#that all boil down to ‘i connect with this because no matter how angsty or sad or painful or whatever it gets

[thesaintofnevergettingitright]

My personal fav will always be

“That’s what she said”

(it’s simply a classic)

But even like,

“The flat we rented was a palace for my queen/if by palace you mean the asbestos and beans from a tin and the gin that you brewed in the bathtub🙄”

creates this effect too. It’s very legitimately my favorite thing about TAD.

I love how the amazing devil writes these incredibly beautiful and complex lyrics that make you cry but then also have lines like

"Yeah we thought you were mental YOU WERE TALKING TO TREES"

And "could be ghosts or monsters or a robot vampire- i dont know!"

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hi! I've been thinking about this lately and I want to know your opinion. Let's say that Satoru is in love with this person but no one knows about his feelings, not even suguru. Suguru on his side is also in love with this person, and eventually they start dating. Satoru feels hurt but decides not to say anything because he doesn't want to ruin his friend's happiness but Suguru eventually finds out that Satoru is in love with his partner, What do you think Suguru's reaction would be in this situation?

👀👀👀👀👀👀 this is ……… a really interesting scenario actually.

ultimately i think everything boils down to the fact that satoru and suguru love each other too. the specific kind of love doesn’t matter much, (though i do think it’s a little insane to insist that there’s Nothing romantic there ..) because they love each other so wholly!!!!! they’re best friends!!!!!!! :((( and that’s such a powerful thing for them. i couldn’t imagine stsg having a falling out over something like this because no matter the universe they’re easily the most important people in each other’s lives.

so…….. tbh!! i think a lot of it depends on who this person is to them. if it’s just a tiny crush or whatever then i think stsg will get over it easily because their bond is so much stronger than that, but if you’re someone they love as deeply as each other then obviously it’s more complicated.

the contrast is interesting because both of them are kind of inherently self-destructive? in this specific case satoru is the one hiding his feelings, but if it was the other way around suguru absolutely would have done the same. that’s just how they are!! satoru would keep a respectful distance to make you and suguru happy, and suguru would choke down his own emotions for you and satoru’s sake. and both of them would feel betrayed once they found out about it!! NOT as in ”i can’t believe you like my s/o you piece of shit 😡😡” but more like…. ”i can’t believe you hid this from me. i can’t believe you let me make you unhappy without telling me about it.”

aaaaand in typical stsg fashion <333 i think they’d have to fight it out!! just a good ol shounen argument where they end up lying side by side exhausted after getting all their emotions out. and after that it’s a lot easier. at the end of the day they love each other, and they wouldn’t let that connection go for anything.

…. so. in conclusion!! i’m gonna be real with you anon i can’t picture this turning into anything except a stsg/reader situation 😭😭 the only exception would be if the person they like DOESN’T like satoru romantically bc obviously they’d never force you into anything!! but i do feel like this is destined to end with all of you in love and happy <3 i just really can’t picture a universe where stsg aren’t at least a little bit in love…… and even if it’s not romantic the love is strong enough that they’d be happy for each other. i can see satoru punching suguru’s shoulder and being like “you better treat them well, or i’ll steal them away!” and suguru just smiles and promises to do so because. well. he loves both of you so much. he wants to make you happy and he wants to honour satoru’s trust. you’re all important to each other in different ways.

those are just my spontaneous thoughts though. BUT my dear anon…. if you’re interested in something angsty on this concept then PLS do yourself a favour and read kairo’s suguru fic 😵‍💫 it changed my whole life. she did this concept so much justice and her prose is just beautiful <33

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

Hi! Possibly fun ask for you if you feel like answering: which Buffyverse ships have you most changed your mind about over the years? For instance, I always liked Cangel, but for a variety of reasons they've now skyrocketed to OTP status for me. On the other side, I used to like Fresley more than I do now. Also, as one of like five people who loves Cangel too, I was wondering when in the series you started shipping them? A lot of fans say S2 or even S3, but I actually shipped them from about halfway through S1 :)

Hey! Oooh, a very fun ask for me. Thank you for asking! 😊

In general, I think I've changed my mind slightly on most of the Buffyverse ships over the years which just naturally tends to happen after many rewatches and also changes in perspective/maturity. 

I agree about Cangel and Fresley. Cangel are one of my most unexpected ships, I went into AtS expecting to strongly dislike them as a romantic pairing so was very surprised that I ended up loving them so much. As for Fresley, I hated them as a romantic pairing from the second Fred was introduced on the show and that has never changed for me 😂

Anyways, the ships I’ve changed my perspective on most are Bangel and Dangel, more details below the cut (warning for slightly anti-Bangel sentiments). 

Bangel - A lot of my mutuals/followers will never forgive me for this but I have to address the elephant in the room and admit that whilst I still ship Bangel my feelings towards them have changed a lot over the years and I no longer consider them an OTP. This has happened for a lot of different reasons but basically boils down to the fact that my personal tastes in ships have changed and watching AtS shifted my perspective.  I don’t enjoy the all-consuming, intense and angsty vibe of Bangel’s relationship as much as I once did. I also have issues with the early development of their relationship, which I always did, but it’s become more problematic to me with time. What I’m referring to here is that Angel falls for Buffy when she’s a minor then proceeds to stalk her and the fact that they fall for each other when they meet after about 4-5 very brief interactions. They can get away with it because their chemistry and story is so damn good but it doesn’t change the fact that there is a lack of development in the early days for the pair. 

Watching AtS is probably the biggest factor in shifting my perspective on the ship, and not only because of Cangel. Angel just feels like a very different person to me in AtS and as the seasons progress he moves on from Buffy and although she’s always in his heart as his great love, he outgrows her and she no longer makes sense for him as a romantic pairing. I’ve also connected more deeply with Angel as a consequence of watching AtS and feel like I understand him in a different way. 

I think I’ve said something similar to this before in another post, but when I watched BtVS I saw Bangel’s relationship through Buffy’s perspective but watching AtS enabled me to see the relationship through Angel’s perspective and that completely changed how I saw the relationship as a whole. 

Looking at the whole picture and taking both shows into account I see Buffy and Angel’s love for each other as being fundamentally different. Buffy never outgrows Angel but Angel does outgrow Buffy. Angel pines for Buffy throughout Season 1 of AtS and after that it fades. He still loves her because it’s Buffy and she’s special to him but he’s not in that place anymore; he loves her but he’s not in love with her. Whereas Buffy, no matter what, always reads as being in love with Angel to me. Maybe this has a lot to do with the fact that Angel is a vampire so he’s used to people coming and going, of compartmentalising relationships and losses whereas Buffy is much more raw. 

I also feel like the inconsistencies between BtVS and AtS diminished the Bangel relationship for me. It’s something I didn’t notice prior to watching AtS, but it’s glaringly obvious now that I have watched both shows that there are huge inconsistencies with . Due to network issues, AtS deliberately pulled away from the Bangel ship and changed Angel’s character to make him a believable protagonist on his own show. The result is that Bangel is diminished slightly, particularly post AtS Season 1 and Angel feels like a different person between shows, making the version of Angel in BtVS feel like a stunted version of his character. That in turn makes the Bangel relationship feel less than it did previously because I don’t see Angel fully reflected in that relationship. 

These inconsistencies are even worse in specific areas such as AtS Season 4/BtVS Season 7 where Angel is portrayed as being in love with Cordelia but within days/weeks of her death turns up in Sunnydale, kisses Buffy and tells her he’ll be waiting for her... It makes no sense within the canon and whilst Bangel’s interactions in Chosen used to be some of my favourites I now can’t look at them in the same way when I consider the timeline and events of AtS Season 4. 

Whilst these things are down to off-screen issues, complications and inconsistencies, and most likely not how the Angel’s character or the Bangel relationship was intended to be portrayed, it has impacted my perception of the ship nonetheless. 

Dangel - I didn’t care for Dangel at all after watching BtVS because there’s so little of them but AtS absolutely converted me into a Dangel shipper. I love Angel and Darla’s dynamic so much, it’s one of my favourites in the entire Buffyverse. It’s such a complex and interesting relationship. I like that it’s not easily defined and that nothing with them is black and white. They love each other but their love was born from darkness, lust, greed and let’s face it plain evil. Consequently, they’re destructive and selfish together. Yet they have these moments of genuine heartfelt selfless love, sacrifice and gentleness. Their chemistry is great and I enjoy watching them on-screen together. 

As for when I started shipping Cangel, I remember consciously realising I was definitely shipping them after the scene in Dead End in Season 2 when Angel brought her the food and she said she loved him. I did enjoy their dynamic up until that point and definitely had moments where I saw the potential for me to ship them in a serious way, but I was still more invested in them platonically up until that point. 

Thanks again for asking, this was fun 😊

[starfellforyou]

– 𝐢𝐟 𝐢'𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞? ✦

tags: dilux x fem!reader, fatui!reader, enemies/lovers, hurt/comfort

premise: in which you are part of the fatui, the people who created the device that killed his father. still, sworn enemies don't look at each other that way...

genre: angst

• you see him occasionally when doing business in mondstadt; sometimes he’s with a group of other guild members and other times he’s alone. once in a while a fight breaks out, and that’s when things get ugly. naturally the both of you pick sides easily, and you never pick the same one.

• you don’t show it on the battlefield, but neither of you can control what you feel inside. it’s complicated; the way your heart and body yearn for this cold but pure-hearted hero. and he wants you, too. he wants you so badly he can hardly think of loyalties or commitments when face to face with you. “the villain” had never seemed so good. • sometimes, when allies are at war with enemies, you steal lingering looks at each other - stolen moments that spark like electricity and threaten to ruin everything. perhaps they already had, because you can never look him in the eye when fighting him - and he can’t seem to look at you either. • you’re both paralleled in terms of combative skill, but he has the upper hand when using that f**king claymore of his. still, he doesn’t ever hurt you, no matter how hard he tries. he simply can’t bring himself to. once, a guild member dealt a heavy blow to your temple, and across the field you could see a boiling fury deep within his eyes, burning brighter than the flames of his vision. • your people were the ones who invented those damned delusions - the ones that killed his father when he was only a child. deep down, you felt angry. angry that you had to be linked to a tragic memory of his all because of the selfish actions of your kind. • you find him alone every once in a while, always in the quietest, most isolated of areas. he cries to himself; delicate tears that slide down the sides of his face. your heart shatters into a million little pieces every time you see him cry, and you want to hold him - so you do. you cradle him in your arms on the floor and wipe his tears away with gentle brushes and caresses, kissing him slowly and tenderly on the lips and cheeks until he stops crying and kisses you back, his hands on your face and yours in his hair. • you don’t know why you have this connection with him. it started accidentally, unwillingly. but there’s no denying that you love him. you want to keep him safe, but you don’t know how. both of you are indebted to your nations - to your archons - you don’t have a choice but to fight for your people and fulfil your duties as sons and daughters of mondstadt and snezhnaya. how long can the two of you go on like this? will this ever be enough for a happy ending?

a/n: i think i watch too many resident evil 2 remake clips because all these angsty ideas are coming to me in dreams and i suddenly feel the urge to write genshin versions of leon and ada 24/7. do not think this is healthy but i am in love with batcat-style romance and can never get enough of it

✧ starfellforyou

[griffintail]

I know you write about parental stuff for a lot of characters in the Dream SMP, but I was wondering if you could write something for Quackity?

I’ve seen some writers write about Philza finding a winged child with their wings clipped, and since everyone seems to headcanon Quackity as a duck hybrid with wings that were clipped by Shlatt during his presidency, I thought it would be interesting to see how Big Q would react to finding someone did something similar to a child.

Plus I just like the thought of him as Papa Duck, and calling his kid “Duckling”. It’s just really adorable, okay? I’m in a fluffy mood, and there’s ducks/ ducklings in my yard all the time, so needless to say I’ve grown to really like ducks over the years.

Ducklings are so cute!

However, this went a bit more angsty than planned...I still hope you enjoy it! There is fluffy parts in there!

