesced into an intoxicating deep-purple cloud." In order to ascend to godhood, Miquella abandons first his physical body, and then the more abstract aspects of himself. As we begin to descend down the fissure where we'll find Trina, a cross marks the spot as the place where Miquella abandoned his love. This connects Trina, "the discarded half" as Thiollier puts it, with Miquella's love. Leda confirms this in her own dialogue:

"St. Trina's love for Kind Miquella is boundless. She is, after all, his other half. Or perhaps her feelings go beyond even that. Even if she was left behind, I doubt her heart would waver."

Keep that in mind, it'll be relevant later.

Near the cross, a spirit offers up some of the most heartbreaking dialogue I've come across so far. The spirit gives us a bigger picture of Miquella's goals:

"Kindly Miquella... I see you've thrown away... something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation offer... to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"

I teared up at this. The emotional impacted was aided by the fact that I ran into the spirit right after telling Moore to put his past behind him, leading him to rededicate himself to Miquella. He says:

"Hm. Maybe that’s Kindly Miquella’s love. Love for all the unloved. Love, to banish the pain."

Note here that Moore suggest Miquella's love will "banish the pain." This is also essentially what Trina's sleep does. It's a comfort to those in need. Anyway, between these two instances, we end up with a pretty good picture of the sort of god Miquella wants to become. He was already sympathetic to the outcasts of The Lands Between in the basegame, where he built Elphael and the Haligtree as a haven for those rejected by the Golden Order, such as the Albinaurics and Misbegotten we find there. In the Shadowlands, he has gone a step further. Hornsent tells us that he has committed himself, in essence, to righting Marika's wrongs.

"Miquella has said as much himself – he wishes now to throw it all away. He says the act – though undoubtedly painful – will sear clean the Erdtree’s wanton sin. The truth of his claim can be found at each cross. 'Tis evidence enough to earn my belief."

Of all of Marika's children, Miquella is the only one to see the serious flaws in her empire. Ymir points this out to us as well.

"No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse. Ever-Young Miquella saw things for what they were. He knew his bloodline was tainted, his roots mired in madness. A tragedy if there ever was one. That he would feel compelled to renounce everything when the blame lay squarely with the mother."

My thinking here is aligned with Mother Ymir. You really have to feel for Miquella; he has essentially taken on, alone, the responsibility of making up for centuries of Golden Order imperialism. That's a massive burden to bear, especially for Miquella, cursed with eternal childhood.

(It's easy to miss, but Miquella actually ages up significantly when we see him in god-form. Until he steps back through the Divine Gate, he would have looked and sounded like he does in the introductory art and in ending memory scene. Compare those with how he appears in the boss fight, and it's clear godhood at least helped him reach puberty lol) So we've established that Miquella is the child of Imperial Rome on Steroids, is cursed with eternal childhood, and is an empathetic prodigy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surely his mental state is perfectly healthy, right? Right??

Final warning, this is where things get quite sad. Here is where I will try to tie Miquella's arc together with Thiollier and St Trina, and the comforting oblivion and relief from despair that sleep represents for them.

As we search for St Trina, we descend down into the Stone Coffin Fissure. This is a place of death, with massive coffins built into the fissure walls, and Gravebirds, Bloodfiends and Putrescent enemies everywhere. St Trina is found at the deepest possible pit of this fissure, in a swamp of putrescence that has since blossomed into a garden of deep velvet lilies because of her influence. Trina offers us nectar of "eternal sleep," as Thiollier did previously, and as established then, "eternal sleep" is essentially nothing more than a peaceful death. Trina seems to fit in quite well in this place of ancient dead things, with some of the ancient remains even being compelled to fight for her in exchange for eternal rest, becoming the Putrescent Knight.

(Side note for levity because we're about to get sad again; I love this guy. It's a knight made out of the skeleton of a horse, riding on that same horse's decaying flesh goop body. Like, ugh. Beautiful. Plus, it may even have taken that shape because of Trina sharing Miquella's memories of Radahn, who was never far from his horse Leonard...)

We meet St Trina in her garden, and when we imbibe her nectar, we eventually begin to hear her voice in our death-dreams. She seems to pity him. Mourn for him, almost.

"Make Miquella stop... Don't turn the poor thing into a god..."

Trina appears to be in a bad state after her fall. She can only manage to get a few words across to us at once. Just as Leda predicted, her heart hasn't wavered. She is only concerned with Miquella's well-being.

"Godhood would be Miquella's prison. A caged divinity... is beyond saving."

Trina's most pressing concern is that godhood will be a prison for Miquella. Now, this could in theory be because gods are subject to manipulation from the Fingers and the Greater Will or a similar reason, but given that she calls him a "poor thing," I think there is likely a more emotional reason behind Trina's plea. I think that Trina is speaking as the embodiment of Miquella's love, but especially his ability to love and care for himself...

"You must kill Miquella... Grant him forgiveness."

...and she asks us to kill him.

In excising Trina from his being, I think Miquella also expelled the part of himself that was able to recognize how miserable divinity would be for him, and how miserable he was. The part of him that was tired of carrying the responsibilities that his compassion demanded of him. The part of him that was exhausted, despairing and desperate from having failed to cure Malenia, failed to save Godwyn, failed to perfect the Haligtree. St Trina is the part of Miquella that wanted to be stopped, to rest, to sleep, to die. In abandoning her as he does, Miquella is essentially repressing those thoughts and feelings, replacing them with more "selfless" ones; self-sacrifice, suffering on behalf of others, his martyrdom and apotheosis. I don't want to forget about "grant him forgiveness" either. She might mean forgiveness for failing to become a god, for not being good enough to succeed Marika and right her wrings. Maybe forgiveness for failing Malenia and Godwyn, or for leaving the Haligtree behind. Maybe even for abandoning her. But on the road to godhood, Miquella can't afford to indulge in this sort of self-pity. A child craves forgiveness and approval, a god must cast these things out.

"I'm feeling rather lost. Haunted by memories. Of St. Trina. Her visage. Her scent. The lure of velvety sleep. Would Kindly Miquella chasten me? For falling for St. Trina, while knowing that she was the discarded half? The problem is… I simply cannot help it. I would sacrifice everything, just to gaze upon her, one last time."

I want to mention Thiollier one more time here too. His primary visual motif is the long white braids that he wears on his clothes, reminiscent of Miquella and Trina's own signature braids (remember, she looked like an older feminine Miquella before her fall and injury). Thiollier is obsessed with Trina, pursuing her to hear her voice and fade into the comfort of her velvet sleep, though this doesn't kill him like it does us. I don't think Thiollier is connected to Miquella in any textual way, but I think he does serve as a reflection of the sorts of thoughts Miquella may have been surpressing. The self-pity, the need for approval and love, the feelings of weakness and uselessness. These are the things that lead Thiollier to pursue endless slumber.

Thiollier doesn't give in to that despair, however. Though he initially takes St. Trina's words... poorly, he eventually realizes what must be done, and dedicates himself to his new purpose: carrying out her final wish.

"I am here to serve St. Trina evermore. I am deeply sorry. For doubting you. I am here only to grant St. Trina's singular wish. I will stop Miquella the kind. He will never become a god."

This post is already quite long, but I also want to mention the obvious gender stuff going on here. There are a number of moments that make it seem as though St. Trina might actually be more than just "half" of Miquella. Firstly, as she is shown falling in the story trailer, Leda is describing how Miquella abandoned his fate, as if Trina had a vital role to play in Miquella's future. It also seems as though Trina isn't cursed in the same way that Miquella is; her voice and size indicate that she is at least more substantial than his "infant form," and she is depicted in "adult form, somewhat unnervingly" on the Torch of St. Trina. Furthermore, her "adult form" has a third eye in the middle of her forehead. The third eye is a symbol of enlightenment in both Hinduism and Buddhism; it seems that Trina has achieved some level of wholeness in this depiction. Meanwhile, when Miquella achieves godhood, his eyes remain permanently shut. He also appears to have only one physical arm. He holds Radahn with two incorporeal arms while casting with his real right arm, but his left arm appears to fade away to nothing before the elbow, as if unfinished. Miquella's blindness and asymmetry here, I think, reflect how unbalanced and incomplete his divinity is without Trina.

One more hint towards St Trina being a part of Miquella's future lies way back at the Haligtree. In Malenia's bossroom, just above where Miquella's cocoon was once embedded into the tree, the branches and roots appear to form a silhouette. This could be Miquella, Trina, or both, but I do see a certain resemblance to Trina's depiction on the torch in the way the "hair" covers the eyes. Given that Miquella's body appears to have grown a decent amount inside of the cocoon when we see in at Mohg's palace, it's possible that the cocoon situation was his original attempt to cure himself of his own curse, or perhaps become a part of the Haligtree itself. In the Shaman Village, Marika's home, there is a similar scene. A woman's body that resembles Marika seemingly mummified within the hollow of a tree. I honestly have no idea what to make of that just yet, but I thought it worth a mention.

So, with all that in mind, abandoning Trina seems to be even more significant. Not only has Miquella divested himself of his love and his fate, but maybe even his future, too. Being eternally nascent, he is always in a state of potential, after all. Am I suggesting that Miquella is a transfeminine character? That he was meant to grow up to become a goddess in the aspect of St. Trina, or maybe even more like Marika than he already is? Well, maybe. If you find it compelling, then absolutely. Fromsoftware's storytelling is always ambiguous, and is always design to leave us some room to read and interpret, to really play in the space we are given. Personally, I do find it compelling in a horribly tragic sort of way, fitting for the setting. It's also entirely possible that I have rather self-indulgently projected some of my own angst onto these character. I likely have, to be perfectly honest. It's rare that I really connect with a set of characters or a story like I have with this lot, and I hope that maybe some of you reading this will feel similarly. If you have read this far, thanks <3

[delicateperspective]

The Observer (Observed)

Either someone is deep in the Lore or LT3 era has begun.

Edit: I guess I am going to turn this post into a masterpost of sorts. I go more into detail about what I think this might be here (hint: not Louis).

But for now just please play it safe:

Don’t give them personal information.

Don’t engage in DMs with them.

Keep a healthy skepticism.

TIMELINE:

Twitter user @FromTheObserver was created on March 9th 2025.

At the time it first tweeted, it's pfp was a lavender eye with the roman numberals for 369.

The bio was "Through the looking glass the observer watches, craving what is just beyond reach."

The cover image was the below (MORE ABOUT THIS ARTWORK AT THE END):

At 2:44 GMT PM its first tweet said:

"The silence is broken. At last I return. Did your faith in the future endure, or did it waiver in my absence? You have waited, perhaps doubted, but the silence was never empty. I am ever present, hidden just beyond the veil. -The Observer

At 4:55 PM The Observer tweeted again:

Have you forgotten me so soon? -The Observer

At 7:44 PM Louis' official account tweeeted:

India I had no idea what to expect but you turned up in full force. From Doncaster to Mumbai. Fucking mind blowing! Thank you!

People started digging. "The Observer" appeared in a list of songs someone found on the French Music Directory SACEM. They first tweeted this list on February 2nd 2025.

I was able to confirm the listing at this link.

It is important to note though, that this lists SONY MUSIC PUBLISHING FRANCE as a sub-publisher and Reservior, Big Life Songs, and Inconnu Editur as publishers.

If we compare this to an LT released song, SILVER TONGUES, that ALSO has Sony listed as the subpublisher. So that doesn't debunk this as a real possible upcoming song.

For those who were saying that since it's sony he wouldn't use it. It appears Sony still has some claws in him. But thats normal in the music industry. A SUB-PUBLISHER doesn't mean he has a Sony deal again. It just means that BMG might not have the reach he needs in France to distribute so they'd rather pay someone else to do it.

I'd also like to point out that I could not verify this or any of the other songs on any American or UK repository like BMI or ACE.

I feel really uncomfortable digging into potential songs of Louis' knowing how badly he doesn't like the tracklist leaked. So this will be my extent of my digging on THIS SUBJECT. (But please feel free to let me know if I got anything wrong or I am missing something)

On March 10th, 2025:

At 1:30 AM The Observer tweeted:

I told you… But did you listen? -The Observer

Louis followed Lolla India sometime before 10:19 AM (based on the HL Daily update)

LTHQ Posted a Tiktok of Louis' show at Eletric Brixton around 4:38 PM (based on the HL Daily update)

Louis posted a reel from his time in India at 7:25 PM

At 10:00 PM (20:00) The Observer posted:

Day 1, 20:00 It’s eerily quiet in the laboratory today. - The Observer

At the time of this tweet, their pfp was the same lavender eye. HOWEVER the 369 roman numerals were gone. Replaced by a 7 (Or maybe a 1?). (For information about Louis' connection to the number 7, see this masterpost by @so-idialed-9.

On March 11th, 2025:

Louis poasted a pictures and video for Soccer Aid at 9:13 AM

Louis followed Soccer Aid on Instagram at 10:53 AM

Louis liked a photo from Soccer Aid of his 28 jersey at 1:44 PM

At 10:00 PM (20:00) The Observer tweeted again:

Day 2, 20:00 Watching from the outside, I can only hope not to become one of them. Perhaps I already have… Is it too late for me? -The Observer

The pfp at this time replaced the 7 with a 2.

On March 12th, 2025:

At 3:12 PM The Obsever Tweeted:

Day 3, 15:12 How can I change what’s already been written? If the past is in permanent ink, can the future ever be a blank page? -The Observer

At this time the pfp updated to a red 3 at the bottom.

Around 4:00 PM CST Louis followed footballer Jermain Defoe on Insta.

Also on this day, a pretty TeRrIbLe article from The Standard dropped, essentially making fun of 28, Louis, and his fans.

We also get a "Rome Unseen" of Harry drinking coffee with a friend and yelling at stalkers trying to take his picture.

On March 13th, 2025:

At 3:12 PM The Observer tweeted:

Day 4, 15:15 Inhale. Exhale. Surrender to what’s beyond control. -The Observer

Pretty telling for a fandom that is crashing out over circumstances outside of anyones control.

The number in the pfp changes to a white 4 in the right hand corner.

Louis doesn't move on this day.

On March 14th, 2025:

At 6:20 AM The Observer tweeted:

The shadow consumes the light. A fleeting moment where past, present, and future collide. Do you see it? Observe. -The Observer

It is important to note that there was a Blood Moon Lunar eclipse that could be seen in London just before dawn. "Stargazers around the world caught the first sign of the lunar event, which began at 05:09 GMT, on a livestream run by LA's Griffith Observatory."

Note the nod to the Observatory, to shadow consuming light.

The pfp stays the white 4 during this tweet.

At 3:18 PM The Observer tweeted:

Day 5, 15:18 Across a million futures, one constant endures. -The Observer

Sound familiar? If you are a Larrie, it should. Mr. "souces say he has trouble with long term relationships" used a similar line in his "You Are Home" promo.

(personal opinion here. take with a grain of salt. this has confirmed for me that Louis has nothing to do with this account. This line was too loud when H tweeted it. It didn't fit any narrative. It wasn't even related to anything on the album. This and the "half way home" debacle were some of the craziest wtf is going on here moments in the You Are Home tweet saga. If this had anything to do with his work or career, Louis would stay far away from using lines this closely tied to Harry.)

The pfp updates to a white 5 (which really looks like an upside down 2)

At 6:00 PM LTHQ posted an IG reel from India.

On March 15th, 2025:

At 10:00 AM The Observer tweeted and immediately deleted:

"A true observer must always be watching. Blink, and you'll miss what matters most. 625 369 825 007 326 028 -The Observer"

369 and 28 are both intrinscly linked to Louis and can be found in the masterpost at the begining. 007 is typically a reference to James Bond which Harry is a favorite to perfom the next James Bond song or play him.

HOWEVER, 625, 825, and 326 could possibly be month/years. As in June 2025, August 2025, and March 2026.

Louis is playing in Soccer Aid on June 15th 2025. (THIS COMES INTO PLAY IN A FEW DAYS. Approximately 40% of the articles about Louis' new stunt involve his involvement in SoccerAid and how he will be on the team with his stunt's very recent ex.)

Should we be looking for August 2025 and March 2026 events as well?

At 9:45 PM The Observer tweeted:

"Day 6, Unkown Too quick to catch, too fleeting to frame in memory. But a true observer is always taking notes. -The Observer"

The pfp updated to a white 6 (at the three oclock position)

On March 16th, 2025:

We got two posts again this day.

At 9:30 AM The Observer tweeted:

Day 7, Unknown How did we end up here? -The Observer

The past two posts have stated that the time is "Unknown" instead of giving us UK time. Have we stopped tracking the time? Have we moved timezones?

The pfp updated to a white 7 at this time as in accordance with the dart board.

At 11:30 PM The Observer tweeted:

Silent? Silenced. Patience. Observe. -The Observer

The first part of this refers to an Oprah interview.

The implication is that someone has not CHOSEN to be silent. They've been made to be silent. However, if we - as the audience - are patient, we can observe what they cannot say.

The pfp updates now. There are no numbers. The pupil is smaller and we can see what appears to be eyelashes in the top right corner.

On March 17th, 2025:

We ge two posts again today. But it's what happens in between that makes it important.

At 8:25 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 8, 20:25 No key to turn, no doors to guide A journey taken, far and wide The walls unfamiliar, the roads unknown A wandering soul, yet not alone -The Observer

The pfp updates back to the original eye with a white 8. Which looks oddly like an infinity sign as the circles are elongated.

First thing to note is that were back on UK time. The second - your intepretation of this tweet will matter to how authentic you think this account is. For me - when I saw "no key to turn, no doors to open". I immediately thought of the tattoo Harry has on his ribs of a birdcage with no door. Next to his drama masks. Above the SMCL (smile more cry later?) tattoos. There isn't a keyhole nor a door to this closet. The "you are home" door is closed, it cannot be opened.

Yet the last line of the 28 word (if you include the signature) poem leaves us hopeful. Despite the distance, the walls, the unknown roads, there’s an undercurrent of connection

Then an hour and a half later at 10:00 PM on the dot The Sun gives us our very first confirmation article of Louis' new stunt. Which I will not speak about in depth on this post. If you want more info, my page is full of it, but I don't want to muddy this post with that.

At 11:55 PM we get another tweet from The Observer:

Fabricated fairytales, observed by all. -The Observer

The pfp does not change.

The "fabricated fairytales" is a line from Louis' She is Beauty, We Are World Class. (my intrepretation of that song is here if you're into that kind of thing.) This is in direct response to the stunt. It is not mincing words or leaving room for interpretation by the timing. It is saying "this is a fake romance and now the world is watching".

