#he is coping when he pretends absolutely nothing has ever been wrong

[romantichopelessly]

and I’m right.

[manslaught]

mikayla's chest swells with anger, eyes squinting slightly in disbelief, because what the fuck? “ that's not what happened. ” her tone is firmer this time, because she's not trying to argue— she's just telling the truth, whether tai wants to believe it or not. maybe mikayla overreacted, unable to cope with being broken up with on top of everything else she was dealing with in the moment, but she didn't just give up on taissa, not when it already felt like tai gave up on her. she was just making it easy for the both of them, letting tai focus on her own life, the way she seemed so fucking desperate to without her, and giving herself the space she needed to move on. her reaction felt like the only real choice, the only thing that made sense, because watching tai just slowly forget about her would have hurt so much worse than just ripping the bandaid off entirely, cutting straight to the loss.

she closes her eyes in annoyance, head falling back for a moment as she takes a deep breath, trying to get a hold of herself. her attempt to pretend she doesn't care seems to be failing miserably, but she should have expected that much when tai's always known how to get under her skin. “ he wanted to play professionally, ” she starts with the actual explanation, irritated that she has to explain herself at all, because if tai paid any attention to her back then, she should have been able to figure it out herself. but maybe mikayla didn't matter as much as she thought she did, so of course she wouldn't remember. “ but he wasn't good enough. so it makes me feel— i don't know, better. knowing i'm doing what he couldn't. ” it could easily apply for taissa, too, because both of the people who hurt mikayla most wanted the same thing at some point— but as bad as tai hurt her, he did so much worse, so this has far more to do with spiting him. “ is that a good enough reason for you? can you drop it now? ”

of course that's easy for tai to say when she hasn't spent years feeling like an idiot, putting so much faith into someone, giving her all the power to hurt mikayla, actually stupid enough to think that tai wouldn't. as much as she's convinced herself she hates tai for what she did, mikayla hates herself worse for even allowing it, for not knowing better. “ i was wrong, ” she corrects, which feels like the same thing, but maybe tai won't argue against it. “ —about you. that makes me stupid. ” she thought tai was someone who loved her, who wanted to be with her, but clearly, something changed between rescue and mikayla's arrest. “ you were different. ” she doesn't even just mean compared to now— she couldn't recognize the girl who visited her in prison, the one who found it so easy to break mikayla's heart, because she felt absolutely nothing like the girl mikayla fell in love with, the one who loved her back.

“ you don't even know me now. ” she's not wrong, of course, because after she was told changing numbers wasn't an option, she'd wondered if it would bother tai, if it would hurt. but it wasn't intentional, only a thought that crossed her mind after the fact. she frowns at tai's answer, unable to believe that that's really it, but unlike taissa, mikayla's not annoying enough to push for more. everything feels empty to mikayla, and maybe a lot of that has to do with losing the only person who ever really made her feel alive, so she can't let herself get too concerned. “ and... being a lawyer feels better? ” she asks slowly, like she can't imagine it being any less empty, but maybe that's because she could at least understand playing soccer. “ i hope you're better than the dumbass i got to represent me. but— you kind of suck at giving convicts hope, so i can't really see that. ”

her eyes narrow in on her,  ready to challenge her—   but even she understands she doesn’t have much to stand on.   she did break up with her quickly,   but the way she remembers it now,   they both thought it was the right thing to do.   but part of her also knows that she’s only choosing to remember it that way because the memory of how hurt mikayla looked when it all happened is too much for her to bear.   ❝  that’s how i remember it,  ❞    she mumbles,   like it’s actually no big deal,   even though it is.   because while she thought it was for the best when they broke up then,   she didn’t expect everything that happened afterwards—  like mikayla completely cutting her out of her life,   not caring to keep taissa updated on what’s going on,   given everything they’ve been through.  taissa still believes she’s owed that,  even if they’re not together.   

her eyes roll and she lets out a small scoff,  nodding her head slowly.  ❝  yeah.  that makes sense,  ❞   she mutters,  as if mikayla is the only selfish one between them.   she stares at her blankly,   because her words are offending her in a way she doesn’t actually think mikayla is trying to do—   taissa’s the one who should’ve gone pro out of all of time,   at least that’s the way she sees it,  the way she’s sure her coaches would’ve seen it too.   selfishly,  she resents mikayla for hating that she’s made it there.   but the part of taissa that will always love mikayla just feels sad for her,  knowing that she’s still stuck doing something she hates for…  whatever reasons she’s still not willing to fully give.   ❝  you should care,  ❞   she insists,   her jaw clenching as she wonders if she should just leave it at that.   ❝  that’s a lot of fucking effort to be wasted if you don't actually want to do that,  ❞    she points out—  as if she hasn't done the same thing plenty of times.   since they broke up,  she's barely made any choice that was to reach her own happiness.  she just thinks it's different.

her words sting taissa now,   her eyes closing immediately,  trying not to let herself get too affected—  but it’s hard not to,   not when the only thing taissa’s ever been sure about is that she did love mikayla,  that what they had was real,  despite the way it turned out.   she takes a deep breath,  glaring back at her.   ❝  no.   you weren’t stupid then,  ❞   she says through gritted teeth,  not allowing her eyes to look away,  despite how desperately she wants to.   ❝  you were—  ❞    in love.   but she can’t bear to finish that sentence,   not when the past tense will feel like a knife to the gut.   ❝  — things were just different,  ❞   she settles on instead,  because that’s her own defense,  too.   they were different out there—  it didn’t mean she stopped loving her.

❝  just seems like something you would do,  ❞    she points out,   but she’s not meaning that as if mikayla’s hung up on her.   clearly she’s not,  if she hasn’t bothered to speak to her in years.   she just assumes she’d be playing some kind of game,  just getting her attention to make taissa look foolish for it.   when she finally asks the dreaded question,  taissa takes a deep breath,   feeling a pain in her chest because she wishes she could’ve talked to her about this years ago.   it doesn’t even feel like a genuine opportunity to do it now—  not when mikayla’s the successful one and clearly already loves to shove that in her face.   ❝  i just decided it wasn’t for me, ❞    she says simply,  a practiced response,  but despite how well she can pull it off—  mikayla still knows her better.   she takes a long drink before she gives in and goes on.    ❝  it didn’t work out for me.  i played in college,  and i was damn good,  but it just—  ❞    she scoffs.   ❝  it felt kind of empty,  ❞     she admits,  her eyes cautiously meeting hers again,  desperate to know if she feels that now, too.  

[mindshelter]

speaking as someone who wasn't part of the DC fanbase in the 2000s by virtue of being a small child, can you. fucking imagine. what it was like to be a fan of tim and kon back then. nothing huge, they'd be cute together now that they've grown out of their past antagonism and are now the best! of friends! who support each other -- tim assures kon of his own humanity, refers to kon as family. kon, in turn, helps tim shoulder the grief of losing jack and is notably territorial over tim's status as robin. aw, that's sweet--

and then kon fucking dies, as one does. crosses the wrong rainbow bridge. body's going cold by the time tim reaches him. they were his colours.

and then, for the next few years, you're periodically hit with the most deranged content possible. what happens next far, far exceeds whatever inhinged nonsense DC's own timkon fans could have come up with. tim is pretending to be coping well, and a full year later, he is in fact coping so well that he's trying clone or ressurrect kon through any means possible. this brings him (and the titans) in direct opposition against the brotherhood of evil, whose leadership consists of, wait for it, a gay gorilla and his gay lover, a gay brain in a jar. their gay evil goal is to give the brain in a jar a new body so they can live happily ever after. tim is quietly devastated when their attempt at cloning Brain said new body fails. their final appearance in that issue has the Brain quote nietzsche: "there is always some madness in love. but there is also always some reason in madness."

seven (7) pages later, tim's ninety-fifth attempt at remaking kon fails. he starts destroying his lab equipment in a fit of rage. cassie exclaims that even if tim did succeed, it wouldn't really be conner, to which tim says, he'd be close enough. we could make him close enough.

hey tim what the fuck is wrong with you (don't answer that)

absolutely nobody at all, zero people:

DC: this disembodied brain and his boyfriend, a french gorilla named monsieur mallah, mirrors tim's struggle to live without his beloved friend and show tim the futility of trying to bring him back to life

it. it just keeps. just keeps going. no time to catch your breath. my best friend died. i couldn't accept it, tim says melodramatically, a single manly tear rolling down his cheek. i couldn't lose you too. i know it wouldn't have been you, conner, but it would have been something.

and it keeps going. bleeding out. will i see conner? hope so, tim thinks, because his priorities are in order. the rooftop hug. why so happy? let me guess. sale on leather?

if you need me, just yell. i'll hear you. i know you will, conner. and thanks. for what? for believing in me.

elsewhere, a sentient plant makes kon hallucinate his greatest fears and they are, get this,

1. tim not liking him (agh!)

2. tim hating him (agh!)

3. tim dying (agh!)

we haven't even reached you'll always be my robin. you'll always be my clone boy. that's the gratuitous, almost vestigial cherry in top at this point.

... like. imagine being a DC fan pre-infinite crisis and thinking robin and superboy were pretty cute, and had great chemistry, not expecting anything too crazy. and then spending the next five to six years getting repeatedly kicked in the face. i just know those livejournal forums were popping back when adventure comics #3 (2009) dropped

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of BL fics where Louis is absolutely smittne with Harry. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog the post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Press Into My Bones | Explicit | 2121 words

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, half annoyed, half aroused.

Harry only hums in lieu of a reply, his eyes not even open yet. Bastard. His mate is a bastard.

Or Louis wakes up full.

2) The Moon, The Stars (Are Nothing Without You) | Explicit | 2960 words

There are times when Louis wishes he could freeze time. Moments where he wishes he could put the world on halt and just breathe because sometimes it feels like everything is moving much too fast and all the years of his life won’t ever be enough time for him to soak it all in.

3) In My Bed (You're Not Here) | Mature | 5685 words

Louis fears that his long-term boyfriend Harry is losing feelings for him. A drunken night reveals he might be wrong.

4) Let’s Shack Up | Explicit | 11257 words

In which Louis wants to wake up in Harry’s arms forever. So he makes a list.

Or Loosely based on Ben Platt’s "Share Your Address"

5) No Place Without You | Explicit | 19089 words

 A Wanderlust AU in which Harry doesn't have a permanent home and stays with Louis when he visits NYC.

6) Absolutely Smitten | Explicit | 20120 words

Adopting Clifford was a way for Louis to finally cope with his loneliness, as a lively dog would spice up his life and his boring daily routine. Now, he surely didn’t expect Clifford to lead him to meet one strange man obsessed with his cat that he walks and cooks with.

Somehow, Louis falls in love pretty fast along the way.

7) Boyfriend Material | Explicit | 22565 words

So basically Nick bets Louis he can't go two months without sex. And then he introduces Harry to him. Because he's the devil.

8) Force of Nature | Explicit | 25672 words

Louis is a shy, young musician who doesn't want to go to Harvard.

Harry is a confident,  second year athlete who likes to have a good time.

When their paths cross while their families are vacationing at the same lake resort, what begins as a summer of fun becomes a defining journey that might just change everything.

9) Compete Against The Stars | Mature | 30980 words

An ABO au where Louis finds out he's claimed to another Alpha. Angst ensues.

10) These Hallowed Woods | Explicit | 35535 words

Louis becomes Luna of the Tomlinson Pack after the untimely death of his father, the Pack Alpha. Saddled with his newfound responsibility and an unpleasantly demanding pack council, he finds secret respite in the arms of a rogue wolf that camps out just outside his territory. The only problem? The rogue has no idea who Louis actually is, and as Louis falls harder and harder for the man he escapes to every night, the weight of his lies steers him along a path of certain misery.

11) I Think I'm In Love This Christmas | Explicit | 36084 words

Home for the holidays and tired of being single, Louis tells his family that he’s dating his childhood friend, Harry (the fact he’s in love with him is irrelevant). Unbeknownst to him, Harry's the handyman who's been helping his parents whilst he's been at uni. So he's left to confront the alpha and ask for his assistance. Pretending to date your best friend is easier than Louis imagined.    

12) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

13) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

The one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

14) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

15) The Galaxy's Edge | Explicit | 113921 words

In which Louis is a bounty hunter with a messed up past. Harry is a prince who just wants to prove himself. Niall and Zayn have too many things to figure out together. And Liam just wants to take care of his family.

Things never quite go as they are planned during a simple rescue job.

16) Cold Little Heart | Teen & Up | 194589 words

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child. A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something odd. In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham. Louis really could use the help.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[gayboysteve]

My point is that it ignores all the places where Jonathan receives privilege. My point is that it is disparaging towards Steve while pretending to like him by purposefully obfuscating the way they describe certain things. As if tone and presentation aren't also indicative of how a post comes across lmao. My point is that most Jonathan fans I encounter only have a picture of him in their head but don't actually understand Jonathan; only a projection of what they believe to be true. The reason Jonathan smokes weed is absolutely a headcanon, the quotations around Steve's dad being a dick is indicative that the op thinks it's untrue or less valid because we have canonical evidence of how shitty Lonnie is. Actually, record scratch.

Let's start from the top.

"Steve getting a summer job at 18 bc his dad made him vs Jonathan working since he was really young to support his family."

Steve canonically worked as a lifeguard before season three. "since he was really young" is clearly engaging sympathy towards Jonathan and away from Steve. We don't know at what age Jonathan started working.

"Steve having all of his needs met vs Jonathan having to help pay bills."

Again it's an issue with tone. The above statement is not untrue from the knowledge we have on screen. It is phrased and contrasted to draw sympathy towards Jonathan.

"Steve not going to college bc he didn’t get in vs Jonathan not going bc of his guilt and anxiety about leaving his family."

Truly, this one in particular was one that pissed me off the most. Again, it absolutely is painting Jonathan as a "sad uwu boy" while also (unintentionally or not) painting Steve's inability to get into college as something to disparage upon. This also has nothing to do with privilege??? If that were the case Steve would've gotten into a school undeservingly. I think that in general the way the show itself is pretty gross when discussing Steve's intelligence. That absolutely reflects upon the reading fans takeaway but it doesn't make it any less bad taste to act like his reason for not going into college is lesser than Jonathan's reasoning. Also, wasn't Jonathan still planning to go to community college with Argyle in Lenora??? So??? He's still making plans to go to school.

"Steve smoking weed for fun vs Jonathan smoking it to cope."

And here we get to the one that pissed me off and actually genuinely and truly disgusted me. The whole reason I decided to be a cunt towards the op. This is absolutely not canonical and is just a headcanon. We do not know why either of them smoke weed. (Steve is also not necessarily a weed smoker within canon. He makes a joke that would have very much been the kinda thing he saw in anti-drug campaigns. I do think he smokes but again. He's explicitly making a joke.) As someone with substance abuse issues and a family full of addiction issues the way that this is phrased as though Steve smoking weed for fun (again, not canonical) is somehow lesser or more morally wrong than Jonathan smoking it to cope is a truly disgusting sentiment.

"Steve ‘babysitting’ Dustin vs Jonathan parenting Will."

Another true statement. The quotations around babysitting are confusing to me though because Jonathan arguably doesn't really parent Will after season two in the same vein I assume they're implying Steve doesn't babysit Dustin any longer. (Bad faith reading of this could be taken to mean op doesn't think he ever did.)

"Steve’s ‘asshole’ Dad vs Jonathan‘s abusive Dad."

This disregards Steve's own words with their use of quotations. Also assumes quantification of abuse and/or neglect (or overall lack of care) as something to be measured against one another. It's not the fucking Olympics.

"Steve being excited about his future kids vs Jonathan‘s fear of turning into his Dad."

If we can extrapolate that Jonathan's fears are founded in not turning into his father then we can also extrapolate that Steve's desire to be a good dad also stems from having a father he does not want to be like. (Jonathan also never expressly states that he doesn't want to be like his father so... This is also technically a headcanon though I will say its one founded in reality and not just pulling things out of thin air.)

"Steve idealising Nancy as his wife vs Jonathan being terrified of holding her back."

Having a dream is not the same thing as idolizing her as his wife. Jonathan is assumptive in the belief that Nancy would drop all of her dreams and run to go to community college with him in Lenora. He doesn't want her to give up on her dreams but he also has a very negative view of what their future is going to look like because of the trauma of his parents' terrible marriage. Again if we can extrapolate Jonathan's reasoning then we can absolutely make assumptions about Steve's own.

"Steve getting to be a teenager while Jonathan had to be an adult."

No comment on this one. It's a true statement on it's own but I will argue none of them really got to be teenagers once they were part of the upside-down mess either.

"The audience forgiving Steve but not Jonathan."

Speaking about an outside party. No way to be canonical. The audience largely forgives Jonathan for his actions. There are haters in both directions that will not let any of their past deeds go in a need to dunk on one to prop up their fave (which this post is doing by tonal indicators and, again, obfuscation of their statements to lean negatively one way and positively the other.) This is not something singluar to Jonathan at all. Steve is more POPULAR with the general audience because the Duffers allow him to be more wholly integrated into the narrative and backseat Jonathan. This is an issue with the writing that... very likely might harken back to Charlie Heaton's arrest over cocaine. No proof though but it makes sense. (I say let them all do coke idc)

"Steve running from the cops vs Jonathan getting arrested."