Duckling

Pairings: Parental! Quackity x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Harm done to a child, Implied Past Abuse, Wounds, Angstish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        It was any other day in New L’Manberg.

        Quackity woke up, tended to his wounds to make sure they healed properly, changed into a clean outfit, then walked out of his home with his usual smile. He was able to have usual banter with his friends, laughing a true laugh making him feel relief each time as he didn’t have to hold anything back. Going to have his daily meeting with Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet was when his day changed drastically.

        He was walking to the building when he saw a small sagging figure. Straightening up, he carefully went over.

        “Hello?”

        The figure looked up and he froze seeing the pain-filled face of a little girl. She stared for a moment before starting to fall.

        “Help…be free…”

        Her eyes closed as she fell to the ground and Quackity quickly rushed forward and caught her. As he did, he winced at the wet feeling as he held her back.

        “Oh please.” He muttered before carefully moving her in his arms.

        His blood boiled as he went pale.

        The back of their shirt was soaked completely in blood and he could easily tell that she was still bleeding.

        “Shit.” He scooped her up completely.

        He ran as fast as he could to the meeting building, bursting through, scaring everyone inside.

        “Quackity, you’re la—” Fundy started.

        “What the hell is that?!” Ranboo jumped up seeing the blood-soaked shirt that was starting to coat Quackity’s hands.

        “She’s losing blood fast,” Quackity said, putting the girl on the table. “I need help.”

        Fundy rushed to grab potions as Tubbo took off his jacket, Ranboo shuffling next to Quackity as he took the little girl’s shirt off.

        “Is that—” Ranboo gripped onto the front of his shirt as the other two eyes went wide looking at Quackity.

        “She’s losing blood!” Quackity snapped at all of them and everyone worked past their shock to help him.

        On the little girl’s back were two large wounds, very similar to the ones on Quackity’s back. He couldn’t think about it though, she was losing blood and he couldn’t let his anger control him at this moment.

        Everyone worked quick and by the end, the potion had slowed down the bleeding enough for Ranboo to close up the wounds and cease the bleeding. Finally, they could all breathe as they stared at the little girl, who they had wrapped in Fundy’s jacket.

        “Someone did that to her.” Tubbo finally said, the weight crushing the room.

        “…Doesn’t matter anymore,” Quackity spoke up. “She lives in L’Manberg now and won’t see whoever did it again. She’s free.”

        “She’s a kid Quackity, someone’s going to have to take care of her.” Fundy reminded him. “And what if she has parents—?”

        Fundy couldn’t get out another word before Quackity shouted. “If she does, where the hell were they when the monster did this?! If she does have parents, they just lost their rights as parents.”

        He felt the wounds on his back ached as he remembered the day, he lost his wings, his jaw clenching before he took a deep breath.

        “I’ll take her. I know how to take care of her wounds and I’ll be able to help her.” Quackity finally told them.

        “Are you sure?” Tubbo asked carefully.

        “Positive.” He nodded with confidence.

        He didn’t know what he was doing really when he came home and laid the little girl down on his bed for now. It was all a mystery really but he did believe that no one besides him could take care of her right. They had something horrible that connected them but he was hoping to help her through the pain better than he had dealt with it.

        From there, he worked on making his home a bit tidier, really trying to keep his mind busy from the anger he felt to whoever did this to her. If he ever found out who did this, there’d be no mercy. As he was putting away a few potions’ bottles, he heard a small squeak and he went back to his room. The little girl was sitting up, face screwed up in pain.

        “Hey, kid,” Quackity said quietly and she looked at him startled. “It’s ok, I’m the guy you ran into remember?”

        She thought for a moment before nodding as he nodded as well grabbing a regeneration and health potion.

        “A few friends and I healed and stitched you, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while so you don’t irritate your wounds or open them again. You mind if I put a bit of these on them to help them heal?”

        “What are they?” She muttered.

        “This is a regeneration potion; it will help your wounds close a bit easier so it won’t take months for them to close. This is a healing potion; it will help with the pain and keep you from getting sick because of your wounds.”

        She stared at the shining liquids before slowly nodding again. “Ok.”

        He came up behind her and lifting the jacket, reminding himself to return it to Fundy, before carefully first pouring the regeneration on the wounds. She winced and whimpered in pain.

        “Yeah, I know kid. It’s going to hurt for a while.” He mumbled as he finished on the other one as quickly as he could but making sure it got done before using the health potion. “This should help a bit.”

        “How do you know?” She asked curiously as she winced again.

        He paused before putting the jacket down. “It’s a long story. Now you’re probably starving. Let’s get some food.”

        It was a lot to process in a short amount of time, but, process Quackity did.

        To start, Quackity made a spare room he had into her room. He set her up a bed to start and said, whatever else she wanted in there, he’d figure out. After establishing a space for her, he got to know her a bit better past the wounds on her back. Her name was (Y/N) and she was nine years old and she ran away from home. She liked books but she also liked to run around outside.

        Knowing that Quackity asked to borrow more simple books from Ghostbur and would let her run around close by as he’d do his daily days. He tried to make her happy and she often was, the small shell she had breaking when around him. Slowly, but surely, she loved to follow him around and enjoyed talking with him, to which people would joke calling her his little duckling.

        He supposed that was where the nickname came from as he had started to call her that after a few short weeks of her living with him.

        It was a bit awkward for him to transition into taking care of two people instead of one for a while but he eventually got the hang of that too. With that, he also transitioned his days differently. In the early morning, he’d take care of his wounds before helping her with hers a couple of hours later.

        The two had a bit of an unspoken rule. He never asked what happened to her wings if she didn’t ask how he knew how to take care of her wounds.

        It changed though when he was doing the daily potion ritual. She had accidentally slept on her back and irritated her wounds a bit so it took a bit longer than usual. With him spending so much carefully taking care of the wounds, she wanted to talk about them.

        “My dad took my wings away.” She muttered and Quackity froze in his work. “They were a lot like mommy’s…he took them away so I stopped looking like mommy…”

        He was trying to keep his breathing under control as his thoughts went wild. He was hoping that maybe, as horrible as it was, that she was alone and some cruel person out in the world had done it. Yet, it was her father and it infuriated him so much, that he wanted to hunt this bastard down. However, …

        (Y/N) sniffled and he pulled her shirt down before sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

        “Hey, little duckling, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s not your dad if he did something like this to you. I’m sorry he took them away from you, I know wings are very special.”

        “They were fluffy.” She murmured as tears started to streak down her face.

        “I bet they were. If I could get them back for you, I would. Instead, though, we’ll live like this and smile on the ground because even without any wings, we’re still pretty special.” He told her, rubbing her arm.

        He promised he’d destroy the man that use to be in her life, but today…

        She hugged him and he squeezed her back.

        Today was all about her.

        Weeks passed and Quackity was smiling as (Y/N) ran ahead, bouncing as she looked back at him.

        “Come on papa duck! I want to see the new books!”

        “I’m coming, you’re just too fast duckling.” He put a hand on his chest dramatically.

        She giggled as she turned around, going to where Ghostbur was waiting outside the entrance to the sewer. The ghost eagerly showed the little girl the new books he had “found” and Quackity merely stood to the side, pleased with the excitement (Y/N) had coursing through her. Ghostbur lent her one of the books and Quackity nodded to him.

        “Thanks, Ghostbur.” Quackity waved as he walked off with the little girl.

        He never thought he’d be doing something like this in his life, but he didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace.

        Ghostbur smiled as he watched them walk off. They were always so adorable together, even with the black transparent wings on both of them. As they walked away, one of the wings was wrapped around (Y/N) as her tiny fluffy ones flapped in excitement. Very lovely.

[comicaurora]

How much have your characters evolved since their original versions? What were their original versions like? Are there any characteristics or arcs that you had to toss for narrative purposes but still miss?

Oh my god. Dare I plumb the embarrassing depths of everyone's earliest drafts?

Reminder that I started playing with this concept when I was eleven. Everyone started off very generic, because at the time I was just having fun playing out the tropes I liked. I had a lot of edgier concepts, too, more vent stuff - and a lot of unexamined tropes from the broader space of fantasy I later decided were boring, gross or broadly unnecessary. I think exploring that would boil down to "character was edgy and flat, now they are not" which doesn't sound very interesting.

However, it is interesting to me how the characters have changed since I started releasing the comic. I expected things to change during the drafting and development process - I was more blindsided by the organic development as I wrote the actual thing.

Kendal's character has remained fairly consistent, though he's gotten more serious in the eleven days he's been alive - a reasonable reaction to all the everything, I think. The part I wasn't originally planning was the exploration of his complete lack of self-awareness in the most literal sense. "Self-sacrificing hero type" is one thing, but he really doesn't think of himself as having value beyond what he can do for other people. I don't wanna spoil, but I'm positively giddy at how that arc is shaping up in the stuff I'm currently boarding. After that, we're in uncharted waters.

Alinua started off totally chill, took a major dive into Dark And Sad territory when I first came up with the concept of the chimeric plague, and is now in a strangely liminal space where her general personality is relentlessly positive but she's floating on this bottomless abyss of eldritch horror. I had plans for how I was going to explore that, but what surprised me was her caution about it. It makes sense - she's had a life of her own for a week and a half, she's not going to want to jeopardize it by diving headfirst into the full implications of her power and existence. She feels like this situation is far too fragile, which means while a lot of the reveals are happening faster than I expected (my original plan had the "Life's Vessel" reveal way down the line) she's playing it pretty close to the chest.

Erin hasn't actually changed that much, but his narrative pacing has shifted somewhat. The void dragon is a textbook Superpowered Evil Side, but since I can't risk overusing it, it's more of a back-pocket thing that only rears its head rarely. His arc is less about it than I originally expected. As we build up to it I think I'll be able to play with it more, but pacing it out has been tricky.

Falst has changed simultaneously a lot and very little. His basic concept has remained consistent from the first draft onward. He's cranky, confrontational, angsty, fiercely loyal but too emotionally constipated to express it, all my favorites. Writing him is like putting together an ice cream sundae. No matter what I add, I'm gonna get something I like out of it. If anything, the only surprise is I haven't leveraged the angst much yet. After his intro mini-arc we've been pretty solidly in the fluff zone as far as I'm concerned. Sometimes I worry I'm being too nice to these guys…

Tess hasn't changed, but her role in the story has. I'm still mulling over some directions for that. I originally hadn't worked out 100% of how this arc was going to wrap up, and looping Tess into it (with the storm connection) was a comparatively late addition.

The Dragon is a really basic character, so he hasn't really changed, but The Collector has shifted from one villain archetype to another. In my original version, she was a very stock coldly-calculating-type evil sorcerer. She was also a guy, although that's much less relevant. Broadly, the big change was giving her an actual personality. Unfortunately, since she's waaaaaay outside of our heroes' current challenge rating, it might be a while before I can loop her back in, but when I do, I think she'll have some interesting dynamics I didn't anticipate.

Dainix is still changing for me. I've had his core character for ages, but his personality has been slipping around like whoa. Earliest draft had him much angrier overall, middle draft made him a generic-enough paragon even I was finding him boring, and before I'd boarded his intro I'd slipped into a weird little middle ground where he was lacking any overarching themes. Eventually what I hit on was weirdly simple, but has been working so far: Dainix is emotional in a way the other characters aren't. He doesn't suppress or sanitize his feelings, he's the character who visibly and audibly reacts whenever he's feeling a certain way. And I definitely didn't realize that "completely honest" was such a rare character trait in my cast! I need to get him and Falst in a room together asap, the conflict is going to be incredible.

[philograce]

Just right

Paring: modern! Eren x reader

Warnings: angsty, resolution in the end, shouldn’t cry:,)

Summary: You and Eren were simply friends but new emotions cause him to build walls around his heart until you finally break them down.

Notes:: I don’t really like this one but I never post anything angsty so:3 anyway if any of you 23 babes wanna submit something go ahead!! I don’t think I really have to set smthn up but lemme know if I do.

