#for the sake of my time sanity and whatever direction I go I’m taking this to AO3 and AO3 only

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLVII

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use.

People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you.

Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance.

Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible.

Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only.

Zandik sorted his thoughts as he walked up the snowy path and back into the Palace, mildly frustrated at Pantalone's interruption although he kept his face impassive.

He wanted to see your damage to a living specimen, especially one from the depths of that ancient civilization the Jester spoke so fondly of. You would never be on the front lines but it was imperative he knew your capabilities. Zandik could then plan accordingly.

"Unusually eager to bow at the foot of our Most Gracious, dear Doctor," Pantalone said, his words lilting with amusement. "Don't tell me you wanted to get away from your guest that quickly."

"I would like to get this audience over with, if you must know. Unlike you, I have a schedule to keep."

Natlan's weapons plans were close to completion and finally entering the proper testing phase. They were still nowhere near ready to be sent to the factories and put into the fields. Murata, though passionate, was a far better strategist than expected. Any standing against her required the right kinds of arms.

That the Fourth and the Seventh returned with a Gnosis far ahead of schedule meant he had to adjust everything again. Even if he only had one Segment, the adjustments wouldn't be as drastic and the workload could be balanced. As it stood, however, he might have to skip your evening sessions and forego time with you; an option he didn't want to consider when it made his bones ache and his thoughts unpredictable.

"She plays quite beautifully now that she has a more appropriate instrument…her piano playing left something to be desired. Her music certainly livens up the entire wing for the Tsaritsa. Is she finally sleeping, now that you put a dent in the coffers?"

Ahead, a door opened and an unfortunate bureaucrat slipped out into the corridor. Catching himself, he bowed deeply as the Harbingers passed by.

Naturally, the banker just had to have this conversation here. He was going to crack a tooth at this rate, Zandik was certain. Working on one's own teeth was such a hassle on a good day, let alone walking through a minefield of informants for both other departments.

"What is it you really wish to ask, Regrator? Out with it," Zandik snapped when they rounded a corner, the path ahead clear.

"I simply find it hard to believe that a cellist from Fontaine, an allogene at that, is your soulmate. You, the great Il Dottore, heretic from Sumeru who denounces all that Celestia stands for, have a fated bond? I thought you have killed yours already and been done with it."

"I never—"

They passed a junction with another corridor and Zandik was thankful for the Akasha built into his mask; he would not have seen the hall attendant who was being scolded by one of the other Palace servants.

When they were out of earshot, Zandik hissed, "I never claimed she was. You inferred."

Another group of bureaucrats, their assistants trailing behind and jotting notes, moved in a cluster down the hall. This was beginning to get infuriating; usually these pathways were clear of any and all interlopers when the Tsaritsa called an audience. Pierro always made sure of it.

The group shrank to one side and offered the usual platitudes owed to those who upheld the Archon's will. Out of the corner of his eye, Zandik caught the twitch at the end of Regrator's mouth; even the banker was beginning to lose his patience, his mask, at the amount of interruptions.

"And yet, you are not denying I am right," Pantalone finally replied. "What is she, then, your next experiment? You don't entertain the notion of fated connections any more than you enjoy using your Vision…"

He dropped his voice as they passed by another open door, a sitting room being attended to by several maids and a hall boy fixing the lights. Was the Tsaritsa expecting company?

"Not to mention, I have a very hard time imagining you plagued with dreams, considering you barely sleep. But you must, if you believe whatever drivel she's fed you," the banker whispered. "You are not the type to take anything at face value."

No, he wasn't, and he didn't need the banker’s reminder.

Zandik avoided this conversation the first time when he went to Pantalone for additional funds and a good interior designer. The image of you, terrified and lost for a moment before you recognized your surroundings, was burned into his mind and his only recourse was to find a solution.

The topic was an inevitability; just like his connection with you.

After all, the Ninth understood, at a fundamental level, that there was more to this work than stepping on heads to put oneself in a higher position. It was why they worked so well together. The drive to see their goals come to fruition stemmed not from a base desire to sow chaos or to be on the right side of history but to truly improve the human condition and the means in which it flourished.

It helped, of course, that Zandik held severe disdain for the Heavenly Principles and all they stood for. Pantalone held a personal grudge against his Archon, one the scholar knew all too well. If an Archon was meant to be a leader, a beacon of hope, why would any of them allow the suffering of their people? A philosophical question most never managed to answer without a contradiction.

Such conversations made for something close to friendship.

At last, the Second Harbinger stopped, just before they rounded the corner, and were truly out of earshot of anyone.

“I am a scholar, Regrator. A seeker of knowledge. If I am given an opportunity to explore something first-hand, who am I to turn down the chance to analyze and understand that which is so inherently unique to my own existence?”

His companion's response was a low laugh as a single hand left the confines of his cloak to punctuate his words.

"Soulmates are liabilities, no different than any properties or debt or taxes. They're a waste of resources, proof that even if one is not an allogene, Celestia seeks to control all of us. The mere concept is an antithesis to who you are, Zandik."

Who he had been, the Doctor wanted to correct. You were bringing out parts of him that were both repulsive and refreshing. No one held compassion for him in a long time; no one ever managed to inspire him the way your music did. The contradiction of predestination would never make sense but he was at least of the opinion that, if given the choice, he would have crept into that concert hall anyway and felt his skin break out in goose-flesh all the same.

But there was no arguing with Regrator on that point.

"Putting your unique lack of skepticism aside and assuming all else is true," Pantalone said, golden eyes open and locked on Zandik's face. "You know as well as I do that you will outlive her ten-fold. You're already ahead by several centuries. The work we do seeks to change everything. So, I ask you: do you really think this attempt at being mortal and playing house with an interloper, marvelous as she might be, is wise?"

The banker held Zandik's gaze for a second longer than necessary and the Second Harbinger fought the urge to scoff.

"Wouldn't it be wiser still for you to tend to your own affairs?"

Zandik gave a stiff, mocking smile, and stepped around Pantalone to continue up the corridor to the throne room's foyer.

Pantalone's experience would not be his.

He would make sure of that.

They were some of the first arrivals when they walked through the throne room doors; Zandik took his place four steps to Arlecchino’s right and Pantalone stood four paces to Sandrone’s left. Bookends. How quaint.

“Ahead of schedule, Knave. Hopefully the nation didn’t sustain too much damage in your haste,” Zandik murmured.

“Says the one who took twice as long and came back with a stray.”

He chuckled lowly.

“Do not equate yourself to me. I proved divinity can be manufactured in addition to obtaining two chess pieces. Such things take time.”

“When I left, she was playing the piano, stiff and poorly I may add,” Arlecchino examined her ashen hands, nails as sharp as daggers. “The children all say she plays a cello now, one made of Cryo so clear it rivals the Palace. Practice takes time, too, but she seems to be like a duck to water.”

“We all have our talents, Knave. Yours is making orphans.”

Arlecchino gave a hum of agreement in a tone that begged him to question her further. He was not here for games and he was thrilled to see Pucinella arrive so the Knave would be occupied by another.

It wasn’t long before the rest filtered in, Columbina practically floating while the Captain’s presence was more akin to standing at the foot of a mountain.

“Her footing is better, Doctor,” Capitano rumbled. “Her eyes could stand to be sharper but she’s keen already. If one listens, they can hear a symphony in every swing.”

The conversation changed to Natlan almost immediately and Zandik listened, filing away anything useful that would help him either update the weapons or a way to modify the people. Natlan’s climate was, on the surface, similar to what he grew up with Sumeru; it was hotter still, and if Murata didn’t yield to the Pyro Dragon soon, the entire nation would be engulfed in ash and magma.

The Tsaritsa arrived with the Jester at her side and Zandik followed the movement he knew well by now, bowing rigidly, hand over his heart.

His mind was half-present as the Tsaritsa dived into remarking on how low morale had been some months prior as the nation mourned the Fair Lady. Such loss didn’t instill hope when the Sixth seat was empty for so long as it was. But with the arrival of three Gnoses—two from the dear Doctor, one from the Knave and Marionette—was a moment of reprieve, of celebration, even.

Zandik kept his face neutral.

A ball?

Surely not.

No one had the time for that. Least of all him.

The Tsaritsa continued on, citing that Pantalone would be taking lead in order to ensure that the party was reflective of Snezhnaya’s fine tastes as well as a show of power and wealth. A moment for international diplomats attending to truly understand that even the land of Cryo was capable of recovery, of moving on.

And it was not an optional event.

He expected nothing less.

For a moment, Zandik found himself wondering what you might wear, how you would navigate such events. Didn’t you have a false dream of such an event? Were you ever allowed to attend such functions if you weren’t playing?

The entire room would stop for you, he was certain; although gossip was quieter, the intrigue was still present. Parties such as this were dens of vipers, hard to navigate and harder still to escape unscathed.

The attention would be unavoidable if you attended, especially if…

…if you attended with him, beside him. The thought lingered longer than he wished it to and a flash of heat passed through him at the notion of dancing with you, your laugh ringing among the din, feeling your hand on his arm.

He always attended these nonsense events alone. Sometimes, he sent Omega in his stead when he wished to continue working instead; that was, of course, no longer an option.

Zandik’s covered gaze caught the Tsaritsa’s and as she smiled sweetly to them all, something clicked into place like a Ruin Core in its processor socket.

That was the point.

It was no secret that Snezhnaya was looking for the Gnoses and that the Fatui were expanding where they could. Negotiations ranged from tenuous but beneficial to being welcomed with open arms by both the naive and the experienced.

Eyes, curiously, would be drawn to both of you. Even if your face was never shown, if most merely speculated at whatever laid at the heart of the partnership between him and you, fated bonds were akin to watching fireworks, minus the sounds. By the time the evening ended, all would know that you weren’t just some stray; some might find you a curious experiment, doubtful that a soul such as him could have a matching one, but most of the attendees would know the power you held without a rank.

An interesting play, one that tickled the parts of his brain when an idea built upon another, grew the way a tiny shift in stability caused an entire sheet of ice and snow to fall and decimate all in its path. How fun that might be. After all, so many feared him, kept their distance; how interesting it might be to see the reactions at the notion that the Doctor, too, was deemed worthy of a soulmate.

But you would not be pleased, let alone comfortable with such a notion, not when it was not discussed. He could not, would not, take that choice from you, much as he might enjoy watching the public squirm at the idea.

It could backfire, granted. But the percentages were low, unlike morale, and few saw negative sentiments when they held their faith steadfast.

Once dismissed, Zandik returned to you as he always did, like the sea to the shoreline. The sea and fate were not so different, most would argue; fate was a tide, ordained not by the moon but stronger forces that were no longer relevant. Some might find the notion romantic, the tether between two individuals less a fetter than an anchor.

That was your approach to this entire affair. Another would have wanted control, information, attention; it was not security you sought but balance, understanding. If neither sought control but to steady the other, he could see why so many eventually caved entirely.

Why his colleague had.

Embracing the truth, embracing you, was the only way to observe how such bonds affect an individual first-hand. And now, it would seem as if the Tsaritsa wanted that truth upon the world. Was She showing Her cards to the people, to demonstrate that even Her most powerful were still tied to the damned laws of the world?

Or was She trying to prove a point?

The low fire stoked in his chest only grew stronger as he caught your notes floating down the corridor from the throne room. Music, sound, was just as powerful; unlike light, it was only made up of waves, not waves and particles but that didn’t matter…

…Waves. So much of the world was made of waves...

Through the doors, you looked so enraptured that he dared not step forward. Breaking you from such reverie was a frustration he knew too well. Head tilted, eyes closed to read the music only found deep within yourself, Zandik couldn’t help but reaffirm that the divine would be surpassed in every way by human hands.

For you already far outdid whatever lived outside this mortal plane.

Yes, he might just have a breakthrough on those weapons yet.

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 ─── send in a character and a prompt from these lists for a blurb

peter parker + ❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜

she’s been collecting dust because i’m insecure, but she will stay hidden no longer!! | 1.4k

warnings: blood, injury, r patching up his wounds, medically inaccurate information (we’re going to pretend it works for my sanity’s sake)

Peter doesn’t really know why he stumbles into the bodega. It’s closed, and it’s empty, safe for where you’re mopping the floors.

You move between the aisles, mouthing the lyrics to whatever song is flowing through your earbuds. He watches your silhouette through the windows, entranced as you make the most mundane chore somehow look so inviting. He knows the moment you see his face that you’d drop everything and throw your arms around him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He supposes that’s why.

That, and the searing pain that shoots through his left leg is making his brain foggy.

Gripping onto his wounded thigh, he musters up the remainder of his strength to pull open the door and stagger inside. He grimaces at the shrill chime of the overhead bell. Even more so when it disrupts your bubble of peace.

“Sorry, we’re…” The rest of the monotonous statement gets caught in your throat. You stare back in his direction with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The mop slips from your grip and bangs onto the floor.

Peter, clueless and delirious, is convinced it’s because he’s starting to stain the freshly clean linoleum. You’d just mopped and now he’s making a mess. He’s oddly expecting you to scold him before coddling him. Maybe you’ll even give him a kiss. His shoulders momentarily sag in relief.

“Spiderman?”

Shit. He’s still wearing the suit. He forgot.

“Yeah, hey,” he sings nervously, “Nice to meet you. Great establishment you’ve got here, you should be very proud.” He gestures toward the apple display before giving you a puny thumbs up.

You’re stunned, frozen in place. You don’t really notice the way his arm falls limp or the way he uses the nearby shelves as a crutch. You can’t even see the blood dripping down his leg from where you’re standing. Your mind is racing and jumbled because The Spiderman is in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

You’re abruptly ripped from your daze when he knocks over a can of tomato sauce, cursing under his breath. “Yeah…you’re here. Why are you here? And I don’t mean to kick you out, y’know, protector of the city and all—”

He laughs quietly at the wonder in your voice. He tries to take in your amazement, making note of the raised brows and the shy smile on your face, but he really can’t. His head feels heavy on his shoulders and the overhead lights are killer, even with the mask on. All he wants is for you to hold him, but he’s not Peter right now. And somehow that makes his leg sting even more.

He’s so out of it, he hasn’t even registered that you’d moved closer to him until he hears you gasp. Your expression is different now. You look mortified.

“Oh my god, is that blood?” When he jumps, you continue quieter, “Is it yours?”

“Huh? No, no, it’s not, it’s just uh…”

He utilizes the shelf to limp closer to you, but one uncoordinated shift of the hand makes his knees buckle and it sends him to the floor with a groan. A yelp involuntarily escapes as you rush to his side.

“It might be a little, yeah,” he admits defeatedly through clenched teeth.

“Here, let me help.”

He tries to protest, but ultimately surrenders to your fleeting touch as you push at his shoulders to lean up against the wall of freezers. You kneel in between his legs, ignoring the way heat rushes to your ears when he gently holds onto your forearm. It was so instinctive, so tender, like he’d done it a million times before.

Your fingers hover over the tear in his suit before you’re asking, “May I…?”

He nods. Careful of the wound, you pull and rip at the material to expose the severity of it. He makes a sound of ease, one that you’ve mistaken for worry and it shoots right to your chest.

Peter concludes it looks worse than it actually is. It’s definitely not deep enough to require stitches, but the cut crosses the expanse of his thigh. He’s fixed up worse in his dingy apartment bathroom. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, but he’s lost a lot of blood on the way here.

“Just a paper cut,” he adds cheekily to make you feel better. It doesn’t, really. When he notices the way you stare at the wound and how your hands shake with worry, he reaches to hold them. “Hey, I’m okay. Happens all the time,” he assures softly.

The frown you wear looks entirely foreign. It makes his insides burn and all he wants to do is kiss it away. To make you smile at him again like you’d done so earlier.

“A lot of people don’t really like me that much,” he says. He’s barely coherent, the words are slurred together at this point. But he doesn’t really care when he hears you scoff. It’s good enough, he decides.

“Okay. Just…just wait here.” You’re gone before Peter can grumble some smart remark about how he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to.

When you reappear, your arms are full with soaking wet wash rags, a box of wound cushions, and a cheap spool of gauze. His arm is lazily thrown over his head to provide some sort of shelter from the bright lights. The bleeding has slowed down just the slightest, but it doesn’t instill much confidence.

A timid exhale is pushed from your lungs and you warn, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It might hurt.”

“Nothing I can’t hand—oh, mmm!”

You’re immediately pulling away, the rag in your hand tinged with crimson.

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure you before you can even apologize. It comes out strangled. He’s sitting up straighter, his muscles are tense, his fists are clenched beside him, but he keeps whispering it like a mantra. You’re not sure if he’s saying it for you or for himself. Maybe both.

“It’s okay,” you repeat softly. He hums.

The mumbled phrase spills over your lips every time he flinches away from your touch. It spills over his lips whenever your brows pinch in response. It echoes through the store until the beige cloth becomes red and you’re wrapping the gauze around his thigh.

He selfishly wishes you knew his secret just so you could patch him up from now on. You’re so gentle, you’re doing a much better job than he usually does. It helps that even the thought of having you around makes every worry melt away.

You’re tying off the wound and smiling to yourself with a sense of accomplishment. It’s infectious, it has Peter smiling under his mask. “Done!” Clearing your throat, you stand up and reach your arms down in an offer to pull him up with you. “You need to learn to stop getting on people’s bad side, Spiderman,” you jest.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Taking your hands, he’s staggering up and once he’s settled, puts his hands on his hips. “I think some people are just too sensitive,” he argues.

He feels miles better now, but you’re beaming at him and it makes his brain feel all fuzzy all over again. You bend down to grab the leftover materials and stick them out towards him. “For your leg. On the house.”

“Thank you,” he replies simply. He takes them from your hands, with a smirk hidden away from you. It’s such a measly offering. The box of dressings is practically empty, the gauze is tiny and already unraveling in his hands. But he’s feeling an electric current rush through his limbs and spark a fire in his chest all the same.

“Yeah…” As if a lightbulb ticks on over your head, your eyes brighten and your smile is wider, if that was even possible. “While you’re here,” you start, turning away from him and towards the counter to retrieve your phone. “My friend Peter, he um…he’s never gonna believe me, but I wanted to know if—”

The sound of the overhead bell makes you whip your head back around to see the bodega is completely empty. No evidence of any wounded superhero barging in after hours besides the bloodied floor. Before you can feel dejected, the reality settles in once more.

You just saved The Spiderman from bleeding out in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Hey Angel - Harry Styles

a/n: since i had so much time on my hand at work lately (not anymore unfortunately) i used it wisely and cooked up this PA themed fic bc i absolutely love this trope. it’s lengthy and kinda emotional? kinda, lol. hope you’ll like it and as always, feedback is much appreciated!!

warning: sexual content

word count: 11.5k

masterlist

Harry likes to pretend he is tall enough to comfortably rest his chin on the top of your head when he stands behind you, but that’s not true. He has to push himself a little to his tippy toes and push you down at the same time to fit his chin above you, his arms weighing down on your shoulders. You stopped arguing him that you need to push your hips forward when he does this so you don’t carry his whole weight.

“Tha’s rude, you do not have to do tha’!” he defended himself every time you brought up, so you just stopped.

Now as you watch the game of air hockey unfold in front of you, a half empty pint in your hand, you don’t even budge when you feel a chiseled chin resting on the top of your head, you push your hips forward without a second thought to shorten your height. You catch a glimpse of a tattooed forearm on your shoulder, Harry’s chest presses against your back gently.

He doesn’t stay in this position too long, it’s making it hard to drink so soon enough, he wraps his left arm around your shoulders, coming to stand next to you, sipping on his tequila on the rocks.

“Hey you,” you smile at him as he gives you a side look, a boyish smirk tugging on his pink lips. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.”

“You need something? How much have you had to drink?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows, looking down at his glass that was certainly full when you last saw him about ten minutes ago.

“Shush, stop pretending like you’re working,” he waves at your face, his words melting together, definitely thanks to the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“I know I’m not working, I’m just tryna’ be your friend and look out for you.” Bringing your own drink up to your lips, you give him a look, but he just smirks at you playfully.

“Uh-huh, whatever. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you, H,” you sigh dramatically and it makes him laugh with his head falling back.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m some spoiled brat celebrity you ‘ave to babysit for your living? And that I always do ridiculous shit so you ‘ave to keep an eye on me at all times?”

You can’t push your smile down at how far this statement is from reality. You just like to tease him about being a typical, asshole rockstar when he is literally your favorite person in the world without a doubt.

“Oh Angel, you can’t fool me,” he cackles, squeezing you to his side before taking another sip from his drink.

“Wouldn’t even try to,” you mumble with an amused smile. “Havin’ fun, birthday boy?” you ask, leaning into his side. You would never admit, but you love how touchy Harry can get sometimes, not really caring about physical boundaries, especially when he drinks. The hugs, the squeezes, the touches, they always make your heart flutter even after knowing him for years.

“I’m havin’ a blast. What about you?”

“What about me? It’s not my birthday,” you chuckle shortly.

“So what? I can’t make sure you’re enjoying your night?” he frowns at you dramatically that just makes you laugh.

“I’m having a great night. It’s just that my boss keeps coming after me even though I’m supposed to be off the clock.”

You peek up at him to see the grin on his face at your teasing. The dynamic between the two of you has been like this since day one. The constant bickering and teasing is what really brought the two of you close, you are so similar, it’s like you can see a male version of yourself when you look at him.

“Tell the dude to fuck off,” he mumbles into his drink and you bump your hip against him, but he just holds you tight to his side as an answer.

Soon enough, Harry joins the game and you watch him play from the side, obviously cheering on his opponent to annoy him, earning some pretty dirty looks from him whenever they score against him and you let out a “woho!” in victory.

“Y’know, it’s not too nice to cheer against the birthday boy, is it?” he calls you out when the table is taken by someone else and he joins you at the side again.

“Am I not allowed to choose who I want to cheer to?” you ask with a faked puzzled look and he presses his lips into a thin line, glaring down at you intently.

“Don’t test me, Angel,” he grumbles into your ear before walking off to join his friends who came out to celebrate with him today.

It’s a pretty lowkey celebration, since he is still in the middle of filming Don’t Worry Darling, so he couldn’t really travel far from the set, but some of his dearest friends were able to come here and celebrate with him and his cast members.

You stand at the bar and your eyes find him every time you scan the place, not able to keep your gaze away from him for too long, he just demands the attention. Or at least yours.