On March 18th, 2025:

At 8:35 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 9, 20:35 Nearly Halfway Home. A long journey, but well worth it. -The Observer

The pfp uppdates to a green 9 as per the dart board.

The tweet itself, needs lore to explain.

On April 1st 2022, Louis registered a song Halfway Home. This registration can still be confirmed here.

THEN on April 13th 2022 (two weeks later), the You Are Home account for Harry's House promo tweeted "half way home"

Home, as a concept, has always deeply tied to both Louis and Harry and both of them together. The lore goes deep, but a summary is here.

The capitalization of Halway and Home, directs us to the song name.

But if were intepreting, it's also telling us that there is a plan in place. And though its a long way out, we're nearly halfway there and it will be worth it in the end.

On March 19th, 2025:

At 2:28 PM The Observer tweets:

Day 10, 14:28 A fresh set of eyes, born from little white lies. -The Observer

The pfp changes to a white 10.

Little White Lies is a clear refrence to the One Direction song, Little White Lies.

Bare with my little larrie heart here (but since this account is obviously also a larrie I'd be suprised if you aren't too) but Louis is in the headlines more than hes been in a decade right now. The PR is PRing. There are a whole new set of eyes on him. All because he's selling the story of some "little white lies".

DARTBOARD THEORY AND UPDATES

At this point, to anyone who is paying attention, it's become clear that the numbers represent a dart board.

See the most recent overlay below:

There have been a lot of recent theories revolving around dart boards after Louis posted one while he was in New Orleans for the superbowl and then followed a darts player on Instagram.

As to keep this unbiased and not tied to further speculation, I won't comment on the connection around all of the other people in Louis' life that have posted pictures of dart boards recently (just know that his sisters, Pleasing, Lamby, Niall, and more have posted dart boards - usually with the dart in the triple 20 spot). HOWEVER, darts has always been popular in the UK and its growing in popularity with the younger crowd recently. It's entirely possible that Louis just loves a game of darts at the local, and his sisters' boyfriends do to, and he's watching competive darts lately (especially the first openly gay dart player who is super popular right now), and Pleasing thought somehow darts were Valentine's day imagery.

EXTRA STUFF & FINAL THOUGHTS

As mentioned by this Twitter user, the artwork is pretty well likely AI generated (plus a little Canva/Photoshop for the numbers). It has all the tell-tale signs of generative AI (wonkey lines, misproportions, etc).

Louis has entire teams of graphic designers plus Joshua Halling (who loves this skind of thing) in his back pocket. He wouldn't need AI for any of this.

At this point, The Observer is definitely an interesting mystery, but whether it’s something to pay attention to or just a fan-run account remains to be seen. The AI-generated images are a major red flag—it’s hard to imagine Louis or his team relying on AI when he has actual designers and photographers on hand. Even his more cryptic rollouts in the past have been visually polished and intentional.

That said, the timing of the tweets, the SACEM song listing, and the number symbolism do make it intriguing enough to keep an eye on. If this is a fan project, they’re clearly deep in the lore and know how to grab attention.

Key Takeaways:

Be cautious. If this is a fan messing around, engaging too seriously could be dangerous to your online safety.

Don’t assume it’s official.

It's probably not connected and Louis probably knows nothing about it. If it is somehow connected it will become obvious soon. If it's not (way more likely), it’ll probably fade out like other fandom mysteries before it.

For now? I’m just observing The Observer. 👀

[fratttymatty]

Nathan's Parked

(All characters are 18+)

Nathan Parker had never quite fit in at Westbrook High. He was the kind of guy who spent his lunch breaks huddled in the back corner of the library, buried in books about superheroes or playing online games. He had thick glasses, messy brown hair that he never quite knew what to do with, and an awkward way of talking that made him stand out in the worst possible way. He didn’t have many friends, and his idea of a "good time" was usually just scrolling through fan fiction on his phone or studying for tests he didn't care much about. Nathan had long accepted that he would always be the geeky loner.

And then there was the secret he kept hidden from everyone: Nathan was gay, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, it would have been nice to share his feelings with someone.

But that was a far-off dream, something he'd shoved into the deepest parts of his heart. Who would want someone like him? Especially at a school where the jocks and cheerleaders ruled the social hierarchy, and someone like him was just… invisible.

One afternoon, after a grueling chemistry class, Nathan found himself wandering the aisles of the local drugstore, searching for something—anything—that might make him feel a little less out of place. He was heading to the deodorant section when something unusual caught his eye.

It was a sleek, black can of deodorant sitting alone on a shelf. Eclipse™ it was called, with the tagline: "Unleash your potential."

Nathan chuckled at the marketing slogan. "Sure, right," he muttered. He had no reason to believe that some fancy deodorant could change his life, but he figured it was worth a try. After all, he was desperate enough to give anything a shot.

As he sprayed the deodorant under his arms, a strange tingling sensation washed over him. Nathan shook his head, laughing at himself. Maybe it was some sort of psychological thing, he thought—his imagination running wild. He glanced at himself in the mirror and froze.

His reflection was… different.

His hair—messy and unkempt just moments ago—was now styled into a perfect wavy middle part, dark brown strands flowing effortlessly in a way that seemed entirely new. His face was sharper, more defined, and somehow more… masculine. His eyes no longer looked tired and worn-out but bright and confident. And his posture—his shoulders were broader, his chest fuller—he stood taller, more at ease.

Nathan blinked. Was this some kind of weird trick of the lighting? He reached up to touch his hair, but his fingers only confirmed what he feared: it wasn’t just his imagination. He was different. His clothes had changed too—gone was his oversized graphic tee and cargo shorts. Now, he wore a tight black compression shirt that showed off a toned chest, a sleek grey hoodie, a pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, and a letterman jacket draped casually over his shoulders. His shoes—new white trainers—looked like something right out of a sports magazine.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, "what the hell is going on?"

A sudden movement caught his eye, and when he turned, he saw a group of cheerleaders walking toward him. A few of them—Liana, Amanda, and Jenna—had been in his chemistry class earlier. But they'd never looked his way before. Now, as they approached, their eyes lit up with recognition. Or maybe it was something else… admiration?

"Hey there, Nathan," Liana said with a playful smile. "Wow, you look… different."

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was deeper now, smoother, more self-assured. "Yeah, I guess I’ve… changed a little."

Amanda giggled, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Changed? You look like you’ve had a total makeover or something. I mean, you used to hide behind those glasses and all that—what are you doing now, hitting the gym?"

Nathan tried to think of a reply, but his mind was a little foggy. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, but he couldn’t help but feel good about the attention. He could feel his chest puffing out, his muscles subtly flexing under the tight shirt, as though his body was responding to the change.

"Yeah," he said with a grin that felt more natural than he expected. "I’ve been hitting the gym… working on a few things."

Liana stepped closer, her eyes glinting with interest. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. You should come hang out with us at the game this weekend. We’ve got a big pep rally, and it could be fun. You’d fit right in with the team now."

Nathan blinked. Hang out with them? The cheerleaders? He was just a nerdy kid who kept to himself. But the idea of being part of their world—their confident, carefree world—was suddenly too tempting to ignore. He felt a surge of something that felt like excitement. And… pride? A new sense of self-confidence he couldn’t quite explain.

"I’d like that," he said without hesitation, the words coming out effortlessly. "I’ll be there."

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind for Nathan. In a matter of days, he’d gone from being the awkward, socially-inept loner to one of the most talked-about guys at Westbrook High. His new look and newfound swagger made him the center of attention. The cheerleaders treated him like one of their own, and he soon found himself hanging out with them after school, practicing football moves with the jocks, and getting invited to parties where people actually wanted him around.

But the more Nathan embraced his new persona, the more he realized how much he was changing—not just physically, but mentally. He wasn’t the shy, introverted guy anymore. He was Max Hunter, the popular, athletic jock with a cocky attitude to match. His confidence quickly turned to arrogance, and before long, he was acting like the kind of guy he used to despise.

"Yo, check this out," Max said one afternoon, tossing a football up and down in front of his football buddies, Blake and Trevor. "This is how it’s done, alright?" He spun the ball effortlessly in his hands before tossing it across the field, landing it perfectly in Blake’s arms.

Blake threw him a high-five. "Damn, Max, you’ve been killing it lately. You're the new king around here."

Max grinned, his eyes flashing with arrogance. "Damn straight. It’s all about putting in the work and looking good while doing it. Don't know why I wasted all that time reading comics before."

Trevor chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you’ve changed. But in a good way."

Max gave a half-smirk. "Of course I’ve changed. I’m Max now. I’m not some nerdy little nobody anymore." He ran a hand through his hair, letting the group admire his perfect waves. "And it’s about time the world noticed."

As the week went on, Max’s new life was in full swing. He’d been casually hooking up with pretty much every cheerleader in school. It started with Liana, of course. She was beautiful, confident, and everyone’s idea of the "perfect girl." Max had charmed her with his cocky smile and athletic physique, and within days, they were seeing each other.

But as Max quickly realized, he was no longer someone who got tied down. As soon as Liana wasn’t around, he started flirting with other girls—cheerleaders, mostly—and eventually found himself in a casual, yet thrilling, rotation of hookups. He’d dated and slept with Amanda, Jenna, and even a few girls from rival schools, all while keeping up the pretense of being in a committed relationship with Liana.

The funny thing? They didn’t care. It didn’t matter how many times Max cheated on them—he was Max Hunter, and somehow, that made everything excusable. Each cheerleader, knowing full well about the others, would still smile whenever he showed up to practice, each one thinking she was the one who had his true attention. And Max let them believe it. He was the star of the show, and they were just happy to be along for the ride.

After all, when you looked like he did—when you had the physique, the style, and the swagger—you didn’t need to commit. They all wanted a piece of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.

But as Max looked in the mirror again, something clicked. He wasn’t just Nathan anymore. The person staring back at him—confident, athletic, popular—wasn’t Nathan Parker at all.

He had a new name.

"Max," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It felt right. Max Hunter. Strong. Powerful. The kind of guy who everyone knew, and who everyone wanted to know. A jock. The kind of guy who got the girl, the attention, and the respect.

As Max adjusted his letterman jacket and ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, he realized something: this wasn’t just a new look. It was a new life.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the person he was always meant to be.

[bardoftheshire]

I Think I Love You?

James Wilson x Reader

Summary; After working together for so long, Y/n finally starts to realize just how much she loves Wilson.

Notes; This is a fem reader but it can be read as a gender neutral reader, too. House M.D brainrot has been corrupting me lately..

Warnings; Mild language, "prescription" drugs, angst, pining, and innuendos.

James Wilson Masterlist

Word Count; 3,805

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"Hey, you! I need you to help out Taub and Kutner with patients in the ICU hall." House shouts from behind you.

You turn around and sigh, glaring at him.

"House. You've known me for god knows how long, use my name. And no, I'm busy, I have stuff to do over here,"

House hobbles over and scoffs. "No you don't. Now go down and help those poor, poor doctors," He said, making a "sad" face.

He was right. You had nothing to do so far other than paperwork that you definitely didn't want to do right now, but would definitely rather than have to deal with House's antics.

"Fine, fine. But-"

"L/n! I need your help with a patient. There are no other nurses available and-" Wilson jogged towards you and House, though quickly being cut off.

"Nope! Uh-uh-uh, I called dibs on her first. L/n, go help Taub and Kutner." House pointed his cane at you.

"What? There are plenty of nurses down there and I'm pretty sure that Kutner and Taub can handle whatever is going on by themselves. They're more responsible than you are!"

You watch the two bicker back and forth, already feeling a headache come on just by looking at them.

Leaving would be the best idea. Avoid your paperwork, avoid House, avoid Wilson. Avoid them acting like a divorced couple fighting over a child.

You decided to walk away, them clearly not noticing just by hearing them continuing to argue.

You open the door to Cuddy's office, not even bothering to knock just due to working for her for so long.. and as well as not caring.

"What happened with House now?" Cuddy asked, looking up from a file to meet your eyes as you tiredly stood at her doorway.

"Not only House, but Wilson too. House wants me to help Taub and Kutner in the ICU, and Wilson wants me to help with a patient of his. Now they're fighting on 'who gets to have me'. I just needed a break from it real quick," You pinched the bridge of your nose as you sat on her couch and hunched over.

For fourty-some year old men, they sure acted like complete children.

"As long as they don't find you and bother me about it, I'm completely fine with you staying in here. But why don't you just lock yourself in your office?"

"That'd be the first place they'd check when they realize I'm gone. Even if I lock myself in there, House won't stop bugging until he gets what he wants." You sigh.

Cuddy hums as she sits back and organizes her files.

It only took mere minutes for Wilson and House to spot you through the windows of Cuddy's office and barge in, interrupting both yours and her, short lived peace.

"I need L/n in the ICU, stat!" House demands, hobbling in with Wilson following behind.

"No. There are plenty of nurses down there. I need her up here to help me with a patient in radiology," Wilson argued immediately after.

You and Cuddy sigh. Unfortunately you were right, House wouldn't leave you alone. But what made it even worse was the same urgency Wilson had.

Maybe if you left like last time they would give up? No, not with House's stubbornness you wouldn't.

"Why do you need L/n specifically? Can't you just get Foreman or Thirteen to help? They weren't doing anything the last time I checked 15 minutes ago." Cuddy asked, looking at the two with disappointment.

The gears turned in the two's heads, thinking of why they wanted your help specifically, inevitably and unfortunately, House was the first to come up with his reason.

"Because she has a nice ass?" House shrugged, earning a glare from you and Wilson.

"Not a valid reason. House, you could "borrow" her momentarily for whatever it is you need so badly." Cuddy sighed once more, dismissing the three of you.

"Wait, wait, what? You just said House's reason wasn't valid, though? Where does that leave me?"

You look at Wilson, then up at Cuddy from your spot in disbelief, "Dr. Cuddy, I'm not just some-"

Cuddy gave you a look and you sighed, getting up from the firm couch to leave the office with House and Wilson.

You stomp on House's left foot, earning a grunt from him. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For that stupid, very unprofessional, comment. Keep those words to yourself at least." You huff, crossing your arms.

"Oh, come on. Anyone else here would agree with me. Right, Wilson?"

Wilson stares dumbfoundedly at him with his mouth hanging open, his cheeks and ears turning a bright red. "T-that's a highly inappropriate thing to ask." He stutters, shifting his standing position.

House shoots a wink with a smirk on his face before hobbling away.

You smile and roll your eyes, following behind him.

You turn your head around to see Wilson following behind you.

"Where're you going? You're supposed to be on your side of the hospital, aren't you?" You laugh.

"I'm getting lunch." He shrugs.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"James, it's 10 am.." You stop and turn to him, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

Wilson's heart skipped a beat with the use of his first name, though he wouldn't admit that.

"Well, then do you want to get lunch with me later on?"

"Sure thing. I'll see you in a bit if not sooner depending on how long House will yap on and on about his nonsense. 'It's not this, it's not that, it's not Lupus, run tests that don't need to be ran, blah blah blah, I'm on drugs, my leg hurts.'" You mock House.

You and Wilson laugh and continue to walk together.

You sigh, "You should get back to what you were doing, now. Don't want to keep your patient waiting,"

Wilson looks at you with a puzzled look on his face. "What patient?"

You raise a brow, "You had a patient you *begged* me to help you with, remember?"

"O-ohh, you mean that patient, yup, I'll uh, I'll get right to them. Right now," Wilson spills.

You grin at him and his newfound awkwardness. 'I kinda like it when he gets like that.'

Wait.

What?

"So, see you at lunch?" Wilson says, stopping in his tracks.

"See you at lunch, Wilson." You smile before departing ways.

What on earth.

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"This is what you needed me for, House? Are you kidding me?" You glare at him.

After following him and listening to him yap, you go into the ICU to find only 3 patients that Taub and Kutner had already taken care of.

He just wanted to annoy you and waste your time.

"Hmm, I guess they were able to handle it. Anyways-" House says as he pops 2 Vicodin in his mouth, an obvious hint of sarcasm highly apparent.

Though, when wasn't he.

"Seriously, House. Why'd you come to bother me?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because you're annoying and had nothing else to do?" You huff with a smirk.

"Almost! I think- and when I say think, I am sure of it- that you have a thing for James Wilson, the head of Oncology." House says loudly, leaning towards you, as if he were announcing it to the whole ICU.

Your eyes widen and you suddenly feel every single part of your face start to become increasingly warm, other nurses in the area looking at you and House.

"What the hell are you talking about?" You whisper angrily to him.

House gives a shit eating grin, "Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm saying that you've got the hots for Wilson."

"How much Vicodin are you already on now?" You ask.

"You get red, sweaty, your breathing is off, you don't talk, and you glance or look at him every chance you can get. You're absolutely pathetic at hiding it. If Wilson weren't so dumb he would've definitely known. And I've had 6 of these in the past 2 hours if that's your concern." House scoffs.

"Why do you have to over analyse everything? How do you know I'm not sick with some untreatable disease?"

"Because I know you, but even anyone that doesn't would know, because you're pathetic." House hobbles off to the ICU room Taub was currently residing in.

"..Anyway, you have a new helper. Do whatever you do while L/n does the rest of the work for you." House announces.

"House! What the hell do you-" House leaves and closes the door before you could pursuit him.

You take a deep breath in and out, pinching the bridge of your nose and turn to Taub. "Okay. What happened with this guy?"

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You loved helping out patients, but sometimes it was boring, and this was one of the days where it was boring. You and Taub just changed IV's and checked patient's blood pressure and heart bpm. Nothing like what House had exaggerated about.

And finally, it was your lunch break. 1:06 pm. You stood in the lunch line and grabbed your usual food, the cafeteria servers already knowing what you'd get. Simply just a sandwich with black forest ham, sourdough bread and horse radish. And a bag of chips and chocolate chip cookie as a small "reward" to yourself for not killing House yet.

You pay and grab your tray, heading to an empty table, beginning to eat.

"Hey," Wilson says, sitting across from you and putting his food down.

"Hey, Wilson. What's up?" You smile at him.

"Me right now." House says before Wilson could respond, taking a seat next to you and grabbing a bite of your sandwich.

He was really getting on your nerves now.

You stomped on his foot the second time today, earning the same noise and look from him as he did earlier this morning.

"Jeez. Little feisty today, aren't you?" House says.

You glare at him and he sticks his tounge out to you in response. Like a child.

Wilson clears his throat, "..So, what happened in the ICU that House needed you so desperately for?"

You groan and give House a dirty look. "There wasn't anything serious. Just changing IV's and the boring stuff."