Nothing to do with privilege or moral character. Jonathan was also like blacked out in rage. The only reason Steve was able to run away was because Tommy had the sense to do so. Both Jonathan and Steve were so wrapped up in the fight that if Tommy hadn't been there then they both would've likely not gotten arrested. They would've been questioned and would've asked Steve (and possibly Jonathan) if he wanted to press charges. Jonathan unintentionally hit a cop which is why he was detained.

"The audience loving Steve but hating or ignoring Jonathan."

Again. This is not canon because this is not about canon events. This has nothing to do with privilege. The audience showing less care towards Jonathan is a fault of the Duffer's failure to give his character anything to do. The entire post is a bad-faith argument presenting itself about being about privilege when its really just trying to highlight Jonathan as better. This might not be intentional but through the manner of wording and the choices they make to describe events it absolutely comes off that way.

I love both Steve and Jonathan. I think (if you ignore Steddie shippers lmfao) the fandom for the most part regards Steve and his actions through a canon lense. Jonathan fans, however, are bereft of content regarding him and so a lot of the appreciation I do see is less about who he is and more about who they wish they got to see, or an idealization of the archetype that he's set up as in season one initially. And like I said I do think its because you guys are lacking in proper canon content for him. But, that doesn't make it less disingenuous.

I think Jonathan Byers is a really interesting characters but so many of his fans project onto him so that he's unrecognizable from the guy we actually see on screen. If you divorce Jonathan from his actions and behavior then you're not really his fan, you're a fan of the idealized version of the trope he fulfilled in season one. To take a character away from the context of their canonical characterizations and try to write a metanalysis on them is to have already failed in your analysis. You cannot project head canons onto an analysis. Jonathan has been done a disservice by the show but the fans also do him a disservice by failing to acknowledge who he actually is as a person because if you accept the negative traits that DO exist within him then you can view him as a more fully realized and three dimensional characters.

But most Jonathan fans just want to be salty that Steve exists. Well, I want them to raw each other silly while still hating each other. You can go back to making up things to be mad over that are explicitly not canon.

[dinogoose]

i wake in the night (i pace like a ghost)

This is extremely weird and he needs to get out of here. He can’t just have a pity party on Eddie’s front steps. Or fall asleep here which is getting closer and closer to happening.

Just one more minute and then Buck will leave-

“Buck?”

Of course. If he doesn’t turn around, maybe Eddie won’t see him. He could pretend he’s a sleep hallucination. Or a ghost.

(or, buck has insomnia and runs to eddie, literally. eddie welcomes him with open arms)

His muscles relax, breaths evening out, eyes moving behind closed lids, his body finally giving in… and… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Hours spent tossing and turning, trying to find the perfect angle, the correct side, letting the right amount of leg out from under his blanket to feel the cool air, and nothing.

There were no outside barriers keeping Buck from sleep. Everything was good. Buck felt good.

Well not good- He doesn’t feel ‘good’ unless he’s with- that’s besides the point. He was fine.

His loft was quiet, peaceful. Some may even say tranquil.

Buck wouldn’t.

No matter how silent his loft was, his brain still just wouldn’t let him rest. He would get close, just as he did every night, then would jerk awake. Terrified and on edge.

‘Fuck this’ he thinks, swinging his legs over the bed. They land with a hard thunk, but Buck pays no attention to that, as he quickly rises.

He walks over to his dresser, grabbing sweats and a hoodie, (that might have the words ‘DIAZ’ printed on the back) pulling them on.

Even though it’s far too late to go for a run, Buck doesn’t care. His need to remove the thrumming in his bones- outweighs social norms.

He’s out his door within a blink of an eye. He’s barely sure he shut his door before he’s in the street running.

His feet slap the pavement, the sound of his shoes echoing through his mind with each step. He speeds up.

The wind stings at his face, burning him, and he welcomes the feeling. This was always his favorite part of running. The pain.

How his lungs gasp for air they won’t get, how his good leg aches just as much as the bad one, how his eyes gather tears that won’t ever fall.

He loves it.

When he runs, his mind gives him a break completely occupied with the task at hand. His sleep is plagued with nightmares, so running is his peaceful alternative.

Although he doubts his therapist would agree, considering the ‘peace’ he gets comes at the expense of his own body being pushed to exertion.

But oh well, Buck’s never been one for healthy coping mechanisms.

Buck is entirely unaware of where he is going. He isn’t even sure how long he’s been running.

Until suddenly he’s sprinting through a familiar neighborhood.

Eddie’s neighborhood to be specific.

Shit.

It’s almost as if his unconscious mind led him here. To the one place that has ever been home.

To the people he loves most in the world. His family.

Buck had grown up feeling unsafe, unloved, a burden to everyone he was around.

All of that changed though, when he met Eddie and Christopher Diaz.

Buck shakes his head, ridding those thoughts. The Diaz’ boys are not his family. They aren’t his to keep and it’s selfish to think that way.

Buck however, can’t help but climb up the steps of Eddie’s porch, just standing there. The glow of the moon illuminating him slightly.

He heaves for air, his lungs thanking him, and slumps to the ground. His body lands harder than he would’ve liked, the sound ricocheting into the dark.

This is extremely weird and he needs to get out of here. He can’t just have a pity party on Eddie’s front steps. Or fall asleep here which is getting closer and closer to happening.

Just one more minute and then Buck will leave-

“Buck?”

Of course. If he doesn’t turn around, maybe Eddie won’t see him. He could pretend he’s a sleep hallucination. Or a ghost.

“Buck? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Eddie has now stepped forward, resting his arm on Buck’s shoulder. There goes the ghost plan.

“Uh nothing- it’s late I should go.” His voice sounds worse than he thought he would’ve. Raspy, and strangled, as if he’s swallowed dust.

Buck still hasn’t turned around, his guilt not allowing himself the joy of seeing Eddie’s face.

He doesn’t need to turn, because suddenly Eddie is crouched in front of him.

His face is scrunched with worry, and he reaches out to hold Buck’s knees so gently he could cry. There’s a chance he is already crying.

“Buck. What’s wrong?” It’s dark, but Buck can still read every emotion in Eddie’s deep honey eyes. God- he’s the prettiest person Buck has ever seen.

“This is so stupid- I just… couldn’t sleep.” He confessed the last part, letting the words dissipate through the air.

“So you ran all the way here?” Buck just looks down and nods, embarrassed. He’s thankful Eddie can’t see how red he’s gone.

“I didn’t even mean to. It was like instinct.” He rubs his own neck, this conversation turning from weird to downright humiliating.

Eddie uses his thumbs to rub circles into Buck’s legs.

“Okay. Well, it’s very late.” Buck has an apology on the tip of his tongue when Eddie barrels on, “So how about we go to bed, then we can talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, alright.” Eddie smiles, his sleep rumpled face lighting up. He stands- knees popping- and outstretches a hand to Buck.

Buck takes it, allowing Eddie to haul him up. When Eddie doesn’t let go, instead tugging him into the house, Buck is just a little confused.

They walk straight past the couch, Eddie still gripping his hand. Buck makes a noise of confusion but Eddie tsks and walks into his room.

He silently offers Buck a shirt and sleep pants to wear, his old clothes a little sweaty from his earlier run.

Buck takes them, turning around to change.

Yes they’ve seen each other get dressed many times. However this is different. This is intimate. Buck shivers, pulling off his shirt.

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him and it’s making this simple task extremely difficult.

Once he’s finished Eddie tugs him to bed.

The older man on the side closest to the door, Buck on the other.

Before Buck can even say anything, possibly apologize, Eddie wraps him in his eyes. Essentially spooning him.

“Sleep Evan.” The words tickle down Buck’s spine and into his heart.

He’d do anything Eddie asked him to. So, he sleeps.

(whumptober day 3: insomnia.)

[harry-writings]

We’ll Be Alright

The one where Harry and Y/n have a hard time coping without one another, and Harry finally understands what it means to be a husband

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

How to support me <333

-

Y/n knows she’s hit rock bottom when she pours her fifth glass of whiskey at three in the morning, lighting up her seventh cigarette on her bedroom balcony, as if furthering herself away from her right state of mind will somehow bring her closer to all the answers she had been looking for.

She doesn’t even smoke.

The last time she came this close to a cigarette was five months before she found out she was pregnant with Topher. It was the third time Harry didn’t show up to marriage counseling, and Y/n was so upset and so angry and so hurt that she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying until it was in her hands.

This time, though, the shaking and the crying don’t stop.

She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her elbows propped up on her knees, one hand resting at the roots of her hair and the other holding her glass in her palm and her cigarette between her fingers. Her leg is bouncing and her eyes are wet, zoning herself out from the rest of the world, trying to get as far away from herself as possible.

She hasn’t seen Harry in thirteen days.

Not only has she not seen Harry, but she also hasn’t talked to Harry or had any ties left to Harry for nearly two weeks now and Y/n can barely hold herself together anymore. She’s surprised she’s even gotten this far without him.

They aren’t divorced — the papers were left on the courtroom table practically untouched, and though she hates to admit it to herself, Y/n was the first to leave them behind — but they might as well have been.

He wasn’t even the one to pick up Topher today. And she didn’t realize how much she’d miss their traditions — even the ones they’ve made while being separated — until she saw Mitch standing at the other side of her door and watched as he buckled her son into the same carseat Harry once had in his car.

It was at that moment that she knew that even though they weren’t divorced, they really were over, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Now she’s so drunk she can barely remember where she is. The skyline and the buildings look familiar, but everything is so out of touch she can’t find the same peace and comfort in it as she once used to.

Everything has faded to nothing.

And whether it’s from the alcohol, or the revisitation of bad habits, or if it’s from grieving the loss of somebody still alive, but everything to her feels numb. All that’s left is pain and sadness and the fear of living the rest of her life exactly like this — lost, hopeless, and alone.

She thinks back to the day she slept with Harry — as she does, she throws the last bit of whiskey down her throat and swallows it down without a flinch — and how that day was forever going to be the last day she had ever held him, had ever kissed him, had ever told him that she loved him.  

If she had known — really, really known — it was going to be her last chance to do any of those things, she wouldn’t have pushed him away. She would have done all the things Harry wanted — would have spent the rest of their day in bed, drinking wine, celebrating all that once was and what always could be.

Because that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she’s wanted since the beginning of this mess they’ve made of themselves, she just didn’t ever want to admit it.

This feeling that burns in her stomach at the thought of not being with Harry makes her want to scream. She can’t escape it, even as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream and takes away every other feeling in her body.

She sobs, her chin tucking into her chest and her palms pressing to her forehead, agonizing and inhumane cries falling past her lips.

Her Harry is no longer hers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a puddle of tears falling down her cheeks as she does so, her hand dropping the whiskey glass, her cigarette left sparked on the balcony floor as her fingers twist and pull at her hair. She hunches over her knees, trying so desperately to put herself back together again.

But it’s impossible. She knows it’s impossible because it’s him that makes her whole — him that holds her and keeps her together, even when everything else around her is falling apart.

She’d do anything to feel his arms around her now.

And it’s all she can think about — how lonely and cold and frigid it feels without the feel of his touch, and how loud the silence is without the sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how in love with her he is, giggling at her blush.

And she’s had so much to drink she can trick her mind into believing that he’s here, if she thinks about it hard enough. She mistakes the wind for the feel of him walking past her, smells his cologne in the liquor, but it’s still too quiet for her to really, truly believe it.

And she just wants to believe it. For once, she wants to pretend that he’s here with her, loving her, wanting her the way he always used to. Even if it’s the wrong thing to do.

Her hand shakingly reaches for her phone.

“‘Ello, this is Harry! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your call, but I promise to return to you whenever I’m next available. Thank you, talk soon! Bye.”

And oh, how good it feels to hear his voice again.

It brings her back to all the times she’d call Harry while he was away on tour and how every phone call lasted at least two hours. Whether it was to check up on him, or to wish him goodnight, or to have phone sex, he never failed to make every second they were spending apart feel so worth it.

She calls him six more times just to hear his voicemail.

By the seventh and last phone call, Y/n is so low she’s tempted to just finish it off — down the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey that have kept her more company than her husband. Maybe filling her void with vices will be enough to last her until the blackout, where she will finally be free.

But what will she have left if she does?

The loneliness and the sadness and the hopelessness will all still be there. She will still wake up to a cold bed, in an empty home, with nobody to share her life with. She will still have this sick and twisted feeling that happiness doesn’t exist outside of her Harry — that happiness doesn’t exist within these walls, miles away from him, with only herself to hold.

She can’t keep waking up without him anymore. She can hardly keep living.

So, she does the first and only thing that comes to her mind.

She calls Mitch.

The clock nearly at four in the morning doesn’t seem to strike her as her drunken fingers struggle to tap on his contact name, knowing that this is the only way.

“Mitch.” Y/n hiccups when he answers her call, watching as everything around her starts to spin out of her control, instinctively reaching her hand beside her to hold onto Harry’s — the way she always did whenever she got too drunk. Her heart hurts even worse than before when she’s met with nothing but the ache of what once was. “Come get me, please.”

Something in the air shifts around Mitch.

He has known Y/n for years now, yet he can barely recognize that it’s her voice on the phone. He has to look down at the name on his phone twice before pressing the speaker to his ear, his heart nearly still as he wonders the reason behind such a disturbing and unexpected request.

“Y/n… is everything alright?” He asks tentatively, carefully, because she’s never awake this late at night and has never sounded so hurt. “What’s happened, love?”

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, almost angrily.

“My husband’s been ignoring me for the past two weeks and I’m not —” She stops, sucking in a broken breath, not even believing the words she just spoke because she never believed he’d leave her all alone for so long. “I’m not taking it so well, obviously.”

Mitch sighs.

He should have known, from the second he saw the look on her face earlier that evening, that her night was going to end like this. The love she and Harry share is a kind he’s never seen before — something so far from ordinary, something he couldn’t even understand despite the love for his own girlfriend, who lays beside him so peacefully now.

Their love is more than love. It’s deeper, more soulful, as if they have found each other in every past life and every after life. They truly are, in the most unexplainable of ways, made for one another eternally. Forever, they are theirs.

It’s both a blessing and a curse — their preexisting connection— because they are everything together, but absolutely nothing apart.

“Y/n, love... he’s not ignoring you. He wouldn’t dream of it.”

Oh, how she wishes it was true.

“He didn’t even want to see me tonight. He sees me two days out of the week and he didn’t even want that. There was a time he’d do anything just to look at me for even a second.”

He wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see her — all he does is cry and whine and sulk about how he hasn’t — he just believes leaving Y/n alone is truly what’s best for her right now.

She has barely had any time away from him. Surely, she did have the weekdays to herself and Topher, but she still had to see him every weekend — still had to face him at her doorway; still had to be around him, even on her worst days; still had to be reminded of everything that had gone wrong.

Being around him confuses her. He knows that now, and so does Mitch. But Mitch always knew. Y/n has always been too in deep with Harry. One proper look at him would be enough to send her to her knees.

He’s her greatest weakness.

She needs to be alone.

Or, so he once thought.

“Have you been drinking?”

Y/n laughs in an almost sarcastic way, the side of her wrist pulling at the corner of her eye as she wipes away at her tears.

“Drinking, frying my brain with nicotine, crying my fucking eyes out.” Her lips tremble as she stuffles away a cry. “All of the above.”

Mitch frowns.

This behavior isn’t unusual for her — it hasn’t been since her marriage with Harry started to turmoil — but it never gets easier to witness.

It’s when she’s in the depths of her own hell that she depends on the intoxication to get her by, as if it numbed her from all the pain she’d be living with without it. And as hard as it is for him to admit it, she only ever feels this way whenever it comes to Harry.

This side of her never existed until she met him.

“You want to see him, don’t you?”

To see him. To touch him. To talk to him. To hold him. She wants it all, everywhere, for the rest of the night — for the rest of her life if he were to let her.

But she can’t get ahead of herself. She won’t be able to survive it if she does.

“Even if it’s just for a second.”

His heart falls.

“Will it get you to put down the drugs and alcohol?”

Her eyes linger at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and though it still calls for her just as strongly, she knows it’s not what she truly wants.

“Yeah.”

She can hear him smile softly through the phone.

“Then hang tight, love. I’m on my way.”

-

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep all night.

And if he wanted to get technical, he supposes he hasn’t been able to sleep since he and Y/n nearly signed their marriage away, but tonight is far, far worse than anything else he’s ever felt.

His body senses his good days. The sun somehow brighter, the rain lighter, the clouds thinner — he sees it all so differently on the days he goes to see Y/n. He’s used to the routine, he looks forward to it all week, even if it is just to see her for a couple minutes at her doorway.

So to say his body feels the loss of her is an understatement.

He caught himself reaching his hand over to her side of the bed one too many times, only to shiver and whine when met with the emptiness of it. His fingers would squeeze at her pillowcase, hugging it closer to him, fantasizing about her smell and her feel as he tried to drift into his dreamland — that only, of course, consisted of her.