Words: 1.8k

Proofread: NOOO well KINDA

It was frustrating. Stupidly annoying and dumb how much Eren could make you feel guilty without every saying it out loud. How your dumb attractive roommate could leave you flustered yet so utterly angry. The past six months it had been this way, simple glares and small actions he would do leaving you confused, yet Eren had his subtle ways to remind you of the strong bond between you two.

When you first met him around 5 years ago, both freshmen meeting each other through your mutual friend Sasha and the two of you instantly connecting, and both of you finding out that you were both looking for a place to live. So, naturally it made sense after a couple months of getting to know each other, that you would move in with one another.

Easily melding together, situating both of your schedules finding out that they were perfectly aligned, Eren was even a good cooker and you great cleaner. It was the perfect solution for the both of you. The other positive was growing closer to him and he growing closer to you.

That's why it confused you with this sudden silent treatment you were receiving from Eren. For the past couple months he seemed off, always too busy to be hanging out with you, never really talking to you unless other friends were around. If it wasn't for the strong emotions you felt with him you would've let it slide, but there were those unspoken new emotions and underlying feelings.

They seemed to start randomly and suddenly, little moments with him leaving your cheeks flustered and your heart beating, the tension seemingly thick between you two leaving the room feeling stuffed and overcrowded. You felt yourself caring for Eren more than a friend would, growing to like his presence with you at all times, and missing him when he left.

It was all simple signs of a growing crush, a innocent yet powerful crush that seemed to prevail. That's why it obviously hurt when Eren seemed to take a sudden dislike towards you. But you were scared and your insecurities got the best of you whenever you tried to confront him about it. You just left it, left the flame between you two to slowly fizzle out. Before all this you used to think Eren might like you back, everything he did showed signs he might, but now your brain kept telling you that was just how he was as a friend.

Now sitting in the kitchen, eyes strained from how long you were staring at the screen, trying to write an essay but your mind was constantly filled with him. Then the door jiggled and he walked in, keys hitting the ceramic bowl as he threw them in, his feet shuffling fully inside, arms moving to take his jacket off. You kept your eyes trained on your screen, not daring to look at him afraid of the glare he might be giving you.

"You're still up? You should head to bed." His voice deepening as it resonated throughout the small kitchen, flickering a single gaze up to his figure you noticed how disheveled he looked. His long dark hair lazily slicked back, eyes drooped and blown out, knuckles drawn with purple bruises and dried blood. It pissed you off, the state he was in and the sudden "caring" words he sent your way left your blood boiling.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you quickly shut your laptop moving out of the kitchen and away from him, at least that's what you tried to do before a hand grabbed your wrist yanking you back. "Don't walk away from me." His commanded, a sort of desperation laced behind the seemingly angry words.

You turned back, staring him right into his eyes noticing the confusion laced within, it seemed that every pint up rage and light night cries flowed out of you. "Do you hate me?" You didn't want it to go this way or ask him that question even, part of you wishes you just kept your mouth shut, but the look of complete anger covering his face only fueled your desire to know the answer.

In reality it seems like a simple question between two close friends, one that would usually be answered with an equally simple statement. But, this was different the sudden collapsing of a bond had been destroyed by the both you, leaving you both alone and bitter. It was also different because Eren was frightened and so angry and all kinds of confused. But most of all, he felt so alone even with you a couple feet away from him.

Eren knew this familiar feeling settling in his bones, the kind where he knew no one really cared that he was always going to be some wicked monster, always hurting the ones he loved the most. But he never wanted to include you in that pile, the pain stricken look on you face sent waves of emotions crashing down into his heart. He hated how you made him feel so much, so used to the numbness that would often consume him.

When he first met you, the first thing he noticed about you was how expressive your eyes were. How they seemed to tell your whole story, but he wasn't expecting you to be able to read him so well either. Used to putting on a pretend face and laid back attitude for the strangers around him, but growing closer to you that wall he built up was broken slowly and slowly down by your gentle loving words and touches. He loved it as much as he hated it, something new and exciting was building up in him but as soon as he noticed his feelings growing more and more attached to you, he brought them down and tried to bury them deep inside. He couldn't hurt the one he grew to love so dearly.

So when the tears filled your lash line, Eren felt his whole crashing down around him, he never wanted to cause you pain. He was just scared and felt alone before, you were this breath of fresh air for him letting him see above the high walls he surrounded himself with.

"I don't hate you." There is no need to hold his words back, but a part of him hesitated not because he was denying his hate for you but it was the complete opposite of that.  There was a part of him that was scared of what you did to him, he wanted to protect and the only way he knew how was by blocking you out of his life.

He catches the flicker of sparks behind you eyes, he tries to figure out exactly what they were trying to say. Did you believe him? Do you hate him? He pleaded with you in his head to forgive him, forgive him for causing you pain and ignoring you for so so so long.

"Then why are you acting like it?" You sneer, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, you used to be able to so easily read his face and emotions but right now all his eyes seemed tried and dull. You were so confused, why had he been acting like he hated your very presence but now refused to now tell you the real truth. You were angry, and just wanted to break down right then the tears already threating to spill. Pleading inside your head for him to truly not hate you, but how could he not?

"I'm sorry." His voice was nothing lower than a whisper, barely falling faint to your ears but it still sent aches to your heart. For the first time in months you saw a shimmer behind his beautiful green eyes, the same look he would get when he felt extremely guilty and would continuously apologize to you. The small flicker of emotion was what sent you finally over the edge.

Salty warm tears fell down your face, you tried to stop them embarrassed that you were this emotional, but a single gentle thumb came to brush them off your cheek. His warm fingers caressing your face gracefully as he stared down at you, his warm touch leaving goosebumps to spread across your body. His eyes laced with concern but most importantly a lingering fear, a fear that he hurt you but an even greater fear you hated him.

"I'm sorry.....m'sorry..... m'sorry.... I'm-", his tall figure slumped forward forehead crashing against your shoulder as he rambled out a repeated apology. You stood there, arms slumped to your side as your brain raked around trying to understand the situation.

But, when Eren's hands leave your face and carefully made there way down wrapping themselves around your waist pulling you in, you suddenly feel the wet patch growing on the shoulder Eren's face was nuzzled into.

He felt your gentle fingers cautiously wrap around his neck, pulling him closer into you, the both of you realizing how much you missed each other's touch. You wanted to comfort Eren, but with your own tears continuing to swell up, words wouldn't dare to come out of your throat.

Now that Eren had you in his arms again, he felt foolish and so embarrassed with how he acted the past six months, more tears falling out of his eyes while he desperately tried to keep you close to him like you might run off. You had broken through the barriers he set up thinking it was for his own protection, it scared him that you would see his true self, the true self that he hated and was afraid you might hate. You were just happy to finally have Eren back into your arms, the love you felt for him never fading only building as you two sobbed into each others arms.

So, standing in the dimly lit kitchen with arms wrapped around each other, both desperate to feel the other skin again, it seemed that Eren could finally stop pushing you away and let you in. It would take a long time. It would take a lot of work and tears, but the payoff would be so worth seeing the genuine happy smile you'd seen so few times on him before.

A long hard conversation awaited the two of you, but for right then all that mattered was that both of your silly fears were crushed, the hate you two thought the other felt was gone and replaced with the warm flow of physical touch. Even if it was never spoken, you both knew that you loved each other and that's all that mattered.

[randomfandomimagine]

A Whisper Among The Noise (Clark Kent x Reader)

Character: Clark Kent

Fandom: Superman/Man of Steel (DCEU)

Tags: Songfic, angst with a happy ending, pining

Warnings: A bit angsty in the middle

Word Count: 2,1k words

Requested by @caritobbg​: Hello again!!! ❤️ I'm still in love with "I Still Love You" whith Jaskier 😍❤️ hahahaha I'm gonna ask if you could write another ficlet songfic with Clark Kent x Fem! Reader? 😍 The song's called Secret Love Song p.II by Little Mix ❤️ Reader's in love with him, but when she founds out about a mysterious girl that he likes, she felt so bad and sing that song infront of everyone at an after-office party. Then, Clark tell her that she's that girl 😍 Love your blog!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

A/N: Better late than never 😅 By this point I was running out of inspiration a bit, but I still kind of like the result and I hope you love it! Thanks for being so lovely and patient and understanding. Enjoy!! 💜

Clark Kent x Gender Neutral Reader

_

You absently scratched your nail against the ridges on the red solo cup you were holding and that you had barely drank a sip of. The party was lively and loud, and although you didn’t regret coming, you were starting to feel a bit restless. Everyone was shouting over the music and chatting in groups, and after you had said hello to them, you were now hiding in the corner as you felt your social battery drain.

A hand softly pressed against your arm, and you would have been startled by the sudden contact as well as by the promise of new interaction if it weren’t for whom that hand belonged to. You could tell it was him not only by the gentle way in which he called you, but also the unmistakable way his touch made you feel. Warm, flustered, loved. The butterflies returned to your stomach, like they had never left ever since the last time you talked to him.

“Y/N” His deep voice enveloped you as you turned around to face him.

“Hey, Clark” You didn’t speak too loudly, but he seemed to hear you nonetheless.

“What…” He began to say, but he paused and leaned closer to your ear so you could understand him over the blasting speakers. “What are you doing here all alone?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, even under the fond way in which he watched you, you shrugged your shoulders. Wanting to distract yourself from the intense way he made you feel, you continued to play with the cup in your hands.

Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours Why can't I say that I'm in love? I wanna shout it from the rooftops I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours

 “Well, I…” Knowing he expected an answer, you made an effort to reply and raise your voice enough so that he could hear you. “I guess I’m a bit over it already”

When you looked up at him, you saw Clark dedicating you an understanding smile. His hand, which still lingered on your arm, carefully squeezed you.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

“I wouldn’t want you to leave the party early because of me…”

“I don’t mind at all” His smile widened, acquiring an inviting expression. “I don’t like parties that much anyway”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Your hand fell atop of his, timid and longing.

“It would be my pleasure” Clark dedicated you that smile, the one that light up your entire world.

The two of you paused, lingering on your reciprocal touch, and stared at the other. At that time, the music in the background seemed to dim. Perhaps it was because of your heart beating wildly in your chest, all the more with each second that your touch and his continued. Or maybe it was that the intensity of your gazes that made everything around you duller.

When your eyes drifted down to his lips, like they had a mind of their own, you had to bite your lip not to audibly gasp. You inched closer to his mouth on an instinct, ever so slightly, so little in fact that he didn’t seem to notice.

“Come on” He finally said, moving his hand to gently push it against the small of your back. “Let’s get you home”

You obeyed, hoping you weren’t blushing as his hand also lingered in that new spot. Titling your head down, you started walking towards the exit. Your mind boiled with thoughts, all regarding the very man that so kindly insisted in personally accompanying you home.

_

When Clark stopped the car, it felt like all the questions fighting for attention in your brain only grew louder with the absence of the party music. Like every time you interacted, he was the perfect gentleman, a sweetheart, always kind and thoughtful and gentle. Back at the party, you had been even closer than ever. All those stolen moments you shared paled in comparison to that one. Surely, he must have noticed your moment of weakness and decided not to act on it, to pretend like he didn’t realize. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

It made sense, seeing as his heart was apparently taken. There were rumors in the office, of Clark being hung up on someone. He always seemed absent-minded, lost in a beautiful romantic daydream of that special person. If only you could be so lucky, but having your feelings reciprocated felt like an impossible dream. You could see that now, clear as day despite the darkness that surrounded you.

“Are you okay?” Clark’s husky voice startled you slightly in the stillness of the car. “You’re very quiet”

“I was just wondering…” You dared to look him in the eyes, forgetting how beautiful and piercing they were. For a moment, it took your breath away. “Are the rumors true? Do you… are you… and someone in the office…?”  

“Maybe… why do you ask?” He attentively stared at you, but his tender expression wasn’t endearing this time. It was heartbreaking, because someone else caused it.