"Wouldn't have been if Cuddy had given you to me." Wilson mumbles before taking a bite of his salad.

"Hmm?"

Wilson had been acting odd lately. Even more odd than House already was and you still can't quite place your finger on what it was.

House nudges your arm and gives you a look you definitely don't like and very obviously points to Wilson, not even bothering to hide what he was doing.

"What? What did I do?" Wilson asks, furrowing his eyebrows, making him look like a confused puppy.

God, you loved when he looked like that.

You shift in your seat, trying to stop yourself from going red.

"Better question; what didn't you do?" House says.

Wilson huffs and continues to eat his salad, clearly frustrated about something.

This was supposed to be a you and Wilson thing after all. Maybe that was the reason, because it sure definitely bothered you.

"Whoof, the tension here is high and it's unfortunately not sexual. I don't have the time for that. I'm going to go and relax in my office or bug Foreman maybe. You guys are boring." House rolls his eyes and slowly gets up from his seat. Leaving you and Wilson alone together.

You suddenly didn't know what to say.

Shit, maybe House was right..

You take another bite of your sandwich to occupy yourself and not make any conversation, in fear of saying something stupid.

If it weren't for House telling you something you probably wouldn't be acting this way in the first place. Goddamn it.

"It's quiet when House isn't here to disturb the peace,"

You look up at Wilson to see him finishing up his food and cleaning up.

"Honestly, I just think he's here to bug, but sometimes you can have an actual intelligent conversation with him."

You laugh, "Yeah, an intelligent conversation when he's not high."

Wilson chuckles, crinkling his nose.

You smile. He looked so cute.

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

It had been weeks since you'd had that conversation with House and you rapidly started to realize your feelings for him. It felt wrong, of course since not only was he one of your best friends, but also your colleague. It would be highly inappropriate to even talk about what you felt for him.

So, you got a "bright" idea and figured that maybe you would be able to rid of these feelings by avoiding him. Can't have feelings for someone you no longer speak or interact with, right?

Taking late or early lunches, sometimes even just not eating, showing up to work earlier or later than he does, straying away from areas he's typically in, staying out of your office and busying yourself with things where he typically is never in.

You thought it was working. You no longer had any of those more than PG-13 thoughts of him, you no longer stayed up late at night trying to get him out of your head, you no longer even thought about him altogether.

You were in your office sorting out some paperwork, simple patient forms and bills you didn't have enough time to do at home, separating them into neat little piles despite your mind being a mess with stress. But you had a CD mix on right now and that seemed to silence most of the stress. Key word: most.

*knock, knock, knock, knock, knock* you hear before someone barges in.

"What's wrong with you?"

House. Of course it had to be House to be bothering you right now, immedietly disrupting your peace.

You sigh. It always was a sigh with this man, it was hard not to.

"Wow. Is the Greg House actually being concerned and sympathetic for one of his friends? This has to be a miracle!" You say sarcastically, still looking at your paperwork.

"Correction: colleague. And no, there's just something wrong with you." House corrects.

"Nothing is wrong with me, and if there was; I would only tell a friend what it was." You roll your eyes, looking up at House to make it clear that you didn't want him in your office.

"If there was nothing wrong with you then you wouldn't be saying that if there was you would only tell a friend, would you?"

"God, you're so annoying how does Wilson put up with you?"

"That brings me to my point. Wilson. That's the first time you've even mentioned him in weeks, let alone talk to him. Now, what is wrong with you?"

"Everyday is a fucking migraine with you, House. Get out so I can finish what I'm doing. My job." You dismiss him.

"Get over yourself and admit that there's something wrong with you. You know there is-" House says as he hobbles over to your desk, before being interrupted by knocking on the door.

"L/n- oh, uh, am I interrupting something here?" Wilson says, you shooting your head to the door to look at him.

"Yes," "No," You and House say at the same time.

"I just finished up what I was saying, she's all yours Wilson!" House says before leaving.

"But, House!-" You shout as House slams the door to your office.

You suddenly feel claustrophobic in your own space, for once wishing that it was just House bugging you instead of being stuck in the same room alone with Wilson.

"L/n.."

"I'm sorry, Wilson, but I have some stuff I need to do." You quickly say, grabbing some random files to make some suddenly "urgent" copies of.

"L/n, please-"

You rush out of your office with the papers in your hands, making your way to the furthest printers in the building.

"L/n!" Wilson shouts, trying to keep up with you.

Nurses and other doctors turned to look at the scene, finding it odd especially because they haven't seen any interaction between the two of you for weeks.

You began to walk faster, only for Wilson to catch up with you and startle you, making you drop your papers all over the floor.

"Shit.." You mutter under your breath as you look down at the dropped papers.

"Shit, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine, Wilson. Just- just go, please?" You begin to pick up the scattered papers, other doctors and nurses basically jumping over them.

"Please, L/n. You haven't talked to or even looked at me in weeks. Can we just- ..talk?" Wilson says with pleading eyes.

You suddenly realised just how stupid you were to try and ignore him. How did you do that for this long,

You sigh and quickly pick up the remaining papers, "Fine. Just- let's go to my office."

Wilson let's out a sigh of relief, offering to help you up once you'd finished, but you decline.

Wilson followed behind, practically looking like a kicked puppy, even when you had both arrived inside of your office.

You quickly closed your blinds and locked your door to the balcony that you were just lucky enough to share with House.

You inhaled sharply before letting out a deep exhale, going behind your desk and looking towards Wilson who was standing in front of your door awkwardly.

"What did you want?" You didn't want to sound rude, you just wanted him to leave so you couldn't think any of the thoughts that flooded your mind. You looked everywhere but at him, trying to distract yourself.

"I- I just want to talk to you, L/n.." Wilson seemed upset, not in an aggravated way, but in one of sadness. "We don't talk anymore, or even see eachother in the hallways anymore. I feel like you've been avoiding me. You even talk to House, and that's saying something,"

House. Oh, God, what did he tell him this time.

"...I miss talking to you. I miss our conversations. I miss you. Please, at least tell me if I did anything wrong. Something, anything?" Wilson begged. He looked so cute like that.

"Wilson, I-" You couldn't even finish your own sentence. You couldn't tell him why you've been avoiding him. It would only make him avoid you, though it would be deserved. It was a lose-lose situation..

Maybe him not talking to you would be a good thing.

"..You did nothing wrong, Wilson. It's all my fault I'm sorry. I just- ugh, fuck.." You were struggling to say it, let alone think about it. You were totally fucked.

Wilson looked at you curiously, "Y/n, anything you do or say won't change anything, I promise you. I just- please, L/n.."

You look at him with anxiousness and fear boiling in the pit of your stomach. Your legs began to feel like jelly and you were sure you were about to collapse. 'Just say it to get it over with.'

"I think I love you.." You just blurted it out. You didn't even put any thought of how to try and make it sound less.. creepy. Those five words, which could've easily been described so much better were all that came out.

Wilson looked dumbfounded. You'd never seen that look on his face.

'Fuck. I just ruined everything. He lied to me.'

You were already scared out of your wits, and this didn't make it any better. You began to feel a lump in your throat that pained you to swallow each time, you were suddenly having a hard time breathing, and your fingernails were digging into the palms of your hands, making blood draw.

Wilson heaved a sigh, closing his eyes momentarily before smiling. A genuine smile, that was.

"Oh God, I thought I did something wrong," Wilson was relieved, not only at the fact that you weren't upset with him, but because you loved him.

Anyone else in the entire faculty or even outside of work could've told him the same thing with explanation and he would react differently. But with you, it made butterflies in his stomach and sudden warm cheeks appear.

He loved you too.

You perk up and tilt your head to the side, confused at the totally different response from him. His expression changed from one of sadness and fear, into one of relief and awe, making you feel so much more relaxed.

"I thought you were upset with me, that you didn't want to be around me anymore because of something I must've done, but this.. this is so much better." Wilson sighed, walking to you before taking your slightly bloodied hands into his.

"..gosh, we need to fix this up," he mumbled to himself as he examined your hands, grabbing the first aid kit from your shelf and getting everything to fix the small self inflicted incisions.

You stared at him in awe as he fixed you up. He wasn't disgusted or off put by your statement.

Wilson turned over your hands and placed a kiss on top of each one before looking at you, his hands still holding yours gently.

"I think I love you, too.." Wilson stated, his smile getting bigger and his cheeks getting redder as he said it.

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding and that lump stuck in your throat was now gone. He looked at you with those soft brown eyes that you could just get stuck looking at.

Before you knew it, you were leaning over your desk, one of your hands on his cheek, cupping it gently and vice versa with him. Both of your lips fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces, and you could get a faint taste of sweetened coffee on his lips.

The kiss was gentle yet full of passion, hunger, and obvious bottled up feelings. It was something that you'd never experienced before. It was beautiful.

You pull away slowly, opening your eyes to see a flustered James Wilson, his lips swollen and lightly coated in saliva, presumably yours. He looked so gorgeous.

"You're amazing, Y/n,"

You smile and press your forehead to his.

"You too, James,"

"God, I love when you call me that." Wilson groans.

"James,"

Wilson licks his lips and goes around your desk, now holding your waist with one hand, and the back of your neck with the other.

"God, Y/n.."

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Okay, first Wilson fic? What do y'all think? I kinda did a little research for this, but am also just used to how most of the hospitals usually work. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! It took me a while for me to finish this one, but it was pretty fun.

[starlightsearches]

ooooooooh can we eget a track 8 with edward nashton? maybve it's his first time but he doesnt want to tell the reader that?? love your writing 🖤

Moving Too Fast

Track 8: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones - Give me a character and a NSFW prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Edward Nashton x F! Reader

AN: Thanks for the suggestion, friend! Here's a little love letter from me to pre-mature ejaculation uwu. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated mwah mwah

Warnings: 18+ only, some language, lots of self-loathing from Eddie, sexism, mentions of creepy behavior, making out, and pre-mature ejaculation. Let me know if I missed anything!

Eddie could have sworn it was three dates.

Isn't that what everybody said? Third date go great? Try these six tips to make him yours for sure.

Or maybe he just got that idea from some stupid magazine back when he was in college. The ones he'd shove inside his jacket before the guy ringing up all the ramen packets and dandruff shampoo would notice.

Magazines he'd read whenever his roommate was gone—when he'd stroke his cock nice and slow at the lurid words, still getting used to the idea of pleasure, guilt always sitting at the top of his stomach like an oil slick—reading about all the ways a woman could touch you. Too scared at the sight of tits to look at any real porn.

High school was where he learned what it meant if a girl let you touch her on the first date. Eddie had spent every hellish minute in those fucking locker rooms with his head ducked low, trying to avoid attention, curling in on himself to hide the body he was so ashamed of and didn't understand.

He still heard what the other boys said. Learned all the words—slut, whore, skank—practiced saying them under his breath whenever he was alone so they'd come out naturally if the occasion ever arose. (It never did.)

But this isn't a third date. It's not even a date. And Eddie's not sure what that's supposed to say about you.

He doesn't think you're a slut. There haven't been any other men here on the nights Eddie watched your doorway (before you'd ever said a word to him) from the nearby alley, standing guard, looking for glimpses of you through the windows.

No other men, and he's glad, because there's no way for him to know what he'd have done.

But you do seem eager for him—or for this, at least—with the little noises you're making against his lips, kissing him in the darkness of your bedroom, pulling him against you and all your warm skin.

A word like eager doesn't even belong in the same room as Eddie. Not directed at him, although it emanates from his body like a disease, keeping everybody at a distance.

Everybody but you.

His clumsy hands grip at the extra fabric of your baggy t-shirt where it hangs at your sides, his hold so tight it could rip at any moment.

"You can take it off," you whisper, the words slurring out in the quick pause before you're kissing him again. Eddie's lungs are getting smaller as he lifts the fabric, knuckles bumping against your waist, catching at the edge of your bra. He's lucky his grip doesn't falter, or he'd have to start over.

But maybe Eddie wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like this—the Sisyphean task of taking of your clothes a riddle he'd love to spend all his time working out—baring your skin but going no farther.

Never needing to show the vulnerable parts of himself.

He has to pull back so you can get your shirt off the rest of the way, balling up the warm fabric in his hands. Eddie thinks about holding it to his nose and breathing deep, letting your scent wash over and through him.

But that will have to wait for another time. When you're not here. When the lock-picking kit he ordered finally shows up on his doorstep.

He rubs the fabric between his fingers instead, gripping hard enough his knuckles turn white. You drop down to the mattress, tits bouncing, and Eddie's vision blackens at the edges.

"Come on, Eds. What're you waiting for?"

To wake up. He can't think of a better answer, so he doesn't say anything, shins hitting the bed, looming over you with his too-warm body and heavy breaths. And none of that makes you push him away, pulling him closer, your body pressing and rubbing against his.

Tits pillowing against his chest as you cup your hands around his neck, tongue dipping deeper into his mouth when you raise your chin. One of your legs hooks around the back of his ankle, stroking at the leg of his jeans.

And worst of all, your palms—warm, and a little damp—slipping the bottom of his shirt out from under the waistband of his pants. Eddie feels the press of your hands against his skin like a brand, and he hopes your touch will stain him somehow because he'll never feel you like this again. Not after what comes next.

Eddie's already too close. You've hardly done anything and he's close, so hard it's painful, his tender dick pressed up against your thigh, warm from your body even through the layers he wears. He feels his heavy balls drawing tight against his skin, so desperate to spill somewhere besides his own hand.

Eddie literally begs his body to hold on, to wait, pleading silently with god, with whoever could be listening, with his own shame to stop the inevitable next step.

It's no use, as he knew it would be. Eddie cums with a moan that mortifies him down in his bones.

Your hands stop their movements, lingering questioningly at the space above his hips.

"Eddie?"

He feels your breath hit his face, lips no longer against his when you press your head further into the pillows, looking up at him as his cum seeps into the fabric of his jeans, hot and heavier than he's used to, probably soaking through and smearing over all your lovely skin.

"Eddie, did you—"

He shoots back with a cry before you can get the question out, unsure where to look, pressing his hands over the wet spot on his crotch, all his visible skin bright red and flushed.

"I'm—oh, god—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

He's crying, actually, steps away from full-blown, whiny sobs. The one chance he had to be close to someone, to be with someone, and he's ruined it.

The same way he ruins everything.

"I- this doesn't—this doesn't, uh, usually happen."

It's a lie, even without the implication that this has happened with other women. Eddie never lasts long when he's thinking about you, no matter what he tries.

It's a weak attempt, but he has to save face, has to kill the sickness inside of him.

Has to hope against hope that you won't laugh in his face.

Eddie thinks he's imagining it when he feels your hand at his wrist, insistent in its grip until your eyes meet his, not mocking, like he was certain they would be, but curious, and fervent.

"Really?"

There's this lilting appetite in your voice that Eddie could never imagine, that tells him just how dull all his daydreams had been.

"Eddie," you whisper, lips painted wet by your tongue, and you're on your knees, closing the distance he left open, "that's—"

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't find out. You don't finish your sentence before you're kissing him again.

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist

Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 3.

Apparently, what parts of the conversation you missed before running all the way here was that you missed the first bell and were late. So after running, being dragged, all the way here, you'd gone straight to class. 

Thankfully, Ace’s collar problem wasn’t a class problem, thanks to all the classes so far being theory.

With that problem out of the way let's get back to you.

If you planned on learning today, that plan went out the window. Not only where you still repeating what Cater had said to you earlier. Being ousted for being a darling would put you in such great danger, so the fact he figured it out in the hour you spent with him this morning was very much not good.

It also got your desk hit with Professor Crewel's riding crop/wand? for not paying attention in class. Speaking of, Crewel had been the one to rat you out to Crowley so you weren't expecting him to be kind to you, but unlike the brutal berating he gave Ace for making a sarcastic quip in the middle of his lecture, he'd given you a stern look and nothing else.

You just hope that it was fluke, because you don't want to think about the idea if he's in love with you too. Wait, is it possible for a yandere to love platonically, you'll have to research that.

If you can even do that, to begin with. Because the textbooks that you received aren't the right ones. Why? Because they're missing complete pages worth of information.

How do you know?

Because you compared it to Ace's.

There was a love potion spell that would be taught the first years next semester, powerful, dangerous and it could if used correctly sever cognitive thought from the darling for a period of a day, and replace it with false love.

Your copy of the same Potionology textbook didn't have that. Or any of the other potions that could do the same thing. In magical history, the ancient tactics used by yanderes were wiped clean from your copy, when they were present in Deuce's own.

What's worse is that this was done on purpose. How do you know that? Because you pointed it out.

At the end of Potionology, you'd gone to the Professor textbook in hand in search of an explanation.

"Excuse me, Professor Crewel?"

"Pup, it is Master Crewel." You were not calling him that, "How can help you?"

"Um, something's wrong with my textbook? It's missing a lot of pages." He taken it from you and flipped through it. And then set back in your hands.

"There is nothing wrong with this pup. It has everything you need in it." He'd said if he hadn't lied clean through his teeth.

"B-but I checked with one of the other textbooks, dozens of pages on potion recipes are missing?!" You'd argued.

"Pup, you are referring to the textbooks we give the yandere students. By law, I'm required to give you this one." What?!, was what you thought in anger.

"W-What law?" You asked, you were absolutely dumbstruck at his response. You were getting really tired of being left in the dark.

"Darling students are not allowed to readily access any knowledge about what their future yanderes will use against them, regardless of purpose." That was what came out of his mouth, he hadn't seen anything wrong with it.

It wasn't just that either. The same thing happened with your Magical History book when you asked Professor Trein. And you got some more bad news.

The library, your saving grace, wasn't allowed to give you any of the books they'd given you last time. No more information that could help you. You couldn't even use the textbooks Grim would get, as they were being kept in the classrooms rather than in Ramshackle. The jury was still out on your 'The Art of Ensnaring Hearts' class about whether or not you could even attend those in the future. Was this all done to keep you from learning about what the Yanderes know, to keep you from knowing how to save yourself?

Phys Ed, was the only class you could actually do without someone putting you at a disadvantage. It may not have been your favorite class, but considering you might need to run away from a yandere in the future, you ran as fast as you could.

And now your legs hurt real bad. You weren't the most athletic person but Coach Vargas really worked you over.

Eventually, after a really rough morning, break time rolled around.

"Let's see, our next class is...."

"This so-called magic academy feels a lot like a lame, ordinary school." Ace complains. You disagree, normal schools don't usually teach students how to make love spells. You hope at least. Do non-magic schools teach similar yandere stuff? "It's not exactly what I expected, but at least this collar won't be much of a problem after all."