But it was helpless.

He moves to the living room couch, where he finds himself flipping through the photo album of their wedding day — the same one he claimed he had thrown out when Y/n asked if she could keep it, moments before she was about to move out after he had brought the divorce papers home.

Of course he hadn’t thrown it out, but he could never tell Y/n about the lies he only told to make himself feel better about his decision.

He was angry and he was hurt, both of which consumed him in the scariest and most dangerous of ways, leading him to sink his teeth in a lie and spitting it in her face just to make her feel all those things, too. Though he’s sure she already did.

But as he flips through the pages now, reliving that day torturously in his head, remembering how beautiful she looked and how in love he was, he can’t help but feel like these moments weren’t his to take.

He had kept their home — had kept the furniture they bought together when they first moved in, kept all the movies and cd’s they’d play together each night, kept all the pictures she had chosen for the walls and tables he hadn’t had a clue on how to decorate.

He stayed so perfectly in their past while she was forced to move on, away from him, when she wasn’t even the one who wanted to leave.

He had truly taken everything from her — her love, her trust, her marriage, her home — and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the one and only thing she had asked for before she left.

That day was hers, it always has been and it always will be. She never once gave up on it the way he once had, always holding it so close to her, always cherishing its moments.

This simply doesn’t belong to him.

He presses his forehead down to a picture of Y/n wildly smiling at the camera, her hair styled up, makeup slightly smudged, as if holding her to him. And he rubs his thumb along the laminate, right against her cheek, in the same way she always liked.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs out before he can try to reason that it’s not her, that she can’t hear him, that she can’t feel the way he’s holding and touching her right now, that he looks like a lovesick idiot for thinking this is anything close to the real thing.

None of that matters to him right now, though, as he holds the picture to him and realizes this is the closest he has been to her in so long. And she needs to know.

She just needs to know.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

-

Harry must have cried himself to sleep because the next thing he knows, his front door slams open against the foyer wall, julting him off of the photo album and leaving him with dry and confused eyes.

Without much of a second thought, he throws the photo album off his lap and stands frantically from the couch, his head twisting around in an attempt to follow the footsteps scurrying towards the living room.

He knows it’s her just from that sound alone.

“Y/n?” He calls out in question, still delusional from his sleeping state, wondering if he had even woken up at all.

But it’s when he sees her stumbling toward him with soaken and beaten eyes that he knows this isn’t just a dream — that she really is here, back in their home, with him at last. And he would be happy, would be so goddamn happy to have her in front of him again, if she didn’t look so broken.

He can’t stand the sight of her like this.

“Y/n?” He asks again, devastated.

But she doesn’t answer him. Rather, she does the one and only thing her mind can make sense of now that he’s in front of her again.

Her trembling hands cradle the back of his neck before pulling her to him, their lips meeting for a sloppy, drunken, frenzied kiss — one that nearly has Harry falling to his knees before her.

She pushes him onto the couch, barely giving him any time to compose himself before she sits herself down on his lap and kisses him again, hard — harder than before and harder than she ever has, she thinks.

Teeth clattering, tongues battling, mouths opening, lips smothering. It’s desperate and messy and sloppy, but she doesn’t want it any other way.

She knows this feeling. She wants this feeling. It’s what she keeps going back to because it’s safe and warm and familiar. She could be in the middle of nowhere, lost with no direction or any sense of belonging, yet the feel of his lips on hers would somehow make her feel at home, just the way she is.

She moans against him, her hands splayed on the back of his head and neck as if to keep him there — on her, with her.

His hands, however, don’t know where to go. They switch between her arms and her thighs, setting boundaries for himself because he’d give into her in a heartbeat if he were to touch her just right. And he’s already doing so much he shouldn’t, he’d ruin himself if he were to go any further.

So as a subtle way to slow it down, he drags his lips down to her chin before leaving open-mouthed kisses along the shape of her neck — devouring her taste, savoring the sweetness.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her, so much so he can’t even remember the reason he let it all go. Right now, in this moment, nothing seems worth it enough to ever give this up.

He can hardly think straight.

“Y/n, please don’t do this to me…” Harry whines against her collarbone, her touch and smell and feel overwhelming him beyond all forms of comprehension. “This isn’t you. We’ve been here before and —”

“And I want to make it right this time.”

He nearly cries.

He bites down gently on the base of her throat, nibbling at it, a strangled whine falling from his lips as his hands slither to her back, pushing his body up against hers as if to bring her closer. And he growls silently to himself as she starts grinding herself against him.

“Y/n —”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Baby…” He tries again, to which she giggles and smiles as she nibbles on the lobe of his ear. He gets lost in it for a moment — to hear her laugh, to feel her hands rub along his chest and up his neck, to have her so close, like nothing ever happened — but he snaps himself out of it just as quickly as he fell into it. “You’re drunk.”

He tries to reason, to make her see that he does want this, more than anything else in the world, but he can’t. Because if it were to happen again, he wants it to be real. He wants her to mean it, to need it, to be all in it with him the way he’s all in it with her.

He wants her to stay.

“I’m only drunk because I miss you so much.” She confesses breathlessly to him, to which he groans and throws his head back, as if he were in pain. “So give me what I want and nothing else will matter.”

His hands find purchase to her hips, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of them as he tries to steady the movement of her groin against his, desperate to hold himself together. But she makes it so hard when she knows exactly where and how to touch him — when she knows that he can never resist her all over him, begging for more.

His eyes are pinched forward and closed, his head still hanging off the edge of the couch, words seeming to fail him as she moans against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it as she works herself harder against him.

“Fuck, you know I want to.” He croaks out, his hands giving into their urge to wander every dip and curve and inch of her, even the places he shouldn’t. “You know I do.”

Good, she thinks. I want you to want it. I need you to want it. I want you to want it so bad you give it to me all night, all morning, all day. I need you to want me.

She lifts her head up from his shoulder so that she can look at him with a winning smirk, both of her hands fisting at the collar of his t-shirt to steady herself upon his lap, her movements now smooth and effortless, giving him everything he needs to give in.

He lets out a proper moan at this, allowing himself a moment of weakness to feed his undying greed.

His mouth hangs open and practically drools as he touches her in ways he’s been aching to, rubbing himself against her, allowing her lips to wander anywhere and everywhere they craved.

It all feels so good and all so right, he wishes it was enough to make things work, but he knows in his heart that it isn’t.

Not now, at least.

“But I can't — I can’t take advantage of you. I — oh, fuck!” He yelps from below her when her arm sneaks between them so her fingers can scratch at the skin of his upper inner thigh, mercilessly giving him everything that has ever made him feel good.  

And it’s all too much.

One more right touch in the right place and he’s done for, as pathetic and weak as that makes him. But it’s only for her. Only for her does he find himself shuddering and moaning and creeping on the edge for, one push away from falling off, waiting to be caught by her.

After all this time, after all they had been through — all the fighting, all the tears, all the downs and lows they’ve lost themselves in — she still consumes him whole. She still is and forever will be the only person he’ll ever love like this.

There is nothing and nobody else. There is only her.

Which is why he can’t let himself do it. He can’t let her do it.

So right before he reaches the end, his hands frantically grab onto hers and pin them down against each side of his legs, her forehead meeting his shoulder, her body collapsing onto his.

“No!” He bites through clenched teeth and shut eyes, his hands squeezing hers as his body ricochets back to reality, yet still holding her close. “No, no, fuck. No.”

And whatever remained of Y/n’s heart burns to a crisp at that one godforsaken word.

Harry never denies her.

Even at their lowest and darkest moments, her simple touch made him powerless. He succumbed to her even when he told himself he wouldn’t, gave into her touch like a drug he couldn’t get off of no matter how hard he tried, drowned in her love even when he swore he no longer craved it.

It’s the very reason Y/n found herself pregnant in the midst of their downfall. Harry never stopped wanting her.

She should have known that everything was different now, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Oh.” Y/n’s lips tremble, her eyes wide with woe, glossy with burning tears as she looks at him through slow blinks. “I get it, I —”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She’s nearly sobbing now, her breaths heavy and frantic as she pushes herself away from him, practically falling off of his lap. And if his head wasn’t so clouded from what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t have let her go.

She’s a mess, a kind he’s never seen in her before and it breaks him in two when he sees her face soaked in tears, her hands trembling as they push her hair back, her eyes looking at everything but him.

He is just so sick of her looking away from him, and so tired of watching her cry.

He never wanted this.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harry speaks softly, his hand reaching out to grab ahold of hers before she has the chance to walk out on him again. And the shock of his touch is enough to bring her right back to him. “Baby, this is your home more than it is mine. Your son is here, I am here, don’t ever think you have to be sorry for wanting to come home.”

She’s silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his words and what they mean. But it’s so hard to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be holding his hand, and how that’s all it took to get the room to stop spinning around her.

She trusts him.

Whatever he wants out of this and whatever he’s thinking, she trusts. Her body wouldn’t be so reliant on him if she didn’t. And it’s been years since she’s felt this feeling she feels so fiercely now, but she could never mistake it. It was once the most familiar feeling in the world to her.

He rubs at her knuckles, patiently waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t, her gaze just drunkenly fixated at their intertwined fingers, a hint of longing in her eye.

Even when he’s right here, holding her, convincing her to stay… she still feels as though he isn’t all hers. She wants more of him, as if she hasn’t seen and touched and loved every inch of his body and claimed every last beat of his heart.

She is the only one and yet she feels as though she’ll never be enough for him, after all this time, after all these years spent together. It makes him feel like the worst person in the world.

He lifts her hand up to his lips, as delicate and gentle as possible, just the way she likes.

“And as for kissing me.” He adds, eyes looking up fondly at her as he kisses at her knuckles one by one. “You’re my wife, it’s what I want. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes we once did.”

He settles her fingers against his mouth for a moment longer before pulling her closer to where he sits, looking insistently in her hopeful eyes.

“If we sleep together… it’ll only drive us more apart, just like it did the last time. And I swear to god —” he hangs his head off the edge of the couch again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom the idea of it. “If I have to go another day without seeing you, I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m fucking miserable.”

She knows it’s true. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, sleeping together without speaking to one another would only bring them back to the same dark, numbing cycle they’ve been through for far too long now.

But she wants to milk it — wants him to do whatever he can to get her to stay because she needs to know he really wants it, needs to know he really wants her, before it’s too late.

And when Harry lifts his head back up to look at her, his heart nearly explodes from within him.

“Come here.” He tugs softly on her hand, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees Y/n pouting down at him with furrowed brows — the same face she used to make whenever she wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t. It brings him back to all their happiest times. “Come here!”

He pulls her down to him until she lands on his lap, both of them laughing as she nearly trips over her own two feet.

The moment stills when their eyes meet, however, the giggling dying down and their smiles falling as they captivate each other with just a single look.

His fingers move her hair out of her face, his palm resting on the side of her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the skin of her blush as he admires just how beautiful she’s gotten since the last time he had seen her.

And she does the same to him — her fingers pulling at his hair, dancing along his scalp, humming in admiration as her eyes wander every dip and curve of his face. He is just so perfect, it endlessly mesmerizes her.

“I’ve missed you.” She confesses softly, her gaze trained on his lips, her tongue poking out to lick her own.

“I’ve missed you so much more, my love.”

And they meet for a kiss — a real kiss this time. Not the hungry, desperate, fevered kisses they’ve been sharing since their separation. It’s slow, their lips just settling against each other’s, refusing to move, only leaning in deeper when desired.

It’s how he kissed her on their wedding day.

She remembers how different it was, now, as she feels it again — full of vows and promises, hopes and dreams, a hint of sorrow for all the times he had let her down, and how he’d never wish to do it again.

Quite truthfully, she never wants it to end. She could stay pressed against his lips like this all night and never once get tired of it — would probably beg for more if it ever came down to it. But she doesn’t have to anymore, she knows that now.

They both pull away together, dopey and loopy smiles painted on their faces. And it doesn’t get better than this.

“Can I show you something?” He whispers to her, his thumb pets at her temple, circles and circles. “And know that when I give it to you, it’s me trying to make this right again? No matter how much it hurts?”

His breath falters when her lips press gently against his wrist, humming a small “mhm” against the skin of it.

She always did that whenever she could. Whether he be holding her cheek, or rubbing at her head, or running his fingers through her hair, her lips would seek just the smallest bit more of him. And it always warmed him to feel it. It reminded him that yes, she did in fact love him and want him and need him with the same burning he has for her.

It always felt too good to be true.

And to know that she’s feeling it all over again makes every worry in the world collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the life he had always desired with her, and the hope that it only gets better from here.

He smiles in endearment, his own lips seeking the sole of her cheek before he turns his body to the fallen photo album, his fingers shaking as he reaches for it.

She gasps before he even has the chance to sit up fully.

“Is that —” she stops before she finishes, her hand flying over her suddenly trembling lips because it is.

He looks at her with eyes full of regret as he holds the photo album out for her to take, but she’s in too much shock. All she can process is that it’s here, still alive in the home they once shared, not shredded and burned and broken like she always thought it was.

And it just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that over a year ago, he told her a lie that ripped her apart from the inside out every day since he’d spoken it. It doesn’t matter that all she had left of their wedding were the moments captured in her memory, to which she went back to every night before bed.

It just doesn’t matter because she’s just so happy to see it again — so, so, so fucking happy that she can’t help but sob into her palm, admiring it, somehow at peace with the idea of reuniting with it with her husband right beside her, shedding the same tears as she is.

All she has ever wanted is happening all at once, and she couldn’t ask for more.

“Can we look through it?” She sniffles, her fingers graciously running along the cover of it.

He pulls her in closer, his head nodding, a breathy laugh of euphoria falling from his lips.

As if she even had to ask.

-

It was the next morning that Harry decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Upon waking up to an empty bed, there wasn’t this overwhelming sense of sadness rippling through him, or loneliness drowning him to his duvets, refusing to set him free. It felt… right, and warm, and safe, and like it had always meant to be this way.

He was weightless as he carried his naked body over to his dresser, where he slipped on a new pair of briefs and one of his plain white t-shirts. He even found himself humming a tune he only ever sang to on good mornings.

And it was when he made his way downstairs that he started to hear his company.

He found Y/n in his day old t-shirt, holding Topher at her hip, flipping pancakes at the stovetop, humming and bouncing to the beat of a song they played during their wedding ceremony.

Her hair was unbrushed, her nail polish chipped, one of her socks pulled too high and the other too low, in her most hungover state. And the world stopped turning then, it seemed. Because it was the most simple and most casual sight to see, yet something he was once so blinded to.

He finally felt at home.

And it was as if nothing else had ever really, truly mattered. His world simply revolved around the two littles ones in his kitchen, getting their hands messy with pancake batter, giggling with every other step they took.

And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

Which is exactly how he ended up here — seven hours later, standing on one knee in front of his wife, whose hand fits so perfectly in his.

She sits cross-legged upon the kitchen chair, her plate half empty and on her second glass of her mocktail. And if he had more preparation, he would have taken her out instead of settling for her favorite home cooked meal. But something about doing this here, in the home they once shared together, at their happiest hour, feels much more real to him.

“H? What are you doing?” Y/n asks with wide eyes, looking down at their intertwined hands, squeezing onto his tighter.

“I know we’re already married, but I needed to do this anyway.”

He sucks in a breath as the pad of his thumb passes through her knuckles, slightly flicking her engagement ring in the process.

“When I left earlier, it wasn’t for work. I mean, it was for work but not — but not in the way you may think.”

Y/n tilts her head down at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart races with all the endless possibilities, the pit in her stomach falling with it. And she really does try to not seem worried, but she can’t help but let it crash over her.

She had just gotten her husband back. Finally, she’s his and he’s hers and that’s all she ever wanted. That’s all she ever needed, so how is she expected to say goodbye so soon?

How would she ever survive it?

“I terminated the contract.”

Her heart stops beating.

Her body sits frozen still as Harry bites at his bottom lip, where he hides a smile.

This truly is it — the beginning of their forever, the start to the life they always wanted to share alone, with no distractions, no obligations, no anything besides each other and their child — and he doesn’t want it any other way.

“I’m done with having a career that takes me away from you. And I’m so sick and tired of pretending like this is the life I wanted to have with you. It wasn’t, baby. It isn’t.”

But she just can’t believe what she’s hearing.

The words had translated yet somehow, she can’t make sense of them. She can’t make sense of anything as her mind twists and turns around what they could mean and what it could mean for them as a couple.

“You — you terminated the contract? I don’t — I don’t understand. I —”

"If it were ever to come down to you or my music, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” The fingers of his free hand twist at her wedding band, hypnotizing her. “I did it all for you — the writing, the touring, the traveling. My future with you was all I ever cared about and yet, I had somehow convinced myself that my music meant more to me, when it never really did.”

Her breaths get deeper and deeper, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And if it weren’t for the tears of happiness leaking from her eyes, Harry wouldn’t know what she’s truly feeling inside.

But he knows. Oh, how he knows.

“I choose you, Y/n. And I choose Topher and I choose our Alaskan home everyday for the rest of our lives. That’s what I choose. That’s what I will always choose.”