You’ve never met anyone like him. When you got the chance to be his personal assistant four years ago at the very beginning of his solo career, you never thought how he’ll move right into your heart and never leave it. Whether you look at him as your boss or your friend, you can’t deny that he changed your life and you’ve learned so much from him, you can only hope he thinks of you somewhat the same. However you always tell yourself: what could you possibly give for The Harry Styles? He has everything in the whole wide world.

Harry catches you staring and he arches a brow at you, abandoning the conversation he has been in for the past minutes, mouthing you “what’s up, Angel”, his accent thick even without hearing his voice.

He’s been calling you Angel for longer than you can remember. When you asked him why the nickname, he said it’s because One Direction’s song Hey Angel was written about you. It was a fat lie, you haven’t met him when the song was written, but his words still tightened your chest, playing with the thought of Harry writing a song about you.

As cheesy and cliché as it is, you fell for him faster than you’d like to admit. You tried to fight it for a while, convince yourself it’s just a silly crush, but you soon had to realize you outgrew that after the first few weeks working with him. How could you not fall for him? He is everything any woman could wish for and he has you wrapped around his fingers, just like he has half the female population, probably.

You shake your head in his way, not sure how to tell him you just got lost in your thoughts about him. In fact, he occupies your mind pretty much all the time, but he doesn’t have to know about that.

He excuses himself from the table and walks up to you, a slow breath leaving your nose as you watch him approach you.

“Tired?” he asks, stopping in front of you, placing his empty glass to the counter.

“Kinda,” you nod.

“Want to head home soon?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can just call a taxi and go home, you don’t have to come.”

“Don’t be silly, we go to the same place, obviously we’re gonna go home together.”

Since filming has started, Harry and you’ve been sharing a nice apartment near the set. It was his idea to rent a place for the two of you, rather than to stay at a hotel. At first you didn’t think it would be a good idea, but of course, he convinced you to live with him for the months while the movie is being filmed. So now you basically live with Harry, share pretty much all your living space with him, except your bedroom.

“But it’s your birthday, stay as long as you want,” you tell him, not wanting to snatch him away from his friends on his big day.

“We’re filming in the afternoon tomorrow, can’t drag the night too long either way,” he shrugs, trying to make you believe it’s really nothing.

No matter how badly you try to convince him to stay, he doesn’t bulge and starts saying goodbye within an hour, calling the two of you a car to take you home. He is clearly tipsy, but not drunk. Once you’re in the car, Harry’s hand finds yours and he pulls you closer in the backseat until your thighs are pressed together. He curls an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to his side, sinking down in the seat. You let your head rest on his shoulder, enjoying the closeness of his body, pressing down any worrying thought that usually makes its way to your mind every time Harry gets a little cozier than the usual.

The rational side of your brain knows you should be keeping some distance from him for the sake of your own sanity and emotional health, but you just can’t. Denying these little moments from yourself would be like pure torture and your heart can’t take that for sure.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, his nose nuzzling into your hair and you just shrug your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you mumble your lie.

“Liar, I can hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours,” he grins down at you as your eyes lock for a moment. Thank God for the darkness in the car, because you can feel your cheeks heating up. The last thing you need is for Harry to see how nervous he can make you feel with just a simple compliment.

“Stop being nosy, you don’t have to know everything all the time.” You poke his side with your elbow, it makes him jump a little before he snuggles back to your side.

“That’s not true, you know I’m entitled to hold every knowledge in the world.” He tries to hide his smirk, but he fails miserably and you just laugh at him with your head falling back to his shoulder.

“Harry Styles, you are something else,” you sigh shaking your head at him.

Arriving home Harry keeps an arm around you as you walk up to the front door, fishing your keys out of your bag since you’d bet Harry didn’t bring his. There’s a chance he hasn’t even used his copy since you’ve been here, he knows you always have yours and you haven’t really left without each other so far, always staying around the other.

“Want to shower first?” he hums, walking inside, his arm leaving your shoulders and though you feel lighter without the extra weight, you wish it was still there.

“Go for it, I’m gonna clean up the mess I made when I got ready earlier,” you tell him, heading into your bedroom where the floor is littered with half your wardrobe from earlier, when you were trying to figure out what to wear for the little outing.

Harry disappears in the shared bathroom and a moment later you hear the water running. You go around your room, picking up the dresses you voted against, placing them back into the wardrobe and then you put away your makeup you left on your bed in your hurry.

“Bathroom is yours!” Harry calls out just when you finish, you hear his bedroom door open and close so you grab a clean oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts before occupying the bathroom.

The warm shower feels nice, it’s been a long day since you started on set, Harry had a few scenes to film before you could leave in the afternoon. You wash away the day, scrub your makeup off and then take off the rest with your wipes once you’re out. You brush your hair and use some lotion for your dry skin before getting dressed and leaving the steamy bathroom.

Padding down the short hallway you hear nothing coming from Harry’s bedroom and you wonder if he’s already asleep, but once you step inside your room you see that he is cozied up on your bed, your covers pulled up to his naked chest, a pillow tucked under his head as he scrolls through his phone so shamelessly, as if it was his own room.

“Did you take the wrong turn in the hallway?” you ask with an arched eyebrow as you throw your dirty clothes to your temporary hamper, which is basically your emptied out suitcase.

“Nope,” he grins smugly, you have to roll your eyes at him. He locks his phone, dropping it to the side table, watching you move around, getting ready for bed and his eyes on your figure feel like they’re burning down on your skin.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you comment not even looking at him, but you just know he is still staring at you. Grabbing a hairtie from the little dresses in the corner of your room you reach back to loosely braid your hair, but his voice stops you.

“Wait,” he pleads and you furrow your eyebrows at him. “Can I do it?”

You give him a confused look as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, his green eyes are glimmering from the tiredness and the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“You want to braid my hair?”

“Yeah,” he nods. You hesitate for a moment but join him on the bed at last, turning your back against him, giving him full control over your hair.

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers raking through your strands. He is so gentle and careful as you feel him section your hair off to three parts.

“Didn’t know you can braid,” you tell him, eyes fixated on the sheets in front of you.

“Gemma taught me, but I’m not the best at it.”

“So I’ll look atrocious?” you tease him smiling to yourself. He pokes the back of your neck with his fingers before continuing his work.

“You could never look atrocious, even if you tried.”

“And you are such a flirt,” you sigh. Over the years you’ve gotten used to his flirty act, it’s just who he is and though in the beginning your breath always got caught in your throat when he said something cheesy, now you just brush it off, only thinking about his words when you are alone in the night, struggling to fall asleep because you’re once again, thinking about him.

“M’telling the truth. Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?”

“Mmm,” you hum. He has told you that you looked pretty when the two of you left and he saw you walk out of your room in your black skinny jeans and flowy sheer top on, your hair loosely curled, but you didn’t really know what to say, so you just smiled at him and it’s the same now. You’re not the best at taking compliments.

“You really did. You always are.”

“And once again, you are such a flirt.”

“Complimenting a pretty woman is being a flirt?” he asks pretending to be offended as he carefully works on your hair and you wish you could see his focused face as he is trying to keep track of the sections between his fingers. At a lack of a witty comeback, you just shrug your shoulders, fumbling with your fingers on your lap.

You both fall silent as he concentrates on your hair and you manage to stop thinking, just focus on how his fingers keep brushing against your back every time he crosses two sections over each other.

“Hairtie, please,” he asks, his hand appearing next to you with his palm upwards. You place it in his hand and he finishes up his masterpiece. “There, it didn’t turn out as bad as I thought,” he comments once he is done. Reaching back you run your fingers over the braid and it feels good, he did a great job.

“Thanks,” you smile at him shyly, turning around. He leans back, making himself comfortable once again and you arch an eyebrow at him. “Need me to walk you back to your room, sir?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine here,” he grins smugly, tugging his arm behind his head as he takes up the right side of the bed.

“You’re planning to sleep here?”

“Please, don’t make me sleep alone on my birthday!” he pouts, giving you those damned puppy eyes. How could you ever say no to him?

“You better not push me off the bed in your sleep,” you mumble before getting under the covers.

You turn off the bedside lamp and the two of you start moving around, finding a comfortable pose to sleep in and you end up facing each other on your sides, Harry’s face squished into the pillow as his eyes are roaming over the hand you have laid between your faces.

His fingers start to inch towards yours until he hooks his pinky with yours, the touch sending a warm feeling down your spine.

“I hate sleeping alone,” he mumbles into the semi-darkness.

“Why?”

“Don’t you like it when there’s someone next to you? When you wake up and you’re not alone?”

“I like it, but I don’t hate sleeping alone either,” you tell him as your eyes fall to your linked pinky fingers. “Why do you hate it? You have the bed all to yourself, and there’s no chance of waking up to someone snoring or talking in their sleep.”

He huffs out a laugh as he buries his head deeper into the pillow.

“It makes me feel lonely. Which is ridiculous, because I’m never alone.”

“But lonely and alone are not the same, so it’s not ridiculous. You can feel lonely when you’re not alone.”

“I know,” he nods, his eyes watching your linked fingers intently, before he moves his hand so it’s now covering yours, his warm palm wrapping around your much smaller hand. “I’m never lonely with you, though.”

“So… you are only lonely when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom, because we basically spend every moment of the day together.” You smirk at him and see his dimple form in his cheek as he smiles at you nodding.

“That’s right. We are like glued together.”

“How aren’t we sick of each other already?”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“You sure about that?” You raise your eyebrows at him with an amused smile, he is too sure about that answer.

“One hundred percent. You’re my favorite person.”

“Is that what you tell everyone?”

He gives you a look, but you just chuckle, sinking further into your pillow. His fingers start playing with your hand as he draws a deep breath.

“I only tell this to m’ mum and Gemma. No one else.”

Your heart starts racing at the thought of him seeing you on the same level as his closest family. You know how much his mum and sister mean to him, but you never thought you are anywhere near them in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite person too,” you whisper as your eyes meet over your joined hands. He smiles at you warmly, his floppy curls falling into his forehead and you want to run your fingers through them, feel how soft they are under your touch. Harry scoots closer, your faces only a few inches away from each other as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

For a moment you just watch him, thinking how good it feels to have him in your bed. How amazing it is to end the day with him so close to you. You wish all days would end like this, you wouldn’t have another bad day with him next to you.

Lying there and watching him slowly fall asleep, his hand still on yours, the bitter thought eats itself into your mind that he is only here because he feels lonely and wanted to be close to someone, not you particularly. And though you’re glad it’s you he ended up next to, you try not to get too accustomed to the feeling, because you’re just a temporary fix to his loneliness.

The door to Harry’s trailer opens and he walks in wearing his blue dress pants and crispy white dress shirt, fumbling with the top buttons to undo them. You glance up at him from your laptop where you’ve been working on his schedule for the upcoming weeks while he was filming.

“Hey, how did it go?” you ask as he places his water bottle to the vanity and then sits in the chair he spends his mornings in while his hair is being styled and tattoos are covered.

“Good. Messed up only a few times. Whacha’ working on?”

“Just your schedule, I’ll email it to you when I’m done, though you never check it.”

“Hey, I do check it! I like your color coding. I just suck at using it and you’re always here to remind me of the important stuff.”

You roll your eyes, continuing to type away on your keyboard as he moves around, having a snack and texting back people.

“Florence is coming over for a little after we’re done. We can order something,” he speaks up grabbing your attention again.

“Cool,” you nod with a small smile. “Is she staying the night?”

“No, we just thought it would be nice to hang out a little without dressed like this,” he chuckles looking down at himself.

“What’s wrong with Jack’s clothes? You look neat.”

“Do I?” he cocks an eyebrow cheekily, placing his hands to his hips as he looks down at you.

“Yeah. It’s a nice change after all the grandpa clothes,” you tease him and he gasps pretending to be offended at your words, though you both know you have nothing against his style. In fact, you love how he just wears whatever he wants, not caring what others would think.

“Watch your mouth or you can’t wear my bode jacket again,” he warns you holding up his pointing finger, shaking it at you, but you just chuckle at him, finishing up what you’ve been working on before shutting the laptop down.

“How long until you’re done?”

“Just a few more scenes. I think we can leave in about two hours.”

“Alright.”

“You done working?”

“Mhm, for now.”

“Come and watch the filming. You’re always so hidden in here.”

“Because I always have work to do,” you point out, putting the laptop to the side from your lap.

“Yeah, but you’re done now, so come out and watch me be the next Leonardo DiCaprio,” he smugly tells you, and it makes you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re so humble, H. Is something that comes with the age?” you tease him standing up from the small sofa, grabbing your phone from the table.

“You’ll find out in a year,” he smirks back as you follow him out of the trailer, back to the set.

Later that day you, Florence and Harry are chilling back at your apartment, munching on the pizza you ordered, watching some documentary on Netflix, just enjoying a lazy evening. You’ve become quite close with Florence, her personality is a lot like yours so you got along well from the beginning, the three of you often do things together outside of set.

You and Harry are sharing the couch while Florence is curled up on the loveseat. The temperature at the apartment is always nice, but you often catch yourself feeling a little cold in the evening, but it has more to do with the tiredness rather than with the heating of the place. When you pull your legs underneath you to warm your feet, Harry notices the action and knows right away that you’re starting to feel cold as always. Reaching down he grabs a blanket from the basket next to the couch and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbles, draping the blanket over the two of you. You shuffle closer to him, making yourself comfortable at his side as he makes sure you’re fully tugged in. Then he leaves an arm around you, his fingers gently grazing your shoulder as he turns his attention back at the movie.

Glancing over at Florence you see the puzzled look on her, but you ignore it biting into your bottom lip, turning back to watch the movie though you’re having a hard time focusing. All you can think about is Harry’s touch on you.

It’s almost midnight when Florence calls herself a taxi. Harry picks up the glasses you used and volunteers to wash them, leaving you and Florence alone in the living room.

“So, what’s up with you and Harry?” she questions right away without beating around the bush.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you two has always been close, but now… it seems all too… couple-like.” She narrows her eyes at you, hands on her hips, looking like a mother questioning her daughter.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” she scoffs. Then you pretend to be busy with folding the blanket, but you can feel her intent stare on you before she speaks up again. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What?” you huff with a not too Oscar-worthy expression on your face that was supposed to hide the panic in you. “Well of course I like him, he is my friend and boss.”

“But not just like that. You like like him.”

“Florence,” you sigh, just when Harry walks out of the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation that he just interrupted.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night?” he politely asks her, but she just shakes her head.

“I’m not really up for spending the night on the couch.”

“You wouldn’t have to, you can sleep in my bed,” he simply offers and something is telling you he shouldn’t open his mouth again.

“You’re not taking the couch because of me.”

“I wouldn’t, I usually sleep at Y/N’s,” he states as if it was nothing, but you instantly freeze.

Yes, ever since his birthday he has spent way more nights in your bed than in his own, always raving to you how well he can sleep when you’re next to him and you couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling lonely, so you’ve been letting him occupy half of your bed through the nights. He usually holds your hand falling asleep and then you wake up tangled together, sometimes he is cuddling you from behind, other times you’re the one curled up to his side. He treats it so casually, like it really is nothing, he just always goes on his day when you wake up so you decided to not make it into a big deal either.

Florence gives you a wide eyed look that you try hard to ignore, while Harry is so oblivious to what he just caused with his statement.

“I uhh—thanks but I’m fine going home. Besides, I think my car is already here. See you guys on set tomorrow. Y/N?” she calls out walking towards the front door.

“Hm?”

“We’ll talk later,” she tells you and it’s a strong message that she won’t just leave it at that.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you nod awkwardly, waving her goodbye.

You and Harry clean up together and as always, he is the first one to use the bathroom and by the time you’re done, he is in your bed, waiting for you to join him. You don’t comment on his presence anymore, part of you afraid he would stop spending the night in your bed and you definitely don’t want that. Not much is left from filming, meaning that soon you are forced to go home where you and Harry do not live at the same place so you’re gonna have to sleep alone, like you did before. Only now you are way too hooked on the feeling of having him in your bed, even if it’s not in the way you truly want, it’s better than nothing.

The moment you get under the sheets, Harry reaches out and pulls you to his side. He hasn’t done this often when you went to sleep, only sneaking some small touches, but you don’t mind him being a little extra clingy.

“Filming is almost over,” you mumble into his chest, your hand lazily resting where his ribcage ends in his chest.

“Mhm.” There’s a short silence before he speaks up again. “What about it, Angel?”

“It’s just that it’s going to be weird going home. I got used to living here.” It’s your way saying that you’re gonna miss having him around all the time, but you’re not sure if he understands the hint. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

“You like cramped together with me?” he chuckles lowly.

“Was kinda nice,” you smile.

“Remember how you threatened me to throw my shit out if I leave my dirty clothes on the floor?”

“I do,” you smirk, thinking back to the conversation where you agreed to live with him while he is filming. “Didn’t find any clothes on the floor, so you get an A for that.”

“Wow, was this… a compliment?”

“Shut up, I always compliment you!” you laugh smacking his chest gently.

“Oh, no. You don’t compliment, you just tell me when I managed not to fuck something up,” he corrects you and your cheeks are heating up about how well he knows you.

“Those are compliments in my book, don’t be greedy.”

“M’not. I love how grounded you keep me with treating me like this.”

“Like what?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows.

“Like a normal person. With you, I don’t have to be afraid that I earn something because of who I am. You give no shit about my name, you always keep me in check and I appreciate that.”

“Can’t let you have a too big of a head,” you smirk, closing your eyes. He laughs with you, squeezing you a little before you both fall into silence, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

You’ve managed to avoid Florence in the past few days. Her burning look has been making you way too nervous, you know she wants to know more about what’s going on between you and Harry, but truth to be told, you have no idea what to tell her.

Yeah, I’m definitely in love with him and we’ve been sharing a bed for a few weeks because he feels lonely alone at night, so he uses me to ease the feeling while I just let him because as I said, I’m in love with the man.

No, you can’t tell her that.

Now there’s only two days left from filming, meaning that only two more nights to spend with Harry and it’s making you a nervous wreck to think about sleeping alone in your bedroom.

You round the corner in the maze of the trailers after a phone call you had with Jeff when you run out of luck and bump right into Florence.

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N. Come have lunch with me in my trailer,” she smiles sweetly, grabbing you by your hand so you can’t escape her this time.

“Oh I wanted to call—“

“Do it later,” she simply cuts you off.

Soon, you find yourself in her trailer as she eats her burger while she eyes you with suspicion.

“So, you and Harry sleep together?”

“Well, not like that. We really just sleep in the same bed.”

“Oh, makes perfect sense, sleeping in the same bed as your boss. Very casual.”

“Don’t make it sound so weird,” you frown at her words. You definitely don’t see Harry as your boss. You do work for him, but it never felt like he stands anywhere above you, the two of you have always been equal even before you became close friends.

“You gotta admit it’s pretty unusual,” she points out and you just look away from her. “So let’s talk about how you’re in love with him.”

“What? I never said that!” you protest, but she just gives you a look that says ‘cut the crap, girl’ and you know there’s no use to try to trick her, she sees right through you. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, I have enough shit on my plate without your judgment.”

“Oh, I’m not judging you. I’m just wondering why you two are not together already.”

You practically snort at her statement, finding it quite absurd and ridiculous.

“What? You two are perfect for each other and I’m pretty sure Harry loves you too.”

“Yeah, as a friend.”

“That’s not how friends act, Y/N. He wouldn’t beg himself into your bed every night if he was just your friend.”

“He is just lonely. He doesn’t need me, just someone to be with him.”

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffs. “You two are just being idiots.” Just as you are about to answer, your phone starts ringing. Harry’s smiley face appears on the screen, making you extremely nervous because of the conversation you are having with Florence.

“Hey,” you breathe out answering the call.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Just, talking with Florence. What’s up?”

“I got an email from Jeff and I have some questions.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Thank you Angel,” he hums before ending the call.

“I gotta go. Please don’t… bring any of this up for Harry,” you ask Florence, heading to the exit.

“You’ve gotta sort your shit out. This is not ideal, Y/N.”

“I know it,” you growl under your breath, leaving the trailer. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you march back to Harry’s trailer. You feel so confused and anxious about this whole situation and the worst thing is that you have no idea what to do about it. Telling him how you feel seems like a stupid idea, but mostly because you’re terrified of rejection. What if it all meant nothing to him? If you were right and he is just lonely and uses you to help himself, it has nothing to do with you. You wouldn’t survive the heartbreak it would give you if he told you he doesn’t see you more than just a friend.

As you walk into his trailer he is sitting on the sofa with his phone in his hands. He glances up at you, a warm smile tugging on his lips as you take a deep breath, feeling very much out of place suddenly. Unfortunately, he immediately senses your discomfort.

“Everything alright, Angel?”

Angel. This nickname could make your knees go weak in a heartbeat and you hate how much effect it has on you. Especially in this state of mind you’re currently in.

“I just…” You shake your head shutting your eyes. “Why do you keep calling me that?” you ask, sounding way more desperate than you intended to. Harry puts his phone aside, looking a little puzzled at your sudden weird act, but he seems more worried for you.

“I, uhh—“

“And don’t tell me it’s because Hey Angel is about me. We didn’t know each other back then.”

You have no idea where this is coming from or why you even questioned him about it all of a sudden, but Florence just totally threw you off with what she just said. Harry stares back at you, probably vigorously looking for the reason why you are acting up now, but luckily, he doesn’t try to turn it into a joke as always.

“I call you Angel, because you remind me of the song. It wasn’t written about you, but the lyrics match up with… you.”

“What?” you ask in confusion.

“I wish I could be more like you, do you wish you could be more like me?” he quotes the song, not singing the words, simply just talking them as he stares back at you. “I see you at the bar, at the edge of my bed, backseat of my car, in the back of my head,” he continues and you feel your throat doing dry just from the way he softly speaks, standing only a few feet away from you. “I come alive when I hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound, it’s a beautiful noise.”

You never really gave it another thought, but now that he has told you this, it hit you hard in the chest. You weren’t expecting, especially because those lines are rather meaningful, to you at least.

“I thought of it once not long after we first met and thought calling you Angel would suit you. Do you mind it? I can just… stop calling you that if you don’t like it.”