"You with me on that, Grim? ....Hm?" Grim's silence hadn't struck you as weird until Ace said that. Your loudmouth, tuna-loving cat monster hadn't thrown up a complaint since you left your last class.

"Grim?" You search for Grim among the legs of traveling students but you can't find him. A bad feeling sinks into your stomach. Ace and Deuce couldn't do it. They were right next to you the whole time, so what happened to him?! Did he get-

"Oh! Look out the window! i just saw a ball of fur running across the yard!" Deuce exclaims. You transition the fear of his imminent demise to anger for his abandonment of you.

"Where!?" You nearly collide with the window in your haste, as Deuce points him out down below. A small grey blur races quickly across the courtyard, "He's cutting class!" The Headmaster's going to be furious. And the LAST thing you need is being kicked out into a world where MURDER IS OK!!!

"Boy, that guy is not a fast learner." Yeah, Deuce. Clearly!! He just left you alone in a yandere school! You're definitely withholding his tuna for this.

"Not a good look to lose your only student in your first week as a prefect. Want some help catching him?"

"YES!" You yell, not caring about the future implications. Two IOU's in one day is not gonna be good for you in the future. But right now, your present is on the line! "Please just help me!"

You don't know what you looked like when you said that, but considering how the both of them blushed, you'll have to worry about that later.

Right now, you need to get Grim, preferably before he burns something down.

And so you began the chase of Grim through the courtyard. With your legs still burned from the exhaustion of Coach Vargas' training, you could barely keep up with Ace and Deuce and nearly collapsed once on the way.

But thankfully, the fear and rage from earlier turned into adrenaline that propelled you forward.

And propel you it did, into a person.

You had been a few paces behind Ace and Deuce, but you were far enough to lose sight of them as they turned a corner into the courtyard.

So you hadn't seen the person you ran into, but inertia wasn't your friend today.

You had expected to hit the floor of the courtyard, concrete or grass, whichever was softer, and braced mentally for impact. Only for an arm to swiftly wrap around your waist.

Fast, so fast that you can't even get a letter out of your mouth in sheer surprise, whoever caught you had slipped an arm round your waist, saving you from your unlucky fall.

And so the charming prince that caught you was...

Blonde, with his hair cut into a mid-length bob. Perched on his head is a brown hat sporting a pale white feather. His green eyes are like a falcon's, sharp and piercing. He smiles down upon you. Your noses are practically an inch away from touching. The way you're positioned is straight out of a romance novel, the male lead saving the clumsy MC from a nasty fall.

The embarrassment of the situation you've found yourself in doesn't escape you as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks. "I-I’m sorry!" You blurt out. Thank the seven that there aren't many people around.

" , . I'm just lucky that I caught you." He's speaking French? But how does.....y’know what, nope not touching that one.

"Yeah, thanks." He still hasn't let you out of his hold, and you'd like it for him to let you go now. "Could you, uh, let me up now."

"Bien sûr, mon cher," he says something in French that you don’t understand, but he does help you to your feet with a flourish. He even spins you for some reason.

OK. Another weird one.

You dust yourself off, "Thanks, sorry again," you say somewhat sheepishly.

The smile your savior has is seemingly unshakable, and the laugh he gives you in reply reflects that, "Non non, ce n'est pas un problème du tout, though chérie, will you not grace me with your name?" He even speaks like all the lovelorn princes in your childhood storybooks, well minus all the French.

"It's _______. Have you seen a grey cat run through here?"

"Oui, filou he went that way," Great, you prepare to turn but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder, "though it is best if you head that way if you wish to find him." He points in a direction very far from where he originally pointed.

One of your eyebrows quirk up in confusion, "How do you know that?" You ask.

"Call it a hunter's intuition. You wouldn’t want to be late for Arithmancy, ______" He says with a smile.

You thank him before running in the direction he told you, and in no time at all, you find Deuce dropping a struggling Grim into a net Ace is holding.

And so the Great Grim was captured.

"Mrrah! I've had it with these boring classes!" He squirms in the net Ace took from one of the grounds men, even with his claws he can't escape the netting.

"Grim, you'll never be a great mage if you don't attend classes!" You scold but Grim doesn't stop complaining.

"Ugh! When did you get all bossy?!" Grim continues his complaning as you cross your arms.

You ignore his pointless pouting. You got all bossy when you found out that a single screw up could either result in you getting attacked by a obsessive lover, or get thrown out of here on your rear end with no one to protect you from the aforementioned obsessive lovers.

That and he trapped you into another  IOU five minutes ago that might bite you in the ass later. You can't afford to get into any trouble. With Crowley, with the teachers, with the other dorm leaders, the other students. And Grim....is also someone you need to keep yourself sane.

"Pout about it all you want, Grim." You remove him from the net, holding him against your hip like he’s a troublesome toddler so he doesn't run away again. You turn to Ace and Deuce, and smile softly, "Thanks, you guys."

Again, that light returns in both their eyes. Ace smiles mischievously and slings his arm over the two of you in a half hug, "Glad to help clean up the mess made by the worst prefect to ever set foot on campus!"

"It wasn't that bad, Ace. Let her go! Like the last time, Deuce pulls Ace's arm off of you. The two glare at each other, as if silently fighting. Unlike Ace, Deuce tends to respect your personal space only ever doing this when Ace gets too touchy or too close. That and he always tries to defend you when Ace or anyone else teases you. Maybe it really is in your best interest to get closer to Deuce.

"Alright you two, we're gonna be late. Our next class is...." Aw man, it's Arithmancy. No wonder Grim ran off. You say such and Ace groans.

At least they can't censor this class, too. A part of you would like it if they did.

"C'mon, let's not get caught 'skipping' class."

On the way back, you wonder about the man you ran into. Now that you thought about it, he never gave you his name. And you gave him yours immediately, damn it!

Still, the likelihood that he was a yandere for you was too unrealistic. Sure, Ace and Deuce might have budding feelings for you, but the likelihood that four different people were all yandere for you was already rare, even for this world.

Besides, you've already met some people with a lot of character today. So maybe he's just a little weird.

Maybe. Hopefully.

Wait, if he didn’t know who you were.....how did he know that your next class was Arithmancy?

"Woo! Lunchtime at last!" You can't mirror the excitement Grim is feeling right now, even if this a refuge from the classroom confusion from earlier. The cafeteria's as full as ever, and you feel different from the last time you entered it.

Last time, you were surrounded by your fellow students and peers. This time, you're surrounded by the human equivalent of sheep among wolves.

You are the ideal prey of everyone in this room, and some of them might already know about that. Cater's words earlier had terrified you and rang back in your head, "Darling~" You hadn't even known him long, so how could he tell? Would everyone around you just know on sight? Maybe they discovered it before you had?

Still, you skipped breakfast for Ace's apology, so you don't really get the luxury of skipping another meal right now. Even if you don't exactly have an appetite. Despite the volume of delicious smelling food, Grim is piling on your tray, and you feel more like puking than eating.

Even so, you don't really have an appetite right now, despite all the good smelling food that Grim's raving about right now. It's fancy, and Grim doesn't even eat half of it but is piling it up all the same. Can cats even eat onions?

"Shh! Dude, inside voices! Where was this energy earlier today?" You nod in agreement with Ace. Your legs already hurt from PE, and now after chasing Grim, they practically burn.

"_____, grab me the grilled chicken! There's only one left! And an omelet, too. And that jelly-filled bread. Just fill your whole tray with 'em!" You struggle to balance the sheer amount of plates and food that Grim piles on one after the other. Seriously, how does one cat demon thing eat so much?!

"Grim, that's enough. Save some for everyone else!" You finally relent, but unfortunately, you made that decision a few seconds too late.

Your hand, already tired from Coach Vargas' class, finally yields, and you lose the grip on the tray and plates Grim's stomach piled up.

Now for the good news and bad news.

The good news is that you managed to save every plate of food Grim haphazardly stacked on your tray. A gew crumbs were lost, but otherwise, you managed to save everything. Which was great because with cheapskate Crowley's micro food budget, you were pretty strapped for cash and didn't want to waste food.

But then there's the bad news.

The bad news is in your haste to stop the mountain of plates from crashing to the ground and bringing more attention to yourself, your shoulder may have collided into the back of the student in front of you.

You were just getting into accidents today, weren’t you?

"Hey! Watch where you're goin'!" The student you were unlucky enough to bump into, and their buddy for some reason, to whirl around in anger.

"I'm so-" You start to apologize only for him to interrupt you.

"M-my carbonara!" Ah, man. Did you ruin someone's lunch? That's-,"You broke the yolk!".......what?

"Whoa, that's messed up! Pokin' the egg is the best part!" Ok, not ruining someone's lunch, he might be a bit sad, but all is o-

"You better make this right, pal!" He grabs you by your tie and you nearly fall with all the food on your tray.

"I-it's just a yolk?" Is all you can say, completely struck dumb. You already knew this world had it's priorities messed up but this had to be the dumbest argument ever made. "I didn't ruin your lunch, you were gonna poke it anyway, so I saved you a step!"

"Yeah, so get your filth hands of my henchman!" Grim backs you up. But the delinquents don't back down.

"I'm gonna need that grilled chicken of yours as compensation." Normally you probably would have let the guy take it. Let Grim learn a lesson of not carrying his own food and move on.

But this was a matter of principle, damn it!

Also you weren't completely sure if darlings were naturally meek, so backing down was not an option here.

"No." You say point blank. The delinquent stupid enough to fight in the middle of a crowded cafeteria balks like you said something incredulous, "What?!"

"You heard me. NO. Go eat your soggy yolk-y carbonara, while I go eat my grilled chicken." After all, that trouble you went to get this you were commandeering that chicken for yourself. Take that, Grim.

"Hey! That's no way to speak to an upperclassman! Catch me outside and I'll teach you some respect!" Alright, so just won't go outside for a few hours, got you there dumbass.

At this point, Deuce must have gone through the lunch line and caught sight of you. They must have heard the foregoing argument because Deuce steps in to play peacemaker, separating the delinquent from your tie and shielding you behind him. "Um, excuse me, sir, but it said int he handbook that fighting with magic was prohibited....."That's a rule?! Sick! Now you won't have to worry about tha-

"Fighting? You got it all wrong. This is just me helpin' an ignorant freshman know their place." Ok, so much for that. Two advance magic pens at hand, and you're forced to shrink behind Deuce and Grim.

"W-wait a second, I don't have any magic. That's an unfair fight." You hate how powerless you feel right now.

"Who care about that!? If I end end up killin' ya, we just gotta call one groundmen." You forgot about the whole 'murder is not bad' part of the school rules. Does that mean no one will intervene? Damn it again!

You can hear Deuce growl at their threat. Withdrawing his own pen, he shouts his signature, and by that you mean only, spell. Grim

For a student that probably knows one spell Deuce puts up a hell of a fight. You wonder where he's getting all the cauldrons from. The two 'upperclassman' must've been flunkies, because there was no way these people would be able to lose so badly and so easily to two people that barely know anything about offensive spells. Your one worry was the mountain of food you were holding would fall. That and hearing Ace grumble about not fighting. For your honour, for your praise, you'd didn't know. At this point, you're starting not to care.

Surprisingly, or not if it didn't, the battle is done and won without the hundreds of students present even hesitating in their respective conversations.

"Whoa, didn't know you had it in you...."

"Look, I'm gonna let you off the hook this time, but only 'cuz I don't want my pasta gettin' cold." Sure and it's not like you 'upperclassman' lost a cat and student who only knows how to summon a cauldron.

"Pffft! I knew you were all talk! You better hope I never see you again!" Grim taunts as if Deuce hadn't done nearly everything. You keep quiet this time, redirecting your silent fury into mocking.

"Whoa! Two upperclassmen being beaten by students who were nearly expelled in the first week. That's kinda sad." You mock as you watch two delinquents shrink back with their figurative tails between their legs, departing with their, hopefully, cold lunch.

"Thanks Deuce," You turn to him and say with a smile, and his earlier anger dissolves into a soft smile. Like you being grateful for his help and protection sucked the rage out of him. You hate that you know it wasn't as wholesome as it was on the tin.

"N-No problem," he stutters, cheeks flushing.

"Yeah, yeah enough of that." Ace grumbles, pulling Deuce away by his arm. His anger hadn't been pacified by Deuce's victory, in fact it worsened. If how deep he's frowning is any indication.

"If you guys are going to fight again, can you help me carry all this to a table?" It's been two days and their near constant warring over you is starting to become normal.

They snap out of it instantaneously, "Sure, Prefect!"

Grim had been bitter when you told him you were taking his grilled chicken as compensation for the mess he got you in. But he eventually relented to stuff his face with all the partially lukewarm food. Speaking of, the food's good if a bit cold.

Hearing Grim rave abut how good his food is makes you chuckle lightly, stroking your fingers back through Grim's fur. He purrs again, and that sense of peace from earlier return. Maybe this morning was just a fluke, and all will be well now.

Mid bite, Grim asks, " So, I saw your guys' dorm, but what are the other ones like?" A part of you wants to know but that's a question for another day. You need to get through today first, and then-

"I'm sure you're familiar with the statues of the Great Seven? Night Raven College has a dorm themed after each one." You choke mid bite on the half-chewed chicken in your mouth. Cater's voice took you by surprise, so much for a peaceful rest of the day. You weren't the only one.

"Bwah! You're that guy from this morning!"

You turn and face him as well as an unfamiliar face. Green hair, glasses and a clover stamp underneath his left eye. The last card suite you were left meet. Another card soldier, now just needed a tyrannical queen.

"You tricked us into paintin' those dumb roses."

"'Tricked' is such an ugly word. Do you think that I wanted to spend MY morning painting roses? It's dorm policy, I'm just following orders."

"And grinning like a fiend all the while..." More than that if what he last said too you was any indication.

"Now, now Deucey. Outside of the dorm, I don't care what rules you follow. Here, I'm just a friendly mentor figure." Like earlier, you feel that he isn't being genuine again. If his dorm is so full of people, why couldn't they help instead of trying to trick you into it. Still, brownie points are brownie points, and they better pay it forward when things get tough.

"Please. Do NOT call me Deucey."

The mystery man laughs, "That's how Cater shows he cares." he finally says. He gives of the air of that one dad friend that prevents the friend group from going up in flames. You feel a small pull at your heartstrings, you're starting to miss your friends back home.

"So, who are you?" You ask.

"Ah, i should introduce myself. The name's Trey. Trey Clover. I'm a junior at Heartslabyul, like Cater here." So you've finally met the three of clubs, or clovers if that's what you call it.

The ace of hearts, deuce of spades, three of clubs and four of diamonds, were ALL Heartslabyul students named after playing cards because this seems comical now. Also, how drunk were their parents to not recognise how ridiculously silly naming your kids after the numbers when their last names, sin Ace, are all card suites was.

Though considering the possibility that one half of their parents were probably being held hostage, you probably shouldn't judged their naming skills.

"And you must be _____, the new prefect from the dump of a-ah, I mean, the 'rustic' dorm." Ramshackle can't seem to stop catching strays, huh?

"Alright, Ramshackle might be a dump, but it's my dump. Can we please stop insulting where I sleep at night!" Your anger receives a few laughs in response. You hope you weren't a cute angry in their eyes. Last thing you need is them looking at you like you were an angry kitten.

Trey's laugh warms you a little, the dad friend energy feels a little safe. You don't feel the lingering worry from earlier, after all what is the likelihood more than three people are in love with you?

"I heard the whole story from Cater. Thanks for looking out for our boys yesterday." You beam, even if you were very, very inconvenienced last night and this morning, it's still nice to be praised. That is until you remember that the one doing it might find someone and spend the rest of their life making them miserable for the sake of love.

"It's no problem," You say regardless.

"I don't recall inviting you to sit with us...." You hear Ace murmur.

Cater slides in and seats himself between you and Ace, "Hey now, we're all from the same dorm, right? Let's try to get along. Here gimme your digits." He hands his phone to you, expecting you to put in your number.

Problem is, "I don't have a smartphone." and you probably wouldn't if you did. But regardless Cater looks at you as if you grew another head.

"For real?! I never thought I'd meet one of you IRL!" His eyes light up with that weird glow again, "I know a place that sells the latest models cheap. How about you and I go on a phone-shopping date?" NO. NO.

"NO!" You accidentally say out loud, way too loud and hurried to be brushed aside as you overestimating your volume. Some heads from nearby tables turn, to you and the others are silent waiting for something? But you don't know what.

You back track trying to amend what you said, " No, Crowley hasn't started giving me allowance yet, so I'm kinda broke. Maybe next time?" Please never ask me that again. Maybe you should join a club so you can say you're busy if he tries to ask you out again.

That glint in Cater's eyes darken, but it doesn't match the teasing look that he has on his face, "What is up with you, _____? You look so tense! It's okay, baby! Relax! Relaaaax!" He squeezes your shoulders in half-massage but it just makes you feel more tense.

Tret comes to your rescue, "Cater. You're freaking out the freshmen. Maybe take it down a notch?"

Cater laughs, still not backing away from how close he is to you, "Sorry! I can get a little extra sometimes. What were we talking about....The dorms, yeah? What fun to mentor new students. Go ahead, A-M-A."

Ant that what you all spent the next fifteen minutes talking about. The dorms and their super important history while completely ignoring the ramifications of that history have on at least half of the population, yourself included. You'd already read up on the seven dorms, but hearing about the crazy strictness of the Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul made you a little uneasy. But still, when you talk to the him maybe things will go well, maybe he's a sweetheart with a non-tolerance policy for the most extreme of rule breakers.

Still, there are so many different types of students with different personalities and different yandere types. You spotted a wolf beastman, two student whose style of dress reminded you vaguely of the Middle East the person you ran into earlier sitting at a table full of Pomefiore students, (you made a mental note to ask about him later) and the most powerful students on campus, of course from Diasomnia.

Cater continues his opinion piece in the unapproachability of that dorm. "The vibe they give off makes it real hard for regular schmucks like us to even approach them."

"It can't be that bad, they may look a little intimidating but otherwise they look like regular old students..." You say, sure one of them looks young enough to be your younger brother or a middle schooler and has the pointed ears of a fae, but they look so normal.

Then again, you were discussing animal-human hybrids and talking paintings earlier, and you're in a world full of yanderes, so what isn't normal and what is?

"And their Dorm Leader is that times a thousand." You crane your neck to the Diasomnia seating area and you don't see any features that would be capable of scaring off a whole school of students, they all look relatively fine.