It’s those words that make her really start to lose it.

How long she had been waiting for this moment, she can’t even remember anymore. So much time has passed and yet everyday, she dreamed and hoped and prayed and died to hear him say that to her.

She had been waiting for so long, she once believed them to be impossible.

But here he is on one knee again, sacrificing his entire life and heart and soul just to make their marriage right. He wants to leave the music behind rather than leaving her to be all alone. He wants to move away from the life he had built for himself and rather spend the rest of it with her.

He wants her, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he finally wants her.

“But — but you — how? How did you — what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about the how, okay? What matters is that I made it work and I have more than enough to last our family a lifetime. I promise you that.”

One of her hands reaches forward to cup at his cheek, pulling herself closer to him because she needs to feel him, all of him — needs to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath.

She needs it all, all around her, until she drowns in it.

“Don’t care about the money, just — just want to make sure you’re okay.”

His wife is reaching for him, pulling him in, wanting and loving him despite everything he put her through… how could he not be okay?

He’s on top of the world right now.

“Baby, I’m so much more than okay. I have you, don’t I?” She nods her head as she wipes her tears away, sniffling with trembling lips and shaking hands. “Then that’s all I need.”

She sobs against him, her face tucked in his shoulder as he holds her hands between them, kissing at her head.

And sometime in the near future — when Harry and Y/n have found everything they had lost, have grown to be better together than ever spent apart, and have become the best parents they could ever be to their son — he’ll rent out a small venue in the outskirts of town and renew his wedding vows to his wife, whom he plans to never be parted from, even in death.

“So, Y/n, baby love.” They both giggle at the pet name, her head lifting from his shoulder and meeting his eye halfway. “Will you please do the honors of being my lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of our disgustingly perfect child, in our home in Alaska? Forever?”

She nods her head, her thoughts clouded by euphoria, her hand still in her husband’s.

As if he even had to ask.

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

Starry Night

Darth Maul x Reader (set in @justalittlecloud ‘s AU)

A/N:  Hey, It’s been a while huh? College has royally kicked my ass, and this story is my way of coping. Is it anything revolutionary? No. Is it something I wrote late at night because I was an emotional mess? Yes. Enjoy! (I wrote this to Vincent, sung by Don McLean, so feel free to get deep in the feels with me) 

Original Imagine/Summary Thingy:  You’re having a rough night, and Maul is there to soothe your every worry. (We’re going to pretend like Maul is in the proper mindset to say some of the things he does)

Word Count:  (No Idea, but Ill get a count soon, probably less than 1k)

Warnings: I don’t think this qualifies as angst, but the reader is depressed, so please take caution if that’s a sensitive subject for you. Otherwise, none!   

He could hear the gentle wind crossing the Dathomirian plains. Soft cries against against the burnt tall-grass muffled the quiet whimpering he heard coming from behind the stalks.  

He found you shrouded in the grass, red all around your huddled, shuddering form. This cold night offering nothing to warm your weary heart.  

There might have been rustling in the grass behind you, and you thought, maybe you’d heard something like metal clinking behind you, but the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, and the way you couldn’t stop sniffling clouded everything around you.  

You don’t know when he he first touches you, but now there’s a warmth beside you and around you, holding you close until you hear two heartbeats in your ears, and neither of them are yours. Quiet mumbling, something comforting moved the depths of your soul even though you didn’t know what exactly he was saying. 

Some time passed like this, in his arms, and he held onto every tear and every cry you gave. He let them settle in the bottom of his gut, and he felt the depth of everything, just as you did. 

But eventually, your tears dried up, and you pulled yourself from his chest, searching for those beautiful ambered eyes.   

“Hello Starlight.” He smiled.

You manage to attempt a smile, but your lips barely twitch, and there’s a new lump rolling into your throat. 

“Hi.” You respond with a cracking voice.  

There’s a pause when you look away; when your eyes cast upon the crimson dirt, and Maul’s hand falls to your arm. 

“My dear, what’s wrong?” He whispers into the space between the two of you. 

You have trouble even trying to speak, the mounting sobs almost forcing their way from your mouth as you try to explain. 

“I--I never feel like I’m enough. There’s always something more I should be doing. I’ve never been good enough.”  

Maul, for a moment, stared at you, and had you been looking, you would have seen the moment his hearts sunk, and the dawning realization on his face.

“But my love, look at everything you’ve done. Look at our beautiful family, and the home we’ve built together. You’re more that I could have ever asked for. More than we could have asked for. Oh Starlight, please look at me.” Maul pleaded, and when he took your face in his hand and brought your face to his, you met eyes so desperate and worried that you felt their weight bore into your own. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. If you had even tried, tears would have taken their place and spilled from your eyes before a word could be uttered. So silent you stayed until Maul spoke again.

“In all of this galaxy, you have done more for your people, your family, and myself than anyone could ever quantify. And still that doesn’t define your worth. You could take on the heaviest work load in the galaxy, or you could take on none, and either way we will still love you the same. We will still look up to you, and still adore you. Nothing could ever change that. Remember that when you feel like you’re not enough. You could do absolutely nothing, contribute nothing, and we would still love you just as we do now. Starlight, I hope you never forget how we love you, and how these two hearts adore you.”   

A small sob pushed from behind your lips, and right as the dam broke, you grappled onto Maul.   

“I-I l-love you!” You cried over his shoulder, only to be followed by a trail of more aching, unrestrained sobs. You wailed out into the tall-grass, and Maul simply held you close, cradling your head into the crook of his neck.  

“I love you too dear.” He whispered into your ear, “And nothing will ever change that. Nothing.”  

When you were ready, you pulled away, and Maul head your face, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

“Come now my Starlight, lets head home hmm?” 