“I…” Unprompted, a deep sadness overwhelmed you. The electric magic that seemed to fill the air whenever he was around disappeared, replaced with a cold void.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Clark placed a hand on your wrist, but this time the gesture didn’t feel as lovely either. “You’re acting strange”

Tears arrived to your eyes. You had a sudden realization that, no matter how close and intimate you got with Clark, it would never be enough. He was thinking of someone else.

Every time I see you, I die a little more Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls It'll never be enough As you drive me to my house I can't stop these silent tears from rolling down You and I both have to hide on the outside Where I can't be yours and you can't be mine

But I know this, we got a love that is homeless

Was he really that blind to your love to give you hope? Especially when his harbored someone else? Was that undeniable connection doomed because of another person?

He was staring at you, yet again expecting an answer. His insistent gaze made your heart race, made you flustered as usual. This wasn’t fair…

“I’m in love with you” You spit out before you could stop yourself.

The silence seemed to grow. It loomed over you, lurking in order to swallow you at any moment, and take your empty heart with it.

“Oh…” Clark retrieved his hand, dragging his fingers along your skin.

Feeling all kinds of stupid and hopeless, you averted your gaze. Your wrist felt cold and hot at the same time. That spot missed his touch, but it remembered it.

“I’ll…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll walk you to the door”

Moving your head so he couldn’t see your face, you looked out the window. He stayed in the seat, so you nodded your head without making eye contact. When you made to open the door, he exited the car himself.

In the time that it took him to round the vehicle to reach the copilot door, you took a deep breath to calm yourself. You didn’t want him to know how much you were hurting. It would only make things worse.

It's obvious you're meant for me Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep But I'll never show it on my face

Before he could, you opened the door and walked out of the car. There stood Clark’s tall figure, illuminated by a streetlight behind him and making him look like an angel in a halo. You and him… it would have been too good to be true.

You started walking to your front door, with him standing by you and watching your every move. He was worried, and you could tell. You couldn’t even be mad at him or that person that stole his love. After all, you wanted him to be happy, even if it was with somebody else.

As you walked, you subtly wiped the tears from your cheeks and busied yourself with getting your keys out. They rattled in the silence of the night, making your ears ring. It was the only sound filling the void other than your slow, feeble footsteps. Your front door was closer each second, and with that a sense of anticipated relief reached you bit by bit, desperately attempting to take over the hurt.

“Y/N?” Clark piped up, but you didn’t feel strong enough to hear what he wanted to say.

“Thanks for taking me home” Was all you told him, already lifting your arm with your keys prepared.

“Wait” He spoke in an ushered whisper, delicately stopping your hand when you were opening the door. His fingers were warm even in that chilly night. “I don’t think you understood me before”

“You don’t have to explain” You told him, mentally begging him to stop talking. “Really, Clark”

“I do” His grip on your wrist tightened a little. “Because I am in love with that someone…”

“Clark…” You began, gritting your teeth and struggling to keep faking.

“Will you look at me?” His hand gingerly rested against your cheek, tilting your head so you reluctantly stared into his blue eyes. “That someone is you… how could you think it was anyone but you?”

You gawked at him, unable to believe him. He backed off slightly, letting go of your wrist and giving you some space. As usual, he seemed to know exactly what you needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You weren’t angry, you weren’t sad, nor disappointed. Shock was the only thing you could feel among the sea of emotions that threatened to drown you.

“I thought you knew…” He continued, given your quietness. “I was waiting for a sign”

“A sign?”

“A sign that you… loved me back”

“I knew you loved someone, I just… I never thought it was me…”

Clark frowned, seemingly as heartbroken as you were. He made to touch you again, but this time he hesitated. You could see it in his eyes, the regret and guilt and fear. After all this time being so unapologetically affectionate, he was afraid to hurt you again. He was afraid to harm you in any way, even if it hadn’t been his intention. All that pain and uncertainty… it was all for nothing. Clark loved you, he always had. There was no one else, only you.

“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you” Once again, he read you like an open book. He knew you so well, and he cared so much, that he read your thoughts.

“Get out of my head…” You spoke in a whisper, fascinated by him.

Relieved by the shift in the atmosphere, from tense and sad to hopeful and light, he chuckled. His brow was still furrowed, but now it showcased that fondness from always. Knowing what you did now, you realized it wasn’t only that. It was fondness, and an absolute adoration that you were surprised not to have seen until then. It was always there, you were just too blind and too afraid to see it.

“Can I…?” Clark began, but you interrupted him.

“Yes” You replied before he could finish the question, you knew what he was going to say anyways. And the answer was yes, one hundred times yes.

He smiled and moved closer to you. Feeling his warmth in the chilly night, you shivered as he lovingly wrapped his arms around you. Like they belonged there and always had, your hands settled on his chest. He deeply breathed in, as though he couldn’t contain such emotion. Then, he finally leaned in.

Your eyes closed at the touch of his lips, feeling goose bumps now that it finally happened. He held you tight at last, tighter, as tight as he could, as he pressed you against him. Your hands went up to his shoulders, holding on to him as your legs threatened to give in under the weight of your immeasurable happiness.

The kiss was magical, warm, passionate and tender. It was loving and sweet and cathartic. When it ended after a few seconds, you slowly opened your eyes. Clark was staring at you, receiving you with a bright smile. He didn’t say anything, but you understood anyway.

There was no noise anymore and he didn't have to whisper in your ear, but he still reached you deeply. He saw you in ways no one else could, he talked to you and read you without the need of words, and that kiss was proof of it all, like a whisper among the noise.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ / @locke-writes​ / @lotsoffandomrecs​ / @emmacata​ / @scared-to-be-lonely345​ / @everyday-imfangirling​ / @danietoww04​ / @sylleblossomstar​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[writing-in-april]

Russian Roulette

Spencer Reid x Female Unsub Reader

Thanks to my beta readers! @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING

Includes: Suicide, Attempted Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Gun kink, Angsty smut -There is no specific dominant person in the smut-

A/N: Please do not read if you are easily triggered or under the age of 18. This was really difficult to write but I am really happy the way it came out! I have a playlist I made for writing this if anyone is wanting it just ask! My requests are open for basically any character you can think of, I want to branch out and write lots of characters!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

——

The warehouse that I had found myself masking my location in was in no doubt the most ghastly place I had chosen yet. I wasn’t sure what drew me to the abandoned depository, maybe I had subtly acknowledged to myself that I was at the end of my rope-I knew I couldn’t run forever. The smoke colored walls matched the ashes dropping from the cigarette I had lit to alleviate my anxiety. The cat and mouse game I had been playing with the team that was on my trail was coming to an end. They had an extra vendetta set out against me since I cruelly betrayed the trust built between us. Polluted air swirled around me as I dug my nose in a book, trying to distract myself from my impending doom.

A noise drew my thoughts away from Catcher in the Rye that I had been reading while sat on a shitty mattress, practically the only furniture in this hole in the wall. My manicured nails snuffed out the cigarette into the bed and discarded the paperback, knowing that this was the start of the end. The double doors swung open as the recognizable silhouette Dr. Reid, his shadow was tall and lanky, with noticeable wild curls that looked as if he had rolled out of bed. He finally graced my eyes with the details of his figure, every step he took had lingering hesitation. It had been weeks since I had last seen him, he looked considerably more tired since he had last graced me with his presence, purple dark rings sat under his eyes, his hair even more disheveled then normal, and his clothes lacked the crisp ironing that he usually sported. I hated that I was the one that had caused his disheveled state, I had found a kindred spirit in Dr. Reid. It seemed like we were made for one another, our interests were exactly aligned, the only major thing that separated us was my penchant for murdering people. He was the first person I had felt connected to since my mother and it pained me to see that my betrayal had obviously weighed heavy on his mind.

“I see you finally found me.” I stated nonchalantly as I stood up, he was standing as far away as he could, from my observation it was evident he was disgusted with me but he was still drawn to me like a moth to a flame. He nodded solemnly, the words that he wanted to speak seemed caught in his throat, so instead his eyes bored into my soul. We stood in contemplation just staring at each other, we were only a few feet away from each other but it felt as if we were worlds apart.

“Was it ever real?” He finally spoke up in a shaky voice, his lip quivering in either anger or sadness. “Did you feel what I felt?”

“I hadn’t been real to anyone in a long time until I met you.” I spoke honestly, though I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

I felt the memory of our first meeting flash before my eyes, a murderer had crashed into my hometown, killing important people with checkered pasts. Politicians, lawyers, and police officers- no one was safe. My job as a therapist put me straight into the cesspit of what I viewed as the worst of humanity, slimy high ranking fixtures of the community. I often felt my skin crawling as sick human beings put on a facade of perfection hiding their nefarious deeds behind closed doors, so I began taking care of them by slitting their throats in the dead of night.

When the BAU rolled into our city they immediately put everyone connected with the victims into protective custody. There wasn’t an immediately obvious motive so the team had collected anyone with an important role putting each person with a specific team member. I had been put with the genius of the team Dr. Reid. The stay in the safe house with him made our relationship blossom, we shared interests, hobbies, and even our backstories (I had edited mine a bit so they wouldn’t catch on). Usually I viewed the world as black and white good or evil and until I met Dr. Reid I hadn’t felt grey before just a dark cesspool of no emotion.

I had never even spoken his first name, I had told him that- “Someone who earned 3 PHDs should have their achievements recognized all the time.” I still couldn’t deny these strange feelings that welled up inside of me, no matter how hard I tried to distance myself.

When I had been spotted by the doctor running from the scene of a crime I could practically hear his heart break and to be honest mine did too. I never wanted him to see this side of me that I kept buried, I had wanted to stop for a while even after that first kill but what had first started out as vigilantism turned into a compulsion to kill.

His screams broke me out of my reminiscing my eyes snapped up to see the doctor holding his gun, pointing it straight at my heart.

“WHY?! Why you?” He broke out of his previous calm facade, letting me in on the anger I had stirred underneath.

“You know the profile Doctor you tell me” I asked, though no answer was given.

The gun was shaking in his hands, his fury boiling over, steam was practically coming out of his ears.

“Pull the trigger Dr. Reid. It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it? Let’s skip the reminiscing. So go on. Pull the trigger.” His grip faltered, he wasn’t sure where to go from here, should he take you in? Or completely screw regulation and take out his unbridled rage on the woman who had cruelly stolen his heart by shooting her.

The weapon was lowered, his hands still shook in fury as he put it back snugly in its place. I already knew he had called his team, no matter what he felt for me before there was no way he would risk his career to let me go. Even though I had accepted the cards that had been dealt I wasn’t going to let them take me alive. Tentatively I stepped forward, wanting to gain a semblance of closeness between us before I sacrificed myself, his body was rigid in its place as our chests touched.

I pulled the gun from his his side holster, it was an odd gun for an FBI agent to carry, a revolver to be exact. My fingers gripped the curved cedar handle, dragging it across Dr. Reid’s clothed collarbones, his arms were stiff at his sides unmoving. He was unsure of my intentions with the weapon. He knew logically that I was cornered in this abandoned warehouse with no escape, and obviously I couldn’t do much with a single revolver, that’s why he had only put one round in, reserved only for my heart if the trigger was needed to be pulled. Then I softly, with uncharacteristic tenderness, grabbed the good doctor’s hand with my free hand to guide his large palms to envelope my hand over the gun. He seemed flustered, which was odd to me, his resolve of hatred had never weakened around me until now. Our hands were clasping the gun in unison, the clammy palms of Dr. Reid cradled my own as I reached over and spun the chamber to land on a random spot.

I prided myself on the ability to read people but I couldn’t ascertain the reason behind the evident hesitation in his eyes as I encouraged him to carefully set the revolver snug against my jaw. Was it possible he had developed a care for me or did this just boil down to fear of having an unsub handle his gun. His breathe was mixed with mine, I held my pattern evenly while his had become ragged, strong enough to whisp my hair away from my face. With a flick I unlocked the safety and a genuine smile graced my face, if these were my final moment I was glad I got to spend it with Dr. Reid, he brought me a strange sense of comfort that I had never known before. His whole body was shaking as my forefinger moved to the trigger- he almost looked as if he was going to cry. A resounding click echoed off the dull gray walls of my hiding place, I had momentarily escaped my fate.