"There's a little kid in that group!" Not so subtly, like their earlier pointing out of a rather androgenous purple-haired boy in the Pomefiore dining areas, Ace rather loudly points out the younger looking fae.

"Ah, we do get some child prodigies here. But that guy is no kid. He's a junior like us. Name's -"

"Lilia. Lilia Vanrouge."

"Ah!" You yelp rather loudly as midway through your turn back towards the table, only to be face to face with the same face you had just been looking at hanging upside down right in front of you. You nearly fell out of chair in a mix of shock and surprise.

You stammer in shock, "H-how did you-"

"H-he just teleported!" That can happen?! You really need to read more about this place.

Lilia, once standing upside down on the chandelier as if that was completely A-OK, floats down onto your table as if this was as normal as him walking over. He smirks, bending down to meet your eyes, " I understand my apparent age interests you? As this bespectacled fellow accurately noted..." His voice is completely opposite to his appearance, and he talks like a whimsical grandparent than a teenager. "Despite my fresh-faced, boyish good looks, it would be inaccurate to call me a 'child'." Yeah, seriously. Whoa.

"'Fresh-faced' he says." Trey seems to agree with your doubt on the young part.

He smiles and for some reason, you feel unbelievably uncomfortable. it's as if he read you like an open book without words being exchanged. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but it's not like the glint you'd seen in Ace, Deuce and Cater. Either way, it makes you squirm in your seat, "You need not gawk at us from afar. You may feel free to speak with us directly. We are schoolmates, are we not? All of us at Diasomnia House welcome you without reservation." Without reservation, he says and yet the two trailing after him are yet to say a word. And they're staring in silence, but it feels more like glaring. No wonder Diasomnia had the reputation it did.

"And yet, those guys over there aren't exactly rolling out the red carpet in terms of approachability..."

Lilia brushes that aside with a laugh, "Forgive me for appearing above you during your meal." I do hope we can speak again." Why does that part feel directed at you? Maybe you're being paranoid.

As Lilia and his entourage depart, Ace takes the opportunity to whisper to the table about the impossible feat of overhearing their conversation. Which you can agree with how on Earth, or in the Twisted Wonderland, did they hear you from across the room. You weren't even that loud. Ace was right, that was creepy.

"Well....Diasomnia House does have a bit of a reputation for having lots of special students." "Well, special is a word for it...." You say,

Trey explains further, "Some of them are extremely talented at magic. Their Dorm Leader, Malleus Draconia, is considered to be one of the five best mages in the world." Wow. Your decision to stay away from that Dorm was even more justified. How powerful is the top five most powerful.

"Malleus is reeeeeeal bad news. Though I suppose the same could be said of our dear Dorm Leader."

"He can't be that bad...." You whisper, spying a short, red-haired boy with grey eyes walking in this direction. Wait, wasn't that the dorm leader that.....collared...Grim...Oh no. "Hey Ace...?" You whisper.

Ace must not have heard you because he starts his own tirade. "No kidding! He collared me for eating one slice of tart! All his rule obsession is outta control!"

"My 'rule obsession' is 'outta control', is it?" Well, Ace is doomed. Maybe Ramshackle has a tent you can set up outside.

Completely oblivious to the new voice that joined the group, despite the fact everyone else here already has, Ace continues, " You bet it is. Riddle's just a petty tyrant who leans into the whole 'rules' schtick as a pretext to keep everyone under his puny thumb." You sigh, facepalming. Maybe you can get Crowley to buy a strong lock for your door.

Deuce takes one for the group and points out the obvious before Ace can unintentionally piss off the 'tyrant' behind him further. "Ace! Behind you!"

Ace, still not taking the hint, looks behind him and then appropriately freaks out. "Bwah!? Dorm Leader!" The Dorm Leader of Heartslaybul, Riddle Rosehearts (and the Red Queen in this abridged tale) crosses his arms in indignation.

This is not going to go well.

[wanderswithinyoureyes]

Just Be There... [Astarion x F!Reader]

Summary: You find yourself in uncharted territory with Astarion.

Author's Note: I always like to switch things up a bit....

~~~

The silence was defining, heavy...

No one had uttered a single word or let out a single exhausted sigh. No, the shock of the situation that had just unfolded left everyone stunned, unable to think of the right thing to do or say.

And if someone even thought to even mutter a word, the sight of Astarion's blood-soaked body was enough to make any word choke up in their throats. Even for someone to glance at another just ended with a sad expression, and a gentle shaking of their head, almost as if they had been told some news so painful that it was simply too hard to swallow. Especially for her... Because at the mere sight of him, all she could think of was his cries. Those screams of anguish; how heavy the pain was in every sound his body couldn't help but let out. And though afterward she helped lead all those spawns to the safety of the Underdark, and he seemed fine, she knew he wasn't... Those hypnotic ruby red eyes gave it all away.

As they reached the Inn, no one bided the other a goodbye, simply waving lazily. A silent sign to say that they'd all see each other in the morning, going into the room they shared with another companion.

And she, of course, had returned to her own room that she shared Astarion, finding it logical to, considering they were together.

But as she closed the door behind her, the silence seemed to grow even heavier, clinging onto her like a second skin. Astarion hadn't joined her yet, having gone down to wash himself of the blood that was now dried onto his skin. Yet, she found herself struggling with the thoughts that consumed her even more.

What could she do for him...? What could she have done to make something, anything easier for him? It was all her mind seemed to ask, making a sinking pit growing even larger in her stomach.

When he collapsed down onto his knees, casting the dagger aside as he let out his wounded cries, she had just... froze. She had seen him vulnerable yes, gazing at her with pained eyes and wavering words. But, to see him breakdown the way he did tonight just... stunned her.

To see firsthand a pain affect someone that deeply, someone she deeply loved nevertheless simply made it hard to think straight.

Should she have approached him? Wiped the blood from his face before pulling him in an embrace and telling him that it would be okay? It would've made her feel better someway sure but, how, how can you tell someone who is clearly hurting so deeply that it would simply all be okay?

A hug and a gentle caress wouldn't be able to fix any of that, that much she knew.

But was it better to just... stand and watch Astarion in silence? What if he did need a gentle reassurance, just someone, anyone to tell him whatever he needed to hear? Yet, she had no idea what he needed to hear, what he needed to at least try and settle the pain for a respite.

Not being able to help someone you love, someone who desperately needs... something, was frustrating for her, made her stomach churn to the point where she honestly felt sick. And the evidence of the turmoil within her mind now grew evident on her face, just as Astarion's pain was evident in his. The sound of the door creaking open shook her up slightly. Her eyes darted to the deep wood before her, watching as Astarion stepped into the room, closing the door mindlessly behind him once more.

Their gazes then met, they always did, and their stares grew curious, almost as if the other was trying to gage what was running through the others mind. But, alas, no one had a scroll of detect thoughts to use tonight.

"Waiting up for me, I see?" Astarion spoke, and she could hear the twinge of humor he attempted to add into his voice. But it was too weak, too wavering and unsure, but she wouldn't call him out on it, what good would that do?

"Of course," she spoke, her words coming out in a soft, honey-ed whisper, a moment of sweetness despite the bitterness of the situation. "When don't I?" she added, her lips curving into a miniscule smile, though even doing that felt draining to her. He didn't say anything more after that, simply moving to sit down next to her on the edge of the bed, their thighs touching... and that heavy silence returned once more, but it didn't linger for long.

"I'm not some fragile bomb that's ready to go off, you know that, don't you darling?" his words made her head snap toward him, her eyes widening in shock. Out of all the things he could've possibly said, that was certainly the last thing she had expected.

"I-I don't..." She paused, finding her jumbled thoughts to all come crashing down into one another. Was her silence being seen as standoffish? She cleared her throat, looking down at her lap with a soft sigh. "I'm sorry."

The forced laugh that followed from Astarion in response just made that pit feel even worse. "Don't apologize, you did watch me mindlessly stab... him, after all. I think that tends to unsettle-" "It's not like that," she interjected, placing a hand on top of his as it rested on his thigh. "I-I'm not sorry that I see you that way, because I don't I... I'm sorry because I can hardly look you in the eye, o-or know what in the hells to say to you." The heaved sigh that came from her soon after felt like she had just expelled a weight from herself, a weight that was sinking her down into a sea of worry.

"I don't know what to do, to make this... better for you." She muttered weakly, her voice wavering, her thumb mindlessly rubbing the back of his hand.

"Darling, if I don't know really how to feel about it all, I'm not expecting you to... fix it." Astarion spoke, his tone deep and smooth, but thoughtful. "Everything just feels so numb to me, right now. And whether that's a good or bad thing is... hard for me to tell right now."

She felt his hand turn, his cool palm encompassing her warm hand as their fingers entwined together. Their gazes met once more, and the soft background noises of the other patrons of the end faded away.

Astarion then leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. His eyes fell shut, not out of fear or exhaustion but... solace. To feel her there, to take in the warmth that radiated it from her, to just be... loved by her, made just a tiny bit of that hurt lessen.

And that bit of relief, meant more, did more for him than she could ever truly realize.

"But if I do know one thing, it's this, just you... being here, is more than enough for me..." he murmured, and the love that dripped with every word he spoke was enough to move her. "Just... be there, darling."

She squeezed his hand gently in return, feeling a small, but this time, genuine smile finally curve her lips. Things weren't going to be fixed in a day or two, nothing healed that quickly. But, like a plant that's nothing more than a sprout sticking out of its seed, or a pattern of a shirt that was waiting for its seamstress to sow it, all it would need to bloom or become complete was time, patience, and a helping hand...

"If that's what you need," she paused, lifting his hand up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against his cool knuckles.

"Then that's exactly what I'll do for you..."

~~~

[currentlylurking]

Thinking about... low stake Fenton Family headcanons. Those kind of things that have no wider world-context when it comes to fic ideas but really speak to their family dynamic.

Like, one of my favourites is that Danny doesn't avoid swearing because it's a kid's show from 2004; he avoids swearing because when he and Jazz were little, Maddie and Jack caught them repeating what what they'd heard from the lab. So they promised their children that if they could make it the next decade or so, until they got their drivers licenses, without swearing in front of them, Maddie and Jack would buy Jazz and Danny each their own car! They assumed the kids would forget before they had to follow through, but Jazz did not. And once she was sixteen, she traded the inability to swear for a car.

Danny can fly. He doesn't technically need to get his driver's license. But by this point he's committed, and won't swear at all - he doesn't want to risk slipping up in front of his parents, and losing his chance at a car!

Another one I really love is that up until he was about ten, Danny spent most of his time at the public pool. Maddie had him and Jazz in baby swim lessons, but Danny loved the water, so she kept him in it. And Danny was an amazing swimmer - he was incredibly fast and by the time he was seven, could dive well enough that there was barely a splash when he hit the water. Danny thrived in the water, and with some guidance, absolutely could have become an olympic level swimmer.

Unfortunately, when he was 10 or so, he mentioned to his parents that the chlorine in the pool hurt his eyes so Jack tried to replace the pool filter with an ecto-based one, which went very badly. And the family was banned from the public pool. They set up a blow-up pool in the backyard for Danny during the summer, but it wasn't the same.

Fortunately, he turned 14 and gained the ability to fly, so he doesn't miss it too much anymore, but Jack does still feel bad.

And of course, the last quality one - none of the Fenton family can cook. Maddie and Jack can bake extremely well, but baking and cooking are different. They like the experiment too much with their cooking, and even without ectoplasm, it usually leaves their food inedible. Jazz can make simple things, like macaroni, but whenever she's tried something more complicated it hasn't gone to plan. She's too much of a perfectionist to risk that.

Danny, meanwhile, has burned soup before and will burn it again. But he's still eaten it. Sam and Tucker have joked about how Danny's tastebuds must've died in the portal too, because there's no way a normal person would eat the kind of things he does, but he's always been like that! He's far too ready to eat almost anything.

It was particularly stressful for his family when Danny was a baby, because it seemed like for the first four years of his life, his sole goal was to eat every single battery he could find.

[not-xpr-art]

Len and Tommy's life told through nine photos ~

A fanart based on the Inside no 9 episode 'Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room' because I loved it so much!

(09/2024)

See below for close ups and unnecessarily detailed explanations of each individual artwork lol

First wanna say that I spent wayy too long on these (like 25+ hours), especially trying to make them look like actual old photos lol... also trying to get their likeness right for the various ages was really bloody hard lol, but hopefully each photo has the essence of each character even if it might not look 100% right pfft...

Second thing is that the dates & locations are very much my own subjective thoughts on their life and not particularly rooted in the canon of the show lol

Also I did go really heavy with the colour symbolism lol...

Ravenhill School, 1965.

The year they met, both are around the age of 10 (give or take). Len is 3 from the left in the top row, Tommy 2 in from the left on the bottom row (also I tried to include references to the other 2 League Of Gentlemen guys... Though I think the only vaguely recognisable one is Jeremy pfft)

Also shout out to @lapis-lazuliie for the idea that they met at school!

(side note, this is the least detailed of all the paintings not just because I was too lazy to render all those children's faces pfft but ALSO because of the significance of them being less recognisable or prominent in each other's lives in this point...)

I was planning on making another childhood/early teen photo but couldn't really think of any good subject matter that could also fit thematically with the episode (also the fact both are coming from poor families who would have had limited access to cameras in this era means we can just pretend that there are just no photos that really exist of them at these ages pfft...)

Photo booth in Leeds, 1974.

Both in their late teens, they'd (well, mainly Tommy) gone to a photo booth in Leeds with the intention of getting some professional looking photos only for Len to immediately make Tommy laugh once they got in there lol

The middle photo is covered in lines as Tommy had planned on throwing it away, only to find he couldn't bring himself to do it in the end... Is it platonic? Romantic? Both? Who knows, you decide lol! I mainly wanted it to be a candid moment between two people that love each other lol

(final one is them play fighting because that's kinda just what 19 year olds are like pfft... also I think photo booths technically gave you 4 photos? so let's pretend there was another photo that they did throw away for whatever reason lol...)

Rehearsals, 1979.

Deep in the midst of practising their routine for some of their first performances!

I'll admit this photo was mainly me wanting to include something more episode specific lol and also to get in some much needed heavy handed symbolism (the crease in the photo separating them, the bottle in front of Len's face, etc)

Polaroids taken at Tommy's flat, 1985.

In-between shows the two often spent a lot of time at Tommy's place (featuring that god awful sofa the previous home owner had left). I did originally plan to have them in the sofa shot together, but was finding it hard to figure out who would have been taking that kind of photo so figured it made more sense to make it shots they took of each other.

Also marks the beginnings of Tommy's weariness (& Len's over drinking...)

Outside the Glasgow Pavilion, 1988.

The morning of that fateful performance...

Ok not much else I wanna say about this other than the reference I used for the pose had Reece sorta awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him which I really liked but unfortunately in my art it just looked like he was trying to cover his crotch so I had to change it pfft...

Tommy standing at Len's grave, 2024.

The sixth anniversary of Len's death, and the sixth time Tommy has travelled across from France to lay flowers at his grave. Photo taken by Leanne from the inside of a taxi (I'd like to have had more references to her in these photos but was unsure of dates/ages where it would have fitted...)

She couldn't get her phone to not focus on the raindrops on the window as she tried to take a picture of Tommy at her father's grave but then realised that she actually liked the pathetic fallacy and had it made into a print anyway lol (look I'll be the first to admit that this is the least 'realistic' in terms of a photo that people would take, but I couldn't resist the symbolism of it lol...)

There were a lot more ideas for photos I wanted to do but for obvious reasons had to keep it to just 9 lol

Also will be posting these on my ao3 with snippets of stories to go with each photo so keep an eye out for when I share that link!

[lavender-vixen]

hiiii omg read your last fic and it was so good ? loooved it but if you’re taking requests what if patrick survived the sewers and comes back like nothing happened nd readers crying over him literally thinking he died and patrick’s just like “🧍‍♂️”

i like that idea ♡

it had been four days. four agonizing days since patrick had vanished, and you’d heard nothing. at first, it was easy to brush off — he was a bit of a loner, always disappearing for days, skipping school, leaving you in suspense about what he was up to. but this time, there were whispers, rumors of kids missing in the sewers. you didn’t want to believe it. but you couldn’t stop wondering, couldn’t stop the sick feeling that maybe… maybe patrick had gone down there too and met a similar fate.

there was talk of a serial killer or kidnapper stalking the streets of derry, hiding out in sewers, luring the local kids. but patrick wasn't an idiot, you thought. he wouldn't be easily lured or tricked into getting in a white van for candy, nor would he be easy to grab.

but it didn't look good. the search had been fruitless. first of all, his parents hadn’t even reported him missing until the third day. his mom was a wreck, praying non-stop at st. cecilia's catholic church. his dad? a picture of indifference, as if this was all just another one of patrick's antics.

"he'll turn up," he kept assuring local authorities, though each day of no clues or signs of patrick brought out a less confident, more volatile mr. hockstetter. patrick's parents were younger than most high school parents in derry, and mr. hockstetter looked almost identical to patrick when he stared off vacantly, nodding absently to the police as they updated him, deeply frowning and crossing his muscled arms across his chest rigidly.

you wanted to believe it was just talk, that maybe patrick had run off to the next town over, like henry bowers and his gang were saying. that he’d hitchhiked to see the kiss concert everyone had been buzzing about. you hoped that was it. henry was usually right when it came to his best friend, and patrick had been talking about that concert for weeks.

but there was that sick feeling, gnawing at you. the police had their own theory — patrick may well have been hitchhiking, as he was known to do, and was picked up by someone with sinister intentions. the thought of him alone, in the car with some psycho stranger, made your stomach churn. you thought about those infamous headlines, like bundy or gacy — men who’d lured teenagers into their cars with promises of drugs, booze, or, in patrick's case, free concert tickets.

the bowers gang didn't buy that, either. "ain't no way they’d keep him if they managed to get him in their car. they'd sooner kick his ass to the curb than go through the trouble of killing him, let alone whatever else..."

that didn't make you feel any better. that wasn’t any comfort. patrick could have been hurt, or worse, discarded somewhere no one would find him.

then, on the fourth night, he showed up at your window. or at least, someone who resembled patrick did.

it was 1 a.m. the rain had come down in sheets, and everything was drowned in pitch-blackness. your heart skipped when you saw him standing there. drenched. soaked to the bone. his face was gaunt, pale, and his eyes… his blue eyes were distant, glazed, like he'd crawled out of hell to get to your window. he barely looked at you when you pulled the window open, as if the act of him showing up there — alive, but somehow not — was just another piece of the nightmare.