You shake your head. You never want him to stop calling you that even if it’s not that meaningful for him. If it’s just some game. It’s great to know that something reminded him of you.

“No, it’s… it’s alright.” Your voice is small, barely more than just a whisper. It’s a little too much at once. Florence’s words are still stuck in your head, and what he just said has felt like he just gripped your heart even if he doesn’t know.

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to come back from this hazy state of mind.

“So, what about that email?”

“You alright?” Reaching forward he takes your hand and you try not to flinch at his touch, just smile at him nodding.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He squeezes your hand before dropping it and he luckily doesn’t ask any more questions.

 You stay oddly quiet for the rest of the day and Harry surely knows something is wrong, but he respects you enough not to bug you about it any longer. He just stays close to you as much as he can, trying his best to take your mind off of whatever keeps you occupied.

On the way home you and Harry drop by a supermarket, buy some quick dinner, not wanting to stack the fridge when you’re leaving so soon. Then you sit in the living room, eating and watching some random movie that’s on TV. You snuggle to his side on the couch naturally, he doesn’t even have to pull you close this time. The thought of having left only one more night in the apartment makes you want to sue every little moment you have left in this bubble.

Harry makes you have a shower first tonight and when you come out from the bathroom, your bed is already nicely made, inviting you warmly. He is quick to finish with his shower and joins you in bed barely five minutes later. You move towards each other instantly, his arms curling around your form soothingly as you make yourself comfortable, melted into his embrace. You feel his lips pressing against your forehead and you almost start crying at the small action.

“Angel, I don’t know what has upset you, but I’m here for you, alright? You’re not alone,” he murmurs softly.

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I would do anything for you, just like you do so much for me. You’ve got me.”

I wish, you think to yourself. You have him, but not the way you’ve been desiring. His hand moves to cup your face as he lifts your head so you are looking into his eyes in the darkened room, but there’s enough light coming through the window that you see his features. He runs his thumb across your cheek, gently caressing your skin and everywhere he touches you, it feels like your body is in flames. This something has been building up inside you and now you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to control yourself. And just as you think about how you really should put some distance between the two of you so you won’t regret it later, the unexpected happens.

Harry pulls you up just enough so when he moves his head he is able to place his lips on yours, kissing you out of the blue. His lips feel so soft, so fitting on your mouth, you let out a whimper when he goes further than just a gentle kiss, taking your bottom lip between his properly. It’s an out of world experience, you’ve imagined it so many times, but you never thought it would actually happen and now that it is very much happening, your whole mind goes blank and for a split second… everything feels right. You kiss him back with fever and with each passing moment the kiss grows more passionate and way hungrier than how it started. Harry’s arm tightens around you, almost pulling you on top of him and you can’t make yourself stop, not that you want to.

With a little force, Harry pushes the two of you around so now you’re lying on the mattress and he holds himself up above you, his lips never disconnecting from yours. He licks into your mouth, pulling and tugging on your lips, making your whole body go weak just for him.

But then, as if reality hit you in the head, you realize what’s happening.

“Harry,” you gasp pulling back, gasping for air. “This—We…”

“Angel, let me take care of you. Please,” he begs out of breath.

“What…”

“I want to make you feel good. I want to take care of you, please let me.” He sounds so desperate, like he would do anything for this and you are not strong enough to deny it from him.

It’s just his pity. He’s been using you for his needs, now he wants to give some back, it’s nothing more, you think to yourself. It can’t be more.

You lack the willpower to make a rational decision, so as you stare up into his eyes that appear so dark due to the lack of proper lighting, you just nod before he leans down and kisses you again.

He holds himself up on one arm while his free hand wanders down your body, touching you at places you have never felt him before. He palms your left breast, squeezing it gently and it makes you moan into his mouth before his hand moves down the curve of your waist until it reaches your sleeping shorts. Your body is burning for him and you can’t stop it from reacting to everything he does. You buckle your hips up when you feel his fingers gently graze along your pubic bone, even though you’re still fully clothed.

“What do you want me to do, Angel? I’ll do anything you want me to,” he pants between kisses as his hand moves to cup your heated core, making you moan again from the sensation of his touch there.

“I need you,” is all you manage to get out.

“I’m right here. You got me. What do you want me to do? Please, tell me, Angel,” he whines, forehead pressed against yours and his hips fall, pressing against your thigh, making you realize how excited he has gotten. His erection is hard under the fabric of his boxers, almost aching to be freed. There’s no way you can take any teasing or a long foreplay. You need him inside you now before you burst.

“Harry, I need you inside me. Please,” you whimper, almost cry, before he kisses you again, hard and demanding as he simply pushes your shorts down, revealing your naked sex since you don’t wear any underwear to bed. You grab the waistband of his boxers too and push it down until he can wiggle his legs out of them, leaving him completely naked in your bed while you still have a top covering your upper body, however he is quick to change that. He grabs the hem and starts pulling it off, your hands helping him so a few moments later you’re completely naked underneath him.

“Fuck, Angel,” he breathes out, his perfect, pink lips attacking the side of your throat, kissing and nibbling on the skin, going down to your breasts, giving the same amount of attention to both while you turn into jelly under his touch. lacing your fingers through his hair you cry out his name as you can feel him leaving a mark on your left breast, his tongue swirling against the spot he just completely destroyed before he brings himself back up so he can kiss you again and again with so much hunger, it’s hard to tell where you end and where he starts. Everything melts together and you’re such a mess in every possible way.

His hand gently reaches down between your legs and parts your shaking thighs before he cups you drenched pussy, his middle finger sliding between your folds, a shameless moan slipping from your mouth, right into his as your lips are still attached.

“So wet, I can’t wait to make you feel good, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

“Harry, just… please,” you pant, surely feeling yourself lose the last bits of your nerves.

“D’you have a condom?” he asks, head lifting up a bit so he can look into your eyes.

“I-In my, um, the makeup bag,” you try to explain gesturing towards your dresser where your makeup bag sits on top, two condoms somewhere inside it. Harry pecks your lips before pulling away from you, the lack of his weight on top of you making you shiver.

He digs into the bag until he finds what he’s been looking for, tearing the packaging open with his teeth and he rolls it on while he walks back, not wasting another moment. You cling onto him like a koala bear once he is back in bed, his massive body covering you again.

“Just tell me how you like it, I’ll do anything,” he mumbles against your shivering lips as he pushes the head in first, stopping for a second before the rest of his cock buries inside you, completely taking your breath away. He is bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, filling up every inch of you, your walls stretching around him as he stills once he is all the way inside you.

This is it. This is the moment you’ve imagined oh so many times, feeling him the closest possible, his cock buried inside you, his cheek pressed against yours as he holds himself up on top of you. Years of yearning and endless nights when you imagined your hand was his… and now it’s your reality. And though you know it’s gonna change everything, you can’t tell yourself to stop.

Harry lifts his head, pecking your lips gently, calling you Angel over and over again as he starts moving, the friction between your legs growing with each thrust. He fits inside you so well, you won’t be able to enjoy sex with anyone else now that you’ve experienced it with Harry. All of a sudden, he has become the epitome of your whole life.

“Tell me what you want, Angel. Do you want me to go slow or fast? Tell me how to make you feel good.” His lips brush against yours with each word while you’re just trying to catch your breath, fingers digging into his back, the euphoria building up inside you gradually.

“A little faster,” you breathe out, speaking feels like a hard task at the moment. Harry picks his pace up, finding just the right rhythm that makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can go even deeper with each thrust he makes.

“Look at me, Angel. Let me see your eyes,” he begs, his hand cupping your cheek. He runs his thumb along the line of your lower lip before he takes it between his lips, tugging on it gently, kissing you like you’re his last breath on Earth. He is devouring you, body melts together with yours, all your senses are strictly focused on him. He is all you see, hear, feel and taste.

Your gaze meets his and the way he looks at you, like you’re his whole entire world, it makes your eyes tear up. You want it to be true, you want it to be reality, you want it to be more than just about needs and satisfaction, but it’s not and your consciousness is not letting you believe otherwise.

“Oh Angel,” he softly hums, wiping away a tear that escaped the corner of your eye and ran down the side of your face. Keeping up his rhythm he kisses along your jawline, your cheek, your lips, the side of your face, the bridge of your nose, everywhere he can before returning to your lips with a hungry, passion filled kiss.

“Harry…” you whimper, holding your thighs tighter around his waist as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

“Let it go for me, Angel. I wanna see you feel good, cum for me,” he tells you, eyes never leaving yours as you are ready to burst underneath him.

“Harry, I-I need you!” The words fall from your lips as a desperate beg, arms wrapping around his torso tight, as if he could disappear from your embrace any moment.

“I’m right here, Angel. Right here,” he soothes you, kissing your lips sweetly as proof that he is not just a trick your mind is playing on you. “Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” you pant, losing control over your body and all your senses. It’s gonna be intense, you can tell and it hasn’t even started yet, you just know it’ll shake you to the core.

“Good girl. Let me make you feel good.” “So good,” you breathe out before Harry occupies your lips with his once again.

It doesn’t take long. He keeps thrusting in the perfect angle and it throws you right over the edge. Harry demands you look him in the eyes when your orgasm wash you over and the intensity of it all almost makes you cry again. You burst, lose yourself under him, screaming his name as if you were praying to all higher forces. In a way, you are, because for a moment you really think you completely vanish from this world.

Harry follows you just a few more thrusts later, falling out of his rhythm as he grunts and moans your name, face buried into the crook of your neck while you tug on his hair, the feeling of his soft locks between your fingers is like pure heaven.

He stills, but stays inside you as he looks up, his eyes filled with satisfaction and contentment as he cups your face again, kissing you long, taking his time with you.

As you come off your high and the clouds of euphoria clears off, reality sets in more painfully than ever. Your limbs are paralyzed and you feel like you are outside your own body, just watching everything happen as if you were a third person in the room. Harry rolls to the side, chest heaving wildly as he is trying to regulate himself. Once he is able to breathe without panting, he pecks your shoulder gently and makes a quick round to the bathroom. You hear water running and then his feet padding on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to move, you just lie there, completely drained out. It doesn’t change even when Harry gently cleans you off with a damp washing cloth, throwing it to the side to take care of it in the morning. He pulls the covers over the two of you and scoops you into his arms. You manage to bring your arm up to his chest as your head rests on his shoulder. His fingers are dancing up and down your arm, his steady breathing keeping your overcrowded head grounded. And then… he starts singing so softly, it’s almost just a whisper.

“Hey Angel, oh, I wish I could be more like you. Do you wish you could be more like me?”

Your eyes shut close, the damn tears flooding again, but you keep your sobs drowned in your throat. Instead you force yourself to sleep and hope you live to see the morning, because you feel like your heart is about to give up on you.

 When you wake up, you genuinely feel like you’ve drunk through last night and now have the worst hangover. It’s like you’ve been hit on the head with a chair. You slowly come to your senses and realize that you’re completely naked in bed and there’s a body curled to your side, equally naked.

The shock sets in first because you realize, once again, that what happened last night wasn’t just a fever dream, it actually happened. And then you basically jump out of bed when you look at the small digital clock on the bedside and see that the two of you have ten minutes to leave if you don’t want to be late to the last day of filming.

“Harry! Harry get up!” you smack him, kicking the covers off and grabbing your top and shorts from the floor, quickly putting them on. The man in talk growls, just rolling to his back without even opening his eyes. “Harry damn it! We have ten minutes or you’ll be late!” you snap at him and it somewhat wakes him up. With furrowed eyebrows at puckered lips, he lifts his head up and looks around.

Those lips were kissing you last night.

“What?” he mumbles in confusion.

“We overslept, get up. We have… eight minutes left.”

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath, finally getting out of bed, reaching for his boxers.

It’s a shitshow as the two of you try to get ready on time and though you are running just a few minutes late, the driver of the taxi manages to speed down the streets fast enough that you arrive to set just in time.

During the whole ride, you feel Harry’s burning eyes on you, but thank God, you get a call from Jeffrey the moment you get into the car and it lasts the whole ride so you don’t have to talk with him about what happened last night.

“Y/N,” he tries when you’re still on the phone and he is already done with hair and makeup, heading to set to start filming.

“What?” you mouth at him.

“Can we talk later?”

“I’m busy. Go, I’m sure they are waiting for you,” you whisper to him and he looks so disappointed, but he nods and walks away. Your heart breaks as you lower the phone. You have been out of the call for some time, just didn’t want to talk to him.

Quite frankly, you’re not ready to talk to him about what happened last night. You don’t want to hear him say that he was just trying to help you out last night, that it wasn’t anything serious, just some messing around. It was just two people trying not to feel lonely.

Walking back into his trailer you can feel your chest tightening, a sharp pain shooting right into your heart the more you think about him. It was a mistake, you shouldn’t have done it because you are the one with the feelings and now you are the one struggling with the consequences of your little get together.

The more you think about it, the worse it gets and you feel like you’re about to suffocate. You need to get out of here, there’s no way you can face him now.

It all happens so fast. Before you can even second guess your decision, you’re on your way back to the apartment to pack all your stuff and get on the first flight back home. You need to put distance between you and him, spending one more night in the same apartment would make you go nuts. So while Harry is filming, completely oblivious to what you’re doing, you pack up your room as fast as possible and head to the airport to hop on the plane that leaves at four pm.

With a racing heart you check all your baggage in and make it through security when Harry first calls you. At first, you want to ignore it, but then you find yourself swiping your thumb across the screen.

“Hey,” you shortly greet him.

“Hey, where are you? Have been looking for you everywhere.” “I um… I’m at the airport,” you answer and the silence on the other end is deafening for a moment.

“You are at the what?” he then snaps.

“I had a, um, kind of emergency, so I’m heading back home now. Sorry, I would have called you, but didn’t know when you’d be off set.”

“You fucking packed and left already? You’re really at the airport?” He is fuming, Raging. You can tell he is pacing in the trailer, vigorously running his fingers through his hair, ruining it without a care. You almost feel guilty, but then again, you just know facing him now would break you. You’ll get back to him when you’ve pulled your shit together.

“I am, calm down, alright? Not a big deal.” “You just left on our last day here without a fucking word! And when am I seeing you again?”

“I, uhh—I need to be home for a while, but you’ll be fine. I’ll stay in touch with you in email and text.”

“Fucking text? Email?” he is barking now. Good thing you are not there because it would be a disaster. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. We-we were supposed to talk. You can’t just fucking disappear like this.”

“We’ll talk, alright?”

“When?”

“Later,” you simply tell him at a loss for a better answer. Hopefully, never, you think to yourself, but don’t say it out loud.

“Okay, you’re not doing this. Don’t you dare get on a plane, I’m going to the airport right now. You’re not leaving.”

“Well, I am and you’re not coming here,” you clap back, but you can already hear him moving around, probably gathering his stuff so he can leave right away.

“Swear to God if you get on that plane, I’m—“ He cuts himself off, no idea what to really say and you just sigh, closing your eyes. People rush by you and as you glance at the big screen you see that your plane is boarding.

“Harry, just… it’ll be better like this, alright? You’ll be fine, I’ll see you… when I see you. Have fun on your last day on set.”

You end the call before he could get another word out and put it on airplane mode right away as you grab your backpack and head to your gate.

Using your time on the plane wisely, you put together a very detailed schedule for Harry so he knows everything about his next few weeks and you can minimize your contact with him. You even set up a bunch of reminders in his calendar so he won’t miss his appointments.

When you set feet on the ground again, you expect the distance between you and Harry to feel comforting and freeing, but it’s the opposite. An ache in your chest is getting heavier as you get yourself a taxi and head home, feeling more alone than ever in your life.

Your home doesn’t feel like a home. Not without that one person who could make any place your home, but you can’t see him right now, not until you learn how to exist around him without the urge to faint.

Going to bed alone is pure torture. Every moment you are waiting to hear Harry shuffling around in the apartment, you miss his little snorts when he is watching the TV, his singing coming from the shower, but most importantly, you miss having him so close to you in bed. Now that you’re lying on your own, your bed feels so cold, it brings you tears as reality sets in. You miss him. You miss him more than anything and you can’t imagine a time when it won’t hurt anymore.

The crying pushes you into a shallow slumber sometime in the middle of the night, however, you’re rudely shaken back to consciousness when you hear someone banging on your door like crazy, pushing the doorbell constantly.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble with a grimace, pulling a hoodie on as you make your way to the door hazily, probably still half asleep because you open the door without checking who it is through the peephole and you end up staring up at none other than Harry. “What the—What are you doing here?” you breathe out, panic sets in fast and your hands start shaking at the sight of him.

Harry steps inside without invitation and closes the door behind him, a stern expression on his handsome face.

“Y/N, what the fuck were you thinking when you left like that?”

“I-I told you, it was an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency? Because I called your mom and sisters, they all said nothing happened in the family, so what could possibly happen that needed you here immediately?”

“I don’t have to explain shit to you.” Shaking your head you try to step back to put some distance between the two of you, but he doesn’t let you, taking a step forward at the same time.

“Well I think we have a lot to talk about after last night, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to talk,” you shake your head biting into your bottom lip. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why couldn’t he just stay where he was? “How did you even get here so fast?”

“Left as soon as we wrapped.”

“Where are all your stuff?”

“Left everything there, I’ll just go back and pack it up, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that for a girl who genuinely hates any form of working out, you ran pretty fast from you today.”

Any other day you would have laughed at his comparison, but not today. You just stand there, chewing on the inside of your cheeks as you try to figure out what to do or say. You were not ready to face him so soon.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask desperately, throwing your hands into the air.

“Tell me what it meant for you,” he calmly answers and you want to shake him. How is he so peaceful?

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m not doing this to myself, okay? I need time, Harry.”

“For what?”

“So I can get myself over this, alright? I need time, I—fuck this,” you growl, feeling the tears flooding your eyes again. Damn it!

“Why the fuck do you want to get yourself over it?”

“Because it obviously didn’t mean the same thing to me as it meant to you!” you snap at him and he raises his eyebrows at you in a way that tells you “you’re stupid”.

“What do you think it meant to me?”

“Probably nothing,” you scoff rolling your eyes, but the anger that bursts from him quickly washes your attitude away.

“Fucking nothing? You think I would get on a fucking plane first thing after filming for ten hours straight just to come after you? You think I spent all my nights with you these past weeks because you mean nothing to me? You know, for a smart girl, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

You blink at him in utter confusion, his words knocked you off your feet. He exhales sharply, long fingers running through his messy curls as he tries his best to calm himself down. When he is finally breathing somewhat normally his wildly vibrant green eyes meet your widened stare.

“Y/N, I thought we were on the same page. What did you think it was all about?” he softly asks, seeing how shook you still are.

“I, uhh—I thought this was all just some kind of distraction. You said you were feeling lonely, I thought you were just… kind of using me. And then last night was you returning the favor.”

“Hell no,” he breathes out shaking his head as he steps closer and this time you don’t back away from him. You let his hands run down your arms until they find your hands. “I thought this was clear, but I’m gonna say it then. I’m in love with you, Y/N, have been for a long time, I was just being a pussy and didn’t know how you’d take it. But then, when you didn’t kick me out of your bed the first night we slept together, it got me hoping and it was all heading just the right direction. Then last night happened and I was so damn sure this would be our turning point but then…” He breathes out shakily again, as if the thought still upsets him. “When I called you and you said you were at the airport… I love you, Angel, but I was ready to murder you.”

You let out a faint chuckle, feeling the tears bubbling in your eyes.

“Why did you run away instead of talking to me? Did you not trust me?” he asks softly, a hand coming up to cup your jaw gently.

“I didn’t trust myself,” you admit weakly.

“Oh Angel…” Leaning down he kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips feel like soft feathers against your hot skin. “Do you need me to tell you again how in love I am with you or are you gonna believe me? You’re not planning to run away again, are you?” he teases you making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“I’m not gonna run away, but I would love to hear you say you love me again.”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Angel, don’t you ever think otherwise for a moment, okay?”

You nod, lips curling into your mouth as your teary eyes meet his green orbs.

“I love you too, Harry.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he chuckles breathing out in relief and it makes you smile. “I would never just use you. Love you way too much for that, Angel. You are everything to me.”

“Wish I knew that earlier,” you mumble with a bitter chuckle. It would have saved you a lot of tears.

“I will never stop saying it to you.” His forehead rests against yours, noses touching as his arms curl around your frame, pulling you close to him until you’re pressed up against his hard chest. “Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking when I told you, you reminded me of Hey Angel? Because I think it pretty much gave me away, but apparently, I was wrong,” he chuckles lowly, pulling back a little so he can look you in the eyes.

“I honestly have no idea,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. “I just had a conversation with Florence before that where she called me out about my feelings for you and I was still kind of in shock. Probably took it as just your usual flirty behavior.”

“I’ll admit I do flirt some, but haven’t you realized it’s different with you?”

“I guess not.” “Angel, you are… something else,” he chuckles in disbelief before leaning down he finally presses his lips against yours. You giggle into his lips, arms wrapping around his neck as he lifts you up from the ground, twirling you around, a squeal slipping from your mouth.

“So, now you have to go back to pack your stuff?” you question, still wrapped into his arms completely and you don’t want to exist any other way. This is where you belong.

“Yeah. Had to chase down this Angel who thought she could run away from me.”

“So how are you planning to get to New York by four tomorrow when you’re still here and have to go back to pack? Have you checked the schedule I sent you? You’re not gonna make it.” You cock your head to the side with an arched brow.

“Did you just go back to full assistant mode right after we confessed our love for each other?”

“Someone has to be responsible and we both know it’s always me.”

“I’ll just hire someone to do it for me, I’ll leave to New York from here. Happy?” he grins at you as you nod.

“Very. Because this means you can stay the night here.”

“Seeing the fact that I literally have nowhere else to go, because even my house keys are in the suitcase I left back… I very much need to stay here for the night,” he points out.

“Good. Come on, my bed felt empty without you,” you giggle, pulling him towards your bedroom and he follows you eagerly.

“I can definitely help that.”

 Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[uswntxfootball]

we’re just rivals (on the field) (leah williamson x chelsea!reader)

the “epilogue” / part 2 to we should be rivals

of course, the game she decided to come to was this one.

word count: 2418 ish

rated F for fluffy, I for idiocy (or injury), and C for charles.