Dr. Reid suddenly smashed his lips onto mine breaking me out of the brief relief. My body had grown rigid against his movements, I wasn’t used to emotional connections with anyone and they certainly were never romantic. Just the delicate touch of his hand on my hip was more care then I had ever been shone before.

My cold exterior that I had carefully constructed was now in ruins because of Doctor reid. He was the only one who truly saw who I was, past my trauma and the trauma I caused. I melted into his forceful kiss, the unspoken tension that we had created finally was boiling over. It was full of tongue and teeth, our noses bumping as we poured our feelings into the kiss, speaking without ever making a sound. My back collided with the nearest wall, dust flying off to coat our bodies, his knee parted my legs and rested between my thighs. His spare hand left my hip to cradle my cheek practically engulfing my face with his large palm, raking the soft pads of his fingertips across my skin.

The silver barrel still rested under my chin being held precariously by our joined grip, Dr. Reid’s hand left my cheek, snaking its way down to the waistband of my pants. The tips of his fingers danced at the edge building anticipation in my veins.

He suddenly pulled the gun out from under my chin and set it under his own, my eyes widened in confusion my desire vanishing by the second. I tried to pull our unified hold away from his jawline but unfortunately he was stronger then me.

“I don’t know if I can live without you” he choked out, he had used his profiling skills deducing that I was going to sacrifice myself. He spun the wheel setting the bullet in another indiscriminate position, resetting the stakes all over again.

“It’ll be ok.” I begged desperately trying to talk him away from the ledge, just because I had wasted my life didn’t mean he had to as well. I brought my available appendage and covered the outside of his hand continuing my efforts to pull the gun away from his grasp. He shook his head, tears were freely falling from the both of us, mixing together to form a salty pool. His fingers slipping underneath my encased hand finding the trigger with ease, he pulled it quickly a sickening click resounded through the stale atmosphere. Once I was satisfied that he had survived air quickly left my body releasing the breath that I had held tightly in my lungs.

Mimicking his reaction from earlier I submerged us into another kiss, this one was tinged with my anger from his reckless move. I voiced my displeasure surrounding his actions by biting into his lip, bruising the plush tender skin. A groan escaped from him, the salacious kiss was now tainted with blood from his lips mixing together in gory harmony.

Undulating my hips onto the thigh that still sat between my legs, desire snuck itself back inside of me, rebuilding what had been banished. I suddenly had the urge to remove every cloth barrier that remained between us, I needed him now. Dr. Reid clearly shared the sentiment as he started pulling on the clothing covering my body. I did my best to shuck off his plum colored blazer with my available phalanges while he attempted to snap open the front of my pants. Our hands still were glued the wooden hilt of the gun that was rooted in its spot at the edge of the doctor’s jaw. The buttons of his dress shirt popped around us as my painted nails dug into the cotton, tearing the offensive fabric from his body. With frantic inelegant movement our outer clothing was ripped off our forms, the only barrier that lingered was our undergarments. His nimble fingertips wound around to the clasp of my bra tugging forcefully the clasp broke, freeing me from its confinement.

The lace was discarded in hast revealing my breasts to him he surged forward capturing my nipple in his mouth as my hips ground into his thigh. Circling my bud he glanced upwards, taking in the sight of my flushed cheeks, hair slicked with sweat, and the gun that I had swiftly moved to my temple removing it from his mandible. Excitement prickled in my core as he meandered down to where I craved him the most, he fisted the mesh- the last remaining remnant of clothing covering my body. A tearing noise filled the space, reverberating around us as the mesh separating us was torn away from me, revealing my full form.

His deft fingers gathered the building excitement between my folds, then he brought them to make contact with my clit. He rubbed slow harsh figure 8s against my pearl, I could feel myself getting wetter- which I didn’t think was possible. The ministrations continued for a while, but I was antsy to get his fingers inside of me. A beg almost fell from my mouth when all of a sudden with no warning his fingers plunged into my heat making my body convulse around him. He curled them expertly, nudging them perfectly at my g spot making the pit in my stomach grow and spread throughout my entire body.

Our hold had started to loosen on the gun so I clutched around the revolver tighter tugging our entangled fingers to rest the metal shaft perfectly against my temple. Upping the stakes further I rapidly clicked the trigger, the gun still had not administered its bullet into my brain, making the obscene act even better then before. His eyes held fear for a moment but couldn’t help his reaction to the clicks, a deep seated groan from deep in his chest. The sensations flowing through my body almost became too much to bear as he moved his thumb to my clit. My back arched against the wall as he sunk the blunt edges of his teeth into my collarbone while flicking against my clit with his thumb, sending me closer to bliss. He must have discerned that I was close to the edge and pulled his fingers away, his knuckles bumping against my g spot one last time which pulled a pathetic whimper from my throat while screwing my eyes shut.

I heard the tell tale sign of a belt buckle clinking causing my eyes to snap open, his full body was finally on display for me. My eyes drank in the sight before me, the doctor was just as I had imagined in my dreams, not too thick but long enough that I thought it might not fit. I reached forward to pump his length spitting into my palm as I jerked him off.

“Jump.” He whispered desperately into the shell of my ear, with careful precision my legs wrapped around his naked torso as I locked him in. The gun was the only barrier that remained between us as he lined himself up to my entrance and thrusted in one swift motion, breaching my walls for the first time.

“Fuck.” The soft expletive fell from his rose hued lips on the column of my throat making my toes curl.

His hips snapped into mine starting a pace with deliberate deep thrusts, my free arm wrapped around his neck trying to pull him in as close as possible. My fingers then wound through his messy curls yanking back so I could pepper kisses along the nape of his neck earning a sharp grunt from Dr. Reid as he picked up the pace. I bit the inside of my cheek in concern as he moved the gun to be placed under his jaw again. Tears started to fall again from my eyes as I silently pleaded for him not to pull the trigger, he ignored my pleas and reset the bullet to a random position once more. His rhythm faltered as the gun clicked for the fifth time, I knew we were testing fate too much at this point and that our luck was running out.

He kept the gun in its position while he picked up his momentum resuming his previous pace. My blood red nails dug into any part of him that I could grab onto leaving red streaks down his chest, back, and biceps as he reached parts of me that I didn’t even think existed. Our eyes locked together as his cock brushed against my g spot causing me to clench around him, we both moaned at the sensation hurtling us both closer to release.

I reached my hand down to rub harshly on my clit as I felt my climax coming just around the corner, my eyes rolling back in response to the added titillation. I then dragged our encapsulated hands away from Spencer pulling the barrel inside my mouth, his fingers flexed around mine anxiously as he soft whispers into my ear attempting to save me from myself. We both had somehow sensed that it was the end, I thought it was very fitting to end my life in the arms of the only person in the world I could find myself caring about. He didn’t stop his thrusts but they were now at a slow languid pace trying to savor every last moment he had with me.

“Spencer” I moaned in bittersweet symphony as I let myself kiss his bruised lips for the last time, our tears were falling giving our kiss a salty taste. A feeling of bliss suddenly overtook my body as I came in glorious crescendo. I rode out my high before I accepted my fate, my blood pounding in my ears for the final time. The wall was painted with blood as I pulled the trigger, ending my life with a bang.

*****

The shot rang in Spencer’s ears, it took him a minute to realize what had happened and that the object of his desire was gone. He was still holding the gun as the body of his unattainable love slumped onto him in death, his face speckled with scarlet. Finally the offending object slipped through his fingers clattering on the floor as he cradled her body.

His sobs echoed the empty rooms bouncing off the the walls mixing with the police sirens in the distance.

“He loved and he loved and he lost her, and it hurts like hell”-Fleurie

Tag list for Russian Roulette:

@zhuzhubii​ 

[wkemeup]

James

inbox request: “Hii, I was thinking that you could write for the By Any Other Name one shots about (all) the times she still called him ‘James’?“ and “...reader ever gets triggered back to any traumatic situations that happed when she was with brock...” by anonymous ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: PTSD symptoms, dissociation, nightmares, attempted sexual assault a/n: for the anon who requested her calling him James, I swear I didn’t intentionally start out to make this angsty, but it felt right. Also doesn’t surprise me that the angstiest one shot so far is definitely the longest lol. oops.  🌹series masterlist 🌹

“Don’t get cocky just because you survived your first assignment,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes as Sam sprawled out on the chair in Bucky’s office. Wide toothed grin and the lipstick of an agent on his cheek welcoming him back to HQ after four months under in a biker gang outside of Albuquerque, Sam’s ego had nearly tripled.

“I can and I will,” Sam replied with a snort, sinking further into the chair and kicking up feet up to rest on the desk.

Before Bucky could retort, a short vibration from his cell buzzed against his pocket. He didn’t have a chance to speak as he put the phone to his ear before the voice of a woman came through, firm and calm, though there was a slight edge in her tone. A bated breath. And then -- 

“Is this Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, throwing a look at Sam that quickly faded the playful smile from his face as he straightened in the chair. 

“Yes. Who’s this?” 

“My name’s Maria. I work with Y/n at the university,” she explained, a little rushed. “Somethings happened... a fire in the break room and... well... she keeps asking for James.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was rare when you called him by that name. In the beginning, it had slipped out on occasion; little moments here and there when you were absorbed in your book or focused in the kitchen and the unconscious habit spilled through the cracks. It was always followed up with dozens of sweet apologies because you knew how much it meant to him when you called him by his name – his real name -- even though he told you as many times that he didn’t mind.

But lately, he only heard that name through your screams in the middle of the night, under the faint glow of moonlight seeping in through the curtains and sweat beaded on your forehead, through stammering heartbeats and tears streaming down your cheeks. When you couldn’t quite remember where you were or the last year since your husband had died and you’d been freed from under his reign. It disoriented you, threw you back into the midst of Hydra and James Karpov and sometimes it took longer than Bucky could bare before you came back to him.

Maria sighed. “I don’t know who James is, but I thought you might be the next best bet.”

“Y-yeah,” Bucky chocked out, snapping himself from the strange sense of shock. “I’m on my way.”

He lunged for his keys, gave Sam a short grimace to which he nodded in understanding, and rushed out the door.

“What happened? Is she hurt?” Bucky questioned as he sprinted through the halls, pushing past agents and shoving aside interns carrying dozens of files in their hands.

“I couldn’t find any new burns,” Maria confirmed, though there was a trembling ache in her voice she was clearly trying to push aside. “She seems alright physically. I don’t think she got too close to the fire, but… I’ve never seen her like this before. She won’t say a word to anyone without James. Do you know who she’s talking about?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as he flung open the car door, slid inside, and threw it into reverse. “Yeah, I do.”

Sam must have called in for a police escort it seemed, because they met him at the gate with flashing lights and sirens at the ready. Bucky told them through the windows he needed to get to Columbia as fast as possible, and they nodded without question, even though his voice was wavering in every syllable.

By the time he got there, as he burst through the front doors and raced through the halls, it felt like he was drudging through sand, through mud up to his waist, with anvils tied to his ankles and weights shackles on his shoulders. He didn’t stop to pay attention to the students as they stared at him as he ran past.

He found Maria standing at the edge of the hallway next to a fireman and a yellow tape blocking off the area. She softened as he saw him sprinting towards her. Maybe she noticed the sweat on his shirt or the panic in his eyes, but she stepped aside quickly and gestured for the fireman beside her to do the same.

“She’s down by the break room,” Maria told him. “I couldn’t get her to move. EMTs are with her but I’m not sure if she let them examine her yet.”

Bucky nodded, muttering out a short ‘thank you’ before he pushed down into the hallway.