"jesus," you managed, blinking rapidly as if expecting him to disappear again any second. darkness eclipsed his face but it was definitely him. lighting flashed, striking against his sharp features, his sleepy eyes, the turn of his lips.

"close," he managed back in a rasp, wiping his mouth with his drenched arm.

"oh my god, patrick," you cried softly, the tears that had been threatening for days finally spilling over. “thank god, you’re alive.”

his eyes were bloodshot, unfocused, like he didn’t recognize you for a moment. you couldn’t stop crying.

you launched into a million questions, asking where he'd been, what had happened, and why the hell was he covered in dried blood. he didn't answer any of those questions. he simply began climbing inside.

though he was much bigger than you, he seemed exhausted, like dead weight, and so you struggled to help him in through the window, his body stiff and cold. his hands, shaking slightly, gripped your shoulders as you guided him into your room. he didn’t seem to register much, not the wet t-shirt and jeans clinging to his skin, not the muddy boots, not the state he was in. he was even more of a shell of the person you knew a week ago. his heavy eyes were too dull, too empty.

“i— i thought I lost you,” you whispered through your tears. “i was so scared, patrick. you don’t understand. i thought you were—”

he didn’t say a word when you wrapped your arms around him tightly, but his body was so rigid, like he couldn’t bring himself to touch you back, even as you held him close. his arms stayed at his sides, stiff, unyielding, like a statue. it was like he was there, but not there — present in your arms but lost somewhere you couldn’t reach.

you pulled back just slightly, unsure of what to do. but the weight of his silence, the way he wouldn’t let you in, made your chest ache. still, you didn’t let go, your hands pressing against him, not wanting to lose him again. "let's get you cleaned up, okay? you look like you walked out of your grave."

you led him to the bathroom right off your bedroom, offering him a towel. he barely flinched when you touched him, not like you thought he would. his body felt like a stranger’s — stiff, hard, foreign. he stripped to his waist quickly, hardly looking at you. you stood there a moment, observing the cuts and scratches on his skin. he unbuckled his belt and peeled off his jeans.

you watched them pool at his feet and then heard him clear his throat. your gaze snapped up to meet his. the stare was cold and expectant. "sorry," you said quickly, gathering up his wet t-shirt, jeans, and socks in your arms.

you quickly left the bathroom, closing the door behind you. a second later, the door opened a crack, and a long arm stuck out, holding a pair of boxers. you took it wordlessly, and the door closed again. hearing the showerhead switch on, you descended to the laundry room to throw his dirty, wet clothes in the wash.

when he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his face was paler than ever. “i can’t go home,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “my folks... I don’t wanna deal with them. not right now. can't go to bowers' either. his dad will call them, and the cops, too."

you didn’t argue. you didn’t want him to go anywhere either. you crept to your older brother's old room, him being away at college, and stole some of his old clothes for patrick to wear. you snuck food into the room, watching as he devoured it, starving and desperate, the hunger clear in his eyes.

"your brother leave his coke stash here?" patrick asked throwing the undershirt over his head. the flannel pajama pants were slightly too short for his long legs.

you shook your head with a puzzled look. "what? no. he didn't...he doesn't do drugs. he's on a football scholarship."

patrick rolled his eyes with an incredulous sniff, fingering a few of your earrings on the vanity. "either you're a shit liar or just stupid," he said. "your brother was one of the biggest coke dealers at derry high."

you laughed a little, not knowing whether he was serious. it sounded hollow and forced. "no. there's no stash," you said finally.

"hm." he kept playing with the items on the vanity, picking up bottles of this and that, smelling them, running his fingers over scrunchies and beads. he stopped when he got to a black lace bralette hanging off one of the drawer knobs. you watched him pause, staring at the thing like he was trying to figure out what in the hell it was, and then turning to you with a grimace. "you wear this kinda shit for doug?"

you were too busy processing the fact that he was standing there in front of you, alive, in your room, living and breathing, with a pulse and everything. the mention of the tan, blond-haired lacrosse player you were casually seeing gave you pause. you didn't know patrick had taken notice. you'd only started talking to doug two weeks ago and had gone out on two dates.

"patrick..." you finally managed, and then shook your head, deciding now wasn't the time to press him with more questions. he was like a cat with its back up. he could just as easily jump right back out that window if you threw the wrong question his way.

you made a bed for him on the window seat, though you both knew it wasn’t big enough for him. he was too tall. too… there. so, reluctantly, you told him to get in bed with you. he stared at you.

“what about doug…” he started, but it didn’t matter. not really. and you told him so.

"doug didn't go missing for four days and stumble to my window half-corpse," you replied. after a long moment, he climbed in beside you, keeping his distance. his body was rigid but warm. you both lay in silence for what felt like forever, and you weren’t sure how much time passed before you finally fell asleep.

when you woke, the sheets were tangled, and you felt his chest pressed against your back, his arm heavy around your waist. his body was solid against yours, his breath steady. his rings brushed against your skin as his hand stayed firmly on your hip.

for a moment, you considered pulling away, but as soon as you shifted, his hand tightened on your hip, keeping you in place. he mumbled something low and unintelligible, and you couldn't make out what he'd said.

and in that moment, it wasn’t the sewers that terrified you. it was the way his body, his hand on your hip, felt like something foreign. a dangerous presence. something you weren’t sure you were ready for but couldn’t pull away from.

[grounded-gryphon]

I'd Die (Again) for Y'all part 16

Masterlist

Danny woke up clinging to a bare sliver of bed, held in place by slim, strong arms wrapped around him. It took his confused brain a few minutes to figure out what was going on. Right. Even though it had been early, he, Tim, and Jason had all dozed off together after some truly epic sex.

He had thought to slip away and let them have the bed (he still didn't know how they'd all fit on it), but Tim had quickly squashed that idea. "No sneaking off," he'd said muzzily and wrapped his arms around Danny's waist even as he fell asleep.

Those same arms were still wrapped around Danny now but he thought he might be able to slip out without disturbing anyone else.

The moment he started to move, those arms tightened. "Where are you going?" Tim mumbled in Danny's ear.

"Nowhere, I guess."

"Damn right," Jason growled from the other side of the bed. "No more running, Protector."

Danny sighed and relaxed back onto the bed. "I wasn't…"

Tim rolled over, taking Danny with him, and suddenly Danny was pinned between him and Jason.

"You were running last night, weren't you?" Tim asked sadly. "As soon as you thought we were okay without you, you were gone."

Danny cringed. He hadn't thought of it that way, had just been trying to not intrude, but he could see how…

"You been doing nothing but running and fighting for years now," Jason said, nuzzling at Danny's neck. "We get it. But you promised me, Protector."

"Yeah," Danny's breath hitches, "Yeah, I know. And I won't. Or… I don't mean to, I just…

"No more running, Danny," Tim murmured, and leaned over to kiss him. "We aren't letting you go."

Danny finally let himself relax back on the bed. "No more running. But what are you going to do with me then?"

Jason and Tim smirked at each other before closing in.

From Sam Manson To Lois Lane Subject: Re: Ghost Boy says I'm not a fruitloop.

If you are lying I will make you regret the day you were born, and Superman himself will not keep you safe from my vengeance.

Call (xxx) xxx-xxxx at 8am Central Time tomorrow. I'll give you one hour.

In the dark of night, Cyborg watched through remotes as Flash approached one of the sites they had identified as a GIW operation. The plan was infiltrate and harass. They didn't want a full war with the GIW, they wanted to shut them down legally and peacefully.

That was the theory anyway. After seeing the medical reports on Phantom Cyborn wouldn't have been very disappointed if they ended up attacking the GIW directly.

From what little they'd been able to find, they thought this location was for weapons testing and development. On the surface, it looked like any other industrial park, but when Cyborg turned /his/ sensors on it, it was obviously nothing of the sort.

Flash was a fast bugger, no way Cyborg's remotes could keep up. But that was okay. He kept his remotes stationed on perimeter, watching for anyone who might show up unexpectedly. One of the Lantern's, John Stewart, was above, ready to come bursting in if Flash needed backup.

Cyborg gave Flash the 'go' and the speedster took off, racing over the perimeter fence and into the building. A moment later, Cyborg picked up a new wifi signal from within the building. Flash had gotten him access. Cyborg immediately uploaded one of his specialized viruses into the comptures and began downloading any and all files he could find.

"Oh my god, Cyborg."

Flash's voice, over the comm. Fuck. This was supposed to be a silent mission.

"What's wrong?"

"Their weapons' testing? They're testing them on living… er… existing beings."

"WHAT!"

"They have… these little glowing blob creatures? Dozens of them trapped in these containers. I can't just leave them here."

"I'm going in," Stewart said. Cyborg waved him on.

Animal experimentation? For ghosts?

Cyborg remembered again Phantom's injuries and shuddered. "Keep your eyes out, Flash. Find every, and I mean /every/ location they may be hiding their subjects.

"I'm calling in back up."

By dawn, the GIW base didn't exist any longer. From roof to sub-sub-sub basement it had been pulled apart. The captive creatures -- the Flash's immense relief they never found anything other than those creatures -- had been relocated and Dr. Atom and Flash were tearing through the GIW files trying to figure out what they were and how to care for them.

For the time being, they were being held in one of the restricted portions of the Watchtower. They didn't seem in any pain or distress in their little containers, so the team had reluctantly decided to leave them there until they had more information. For all they new the little blobs needed something in those containers to survive…

Jason cursed sleepily as his phone rang. "What?"

"Hood."

"Fuck you." He was not dealing with Bruce at this fucking hour of the morning. Yesterday had been amazing. For once there had been no emergencies, no disasters. Just a whole day that he and Tim and Danny had been able to spend together, taking turns taking care of each other. God they were a messed up bunch, but by some miracle…

"Hood."

"It's too goddamn early for your bullshit."

"I need to know if you are still on contact with him."

Jason rolled his eyes, and looked down to were Danny was sleepily cuddled up against him. "Yeah, I got a way to get a hold of him. But he's still not going to want anything to do with you assholes."

"Hh. Flash, Lantern Steward, and Cyborg took down a GIW base last night. They found… captives."

Jason bolted upright. "WHAT?!"

Danny was blinking up at him. Damnit.

"They appear to be a living blob. Atom and Flash believe they are some kind of ghostly animal. We need to know how to care for them and if it is safe to release them."

"Fine," Jason allowed himself a moment to glare at the phone. "I'll talk to him."

He hung and flopped back on the bed. "So… That was asshole with some news."

----

AN:

As usual, cleaned up version hits AO3 next week. Thanks so much for being patient with me the last year or so, but I am back and ready to write, so expect another update in two weeks.

[curseofhecate]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU | LN4

an: This is based on Merry Christmas, I miss you by Alex Crichton. It can be read as part to to merry christmas, please don't call. Again, depressing but I can't help it. This is Lando's point of view.

w.c.: 1.3k

December 25th, Christmas.

The view from the cabin was captivating. Especially now that the sun had gone down and it was snowing again. Everything outside seemed so calm and peaceful, the complete opposite of the war that was currently going on in Lando’s mind. 

His plan hadn’t been to spend Christmas in a cabin somewhere in the french alps. It had actually been Max's idea, to make their annual ski trip overlap with Christmas this year. He knew his friend very well to know that if Lando was left alone this year on Christmas day he would have ended up wallowing in his sadness. 

The whole day had passed by in a blur. Presents, skiing, food, jokes, card games, it had all been a well revised plan to keep him distracted. And it had worked. Up until now.

It was late in the evening and everyone was off doing their own thing. Lando was sitting on a couch, half watching the snow fall outside through the floor to ceiling window and half watching the movie Pietra and Max, who were cuddling on the other couch. 

Love Actually. He remembered when his girlfriend had forced him to watch it with her around this time last year and how he had complained it was a dumb movie without actually having seen it. Well, ex girlfriend, because he had ruined that.

He hadn’t really meant to. It was something he either did subconsciously or it was out of his control. Usually, he likes to blame their falling out on the distance, on his job, on his career. And while all of those things had played their role in how things progressed between them, what had really destroyed what they had was their communication. Or better said, their lack of. And it killed Lando to admit that his inability to let someone see him for what he really is, had ruined the best thing he had ever gotten hold of.

It is weird how quickly things change.

Exactly a year ago, he could have sworn they’d be infinite. It was the day he had taken her to meet his parents. She was nervous and he had spent the whole car ride down to Bristol reassuring her that his family would love her. What she didn’t know was that they already did. Lando hadn’t stopped talking about her since the day they'd met. 

He had convinced her it wasn’t that big of a thing. Which was a lie because Lando never introduced his girlfriends to his parents. Mainly because most of them couldn’t even be considered girlfriends and fit more into the ‘casual hook ups’ or ‘friends with benefits’ categories.  

He remembered how he had spent most of his time watching her interact with his family and feeling proud about how well she fit in with them. That was the moment that solidified for Lando the feelings he had for her. And as he sat there and watched her interact with his niece we thought about how Christmas would be ten years from now, when they’d be married and have a family of their own. 

It was the moment that made it clear to Lando that this was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl he was going to marry.

If he were honest, he always knew. From the moment he first saw her, at the back of that party on Christmas day two years ago with a drink in her hand and looking awkward, he knew that something was different about her. 

When he first walked up to her, Lando was nervous. Which was the most unlike Lando thing ever. Normally he was really open and comfortable around people, the definition of an extrovert. But for some reason this was different.

The first thing he told her was some lame joke about both of them being out of place since they knew no one and their friends ditched them, He didn’t get much of a response, except for a forced smile, and for a bit lando felt as if he was having a one sided conversation. But the longer he kept talking the more at ease she started to feel around him. 

The walls didn’t really come down until Lando made another joke about something stupid, what he couldn’t remember. What he remembered though was the way she had thrown her head back laughing. And from that moment, he was a goner. 

It was crazy to think how two years ago they didn’t even know each other and last year at this time she was curled up against him, head on his chest with his arms wrapped around her and watching cheesy Christmas movies. And now she is gone. He had lost her. 

Sometimes he wondered what he could have done differently. He knew it wasn’t entirely his fault and some things were out of their control but he couldn’t help but want to go back and change everything. 

What he had felt for her, he hadn’t felt for anyone else before, and he was convinced he wouldn’t feel for anyone else in the future. 

Usually he tried not to think about that. During the season it was easy. He was preoccupied with races and the possibility of winning the drivers championship. Being a formula 1 driver didn’t allow him much time to wallow in his self pity. 

But now, it is really difficult. Especially considering how he kept thinking about the Christmas they’d spent together last year. The look on her face when he’d told her it was too early to blast Christmas songs on November 1st, the domestic feeling it brought him decorating his London apartment together, the way she’d force him to do silly childish activities, like baking cookies and decorating gingerbread houses and how he’d complain even though he always ended up loving it.

Waking up with her in his arms on Christmas morning and pretending to be asleep as soon as she started stirring, just to make the moment last longer, knowing well that she wouldn’t have the heart to wake him up. It all haunted him.

But most of all, it was the what ifs that tormented him.What if she has moved on? What if she’s with someone new? What if he’s nothing but a ghost that lingers in her life?

But then what if she was lonely? What if she missed him as much as he missed her? What if she had realised how big of a mistake this had been? What if she wants to reach out but is afraid to? What if the reason she didn’t is because she thinks he has moved on. 

Lando thought about this far more often that he would like to admit. All he could think about lately was her. And even though he appreciated how his friends tried to distract him he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. 

He missed her. He missed her a lot. How could he not? He was in love with her, he still is. And so he can’t help but wonder whether she would answer if he called. 

He hoped she would. 

Sighing, he picked up his phone and tapped on her contact. He typed out a paragraph, explaining how much he missed her and how he wished he could have her back. His finger hovered over the send button but he hesitated and erased the message, turning off his phone frustrated.

He couldn’t go on like this. 

If she didn’t want to talk then she wouldn’t reply. But if still cared then maybe she would. And for once in his life Lando Norris had nothing to lose. 

He turned on his phone again and typed out another message, hitting the text button and turning off his phone before he could overthink it.

[itstheval]

Memory of Dreary Days / Siffrin Gets An Earring

A @livesworthlivingau Side Story

It was a lovely autumn day, and Siffrin was miserable.

This wasn't anything new, they'd come to realize. The events of Dormont had changed - and possibly Changed - them, but that was months ago, a little over a year now. No, this frustration was newer, possibly the last few months, but they'd managed to identify it over time.

They watched Mirabelle and Isabeau, in front of them, chatting about what Changes they might want to make in the future. Isabeau had a whole list of ideas, but Mirabelle was being more cautious, as usual. Odile was watching and writing, and Bonbon, they were sitting on Nille's shoulders as both of them added their two coins when they had an idea. Leaving you, Siffrin the Traveler, as an outsider. Again.

It wasn't their fault, you knew it. You were empty inside, and this entire adventure you were on was to fill you. That was something the doctor had mentioned, that you seemed to agree with…You didn't have a past, so they were making you one, because they wanted you to. So why were you being talked over, and around? Why were they treating you like a pet, not someone with their own ideas?

The only thing worse than knowing it was it being known, unfortunately. It seemed like they came to a pause in conversation, and Isabeau looked back as though remembering you existed after so long ignoring you.

"What about you, Sif? Got any ideas for big Changes?"

You could laugh. You could sob. You remembered being as large as the sky, and just as filled with stars. You pictured yourself, star-headed and lightless-skinned.

"I don't think so! That's a Vaugardian thing, isn't it?"

The words were more bitter than you imagined them to be, and the second they left your lips you knew that they were wrong. A second after, you told yourself otherwise. "Words can't be wrong", the doctor had said, "If you mean them. You're trying to express yourself, not win a game." Well, from the way everyone else's faces fell, that was good, because you'd have just lost hard.

"That doesn't mean you can't Change! There's Houses everywhere that will take you in and help you, too."

"Yes," Odile continued. "I've thought of using them myself, during my time here, but I never had time to stay in one place, what with…everything."

"Really, madame? You're so pretty! What would you even change?"

And the conversation was off again…Odile explaining her heritage yet again, too-thick hair and too-wide eyes for ka bue, too-thin eyes and too-thin hair for Vaugarde. You wondered, sometimes, if Ka Buans had thought she was as pretty as Vaugardians do. You wonder, in the moment, if they'd bother talking to you again.

They hadn't.

You'd caught Isabeau looking over at you, with something more thoughtful than pity, but you could see the pity in it. Whatever he had in his mind, it wasn't enough to make him ask about anywhere else, or change the subject. Quietly, you thought about how much nicer it would've been if you'd just gone for a comfortable lie instead.