——

it’s been about two weeks since you showed up to that arsenal game.

and about two weeks since you’ve talked to the english defender.

it wasn’t like you weren’t trying to talk, you just never had the time to.

training had been hectic for the both of you, and it always seemed like one was busy while the other one wasn’t.

“why do you look so blue?”

“jee maybe it’s because i’m wearing a chelsea shirt?”

jessie rolled her eyes before huffing:

“come on y/n you know what i meant.”

“do i?”

“you’re impossible.”

“no i’m y/n.”

“oh my god.”

you let out a loud cackle at jessie’s frustrated cry.

you ran your hands through your hair quickly, letting out a sigh of relief when jessie stopped questioning you.

truth is, you missed leah more than you’d like to admit.

you missed her flirty glances and slightly cocky demeanor, and it began to eat up at you a little bit.

by focusing on the task at hand, which was the upcoming manchester city game, you attempted to distract yourself from it.

it helped a little.

jessie could tell something was up, but after your previous exchange she stopped pushing it (for now) upon seeing your refusal to give in, and partly for the sake of her sanity.

you let out a sigh of relief when the whistle blew, signaling the end of training.

you grabbed your water bottle and jumped when you felt someone slap you on your shoulder.

“okay now spill.”

you turn to see jessie giving you a concerned look, the midfielder’s cheeks red and hair messy from the exertion of practice.

“you look like a sunburnt lion,” you snort, before taking a drink of water.

jessie scoffs.

“lions don’t get sunburnt. i thought you’d know tha-hey!”

jessie lets out a yell of protest when you spray your water in her face.

you shoot her a cheeky grin before making a run for it.

“get back here! y/n!”

~~

on the other side of the spectrum, leah felt the same.

she was however, less of a mess than you, and held it together much better than you did.

~~

you let out a little sigh as you stare at the tv.

there she was in all her glory, fuming and talking to lisa after a game, a sight which you rather enjoyed.

after all, it was kind of hot.

you rewinded that section for a little bit, and nearly shit your pants when you heard the apartment door open.

“hey i brought lunch what are you-“

jessie stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the tv.

she let out a snort when she saw you.

you were crammed behind the couch in a failed attempt to hide yourself.

“watching leah are we?”

you let out a grumble from behind the couch:

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

jessie rolled her eyes and you heard a rustle before letting out a yelp of surprise when her bag hits you on your head.

“you bitch you hit me.”

“yeah yeah whatever.”

you wriggle your way out from your “hiding place” and plop down on the couch, still rubbing your head.

“i think you made me lose a bunch of brain cells.”

jessie snorts.

“to lose them you’d need some in the first place.”

you growl and shoot her a glare before crossing your arms and huffing:

“i’m ignoring you now.”

the canadian rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“finally some peace and quiet around here.”

“you’re mean.”

“i thought you were ignoring me.”

“shut up.”

~~

the next game was a tough one.

manchester city was a tough opponent and you’re now realizing why.

it was chelsea’s first game against them since they signed the uswnt players, and good lord have they improved.

you watched from across the pitch as jessie was struggling to get the ball from white, your chest heaving slightly while doing so.

you were already exhausted and it wasn’t even half time yet.

your head snaps up when you see a movement to your right, and you took a quick glance to the stands to see the top of a red jersey peaking out behind a black coat.

that’s all you could see before your name was being called and you turned to receive a pass.

and then you got caught up in the game once again, too busy to realize what it meant.

chelsea went into halftime down 1-0.

your halftime talk was brief, mostly just emma giving quick pointers here and there.

when the talk ended and break finished, you were so determined and focused that you nearly walked into the door frame on your way out of the training room.

the second half was going just like the first.

the possession was deadlocked, opportunities were deadlocked, and if it continued like this manchester city would win.

so you decide to fuck it.

you’re getting this corner kick in no matter what.

as reiten prepared to take it, you positioned yourself right next to the keeper and the post.

just for a moment, you let your eyes drift to the stands, your eyes catching a blonde’s as you do so.

it took you a second to realize who that was.

almost instantly, butterflies tore through your stomach, and you barely miss the whistle signaling the corner kick.

just barely.

now you have to score.

leah’s here.

you have to.

reiten sends the ball into the box, and almost like magic it’s heading for exactly where you’re standing.

you could see roebuck beginning to grab for it, and you didn’t care, you were going for that ball.

just as your head makes contact with it, you hear a resounding crack and yours eyes start watering in pain as you hit the ground.

your hands were covering your face and you could taste blood in your mouth, but you couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

jessie’s hand and concerned voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“hey are you okay? what’s wrong?”

you groaned a little in pain and whispered:

“did we score?”

jessie let out a halfhearted eye roll before saying:

“that’s what you’re worried about? well you scored, but please don’t kill yourself trying to do that next time.”

you let out a soft chuckle before taking jessie’s hand and getting to your feet.

one of your hands were still covering your face, and when you put them down jessie lets out a surprised yelp.

“oh jesus! okay uhm we need a medic here!”

pretty soon you were surrounded by the medical staff, and taking one look at you they ask for a substitute.

there’s a ringing in your ears so you can barely hear snippets of the medical conversation, but you hear enough to know what’s going on.

broken nose. punched in the face by the goalkeeper. need to set it.

it’s when you’re being led off the pitch that you remember about leah.

your eyes widen and you turn to the stands, and you couldn’t tell if it was your angle or not, but you couldn’t see her anywhere.

you shook your head slightly and continued your walk off the pitch.

emma joined you in the room along with a few guys on the medical team, and said:

“listen, we can set your nose now, or we can wait until after the game. we’ll give you a few moments to decide.”

you give a nod and with that everyone left the room.

it was quiet for about a minute before you heard footsteps again.

“hey i haven’t…”

the rest of your sentence gets caught in your throat when you look up.

in the doorway stood the girl who’d been on your mind for the past few weeks, and you blushed a little at the sight.

“um uh i-how are you?” you managed to stutter out.

leah lets out a light chuckle before saying:

“shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

the defender walks up to you and gently places her hands on your cheeks, quietly examining your face.

“well it’s definitely broken,” she mutters softly, and in a sudden jolt of confidence you bring your hand up to cup hers in yours.

leah smiles a little at that and takes your hands down to rest in your lap.

“how did you get down here?”

leah blushes and smiles sheepishly:

“i may have had to sneak around a guard or two..”

“you wanted to see me that badly huh?”

leah gives a slight eye roll at your teasing tone.

“be careful, i could leave at any moment.”

you let out a loud laugh before wincing slightly, the action shooting a fresh wave of pain over your face.

“be careful, don’t want that pretty face to scar,” leah says teasingly.

“why would you like me less with a scar?”

“well i didn’t say that.”

you try to wink, only getting halfway before wincing in pain again.

it’s now that emma walks back in with the medical staff, who looks up in surprise when she sees leah.

“we can’t have visitors here-“

“have her stay.”

“y/n we really can’t-“

“nope she’s staying.”

your coach lets out a defeated sigh.

“fine.”

and you hear her mutter something that sounds like:

“i don’t get paid enough for this.”

leah shot you a look before letting go of your hand, much to your dismay, and moved to a spot next to you, out of their way.

“so y/n, did you decide t-“

“set it now.”

emma gives the medical staff a thumbs up and  the go ahead and glances quickly at you and leah with an expression of oh look, more gays, before heading out back onto the pitch.

a gruff voice focuses your attention back to the foreground.

“alright y/n, my name is charles, and i’ll be setting your nose today.”

you give an attempt at a snort, and wince before saying:

“sounds like you’re my waiter or something.”

charles gives a hearty chuckle, and as he examines your face says:

“this one’s got a sense of humor huh.”

you let out a wink in leah’s direction before saying:

“oh you know it.”

charles turns with his back to you, looking through his equipment bag and says:

“okay this might hurt a bit, so i recommend grabbing something, not me preferably.”

“do people do that?”

charles turns to you with a bit of tape and gauze in his hands and places them on the table beside you.

“like you wouldn’t believe.”

you let out a laugh.

“alright let’s get this over with.”

“okay then, since they still have a game going on, please try not to yell.”

you felt his hands on your face and you braced yourself for it.

“alright ready? on the count of 3.”

“1.”

“2.”

your hand shot out in leah’s direction and the defender took it without hesitation.

“3.”

charles moved his body with his hands and the pain was almost instantaneous.

still, you gritted your teeth as your eyes start to water, not noticing how tightly you clamped onto leah’s hand.

it’s only after when charles is wrapping your nose that leah whispers:

“i know we play football but i kind of still need my hand.”

“sorry,” you mutter, relaxing your grip, and at the same time refusing to let go of her.

“all righty! took it like a champ, you didn’t even yell.”

you shrug before saying nonchalantly, “yeah i’m not much of a screamer.”

you grinned cheekily when you notice leah’s eyes widening and cheeks reddening.

as charles was packing up his stuff, he asks:

“so is this your girlfriend?”

it was silent for a few seconds, and charles turns to look at the two of you.

“i’m sensing like a we’re friends but we flirted a bit and now we don’t know where we stand kind of a vibe.”

you and leah speak at the same time.

“yeah.”

“exactly.”

charles picked up his bag and said:

“i figured. anyways you guys look cute together, and i’m gonna go back to the game now.”

and with that said, he gave you a little wave and walked out of the room.

“well he was fun, i liked him,” you said to leah, who smiled and nodded a bit in agreement.

the two of you chatted about meaningless things for a little while, before you shot up suddenly and pulled her with you.

“come on, let’s get out of here.”

leah scrunched her eyebrows up in confusion.

“where are we going?”

you grin at her.

“well i promised i’d take you on a date if you came to my game didn’t i?”

leah’s cheeks flush a little and she says:

“w-“

jessie’s voice cuts leah’s response short.

“y/n! how are you doin-oh.”

the canadian’s eyes flickered between your face and leah’s face, before moving towards your joined hands.

a teasing smile made its way onto her face and before you could stop it, jessie stepped forward and began talking to leah.

“hey, i’m jessie, also y/n’s best friend, you must be the one who-“

you let go of leah’s hand and cut in with a pitiful attempt to stop her from talking.

“NOPE I’M GOING TO LEAVE IM-“

leah crossed her arms and watched the two of you with an amused smirk plastered on her face.

“got y/n, a diehard chelsea fan i tell you, to-“

“NOPE NOPE NOPE JESSIE LETS NOT-“

“buy an arsenal jersey. yours to be exact.”

you groaned and your face flushed red with embarrassment, closing your eyes and turning to face the wall.

you spun around and took leah’s hand, dragging her out of the room while flipping off jessie.

you hear jessie yell from behind you:

“love you too y/n!”

it’s when the two of you made your way out of the stadium when she says:

“so an arsenal jersey huh?”

your cheeks flush redder and you mumble:

“shut up.”

“i’ll bet it looks great on you,” leah added with a wink.

“it’ll look even better on your bedroom floor,” you retort.

leah’s eyes widened a little as her face became blood red.

“what?”

you grin cockily.

“nothing!”

leah just looked at you in utter disbelief.

[aboardthehavocmarauder]

Beautiful Mischief [Pt. 3]

Bad Batch x Reader • Angst/Fluff/NSFW (yknow the whole deal) • Mechanic [hidden Jedi] ! Reader • Female reader

Fall on your knees, sweet girl

Sweet girl...

——

“SHES A FUCKING JEDI”

“And how the fuck would you know that?”

“HER PETITE FUCKING ASS CANT TAKE DOWN A TREE IN A SINGLE PUNCH”

“You think she used the force?”

“She did! Don’t believe me?! Wait till the next incident”

Y/N frowns outside the cockpit hearing Cross talk about what he saw with Hunter and Tech. She straightens up when Echo came into the common area seeing the angered look on her face. He didn’t say a word. They stood in the silence and Y/N felt overwhelmed all of a sudden causing her to leave the room, before he could reach—-

“Don’t touch her Echo. We don’t know what she’s capable of” Tech states witnessing what just happened as Echo gave him a worried look.

——

“You’re taking on a Padawan? You know what Anakin turned out to be. You think you’ll produce a normal one?”

“They are Anakin’s age now. Not a child. I believe I can train them to be the best”

“A little late to find a force sensitive being”

“I didn’t find her, she found me”

“I trust you Obi Wan. But—“

Don’t be surprised by the hardships

——

Wrecker finds himself in the storage compartment looking for extra ration bars in their food supply when he saw Y/N sitting on the ground propped up against her crate staring at the ceiling.

“Hey?” He tilts his head confused seeing the redness in her eyes and swollen cheeks. “Hey Y/N...what’s wrong?” He decided to sit with her waiting for her to respond and if she didn’t, he would’ve stayed as a comfort.

“I’m a monster Wrecker”

“What? I don’t think so”

“Crosshair does, he’s telling everybody what he saw in the forest. Just another monster in this galaxy full of darkness”

“Okay now that’s a lot of talk. I’m going to need context”

“He didn’t tell you? None of your brothers did?”

“Honestly I ignore what most of them say” Wrecker laughs as he handed her a ration bar seeing her take the offer.

“I worked on your ship for a year before you decided to add me on this journey with you all. Then it’s been six months and as much as you’re all close with one another...I don’t think I’ll ever been looked at normally ever again”

“Y/N...from the time with the scar thing. Scars are scars. It was stupid of us to push you to tell us what happened. As for this recent thing. Speaking for myself, I don’t care what you are. You’re Y/N. A badass mechanic that knows a lot more than we expected. And if shit changes. Who gives a fuck? Imma still like you for you. Besides. Half of my face is a scar and I don’t give a fuck” Wrecker smiles hearing her laugh a little, feeling better.

——

“Two lightsabers? Ha! This will work nicely for you young apprentice”

Y/N stares with grey covered eyes standing still like a solider as the dathomirian receives the kyber crystals for the hilts before handing the new and improved sabers to his mindless slave.

“You’ll receive a new look. Keep you hidden away from the so called Jedi you used to call your family. Little do they know your parents died and adoptive sister left. Or you left her. I’ve always wondered why you did so”

“I wanted to become a Jedi, Odious...” Y/N says groggily before freeing when he started to force choke her. “I’m sorry sir...”

“Mmm. Are you truly, sweet girl?” He smirks pushing her against the wall and keeping her there like a wall ornament. “We don’t want you to remember to good old days...we need information and you will kill for it if it deems necessary” Odious laughs squeezing his hold hearing her choke. “You will kill if they won’t expose their secrets. We will take down the Jedi council”

Soon Y/N dropped on her side feeling the cold ground turn into a cold surrounding. Feeling like death was crawling in but she quickly stood to their feet seeing Odious’s accomplices approach her to start the appearance change.

No one said it was pain-free

——

Returning to Coruscant, Y/N thought she was being dropped off but Hunter assured her it was for Echo to receive some simplicity with his brothers in blue.

Even the clones need to go back to their home.

“You coming?”

“No”

“But come on. The mess hall will have more of those ration bars you like” Wrecker adds as Y/N stayed glued to her seat feeling a weight grow in her chest when she sensed him. “Y/N?”

“I can’t Wrecker...I know we’ll be here for three days but I’m safe here”

“Well you know where we’ll be” He smiles being the last stepping off the ramp as it closed behind him.

But it didn’t take until nightfall for Y/N to step out and take a look at something that over came their thoughts.

——

“You’ll be staying”

“No Obi-Wan”

“Y/N you’ve come so far. Why give up training now?”

“Your master was a grey-Jedi because he didn’t believe in the rules the council had held accountable on us all. I can’t live in a cult that doesn’t want me to seek out for more in my life”

“But you can—“

“I’m not becoming a whore of the Jedi council all because I can fuck every man that steps into the facility. I want to fall in love. I want to be free. Free from my personal burdens. Reunite with my sister. Go home. I won’t be corrupted Obi Wan. You can keep your tabs on me if you like. But I cannot be here”

“Y/N. Please”

“Take a look behind you Obi Wan, and what do you see?”

Obi Wan turns around to look at the city of Coruscant erupt in colors and volumes of plenty. He was about to say something but when he turned around.

She was gone

——

And now she’s returned

Y/N stepped into the quarters she stayed in during her time there. The nostalgia started to hit when the familiar feeling returned.

“Leave”

“Y/N—“

“Leave me alone” She frowns clenching her fists. “You shouldn’t have come out of whatever corner you were in”

“Y/N it took courage for you to come back inside this place. Please just let me spe—“

Obi Wan suddenly hit the wall outside of her room as she stepped out quickly leaving.

“General I heard—“ Cody stopped talking seeing Y/N and his General on the floor, triggering him to take out his weapon. “You stay right there”

“Don’t hurt him Y/N”

“I’m not a monster like you Kenobi” Y/N frowns lifting her hands and before Cody could even do anything, she booked it in the other direction.

“What the—“ Cody started chasing after her as Obi Wan quickly gets on his feet following in suit after the two.

Having no obstacle in the way made it easy, until Cody called in reinforcements from Rex and a few more from the 501st.

“This—“

“It’s Y/N. Why would Cody—“

“Cody explain?!”

“Cody stand down for maker’s sake” Obi Wan states. “You can’t just—“

“They—“

“NO” He snaps as the distress in his voice made Cody finally stop thinks but the actions still confused his brothers. “Now leave. All of you. Except Y/N”

As the sun sets on today

We’ll never know about tomorrow

——

“General Kenobi. New information has come up”

“What about this time Cody?”

“About fugitive x. You said to dig up anything on them and we got something”

Obi Wan turns to Cody seeing the information on the datapad and taking it, leaving to process this all.

Fugitive X

Name: Y/F/N Y/L/N

Found in the streets of the black market wielding duel lightsabers. Nothing life threatening. But they were found with a kyber crystal that was floating around in the market.

“This...isn’t giving me anything...” Cody frowns flipping through the pictures and finding the video from one of the street cameras of them taking out a knife and suddenly—-

Fuck

——

“Why didn’t you come back once you escaped?”

“Why would I?”

“What do you mean...”

“Just because you had spies in my life to keep tabs on me. Doesn’t mean they saw everything. You......” Y/N stops talking as she brings her knees to her chest staring out in the scenery as Obi Wan sheds his robe to be comfortable around her just enough. “You...you lost your master. Imagine that pain, but with your humanity, sanity...”

“Y/N, what happened?”

“A lot...”

A lot that nobody knows

Until now

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

fearless - a close reading

this is louis speaking from the heart, getting so honest it hurts. good thing these lyrics are not directed at me bc wow i would be brittle. it’s louis the strong leader shining through, the wise older brother who gently offers advice when someone he cares about is going in the wrong direction. yea ig i did that sorry 

i care about this one a lot, and genuinely it’s just another fucking banger, so here we go.

walls, track 8

*playground noises*

Cash in your weekend treasures  For a suit and tie, a second wife

(another inconsistency with louis’s album booklet: there it says “cashing” - imp “cash in” makes the most sense, since otherwise there wouldn’t be a sentence)

“weekend treasures” - earns money over the weekend? has fun? good experiences? or is it sarcastic and is “you” just escaping for the sake of it

“cash in”: exchange your fun life for the one in a suit with a wife - living a double life

“suit and tie”: trope of the businessman with the family living a lie (- she)

superficial - looks, image of someone who has their shit together

Now I’m not saying that you could’ve done better Just remember that I, I’ve seen that fire alight

i’m saying you can be better though. i’m an old friend, i know you, and i can see now that your fire has been extinguished

Tell me, do you, tell me, do you still remember feeling young? Tell me the truth, tell me, do you still remember feeling young

conversation; louis is pressing the matter gently, repeating his question with added “tell me the truth” bc “you” is lying, to louis and to themselves

“you” can live a lie all they want but louis sees through it and won’t take them lying to him too. louis wants to get the truth out of them in order to help them

always “young” - old friends, lifelong experiences

And strong enough to get it wrong in front of all these people?

“you” is not being strong atm, though they used to be

“enough” - implies that the challenges and expectations are high and it takes a lot of strength to handle them

“you” is afraid to fail, and though they used to be resilient enough to get back up when it did happen, they lost that will to fight

“all these people” - who are they? an audience, watching? people judging them? “these” also implies they’re still there, and also that they’re close to/ (perhaps) watching louis - otherwise he would’ve used “those”

general “they” on walls, always with the eerie connotation of people judging, exercising influence

“wonder what they’d say if they could see us now” - wmi

“don’t know why they put all of this on us when we’re so young” - wmi

“when they said a love like this would never last” - too young

“and they’ll say, ‘i told you so’” - only the brave

Just for tonight, look inside and spark that memory of you Strong enough to get it wrong in front of all these people

stop ignoring yourself, for once

this person has thoroughly lost themselves: they need to spark the memory first, since that “you” is buried so deep down

“spark” - “fire alight”: keeping up the metaphor of this person’s personality and life force as fire, burning bright

Fearless, fearless Fearless, fearless

remember when you were fearless? 

come on, babe, let’s be strong, proud, happy

Now if happiness is always measured By the life you design, that car on the drive

a life by design: fake

material possessions won’t bring you happiness, although “you” seems to be chasing happiness in that direction - got priorities wrong

louis’s own mentality about happiness shining through: it’s all about staying true to yourself, that’s when you’re truly happy

Then you should feel better than ever But you know as well as I, it’s all lies

“we’re in the same boat” - louis knows about this side of life: trying to chase happiness through wealth + living a lie

the life you have as a celebrity is not real: the riches, the attention, the stories; but “you” has lost sight of that, lost themselves in it - started living the lie without staying grounded in their real self, like they used to

implication that a celebrity always leads a double life, no matter what, and the way to stay sane is to keep that split in check, keep those lives separate

Tell me, do you, tell me, do you still remember feeling young?

SYNTHESIS

In Louis’s own track by track, he stays very close to the lyrics (for once) when explaining what the song is about. Additionally, our Peter Pan says that it’s about “encouraging youth and a little bit of recklessness.” *act my age starts playing*

This definitely reminds me of Louis’s relationship with a certain someone, but I’ll leave that in the middle. (There’s so many interpretations that I won’t interfere with your own findings, or my own future findings for that matter. I’d honestly love to hear whatever you think about this song!!)

In any case, Fearless is interesting in how it tells a story about someone else, someone Louis is speaking to and knows well, while it reveals a lot about Louis too. This “you” that has lost their way, lost their spark, has gone down a path that Louis could have gone down too, and maybe he almost did, or even tried out for a bit. Louis is full of patience and understanding, because he knows how hard it can be. He also knows, and says, that it’s necessary to keep re-evaluating yourself and what you’re doing in order to not get lost. He knows how easy it is to lose yourself and lose sight of what really makes you happy. It’s what he’s been singing about throughout the entire album.