Sure enough, there you were. Sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to your chest, staring straight ahead at the lockers opposite you. There was a vacant look in your eye as you ran your right hand across the scars on your left; discoloration and raised edged that extended around your wrists where the wires had once dug through your skin and the scorch of a fire burned.

An EMT was standing beside you, trying to grab your attention, but you wouldn’t even look at him. He exchanged a look with his buddy as they noticed Bucky approaching. He gave them a quick flash of the badge tucked into his pocket and they stepped back.

Slowly, Bucky knelt down at your side. He could see the faded burn marks on your forearms, nearly seamless to the color of your skin, but still raised and distorted, though they were clearly from the fire over a year earlier. There didn’t appear to be any new marks; no burns on your clothing or red patches upon your skin save for the imprints of your nails upon your hands and you dug them in for relief.

“Y/n?” he called gently, though you didn’t turn in his direction, almost as if his voice were miles away. 

He’d only seen you like this once before; the night Rumlow had roped Peter into the underworld of Hydra’s crimes. You’d been so still, so petrified, that you practically looked right through him. It took a while for you to come back to your surroundings, to recognize where you were. He thought about what your friend Maria had said and who you were asking for. 

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s James. I’m here,” Bucky eased, soothing a hand along your shoulder. You blinked a few times, recognizing his voice, his name, and you turned to him.

“James?” you whispered, relief quickly sweeping through you. You threw yourself into his arms, causing him to stumble back against the wall, but he held you steady.

“Yeah, honey. I’ve got you.”

He could feel the tear marks on his skin where you pressed your face to the crook of his neck. He tried not to stiffen his body, to prevent the muscles from turning to stone and his hands from curling to fists. He couldn’t stand that Rumlow still had this power over you.

It made his blood boil and rage churned like fire in his chest, but he held onto you with the tenderness you needed. He nodded as you called him James, as you stroked your fingers through the short wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, you pulled back. You seemed to recognize what happened, remembered the fire as your turned back to look at the break room and the firemen exiting the building. Realization clicked and you glanced up at him; eyes red with tears.

“Bucky?”

Instant relief. 

He offered you a gentle smile, prepared, because he knew the wave of apologies that would follow. He’d hold you in his arms, whisper over and over again that it wasn’t your fault, that he didn’t mind you called him James, that he understood. You didn’t always believe him, but he tried.

***

That name quickly became a warning. You’d loved James Karpov, but you loved Bucky Barnes, too. It mattered to you that you called him by his name, no matter how many times he told you otherwise. So, when you used that name, when you called him James, he knew something was wrong.

“Agent Barnes?”

Bucky glanced up at the intern standing in the door frame; nervous grimace on his face and a tie hung a little loose around his neck.

“You have a visitor, sir.”

Bucky shook his head. The sun had already gone down hours ago and he’d been up for days trying to find a connection in the financial records of a white-collar businessman to an underground trafficking ring for Sam and the rest of his former team. It meant another all-nighter at the office, but he knew Steve wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t need the help.

“It’s late, Miles,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “See if they’ll reschedule for tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of work to do on this case.”

“Sir, I really think you should see this one.”

Miles stepped aside, moving back to his desk sitting outside Bucky’s office, and leaving the entrance open. Then, almost as if he were imagining it, Bucky heard a muffled meow just beyond the door.

“James?”

Bucky dropped the file in his hands as you approached the edge of his office. Dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt two sizes too big for your frame, dark circles under your eyes, and Cheddar held tight in your arms amongst a pile of blankets inside his carrier, you looked as though you hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/n?” Bucky walked around the side of his desk, making his way to you and gently pulling the carrier from your hands and setting it upon the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied with a shrug. 

It had been two days since he was home. It happened sometimes, not often, but enough that you knew what it meant; that the team needed him. You understood, you always said as much, and Bucky called when he could, had takeout delivered to the apartment for you and promised to make it up to you when he got home.

But something was different this time.

“I, um,” you started, glancing around the office nervously. “I keep thinking I’m seeing things. In the dark. In the shadows.” You cleared your throat as Bucky furrowed his brow, a sort of embarrassment seeping through. “I keep seeing Brock.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He led you to the couch in the corner of the room and as he eased you down, he turned to find Miles closing his office door with a sad smile. Bucky leaned down and opened Cheddar’s carrier, letting the cat roam freely around the office, though he decided rather quickly to jump up onto the couch beside you and curl up against your thigh.

“I know it’s crazy,” you said, running your fingers along Cheddar’s spine as he began to purr, “but I… I keep wondering… what if he’s out there? They never found a body, right? I mean… it’s possible he escaped and—”

“It’s not,” Bucky interjected as gently as he could. He remembered the vacant look in Rumlow’s eyes, how he dropped to the ground in a mess of his own blood. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. As you looked at him again, there were tears in your eyes. “I promise you, sweetheart. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you.”

“I want to believe that,” you whispered, stare dropping down to the floor.

Bucky could see the tension in your jaw, in your shoulders, and how your eyes flashed over to the windows. He pressed a short kiss to your temple and let the silence take over. It was comforting, just listening to the crickets outside and the typing of Mile’s keyboard outside the office door.

“James?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I stay here?” you asked, voice as small as a child’s. “With you?”

You looked at him with a strange kind of hesitation in your eye, like you might be afraid he’d turn you away. It broke his heart, but he tried not to let it show and pushed out a smile instead.

“Of course, love. I’ll see if we can find some blankets for you, alright?”

You nodded, relief quickly spreading through you as you pulled Cheddar into your arms, hugging him tight to your chest. Bucky quickly got up and opened the door a crack to find Miles sitting at his desk, typing away.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky started, “can you track down some—”

“Already got them, sir.” Miles grabbed a stack of blankets from under his desk and a cushion he must have stolen from the lounge and handed them to Bucky.

Bucky nodded, taking them into his arms. Miles was a smart kid. He overhead a lot more than he should, but he never asked questions, never pried, never so much as considered gossiping to the other interns about the personal details of Bucky’s life. Bucky made a note to write him a hell of a recommendation letter.

“Go home, Miles. I’m good for tonight.”

“You sure?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah.”

Miles jumped up, gave him a quick nod, and practically jogged his way to the elevator.

As Bucky made his way back into the office, he turned to find you already asleep on the couch. He paused, watching as Cheddar tucked himself against your chest as you laid on your side. Your hand was still rested on Cheddar’s back. The cat looked up at Bucky as he approached, his purring loud enough to overshadow the crickets outside.

“You take good care of her, huh?” Bucky whispered to Cheddar, scratching behind his ears. He purred a little louder in response.

Then, Bucky draped a blanket over your legs, letting it fall by your waist. He leaned down and brushed the hair from your eyes, pressed a kiss to your temple, and slowly made his way back to his desk. He had a lot of work to do, but a few glances over at your sleeping form and the ease with which you slept were enough to keep him going through dawn.

***

“That smells incredible,” you gasped as you walked past a bakery in Queens. 

You dragged Bucky by the hand to the window where you could see dozens of rows of cookies lined up inside; gooey and warm and wafting through the air enough to make your stomach growl. You turned to him with that pleading look in your eye, teeth biting down on your lower lip.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky chuckled. “I’ll be right back.”

You grinned, clapping your hands together as you waited for him outside. It was a small shop, with barely enough room to walk around inside without knocking into the tables filled with sweets, so you opted to wait by the edge of the bakery. 

The sun was setting into a beautiful orange and pink in the distance, and the street lamps barely illuminated the alleys beyond the shop. Across the street, you watched as a young man walked by with two dogs, whistling to himself with every bounce in his step. You smiled.

“Ah, what do we have here?” a voice growled from behind you.

You jolted, heart skipping a beat as you whipped around to face the man standing behind you. Tall, burley, with a long-jagged scar along his jawline, you recognized him only as Markovich; one of the men who worked at the docks under your husband. Ex-husband. Dead husband.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Rumlow,” Markovich sneered and suddenly, a hand snacked around your forearm, digging razor sharp into your skin and you felt the violent tug as he dragged you into the alley. 

You couldn’t speak, could hardly move, you wanted to scream but you couldn’t find your voice. It all happened so fast. You couldn’t have prepared for it.

Your back slammed to bricks, head pounding in the effort as Markovich pinned you to the wall. 

“I’ve been looking for you for a while. The pretty little bitch that put Hydra in chains...”

Markovich drew a line down your cheek to your jaw with his finger. You struggled to stretch out from his reach, but he held you firm.

“But I slipped through the cracks, didn’t I?” he continued, sinister grin upon his thinned lips. His hand slid lower, daring to touch over your neck, your collar bone, over the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the thunderous pounding of your heart. “Now, I’m going to take what’s mine, take what’s been owed to me now that you’ve destroyed Hydra. Stay quiet for me, Mrs. Rumlow.”

You screamed.

“James!”

A hand slammed down over your mouth, dirty and suffocating. You desperately looked up to the streets, but they were empty, filled only with the dark overcast of the sunset and faded flickering of the street lamps.

“Karpov’s dead,” Markovich spat. “He can’t help you now.”

You whimpered, tears burning in your eyes. Your whole body felt numb, shaken, frail, and as Markovich put a hand on your thigh, sliding up your skin and seeking under the hem of your dress, a surge of rage came over you.

You raised your knee with as much force as you could swing between his legs and suddenly, Markovich doubled over in pain. He released you in favor of clutching his crotch, and you stumbled back towards the streets.

“James!” you screamed, voice breaking in the effort. “James!”

Bucky swerved around the corner in a panic, paper bag dropped to the concrete as he saw you rushing towards him. You slammed into his arms, shaking terribly, and Bucky only had seconds to react when he sat Markovich stumbling back to his feet. Bucky quickly pried you from his arms though it killed him to do so.

“Sweetheart, I need you to call Steve.” Bucky kept his eyes on Markovich.

You shook your head. “James, I… I….”

“Do it now,” he ordered, firmer than he ever wanted to be with you, but as he watched Markovich crack his knuckles, baring his teeth, Bucky knew he didn’t have much time. He kept a hand on your shoulder, stilling you at the edge of the street, before he made his way into the dark shadows of the alley.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Karpov,” Markovich growled.

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be in jail, aren’t you?” Bucky shot back. “We’ve had outstanding warrant for your arrest for over a year.”

“Should have figured you were a narc.” Markovich spat, sizing Bucky up as he stepped forward. “Always so soft with the boss’s wife. Heard you were fucking her too. Tell me... was it good?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. Over his shoulder, he could hear your voice quietly on the phone with Steve. It wouldn’t take long. Maybe a few minutes before backup arrived. He didn’t like to carry his firearm when he was off duty, especially around you because you’d be subject to enough violence in your life and you didn’t need the constant reminder that Bucky had perpetrated it himself, too. But now, as he stared down the rather large figure of a man with an intent to kill, he seconded guessed his choice to leave it at home.

Markovich rushed forward, lunging straight for Bucky’s neck, which he was able to side step easily. He had more agility than Markovich and he’d use it to his advantage. He got in a few hits before Markovich landed a punch, but when he did, it nearly sent Bucky spiraling to the ground.

“James!” your voice yelped out from behind him. He didn’t dare turn around.

It took until the both of them were panting and Markovich has a steady stream of blood down his nose and Bucky was limping on his left ankle before the cops arrived. 

They rushed into the alley, separated Markovich to the wall and cuffed him. Bucky didn’t say a word as Markovich shouted at him through the window of the cop car, threatening him, threatening you.

Hydra didn’t have resources anymore. Markovich couldn’t hurt either of you the way Rumlow had once threatened. Steve would find a way to make sure Markovich stayed silent. It might mean a reduced sentence or privileges behind bars, but he’d keep the two of you safe. Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second.

“Oh, thank god, James,” you rushed towards him, throwing yourself into his arms. It was nearly suffocating how tight you were holding him, but he didn’t mind. You needed this, needed to remember that he was real and safe, and maybe he needed that too.