You nodded, smiling and taking his hand to walk back home, facing the newly emerged constellations above.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

~~~~~~  Taglist!

@fanficsforheartandsoul @thundershield @spookiifi​

[bamf-jaskier]

Accidental Witcher AU

Just gonna put this here so I can find it later if I ever start writing again...

...

alright so accidental Witcher Jaskier

which is objectively hilarious. No more angst, no glamour, no memory loss or curse NOPE all we have is an absolutely shitfaced Jaskier, a Geralt who left his bag at the inn and isn't coming back until the morning.

Jaskier starts mixing together Witcher potions, why wouldn't he? He's drunk, they are shiny, what isn't there to like?

So Jaskier mixes these potions and it left with a black liquid, dark like tar. And what does this man do? What does this renowned Bard do? HE DRINKS IT

and when Jaskier wakes up the next morning, he realizes oh FUCK he can say a lot more things than the night before, he can smell a lot more things too, damn he reeks.

He looks in the mirror and thank fuck his eyes are still blue somehow but when he looks directly into the light they dilate just a bit, all Cat-eyed. Well. Okay. Jaskier isn't stupid. Something bad happened last night and now he's a Witcher.

But here's the thing: making himself physiologically a Witcher doesn't mean he's a Witcher now. He doesn't know much about the path (besides what Geralt has told him) and he has NO IDEA how to use that huge ass pointy Witcher swords. And the LAST THING he wants is for people to expect him to run around wearing armor and fighting monsters. He would much rather prefer to follow a Witcher around and perform.

So what does Jaskier do? Pretends nothing happened.

Geralt comes back from his contract that day and there is...something different about Jaskier but he can't put his finger on it. Jaskier meanwhile is desperately trying to get used to all these new sense and after accidentally breaking a door handle finds out that Witchers are just a little bit stronger than the average person. He practices with his lute until he can control his strength (and music is such a good way to practice controlling his strength)

And Jaskier just continues traveling with Geralt pretending nothing has happened. Partially because he doesn't want Geralt to get it into his head that he ought to be "trained" (Jaskier will carry a sword the day he dies) and partially because he's embarrassed to admit he recreated the lost recipe to the trials shitfaced.

Of course, if Jaskier's songs begin to focus a little more on a Witcher's senses and are just a touch too realistic about a Witcher's sense of smell? Well Jaskier needs a coping mechanism somehow and the world STINKS now.

Now, Geralt is smart, but even he wouldn't suspect Jaskier of accidentally becoming a Witcher but he knows something is wrong. So what does he do? He starts testing Jaskier to see what's wrong.

At first Geralt thinks its a doppler but that is quickly proven wrong when Jaskier falls directly into a mud puddle and makes Geralt stop at a bathhouse to change and clean up.

He thinks Jaskier has a secret lover but then he see him sleep with someone in a tavern.

Maybe Jaskier is under a curse, but the medallion doesn't even hum.

Geralt even asks Yen to check if Jaskier is under a glamour or a spell and she tells him no.

Geralt has no idea what to do so he asks Yen to dig and find out.

Yen and Jaskier like to gossip and drink together so while Geralt goes off on a contract Yennefer and Jaskier get together to bitch and stitch a little.

Once more, drunk Jaskier starts talking about how he totally accidentally made himself a witcher and he has no idea what to do now. Yennefer of course, doesn't believe him. She thinks he just fucked up and took some potions with temporary side effects that will wear off eventually.

so OF COURSE Jaskier grabs Geralt's bag and begins making the Witcher potion once more. And he holds up this tar-potion, drunk as all hell and declares he is the maker of Witcher and the god of the skies. Then Yennefer steals the bottle, pushes a drunk Jaskier to the ground and chugs the potion.

She wakes up the next morning with a resounding FUCK as her purple eyes dilate in the light. Yennefer didn't even think mages could become Witchers? What the fuck was in that potion Jaskier made?

Jaskier and Yennefer both freak out. Now they are both in deep shit and Jaskier has definitely discovered how to make more Witchers but can only do it while drunk, sober attempts to recreate the potion have been met with no success.

Geralt returns and now BOTH Yennefer and Jaskier are acting weird and fuck what's wrong with them?

Geralt comes to the COMPLETELY wrong conclusion that Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together.

Cue Geralt trying to make weirdly supportive comments about Jaskier and Yennefer and the two of them acting super weird because, "does he know? what the hell is Geralt talking about now?"

Geralt: I would support the two of you no matter your life choices

Jaskier: wait does he know?

Yennefer: is he trying to invite us to go monster hunting with him?

Jaskier: Oh gods, please don't let it be that

For Yennefer, the transition from Mage to Witcher-Mage isn't all that different. She supposes she's a bit stronger now and her sense are enhanced but honestly she's really just shocked that drunk Jaskier managed to recreate the trials.

Witchers put on muscle a LOT faster than humans and are better at retaining it. What does this mean? Jaskier, who previously was tall but not exactly a brick shithouse like Geralt is suddenly getting muscle definition and OH NO he doesn't like that. His doublets are getting too tight and Jaskier basically desperately trying to not build muscle which goes against the biological instinct of Witchers.

Cue Jaskier cutting his protein and doing lots of cardio to stay smaller and more lithe. Jaskier refusing to pick things up or do any kind of arm exercises.

Jaskier: Geralt can I tie my lute to Roach's side, I can't carry it anymore

Geralt: why?

Jaskier: .... because

This is when Jaskier buys his horse Pegasus so he doesn't walk quite as much (he unfortunately finds out that horseback riding give you great thigh muscles)

Meanwhile Yennefer doesn't give a shit and she is building some truly fantastic arm muscles in the corner.

Geralt stops by Yen's place on the way to Kaer Morhen and she is....chopping wood a la Captain America with an ax. When Geralt watches Yennefer rip apart a log with her bare hands he literally swoons. Jaskier catches him.

Of course, Geralt STILL thinks Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together so he begins to make comments about Yennefer's new look and immediately apologizing because he doesn't want to overstep his bounds.

Geralt: Yen ur looking very powerful lately

looks at Jaskier and back to Yennefer

Geralt: not that u didn't always look powerful, and not that I care or think that's it's attractive or anything.

Jaskier: what...?

Yennefer: Are you saying I'm not attractive Geralt?

Geralt: no...I'm...fuck

Jaskier: hello fuck nice to meet you I'm Jaskier.

Okay but after a few months of Geralt making pointed comments about Yen and Jaskier they begin to think he is trying to matchmake them.

Jaskier: I think that Geralt wants us to bone

Yennefer: he does keep making comments about us alone together in the bedroom, I thought he was joking but-

Jaskier: he just left the room and told us to 'have fun'

Yennefer: I mean, should we?

Jaskier: yeah, sounds fun

okay but IMAGINE. Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together right? and they decide to spend a Winter at Kaer Morhen with Geralt who just acquired a new child surprise and they show up at the Wolf Keep and Vesemir (who knows these things) is like, "what schools are these Witchers from" and Geralt just...blanks

Geralt: these aren't Witchers?? One is a bard and the other is a mage??

Vesemir: No these are definitely Witchers

Geralt: ???

Jaskier: ...

Yennefer: ...

Jaskier: OKAY SO LONG STORY

TL;DR Drunk Jaskier mixes together a bunch of potions, him and Yennefer end up drinking them and becoming accidental Witchers, they hide it from Geralt and end up sleeping together due to Geralt misreading the situation

[dreamyyang]

hihi, could u write hurt/comfort with jaehyun pls? ily 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

ofc! sorry this took so long, I haven’t been feeling great lately :( I hope you like it, love.

summary: you’ve been overworking yourself and your boyfriend is worried.

pairing: idol!jung jaehyun x idol!reader

genres: established relationship, angst, sort of a fluffy ending, hurt/comfort

warnings: slight themes of body shaming, the reader bottles up their emotions

word count: 0.6k

note: this is kinda self indulgent cause my mental state has been awful and pretty much the only coping mechanism that helps is imagining romantic scenarios w my faves

requests are open

[2:43]

the whole day had been absolutely exhausting. the new choreographer seemed to love criticising every move you made. the song you had worked on for months and thought was perfect for your latest comeback had been scrapped from the album. and the cherry on top? apparently you were starting to look chubby so you were put on a new diet which basically meant you were supposed to starve. you just wanted to be left alone but jaehyun had a scary habit of always knowing how you felt.

“just take a break y/n, you’re going to pass out from exhaustion.”

you shot an annoyed look at your boyfriend as he sat down, his back against the mirrored wall. you softened up when you saw the pleading look in his eyes. with a sigh, you turned off the music and joined him on the floor. a soft smile lifted your lips as jaehyun handed you your water bottle. you didn’t miss the concern on his face as you drained the remnants of the bottle. you were on the brink of dehydration and your muscles were probably thanking jaehyun for making you take a break.

“what’s wrong?”

everything.

you pretended that you didn’t know what jaehyun was talking about and looked away, suddenly interested in your worn out shoes. if there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was opening up to other people. yet the feeling of vulnerability that you hated so much was creeping up your body, coaxing the words out of your mouth. but jaehyun beat you to it.

“you know you can tell me anything, baby.”

jaehyun took your hand in his and you fought the urge to hold it. damn him and those wonderful, comforting hands.

the other hand cupped your cheek as he gently turned your face, “please, y/n, I’m worried.”

“I’m just-”

you spoke suddenly before biting your lip to hold back a sob. your boyfriend nodded encouragingly, squeezing your hand.

“I’m scared you’ll think I’m pathetic.”

jaehyun’s face fell and so did the first tear, but he said nothing, simply wiping the tear away with his thumb.

“everything hurts so much and I just want to fucking scream- but I can’t. I don’t want anyone to worry.”

your words and tears spilled out together and your boyfriend did nothing but listen. he sat before you, hand wet with your tears, with no emotion on his face save for a slight frown. you were grateful and worried at the same time.

won’t he say anything?

oh god, does he think I’m weird?

I should have never said anythi-

“baby,” he exhaled, “please, don’t ever hesitate again.”

he wraps you in his arms and you bury your face in his shoulder, welcoming the warmth his body offers. you’d been dancing in the air conditioned room for so long that you hadn’t realised just how cold it was in there.

“I had no idea,” his voice cracked and you realised that he was crying too.

“I truly had no idea.”

the two of you sit there, wrapped in each others’ embrace as jaehyun kisses your tears away and murmurs about how proud he is of you, how strong you are and how he promises you will get through it. it felt strange because you had never been so open with anybody. not your family nor your friends. you never thought anyone would understand - would care.

“I love you, baby, I promise we’ll figure something out.”

your chest tightened when you fully grasped the situation. jaehyun loves you, you knew that. you love him, too. yet you had never considered that loving you meant he wanted you to share your troubles and insecurities with him.

fresh tears welled up in your eyes, “thank you, jae.”

© dreamyyang, 2021

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - May 2

I know I say every week that I read a lot this week but I have been indulging in my favorite coping technique and so this list is ridiculously long. Twitter encouraged me. Blame them. 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

On the inherent homoeroticism of cake decoration by welcoming_disaster (616/8K)

“She’s matchmaking, Barton,” Carol sighed.

“We,” Thor corrected, thumping himself hard in the chest, “art matchmaking.”

“Who, Cap n’ Tony?” Clint asked, his mouth full.

“Cap and Tony,” Janet confirmed, cutting herself a thin slice of egg and gently depositing it on her whole grain avocado toast, “it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Wait, I thought they were—“ Clint frowned, glancing around the room as though to confirm. Nothing but confused faces met his questioning gaze. “Huh. I really thought they were fucking.”

“And there is the crux of the issue,” Jess licked a bit of spaghetti sauce off her lip.

“Aye,” agreed Thor, “there’s rub.”

-----------

The team tries to set up Steve and Tony. Things don't go as planned.

Baby lovers like you and me (never say die) by FestiveFerret (Old Guard AU/7.5K)

The Avengers. They'd found him frozen in the ice, told him he was immortal, of all things. And with the way he'd lived through seventy years deep in the Atlantic, he found himself inclined to believe them. They'd also been very… convincing.

Without question, they integrated him into their unit - The Avengers, a secret team of unkillables seeking wrongs around the world and making them right, supported and housed by an enigmatic billionaire named Tony Stark. Their immortality, it seemed, was a secret to everyone but him.

Ready, set, bake by ChocolateCapCookie (Great British Bake Off/11k) 

The Avengers are on a nationally televised baking competition, but nobody seems to have warned the producers that the Avengers, while they save the world everyday and put their loves at risk doing so, are a) insanely competitive, and b) absolutely terrible bakers. Steve Rogers, especially, has a competitive streak a mile wide, and he's determined to win this competition, but it's not easy when his only real opponent is also the man he's been in love with for years.

***To make flowers grow (in this barren heart) by SoldiersShield, KakushiMiko (Hanahaki AU/16K) 

“You hide yourself away in your technology, but you are just as human as the rest of them. Your heart betrays your desire to possess.” Her gaze falls to the arc reactor, and Tony's blood runs cold in his veins.

“The Earth will reclaim what we have lost,” she says, dragging a hand over the chestplate of the armor. “It is you, and your kind-- your greed that pulls life from the soil as if it were nothing. You will reap what you have sown, Stark. The avarice in your heart will strangle the very life out of you.” Arna meets his eyes once more, a serene smile on her face as she leans forward.

“I hope he is worth dying for,” she murmurs, before digging her hand into his ribcage.

(Tony Stark falls in love with Steve Rogers. A rogue enchantress ensures he pays for it.)

Shelter from the storm by silkspectred (KidFic/5k) 

Tony adopts a baby. Guess who's Majorly Fucked Up™ about it.

Keep on beating by itsallAvengers (Domestic Fluff/6K) 

There were an awful lot of things Steve loved about Tony. But one thing in particular Steve could never get enough of was his heartbeat.

The good or bad thing by petreparkour (Multiverse/10k) 

 “It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.

“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

***The tipping point by nightwalker (Domestic Fluff/7K) 

Tony has a few quirks. Steve's still trying to figure them all out.

We two, how long we were fool’d by glassessay (Soulmate AU/9K) 

Steve Rogers comes into the world as unblemished as his mother. When Anthony Stark is born, his soulmark is an obvious pattern of ink across his tiny chest.

It only takes a century, two names, and a shared love of Walt Whitman for them to find each other.

The tape in the cave by betheflame (Canon Divergent/5K) 

Steve had no idea what was happening.

“You think I didn’t know that?”

Tony was staring Zemo down as though the Sokovian was actual vermin - which, Steve reflected, he kind of was.

“You think that I,” Tony continued, not hiding the sneer in his voice, “Anthony Stark, who has more powerful technology in my literal fingers than most nations have, that I wouldn’t know everything possible about how my parents died? That I wouldn’t know it wasn’t an accident, that your silly little HYDRA Nazi knock-off pals are the ones who murdered them? Please, you are pathetic.”

Happy ending by Robin_tCJ (No-Powers AU/28K) 

 Steve is a mobile massage therapist, and Tony is a stressed billionaire. What could go wrong?

With a decent happiness by torigates (Teacher AU/16K) 

Tony Stark is Iron Man. Steve Rogers isn't, and never was Captain America.

Or, the one where everything is the same except Steve is a kindergarten teacher.

Nothing left but scars by SailorChibi (MCU/6.7K) - Reread

Steve wakes up to the fact that no one ever compliments or even says thank you to Tony, and that he has fallen into the same trap of painting Tony with a specific paintbrush.

This is how he showers a very confused Tony with praise to make up for it.

Our hearts should remember and follow by frostfall (MCU/5K) 

Steve hums. “I didn’t know you could play. Or sing. Don’t think I’ve heard anyone mention it before.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s one of the few things, skills, I don’t flaunt. Not something people are interested in, anyway. Not gonna sway any board members by playing fucking Für Elise for them. Sides’, there’s a high chance I wouldn’t even play. Well, maybe if you get me drunk enough and near an instrument. Then, I might reconsider.”

(After a dream leaves Tony rattled, he turns to the piano as a way to distract himself.)

Finally, you and me by pensversusswords (Multiverse/10K) 

Because in every layer of time, in every conceivable dimension, he was always meant to love Steve.

By some miracle, Steve was meant to love him back.

***Full disclosure not required (but appreciated) by Potrix (Identity Porn/16k) 

The one where Steve knows more than he lets on, Tony knows less than he pretends, Clint has a big mouth, Bucky is a little shit, and everyone learns why keeping secrets never ends well.

Almost never, anyway.

Heartlines by nanasekei (MCU/7.9K) 

“Let me,” Tony repeats. He regrets it deeply, so much, he wants to stick the words back into his mouth again, and it must show, in the way his voice wavers. He feels exposed, all of a sudden, as if he’s asking something bigger than what he can actually say. Let me touch you, let me take care of you. “Just… Let me do it.”

i found a way to let you in, but i never really had a doubt (marriage series) by quidhitch (Marriage Series/16k) 

Tony Stark doesn’t believe in marriage. It’s nobody’s fault. —Well, it’s Howard's fault, probably, but Tony doesn’t like to think about that for too long, finds that it dredges up all sorts of issues he’d rather keep buried under a mountain of strategically employed sarcasm, humorous self-deprecation, and the occasionally effective substance abuse.

***Hide your love away by sineala (Soulmate/33K) - Reread

Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

Break the chain (can’t live in circles again) by orphan_account (FWB/19K) 

There had been seven amazing weeks of dating Steve Rogers before Tony realised that they weren’t dating at all. And then it was a scramble to adjust to the situation as it had always been: being Steve’s friend-with-benefits.

And if Steve seemed a little confused and bewildered by the way Tony was acting, well. Tony was probably just misreading that, too.

Five times steve and tony (tried to) bail each other out of jail by Teyke (MCU/6k) 

Twice before Civil War, twice after, and once during. For very loose definitions of both 'bail' and 'jail'.

Cracked hearts under iron ribs by XtaticPearl (Established Relationship/14k)

Rhodey is away for almost six months now and comes to meet Tony after the mission. He doesn't understand the domesticity of the whole Tower and unknowingly sets off a whole truck of insecurities which make Tony crawl back into being a Stark instead of just Tony. The team is not at all happy and Rhodey joins them in trying to figure out a way to help their resident genius feel better in his skin.

The single biggest problem with communication by BlossomsintheMist (616/108K)

In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.

What are friends for? by bobertsmallismydad (MCU /2.8K) 

In which Steve is targeted by a virus. Will the Avengers be able to save him in time?

Starving by festiveferret (Vampire AU/2K) 

Steve woke up starving.

***Everybody wonders (What it would be like to love you) by SoldiersShield (MCU/3K) 

“...Is that what this is about?” He asks slowly. Steve blanches.

“Oh my god. It is.” Tony has no right looking as giddy as he does. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you jealous?”

--

Or: Steve and Tony have been dancing around each other for a while now, and Steve's rather content with it. Attending a gala together just might change that.

Re(A)d all over by brandnewfashion, MusicalLuna (Drunk Flirting/3k) 

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark can blush.

It just takes Steve getting drunk on some magical Asgardian mead for it to finally happen.

***The Do-over Proposal by nightwalker (Established Relationship/1.2k) 

Steve wants to go on a journey, Tony doesn't think it's a good time, and Bucky needs to beat some sense into both these idiots.

A Winter’s Ball by alliejowrites (Victorian AU/3.8K) 

Steve moves to London in search of a patron, so that he can finally devote himself to painting. He is not expecting everything he finds upon meeting Lord Stark. A fluffy little Victorian AU. One-shot.

What’s a fanfic by starksnack (AvAc/1K) 

Kamala introduces Tony and Steve to the world of fanfiction. There is a surprising amount of content about them being gay.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi! Just wanted to know what you think Charles' route will be alll about, and how would the Ikevamp lore continue from there? Do you think we'll get an Act 3 or more suitors? I absolutely love reading your interesting insights and hearty theories! They're food for my simping soul ♡(> ਊ <)♡ please forgive my fangirling..

Hihi!!! You’re much too sweet, thank you!!! 💛💛💛 you’re always free to simp and fangirl here, haha~

I'm happy to answer as best I can, though honestly I'm not 100% sure given the main story routes all range--both in terms of topic and larger narrative impact. My guess is that it will likely be about Charles' history as somebody who took part in the French revolution, namely his role as an executioner. In line with that, I would address two lines; one from Mozart, one from Dazai.

Mozart in relation to Charles says "I remember that name..." and Dazai says that "He is a young man with many secrets." I think they both speak to a larger consideration with Charles, which is that he is both a famous historical figure but also one that trails so much blood behind him? This is a man who killed people for a living (and in droves), despite being a medical doctor. There is going to be an inevitable mental dissonance that comes with that dichotomy. His life aspiration was to help and heal people, and instead he was called to murder them indiscriminately (and often for reasons that were openly unjust). Much of his energy and disposition feels like a kind of mask; it's intended to disguise what's truly lurking beneath the surface. When people are convinced they're unsightly or monstrous, they can very often overcompensate with buoyant behavior and positivity. Dazai’s main story really felt like it was hammering this concept home, considering Charles’ insistent cheer directed at MC (yet showing Dazai and Faust a great deal of darkness.)