Here, his friend, who he’s talking to as if he’s an older brother, almost, seems to have given up the fight without meaning to. What that fight is, in specifics, is something we’ll never know, of course, but Louis is still very revealing. Money, a second wife? If there’s one thing celebrities have said is how easy it is to lose yourself once you’re in the limelight. The attention, the money, the whirlwind of press surrounding you, a manufactured image to keep fans and labels/... as happy as possible... it sounds like hell to try to stay sane. If you have a network of people around you who genuinely care about your wellbeing, you might succeed in keeping your feet on the ground, but not everyone is that lucky. “They” might not have your best interests at heart, which is something Louis seems to have a lot of experience with. 

Being a celebrity and staying sane as a someone in the public eye involves this image that’s all lies, but Louis seems to be saying that there’s no way around it. He’s definitely been vocal about how the industry is full of shitty experiences, Copy of a Copy of a Copy as a loud example of that, but he might be saying that the public image, the front that the fans and outsiders believe in, is necessary to be able to maintain some sanity, privacy, happiness. 

What “you” has been doing, though, is leaning into that life, that image, that focuses only on material wealth, looks, having the picture-perfect job and relationship, and has lost of who they are along the way. And Louis, their friend since a long time, is asking them to calm the fuck down and use their brain for just one second to see if they can even remember who they used to be. (Honestly, if someone would ask me that? If I could spark the memory of me? I would burst into tears and sob until I was dehydrated. Seriously wtf.) 

So, I definitely think there is truth in what Louis said in his track by track, but it digs a little deeper than just asking his friend to take life less seriously. As usual.

I hope the person who this song was directed to got the message and perhaps also made the decision to spend some more time with his old friend Tommo, bc he’s on the right side of things here. (As I think he usually is.) And he’s got their back.

[minor-solemnity]

Never Gonna Give (You Up) pt.2

(content warning: some smut)

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure.

Riddle is unusually quiet as you lead him away from the party. His eyes are focused firmly on the ground, as though he’s worried that if he doesn’t watch his step, he’ll stumble. You watch him out the corner of your eye, taking in the slight sheen of sweat, the way his skin, save for the raw acid burns on his chest, is even paler than usual, his pinched expression. “You know, I’m surprised you’re not screaming bloody murder,” You say, trying to keep your voice light and casual and not like you’re about to start panicking over the state of his chest. “I always thought Slytherins were a bunch of posh crybabies.”

You suppose it’s good to know that Riddle is not so injured that he can’t summon up the strength to glare at you. “And I always thought that Gryffindors were meant to be chivalrous and honourable but the way you looked when Slughorn asked you escort me to hospital wing suggests otherwise.” He snaps and you feel at once both indignantly angry and… guilty. You feel guilty. And you hate it.

“Oh please, you’d be as annoyed as I was if the roles were reversed. Because of you, I won’t be able to meet Beaufort and having her as a character reference is essential if I even have a hope of becoming a curse-breaker. You know as well as I do what’s waiting for me after Hogwarts otherwise.” You say, all the sorrow and frustration you feel over your missed opportunity leaches into your voice and the grip you have on RIddle’s arm tightens without you meaning to. You’re not wrong either, wizarding society is still of the collective opinion that witches if they’re from a good family should be married off as quickly as possible, and if they’re not, are looking at jobs in retail and teaching. Particularly intelligent and insightful witches might be lucky enough to go into research and academia but generally, any witch wanting to do something a bit more exciting with their life is shit out of luck.

Riddle shoots you a surprised look like he hadn’t expected your response. To your own surprise, he doesn’t have a quippy retort ready to skewer you with and you walk the rest of the way to the entrance hall in stony silence.

You begin to move towards the staircase intent of getting him to the hospital wing as quickly as possible. Your reasons are twofold: firstly, with any luck, once he’s under the care of Madam Montague, you’ll be able to return to the party and hopefully be in time to at least make yourself known to Beaufort; secondly, Riddle, as much as he’s trying to hide it, is clearly in a great deal of pain. The slight tremor in his shoulders has turned into full-body shakes and his eyes, usually so sharp and erudite, are clouded in pain and have a far-away look to them. It’s unsettling to see him so vulnerable. You’ve spent so much of your time at Hogwarts wishing to see Riddle cut down to size but now you’re witnessing it, you find that you’re really not enjoying it.

“Come on, let’s just get to Madam Montague,” You mutter, trying to pull him along but Riddle won’t budge. In fact, he begins to stumble in the opposite direction towards the dungeons. “What are you doing? We have to go to the hospital wing! Riddle, you’re hurt—”

“I’m not going there - I have… I’ll be able to fix this if I can get to my dorm.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you can’t possibly fix this yourself.” You exclaim half exasperated half pleading. He fixes you with a glare that would be a lot more intimidating if, at that moment, he didn’t sway violently on his feet and you weren’t forced to steady him by looping both your arms over his shoulders. Riddle sags into you, his body pressing against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. The way your stomach clenches at the close proximity is entirely inappropriate.

“Just go back to the party, that’s clearly where you’d rather be,” You think he might be aiming for scathing but something horribly vulnerable has crept into his words. “Beaufort’s probably still there.”

The fact that Riddle is allowing you to leave, to enjoy the rest of your night, to maybe secure a job is… You feel… Odd. Confused. Sad. Sad that he thinks that you’d leave him to stumble back to his dorm on his own. For the first time since you’ve known him, you wonder if he’s ever had someone to rely on before. If the air of self-sufficiency and aloofness is something that comes naturally to him, or if it’s something he’s had to learn.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can barely stand up by yourself; I’m not going to leave you to potentially faint on your way to your dorm.” When you disentangle yourself from him and resume your journey and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat that you will not for the sake of your sanity interpret as disappointment. “Like you said: Gryffindors: known for our chivalry and honour.” And he must be delirious because he actually laughs.

The Slytherin common room is exactly what you imagined it would be: dark, luxurious, refined, and so unlike the cosiness of the Gryffindor tower. Thankfully, Riddle’s room is empty when you’re finally inside. He pulls off his ruined dress robes, leaving him only in his trousers. You avert your eyes out of respect for his privacy and not because the sight of his lithe torso is at all appealing. He manages to get to his bed and starts rummaging around in the chest of drawers beside it, leaving you standing in the doorway, entirely unsure of what it is that you’re supposed to do next.

Jar in hand, he more or less collapses onto his bed. Wounded as he is, he still manages to look outrageously good. The low light from the candelabra casts him in a muted, golden glow, adding colour to his complexion and softening the wounds on his chest. You swallow thickly and internally berate yourself for having such thoughts because this is Riddle, and even if he weren’t your sworn enemy, he’s still injured and hurting and that should be your first priority.

You watch as he struggles to open one of the jars for a second before you make up your mind. Summoning every shred of Gryffindor bravery you possess, you walk towards him, ignoring the look of sheer surprise and alarm that settles on his face as you stop in front of him. “Here, just let me— let me help,” You murmur, your breath catching in your throat because this feels… This feels intimate and new. You’re fairly sure that whatever happens next, your relationship with Riddle has been changed irrevocably. The seconds tick past and you just watch each other. The air seems to thicken around you and the atmosphere grows charged and tense with something that you don’t have a name for.

Slowly, he nods and you gently manoeuvre him so that he’s lying on his back, propped up by his pillows. Next, you reach for the jar that he’d been holding, unscrewing the lid and scooping some of the clear, jelly-like substance into your fingers. There’s an awkward moment when you try and figure out the best way of reaching his chest before you grit your teeth and straddle his hips.

Despite his current state, Riddle still manages to look far too smug for your liking. He raises an eyebrow and smirks up at you from your perch on his thighs. Despite the furious blush that creeps up your neck and along your cheeks, you manage to keep your voice steady as you say, “Don’t make this weird, Riddle.” He starts to chuckle lowly before it’s cut off by a gasp as you start to rub the salve on his wounds.

Your fingers brush against his chest and you find yourself entranced by how warm his skin is, how he tenses under your hands as though he wasn’t expecting and isn’t used to gentleness, how his breathing slowly evens out as the salve does its job and the burns start to scab and heal. A slow, curling heat wraps its way around you, making your heart stutter and your blood thrum in a way that is so deliciously intoxicating that you don’t even notice that your hands have travelled down his chest and are now skimming his sides, edging lower and lower to the waistline of his trousers.

You’re brought back to reality when he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, his dark eyes glitter in the dim candlelight and a slow, easy smirk curls his upper lip. He moves his free hand to your waist and he watches you closely, taking in every twitch, every shiver, every sharp, stuttering intake of breath. “So, I should go and let you rest…?” You hate the way it comes out as a question, the slight upturn in your voice revealing the nerves that tangle and twist inside you.

“That would be sensible, yes,” Tom agrees, even as his hand slides up your waist and along the curves of your breasts.

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure. He responds immediately, let’s go of your wrist to tangle his fingers through your hair, drags you closer until the spaces between you are taken over by the feeling of his body, firm and solid and sure beneath you. His other hand slips under your dress robes, gliding up your thigh and pulling the silky fabric up until it’s bunched around your waist and his hand splays across the swell of your arse, exploring and gripping and kneading. Every part of you that he touches is on fire and pleasure curls inside of you like bonfire smoke: rich and thick and all-consuming.

A moan escapes you as he rolls his hips against yours and he tugs your hair sending small shockwaves of muted pain and pleasure tingling down your spine. You pull away from him to catch your breath and for a moment you just stare at each other. His eyes are nearly all pupil and there’s a delectable flush spreading across his cheeks and there’s something else as well. It’s the way he’s looking at you, you realise. Turned on and hot and wanting, yes, but under all that… there’s something like awe in his eyes.

That alone is enough to make you reach down and start tugging at his belt, hands fumbling with nerves and then he’s kicking off his trousers and you’re pulling your robes above your head with a frantic kind of desperation that would surprise you if it wasn’t so fucking obvious to you now. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference and you have never been indifferent towards Riddle. Your clothes land in a haphazard pile at the foot of his bed, and suddenly his arms are around you and he’s flipping you over and pressing against you, grinding down as he sucks a bruise along the underside of your jaw before trailing kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud of one nipple. “So good,” He whispers into your skin, “Always knew you’d be so good for me.” And something inside of you sings at the admission, at the implication.

The franticness of earlier fades into something slower, though no less intense, and you take the opportunity to snake your hand down his body and curl a fist around him, stroking long and slow, revelling in the way he feels in your hand: heavy and hot and thick in. You are rewarded by a quiet, broken gasp and his fingers and tongue caressing every part of you he can reach. His fingers slip between your legs and you’re already so close to edge that all it takes is a few clever strokes and you’re tumbling into the ravine, back arching, toes curling and you’re dimly aware of him tensing above you and then he’s falling right along with you.

In the moments following, anxiety and uncertainty begins to creep through your afterglow, and you shift against him, unsure if you should gather your things and leave. You start to push yourself up but are stopped by a hand on your shoulder. Tom (because you should start calling him that, anything else feels like an erasure of what’s just happened, and despite the worry, you don’t want to erase this) gently pulls you back down, tucking you against his side as he runs his fingers through your hair. The anxiety fades and you fall asleep with your head nestled in the crook of his neck and his arm curled around your waist.

***

In the three weeks since Slughorn’s party, you’ve made several appearances in Tom’s dorms. There had been one particularly embarrassing moment when Abraxas Malfoy had walked in, rolled his eyes and muttered ‘finally. But also, gross’ before he'd made a speedy exit after Tom had threatened to poison his favourite peacock. 

You still argue and you’re still horribly competitive; you’re fairly sure that those aspects of your relationship with Tom are dyed in the wool by this point. But now he edits your essays and you bring him coffee when he spends too long in the library. You eat breakfast together. It feels good. It feels natural.

It’s over one breakfast on a nondescript Friday morning that the letter arrives. Tom passes it to you along with a mug of tea and you frown at the unfamiliar handwriting. You scan it quickly and your curiosity quickly turns into disbelieving excitement. “Christella Beaufort wants to meet me.” You whisper, eyes wide, hands shaking. “She says that she’s sorry she missed me at the party and that she’s available to talk the next Hogsmeade weekend. I… Tom, this is… How…?”

“I may have written to her explaining the situation.” He says, entirely casual, as though he hasn’t just made every wish you’ve ever had come true.

He really only has himself to blame when you lean over the Slytherin table, fingers wrapping around his tie and ruin a lot of people’s breakfasts by dragging him into a kiss.

(part 1)

[nightswithkookmin]

Hello there😊, wanna ask you a question that is roaming in my head!! and raising my anxiety. These days, we are only getting the videos and the photos that Hybe/BH wants to show us. Most of these are edited but sometimes I feel that something is wrong with Jimin(don't get me wrong). Like it's always JK who is showing much affection to Jimin but JM became kinda quite in Jikook. What do you think about it? Does Jimin want a break from their relationship or it's just because he doesn't want to show us the truth? ?

It's just my thoughts and these thoughts are giving me stress!! I love them so much🥺that's why I'm tensed.

Lolololololololololol

I agree with a lot of your observations here but do you really think JK acts like a happy bunny these days in his Fantasia side swoop strutting all over the place like a 1955 gay man because he thinks his boyfriend is about to break up with him???

Jimin is a bit introverted in my opinion and if you aren't used to seeing that side of him you might think something is off with him or that he is sad or angry or this or that every now and then.

Anything could be inducing his moods- including but not limited to his relationship with JK. Personally I don't think JK is the one leaning forward in their relationship this time around. It's Jimin.

Similar to how Jungkook is not always introverted. We could be reading that as him leaning forward in their dynamic if we not careful. As I've said a couple of times in my blogs no one is a 100% anything. We are all introverted to a degree or extroverted to a degree and sometimes with Jikook that plays out in their dynamic.

When you say lately it's always JK showing much affection to Jimin- I love it but

Don't let the PJMs catch you chilee. They finna jump you. Lmho.

JK does show love and affection to JM. That's a fact. Jikook is not a one sided relationship. So thank you for at least seeing that.

If you feel there's something off with Jimin then JK taking care of him and showing much affection to him should be the appropriate response. No? There is nothing wrong with him taking the lead and catering to JM especially since Jimin often gets berated and attacked when he does the catering to in their dynamic.

Let's normalize Jikook loving eachother.

Personally I don't think JK is the one leaning forward in their relationship. In spite of the introverted phase he is in, I think Jimin is the one piloting things this season post the October era. I mean it's pretty much obvious.

Jimin has been on his Jikook agenda for a hot minute now. Why do you think antis are mad?

Not to be that person, but I think I pretty much theorized when 'October' was happening that whoever was 'at fault' was gonna come swinging hard on their Jikook agenda when that phase was over. We are in the post October phase. Do the maths.

And I know a lot of people have been mad at Jk for acting 'cold' and and aloof, 'uncomfortable' blah blah blah but I just think he is just chill and laid back. He put the ball in Jimin's court and it's up to him to decide what they do and how they interact especially with their glass closet now and I think that's been weighing on him too. I'll talk more about this in the Minimoni post. Sigh.

For Jimin, he's gone through a phase of reevaluation and reassessment since October. He bought a second house. He's talked about cutting off friends, trying to find his voice or try new styles- something deep and melancholic, listening to emotional songs, working out, trying to build muscles etc.

There's a lot happening around him too. For one his members keep churning music in a language he is barely conversant in. That can be challenging especially for someone like him who doesn't like to do things half assed.

He is taking on new challenges- don't know how well he is or was mentally prepared for it. For someone like Tae and Jk who had already dabbled in English Albums and singles I think they are pretty much happy about the direction the band is headed in and were very much prepared to take on this challenge.

I think they are all challenging themselves as a group in this era.

I'm not sure how he feels about the others constantly talking about that they are old and can't do this and can't do that- Jimim is 25. I don't think he is that old. He loves his youth and loves to celebrate it and make the most of it. Young forever.

I can imagine the toll it might take on him to constantly hear that he is old and can't do this or that by his members and netizens.

He loves the stage. Loves to dance. I mean look at how hard he went with his dance in the PTD MV. Hopefully in 2022 things can go back to normal.

Bangtan went from we are getting old to we are fossils in 0.2 seconds it gives me whiplash.

What I'm saying is, there is a lot going on in his personal and professional life as well as his social life. All of that could be contributing to his mood lately.

As to whether he wants a break from his relationship I think he is the best person to answer that.

People who don't know what they want or who subconsciously want to end their relationships often self sabotage their relationships in their waking life. Sometimes too they are just insecure and immature and don't know how to keep the things they want and end up sabotaging themselves. I do think JM went through phases like that in the past- you know which eras I'm talking about.

But I do think he is in the drivers seat now and the ball is in his court to decide whatever he wants from their relationship and how he wants to work it.

I think Kook is equally in a place where he would be ok with whatever Jimin decides- granted he would shed a few tears and write sad songs if Jimin decides to break up with him. He and Taylor Swift about to be Bffs. Lol.

Wow, my chest hurts. Sweet baby Jesus bind Jikook together with some Gorilla glue cos I can't if they break up for good😭😭😭

If Jimin wants Jk to be doing the flowers and the trips and the birthday posts and the songs, and the coded tweets and Weverse posts, I think he would gladly do it.

I don't think Jk is afraid to speak Jimin's love language. If Jimin doesn't want him, his loss.

Please I'm hurting. I don't like that😫😫😫

Jk can be a lot. He can be intense and yes I do think that used to overwhelm Jimin sometimes especially when he was constantly lowkey high key borderline outing their relationship left right left every chance he got💀

But dude is repented😒

Like I said, I think he's been pretty much laid back and chill for a while now. Nothing intense and 'problematic.' You can tell he's been going out of his way to not fuck things up for his own sanity, the group's and especially JM's sakes. Why then would Jimin want a break from him🤺

FREE JK.

This don't look like someone who wants a break anywhere to me but I guess time will tell. You just never know with Jimin.

You let this man tattoo your initials on his ring finger scaring off potential suitors only for you to turn around and dump him that's just wickedness🙁

You have this man wrapped around your finger jumping through hoops literally for you what more do you want him to do???? He better not start his shenanigans. He is getting wedded to that man whether he likes it or not. They are doing the whole church and traditional wedding thingy I swear to God🤺

Do I have to remind him he promised to go to the Moon with JK? Sir don't trigger me this early morning.

I'm finna channel my inner tuktukker on him and drag him to the alter kicking and screaming. Jungkook deserves his happily ever after too. It's 2021. They both better leave that ghetto shit behind. I knew I should have ordered that Gorilla glue. The fuck!

GOLDY

[my-writings-and-musings]

henlo, i hope this one makes sense, but how about mtmte drift, rodimus and brainstorm (or at least just drift if thats too many!) with a human s/o (gender neutral pls!) who after hearing a compliment from their bots about them, the s/o's kneejerk reaction to to kinda laugh and say "u dont mean that" bc theyre so unused to genuine compliments? thank u so much!!!

It does make sense and it is extremely relatable so here comes some AFFIRMATIONS

Drift

"I love your eyes, have I told you that?"

You stopped, baffled, as soon the ninja bot's praise registered. Though his expression was certainly lovestruck enough to back up his words, the automatic response within you was starting up before you had broken out into a full blush. Your laugh was mechanical as you playfully waved a hand at his compliment.

"What's there to love about my eyes?"

Drift actually went quiet at your words and tilted his helm, expression going from confused to concerned before he spoke again. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. "Everything, Y/N. You have the most brilliant and gentle gaze..."

"Oh, I really don't know about that." you replied again, still going on reflex at his kind but baffling words. Praise was not something you knew how to handle, so brushing it off just felt more comfortable. His reaction was a confusing first to this strategy. Why did he seem so worried about your dismissal? Surely he was just playing, words like his were never directed your way seriously. Yet he didn't seem to be at all teasing as he frowned in concern, leaning forward on the desk to be closer to you.

"I don't know how to make this any clearer, but please know I'm trying to convey as much truth as possible in my aura; I adore everything about you, including your eyes. I mean that with every part of my being."

The intensity of his words distracted you so thoroughly you didn't even realize he'd taken your tiny hands into his, gently resting your palms between two careful digits as he looked to you with the earnestness of someone swearing an oath.

"I..." you gasped, unable to find any words. What were you supposed to say to this? No one had ever said anything in such a way to you before, and believing he meant it just... didn't compute? Standing in a kind of broken silence was your only reply.

Understanding as ever, Drift smiled, softly and reassuringly. "You're not used to compliments yet, that's okay."

For some reason you teared up, but more due to some emotional blockage being cleared than anything else. Nodding, you tried not to think on how few memories you had of receiving kind words. There was next to nothing you could recall. Ever the supportive one, Drift placed a tiny kiss on your forehead, whispering as he did so. Warmth filled your heart at the comfort he brought with so simple an action, and for the first time you actually believed what he had to say.

"We'll fix that in time, I promise."

Rodimus

"You have the cutest smile, seriously."

Sitting atop the chest of the lounging captain, your laugh at his joke was cut short by the unexpected praise, and on instinct you worked to steer back to levity. A hand on the back of your neck helped you think through the flustered fog.

"Ha, of course! Whatever you say!" you replied haltingly, adjusting fake problems with your hair to have something else to focus on. Unlike always, the fun loving bot chose that moment to be serious. Frowning softly, he looked down at you as you remained awkwardly seated on his chest, and you couldn't bring yourself not to look at his big blue optics. There was so much concern in those striking blue depths.

"Hey, I know I joke around a lot, but I mean everything I say about loving you." he said softly, a hand looping about your back to keep you sitting up. Blinking in thought, you felt your mind hit a kind of wall. There was just no reconciling what he said with what you knew you be true. There was nothing to love about how you smiled.

"I... I wouldn't know..." you mumbled awkwardly, not knowing what to do and more or less freezing up. Compliments were just... hard. What were you supposed to do with them? How could a bot who'd seen so much think so highly of you? The uncertainty of those thoughts frightened you, and your hands began to knead of their own accord.