▬▬▬

It was a rainy, autumnal day, and Siffrin was bored.

It wasn't anyone's fault, everyone knew that was just what happened in Autumn. You found somewhere to stay until the rains ended, or you trudged through the worst mud that you could imagine. Bored or miserable, and to the family the choice was obvious. Siffrin had been…letting themself think of them that way for a while, even without telling them. Their little secret. Maybe not their family, but they were the family, and nobody could blame him for that, right? Watching Mira read to Bonbon, watching Isa and Nille talking about, of all things, carpentry, and Madame writing in those inscrutable books of hers.

You hated it. You hated listening to it, you hated being part of it, and you hated being trapped in it. It was nothing like the loops, you knew, but it was almost worse in its way. Watching everyone else with a role, with something to do, and you off to the side like some pet. You'd already napped yourself dry, and nobody had begrudged you sleeping through breakfast, even if it meant you were likely to stay up well after the candles were out at night. But the rest of your day…

You sighed. Sitting there wasn't going to make you any happier, and you'd already looked at all of the books Mira had brought with her. You'd read through the horror stories until they started showing up in your dreams, when Mirabelle had banned you from reading any more of them because of how you'd been whimpering in your sleep. Isa had tried to defend your right to read, but the looks Odile had given him had made him blush in a peculiar way and stop trying, and that had been the end of it. The less said about the romances, the better. You understood that Vaugarde was an open place, but the things they dreamt up to keep two people from each other felt so cliched, so unreal, so impossible that you couldn't get into them.

So, you laid there, in a bed, in a wooden room, staring at the ceiling until the morning came.

How familiar.

That thought sent a shudder down your spine that you knew everyone noticed, but you got out of bed before any of them could comment on it. No, you were dealing with this. You weren't being dealt with, not this time. You hopped up, and walked over to Odile, who closed her book as you approached.

"What could you be writing down now?" you found it in you to ask. "Vaugardian rainy-day games? I thought you were a master at those." The joking tone managed to reach your voice, you thought, and you were glad for it.

"Oh, I wasn't writing at all. Believe it or not, I'm designing something."

"Designing?" The surprise in your voice was clear.

"Well yes. You have your woodcarving…Or had it, when we were near forested areas enough to find scrapwood. Mirabelle has her writing. I thought I should perhaps try my hands at something creative."

"Oh, can I see?" This was WAY more interesting than laying in bed!

"If you can guess what it is, then yes. It wasn't fair that I didn't get to see your face when my research was revealed, after all." Her smile was coy and knowing, but she did, ultimately, have a point.

"Oh, is it…" You looked around, trying to think of what could be in the room that she could draw inspiration from.

"Clothesmaking? Like Isa plans to?"

"Nice try, young one. But that's your one try for the day." Odile's eyes turned up as she thought about the idea. "Besides, do you think I'd compete with Isabeau? In something he's planned for that long?"

You had to concede the point.

▬▬▬

"Carpentry?"

"Can you imagine me swinging a hammer, Siffrin? I know my limits, and they stop well before there."

▬▬▬

"Bookbinding!" You thought for sure you had her on that one. Something to do with her precious books, and something she could study from Mira's colleciton and her own?

"Sadly, no. But, now that you mention it, maybe I should."

▬▬▬

So the days had passed, until things were clear again. The world was colder now, and you could feel it around your cloak, but everyone was well prepared for it. You'd all gotten your own instructions on what to purchase, and been sent off to pick up supplies, which had taken the whole day between bartering and transporting. Thakfully, without Mira there you managed to get a Savior of Vaugarde Discount, and used the extra coin to pick up a pain au chocolat. Some things, it seemed, were eternal, and this one you didn't mind.

So it was that you returned to the inn, one hand with a canvas bag full of smaller bags, spices and flour and other things for Bonbon, the other letting you munch away happily, but you found yourself pausing outside the door. Something was wrong, you could feel it. You finished your treat quickly, and opened the door with a hand on your dagger. A pre-feeling, something that you couldn't put words to, told you that there was something going on beyond the door

You were right.

But not how you thought.

Instead, the family had been standing around in a half-circle, seemingly waiting for you to get back! You barely had time to rescue the groceries as a Bonbon-shaped missile impacted your legs and held you, Mira following after on the other side and Nille even stepping in to ruffle your hair, as Odile looked on fondly, and Isa…Hid something.

As lovely as the feeling was, your suspicions were raised far too high.

You managed a laugh, and to pull yourself free of the hug after enough time that it had started to loosen, before staring down Isa. Watching his cheeks darken was almost worth he price of admission, even as the others spoke around you. Again.

"I told you he'd notice!"

"You hardly had a better idea, Mirabelle."

"Uh-uh! We shoulda done it at dinner! Make sure he's comf-ta-bul."

"Comfortable, Boniface."

"That's what I said!"

It all flowed around you, as you stepped closer to Isa, and sighed. "I know what bonding earrings are, Isa." You allowed, holding out a hand, making him stutter even worse - and sending a roil of laughter around the room from everyone else.

That wasn't it? Then what was he hiding?"

"You're half right, I'm afraid. This is actually something we'd all been thinking about for a while…The past week just proved how important it was. It's not bonding earrings, but…"

As Odile spoke, Isabeau brought a black jewelry box around, holding it out to you. His words were trembling and small, in the way he always seemed to do only for you. You wished he wouldn't…his big booming voice was always so nice.

"We noticed you don't have any earrings yourself, Sif! And…I mean, you're as Vaugardian as any of us, if you want to be. Not that you should feel like you have to give anything up for us! But! I thought this might…make it easier to remember?"

What…were they saying?

Isabeau opened the box, and instead of one of his black i-earrings like you'd expected, a pair of star-shaped earrings rested inside. They were a light shade, just dark enough to notice around your hair, and obviously handcrafted. The edges were imprecise, the designs weren't symmetrical, and you could feel the love in every angle.

You stared. You didn't know what else to do.

Isa was saying more things, and it sounded like other people were responding, but you lifted up a hand to the box. A shaking hand, you realized when it was halfway there. Trembling, uncertain, but you didn't dare stop now. Not when they'd put so much effort in.

"-know what I was working on, the past few days. It's something of a rush job and it shows, but it's even more Vaugardian to have it made by your family, isn't it?" Odile was speaking.

Made…by your family.

Made by them.

You cried. You wrapped your arms around the giant body of Isabeau and you cried and you sobbed and you bawled and for once in your life, you weren't ashamed of a single sound you made. There wasn't any room for it in your heart. Not with everything else you were feeling.

Everyone else was holding you in moments. You turned, as best you could in the group hug, to include all of them. You knew you were getting tears and snot all over them and you didn't care. They were there. They were your family. They…You were one of them.

In that moment, of all moments, you were loved.

[peppermint-whiskers]

So I recently watched this video about Sun basically burning out over time due to various factors, and this image has been burned into my brain for a while

And I couldn't stop thinking about it. So picture this:

Some time passes. The virus gets purged or whatever after that night, everyone gets fixed, yadda yadda. All that goodness. Staff decides that separating Sun and Moon would be a good idea (twice the hands, less risk of one corrupting the other, able to quarantine one if it gets infected, etc), and with the virus gone, everything will go back to normal. They still have a line of communication for easier transmission of data and instant communication, but they are largely separate now. Daycare operations will go as smoothly as before (up to interpretation how smoothly things went before, but I like to think they went pretty smooth considering they didn't shut down the daycare). To make sure, they run a test day

Except things don't go smooth. Everyone expected a happy reunion (the daycare attendants are back in working order, they used to be best friends before all this), but it isn't. Moon is still acting off. Instead of taking care of the kids or even paying attention to anyone, he only has eyes for Sun. And Sun?

He hates Moon—with a passion, it seems. Does not want to go near him, will not interact with the kids, reacts rather violently to the notion of anything touching or interacting with him. This is especially notable with Moon and the children

Staff take them down to parts and service. Try to see what's wrong. Nothing physically seems wrong, and they just updated software, so that can't be the problem either. They stick them in a room together while they try and figure it out (and sorta hoping the attendants will sort this out themselves if forced to interact with one another—they do not)

Finally, they resort to asking. Sun practically screams at them every time they try, so they try with Moon. And Moon conveys just one sentiment:

"It's nap time."

"Sunny needs his nap."

"Good night."

Nobody knows what this means. Sun needs a nap? Animatronics don't really sleep; they either power down or enter standby, and neither of those are akin to sleep. But Moon is insistent; he won't say much else besides that. Like Sun, he has a one track mind about all this

Somehow, during their quarantine, Moon gets a hold of Sun. Sun fights him—of course he does, he's been fighting Moon for a long time now—but Moon's music box starts playing, and he starts singing a soft lullaby, and no one can resist the siren song of sleep

Against precedent, Sun sleeps. Doesn't power down, doesn't enter standby—he sleeps. When it's clear he won't wake up, Moon stops singing and just lets his music box play. But the sleep is restless, so Moon requests something for the first time in a long time:

"Take us to the daycare. Don't wake him up."

Somehow, they manage it. Moon manages to set up a small nap area just for them, and once they're both comfortable, he stands vigil over Sun's sleep. The music box plays constantly. No one dares wake either of them up

Not after the last person tried

Management had gotten sick of the attendants growing idle and wiling the days away napping and doing nothing, but when they sent people to get the attendants back to work? Well, it wasn't exactly Moon they'd needed to watch out for

Who knew Sun could be just as vicious as Moon when awakened from this nap?

Moon's smug little "told you so" look somehow shines through that ever present smile. He certainly shows no remorse for any of this; just coaxes Sun back to sleep for his own good

"Shhh. It's okay."

"Take your nap."

"No more sun."

The Sun is burned out. It's the Moon's turn to keep him asleep, locked down until they're both ready to resume their duties

ANYWAY all this to say I love the idea of burned out Sun, of Moon making him take a nap to escape the reality they live in, and the both of them just chilling in the daycare with ominous music box tunes ^^ I rotate this scenario in my head every chance I get

[lemoncrushh]

Heartstrings

Summary: You become One Direction's new guitarist and you and your best friend Harry realize you have feelings for each other.

Warnings: None, this is just cute fluff.

Word Count: 5971

A/N: This was a special request I'd received in 2016. It was originally three parts, but I've combined them into one.

I need to talk to you

You must have stared at the text for ten minutes. Harry never said he needed to talk to you. He just talked. Whenever, wherever. The most he might do is ask if you were busy before immediately going into what he wanted to talk about. Even if you were busy, he knew you'd get back to him when you could.

But this...this wasn't him. This wasn't light-hearted, cheeky Harry Styles that you'd known since he was sixteen. The best friend, the confidant. The one person who could make you laugh even when you were at the lowest of the low. This? This was a serious text.

The truth was you had started to develop feelings for Harry. Feelings that surpassed those of mere friendship. It had started out as a little flutter in your chest about a year ago when you'd gone to his house to hang out. You'd watched a movie that was one of his favourites but you'd never seen, and you were enthralled by his enthusiasm. You'd sat on the sofa next to him, your legs tucked underneath you as you watched his mouth while he spoke. Then your eyes travelled down the length of his body, his torso and long legs both clad in all black. You'd blinked and shook your head. This was your best friend. When you'd gotten home that night, lying in bed and thinking of Harry in a different light, you dismissed it as a crush. That was all it was. It would go away.

One year later, and it hadn't gone away. In fact, the feelings were stronger. But you resolved never to let him know.

Finally, shaking your head, you texted Harry back two letters.

Ok

Your phone immediately rang, startling you. Seeing Harry's name displayed, you swiped to unlock it.

"Hey," you said apprehensively.

"Hey, remember when I said the band was gonna need a new guitarist for this tour?" Harry asked, barely giving you time to breathe.

"Uh...yeah?"

"Well, I got the most brilliant idea. And I ran it by the guys and the rest of the band. And they'd like you to come by the studio some time next week."

"What?" you asked incredulously.

"You know, to run through some songs. See how comfortable you are," explained Harry.

"What- What d'ya mean?" you swallowed what felt like a ball of cotton in your throat.

You heard Harry chuckle. "I mean, you might be our new guitarist."

"Harry!" you exclaimed. "Are you serious?"

"Well...if you're good enough."

"Oh my God!" you fell back on your bed, your head hitting the pillow as you kicked your legs in the air.

Harry laughed harder as you bounced on your mattress with glee, telling him thank you over and over again.

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as you grabbed the neck of your guitar and slung the strap over your head, handing it to one of the crew. Stepping off the stage, you felt a surge of adrenaline - the same feeling you'd been getting night after night for the last two months.

"Great show, lads!" you heard Louis exclaim behind you. "You too, Y/N, absolutely incredible."

You turned around, grinning at him as you walked backwards. You nearly tripped until Harry grabbed your arm, steadying you.

"Careful, love," he said. "Don't think we have you insured yet."

You rolled your eyes at him, despite the electricity that his touch ignited on your skin. "Very funny."

Harry's lips turned up into his signature grin, and as you walked backstage together, you made note that his hand had slid down the length of your arm until dropping beside his hip.

"You were on fire tonight," he commented.

"Me?" you raised your eyebrows.

"Yeah. Like...really alive."

You sucked in your lips, hoping your blushing was masked by the already apparent heat on your face from exertion.

"Thanks."

"I like having you here."

The commotion backstage made it impossible to give a response then, but you stood frozen in your tracks for a moment, staring at Harry as he shifted his gaze to observe the hallway. As far as you were concerned, however, the hallway was empty. And you and Harry were the only ones there.

You weren't really sure how you managed to get to your dressing room. But an hour and a half, a shower, and two burritos later, you re-entered the hallway, now virtually empty. You watched as a few crew members carried things out the back door until seeing another dressing room door open across from you.

"Hey," grinned Harry, the wet ends of his hair dripping on the shoulders of his t-shirt.

"Hi," you yawned, though you didn't feel the least bit sleepy.

"Gonna sleep well tonight, yeah?" he winked, walking past you toward the exit.

"Probably not, I never do," you let slip before thinking.

Harry looked back at you as you followed him.

"Why not?"

You swallowed hard. You weren't about to tell him the reason you had sleepless nights was because you were crazy about him and thought about him every second of every day. And you lied awake night after night in your bunk on the bus doing the same until you finally let the night consume you.

"Um...just don't sleep that great on the bus," you shrugged.

"Oh," you said when you reached the doorway leading outside. "Actually, neither do I."

"Really?"

You walked side by side out to where the buses were parked. You shared one with the rest of the musicians, while Harry and the other boys shared another.

"Yeah. I usually end up staying up reading or playing games on my phone until I can't keep my eyes open. Sometimes until we get to the hotel. Then I crash."

"Ah," you nodded. "So that's why I never see you all day."

Harry chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Sorry."

You saw Niall climb onto the bus then, followed by Liam and Louis. You knew Harry would be next, but for some reason he was still standing next to you. You continued to stare straight ahead as the wind whipped through your hair, the dampness causing a slight chill.

"Would be nice to spend some more time together," you heard a voice say, and for a moment you didn't even think it was Harry's.

"What?" you asked, jerking your head to look at him.

"I said it would be nice to spend some time with you. You know, off stage."

"Oh," you mouthed. You bit your lip to keep from grinning, though inside you were screaming.

"If I try not to stay up all night, you wanna do something tomorrow?"

"Um...sure. Yeah." You silently cursed yourself for sounding so moronic. When did talking to Harry, your best friend, suddenly become so difficult?

"I mean, I don't know if we'll be able to go anywhere, we'll have to see. Might just hang out at the hotel."

"That's fine," you nodded.

The sudden noise of the buses being cranked up made you jump, and you felt your heart sink.

"Guess it's time to go," you gestured toward the buses. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Night, Y/N," he lifted his hand in a slight wave.

You gave him a tight smile before turning for your bus. Just as you reached the bottom step, you heard Harry call your name again. You looked over at him, his hand on the side of his bus.

"You were great tonight!" he yelled over the engine.

"Thanks!" you beamed at him. "So were you!"

Harry's dimple dipped deeper into his cheek as his booted feet climbed the steps and he disappeared onto the bus.

A loud obnoxious sound woke you up, and it took a minute to realize it was a knock on the door.

One good thing about being the only female in the band was you always got your own room in any hotel you stayed in. Even when you'd offered to stay with Lou and Lottie, it was insisted that you get your own room. You still weren't exactly sure who's decision that had been, but you weren't about to argue.

Throwing the massive duvet aside, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and made your way to the door. You opened it a crack before you saw Harry standing on the other side.

"Morning," he grinned at you, his eyes momentarily shifting to your pajamas before returning to your face.

"Hey," you cleared your throat. "What time is it?"

"12:30," he replied. "So not exactly morning."

"Morning is any time you've just woken up," you argued with sleepy eyes.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you scratched your head. "I needed to wake up. I'm actually surprised your awake."

"I promised I wasn't gonna stay up on the bus. I got a couple hours before we arrived here. Then slept like a baby."

The way he was smiling just then reminded you of the early days of your friendship. He looked sixteen again and you couldn't help but smile back.

"So what's the plan for today?" you inquired.

Harry shrugged. "Didn't really have one. Just playing it by ear."

"I suppose it's too late for breakfast," you said.

"Lunch then?"

"Give me twenty minutes?"

He nodded. "Sure. Meet you downstairs."

"You're being ridiculous," you shook your head.

Your stomach and cheeks hurt from laughing so much. After lunch, you and Harry had decided to just go back up to your room to chat - his idea as he said the two of you had been so busy lately that you hadn't really had time to catch up on just being...Harry and Y/N.

He was being his old self, cracking corny jokes and making you laugh like a hyena. You hadn't felt such joy in a long time. Other than the joy you felt on stage. But that was different. That was an adrenaline rush, a feeling of self-worth and pride. Knowing you were getting to live your dream doing what you loved. This...this was the best kind of joy. Being with your favourite person and just enjoying each other's company.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your back against the bed as you held your acoustic guitar in your lap. You'd been strumming absent-mindedly for the last hour throughout your conversation, though never really playing anything.

As you caught your breath from the giggling, your fingers found a G chord, followed by an E minor as your other hand strummed them both. Then you began to finger pick, not really conscious of what you were playing until you realized you were singing along to "18".

When you'd finished the first chorus, you lifted your head to find Harry watching you, a gentle smile on his lips. Embarrassed slightly, you continued with the second verse but didn't sing.

"Why'd you stop?" Harry asked.

"I didn't," you smirked. "I'm still playing."

"I meant the singing."

You shrugged. "I'm not a singer."

"I would say you are," remarked Harry. "You have a lovely voice."