Interesting too, now that I think about it, because there is a kind of foil mechanism that comes with making Charles the antagonist of Dazai’s route. I didn’t realize it until now, but they both hide their secrets--and the true nature of some of their uglier feelings--with a kind of forcible levity. The difference here lies in the state of their baseline energy, the form by which it is expressed. Dazai is one to joke around and make light of (often serious) things, but he does it to a point of absurdity and mild outrage. He has a kind of desire to be chased out the way I understand him (because being chased out means he can leave and avoid the pressure of being real). If he’s not seeking to be chased out, he wants the person to smile/laugh at his blunders. He’s a mood-maker just as his description entails, and as such his goal is always the regulate/influence the emotional tone of a group in a positive way.

Charles, by contrast, avoids transparency by bouncing around and pretending like nothing really gets to him. He’s forthright and bold, but his desire to have fun belies the reality of who he is and who his master is. The impatience, the burning envy that dwells within remains to be seen--and only makes an appearance in flashes. It begs the question as to what it is he’s trying to avoid moving at that speed, as his increasing velocity means a lowered scrutiny and self-awareness (one that limits him just as much as it enables him to keep going). Furthermore, he has some notion of regulating the mood of the group in that he’s often the one who lowers tension between Vlad and Faust with his upbeat attitude. However, I would argue that it isn’t nearly as powerful as Dazai’s fixation with it; when Charles is upset or wants something, he will not hesitate to put his personal needs first (or demand them, even). Dazai does not seem to have this same audacity generally.

There's also the question of what Charles is hiding, other than the obvious historical information we have. I get the feeling something is lurking behind his desperation to believe in the future Vlad wants to create. Maybe it's some desperate wish to atone for what he's done. Maybe he raised that guillotine under some kind of misguided belief that he was restoring the world to order. We believe outlandish things to survive sometimes, and I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case for Charles. I’d like to see just what it is that makes him tick.

That being said, that doesn't always free us from the truth of what we've done. Sooner or later we're forced to confront and come to terms with it. Dazai's main story (for a short time) forced him to face that gaping maw of trauma, and it was very clear he was not in the slightest bit prepared or able to cope. So there is the question of--if MC confronts him with that--what he will do in response.

I also wouldn't be surprised if he's among the bolder suitors, seeking her affection and body with more insistence than the boys of the mansion. It remains to be seen, but given the impression I've received from him and the rest of the trio...(a note of caution to people uncomfy with that).

I'm interested to see where Charles will go, in that I'm not really sure if he'll skew to the yandere side or the lowkey wants to help people side. He has every potential to become increasingly demanding of MC’s time and attention, trying to monopolize her as much as possible. Burying himself further in denial, never questioning his master. But he also has a kind of hearty maturity at his core that might result from his life experiences, where he acknowledges what he's done and just tries to do the best he can moving forward.

If the latter happens, there is the very real question of what happens with his relationship with Vlad--which is part of the reason I have my doubts about this possibility. In the infamous (and paraphrased) words of Mulaney(? I think it was) "if this is gonna happen Vlad is gonna need to become suddenly cool with a lot of things very fast" LMAO. I don't really see Vlad ceding his control over Charles' mind easily, and I don't see him satisfied with a future of Charles' autonomy. But then, who knows? I may very well be proven wrong

I'm also curious about Charles’ pronounced interest in Comte, this kind of hope for reconciliation. There's a very real chance that could be a focal point, in that Charles wants there to be mingling between the two houses. There are also a lot of problems with this sort of theory in that it would likely require A LOT of development/time to bridge that gap if it was ever bridged, and I don't think Comte would accept anything less than Vlad agreeing to cease and desist his assault on humanity. This potentiality might be more probable for an Act 3 story progression, now that I think about it.

As for Act 3, I'm really not sure who will or won't get one. The only storyline that has been left openly/grossly unfinished is Comte's to my knowledge, largely because of the agreement they made? In all the other routes, there isn't much of a whisper about her turning into a vampire. (Vlad turns her at the end of his route I’ve heard, and as for Faust I don’t know--but I haven’t seen any signs that he would demand it of her so far.) Comte hesitates--but he has every intention of doing it when they feel the time is right. So there's the question of when or how that will happen. In a bday story? In an event story? Act 3? Dunno

I also wonder about how pureblood society and vampire hunters might come into play, but given they exist on the periphery of the game I don’t know if it’s as safe a bet as Comte vs. Vlad continuing their ideological battle.

As for the suitors in general, there is always the potential of antagonist intervention in Act 3? Maybe they heckle their happy ending or throw the relationship into some kind of turmoil, though I'm not sure exactly how that will work since most of the routes end on a pretty resolved note? There's also the reality of all the rivals being murdered in cold blood after their duels. So like ???? Really depends on the direction Cybird wants to take. Expand on the relationship, create new issues/threats--or make Act 3 a more large scale story progression.

There’s also the possibility that the story is expanded by hinging on the timespace complications. If Vlad saw a desolate future, what does that mean for everyone? Will that come to pass--and if so, when? Will he be supported or stopped? What will that entail? Maybe Vlad sees that the desolate future was the product of his own megalomania. Maybe Vlad turns out to be right and drastic action needs to be taken before it gets that far. Whatever the case, I’m interested to see what narrative avenue Cybird will choose.

As for more suitors, I really have no idea given I haven’t seen so much as a whisper of what comes after Charles. I think my best bet would be potential pureblood suitors (maybe the product of Comte/Vlad story continuations), or more roulette famous figures in line with Vlad’s machinations to thwart the suitors. If Michelangelo comes back and throws hands with Leonardo, I will veritably lose my entire mind

[17tetsuro]

could u do fake dating headcanons where they slowly fall for u w atsumu, kenma & oikawa,, gn pronounces are fine :)

haikyuu boys slowly falling for you (fake dating edition) (gn!reader)

feat: atsumu, kenma, oikawa

warnings: fake dating, abuse of cliche tropes and commas and question marks, timeskip setting because im anything but creative, swearing

requests are open!

a/n: thank you for requesting this!! i hope you like it :D

atsumu

* you’ve been friends with him ever since high school and you watched his career grow

* youre both equally proud of each other n your friendship is built on mutual respect, trust and love

* you basically live in his apartment, with how much time you spend over there

* he would complain 24/7 about not having anyone to go to events with

* at one point you wanted to strangle him for never shutting up about it so you propose you go with him from time to time

* atsumu: “yeah, that was a setup”

* he KNOWS you’re drop dead gorgeous and everyone will be jealous of him that you’re with him (and you also look very good in formalwear, which he very much enjoys)

* and you get to have free food and drinks and also wear immaculate expensive clothes

* so,, you became his regular date for sponsorship events and stuff

* and you never really outright said you were just friends?? so you’re used to the media portraying you two as lovers but your close circle is aware that your relationship is platonic

* everything was going great until one of his sponsor company’s heir started hitting on you

* atsumu saw you flirting with the person and his mind went blank

* he,, he didn’t understand why he wanted to commit multiple crimes on the spot

* bokuto conveniently showed up next to atsumu at that moment

“hey, atsumu? why is your date flirting with them?” bokuto asked, suddenly appearing next to atsumu, which startled the latter out of his thoughts.

a better question would be why atsumu saw red at the thought of you getting friendly with anyone but him that night. he tried his best to keep his composure, but it was hard when you rested a hand on the heir’s shoulder, leaning your head back while laughing.

“atsumu, are you not going to answer me? your lover is-“

“my what?” atsumu asked, attention now completely off you.

“your lover? is that a term you don’t like? i could say partner... significant other... or anything you want, really,” bokuto answered, apologizing.

“you- you think me and (y/n) are together?”

“aren’t you? what, with the way you look at each other i was convinced you two were like... high school sweethearts or something, who hate pda,” bokuto explained, while atsumu’s eyes trailed back to you.

“you think... you think they’d wan’ me?”

“are you blind, buddy?”

you must have sensed their gazes, because as soon as those words left bokuto’s mouth, your eyes snapped towards atsumu and bokuto. the latter started waving with a cheerful smile while the former just stood, entranced by you and your presence. atsumu noticed traces of confusion appearing on your face, and watched as you excused yourself from the conversation you were previously interested in.

“‘tsumu, are you alright?” you questioned, approaching the pair. bokuto grinned and left, which made you even more confused.

“yeah, i’m fi- fine. hey, uh, (y/n), say... do you- why did you offer to come to these events as my date?” atsumu asked, eyes dead set on yours. you cracked a confused smile. you seemed to be capable of nothing but confusion at the moment.

“because you’re my best friend and i hated to see you so down because of your loneliness at these gatherings,” you replied, holding his gaze. “why didn’t you oppose it?”

his eyes studied you and when he saw nothing but sincerity, he let out a loud sigh. this was all very new and confusing to him. it’s like bokuto calling you atsumu’s lover set off a bomb inside his head that instead of causing a mess, made everything fall into place; why his gaze seemed to linger on you more often than before, why he was so eager to choose your outfits for these events, why he went to parties he didn’t even have to attend, why he got so jealous and angry when he saw you with the cute heir.

“holy shit,” he breathed and ran his hands through his hair, letting out a nervous chuckle and lowering his gaze to the ground. “holy shit.”

“you look like you’ve been enlightened, and i love that for you, but ‘tsumu, i’m still very confused.”

“i’m in love with you,” he said in disbelief, and quickly snapped his eyes back to your face when he realized he said it out loud. “i- i mean- i’m not in love with you, no way in hell, you’re- you’re my best friend, you- you smack my head whenever i say somethin’ inappropriate, you keep me from underminin’ myself, you always lift my spirits and for fuck’s sake, please, stop lookin’ at me like that because i will be getting hopeful and if you’re just joking, i will never hear the end of it and-“

you finally hd enough of his rambling and cut him off with a kiss. at first he froze, but seconds later he melted into your embrace, hands sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer.

when your lips separated, atsumu gasping for air after his word vomit and the long kiss you shared, you spoke up. “miya atsumu, you’re a real dumbass, you know that?”

his breath hitched and you kept quiet for a second to let him suffer a bit.

“but you’re my dumbass. i love you, you absolute piece of work.”

atsumu honest to god giggled and leaned in for another kiss, which you gave him without hesitation.

somewhere in the room, bokuto was collecting the money sakusa promised to give him if he got you two to kiss.

kenma

* kenma and you are both twitch streamers with similar content so you knew of each other but weren’t properly introduced

* until one of your mutual friends invited you both to stream among us with them

* you obv accepted

* so during the 3 hr stream, you and kenma were imposters together a lot and had the biggest, most twisted imp plays

* a friendly competition broke out at one point, too, trying to see who exposed the most impostors between the two of you

* your fans ate your dynamic up

* from then on, you two interacted more and started to appear in each others’ streams

* kenma even invited you to his minecraft smp

* you became besties basically

* SO

* all fun and games

* and then a huge sponsorship opportunity rolled in

* and the people at the company assumed you were dating

* uh oh

* you couldnt just tell them they have it wrong bc the whole thing depended on your relationship

* so

* big brain kenma suggest you two start to “date”

* you were against deceiving your followers but kenma assured you you could have a public breakup and tell everyone you were better off as friends

* so you reluctantly agreed

* it was only for two months anyways, what could go wrong?

* both of you, on week 3, in separate discord calls: uh oh, im in l*ve

* you both tried to cope (read: repress everything) but the realization on both of your parts threw your dynamic off a bit and fans have noticed

* so you had to do something abt it

* so kenma suggested you try your hand at a minecraft challenge together

* it was all fun and games until it wasnt

* you somehow ended up flirting back and forth ????

* chat was goin crazy, even in sub only mode

* both of you: ha ha im in danger

* when the stream ended, you stayed on call, because that was a routine you stuck to no matter what

“so... how are you doing?” you asked kenma, trying to clear the awkwardness from the air.

“good.”

maybe you should have taken kenma’s refusal to talk about anything into account when initiating conversation.

kenma, on the other end of the call was anxiously playing with his fingers, trying to figure out if his chat was right, and you were indeed flirting with him. and him with you. god.

“hey, y/n,” kenma said after a while, “were you flirting with me?”

his bluntness startled you and you had to mute yourself for a few seconds while you collected yourself.

“is there a correct answer?” you asked hesitantly.

“yes.”

“oh... uhm, maybe? it wasn’t intentional. or maybe it was, subconsciously, i don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

“good. it was intentional on my part, i think,” and okay, that was not the reply you expected to hear.

“really?”

“yeah, i- i like you i guess,” he said, sounding more confident by the minute. “do you like me too?”

“i- yeah. i do. i like you, kenma,” you replied, sighing a breath of relief. it felt good to admit it aloud to him.

“do you- would you maybe want to come over?” he asked sheepishly, which made absolutely no sense because he sounded so confident a second ago. “we could play mario kart?”

you let the beaming smile you were holding back take over your face. “i’ll be there in 10, kenma.”

“i’ll be waiting for you.”

oikawa

* on god mans hated your guts

* like,, okay, you were iwa’s close friend but you were so annoyingly honest all the time

* it drove him mad

* what also drove him mad is the fact that you loved to tease him

* no matter what the circumstance, whether he was in japan or in argentina, you always found a way to make him blush

* okay so maybe hate is a strong word, because he kind of thought you were pretty, but in a platonic way

* dumbass

* iwa always give both of you shit for not liking each other

* so you came up with a big brain idea

* you: ”oikawa! we should date!”

* oikawa: “what”

* after you explained the concept of fake dating to him and its benefits (which included a staged dramatic breakup, giving you both a reason to hate each other without iwa complaining)

* he was totally down

* iwa, when he first saw you holding hands: “i knew it”

* SO!! thus began weeks of pretending to be in love with each other for the sake of iwa

* which turned from pretending to not pretending real quick for your liking

* falling in love with oikawa was not a plan of yours

* (falling in love with you wasn’t his, either)

* with iwa’s constant nagging of “i knew it, you both were head over heels for each other from the moment you met”, the time for the breakup came quicker than expected (maybe you both had enough. so what.)

* you agreed to do it in front of iwa so he could see it happen

* you chose a mcdonalds parking lot, because then you could storm off and iwa would follow you to make sure you were ok and oikawa could go home and sleep

* maybe winging it was not the best idea

“babe,” you said with venom, “haven’t i told you a thousand times that i do not want to hear about your exes? seriously, it’s like the only thing you talk about,” you complained, as your fake-boyfriend took a sip from his drink.

“well, babe,” his tone matching yours, “i would shut up about them if took the hint sometimes. maybe i don’t like going to the movies as much as you seem to, it’s boring,” he rolled his eyes, subtly glancing at iwa, who looked very uncomfortable third wheeling your argument. good

“jerk. i don’t even want to go to the movies that much, asshole,” you spat, crushing your empty cup in your hand.

“oh, you want to go to the movies plenty. face it, (y/n), you’re boring. no wonder you didn’t have a boyfriend before me,” he replied and his words, even though you knew were fake, still hit hard and you couldn’t help the tears gathering in your eyes.

“okay, then, thanks for these wonderful past few weeks, so glad you decided to take pity on me.” you tried to keep acting, encouraging yourself with the fact that if oikwa meant what he said, you wouldn’t have to talk to him if iwaizumi finally saw you two break up.

you expected a lot of things, but genuineness in oikawa’s eyes was not one of them.

“(y/n), i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it like that,” oikawa pleaded, clearly forgetting about your mutual goal.

with a mumbled whatever, you started walking home, letting the sunset wash over your face. when you knew you were out of sight, you sat down on a bench and just started crying.

you don’t know how much time passed, but you heard a voice behind you speak up.

“hey (y/n).”

“what the fuck do you want, oikawa? to rub in the fact that my first boyfriend was just faking it so his best friend would get off his back? leave me alone, jerk,” you said, trying to wipe your tears away.

“i- i didn’t mean it like that, please, believe me,” he replied, taking a seat next to you. you scooted away from him. he sighed.

“why would i believe you? why do you want to make up, anyways? this fight was pretty real, no way iwaizumi didn’t believe it,” you sniffed.

“because maybe... maybe i was very happy about the fact that i could be your boyfriend, even if it was fake. maybe i’m in love with you,” he said softly, leaning towards you.

“please, stop playing games. it’s over,” you replied, trying very hard to ignore the raw emotion in his voice as he spoke.

“i really am, (y/n). i wasn’t at first, i admit it, but now i am. i love you, please, believe me,” he begged and you finally made eye contact with him. eyes were mirrors of the soul, after all.

you studied his face for a few minutes, looking for anything that could indicate he was trying to pull a shit prank on you, but you found nothing.

“asshole. maybe i’m in love with you too, what would you do if i said that?” you asked, wiping your nose with your sleeves.

“kiss you.”

“do it, then, i guess. but you’re still not completely forgiven.”

“what do i have to do to earn your forgiveness, (y/n)?” he asked and you sent him a mischievous smile.

“take the blame for this whole fiasco with iwaizumi.” he froze at your words and visibly gulped, but nodded nonetheless.

“okay, i will. can i kiss you now?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah.”

and he did.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//this is me trying

Request: Can I request a season 1 cheryl x reader. Cheryl always protects reader from people and r is shy but falls in love with the redhead and some who’s accidentally tells her while she’s having a bad day but cheryl is quick to reassure her then they cuddle after going to pops or something and it’s just fluffy.

hey! happy valentines day gays! and get you, two imagines in one day, it must be the day of love. i hope you all like this because it’s really fluffy and i enjoyed writing this a lot!

Overnight, Riverdale became a shell of its former self. Two months since Kevin Keller and Moose Mason stumbled upon the body of Jason Blossom, and nobody has been the same since. 

The town is riddled with secrets, they’re slowly destroying it like a disease. Nobody trusts anybody anymore, everyone is on high alert, and everyone is a suspect. 

Cheryl usually loves being the centre of attention, she has done ever she was a kid. It’s something that comes naturally with being a twin, you share everything and as much as she loves loved the shared birthdays and friends, she has always loved being the centre of attention.

Now however, she hates it. Her life is a true crime documentary at the minute, and all she wants is for the killer to be caught so the crew can pack up and leave and she no longer has to stare down at the blinding lights being cast over her and her family. 

The only thing that’s kept her sane over the past two months, is you. Despite everything happening, despite the murder and the secrets and the suspicion, you’ve stuck by her side. You were with her when they found the body, and you haven’t really left since. 

The two of you are unlikely friends, she’s Cheryl. Bright and bold and never one to back down from confrontation. But you’re Y/n, sweet and shy and always the first to shrink away from any sort of attention directed at you. 

She knows you hate the constant attention recently, it’s something you get used when you’re best friends with the victim’s sister, but not once have you complained. 

You’ve being questioned by police, journalists and strangers on the internet. You’ve had camera’s shoved in your face on your walk back from school and been asked countless questions about what you know about the Blossom’s. And you’ve also been offered ridiculous amounts of money in order to talk. But no matter what happens, you always just rush past them and join Cheryl, who’s always waiting for you with a sad smile and warm hand. 

Due to the constant hoard of vultures swarming Riverdale High, the two of you had to figure out somewhere else to meet after school so you could walk the long way home. It adds twenty minutes to your walk, but it’s not that well known around town, meaning people can’t bother you. 

Plus, the extra twenty minutes that you get to spend with Cheryl isn’t the worst thing. It’s the opposite in fact. It’s the thing you look forward to, even if you are looking over your shoulder every so often 

But today you’re not at your meeting spot. 