"Should I show you?" Rodimus asked suddenly, getting energized in the way he did when he wanted to prove something. There was no time to ask for clarification before you were being pulled in for a kiss. Two hands cupped your back as he smooched your head with overdramatic noises, followed by a number of tiny pecks along your upper forehead. The action was so ridiculous you could only laugh. Rodimus continued until you were snorting at the silliness of it all, and only then did he pull back with a triumphant grin.

"There it is, best smile on the ship..." he said softly, brushing a finger over your squishy cheeks as he did so. The warmth of his physical affection didn't fade this time, and you found yourself holding the digit close as you left a kiss on the tip. He melted in an instant at the contact, taking on a far off dreamy look that made it clear he adored you. There was no denying this mech meant every sweet word he directed your way, and despite a long history of doubting yourself, knowing that made it hard to feel you weren't worth something.

Brainstorm

"I can always count on you for the best feedback!"

Watching the scientist dangle from his rig, you found yourself pausing at his reply to your advice, enough so that you didn't have a response of your own until you saw him coming down. Brainstorm had asked if his new experimental weapon appeared functional from your angle on the bench, and all you'd done was say it looked to be especially curious from below. There was no way he'd actually found that helpful, so obviously he must have been joking.

"Of course, you couldn't do it without me." you said sarcastically, watching as the inventor righted himself and his weapon of still indeterminate use. Two bright optics affixed to you and made it clear a determined but obvious smile was hidden behind his mask.

"I couldn't! Of course it looks curious from the bottom; I didn't design it with zero gravity conditions in mind!" he said emphatically, placing the gun down beside you in order to work on it. His comment absolutely baffled you. Was he being serious? All you'd done was say the first thing that came to mind, and there wasn't much useful in that to a bot that restructured reality when it suited his needs.

"You would have figured that out without me." you said on your own, trying to close up the confusing little predicament. Unfortunately Brainstorm tilted his head at your comment, signaling it wasn't done but at least sounding like he wasn't at all frustrated when he replied.

"I don't think so. I couldn't exactly see myself from below, could I? You have a way of figuring out exactly what I need to hear." he said plainly, optics briefly squishing upwards in another smile as he did so. When you were too baffled to reply, he shifted to an expression of more obvious worry, putting his project aside to face you entirely. "I mean that, Y/N. I really feel like you say just what it takes to get me on track. You inspire me."

At those words your brain briefly turned to static. What was it you could possibly do to inspire him? There was nothing about you especially motivating, yet he looked too serious to be joking, so you had no clue how to reply. For the sake of your sanity you only smiled and waved a hand.

"Just... just doing what I do... Nothing special-"

"Y/N..." he interrupted gently, looking at you with the big tender optics that melted your heart every time. You weren't at all prepared for him to unlatch his mask, removing it from his lower face to reveal his full soft expression. Full lips frowned in concern as he lowered his helm to speak on your level. "I really like having you around. You know that, right?"

For reasons you didn't understand you were near to crying, and couldn't speak without the risk of shedding tears. Your partner gently lifted your chin with a digit, and on reflex you laid a hand on the tip of his finger, squeezing it for reasurance. Why was this so hard? Did most people struggle to accept when nice things were said about themselves?

A tender kiss on the back of your hand helped to clear your mind a bit. Looking back up at the sweet expression looking down at you, the love in his every minute feature as day, you admittedly felt a little better. Perhaps with time you could really believe someone so wonderful when they sang your praises, and by his expression you knew he'd endeavor to do just that.

[ubemango]

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

[fallingoverharrypotter]

Last right off Diagon

Inspired by prompt Curiosity for @drarrymicrofic , and written for a laugh.

It's an ugly little hole in the wall, Draco thinks. Peeling paint, done the muggle way, and dirty windows that probably wouldn't let in the mere amounts of light that this area of Diagon is privy to. Especially with the amount of crap blocking Dracos view inside.

So he can't see the proprietor. He can't see whether theres anyone else inside. Shit. He wants to turn back, give up. Take the bag hanging at his side and toss it into the Thames right fucking now.

He's hyperventilating. He can't believe he's actually standing in front of this stupid store with a bag filled with. Curios. And he's actually hyperventilating.

"Um-"

And Draco jerks, hard, right into the window.

His nose stings, and he can feel the beginnings of blood dripping atop his cupid's bow and down his chin. He's not hyperventilating now: thank Merlin for small mercy's. He turns to direct his swearing at the person who startled a man in the middle of a panic attack, blood flooding down his face, and sees a wand directed right at his nose.

Draco, ex-convict, is unfortunately used to this reaction to his presence. He doesn't waste his precious sanity on worrying about it anymore, but at this point he's feeling a little fragile all in all. So when his panic attack picks right up from where it started, and his head starts to get a little woozy from the lack of oxygen and the continued expelling of blood from his nostrils, he doesn't blame himself much.

"Fuck- fuck, Sir I'm really sorry. Let me. Can I just fix- oh. Wait," and then there's a hand on Dracos shoulder, and the picture in front of his face clears a little now that theres an anchoring to his woozy drifting: he sees a young man, bright pink hair, yellow amber eyes, and looking scared to shit. Alarm bells ring momentarily, before the kid says: "... Mr. Malfoy?"

And of course that's the Black nose. Draco's nose. And this is Aunt Andromeda's ward - grandkid - the metamorph. And that's still 12 inches of Cherry directed right at his bleeding nose, and Draco has a split second out of body experience where he remembers that time he broke this kid's godfathers' nose when he was about the same age.

"I'm Teddy... Lupin. Um. Andromeda Tonks' grandson? Can I episky your nose? It looks pretty bad."

Draco must shrug in acceptance, because the next second the kid applies what seems like quite an expert episky charm right at the break, plugging the flow of blood. A modified scourgify collects all the blood from Dracos face and his clothes too, and now he looks just as he'd intended. Patrician and handsome, collected and unbothered. No blood. No panic attack in sight any longer, like it was siphoned away too.

Draco still hasnt said a word since he stopped muttering foul language at the sight of the wand. This 17 year old seems too quietly confident to be even the requisite amount of mad required for a Black. As Draco thought though, the nose is right, and the chin. It makes him... kind of fond for the kid he hasn't seen since he was 5. Especially when Teddy is looking up at him like hes worried beyond belief for a silent man in the middle of Diagon who's a bit too fragile for his own good.

"Ted?" Comes a call in a hauntingly familiar voice, then. Teddy turns towards it, the figure walking out of the door of the dirty old antiques shop, and Draco can't do anything but twitch a little when the bag on his shoulder looses whatever traction it kept, and goes clattering to the cobbles beneath his feet. The clang of burnished silver goblets, Lucius Malfoys old wizarding table clock, and whatever else Draco was able to scrounge up from the Manor to justify this trip to seeing Harry after 10 years away - after 10 years of running from the inevitable - that clang echoes like it's heralding Draco's imminent demise.

When Harry's eyes meet Dracos, all 3 meters of space and a 17 year old kid between them, Draco feels like hes 24 again. When Harry's eyes go wide with shock, that must be 20. When his eyes narrow, then that's 18 (post trial). And then when Harry pulls his wand and points it at Draco, well, that's years 11 all the way through to 17.

A levitation charm, and Dracos bag settles back on his shoulder. Teddy mumbles something about getting back to the till, and goes rushing back through the door his godfather is still kind of blocking. Harry has to walk forward - towards Draco - to let the kid around him, and then they're only 2 and a half meters away from each other.

Which shortens to 1 meter when Harry crosses the distance. "What you got there?"

Draco's a little stumped. Has been for far too long now, so he has to fake some courage. "Curios."

"Right," says Harry, eyebrows pushed under his fringe. "Ten years, inconsistent letters, and you turn up at my shop to bring me-" incredulousness "-curios?"

"You've named the shop Curiosity's Curios, Harry. You can't blame me for trying to adhere to tradition."

Harry scoffs. "Leave off. No smoke screens, please. From what I've heard you're out of Level 9 - don't bring it here."

Draco deflates. He has a moment to think about whether this is going to help matters or make them worse. But he does know that it'll make Harry laugh.

He drops the bag on purpose this time, clanging echoing once again. And then his knees follow, until hes folded up in front of Harry on the cobbles at the far end of Diagon Alley.

"Harry James Potter."

"Good god, Draco."

"I hereby apologize for that time when I stomped on your nose on the Train that one time and covered you with your stupid invisibility cloak, and then wished you dead when you still turned back up at dinner later that night."

"Come on, get up. Just because theres no one here now doesnt mean someone wont turn up and see you debasing yourself on the street."

"Dont interrupt, or I'll sonorous myself."

"Merlins sake, then hurry it up."

"Harry, honestly, you're an idiot if you think people are wandering all the way down here to buy dirty old antiques at lunch time on a Monday. We are well and truly alone."

"This is the weirdest grovelling I've ever heard."

"I've seen the error of my ways. Truly. Your godson all but pushed my head into your dirty glass windows and broke my nose. It's almost poetic, really."

And that got it, because Harry laughs. Loud and booming, echoing across the cobbles and the stone walls. "And you think he has no Black madness!"

"He doesn't," Draco counters, rising up on his knees. "What he does have is the strange Potter-nurtured ability to turn up when is most inconvenient!"

"Well," and Harry leans over so that his face is closer to Draco's. "Someone should have thought about the severe consequences of letting the last Black stew amongst the riffraff when he went off undercover for 10 years, shouldn't they have."

Draco sighs mournfully. "And I see you've protested my absence admirably by refusing to clean your shop windows for a decade. Truly, Harry, I admire your dedication to the cause."

"Oh!" Exclaims Harry, reaching out a hand to touch Draco's nose. "That's why theres this grime all over your face-"

"Oh god stop!" And Draco flicks his wrist with a quick scourgify of his own to get at- "Don't mess with me like that, Harry."

Draco is pouting and Harry is laughing again.

Draco gets up eventually, with Harry's hand in his own helping him. They walk into Harry's shop, and they settle down so that Draco can write a few letters of greeting to his loved ones. Hes sure that within the hour the stacks of cups and saucers and clocks and trinkets and curios that Harry has been collecting for years will be shuddering at the force of the howlers that'll just force their way through the wards Draco could put up, so he doesnt bother with them. Will let them come. His feet are resting in Harry's lap, and Harry has a firm grip around an ankle. Teddy is looking back at them from the till in confusion and boredom, annoyed that his sly questioning glances haven't brought forth any answers.

Harry and Draco are both 34 year old men who have been very content for the last 10 years to just accept whatever is happening. The last owl flies off announcing Draco's return to the surface, and then Harry is pushing off from his chair and announcing that if Draco really is going to be sticking around, he better make himself useful. Draco counters by saying that his nose has only just been broken, and he can feel the remnants of his panic attack in the depths of his bones. Harry laughs loudly, and Teddy seems to snort - without remorse - but all the same Draco hops up and makes three cups of tea. Makes himself useful.

[diamondcitydarlin]

Nothing will ever convince me that Sylvie had feelings for Loki that weren’t at best tolerance for him. She showed more positive feelings for Mobius in one episode than she did for Loki in their 4 episodes together and yet I’m meant to believe that its “true love” come on, she spent the entire time fighting and insulting him except for when she needed him to boost her enchantment of alioth and the blanket scene she just looked uncomfortable like ‘there is a guy flirting with me and I dont want him to’ uncomfortable

Yeah I guess that's another confusing piece of the puzzle here, considering the various interviews and whatever would want us to believe this is a mutual thing but the acting/directing choices themselves say otherwise. I find it hard to believe that Sophia, for as talented as I believe she is, wouldn't have been aware of the effect of her own acting, making her assessments of the relationship even more perplexing.

Personally, this doesn't make me like Sylvie less because I think it's one of the only interpretations of her motives that actually makes sense. She's a character driven by revenge and willing to do whatever it takes to get what she's looking for, her glorious purpose, justice against those that took everything from her; enchanting Loki to fall for and only trust her above anyone else is a survival mechanism. She's stuck with him now anyway, and this is all going to be so much easier if he's not trying to trick or work against her. Granted, this enchantment idea would have worked just as well as friendship / sibling vibe, there can still be a sense of gargantuan betrayal when Sylvie turns against him.

Like, I don't really fault Sylvie for not giving a shit about Loki because there's no reason why she should, not at first. I DO like the idea of him starting to grow on her to the point that real guilt starts flooding in for what she's doing, but ultimately she pushes it to the side because this matters more. It makes sense for her. And, again, did not have to be romantic at this point in any way.

But yeah as it is, there is no other conclusion to what exists that would make logical sense. Sylvie had that moment of trying to enchant him when they first land on Lamentis and we're lead to believe it didn't work, Sylvie even acts frustrated and disappointed! But that's all part of leading Loki to believe nothing happened anyway, right? So when he does start flirting with and trusting her more than he ever would have in his right mind, she gets uncomfortable because she knows this is wrong, she's not without a conscience and more can be built on that later. It absolutely explains Sophia's uncomfortable tension in those moments and her kind of politely pushing him away at every opportunity- she needs him to be in love with her, but she's not actually going to take advantage of it because maybe even she thinks it's gross even in its 'necessity' lmao wouldn't that be funny

Again though, I don't have faith that this will be the case in canon but for the sake of my own sanity I'm just going to adopt it as my own accepted explanation.

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

Pegoryu week 2021 is here and I have two whole entries that are gonna be done on time! The rest will happen, I promise, they'll just be late.

Anyways! the fic is under the cut and the link is in the reblogs as per usual. Hope y'all enjoy!

“Man, y’know you don’t hafta let Ann bully you like that, right?” Ryuji whispered over to Akira and reached for the flower poking out of his hair. To his surprise, Aki actually batted his hand away with a huff and tucked the thing a little more tightly behind his ear.

“First off, I do have to let Ann bully me. And then I bully back. That’s just what our friendship is,” he explained, not bothering to lower his voice while the girls were off getting more drinks. Not that it woulda made much difference, he was a pretty quiet guy even when he was being obnoxious. Usually. Ryuji cringed as Aki noisily sipped the meltwater from the bottom of his glass and held up a second finger. “Second, I like flowers, thank you very much. And thirdly,” almost against his will, Ryuji’s eyes tracked the swipe of Akira’s tongue across his lower lip as it shifted the straw from one corner of his mouth to the other before he continued, “red’s my color.” Ryuji swallowed.

“Y-yeah. D’you gotta chew your straw like that, dude? It’s kinda... gross.” Gross. That was the word he was trying to hold onto in his brain with both damn hands. Gross. It was gross, dammit. The straw chewing and the obnoxious slurping were habits that usually grated on his brain worse than a Metaverse confusion-and-psychic-attack double whammy. Today, though? Today he barely noticed it, he was too distracted. Maybe it was the heat or the jet lag, or the fact that seeing all these American girls with bikinis and curves that made Ann look downright bland by comparison meant that his brain had glued itself into the gutter. The fact that he almost never saw Akira with his glasses off sure as hell wasn’t helping either, considering the damn things had to be for everyone else’s sake. Under the scruffy nerd look Akira Kurusu was as much of a damn pretty-boy as Yusuke Kitagawa or that asshole Akechi with those effin’ eyes. That was an objective fact that even a guy as straight as Ryuji could see. Hell, if it weren’t for the glasses he’d probably be Shujin’s favorite bad boy--regardless of which way any of the students swung--instead of Ryuji’s fellow delinquent outcast. This wasn’t news to him, but for some damn reason something was different today.

Today, some goddamn wire got crossed in Ryuji’s brain and he kinda wanted to beat its ass. Today, he’d lost track of how many times he’d caught himself staring at those stupidly long eyelashes that any of Ann’s coworkers would kill to have, and the way they cast soft shadows over those perfectly smooth cheeks. Or the way Akira’s usually dark grey eyes looked almost silver in the sunlight. Or how they’d crinkle just a little at the corners when he smiled that soft little hint of a smile that already did weird, mushy things to Ryuji’s guts on a normal day. Or the way his lips were just a little fuller than either of the girls’ were but just as soft-looking. Ryuji wondered if maybe he used some kind of lip balm or something, but one without any color. If it didn’t have any color, would it at least have a flavor--

...Anyways.

Ryuji had decided to blame it on that damn flower. Akira stared at him, a little confused, the straw still resting on his lower lip as he breathed out a quiet, “huh?” Then he glanced down at his mostly empty drink and then frowned sheepishly as the realization hit him. “Oh! Sorry, I know that drives you crazy.” Oh right, Ryuji had asked a question and had already forgotten. Akira set the glass on the table next to where Ann had given up and dropped the other hibiscus she’d been hellbent on putting in Ryuji’s hair. He had enough time to grimace at the sad, mangled end of the straw--and the thoughts his traitorous, overcooked brain conjured up about where it had just been--before Aki reached out, swiped the other flower, and tucked it next to the other behind his ear.

If Yusuke were there (because that was what Ryuji needed, more clueless pretty-boys punching holes in his sanity), he’d have his hands up in that finger-frame thing he always did when he was planning out a painting in his brain. The artist would be ready and raring to try and turn Akira into his latest masterpiece... that he’d end up bitching about not being good enough to capture right a week later. That wouldn’t be Yusuke’s fault though, Akira was just weird like that; in every picture of him he just looked like Some Dude, like a background character in his own life, Guy With Glasses #3 or something. But right now, right in front of Ryuji he looked… compelling, or some shit like that. Pretty as a damn painting that you couldn’t help but stare at for a while and contemplate your life, ‘cause that was easier than tryin’ to understand what was in front of you.

“Seriously, Aki?” Ryuji sighed at the second blossom now peeking out of Akira’s unruly frizz. He shoulda kept his damn mouth shut, let Akira keep chewing on his damn straw and drive him crazy in the annoying way and not… whatever this was. It had to be the heat. Ryuji was secretly dying of heatstroke, that had to be it.

“Red. Is. My. Color.” Akira crossed his arms and pouted, and Ryuji had to bite back a laugh at how his best friend had puffed out his cheeks while he sulked. Cute, but a safe kind of cute. Like back at the buffet, in that open kind of way that made Ryuji wonder what Akira had been like as a little kid. That looked like his opening to get things back on track, back to something resembling their usual dynamic.

Ryuji cracked a grin and flicked the bottle that everyone had passed around earlier. “Yeah? That why you didn’t put any sunscreen on, you gonna be the first guy to pull off havin’ a sunburn?” Akira deflated slightly, then snatched the bottle off the table and-- Oh goddammit.

That had backfired spectacularly. Genius move, Sakamoto. You can’t quit ogling your best friend like some kinda weirdo, why don’t you convince him to oil himself up! That’ll help! Effin’ brilliant. Ryuji hastily turned around in his chair and fixed his eyes on the shoreline. He occupied himself with trying to guess how quickly he could sprint to the ocean, and for once he hoped that the water would be cold cold. The girls walking by, all dressed in bikinis that’d look small on skinny little Futaba and were probably held onto those insane curves with more wishful thinking than fabric, might as well have been invisible to him. Since he had apparently pissed off god or something, all he could think about was Akira, very intentionally just outside the edge of his vision, slathering his chest in sunscreen. His incredibly flat chest; if he’d at least had enough bulk on him to have pecs or something, that might have taken some of the sting out of his stupid brain fixating on his leader instead of any of the women who looked like they’d walked straight out of his dreams. Ryuji was gonna set those stupid flowers on fire when he got his hands on them.

He swallowed around a mouth that had gone dry and tried to break the awkward silence that had settled over them. At least, Ryuji sure as hell felt awkward, Akira was usually fine with a little quiet and didn’t seem bothered at the moment. Still, Ryuji had to do something before he went crazy. “Man, I thought Ann was impressive, but compared to these foreign ladies… eh.” Akira snorted somewhere behind him.

“I’m sure she appreciates the break from being leered at,” he deadpanned. “Do you not have anything better to do than check people out?”

Ryuji’s stomach dropped a little as he whipped back around to shoot Akira a dirty look. Sure, he’d felt pretty obvious, but he hadn’t actually been obvious about staring-- Wait. Aki meant the girls. False alarm, no need to panic. “Man, shut up. And don’t even try to tell me you don’t agree. Like, these ladies are massive, the girls back home don’t even compare!” Ryuji snapped. Someone had to be appreciating all these beach babes, otherwise what even was the point of staying out when it was so damn hot?

Akira actually paused and glanced over at Ryuji with a weird look on his face before he sighed and shook his head. “I’m not really interested, honestly.”

“Man, I am gonna rip that tongue outta your head!” Ryuji exclaimed. Seriously, all those lovely ladies going unappreciated had to be some kind of crime. An international one. It was probably too much to hope Ann or Makoto would be taking up the slack, wherever the hell they were. It was apparently definitely too much to hope that Akira would let that comment pass; even if he was quiet, the guy almost always needed the last word.

This time, it was muttered irritably under his breath. “Yeah why don’t you come take it, then?”

...What?

“What?!” Ryuji didn’t even bother turning around, he just broke down laughing. “What the hell does that even mean, dude?”

“You heard me,” Akira sounded serious, except for where the last word turned wobbly at the end. And then he dissolved into his own fit of laughter, snorting once before he continued, “I don’t even know, man. I just kinda blurted it out.” The two of them cracked up a little longer, glad to be back to something a little closer to normal--and Ryuji didn’t think Akira’s laugh was cute, it was quiet and dorky and weird, definitely not cute--before Aki caught his breath and then stretched. And sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“You alright, man?” He may not have been able to see Akira’s face with the two of them sitting facing in opposite directions, but Ryuji still caught how his leader had winced when he tried to raise his arm over his head.

Akira nodded. “Slept weird on the plane.” He rolled his shoulder again, then tossed the sunscreen to Ryuji. “At the risk of putting you in tongue-ripping range, can I ask you to get my back?” Ryuji was already up and moving his chair behind Akira, always eager to help his best friend.

“Sure thing, dude.” He had the bottle open and hovering over his hand before his brain caught up to him. Wait. Shit. Bad idea, bad bad idea! If he’d gotten all weird about Akira doing this for himself, how was Ryuji gonna survive getting his own hands involved, especially now that he was thinking about it? But he’d already agreed and if he backed out now, Akira would ask why. He sure as shit wasn’t gonna explain that.