“I’m alright,” he exhaled, wiping the blood from his cheek. He pulled you back just enough to see your face. “Are you okay? I shouldn’t have left you out here alone. I didn’t think— I should have come faster— I—”

“I’m okay,” you confirmed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “But I guess ‘okay’ is relative.”

He chuckled at that, nodding as he pulled you back to his chest. “I’ve got cookie dough in the freezer and that movie you’ve been wanting to watch on rent. You up for that?”

He could feel your smile against his chest.

“Yeah, I’m up for it.”

Bucky gave a short nod to the officers clearing the scene behind him and guided you back to the sidewalk. It was a short walk back to the apartment from where you were.

“Hey Bucky?” you asked, and he felt a wash of relief in his own name.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Thanks for keeping your promise.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What promise?”

“To always protect me,” you said simply, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

Bucky nodded, a soft kind of smile pushing at his cheeks. “Always, sweetheart. Always.”

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Some fresh moonfam angst

So this just hit me, guys, and I need to share the pain, please brace for the Sads.

Runaan’s squad. Four adult assassins, and a 15 year old assassin-in-training. Why did Runaan bring Rayla? Why did he bring these elves?

I just had a really angsty headcanon, and it just keeps giving.

It started with Feathershawl’s crystal. They’re a ghosted Moonshadow from the Tales of Xadia playtest tale, and they carry a crystal that holds the illusions of dozens of family members they’ve been cut off from. Dozens.

That’s a big family!

It fits with the idea that Lain, Tiadrin, Runaan, and Ethari were all basically a big family unit, but it’s much bigger even than that! And it makes sense that Moonshadows would have as many life-affirming connections as they can get, to try to balance the stresses of their culture as well as their inherent introversion: it might be stressful to go shopping, but if you’re just visiting your cousin Merry, then that’s okay, right, you know her.

So what if the moonfam as we know them is just a fraction of their true extended family, and they also have dozens of extended/adopted/found family members that they love and cherish deep in their hearts? Seems likely that plenty of them would be assassins, since Laindrin and Runaan are assassins.

That sounds like a nice thing, right? A positive thing in all of their lives. They are all each others’ safety net and comfort, as family is supposed to be.

Until.

Gosh, it must’ve been hard for Laindrin to leave for the Storm Spire, so very hard. But knowing they were bringing honor to the Moonshadows, and to their family, probably made it a little easier to take. Plus, they were probably safer there than on missions. Until they weren’t.

Family honor seems to be a thing in Moonshadow society. In the book one novelization, Runaan makes a cutting comment about Rayla’s lineage when he’s trying to drive her away from the castle. But that really means that when Laindrin “failed”, their dishonor belonged to everyone in their extended family. Everyone who trusted them had their honor, their judgment, fall into question.

And Moonshadows don’t like questions. They like answers. They always act quickly when something goes wrong, trying to put it right swiftly.

So: Laindrin fails. Runaan’s family honor is tainted. He has to do something. But he’s not the only one who’s been besmirched. And neither is Rayla.

Here’s where the angst starts to ramp up: everyone in Laindrin’s whole family was tainted by their supposed failure. Everyone. Potentially dozens of elves.

What’s a Moonshadow assassin leader to do when all the assassins in his family have their honor questioned, and there’s one single mission they can undertake to redress the balance?

He takes them with him. Runaan takes his family with him to Katolis.

I know I’ve speculated half a dozen reasons why Runaan felt he had to take Rayla with him, and they generally boil down to restoring his and Rayla’s honor for being associated with Laindrin. But in this headcanon, everyone else on the squad is in the same boat!

And see, *slaps roof of headcanon* this baby can fit so much other angsty headcanons in it! I have a headcanon that Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister, Lujanne’s daughter by another of her husbands, because she has traits in common with both of them. That slides seamlessly into this headcanon.

It also fits as a reason for Runaan’s softness when he squeezes Callisto’s arm reassuringly while he’s binding him to their mission.

Callisto is the elf Runaan is closest with. His tent is next to Runaan’s, and he’s the elf Runaan (briefly) discusses strategy with in the tree when they regroup after learning of Rayla’s deception.

So Skor and Ram must also have family ties to Runaan as well. This is so exciting!

Okay so far? Runaan’s squad, his homies, are family, in all the ways that “family” holds meaning for him. He got his best fams together to go Make Things Right for their honor in Katolis. In this context, Rayla’s accompaniment on the mission makes a whole lot more sense. Her family connection to Laindrin is one of the most direct, if not the most direct, out of everyone in the squad. If this is the kind of thing that Moonshadows do when family honor is questioned, then it makes sense that Rayla demanded to go, and that Runaan said yes. It wasn’t just her he was taking.

In fact, I wonder if Runaan had so many requests that he had to make a list and choose his team from a whole bunch of family who demanded the right to go on the mission. Maybe they started asking the minute that Laindrin’s ghosting ritual was over. Maybe they felt they had to.

So Runaan took his best and brightest family members to Katolis. And then they failed, and he had to watch them all die beside him. It was his mission to run, and it got away from him, and four of his family died right in front of him.

No wonder he desperately wanted Rayla off the mission. If he knew from the moment he laid eyes on Marcos that several members of his own family were gonna die that night, he’d do whatever it took--and he did--to convince Rayla to leave the mission and survive. He was trying to mitigate the disaster that was about to slam into his family tree.

Okay, so this is angsty. But... Can I make it angstier?

Yes, yes I can. Hold tight.

See, because this was a family of hurt, grieving, angry assassins, seeking to prove that they were still honorable elves, that they could still do the job, could still serve their people, could still stand strong beneath the heavy dangerous duty they carried. They went to prove that they could carry this together, that they were good and upright elves in the eyes of their society, that they knew the rules and that they would follow them no matter what, as was expected of them. They went to Katolis to prove that they had not forgotten how to serve properly.

And then, not only did they fall in battle and fail in their mission, but a dark mage resurrected their helpless forms and sent them on new missions in an absolute travesty of what a Moonshadow assassin’s purpose is supposed to be. Dark magic keeps appearing as an imperfect copy of primal magic--which I love, btw--and the missions that Viren handed out are no different. His smoky assassins took lives with their assassin skills, yes. That was Viren’s whole point in using assassin cremains in his spell. But the elf spirits were not honor bound, they weren’t serving their people--quite the opposite, they were serving a dark mage--and they didn’t volunteer, they were pressed into service without consent.

The best and brightest of Runaan’s assassin family fell into the hands of a mage who turned their purpose inside out and manipulated their skills to serve his will instead of their people’s. They didn’t even get to die properly--part of them got yoinked back into the world of the living to carry out Viren’s will.

I cannot imagine how that knowledge will make Runaan, Rayla, their surviving family, and the other Moonshadow elves feel. I’m kinda glad that Rayla tackled him off the Storm Spire without knowing what he’d done to the other assassins. Her self-sacrifice was pure there, saving Zym’s life by trading it for her own, with no extra anger or vengeance in her heart.

But if anyone ever learns about what happened to the other assassins, well. *holds out cup for more angst*

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

FOOLS pt.3

[[Zuko x Reader]]

<- previous next ->

Summary: Zuko and Y/N had liked eachother for a while even though neither of them knew it. Y/N tries to get over her crush for him, failing miserably. So just when she decides to let go and embrace her feelings, the new Fire lord finds himself feeling jealous and decides to take matters into his own hands.

A/N: I’m still impressed by how many people have liked this series and I’m so grateful to everyone who reads, it’s getting a little angsty in here so be prepared. (Edit: I wrote that before actually finishing this part, scratch that cause things got REALLY FUCKING ANGSTY. Also this part is a little shorter than the others but believe me, it’s as much as your little hearts will be able to take.) As always if there’s any mistake or anything let me know.

Side note I’ll wait for a request to start writing pt. 4

Warnings: Angst but it’ll end well i promise

-IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUEST DONT HESITATE TO ASK-

You walked up to your friends once again, noticing someone was missing. “Hey... where’s Zuko?” You asked everybody as you saw the packaged dress in Katara’s hand.

“He said he had business to attend at the palace, acted really weird and stormed out the marked.” She replied looking at you with concerned look in her eyes.

“That’s...weird. Maybe he got bad news, firelord stuff.” You said more to yourself than to the others.

Sokka interviened, cutting your thoughts short. “He did say we could stay and eat around here, so let’s find a place, I’m starving.”

———————————

After lunch, you and your friends walked around the market a while longer. You saw the same thing you had seen the day before from the carriage, people were happy. This was a major concern for all of you once the war had come to an end, how would the people of the Fire nation take the new way of things?but Zuko definitely did a great job with it all.

Sokka ended up buying a bunch of junk against Suki’s advice, while you and Katara bought some pieces of jewelry to go with your dresses, Toph bought a set of nunchucks which worried all of you a little bit, and Aang bout a toy for Momo.

Soon enough you were back at the palace, Zuko still no where to be seen. You tried not to pay much attention to it, yet worry still lingered in the back of your mind. It was almost dusk when you proposed the idea of setting up a campfire outside for old time’s sake. It felt like forever since all of you had sat down around the burning flames to talk or eat or simply lay down and look at the stars. So after a while, when everyone went to their chambers to leave the things they’d bought and change to a more appropriate attire for the weather, the group was back outside setting up the fire.

You laughed at sokka who tried to light it up, struggling thanks to the fact that the only wood you had found was very old and affected by the humidity of the Fire nation’s weather. Ever since Aang learned how to firebend and Zuko joined the gaang, he hadn’t had to light up a fire from scratch.

“Hey, Sokka. It’s ok, we get it, it’s been so long since we’ve done this, you’ve kinda lost your touch.” You teased, knowing he was mostly trying to impress Suki with his abilities. Toph who was sitting next to you suppressed a laugh.

“I haven’t lost my touch, Y/N!!” He replied not taking his eyes away from the wood in front of him. “Actually it’s not a ‘touch’, it’s ability and knowledge, ok?”

Your only response was to laugh looking over at Katara. She looked at him worried and said “Are you sure you don’t want me to water bend the humidity out of the wood, Sokka?”

“No, Katara! No bending, just ability and knowledge”

“I could get the flame started for you” interviened Aang.

“Is no one listening to me? Ability and knowledge!!”

All of you let Sokka stay entertained trying to light up the camp fire for a few minutes more, after that you collectively and non-verbally decided you didn’t want to be there all night waiting, so you signaled Suki to distract him while Katara and Aang worked their quick magic. When he turned back around he saw the sparks consuming the wood slowly at first and then turning into a bigger flame. He smiled satisfied with himself and turned to look at all of you. “See? Ability and knowledge.”

“Of course it is , babe.” Suki hugged him from behind while the rest of you held a laugh. 

The laughs and giggles didn’t take long to begin. It had always been so easy to get along with eachother, like you’d been friends for way longer that you really had. Before all of this, you never had any real friends at the Northern water tribe, the boys didn’t like you because you were a girl, and the girls didn’t like you because you liked fighting and bending. But when you met the gaang, it was like you could finally be yourself and not be judged, they were more of a family to you than anyone else had ever been.

You’d been outside for a while when you heard steps getting closer behind you, the night sky already spread above you. You were about to turn around, big smile on your face assuming it was Zuko, when you realized the look on all of your friends’ faces. The smile faded as you turned your head around. In fact, it was Zuko who was approaching the campfire, but he wasn’t alone. Holding onto his arm was Mai, in a jaw-dropping dress, looking as beautifuly dark as ever. You were sure the sound of your heart breaking must’ve been heard through out the entirety of the Fire nation.

Mai? You asked yourself internally making an outworldly effort to take your eyes away from them. Everyone but you greeted them equally as shocked, then he proceeded to take a sit in a log placed right in front of you, pulling Mai into his lap. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before Sokka started speaking again. You could hear his voice, but you weren’t paying attention to his words. Your eyes were glued to the floor, too scared to even dare to look up, your face lacked any color and a now familiar knot in your throat and tightness in your chest were forming again.