When Cheryl pushes her way through the stares of her fellow students with you and only you on her mind and makes her way through the school basement, back up the stairs and out of the fire exit, you’re not waiting for her with a smile that makes her feel warm and a cold slice of pizza you snuck out of the cafe earlier. 

The only thing waiting for her is a full bin and an empty field. 

“Y/n?” She calls out and looks around the corner. She’s met with three seniors, all of which are smoking with absolutely no care for being caught. 

“She’s not here.” One of them says, her blonde hair and large glasses cover half of her face and Cheryl forces a smile. 

“Hey, Blossom.” A boy says and Cheryl freezes. Who knows what they want, but whatever it is, it probably won’t be nice. It’ll probably be something along the lines of ‘hey, did you kill your brother’ and no matter how many times she’s asked that, it doesn’t get any easier. “Maybe try the bleachers.” He says, ending his sentence with a sympathetic smile and Cheryl nods slowly, not really sure what to say. 

“Thanks.” She forces and spins on her heel. 

“We’re sorry about your brother, Cheryl.” The blonde one says and she turns around again. Each of them look sad, with matching frowns and sorrow swimming in their eyes. 

Jason meant the world to Cheryl, but he also meant a hell of a lot to other people too. And that’s when it hits her. Of course you’re at the bleachers. 

For some bizarre reason, only known by your father. You and your family used to come along every other week to watch the Bulldogs play. For a while you thought it was because your dad was trying to get you and your brother into football and this was a lot cheaper than the actual game, but the older you got the more you figured it was because he was just trying to relive his youth. For 90 minutes he could pretend that he was quarterback again and for those 90 minutes your dad would be the happiest he’d been all week. 

Then one week, a redhead sat beside you. In clothes that were far too expensive to be worn to a high school football game. Her parents looked like they wanted to be there as much as she did, but then a boy with matching red hair ran out on to the pitch and you’d never seen a smile quite like it. 

After that, you made sure to sit beside her at every game. And then one day she sat opposite you at lunch. The first few times she was alone, but then soon she began to appear with a group of other girls, but you were the only one she’d talk to. 

Eventually lunch times and football games turned into group projects and sleepovers. You spend hours braiding her hair and listening to her tell you stories of other worlds and the creatures that live in them. You’d sneak down the dark and creepy halls of Thornhill in hopes of finding a midnight snack, and instead be met by Jason and your older brother in clown masks. 

Eventually, you found a different way to get to the kitchen, one that Jason didn’t know about. And when he’d come looking for you, both of you would jump out  and chase him around the house, much to the dismay of Penelope and Clifford. 

Those bleachers are what started a whole friendship, not only between you and her, but also you and Jason. When you’re brother eventually made the team, thanks to a good word put in my Jason, despite him being a year younger. Him and Jason became as inseparable as you and Cheryl and so it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the four of you hanging out. It also meant that if Cheryl was busy, you and Jason would hang out until she finished whatever she was doing. 

Grief is a hell of a lonely thing, and sometimes Cheryl forgets that other people miss Jason too. With everything going on, she didn’t even think about how you were doing. With all the questions, accusations and crying that constantly fills Cheryl’s house. She never even asked how you were. 

And now her legs can’t carry her quick enough to were she hopes your sat. Because she’s already lost her brother, she can’t lose you too. She wobbles as her heels dig into the dirt, kicking up dust and mud as she runs across the field. Her hair swings behind her, and she can feel the red scrunchie loosen the quicker she runs. 

The bleachers have all sorts carved into them. Initials in hearts, some of them still there, some of them crossed out so aggressively that it’s a miracle they didn’t chop it in half. There’s inside jokes and ridiculous rumours. Codes and dates and everything in between. 

But something new has been added in the past few days. 

cheryl murdered jason

and y/n helped

The writing is small and barely legible, but it’s there and the more you run your fingers over it the more it carves itself into your heart. 

“Y/n?” Cheryl pants breathlessly and you quickly pull yourself away from it. Instead you stand up properly and pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands. The y/f/c scrunchie remains still in your hair and Cheryl has to stare at it for a few seconds to calm herself down. “You weren’t at our spot.” She says quietly and you close your eyes. 

You let her down. You let her down. You always let her down.  

“Sorry Cheryl.” You sigh and sit down in the dirt. Cheryl looks around before sitting beside you. “I just wanted some space.” You add and force yourself to look at her. 

The sun sits behind her, but even that doesn’t seem as bright as it used to be. Nothing is what it used to be. For the past two months, you’ve been told that thats a good thing. But what’s good about someone you loved being dead. What’s good about watching someone else you love go through life but not really live. 

Cheryl just exists. 

But she exists for you. 

Because as lost as she would be without you, she knows you would be just as lost without her. 

It’s an unspoken rule now, you always text each other when you wake up and before you go to sleep. It’s something you used to do anyway, but now you make a point not to forget. Because forgetting means that the worst could have happened, and that’s something neither of you can bare to deal with. 

“I get it.” She nods. “I was just worried that’s all.” She adds, trying to sound as casual as she can. But on the inside she’s screaming. Because she thought you had died, she thought whoever had killed Jason had gotten to you too, and the whole reason you’re both dead is because she wronged the wrong person. 

There’s a lot of people that don’t like Cheryl, being unliked comes naturally to her. But she doesn’t know how she’ll cope if she’s so unlikeable someone she loves died. 

She has no idea why your friends with her to be honest. She saw you staring at her at a football game once. But it wasn’t a stare she was used to. It wasn’t cold like her mothers or jealous like her friends. No, this was nice. You were staring at her like you wanted to know about her, like when you looked at her, you saw a friend not someone to be feared. 

And so Cheryl clung onto the tiny hint of friendship, the crack of a door into something that could happen, and she shoved herself through it. It worked, and now you’re the only person she’s nice to. She’s mean to everyone else, she calls them names and teases them, especially when they’re rude to you...but you stay. And she has no idea why, but she’s not going to wish it away. 

“Shit, sorry Cheryl.” You drop your head into your hands and Cheryl looks at you confused. She looks around, not really sure of what to do. “I didn’t think, God knows what you thought had happened.” You ramble and she realizes you’re crying. Her eyes widen and you look at her, your eyes red and puffed and your lips pulls into frown. 

“It’s okay.” She replies and wraps her arms around you. You bury your head into her neck, the smell of maple and cherries invade your senses and you let out a shaky breath. 

It smells like home and happier times, and you want to crawl into those happy memories and never come back out. “I was just being ridiculous.” She tries to play it off, to make it seem like she couldn’t feel her heartbeat in her throat and the ringing in her ears. Pretend like it didn’t feel like someone had pulled her heart out and stamped on it. 

“No, no you weren’t. I’m really sorry.” You sob and wrap your arms around her. She falls into your neck, surprised but not upset with how tight you’re holding her. She never wants you to let go. But of course she has to, and so however reluctant, she untangles herself from you and lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle. She hands you a tissue and you wipe your eyes with it before scrunching it up in your hand. “I’ve just had a rubbish day. Somebody shoved this in my locker.” You frown and pull a balled up piece of paper out of your pocket. 

Cheryl’s eyebrows knit in confusion as she takes it from you, her fingers graze yours and you freeze for a few seconds. 

who do you think did it? 

cheryl __

y/n __

Jamie __

“Why is your brother on here?” Cheryl asks, her voice rising with each word and you rest your hand on top of hers to calm her down. 

“I dunno.” You shrug. “Your parents are on there too.” You add and point further down the page. 

“What a bunch of dicks.” She grumbles and crumples it up. “Do you know who it was?” You shrug and she sighs. 

“I’ve just gotten tired of the staring and the whispers. So I thought I’d just have five minutes peace before going home and having to listen to Jamie cry in his room but pretend he’s okay. Or for my parents to walk on eggshells around both of us. Neither of them know what to say, and because of that they keep saying the wrong thing.” You ramble and she listens intently, trying her best to find a resolution to all of your problems. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t know the answer to everything, no matter what her mom says. 

“I just thought five minutes by myself can’t be terrible. But then I came down here and someone carve-well it doesn’t matter what they wrote. What matters is that I made you worry at the worst possible time in your life. I hurt you, and I’m really sorry. Believe me, hurting you is the last thing I want to do you. I feel sick even just thinking about it. I never, ever want to hurt you. I love you too much. I love you more that I’ve ever loved anything or anyone ever. I just love yo-” Your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve just admitted to. 

You don’t want to look at her, but she hasn’t said anything in a while and that’s strange for her. So you force yourself to look at her, expecting the worst. Expecting disgust, disappointment, betrayal. But it’s none of those. 

Instead she’s smiling. And she looks actually happy. Something you haven’t seen in so long, something you’re glad to see, despite the circumstances. 

Oh yeah, you’ve just told her you’re in love with her. What do you say after that? 

“I-er-”

“Y/n?” She cuts you off before you get the chance to ruin the moment. She’s known you for long enough to know that when you get nervous, you ramble and when you ramble you say weird things. 

You’re grateful for her cutting you off, usually if she talks over you, it annoys the hell out of you. But this time it’s welcomed and she stifles a small laugh and the sigh of relief you let out. 

But the next thing she says is something that you weren’t expecting, but you’re sure as hell grateful for. 

“Would you like to go on a date?” 

---

The red lights from outside, illuminate Cheryl’s pale face in the night, painting her in a reddish hue and you find yourself staring at her for far longer than would be considered normal. 

Lucky for you, she hasn’t noticed. She doesn’t seem to be paying attention to anything, not really anyway. Instead she stares down at her food, pushing a few fries around the plate and anxiety rises in your chest. 

She’s already regretting doing this. She’s made a mistake and now she doesn’t know how to let you down gently. 

She seems to sense you nerves because she’s looking at you quickly, a sad smile twitching at her lips.

“Sorry, I just. Jason always used to tease me about the two of us. It’s the only thing we’d take about sometimes. He’d constantly ask me if I’d asked you out yet. And every time I would say ‘no, we’re just friends’ but, well neither of us really believed that.” She says, a small laugh escapes her lips near the end, but she quickly shuts it off. It’s too soon for her to be laughing, too soon for her to be happy. 

“Yeah.” You nod and finish your drink. “He used to tease me too. ‘if you don’t tell her, I’ll do it myself’.” You mimic his voice and a ghost of a smile twitches at her lips as she forces herself to look at you. “I am really glad you did ask me though.” Your voice shakes a little with nerves and Cheryl stares at you confused. “I do really like you Cheryl.” 

“I really like you too.” She smiles softly and you stare at her lips. Sometimes you think the red lipstick has permanently stained her lips cherry red. Even when you guys are a sleepover, she still has bright red lips and the other part of you wonders if that’s just what they look like. 

“Hey.” You start and a sly smile twitches at your lips as you remember an old memory. She leans forward, excited to know what you’re smiling about. 

It could literally be anything, from a musty old book she let you borrow from the Thornhill archive, to a new tv show you started to watch. But whatever it is, she’s excited to hear you talk about it. 

“Can you remember last year. It was Jamie’s 16th birthday and you and Jason were invited over. Jason was there because him and Jamie were planning on sneaking out later that night, and you tagged along so you could keep me company.” You start and she smiles at the memory. 

The four of you sat in the living room, while your mom brought cake and your dad sang ‘happy birthday’. Cheryl remembers how happy she was, and she remembers talking to Jason afterwards, the two of them whispering and wondering if that was what a normal family was supposed to look like. 

You, Cheryl and Jason had each pitched in for the record player he wanted. And even though you all knew that just Cheryl alone could have been able to buy him it if she really wanted, you knew they split it for you. 

Jamie was ecstatic when he opened the box, and then all of the records you’d bought to go with it. He’d played it every single day since getting it, but now you haven’t heard it in months.

“Yeah.” She nods, a sad smiling taking over he face. “Can you remember when Jason pushed his face into the cake.” She adds making you snort a laugh. 

The bell above Pop’s rings and Betty and Archie walk in. They send you a sympathetic smile before sitting at their own booth, and you and Cheryl share a look. 

“Would you like another one?” You point at her milkshake and she nods, smiling shyly. 

---

The walk home is over far too soon, and it’s only when you’re standing on your porch do you realize you took the normal way home by accident. Either the media has gone to sleep, or people are starting to forget about Jason and Riverdale. 

That thought makes you frown and Cheryl watches your expression falter before you look back at her again. 

“Thank you for walking me home.” You smile shyly and a nervous laugh escapes her lips. 

“It’s no problem.” She shrugs and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds longer than normal. She’s about to leave when you grab her hand and spin her around to face you. 

She’s surprised for a second, until suddenly she feels a pair of lips on hers, and then the only thing she can feel is them. Everything else disappears, and though the kiss is short and a little awkward, it’s still perfect. 

“Would you like to come in?” You ask and motion your head to large wooden door. The pain is chipped around the metal numbers, something your mom has nagged your dad about for the past 6 months. “We still have the rest of y/f/s to watch.” 

“I’d love to.” She nods and the two of you grin at each other. “But seriously, how many times have you seen that now?” 

“It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen it.” You unlock the front door, giving it a quick kick before you stumble through it. “What matters is that this is the first time you’re seeing it.” You add and she rolls her eyes but follows you up the stairs anyway. 

The sun sets over another day in Riverdale and darkness floods the town. The streets are cold and scary, but wrapped in your duvet and Cheryl’s arms, you’ve never felt warmer. 

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 1: Noise

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series.

Pairing: Javier Peña (towards the end of season one) x F!Reader

Summary: The reader and Javier find themselves in his bed more and more often, but when the reader decides to confront her emotions and put a halt to their meetings, everything seems to just go more and more south.

Warnings: swearing, violence, mention of vomiting and sickness, angst, smut 18+

Masterlist

Next chapter

“Leaving so soon?”, he questioned, sheets barely covering his naked figure.

You looked over your shoulder as you zipped up your pencil skirt. “I’d rather not have Murphy see me walk out of here”, you muttered, stuffing your blouse into the waistband.

He chuckled lowly, sitting up to press a series of kisses to the back of your neck. “Murphy is a blind hillbilly, princesa, just stay a little while longer”, he cooed, gently sucking on the sensitive skin of your throat.

Despite wanting to give in to his sweet promises and lustful words, you knew better. This was just the type of man he was, purely driven by sex and his own libido. So you took a deep breath and shied away from his sinful touches. “I’ll see you at the office Peña”, you sighed, gathering your purse from the floor and heading for the front door.

You could hear him mumbling something and getting up, his heavy footsteps trailing after you until you ultimately pulled the door shut behind you, catching a glimpse of him. For two months now you’d been sleeping together, two blissfully delicious months wrapped up in Javier’s arms. But it was wrong, so fucking wrong in so many different ways. The two of you were partners for fuck’s sake and if the embassy would find out, Messina would have your heads. And then there was Steve, sweet agent Murphy, one of your closest friends ever since the academy, who begged and pleaded for you not to engage with his partner, for fear that he would win you over, which is – of course – exactly what happened. But it was just sex – right? Yes, just pure physical relief, a man and a woman just fucking the pains of their job away, nothing else. At least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of, Javier Peña was a registered asshole and heartbreaker, but you’d come to know him for his softer interior, his caring side.

The walk of shame from his apartment to your car was one you knew quite well at this point, hair dishevelled, panties either soaked or gone and feelings just an utter complicated mess. You just prayed that nobody would ever see you, the impending shame of being known as one of his many hook-ups just anxiety-inducing by itself. So your drive home was filled with silent music and regret, as per usual.

A short three hour nap and a quick shower were all you could afford on these kind of nights, knowing fully well you had to show up to work the next morning, early and bright. It was getting more and more difficult for you to keep seeing him and you knew you couldn’t keep seeing him. While you were showering you thought of how you could tell him, but nothing seemed good enough and it led to what you could only identify as a nauseating feeling in your lower gut.

This was going to be a long day.

 “Mornin’”, Steve smiled at you, setting a cup of coffee and a sandwich down in front of you.

You felt your stomach turn and swiftly slid the coffee away from you. “What have you got for me today Murph?”

“Aha, a day out in the field”, he announced, sipping from the mug you’d rejected. “A stake out for the three of us and later on a meetup with Carillo and his men.”

Steve chuckled as you chowed down on the sandwich, as if you’d been starved for days. You didn’t even bother to swallow your bite as you spoke: “Mm-where’s Peña?”

Your friend shook his head slowly, wiping some sauce from the corner of your mouth. “Probably still busy with last night’s girl.” You choked, Steve quickly moving to pat you on the back. “Slow down partner, there’s plenty more in the kitchen.”

As you swallowed the last bit of your breakfast Javier walked into the small office space, mumbling something to Steve before plopping down in his chair, lazily lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. You quickly got up off your chair, not wanting to face him right now and muttered something about getting another sandwich.

The short walk to the office kitchen had managed to ease your nerves the slightest bit, just enough for you to walk back with your head held up high and pretend as if nothing was the matter. By the time you came back Steve had filled Javi in and the two of them stood there waiting for you with their jackets on.

A few minutes later you were sat in the backseat of the SUV, directly behind Steve as you read over some reports, Javier’s eyes catching yours in the rear view mirror every so often. You cursed the Colombian roads, feeling more and more sick with every bump the car hit. When the car finally came to a halt you let out a sigh of relief, your forehead glistening with sweat. Steve threw you a worried look, quirking his eyebrow as if to ask you if you were alright. You quickly nodded and smiled, assuring him you were okay, before stepping out of the vehicle to stretch your legs.

“Y/n”, an all-too-familiar voice sounded, a hand finding its way onto your shoulder, “is everything alright?”

You shrugged his hand off of you, crossing your arms over your chest you sighed: “I’m fine Javier. Let’s get back in the car, Pablo’s rats should be here soon.”

“Did something happen last night? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We need to stop seeing each other, I can’t do this anymore”, you let out in one breath, voice surprisingly calm.

He shuffled on his feet, hands resting on his hips as he gaped at you. “I’m not sure I understand, did I say something wrong?”

You scoffed before spinning on your heels, quickly walking back over to the car. There was no way you were giving him the option to get you alone again today, the awkwardness of it all just too much. So you joined Steve in the front seat, eyes burning with the effort of trying to contain your emotions.

It was safe to say that this particular stake out and day in general was the worst you’d had the displeasure of experiencing while being in Colombia. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time and when you told Steve you weren’t feeling well and went home early, it had taken everything within him not to follow you right there and then.

As soon as the door of your tiny apartment fell into the lock you broke down into tears, feeling completely overwhelmed. This had hit you harder than you liked to admit, coming to realise that your feelings towards the cold man were more severe than you’d expected. Work was going to be nothing short of awkward and emotionally draining but you’d rather spend your time avoiding Javier there, then just thinking and overthinking in bed or on the couch. You’d decided to give yourself the leeway to get over yourself, calling in sick for the next four days, until the weekend. It wasn’t entirely untrue, you experienced some odd nausea and intense headaches, making you stay away from any and all liquor, an otherwise very efficient yet unhealthy coping mechanism.

Everything had been calm aside from Steve and Connie calling in every so often to check up. You’d lied to them about having a really bad cold, spiking fever, that kind of thing and had advised them to stay faaaar away. It wasn’t until Saturday night, when you heard a knock at your door that you were disrupted from your repose. Assuming it to be one of the two or maybe that one neighbour that always needed something you opened up the door without checking.

When your eyes met Javier’s you sighed, going to close the door. He quickly jammed his foot between it, pushing it back open with his arm. “Can we just fucking talk?”, he asked, clearly annoyed with your attitude towards the entire situation.