“Earth to Ryuji?” Akira turned his head to peek back at him and… Welp. Apparently this was just Ryuji’s life now. The image of Akira looking over one bare shoulder with those damn eyes just barely visible past the flower petals, his face a little bit pink from the sun overhead, and his lips all flushed and swollen--because, oh right, when Akira didn’t have something to chew on, he’d worry at his lips instead--was seared into Ryuji’s brain. Straight or not, that picture just lived in his head now. And apparently so did about half of his blood, mostly in his face. And the other half… Again, he wondered again how cold the water was. Act natural, Sakamoto.

“Uh, sorry dude. Bottle was stopped up, I got it now!” He laughed nervously as the bottle squirted into his palm with a loud ‘pbblblblt’. Definitely no awkwardness here, no sir. Just a totally normal assist with sunscreen between bros. He was fine. He definitely wasn’t red enough in the face to look sunburnt. Deep breath. He was cool.

...God, he was gonna throw those stupid hibiscuses into the ocean. Hell, from this angle, he could probably grab them and slam them into one of the mostly-empty drinks before Akira could stop him. And Aki wouldn’t want to put them back in his hair after they were all covered in sugar water, right? It was a flawless plan. Ryuji was a damn genius.

He was just gonna finish putting on the sunscreen first, ‘cause he was courteous like that. No sense in letting Akira get a weirdly shaped sunburn because he chased Ryuji down for a couple of damn flowers. That was definitely the only reason he was still rubbing his hands down (and down and down) Akira’s back. Smooth and pale and soft, but surprisingly well muscled underneath, Akira’d been holding out on him while they were training. And those damn dimples on his lower back. Had he been wearing his trunks that low a minute ago? Ugh. Ryuji would definitely be going for a swim after this. He winced as he ran his hands back up over Akira’s shoulders.

“Shit, Aki, I think I found that knot in your neck. No wonder you couldn’t do this yourself,” he muttered and dug his thumb gently into the muscle. Akira sucked in another breath through his teeth, but tipped his head forward and let Ryuji work. The damn thing was probably about the size of a ping pong ball, and Ryuji couldn’t help but feel a little guilty every time Akira tensed up or hissed under his breath when Ryuji dug in a little too hard. And a lot guilty at the temptation to just bury his hands in his bro’s hair. But finally, after the longest two minutes of his life, the knot released and Akira…

Akira fucking groaned.

Ryuji was done. He reached out, snagged both of those stupid red flowers--and a little bit of Akira’s apparently insanely soft hair, oops--and stood up to walk away, ignoring his friend’s protests. The ocean could have both of the damn things, and Ryuji right along with them. He was done. Unfortunately Ann and Makoto had chosen that exact moment to return with fresh drinks, cutting off his escape route. Effin’ great.

“Aaannnnnn, Makotoooooo,” Akira whined as he draped himself dramatically over Ryuji’s shoulders, halfheartedly reaching out to try and reclaim the hibiscuses. “Ryuji deflowered meeee--” Makoto’s face fell into the most unimpressed look any of them had ever seen from her, Ann snorted loud enough that it sounded painful, Ryuji about jumped out of his skin with an indignant yelp that probably could have been heard back in Tokyo, and Akira continued whining undeterred, “--make him give it baaaack.”

Ann had doubled over cackling, and didn’t seem to care that she’d just sloshed about a quarter of one of their drinks onto the sand when she did. “I- I don’t- *snrk* I don’t think it w-works like tha-ha-ha-ha-at!” She managed despite howling with laughter so strong that it looked like she was gonna fall over. Makoto had set her two drinks down long enough to drop into one of the empty chairs and bury her face in her hands with a long, drawn out sigh.

“Why are you two like this?” She glanced up long enough to shoot that tired, unimpressed look up at Akira and Ryuji.

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Ryuji all but shouted as he shrugged Akira off of him and started stomping down towards the water, flowers still crushed in one fist. “This is all on him this time!”

God, Hawaii was off to one hell of a start.

[xxm1m1kyuxx]

korekiiyo shiingujii ana1ysiis

spoii1ers for ndrv3!

iit’s quiite hard to wriite 1iike thiis wiith autocorrect on, so from the 1iine break be1ow ii wii11 not be usiing my typiing quiirk Σ(･口･)

word count (exc1udiing author’s notes): 1,611 words

tota1: 1,717 words

for siimp1iiciity's sake, ii've done thiis on computer so that there's not a wa11 of text

~*~

"You wonder, "Who is this?" Yes... I shall make that clear first. My name is Korekiyo Shinguji... I am called the Ultimate Anthropologist."

~*~

Hello everyone, my name is Milo, and today I’ll be doing my best to cover one of my favorite characters in the Danganronpa universe, Korekiyo Shinguji. He is originally from the 3rd mainline game, New Danganronpa v3: Killing Harmony. Since I don’t physically own the game, I’m basing most of this essay entirely on the Danganronpa Wiki page for Shinguji. Please read that if you desire a more lengthy look at his actions from an unbiased perspective since this one leans more towards empathy than hatred. Whoops!

We first properly meet him after talking to everyone else inside of Hope’s Peak. He’s in the main hall and standing away from the doors leading out to the courtyard. When he introduces himself, Shinguji goes on to talk about anthropology and the beauty of humanity. This proceeds to creep Akamatsu out.

Alongside that, in Chapter 3, we are unfortunately forced to see his relationship with his sister. It’s weird and only gets weirder if you spend two of your Free Time events talking to him when you first play as Akamatsu. He’s evaluated that all girls present at the academy would be great “friends” for his sister, barring Iruma and Harukawa. This is because Shinguji believes that Harukawa doesn’t believe in the power of love, and Iruma is just… well, she’s Iruma. Hardly the girl you would want to send home to your parents.

This weird incest plotline is unfortunately present in most Danganronpa games, such as Leon and his cousin (though one-sided on his cousin’s behalf; he didn’t like her), Tsumugi in the Love Hotel (if you consider that canon), and Monotaro & Monophanie (which is then implemented into Gokuharu’s execution, killing them both).

His sister’s name is never disclosed in-game or in any other Danganronpa media, so the fandom dubbed her “Miyadera/Miyatera,” which is an alternate way of reading Shinguji’s last name. The miya character - represented as 宮 - and tera character - 寺 - are both present in Shinguji, 真宮寺. For the rest of this essay/paper, I’ll be referring to his sister as Miyadera, and himself as Shinguji.

I’ll be getting deeper into his mischaracterization later on, but I want to talk about his appearance for now. Mainly, his hair, his mask, and the lipstick he wears. From what we see of Miyadera in Shinguji’s execution, if that is Miyadera at all, we can see that she had long hair, and when Shinguji was turned into a ghost, it was the exact shade of Shinguji’s hair. From here, we can assume that Miyadera looks exactly, if not similar, to Shinguji.

His lipstick and mask are results of representations of his tulpa, Miyadera. Tulpa is defined as “a concept in mysticism and the paranormal of a being or object which is created through spiritual or mental powers.” In much simpler terms, it is an object or living thing that was created/imagined through spiritual/mental abilities. Shinguji gained a tulpa by being beaten half to death by villagers shortly after arriving there. When he was in a state between life and death, he saw his sister, who joined his subconscious and took control of his body whenever his mask was off. It’s why we only see him take off his make once Saihara dubs him the culprit of Chapter 3, and why his voice suddenly took a more feminine tone. A quote from Miyadera, which can be found in the game, is, "Sweet Korekiyo, calm yourself... Their words are all hollow. There is no meaning to any of them... You must teach these ignorant children a lesson."

That statement can be interpreted two ways, one; that she’s trying to calm him down and two; she’s repeating whatever she said to him during childhood. It’s implied that Miyadera passed away from disease sometime before Killing Harmony takes place, which is both a good and bad thing. It’s great because then we have some time frame of how she was and how she acted when Shinguji knew her best.

Whenever I read the quote above, or any of her quotes, to be honest, I am filled with a sense of dread, or even, despair. The following quote especially makes me feel terrible; "Calm yourself, Korekiyo. You mustn't raise your voice. You mustn't stutter. You mustn't lose composure. You mustn't become flustered. You mustn't waver. Look at their horrid faces. This sorry lot is not worth agonizing over."

Have you noticed how she’s setting guidelines on how to defend himself? She’s turning Shinguji’s attention away from Saihara and the trial and to her because she knows that Shinguji trusts her even after all these years.

You might be wondering, “Milo, what the hell does that all have to do with Shinguji?” And I’ll tell you plain and simple: he was abused by Miyadera. Shocking, I know. Having Shinguji rave and rant about being in love with her, only to be a victim? Sadly, it’s very true indeed. Shinguji was most likely groomed and gaslighted into thinking that Miyadera loved him when that was not the case.

Gaslighting is defined as, “[to] manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” From the two quotes I provided, it doesn’t seem to make sense. Miyadera only sounds like a kind, worrisome older sister. Incorrect, I say. She’s emotionally gaslighting him, trying to make him believe that the trial makes no sense and he shouldn’t worry about any of them. I can also bet she used this tactic to control him as a younger person as well.

It’s a well-known fact that children are both impressionable and gullible. If an older sister figure came up to you as a child and told you to do unmentionable things, unfortunately, you might follow her directions. Shinguji states that his sister was a sickly girl who often stayed in the hospital. When she would come home, he’d be at his easiest to manipulate. Why would his dear, sweet, sickly, older sister ever lie to him?

Next, I’m going to be covering his relationships with other students, namely Shuichi Saihara and Rantaro Amami. These will delve further into spoiler territory, so if you didn’t already read the warnings I put in place, here is your extra warning for spoilers for Chapter 3 of Killing Harmony.

To start with, I’ll be exploring his poorer relationships first. Most of the girls fit into this category, namely Iruma, Harukawa, Chabashira, and Yonaga - that means he has a terrible standing with four of the eight girls present at the beginning of Killing Harmony, five if you count Yumeno’s way of dealing with Chabashira’s murder. Shinguji even taunts her once they solve that mystery, stating, “Let me guess, you’ll never forgive me. Himiko, you must hate me so very much right now. Maybe you’d feel better if I was executed by Monokuma…”

Shinguji has a poor relationship with Iruma and Harukawa due to seeing them as “unfit” to be “friends” with Miyadera. He has a poor relationship with Chabashira because he’s a degenerate male, but he still thinks she made a good friend for his sister. His poor relationship with Yonaga is shown in Chapter 3 when Yonaga forms the student council. Once again, I’m making amends to some parts of the characters. I’ll be referring to Yonaga’s god as God, simply because Atua is an actual Polynesian god in real life. Shinguji doesn’t worship any god, and so wants to study Yonaga’s God purely for anthropologic purposes. This displeases Yonaga, who then states that God's business hours are closed for the day. In Chapter 3 when Yumeno brings up Yonaga’s God, he simply asks whether or not they’re done talking about it, cementing his distrust in faith.

Next, I’ll cover his better relationships. Akamatsu isn’t too terribly creeped out by him and instead sees Shinguji as a kind guy who cares about his sister. Akamatsu even apologizes for saying that Shinguji would be into inc*st, this event either taking place in his first or second Free Time event. I’m saving his and Saihara’s relationship for last since I’ll have the most to write about then. Instead, please enjoy the news that in the events of Ultimate Talent Development Plan (UTDP for typing purposes), Shinguji and Amami are actually great friends. In Amami’s first free time event, he tells Akamatsu that Korekiyo has a strong personality, but she’ll be able to understand him plenty if she takes time to. It’s also stated that Amami emphasizes that Shinguji is also the calm and clever type.

Lastly, I’ll be exploring his relationship with Saihara. It’s slightly rocky, if only because Shinguji hasn’t let go of his sister yet, but it’s miles better than his relationship with Chabashira. Slight side note before we begin, I’ll be discounting the Love Hotel scene mostly because I’m a minor and I don’t feel completely comfortable having to watch that simply because I’m writing an analysis. As the game progresses to Chapter 3, Shinguji and Saihara have built trust between themselves. While Saihara still found Shinguji creepy, he [Saihara] never discounted him simply for existing. There was even a point where Shinguji offered to help Saihara communicate with Akamatsu from beyond the grave, though he was turned down.

Korekiyo Shinguji is a misunderstood and somewhat tragic character who usually gets disregarded and uncredited all because people do not like him. However he’s not an “uwu soft twamatized bean <3” either. He’s a strong character who has questionable morals at best and a terrible representation of an abused character at worst.

~*~

thank you for readiing!! p1ease make sure to get a hea1thy amount of s1eep and that you do have a cup of water and some food, you deserve iit!!

sources:

- https://danganronpa.fandom.com/wiki/Korekiyo_Shinguji

- https://www.quotev.com/story/7873923/Danganronpa-Class-Trials/73 (siide note: how fucked up iis iit that ii was on1y ab1e to fiind a transcriiptiion of the triia1 on quotev)

[angelkurenai]

Twisting the knife - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Twisting the knife 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader, Ransom Drysdale x Reader (/Reader’s Character)

Warnings: None

Summary During an interview you are asked various questions about your role in the new “Knives Out” movie, alongside that of your husband’s. Although you had been originally cast as his character’s sister, you reveal that due to your chemistry, the role changed to an adopted sister who has a complicated relationship with his character. In between admiting all of that, however, it is impossible to hide your small crush on your other costar which inevitably makes your husband jealous. (Requested)

“Hey, little sis, going somewhere?” your way was blocked even before you could comprehend it, leaving you little choice as to where you should go. As expected, you couldn't spend more than ten minutes of peace and silence – well, almost silence when it concerned a party – in this house before it all came crushing down. And it always seemed to be by the same person every single time, how not surprising.

“For the sake of my poor sanity? As far away as possible from you, Ransom.” you didn't even look in his direction, making sure to fill your glass with just a bit more wine before moving to rest your weight against the doorframe and take a rather large sip of it. You felt like, if you could and if didn't draw too much attention from the family and even more so the man next to you, then you'd have downed the whole glass in one go. All the while, said man made sure to leave barely a couple inches of space between the two of you, just for the sake of making it worse and make you realize just how trapped you were.

“And yet, here you are, closer to me than ever before. How about that?” the smirk was as evident on his voice as it was on his face when you turned to give him the hardest glare you could master. Not that it had the effect you wanted it to because neither could you keep it up for long – your mind instantly being occupied with the thought of how you wanted to wipe that smug smile with a kiss more than a punch – nor did his smile fade in the least bit.

“I could answer that but trust me, you wouldn't like me to do so in front of the whole family. So for one, if it wasn't for grandpa's birthday I wouldn't even be here to see your face. But what can I do, we all must suffer a bit for those we love. And for another-” with a sudden move of your arm you actually managed to elbow him right in the stomach, making him let out a loud groan and almost double “Oops, sorry for that. Did I hurt you maybe?” you asked as innocently as you possibly could, loud enough for the family who was now looking at you to hear.

“Hey, what's going on there? Ransom, stop bothering your sister!” Linda was instantly speaking up in your defence, having a soft spot on you from the day she met you at the orphanage on one hand and on the other knowing her biological son all too well to know that whenever there was a fight between the two of you it was always his fault. Well, she wasn't entirely wrong.

“It's fine, ma. It's actually my fault, Ransom was a bit too close-” you looked at him from the corner of your eyes, trying to put as much meaning behind the words as possible for only him to understand “And I accidentally elbowed him. That's all.”

You heard a small scoff and laugh coming from Meg “If you could accidentally repeat it, don't think the rest of humanity would hold it against you.”

You could hardly hold back a laugh at the girl who felt more like your family than anybody else besides Linda and Harlan. While the woman would more often than not come off as stern and emotionless, she had shown you more love and compassion as a mother than your biological one ever had, let alone when she had abandoned you at a very young age. Richard too was a good father albeit absent most of the time he was caring, in his own way. You thought they were all caring in their own way, and as much as they could be, especially given when you had joined the family you were already 16. They had grown to accept you and you them. Well, almost all of them.

It was no secret to every member of the family that you and the older son didn't get along. While there had not been any major fights, not with any yelling for sure – Ransom surely didn't need to raise a voice to get under your skin and you, well, you didn't have the strength or patience to raise yours when it came to him – it was obvious that you could barely stand to be in the same room as him. Despite any efforts you had made at first to get along, all those years ago, it was obvious he wouldn't change so you too had stopped trying altogether.

As far as the rest of the family was concerned you didn't care whether he shut up because he died or... any other reason really, so long as he was no longer around you. As far as you were concerned, however, you cared because if he kept talking and kept getting closer to you, you might just shut him up with your lips and that would be a game you didn't want to play. Not again.

“Exactly.” the smile was back on his lips but certainly vanished from yours when you felt his arm around your shoulders “There's absolutely no harm done here, certainly no fight. If anything, (Y/n) and I are the closest we've been, we've grown past our differences and are ready to call truce once and for all. Make love not war, that's what they say. Isn't that right, little sister?” he squeezed your shoulder and you nearly broke the glass in your hand “Two very loving siblings!”

“You better.” Linda gave him a look before turning to the rest of the family, the other family members doing the same before slowly but certainly the conversation grew louder and you were quickly forgotten.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” you hissed, grabbing his hand only to push it off your shoulder – although he did resist for a couple seconds.

“What?” he asked so innocently it got even more frustrating “I'm merely reassuring mother dearest that her son is on his best behavior and a loving big brother to his-”

“Alright, that's enough. Stop, just- stop it.” you all-but-growled at him, which really did nothing to lessen the smile that had turned into a smirk but you barely cared “I don't know what your problem is but I don't care to find out either. I'm living the best life I ever have, ever since I met you now that I am so many miles away from you. And if it wasn't for meetings like this I'd be perfectly content the whole year round. But I'm not about to shy away or not say a word like the little teen girl you first met, Ransom, and I can sure as fucking hell fight-”

“Whoa whoa easy little sis, I di-”

“I'm not your bloody sister!” you nearly yelled at him, oh how you wanted to scream it right in his face “I'm not and I will never be. And you're not my brother. Stop calling me that, just stop it. We both know very well that it is not how you see me, you never did and never will. And it sure is for the best because you and I-”

“Oh no, no please go ahead. You and I?” he smirked, taking another step closer to you again “I'd love to hear you finish that sentence with your own words. I sure have an idea or two in mind.”

You took in a deep breath, trying to gain some sort of courage but you realised very soon what a mistake that was. Standing so close to him you couldn't help but inhale his cologne, mixing with that significant aftershave and on top of the characteristic warmth of his body you were already feeling your knees go weak. It came in shaky and he noticed because his smirk got wider. It was as if he had won something and possibly he had.

That was the crazy or maybe even scary part of it all: You realized it too and instead of hating him more for it, you felt even more drawn to the man.

“You're right.” he straightened a bit, glancing at the family that were totally oblivious to the two of you “We're not siblings, and it's a really good thing we're not, because- well, we both know why. Just like we both know why... I'm going to keep calling you that, over and over and over again, even more so in front of our loving family. I'm going to keep saying it until you give in... again.”

“Listen here you bastard-” you hissed “I don't know what your game is and I don't care to anymore. Do your thing, as always, I don't give a damn. I'm actually bloody thankful I'm not related to you or your lifestyle in any sort of way and I plan to keep it that way, whatever you do. I'm not getting pulled into your game.”

“Oh really?” he grinned, getting so much closer there really was no room for you to back away and yet plenty enough for it to seem totally natural “And what are you going to do exactly? What do you think I am going to do?”

“None of your business. Look-” you let a short huff of air “I don't know if that's what you get off to, Ransom, I don't know if-”

“What? Oh (Y/n).” he actually laughed and you didn't know if you hated him more or found the sound too endearing for your poor heart “That's cute but calm down, will you? What I get off to? Oh no, no of course not. That's so far from the things I like.” he rolled his eyes playfully, before taking another dangerous step closer to you “Besides-” he smirked, leaning closer to your ear after a glance at the family “You do know better than anyone else what I get off to, don't you (Y/n/n)?”

If it wasn't the damn nickname he had come up with, if it wasn't the proximity, if it wasn't his breath fanning over cheek, if it wasn't his lips brushing over your ear as he whispered into it then it was certainly the combination which had you shaking. And you couldn't have been more thankful to Marta in your life for informing the man that his grandfather wanted to see him in his office, making him leave you alone for the rest of the party.

Not that he left you without his trademark wink that is.

And with that the screen faded to black and it didn't take longer than a second's silence before the crowd was erupting in cheers. You along with the rest of the cast clapped as well.

“Now I feel like-” you glanced at your husband with a wide smile “I have to say this, honey, I have to.” you told him before turning to the crowd “And in those last few seconds, I realized, he was no longer acting. But they kept it in the movie you see.”

“Wh-what?” your costars and husband were already laughing much like the host himself.

“I think- I think given that you've been married for a year you should know but uh-” Jimmy's words didn't really make it any easier but as the host he tried to keep a serious face and tone the laughter down “It is a great scene nonetheless, so we'll just-”

“Oh it is my favorite scene!” Ana spoke up though in between her laughter there was only so much she could do.

“Let's all agree it was a good scene and move on from it cause knowing (Y/n) she will have plenty of comments to make on it and therefore me in that scene. Please?” Chris spoke up too and you smiled even more widely.

“Come on you guys, it's not like I said 'Get you a man like Chris Evans: Steve Rogers by day and Ransom Drysdale by night.' or anything that might imply how he's in bed! Did I?” you asked so innocently that anyone - or at least anyone that was not your husband - would have easily believed it was nothing more than just a slip and certainly very true - part which you were not going to deny. But if it wasn't for your laughter, which you could hardly contain when the rest of the cast burst into laughter of their own and which in the end gave you away, you would have kept your act up and made them believe that you did none of it on purpose. Something which of course, again, you did.

“Alright this taking a turn for the-” Jimmy chuckled “For something we didn't expect, not that the fans will complain of course. I see- I see a few people there cheering!” he pointed at the audience.

“What? Want more details? With pleasure, I could go on for hours!” you said eagerly, making Chris look at you with horror on his face.

“Oh no. No no no! Absolutely not! Let's- Let's change the topic, yeah?” he tried to look serious but the wide smile on his lips was not helping, he was having fun even though he was already feeling embarrassed. The entire cast already knew it, probably the entire world too after so many years of working with Chris and so many years in relationship, but if there was one person that truly knew you and how far you could really go was Chris himself. So when he said that it was best if you changed the subject then he was absolutely right.

“Yes, I think it's best if we do change the subject. I think-” Jimmy chuckled as Chris tried to get everyone to calm down and not ask any more questions - despite Ana whining a bit and saying she wanted more details, just like the rest of the crowd you were sure “Calm down everyone, I'm sure she will share more details later.”