You hummed before shaking your head. "I'll just stick to guitar."

"If you say so, Y/N," Harry rolled his eyes, rising from the floor and crossing to the bed.

He sat down next to where you were, his long legs in your peripheral view. You heard him sigh and you knew he'd laid back on the bed.

"So, kiss me where I lay down, my hands pressed to your cheeks..." you sang softly.

You finished the rest of the song, accompanying yourself. Then you sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds (although it seemed like forever) before standing up and putting your guitar back in its case.

"Probably about time to head to the venue," you declared. "Soundcheck soon."

It wasn't until you turned around that you realized Harry was staring at you, his arm behind his head. It was a strange look. Not a bad one necessarily. Just one you hadn't seen before. At least not when he looked at you.

"What?" you asked.

Harry blinked though his eyes were still focused on you. It made your stomach do somersaults, and you weren't sure what to make of it. Finally, he shook his head.

"Nothing." You watched as he sat up, slapping his hands on his thighs. "See ya later."

With that, he opened the door to step out into the hallway. But you didn't miss it when he turned to you once more, that same strange look on his face, before heading down the hall to his room.

You sat on your hotel bed, playing your guitar, a classical piece that you'd learned at university. You were a little more than halfway through when there was a knock at your door. Stopping, you laid your guitar on the bed before rising and crossing the room.

"Hi," a beanie-capped Harry greeted you with a grin which you returned.

"Hey," you said. "What have you been up to?"

You noticed the hoodie that Harry had gripped in his hand, his t-shirt marked with sweat.

"Just got back from a run. I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner."

"Um...dinner?" you blinked.

"Yeah. After I shower of course."

Harry's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he spoke, the same grin still on his face. You couldn't help but bite your lip at how attractive he looked at that moment.

"Sure," you breathed. "Sounds good."

"Great, I'll be back in half an hour."

You nodded and sucked in your lips as you watched him walk away. Shutting the door, you leaned against it.

Since that day in your hotel room a week ago, you and Harry had continued spending more time together. A couple of times you'd ventured out of the hotel into whatever city you'd happened to be at that time. You (or rather Harry) had been recognized, but you didn't mind standing back while he took selfies with fans. You enjoyed your time together, even if it was just sitting in your room watching television.

You reminded yourself that this was how it had always been. Yet you couldn't deny that your feelings were growing stronger with each moment.

Watching him in his element on stage, in front of the massive audience of adoring fans, you felt a burst of pride. He was a rockstar. But the moments you spent alone...these were your favorite. Your stomach flipped at the sight of him, your face felt warm as you became aware of your smile growing wider. You couldn't help it. He made you happy. This was no longer just a crush.

You stared at the guitar on the bed. This was one of your free days between shows. You'd seen Harry earlier that morning at breakfast, but when he hadn't divulged his plans for the rest of the day, you'd decided to retreat to your room, spending some quality time with yourself.

The thought of going to dinner shouldn't have been a big deal. You'd eaten with him many times. But suddenly you were nervous.

Grabbing your suitcase from the floor, you dropped it onto the bed next to your guitar. Rummaging through it, you tried to find something suitable to wear for this dinner - something casual that didn't look like you were trying too hard, but still looked nicer than the joggers and t-shirt you were wearing.

Finally opting for your favorite jeans and a soft jumper in a dark plum shade, you changed quickly, touching up your make-up and running a brush through your hair. You'd just slipped into your shoes when another knock sounded. Opening the door, you saw Harry in a black t-shirt and a satin jacket, his long legs covered in his ever present black skinny jeans. He looked amazing to say the least. You almost had to stop yourself from mouthing "wow."

"Hi," you smiled as you noticed his own stare. "So where are we headed?"

"Um..." Harry cleared his throat, refocusing his eyes on yours, "there's a restaurant down the street. I thought we could walk there."

"Fine with me," you said.

Grabbing your bag and your card key, you stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind you. As you walked to the lift with Harry, you could feel his eyes on you. Shifting your own gaze, you saw the same look on his face that he'd had a week ago in your room.

"What is it?" you asked with a chuckle, trying to play it off.

"You look lovely," he replied, his eyes serious.

"Oh," you muttered shyly, looking down at your ensemble. "Thank you."

"I don't think I've seen you in that colour of lipstick before. Matches your jumper."

You automatically sucked in your lips as the elevator doors opened and you stepped in. Gripping the strap of your bag, you stood like a statue on the way down. You mentally told yourself to chill out. This wasn't even a date or anything. This was still your best friend.

Your best friend who'd picked you up at your door and told you you looked lovely and commented on your lipstick.

The sun was setting, the cool night air giving you a calm feeling as you walked next to Harry down the sidewalk. You gazed up at the tall buildings next to you and across the street, a couple more hotels mixed in with businesses and boutiques. You and Harry made small talk, chatting about the band and the next city on your agenda for the tour. Finally, at the end of the block, you crossed the street to find a restaurant at the corner. Harry held the door open for you and you stepped in to be greeted by a tall, ginger-haired maitre d. He gave you both a smile before telling you to follow him.

You sat across from Harry at a small table against the wall. After ordering drinks and taking a gander at the menu, you shook your head, feeling ridiculous about the butterflies that had taken up residence in your belly. You repeated to yourself over and over - This is not a date. It's just Harry.

"So how was your run?" you inquired, setting your menu down in front of you.

Harry snickered, practically rolling his eyes.

"What?" you asked, your eyes wide. "What'd I say?"

"You wanna talk about my run?"

"Sure, why not? How far did you go?"

Harry licked his lips before leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Y/N," he said, his voice low. "Why are you acting weird?"

You blinked. "What do you mean? I'm not acting weird."

Harry smirked, shaking his head. "You looked straight ahead in the lift, as though you were frightened of something. You talked about the weather and the band on the walk here, without even looking at me. Now you're asking me about my run? I've known you for years, Y/N, you've never asked me how far I've run."

"Really?" you played dumb, looking down at the silverware. "Well, maybe I should have."

Harry chuckled. "You wanna know what kind of shoes I wear, too?"

"Sure," you shrugged, thumbing the edge of the fork. "Why not? You're my best friend, you'd think I'd already know these things."

"Y/N," said Harry. "Look at me, please."

Lifting your head, you saw the confusion on his face. "What's going on?"

In a split second you decided you were being foolish and there was no way you were going to give any hint as to your feelings for him. You shook your head, giving him a smile.

"Nothing," you promised. "I'm sorry if I was being weird. I guess it's just odd...you know, being on tour with you."

"How so?" Harry raised a brow.

"Because...I know you. But I guess I never really knew this part of you."

"You've seen me on stage before," he remarked.

"I know, but this is different. I'm with you on stage. I'm with you at the hotel. I'm with you now."

"We're having dinner, love. We've done this before, too."

Just then, the waiter came to take your order, momentarily freeing you from the awkward conversation. When he left, however, Harry returned his gaze to you. You chewed on your bottom lip before lifting your water glass to take a sip.

"So are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" he asked.

You shook your head again. "Nothing's wrong, Harry. Can we just drop it?"

"Fine," he sighed, dropping his shoulders.

You released your own sigh, but one of relief. At least temporarily. You had a feeling Harry wasn't going to let it go completely, but at least you could bide some time and enjoy your dinner.

Once again, your cheeks hurt from laughing. You and Harry were back in your room, lying on your massive hotel bed watching a stand-up comedian on the TV.

"Be back, I have to wee," declared Harry as he rose from the bed.

When he shut the bathroom door, you sat up, trying to catch your breath, wiping your eyes. It felt good to be back to your old self, the same goofiness that you and Harry shared as friends. You wanted to push away the non-friendship feelings you were having, because apparently Harry was getting some sort of vibe from you and it made both of you uncomfortable. You weren't about to lose his friendship over this stupid...crush-thing...whatever the hell it was.

Muting the television, you grabbed your guitar. Playing always calmed your nerves. It had been your escape, your therapy since you were thirteen. You began to play the same classic piece that you'd been playing earlier when Harry had knocked on your door. You closed your eyes, letting your fingers do the work while your brain painted pictures in your head. You heard the door open, but you kept your eyes shut, focusing on the music and the colours that made up the picture.

You could hear his breathing when you stopped, but he didn't say anything. Finally opening your eyes, you saw Harry leaning against the door frame, his eyes not on the guitar, but on your face.

"I heard you playing that earlier," he said.

"Mmm hmm," you nodded.

"I remember that one. It's one of my favourites."

You gave a small smile, grabbing your guitar by the neck and preparing to lower it back into its case.

"No," Harry held up his hand. "Don't stop. Keep playing."

"It's over," you shrugged.

"Then play something else," he requested, walking towards you. "I like watching you play."

Biting your lip, you scooted back a bit on the bed, the guitar in your lap. You began strumming a random chord progression before settling on "Blackbird" by the Beatles. You caught Harry's grin as he took another step forward and crawled back onto the bed. The bed shifted a bit as he laid back in the spot he'd been before, situating onto his side, propped on his elbow.

You sang along softly, feeling slightly nervous that he was watching you. When you plucked the final chord, and turned your head, you almost jumped at his expression.

It was a version of the same look he'd given you earlier only with wider eyes and a dimpled smile. His eyes blinked softly as he shook his head.

"You're amazing," he declared.

"Thanks," you nearly whispered.

"I could listen to you all night," he added, lying on his back, his hands behind his head. "In fact, go ahead and sing me to sleep."

You chuckled, nudging him in the hip. "Sorry, I don't do lullabies by request."

"Bugger," he muttered, his eyes closed.

You giggled again as you finally put the guitar back in the case. Then you laid back against the pillow.

"Wanna finish watching this?" you asked, grabbing the remote.

"Nah," Harry replied.

"Okay."

You stared at the ceiling in awkward silence until you suddenly felt Harry's hand touch yours, threading his fingers through. You dared to turn your head to look at him, but his eyes were still shut.

"I'm so glad you're here, Y/N," he said softly.

"Me too," you whispered.

Harry's eyes fluttered open then. It was hard to read his face this time. But one thing was certain. He wasn't peeling his gaze away from yours.

Rolling onto his side again, you felt the nerves tenfold as you anticipated his next move. You swallowed hard when he brought his over hand up to grip your hip, pulling you closer to him. You shifted onto your side then to face him as he lifted his hand to your cheek. His eyes seemed to sparkle when you looked into them, getting lost in the green. How did you never notice how green they were?

"Y/N," Harry whispered.

"Yes?"

Your heart was beating so fast, you thought surely it would beat right out of your chest. Harry's hand slid down your cheek, his fingers and thumb gripping your chin. Your eyes fluttered closed, waiting patiently. Then ever so gently, he lowered his mouth, pressing his lips against yours.

You bit your lip as you silently cursed yourself. Turning for the backstage area, you handed one of the crew your Strat, trading it for your acoustic guitar. You were having an off night. And you knew why.

That kiss the night before in your hotel room.

Okay, it was more than a kiss. At least it was to you. To you it had only confirmed your feelings for Harry. No longer were you teetering on the fence. You'd fallen for him.

Stepping back out onto the stage, you listened to Liam's chat with the crowd though your eyes were on another certain lad. Your heart thumped in your chest as you watched him wave to the audience, preparing to start the next song. On cue, you began strumming, though your skills now were automatic. You weren't even aware of what you were playing. All you could think about was that kiss...

His lips were incredibly soft. He took his time, careful not to rush. After the first few kisses, you felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. Opening your mouth slightly, you invited him in, your tongue meeting his. You felt a sound rise from your throat as you slid your hand up his chest and around to the back of his neck. He pulled you closer to him, his hand grazing the bit of exposed skin above the waistband of your jeans.

His touch felt electric. You thought you heard him hum against you as he continued to devour your lips. You couldn't believe this was happening. Every fiber inside you was on fire, a buzz zig-zagging down your body.

Your lips separated for a moment and your eyes opened slightly to see his mouth still nearly touching yours. His breath tickled your face as you continued to focus on his lips, almost afraid to meet his eyes. Suddenly, you saw his mouth form a word and it took you a second realize it was your name.

You blinked as you shifted your eyes up to look at his, the green seemingly darker than before.

"I...um..." Harry hesitated, swallowing hard. "I should probably go."

You opened your mouth, ready to ask him why, but you stopped yourself. "Oh."

"I mean...it's late and...I have an interview in the morning..."

"Oh yeah," you nodded vigorously. "Yeah, sure."

You watched as Harry climbed off the bed, grabbing his jacket that he'd tossed in the chair before walking to the door. You stayed in your spot, too nervous to move. When he looked back at you, he had that same strange expression on his face. You wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but your mouth was suddenly dry.

"I'll uh, see you tomorrow," he said.

You blinked and nodded. It was all you could do.

"'Night," Harry added before opening the door and slipping out.

You sat up then, looking around the room as though it held the answers. Your stomach flipped, only this time with a different kind of feeling. The worried feeling that Harry had regretted that kiss.

The song was over but for some reason you hadn't moved from your spot.

"Y/N" you suddenly heard, and you looked around before you realized it was coming from your ear monitor.

Completely flustered and embarrassed, you turned around once more to exchange guitars with the roadie. Slinging the strap over your head, you heard the bass drum kick in and you counted off for your intro to the next song. Trying your best to stay focused this time, you completed the rest of the concert, watching Harry and the other boys give the fans what they wanted.

Walking backstage, you handed off your guitar, wiping the sweat from your brow.

"Y/N," you heard again, this time coming from Niall who came jogging up behind you.

"I know, Niall, I missed my cue. I'm sorry," you told him, dropping your shoulders in defeat.

"You alright?" he asked with concern.

"I'm fine," you explained. "Just an off night, I guess."

"No worries, love," said Louis as he passed you, tapping you on the shoulder. "You were great."

You sucked in your lips, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. You shouldn't have let the memory of the night before distract you from your playing.

You continued down the hallway and were almost to your dressing room when you heard your name once more. Stopping in your tracks, you turned to see Harry walking towards you.

"Everything okay?" he inquired, his brows furrowed.

"Yes, alright?!" you exclaimed throwing up your hands. "I know, I fucked up a couple times! It happens! Aren't people allowed to make mistakes in this band?"

"Hey, easy," said Harry in a firm yet calming tone, gently grabbing your arms. "Yes, it's allowed. I was just making sure you were okay."

You shifted your eyes everywhere to avoid his gaze. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just fine."

Pulling away from him, you turned around and walked into your dressing room, slamming the door behind you.

Your chest was heaving with sobs. You weren't sure how long you'd been lying on your hotel bed crying. You hadn't bothered to say goodnight to Harry or anyone else when you'd left your dressing room and bolted for the bus. When you'd made it to the hotel, a very sleepy Harry and Niall had followed you into the lift, but no one had uttered a word and you'd avoided eye contact. As soon as you'd made it to your room, you'd pushed it open just as you heard something that sounded like your name, but you hadn't bothered to acknowledge it.

You hadn't even gotten undressed. Your suitcase sat just inside the door where you'd left it. You'd gone to the bathroom and left the light on, too exhausted and upset to turn it off. The light shone underneath the door, giving the only light in the room.

Why did one kiss have to turn you for a loop? Everything was fine before that kiss. You and Harry were still in the friend zone. He'd taken you to dinner, which had been a bit awkward but then you'd come back to your room and were having fun like old times. Why did he have to kiss you? And why did you have to let him?

Because I'm in love with him, you told yourself.

A fresh set of tears began to fall at the silent confession, just as you heard a knock at the door. Your body jolted, confused that perhaps you were hearing things. But when it sounded again, you knew someone was on the other side.

Quickly wiping your eyes, you rose from the bed, inhaling and exhaling deeply before opening the door. You blinked as the light from the hallway temporarily blinded you before you realized it was Harry standing there.

"H-Hi," you whispered, not sure what else to say.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his voice deep.

"Um...it's nearly four in the morning, Harry, I-"

"I don't care," he interrupted. "I need to talk to you."

You raised your eyebrows then. The last time he'd used that phrase had been in a text. But you recalled how nervous you had been then. The next thing you knew, you were One Direction's new guitarist.

"Yeah," you stepped back, allowing him to enter the room. "Sure."

Closing the door, you walked to the lamp to turn it on instead of flooding the room with unnecessary light. When you turned back around, Harry was standing at the foot of the bed, that odd look on his face. Dropping your shoulders, you let out an exasperated breath.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" you asked him.

"Like what?"

"Like...that," you pointed. "Like you're confused about something, or trying to solve me like some long math problem."

Harry took a step toward you. It looked as though he was about to reach out to you but changed his mind and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I am confused," he admitted. "Because I never thought..."

His words trailed off as he looked down at his feet which you now noticed were bare.

"You never thought what?" you whispered.

You watched him bite his bottom lip before blowing out an embarrassed chuckle. He shook his head and looked up at you.

"I never thought I'd feel this way about you."

Your heart went still in your chest. "You mean the kiss?"

"Yeah, I mean..." he nodded, stepping even closer, "I mean the kiss. But I mean everything else, too."

"Everything else?"

Harry lifted his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip and down your chin.

"I enjoy being with you, Y/N," he cooed. "I know we've been friends for a long time, but... I feel like it's more than that now. Don't you?"

You nodded silently, raising your hand to touch his arm.

"I was kinda hoping I could get you to admit it last night," he grinned slightly. "At dinner. I could tell you were nervous."

You sheepishly looked down. "I was."

Harry lifted your chin with his finger. His eyes burned into yours and your stomach did a somersault again.

"I'm sorry I left last night like I did," he declared. "I was kinda nervous, too."

"You were?" you breathed.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I know you probably think I regretted that kiss, but I didn't. Far from it, actually."

"Hmm," you sounded, biting your lip.

Harry swiped his thumb up, tugging your lip free from your teeth. Then slowly tilting his head, he lowered his mouth to yours. You lifted your hands to his neck, tangling your fingers in the back of his hair. The kiss deepened, making you weak in the knees. Harry's other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him. When he finally released you, you were both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against yours.

"I think I'm falling for you, Y/N," he confessed.

You half cried, half giggled as your hands slid down his shoulders and pressed against his chest. You felt your eyes well up with tears again, only this time they were happy tears.

"What's the matter, love?" Harry inquired, wiping away two stray tears with his thumbs.

You gazed into his eyes once again, your chest falling as you let out a breath.

"I've been wanting to hear you say that for so long," you conveyed.

"Baby..." Harry whispered, his nose nudging yours before pulling you in for another passionate kiss.

This gave me the feels as I read this again. Sometimes I just really enjoy some sweet fluff and declarations of love.

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