“Fine, ten minutes, nothing more, I want to go to bed”, you said with an unsteady voice.

He let himself in, wrapping his arms around you when the door closed shut. “Preciosa, I miss you..”

You pressed your nose into the collar of his shirt, indulging in the hypnotising scent of his cologne and cigarettes. “I-I do too, but this- we can’t Javi..”

“And why not, nobody has to know hermosa, it could just be you and me”, he purred, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw. You let out a soft sob, making him stop abruptly. “What’s wrong, are you hurt?”

“Please just leave Javi, don’t make it more difficult then it already is”, you pleaded quietly, averting his worried eyes.

Javier’s face was contorted with frustration, he was upset with himself for hurting you like this. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave.” He pressed a gentle, loving kiss to your lips, nose softly rubbing against yours.

You eagerly kissed him back, the tears streaming down your face. Your hands soon found their way to their jacket, in an attempt to slide it off of his broad shoulders. He quickly grabbed onto your wrists stopping you. “Let me take care of you, por favor.”

A shy and hesitant nod was all he needed before you were led into your bedroom. He gently stripped you of your clothes, kissing every new exposed body part before moving on to the next. The sheer tenderness in his touches and words set your afire with unspoken love and need. Your fingers made quick work of his belt and buttons, haphazardly shoving his dark jeans down his thighs. Javier grunted as he picked you up, tossing you onto the bed, face down, tonight wasn’t about romance, it was about release, catharsis.

He grabbed onto your hips, perking your ass up, giving him easy access. Mesmerized as per usual, he watched the way your back curved when he lined himself up, a small gasp finding its way out of your throat when he teasingly rubbed the head against your clit. He stuttered out something along the lines of an apology before harshly thrusting into you, showing absolutely no mercy as he bottomed himself out. Your response consisted of a high pitched cry and obnoxious breathing, the pain and pleasure merging, making your mind go completely blank.

His fingers squeezed the supple flesh of your round hips, making him groan even louder, your body’s reactions to him turning him on all the more. The sheer force of his strokes told you everything you needed to know, he was livid. Javier was outraged about a plethora of things, the cartel, his actions, his lack of words but most of all you. Fuck – it wasn’t supposed to end like this, you were just another body to him, that’s what you were supposed to be, but he found himself concerned for you, he found himself wanting to check up on you, and something about that set him off. You’d promised him relief and all you ended up being was more trouble, more noise in his head. So, he’d wanted to take it out on you and that was exactly what he was doing.

The sound of his hips smacking against yours was therapeutic, your moans and mewls the ego boost he’d needed. With another hard thrusts he suddenly pulled out, jerking himself off as he came all over your lower back. He closed his eyes, catching his breath, before looking at you, panting on the bed, face hidden within the safety of your pillow. Good.

He quickly hoisted his jeans back up and fastened the button before throwing his shirt over his head. The man didn’t even bother to look at you as he threw a towel at you, ordering you to clean yourself up. You were right, you couldn’t do this anymore, tonight had been the last time, a goodbye. All he could think about as you sat there, breasts heaving up and down in time with your sobs, was how much he hated himself. He figured he was doing you a favour by distancing himself, but really it was a selfish thing, the cold and closed-off agent had vowed long ago that lovers and friends were just more loose ends for the cartel to catch onto, and he would never forgive himself if somebody would be hurt – even killed – in his name.

“You’re a monster”, you spat out, using the filthy towel to cover your body.

“I’m aware”, he replied lacing his shoes.

You disappeared into your bathroom, creating the necessary distance between the two of you, as you cried your eyes out. The need to hold and comfort you was there, but deep inside he knew that it – he would never be enough. So he left, the sounds of your sobs and sniffles ringing in his ears.

You spent the rest of your weekend watching stupid telenovelas and binge-eating, your hunger and cravings seemingly insatiable. Well it wasn’t like Javier would be showing up anytime soon, so there was no reason why you couldn’t let go and indulge in some sugar and fat. Tomorrow you’d be going back to work and seeing his stupidly handsome face until the end of your shift. At this point you’d rather spend the day doing paperwork and get patronised and hit on by the stuck-up men at the office all day.

Despite only having to start at noon, work had never been more stressful. Your heart rate picking up more and more with every step towards the shared office space. You stopped breathing when you saw him sitting there, sucking on the end of his cigarette, comfortably reading over some document. Steve smiled at you, winking in the direction of your desk where he’d left you a lunch bag of some sorts. You opened the glass door and walked over to your desk, returning his smile before looking inside of the brown bag.

“Connie figured you’d want some good food”, he smirked, pointing at the baked goods.

You quietly chuckled, quickly reading over the note she’d left you. “I should get sick more often, Connie’s muffins are just fucking heaven.” You sank your teeth into the treat, humming at the taste, making Steve laugh boyishly.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed it, because today’s gonna be a long one partner.”

Steve hadn’t exaggerated, the first two hours of your workday were spent discussing and arguing with the officials about a plan of approach concerning the recent tragedy. One of Pablo’s men had bombed a commercial flight and the news had shaken the nation, leaving everyone astonished. The meeting had however been cut short by Carillo, informing you all that there was mention of new leads and potential arrests. Messina had excused the three of you and soon you were back in the car, only this time Steve was going along with Carillo, leaving you and Javi alone.

The vehicle was filled with unsaid words and a loaded tension as the two of you drove in silence. You looked out of your window trying to avoid Javier, but most of all, trying to deny the bile rising in your throat. The Columbian roads and heavy lunch hadn’t been the best combination and soon you gripped onto the handle of the door, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Pull over.”

He scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’re adults y/l/n surely you can-“

“I will fucking puke on you if you don’t”, you gritted out.

Your “threat” had come through to him, making him swerve the car to the side of the road, barely stopped before you stumbled out of the car, falling onto your knees as you emptied out your stomach. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to decide what to do until he finally got out of the car and stood beside you. His gaze was fixed in front of his as he held your ponytail back for you. By the time the puking had stopped long enough for you to take a decent breath you were a shaking and shivering mess. Javier gently helped you up, leaning you against the car as he grabbed something out of the trunk. He handed you a bottle of water and a shirt, which you used to wipe your sweaty forehead and eventually the corners of your mouth.

“You sick?”, he asked, looking you up and down.

You ran a shaky hand across your face, legs starting to give out from underneath you. Javier swiftly caught you, helping you onto the passenger’s seat. “I- just give me a minute”, you exhaled.

“I’m calling back-up, you need to get back to the office.”

“Javier please, I’m fine, I just ate something bad”, you interjected, leaning your heavy-head against the car seat’s headrest.

He sighed deeply before closing your door and getting in on the other side. The rest of the drive was equally silent as the first part had been, only now Javier’s gut was burning with worry and guilt. He tried to keep it cool as he snuck a peak at you every other minute, just wanting to make sure you were still alive and breathing. As you arrived at the meetup spot he slowly parked the car before looking at you. “I don’t want you in there when you’re like.. this.”

“Unfortunately”, you sassed while getting out of the car and grabbing a tactical vest from the trunk, “that’s not your call, agent Peña.”

You soon joined Steve and Carillo where they stood, fastening the various buckles and straps on your vest before slipping your gun into the pocket in the front. “Ah agent y/l/n, un placer verlo”, (a pleasure to see you) he smirked as he shook your hand.

“¿Cuál es el plan, Horacio? (What‘s the plan).

Steve jutted on his hip, his knowledge of Spanish, or lack thereof making him feel alienated from the conversation. “English fuckers.”

As the colonel filled you all in you felt Javier tug on your vest, making you lose your footing. “What the-“

“If you’re going to be an idiot and go in there then at least make sure your fucking vest is properly tied”, he sneered as he fastened another buckle.

One minute you were bickering with your ex-lover and the next you were creeping up an alleyway with him, approaching the backdoor of the building. Before you could get there the door swung open, a set of two narco-men storming out, wielding guns of their own. Alas, the chase had started, leaving you and your partner to run after them. The two of you split up as they entered another building, with you heading inside as well, carefully scouting the area for any one of them.

As you saw one of them hurrying towards the back entrance you ran after him, clearing the steps and almost losing your footing in your hurry. Javi was nowhere to be seen as you chased after the man, who disappeared into yet another building. You followed once more, creeping up the stairs with your weapon held high, ready to shoot on sight. It was quiet, the man seemingly vanished. When you heard a scream outside you whipped your head to the side, lowering your gun for just a second when the man came into view again, firing two rounds into your chest. Luckily your vest absorbed most of the damage, but the impact had you stumbling backwards, toppling out of the second story window, landing onto the hot concrete with a yelp of pain and a loud thud. Whether it was the pain or daylight blinding you, you hadn’t a clue, it really didn’t matter, because soon you were out cold in the middle of the street, causing a whole new commotion.

[subjecta5newtella]

you know that trope where person a is having a really hard time and person b spends time with them to calm them down at night and they are about to leave so person a can get some sleep but person a grabs their hand and asks them to stay. you know that trope. but it’s nalby in the glade

this was supposed to be like. 200 words. the all-consuming love for pre-thomas glade dynamics hit me and now it's 2.3k. god help me.

Alby tries to tell himself it’s just habit that brings him to the Map Room at the same time every day, not some kind of ritual or anything. Surely it’s normal to hate a break in routine, to feel just a little off-balance when something requires his attention and he doesn’t arrive in time to walk to dinner with the Runners.

All the Runners. Definitely not one particular Runner. The second-in-command shouldn’t be playing favorites.

He’s been late the last couple days, tasked with shuttling the new Greenie around when Nick needs to attend to other things, but the kid has attached himself to a group of the Builders to the point where Alby feels like he can leave him for a while (and thank god for that, honestly, because he’s one of the ones that talks all the time when he’s nervous).

He watches the Runners file out of the Map Room one by one, but Minho comes out last and locks the door and there’s still one missing.

“Where’s—“ Alby starts, but Minho cuts him off before he can even get the question out.

“Finished his map early and headed off. He’s been weird all day.”

“Why?”

Minho shrugs. “Fuck if I know, dude. You know how hard it is to get answers out of that guy when he doesn't want to talk? Might work for you, though.”

There are a hell of a lot of implications there, a lot of observations he’s made that Alby hadn’t noticed him making, but Minho isn’t in charge of the Runners for no reason. Talking to him is easier once you remember that, as much as he sometimes makes it hard.

“I’ll try,” Alby says, and sets off to find Newt.

Newt’s not in the first place he looks, which is probably good because that particular spot behind the Homestead is where Alby had found the wreckage of him one time in the early days, a time bad enough that they just don’t speak of it. He’s not in the gardens either, and as Alby treks back across the Glade to head towards the trees, he curses Newt’s tendency to vanish when he’s upset. It could be worse; he’s not picking fights or breaking shit or any of the other, more destructive coping mechanisms Alby’s seen from some of the Gladers, but since the anxiety doesn’t go away until he finds Newt, he wishes Newt was a little less opposed to being found.

Alby finally finds him just past the area where most of the Gladers sleep, half in the woods but not quite. He’s brought his sleeping bag with him as well, as though he expects to stay there until morning, as though he thinks his wouldn’t be one of the most visible absences possible for the rest of the evening. He’s staring up at the trees, flat on his back and face still a little red, and when Alby comes to sit next to him he turns his head and pushes himself up into a sitting position, but doesn’t say anything.

Newt’s an odd creature sometimes. Alby knows him better than anyone else, but there are still times when he’s not sure if the best thing to do is get him to talk or leave him alone. Maybe this time the right thing to do is not to talk, but with every second the quiet feels more and more like a weight pressing down, and Alby breaks.

“What’s going on?”

Newt won’t look at him for a moment, just at his own hands, but then he seems to come to some kind of decision and makes eye contact. “I don’t think there’s a way out of here,” he says, and then everything spills out of him like bile or blood. “I think Minho thinks the same thing, he just doesn’t want to admit it. And that feels bad all the time but it feels worse when there’s a new Greenie, because it’s bad enough that there’s another kid stuck here with us, but then we’re supposed to give them hope. They find out about the Runners and they get told we’re looking for a way out, and they start to think it’s actually possible.”

And that…. well. Alby doesn’t begin to know what to say to that. “Are you sure it’s not?”

“I mean, no, I can’t say with absolute certainty or anything, but... it just repeats. I think we’ve found everything we’re gonna find.”

Alby doesn’t really do optimism—he’s not as much of a pessimist as Newt is sometimes, more of a realist if anything—but he can’t let that linger, can’t even look directly at it for too long.

“So you don’t know for sure. Which means it might all be fine, and maybe tomorrow one of you will figure out something new, and we’ll all get out of here.”

“It’s not that bloody simple,” Newt snaps, and Alby bites back a retort, because he’s fucking trying, okay?

Instead he just says, “I know. Just... trying to help.”

Newt sighs. “Yeah, sorry. That wasn’t fair. Been a bad day, that’s all. Bad couple days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t the one who put us here. Unless I’m missing something, in which case you might want to admit to it now while I’m too tired to kill you.” And sure, it’s almost all a joke, but Alby can’t help but feel like it’s a little bit true. For all that Newt is kind, for as much as he cares about every single person in the Glade, or maybe because of all those things, he has a hatred for the Creators like nothing else Alby’s ever seen from him.

Still, he’s pretty sure he’s safe from that kind of threat, or at least as safe as someone with no recollection of their past can be, so he says, “Not as far as I know.”

Newt’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “What if it was one of us?”

“Why would we put ourselves here if it was?”

Newt shrugs. “I guess.”

He falls silent after that, and this time Alby lets him stay that way, at least for a while. Eventually, though, he checks his watch and realizes they can’t wait any longer if they want to eat, and starving isn’t exactly going to do Newt’s mood any good.

“Alright, you need to eat before dinner’s over. And shower, and then you can continue staring at nothing if you really want.”

“That genius for planning is why you’re second-in-command, huh?” Newt says with an asymmetrical smile, and Alby says, “Sure,” because sometimes Nick’s justifications for it don’t make a lot of sense to him either.

He gets to his feet and turns to pull Newt up with him, and they head for dinner. Frypan gives them a look for being late, and Minho spares a glance, eyes flicking from Newt to Alby before he nods just a little, but no one says anything about the way they arrive after everyone and as a matched set. They’ve all just got enough of their own problems, maybe. A lot of eyes still on the Greenie, too.

After dinner and showers and Alby spending the whole walk back fighting the urge to tuck the chunk of hair that’s fallen out of Newt’s mess of a bun back into place, they end up in the same spot, mostly hidden from where the rest of the Gladers are setting up for the night.

This time, Alby chooses the second option. He waits to see if Newt will talk, and when he doesn’t, he leaves the silence alone. It’s not a comfortable emptiness, not when everything Newt had said earlier still lingers, but pushing any further seems like it might hurt more than mend.

That’s one possible answer, at least. Another is that he’s scared to lean too hard on whatever it is between them for fear that it might break. A third is that he’s afraid of all the things that Newt might say. So he waits, and he hopes that his presence is any kind of reassurance.

Eventually, though, night starts to set in and he can’t justify keeping Newt awake any longer. He goes to stand up, but Newt’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist and good god, Alby sometimes forgets how fast he can move.

“Don’t leave.” Newt says, and Alby shakes his head.

“You should get some rest. Don’t want you running the Maze tired tomorrow.”

Newt says, “You being here doesn’t prevent me from resting,” which is true, sure, but not something Alby had been ready to assume. You don’t set up for the night in the middle of the woods if you want company, at least not in his own experience of things, but if Newt wants him to stay, what other choice can he make?

“Can I at least go get my own sleeping bag?”

Newt’s fingers uncurl in response, and Alby gently tugs his wrist away, going to collect his things. On the way back he runs into Nick, making the rounds before bed, which is a thing Alby usually accompanies him on except that he’s been a little distracted.

Nick’s gaze drops to the sleeping bag and pillow in Alby’s arms, and Alby mentally curses the sense of order that had led him to sleep in the same place since the beginning, meaning that now any kind of rearrangement looks unusual.

“Is everything okay?” Nick asks, brow furrowed.

Alby doesn’t lie to Nick. He doesn’t lie in general, really, but especially not to Nick because the Glade doesn’t function if communication between them breaks down. But this... he’s not ready to tell Nick what Newt suspects. It’s still only a suspicion, one that could easily be proved wrong, and he’s not ready to damage morale that badly without proof.

So he lies, or at least omits part of the truth. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Newt’s just in a mood, and I’m keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s not gonna be out of it in the Maze tomorrow.” There’s no point in trying to say it like he’d do this for any other Runner, not with the way he and Newt have been bound since the early days by something still unvoiced, but he can still pretend at least a little.

Nick knows there’s no truth to that last part at least, but Alby knows how much time he spends picking his battles, so he’s not surprised when Nick just nods. “Sounds good. Don’t want him getting injured.”

“Yeah. Sorry for ditching nighttime rounds.”

“It’s fine. You might have to take the Greenie tomorrow if the supply meeting goes over, so we’ll call it even.”

It’s an empty threat, given that Alby’s most useful skills as a leader lie in allotment and record-keeping, but he takes the way out Nick’s offering him. “Fine.”

Nick nods. “Alright, go ahead. Deal with whatever you’re dealing with.”

“Thanks,” Alby says, and heads back to the space in the trees.

Newt looks up when he approaches, propping himself up on his elbows. He mostly just looks tired now, which is an improvement at least, even if it doesn’t do wonders for Alby’s confidence in sending him out into the Maze in the morning. “Forgot you’re supposed to have a job to do. Wouldn’t have stolen you from Nick if I remembered.”

Alby spreads out his sleeping bag, laying down on top of it. It’s too warm in the Glade to sleep inside it, which kind of feels like an oversight on someone’s part. “I ran into him on the way back, it’s fine. He’s threatening to make me take over with the Greenie if the meeting tomorrow runs long, but it’s probably an empty threat. Hopefully.”

Newt worms his way close enough to bump Alby with a shoulder. “Be nice to the new kid, Albert.”

“I’m trying, he just talks so much.”

“Can’t be worse than Kuo.”

Alby snorts. “You haven’t met him.”

“I met him the first full day he was here!”

“For three minutes! And it’s not like he even asks a ton of questions, I can either answer those or deflect fine, but he’ll just say things and I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to them.”

“I’m sure he’s just scared.”

“Yeah, I know. I think he’s gonna get absorbed into the Builders soon enough anyway, he’s already halfway there.”

“That helps.”

“Yeah. I keep hoping that Nick will get that I’m shit at this, but I guess sometimes there aren’t other options.”

Newt shrugs. “You’re good at plenty of other things, and you haven’t killed a Greenie yet.”

“I don’t think I like ‘yet’ in that sentence.”

“I’m confident in your ability to not kill a Greenie. Better?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alby readjusts his pillow, doing his best not to acknowledge the root under his head because proximity takes priority over comfort right now. “Sorry. Didn’t come back just to complain.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Took my mind off everything a little.”

“Are you gonna be okay tomorrow?” Alby asks, knowing as he does that it’s probably only going to make Newt mad, but he can’t just not ask.

Sure enough, there’s a bite to it when Newt says, “I’ll be fine,” that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Don’t get pissed off at me for caring about you. It’s just dangerous out there, and—“

“Yeah, I have figured that out, actually. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t, don’t start acting like I did.”

“No, you just—“ Newt stops himself and sighs, looking away. “I’m sorry. I’m… yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Alby reaches out and interweaves his fingers with Newt’s, half-expecting him to pull away and ready to let go if he does. He doesn’t.

When he wakes before dawn with Newt’s face pressed into his shoulder, Alby thinks he could almost be happy staying in the Glade like this, but only almost. One of them has to believe they’ll get out of here, and if that means he has to play at optimism for a while, it’s one more role he’ll do his best to handle.