“Oh you bet!” you grinned, only for all of it to turn into laughter when you saw your husband hiding his face behind his hands mumbling “Oh no.” on repeat.

“Alright-” Jimmy cleared his throat, trying to get back on track as everyone else calmed down again “I think I had a few questions for you, (Y/n), concerning this scene. It was incredible by the way, so many things going on at the same time and you two manage to make it flow seamlessly. Can you- can you tell us a couple things about it?”

“Uhm yes of course.” you nodded your head “It was actually the first scene we had to shoot as our characters for the movie and I remember being so nervous about it, it's something I can't help every time, it gets really bad sometimes to the point I can't eat anything for the whole day until, you know, I calm down and the filming starts and I get told I'm doing ok-”

“Says the three-times-Oscar-winner.” your best friend gave you a look and you laughed, shrugging before Ana went on to add “But who cares about that when you've got Chris Evans to comfort you every five minutes, am I right?” she smirked as everyone laughed.

You couldn't help but grin as well, giving her a small punch on the shoulder “I mean, yes that did help a bit... lot.” you laughed “But I think it did just as much as having the scene itself with Chris. After so many years of working with him, friendship or relationship o-or marriage aside, we know the tricks and moves each other has. We know how the other one acts, in every detail it sometimes is scary for some-” you chuckled “And so to fall into synce is a piece of cake anymore. I mean, we could change the whole order of the lines but still find a way to include them all in the dialogue in a perfect flow without a single hesitation. So yes, on that aspect it was really helpful to be with Chris on that very first scene, I'm-I'm actually glad that the chemistry and all this uhm closeness came through in such a good way.”

“Why, yes, I think the fans were incredibly excited about that part! You two- you have quiet a few scenes together and- Let me ask, was that the original plan?”

“The original plan was uhm a bit more... simple and yet ten times more complicated. I auditioned for the role of his sister, his biological sister because that was the script at first. However, later there were many many changes made to the script so that my character was more of the adopted sister with little relations to the family and a questionable relation to Ransom because it felt like it fit more. See they really wanted me for the part, there was no questioning that, but uhm I think I could say it was discovered that uhm Chris and I couldn't get over the- what's the word. Uh well, I don't know how I could descri-”

“Sexual tension, just say it already!” Ana once more piped in, making you laugh just like everybody else “We all know it, it's always there! Just admit it, (Y/n).”

“Already, it might have been that. Maybe. I don't know.” you shrugged innocently “Who can blame me anyway? Look at this man!” you took hold of his face and kissed his cheek as he chuckled “But yes, yes Jimmy, I think that the chemistry came out as a little more uhm personal so they switched it up.”

“I- I don't think it was a problem, though.” Chris spoke up, a second afterwards “I think- because it seemed like they were all along planing to take it there. It was still the very first couple of days, no official filming had started out yet, and so (Y/n) and I were more comfortable so we didn't care if it came out our characters talking or us going through the lines of our characters. We were doing more of the second, you see, and they took notice of that and I suppose liked it enough to change it all.”

“Wow that's amazing then! Not just for you guys but for the fans as well.”

“Yeah, everyone went kind of nuts, and this one didn't help the case by posting photos all the time.” Chris chuckled, pointing at you.

“Were you excited about it (Y/n)?” Jimmy asked what was most likely a rhetorical question but you were already nodding anyway, seeing no harm in the simple question.

And leave it to Ana to make it worse “The real question should be why were you excited (Y/n)?”

“I hate you so much right now.” you told your friend and she giggled “I knew it was going to be a good movie and real fun to film. Just a look at all the cast and crew and script, which is is a masterpiece I had no doubt. I mean with my husband, my best friend and so many great actors why not-”

“So many, yes, of course. Cause she cared about all members of the cast equally. It's because of all of us she wanted to bein so much hmh.” she nodded her head, the smirk not leaving her lips and you hid your face behind your hands “Why, this is an oscar-worthy performance now.”

“You're the worst, literally the worst. Alright, fine-” you huffed “I will admit that I may or may have not accepted the role before even knowing half the thing I should about it. I received the first script and Chris had already gotten his role and we were talking a lot about the movie and he told me about the cast that I was totally sold just at hearing about them, you see. I kinda did it for all of them yes.”

“All of them, indeed.” Ana muttered not-so-silently.

“Wait, I don't get it. I, as well as I'm pretty sure every other fan out there, thought you auditioned for the movie because you'd get to be with Chris. Careful of your answer, don't break too many hearts!”

“I-” you laughed “Well, Chris knows it so I won't be breaking his, but no I didn't go for the role because of Chris himself. I just loved the idea of it all. Honestly, I was actually hoping I'd get to be Ana's character's wifey, but instead I got stuck with this guy yet again so I guess I had to play my part. I mean, they had that chance and it had so much potential-”

“So much!” your friend agreed passionately “We have been robbed! First time I got to be in a movie with my bestie and we've been robbed! I wanted that to happen too. Why should Chris be the only to brag he's married to Wonder Woman, I wanted that too! I was so sad we didn't get that. So sad.”

“Exactly.” you agreed “But no, I guess they were like: Chris Evans. Take it or leave it.” you shrugged “So yeah, I kind of rolled with that. Again.”

“You-” your husband couldn't contain his laughter “You say that like it's a bad thing! Wow, married life. Isn't it great? Maybe I should have really paid more attention to RDJ's speech. My own wife!”

“Come on, don't be a sore loser. Second place is just fine!” Ana said only half serious “You're on the top three of the people she loves most in the cast, that's what counts. I'm fine with third place!”

“Wait, did you just say third?” Jimmy asked the question many surely wanted, except for you.

“Oh you think she came to the movie for her best friend or husband? Oh no, no.” she grinned and your breath got caught in your throat, you knew that smile real well and you had been lucky to avoid it so far but apparently no more “Let's all be honest: great cast, amazing script, awesome director- Tha means shit,it fades into the background when-”

“No, Ana please don't-” you pleaded but you knew there was no use.

“It all means shit when Daniel Craig is going to be there!” she exclaimed and you squeaked, hiding your face behind your hands “She doesn't give a singe f for the rest of us. Nothing and nobody else exists! Daniel Craig, it's all about that man and I have facts when I tell you that she wanted to be in the movie for him!”

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. She said it. I can't believe she said it. I'm so glad he's not here to-”

“Do you think he's going to come on set today? Chris told me he's going to show up one of these days this week! What if he shows up today and the first scene they film it's the one we have together?! How will I do that? I'm not ready!” she mimicked you a little over the top and you literally yelped.

“But I don't sound like that!” your voice came out a bit high-pitched “And that's not what I said... entirely.”

“Not on a normal basis, but when it comes to Daniel Craig? Yes, yes you do!” she laughed as some of your co-stars chuckled. In fact all of them except for one: your husband.

“How come I didn't know any of that?” he did try to seem relaxed, but his smile wasn't his usual warm.

“It's no big deal-” you started, elbowing Ana who scoffed a laugh “I've kinda only told this traitor here, and it's not like I plan to talk about it again. I didn't...” but you trailed off, looking at your husband who had a raised eyebrow which made you bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.

“And that, everyone-” you turned back to the audience “Is how his Ransome starts showing!”

[anthonyed]

stevetony + no. 99 (“I fell in love with you, not them.”)? only if you want to, of course. no pressure! :)

ive said this before: i LOVED writing this. hopefully you like cats ♡

-//-

Tony says it started like this: 

One afternoon, Tony barged into Pepper’s office because he conveniently forgot how to knock and caught her rolling a miniature lint roller up her suit sleeve. 

She startled with her high pitched, “Oh my god, Tony!” But, Tony was too fascinated by the lint roller that he kept advancing with a singular focus.

“What is that?”

Pepper bristled, “It’s a lint roller. Why are you here? I told you I don’t want to see you for at least four hours.”

Oh. Right. She was still upset about something Tony did during the board meeting. Menial stuff, unimportant, anyway -

“I know what it is, what I meant is, why are you using that in here?”

At this point, he’s close enough to catch the very fine blonde hair stuck on the roller. “Are you trying to bury the evidence of your boyfriend, Miss Potts? Because while that is very thoughtful, I have a feeling he’d be -,”

“It’s not a boyfriend,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “With you as my boss I don’t have such time -,”

Tony on the other hand, while Pepper was talking, snagged the roller from her hand, “This is - This is not - Ah CHO!”

Pepper winced. 

Tony’s jaw dropped. 

“Miss Potts,” he asked, deadly calm. “I thought you read and signed all the clauses when you agreed to be my personal assistant.”

“I did, Mr Stark.” Pepper's lips thinned.

Tony dropped the roller on her table; the miniature thing completing two circles before stopping in front of her.

“Then why are there cat hair all over you?”

-

Despite what Tony likes to think, according to Pepper it started like this:

"Who is that?" Tony asked, low whisper, eyes like hawk fixed on the blonde man with a pink cap - 

"Oh!" Pepper exclaimed, leaning sideways and waving to catch the guy's attention. "That would be my lunch."

From the cat cafe, Pepper didn't say. Instead, she hurried out of the room to meet the delivery staff before he could enter; didn't want to risk putting the man responsible for her paycheck in close contact with the one thing he's allergic to: cats' fur. 

Now, Pepper doesn't know exactly what Tony thought that day, but when she reentered the room after shoving a 20 dollars bill into the guy's hand, she found Tony to be in some kind of… stupor. 

She stopped where she stepped in. The door closed behind her and she asked, "Tony?"

Tony startled. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"What? No!"

"Is he single?"

"Tony -,"

"Who is he?"

Pepper paused. Then she promptly decided to play hard - because secretly she is a menace and Tony is right. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Fast forward the next day; she saw Happy exiting her beloved cat cafe and entering the limo he drives to drop Tony off at work.

She didn't even hesitate; she pulled open the passenger door and slid into the empty seat.

"Fancy seeing you here," she cocked her head, smiling syrupy sweet. 

Tony Stark stared wide eyed, like he'd been caught red-handed with a cookie jar.  

"Ah HAH!" Pepper pointed at him. 

No matter how much Tony denied: "It is not what you think it is!", don't believe him. 

It was exactly what it was. In fact, that was how it started.

-

But Steve never talked to Pepper as much as he talked to Tony. So he obviously thought what Tony claims is right.

That the reason the wildly famous Tony Stark started frequenting Bucky's cat cafe is because he loves cats, and the moment he learned his PA had been hiding this cafe’s existence from him, he bribed her with fancy shoes to get the address. 

Happy would say, bullshit. 

But as it is, Happy works for Tony and Tony bribes him with a free sandwich of the day every time they visit the cafe to keep his trap shut. 

(What can Happy do in the face of excellent sandwiches and delicious Caramel Macchiato? They do say it’s hard to get the caramel swirls on top of the whipped cream right, and whoever makes his drink does it perfectly each time. So at least for the love of that talent, Happy keeps his mouth shut.)

So, when Bucky taps the caramel bottle on the counter and grumbles, “Are you gonna ever ask him out?” - Steve blushes the deepest shade of pink and pries his eyes away from Tony.

“Why would I ever do that?” He busies himself with… nothing.

“Uh, I don’t know Stevie, maybe the fact that he keeps coming back here asking for this vile shit," he pauses to press the cap delicately over the large Caramel Macchiato. "Or that he’s giving you pathetic googly eyes all the time?” 

Bucky glares at Steve then he directs that glare at the drink he loathes making the most with all the venom in the world. 

“Wherever he’s putting this cursed thing into," he shoves it at Steve. “Here. Go call for your knight in… whatever the fuck he’s wearing.”

Steve turns to look at where Tony’s sitting; in the far left corner in the back of the cafe; in his pinstripe suit and daisy dotted tie paired with white, also daisy dotted, sneakers and a pair of orange-tinted glasses. 

Alpine - Bucky's white Turkish Angora - sits pristinely on the table in front of Tony looking like she’s giving him a lecture on something - like father, like daughter - while Tony stares right back at her challengingly. 

Liho, who’s Natasha’s favourite kitten (no matter how fervently Natasha denies having a favourite at all) is lounging next to Tony, tail draped lazily over his lap. Mrs Berry in all her tortoiseshell glory, is licking her butt on Tony’s left. Grey Mr Goose is sniffing Tony’s shoes and rubbing up his shin. 

Behind the cash-counter, Steve sighs like the hopeless man he is. Bucky’s bemused gaze bores into him steadily.

Steve bristles, “I don’t see what’s wrong with what he’s wearing.” Because as much as Bucky’s wrong about Tony being interested in Steve in any way, he is right in assuming that Steve is. 

As a matter of fact, he’s balancing precariously between sanity and lovesick insanity and with every visit from Tony, he’s tipping dangerously towards the latter. Fantastic.

“Idiot,” Bucky snorts, turning to the kitchen. "At least ask him to change the fucking order. For fucks’ sake.”

Which leaves Steve alone with Tony, since it’s 8.30pm on a Tuesday and the cafe would never see a slower business hour than that.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Steve puts the drink on a tray and checks his reflection on the microwave’s shiny surface - courtesy of Phil, their clean-freak coworker - before he moves.

It’s both scary and amazing how each time he makes his way to Tony, his heart would pitter patter and trip in its running behind his ribcage. So is the way he’d inhale sharply, lashes fluttering when they lock eyes and Tony smiles and -

Steve could just die right then and there. 

-

The first time Steve talked to Tony; he vividly remembers it being a horrible day. 

Everything had gone wrong from when the alarm went off that morning - A series of misfortunate events, and he’d just bribed Clint with a promise of dinner from his wallet in exchange for his extra shirt because an idiot on the freeway had driven through a puddle of rainwater soaking Steve dirty and wet. 

Then, he’d stepped behind the cash counter for his turn at taking orders when a rich-looking asshole in a gaudy get up started yanking on Steve’s already frayed nerves. The man, with his stupid beard and flashy glasses rattled off what he’d probably thought an impossible order.

But Bucky was the barista for that hour and Steve had never come across an order Buck couldn’t whip up till this day. Right then though, he was calmly speckling cocoa dust on a mocha, letting Steve face their new customer who had evidently walked in to test their capability. 

Unfortunately for all parties involved, it was just not Steve’s day.

“Do you want anything else?” He’d asked, after dotting pointedly on the cup. 

Tony had leered at him, saying: “Maybe a little smile for the service,” and Steve fucking snapped.

��I’m sorry. But we don’t serve that for assholes.”

He could see Bucky freeze next to him. Tony, on the other hand, looked fully offended. “Excuse me?” he started, peering above his purple glasses, gearing up for a fight and Steve wasn’t going to back down either - putting the empty cup aside as he inhaled and squared up his shoulders. 

But Bucky broke it off before it could even begin.

“Rogers, go make sure Barton is not ruining my sourdough,” he spoke up, flat toned, and he squeezed Steve’s arm warningly before offering his best smile to Tony. “I’m sorry, sir. We just ran out of cardamom so if you don’t mind excluding that from your order, I could whip it up for you just fine.”

The sudden professionalism was so jarring for both men that they each stuttered out an affirmative response and that was that.

Steve went into the kitchen, finished his shift, put an end to his awful day and he forgot all about the asshole customer. Until a week after when he returned.

-

“One caramel macchiato with perfected caramel swirl for Happy Hogan,” Steve places the tray in front of Tony. 

Alpine hops down and leaves, bringing her gang with. Tony’s eyes trail after the number of swishing tails, as well as Steve’s. 

“They really do like you,” Steve tells him, turning back to Tony with a teasing glint in his eyes; cheeks straining hard to keep a happy smile inside. "Nobody gets that much attention all at once."

Tony snorts, leaning forward in his seat, and he looks up from the rim of his glasses. "Pretty sure it's an intimidation tactic," he squints his eyes at Steve.

"Whatever for," Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and he looks down at his feet before looking up at Tony. “Are you gonna stay here longer? I was wondering if I should make yours to go or to have here.”

“Oh,” Tony glances at the tray, “So that’s why my drink is not here then,” he grins at Steve.

“You didn’t even notice.”

“Too busy noticing you.”

Steve blinks, “What’s that?”

“To have here,” Tony declares loudly, his eyes flicker as if they’re hiding something, and his next words come out softer, “If you don’t mind having me here for long, that is.”

Steve’s pretty sure he’s blushing; at least his ears must be the shade of tomatoes in the Spring. At least. “No. I - Of course not.” Could have said, stay forever please but luckily for Steve even his self-deprecating tendency has mercy on him. “Shall we?” He signals.

Tony’s eyes go wide as a saucer. “You’re letting me watch you make it?” And there’s excitement in there, Steve could taste it, even if Tony is trying so hard to keep it contained.

“I mean, we’re not busy now,” he shrugs and the doorbell dings, seeing the only couple who was there out. “And we’re closing in fifteen minutes so…” Steve turns back to Tony, mouth stretching slowly into a smile, eyes twinkling and he could see Tony’s face wearing his reflection as he stands up. 

“Lead the way, fine Sir.” 

-

Changing opinions is not an easy thing to do; especially those cemented so strongly from first impressions.

Seeing Tony the second time immediately made Steve’s spine tense up. But he’s been on this job for a very long time and he knows how to keep feelings away from his profession. He looks Tony straight in the eyes and beamed at him like sunshine.

“Hello! Welcome to Purricano, what would you like to have today?”

Steve distinctly remembers Tony’s eyes going saucer shape wide that day; two rapid blinks and a slack jaw which required Steve’s arched eyebrows to work. (If you ask Tony, of course he’s going to deny that.)

“You’re smiling today,” he squinted. “Why are you smiling? Do I have something on my face?” His eyes flashed towards the nearest reflective surface and Steve swallowed a bubbling laugh. 

“Except for your fashionable pink sunglasses, I assure you, there is nothing on your face, Mister,” (and your stupid goatee), Steve kept smiling creepily. 

Tony’s eyes grew narrower, and he glanced over his shoulder once - making sure no one else was waiting in line - before leaning close to the counter. He beckoned at Steve with one elegant finger, and he hushed, “Do you really think it’s fashionable?”

And the first bubble of laughter escaped out of Steve’s chest that day.

Never stopped ever since.

-

Tony makes him happy. There’s no denying in that. 

It’s probably why Bucky keeps pestering Steve to ask him out; because it’s been years since Steve last laughed. Genuinely, and this loud.

“Oh god,” he clutches his stomach, wiping tears from his eyes. 

The horrible latte art Tony attempted stares back with ugly googly eyes when he looks down and he bursts into another fit of laughter. 

He could feel one of the felines’ tail curling around his ankle curiously, and a pair of large green eyes peer up at him longingly with an accompanying pitiful meow.

“Not,” Steve tells her. 

None of the cats are allowed on the counter; even Alpine doesn’t get the pass. But she likes to try the most out of them all. The rest are already settled for bedtime, and Steve briefly thanks his quick wit to flip the sign close on the front door before he starts showing Tony around.

He turns to him with aching cheeks, tingling skin but the remnant of his grin dies when he sees Tony’s face. Something else takes residence in his belly instead; wings flapping neurotically, lifting to fly away.

“What?” he asks, lashes fluttering, breath sticking like glue on the lining of his throat. Because Tony looks dazed, like he’d just witnessed something divine but got no vocabulary enough to describe what was that.

He shakes his head, inhale sounding sharp, and he tries to bury his words under a chuckle but Steve hears him this time. “You’re beautiful.”

Loud like a Church’s bell, echoing even after and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. Hope, blossoms like Queen of the Night; rapid and shy. Would die with a single ‘no’ from Tony, would probably never bloom again after this, but the hope is heavy as well as pretty; pushes Steve to ask Tony, “Did you mean that?”

Tony’s eyes snap up and Steve could see the same hope growing in them. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice high with a nervous tremor and it comes out like a breathy bark. His shoulders come loose, all limbs as well, and he reaches out for Steve before he stops himself. 

Can I? His eyes ask, and Steve takes a step forward. Of course; his gesture screams. Of course, you can.

Tony's hand touches his cheek and Steve thinks maybe this Queen of the night would live to see daylights. 

He shudders, full body. Closes his eyes tight and wills those butterflies in his belly to calm down. He smells Tony before he hears him; spice and a spilled can of cinnamon from just now. "Shh," Tony tells him. "Shh," and Steve sighs into his palm. 

His thumb drags a stripe under his eye, and Tony says, "God, Steve… Can't you see how bad I want you?"

The truth is no. Steve didn't see it. He shakes his head.

"Why'd you think I keep coming back," Tony asks, so close now that Steve swears he could hear the rumble in his chest even if their bodies are not touching. Yet. 

Feeling somewhat more grounded, he guesses, "For the cats?"

And Tony laughs. 

Not just a little but a full hearty laugh that makes him wheeze. 

"Oh no," he splutters, trying to gather himself apiece while Steve's surprise slowly shifts into a scowl. 

"No, no, no," he chants, reaching for Steve again, catching his face with two hands, cupping and Tony's so bright with joy when he presses their foreheads together. 

"Steve, Steve, Steven," he breathes. "Honey, I can’t go near a cat without popping twenty antihistamines."

"I'm allergic to them."

"What?" Steve pulls back. More shocked than surprise now. "But -,"

"It's you," Tony cuts him off, pulling him back by his hips, and he butts his head into Steve’s breastbone. Buries his next words in there; "I fell in love with you, Rogers. Not them.”

And he sounds almost whiny but Steve can see now, why; can’t believe Tony’s been inhaling allergy medications to see Steve - 

“Jesus Christ.” A little frustration seeps into Steve’s own voice as he buries his fingers into Tony’s hair. “I can’t believe you’re allergic to cats.”

A betrayed meow sounded from below and both of them look down to find Liho, gazing expectantly at Tony. “Meow,” she says again. 

“Think you got some explaining to do,” Steve smirks, looking at Tony. As if on cue, Tony sneezes so hard that Liho jumps a foot in the air before scrambling away in fear. 

“Oh uh,” he cups his mouth and nose, blinking at Steve, lost.

And Steve knows it’s bad to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. At least he saves himself with a smooth invite when he’d calmed down. “Wanna wait outside? Let me close the shop and we’ll…”

“Dinner?”

“Definitely.”

“Great!” Tony grins at him so prettily and Steve, with his heart fluttering in its cage, leans in and kisses him sweet.