You reminisced to the previous months. After Mai and Ty Lee had been released from Boiling Rock, Zuko told you he’d talked to her. They’d left things in good terms, she understood why he did what he did, and he realized how he’d treated her wasn’t the best. But you were sure that didn’t mean they were back together, I mean, that happened almost a year ago, and this was the first time you’d seen Mai since the coronation.

Has he been seeing her in secret all this time? Why keep it from me? Did he know I liked him all along and was simply trying not to hurt my feelings? But why now? And why like this?

All these thoughts ran through your head while you tried your best to keep the tears that were threatening to roll down your cheeks inside. Suki’s touch dragged you out of your head. “Y/N?” She called in a soft and low voice.

“Yeah, sorry.” You replied looking up at her.

“Wanna go get some snacks from the kitchen?”

“Sure, let’s go” You took her hand and walked with her away form the open and into the palace.

Once you were sure you were out of the group’s sight, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding up until then.

“Oh, Y/N. Are you ok?” She pressed your hand reassuringly

You forced yourself smiled at her. “Yeah, everything is fine. I’m ok.” You lied.

“Zuko is an asshole for doing this. If you want me to punch him in the face I can do that, I’m still training all the time, I’m sure I could kick his ass no sweat.” She tried to lighten the mood while leading you to the kitchen.

“No Suki, thanks. It’s ok. It’s not like we’re a thing or anything, he can go out, be with and do what he wants with whoever he wants. I’m no one to tell him otherwise” you spat, trying to convince yourself as much as Suki.

You finally arrived to the kitchen. Chef Karou took one look at you before noticing something was wrong. “Child, what happened? You’re white as a ghost.”

“It’s nothing Chef, I just got a little dizzy out of the sudden, but I’m ok.”

“Well you’re in luck, I have your favorite dessert freshly made. That’ll make you feel better.”

You and Suki carried each a basket of treats and small snacks Chef Karou had sent for you and your friends. You had to brace yourself before walking back outside, only to realize Zuko and Mai weren’t there anymore, instead a head of white hair filled the space where they’d been sitting before.

“Iroh!” You called handing your basket to Suki and walking up to him.

“Hello, my dearest.” He replied, opening his arms to give you a hug. He’d always been one to give great hugs. Since you met him, the two of you had connected through Zuko. He cared for him deeply for a very long time, and even though you had just met him then, you cared about him too. He’d shared his wise words with you, advising you about your worry regarding the war, and you listened to his stories in return. He was warm and caring and he had a very special place in your heart. Hugging him helped release the tightness in your chest that had been building up for a good while, and that came with a few tears as well. “Miss Y/N, there’s no need for tears, this is a joyful reunion.”

“I’m just...very glad you’re here.” You tried to explain wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

“I’m very happy to be back, and to see this nation be rebuilt and led honorably. Talking about leaders... have you seen my nephew around? I haven’t gotten the chance to greet him yet.” He asked looking around for him.

“I um... I guess he’s back at his office or in his chambers.” You hoped he couldn’t tell the way you were trying not to let Zuko mess with your head.

“Do you mind calling him for me, dear? I’m a little tired from the trip.”

You wanted to say no, specially since you knew Zuko had left with Mai, but saying no to Iroh had always been a hard task for you. “I... yes, don’t worry, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

And with those words you walked off to find him. His office was your first stop, you hoped he was there, sitting on his desk and going through paperwork as you’d seen him do many times before, because if he was that meant Mai wouldn’t be there, and you wouldn’t have to deal with seeing them together anymore. But to your despair, he wasn’t.

Gathering all the strength you had left, you made your way to his chambers. The walk there seemed painfully short, you wished you’d had more time to prepare, although after knocking on the door and proceeding to open it, no amount of time could’ve prepared you for the sight. Zuko and Mai were both sitting on the edge of his bed, he had his hand on her jaw, holding her tightly in her place, while her hand layed on his neck, holding onto the roots of his hair. They were kissing... really kissing.

The sound of the door opening made them realize someone was there and forcefully Zuko pulled apart. He looked at you for a few torturous seconds before saying. “Y/N, what can we help you with?”

We, it was such a dumb thing to notice but you did. Zuko said we, as in him and Mai, as in the girl who’s throat he had his tongue down mere seconds ago.

“Your uncle is here, he wants to see you.” You replied, your voice slightly shaky making you pray he didn’t notice.

“I’ll be right there... anything else?” His tone was one you hadn’t heard before, it was harsh, merciless, out of everything that had happened that evening that small detail was what hurt you the most.

“No, good night.” With those words you turned back around closing the door behind you. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, your heart ached in a way you’d never felt before. You cursed yourself in silence for being so dumb, so gullible to even think Zuko would think of you as anything more than a friend, a colleague. You cursed yourself because you knew this was how things were going to end from the very beginning.

Now he was kissing another girl and you were alone in your room, sitting in the dark, thinking about how you were going to pick all the pieces of your heart and put them back together.

A/N: sorry don’t hate me <3

Tag list: @harmlessoffering @zukoshonourr @marvel-ing-at-it-all @booksandwonderlands @bison-whistle @darthsokaaa @royahllty @godoftheabyss @ilovespideyyy @literally-anythin @daddystevee @annie-are-u-ok @whalerus @galacticamidala @mangoberry43 @eridanuswave @katherinethedork @littleninjablake @taeeemin

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

“Forget what I said,

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left.”

- Falling, Harry Styles

A/N: the long anticipated third installment of “that angsty threesome story.” this shit hurted y’all. that’s all i’m gonna say. hope you enjoy :) 

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring masterlist

word count: 13k

content: A N G S T, drunk sad!harry, melancholic relationship flashbacks, and Niall being an amazing friend. oh and lots of pining pain 

preview:

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons. 

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.” 

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution. 

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence.

or Harry and Y/N breakup after the incident and the next two months are the worst either of them have ever known

///

Two months and thirteen days. 

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up. 

It’s poetically ironic, if you ask him, and he felt like the universe was playing a cruel game at his expense. Though it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. 

The length of time that had passed was coincidentally parallel to how much time he had spent sitting on his couch that dreaded Saturday morning— which had been two hours and thirteen minutes— wringing his hands, boiling in his regret, and waiting for her to come out of their bedroom with a verdict on their relationship. 

When Y/N had finally surfaced from her hiding spot, she had barely acknowledged him other than a few one-worded, snipped answers to his questions. She was headed out, she’d said, and that she would return later. Her path had been straight for the front door and the body language and aura she had displayed from the frame of their room door to the frame of the front door had been enough to clearly communicate a simple message: Don’t come after me. 

He had followed her to the edge of the corridor that led to the exit, but he knew better than to chase her once she was out of the door. He remained put and watched her walk out without so much as a glance back. 

She needed time, he had assured himself. Y/N needed a chance to cool off on her own and smothering her would do nothing but dig him further into the hole he was already neck-deep in. 

In hindsight, Harry should have gone after her. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, or maybe it wouldn’t have at all, but all he’s aware of now is that he’d never know.

The minute she got back, a few hours later when the sun had just finished dipping over the stretch of forest that extended beyond the balcony of their apartment, he could immediately tell he had to prepare for the worst. 

From the second Harry had met Y/N, he had always been able to read her. It’s something he prided himself in and something he always admired about the connection they shared— that it had been instant. It had been one of those rare pockets in life when he met someone and clicked with them automatically, so effortlessly that it was almost fictional. He’d always been a hopeless romantic and he had his mother and sister to thank for that; growing up with two women who constantly fed him stories about true love and the importance of emotions had molded his relationships down to the very core. And through that characteristic, which had been engraved within the man he had grown into, was how he and Y/N so easily came to be. 

Harry had been able to read the nervous excitement she was wading through on their first date, watching her with fond amusement as she had contemplated the menu, trying to pass as nonchalant but being betrayed by the obvious cinch in her brows. 

He had been able to read the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, eyes absorbing her features like the pages of a novel. He had picked up on the metaphors she depicted in the form of wine-swollen lips twitching with longing anticipation. He had picked up on the similes that translated into her slowly dilating pupils, the glittering specks of color that shimmered in the depths of her irises dancing with anxious enthusiasm as his face drew closer to her’s. He had picked up on the analogies that painted themselves onto the warm, supple skin of her cheeks as he cupped the side of her face with the palm of his large hand, fingers tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear as he thumbed over the faint smile lines chesiling themselves into existence along the edges of her mouth, her action thick with enamored awe. 

He had been able to read just how taken Y/N was with him the first time they had slept together. It was certain in how she had clung to the bare, sweaty muscles of his shoulders as her nails clawed memories along the soft sides of his torso, her head dangling over the edge of the kitchen island to allow him the intimate comfort of pressing hot, wet moans to the searing skin of her throat. He had whined and shuddered as he’d spread her open over the cold marble surface, fogging it with the heat of their conjoined bodies, the air tinged with the scent of desperate sex and blurbs of orgasm-drunken praises that to this day he can feel burn his lungs. Barely coherent mumbles of “God, been needing you for the longest time now.” and “Fuck, you’re an absolute dream.” and he had even made himself susceptible to some of his deepest vulnerabilities, confessing how quickly and dangerously he was falling for her in a breathless little whimper of, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

Tiny zaps of invisible electricity had passed through her fingertips and into the flexing tendons of his back, revealing that she was just as scared and jittery and needy and absolutely whipped for him as he was for her. He had never been able to read her better than at that intense, emotion-packed moment, and he knows he’ll cherish that wordless instance of assurance for as long as he lives. 

The only other occasion that competes is the first time Harry had known Y/N loved him. They had planned to go bar-hopping with their friends but, in a spur of laziness and utter disinterest, had decided to stay back. The night had been filled with board games and hot chocolate and half-burnt quesadillas because Harry had bought a new panini press that he didn’t quite yet know how to work. He knew she loved him when he beat her at CandyLand for the third time in a row and in a whirlwind of victory dancing, he had knocked the coffee table with his knee and ended up with cooled cocoa all over his striped pajama pants rather than in his belly. 

He knew she loved him because she wasn’t upset that she’d have to help get the stain out and she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten marshmallow goo on the carpet and she wasn’t angry that his silliness had ended with her favorite vase rolling across the ground. All Y/N had been focused on was Harry and that ridiculous wide-toothed grin of his, her own lips nestling into an endeared smile as he giggled out of sheer shock at his ruined pants, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back against the couch cushions. Through teary, delight-blurred vision he saw her staring at him with this doe-like gaze, her eyes soft and glossier than he’d ever seen them, a tender laugh evident on her cheeks. Her eyebrows had been slightly furrowed with a type of disbelieving wonder at the utter moron she had chosen to share her heart with, but specifically at how she loved him all the more for it. 

That’s when Harry had read that she loved him and she had confirmed it with words about ten minutes later as they both sat on their knees against the ground, scrubbing at the mess he’d made and sharing soft little snickers under their breath. 

In the end, all of these milestone moments in their relationship had all funneled through his mind the minute Y/N had walked back into the living room on that forsaken day, hours later. They all sped past the inside of his eyelids every time he blinked, each one dissipating with each step she drew closer. She had stood before him as he sat forward tensely on the couch, forearms propped on his knees as he grasped his knuckles nervously, though they had stopped cracking ages ago. 

It all flashed back to him like a film on fast-forward and it was because for the first time ever, he wasn’t able to read her face and it fucking terrified him. 

Y/N’s eyes were the first factor that had given away the impending end. Even at the darkest of times, Harry could always count on Y/N’s eyes for support. They had always held a permanent admiring warmth towards him, even beneath clouds of rage or annoyance or worry. They had been empty that day. 

Her lips had been etched into a emotionally-detached straight line, though the corners dipped down ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were void of any wrinkle, groove, or lifting that would suggest even a smidge of sensitivity and somehow her cheeks seemed more sunken in, as if the last couple of hours had aged her years. 

Y/N had approached him with her hands cradling each other before her stomach, footsteps heavy against the carpeted ground, muffled yet somehow loud. She’d taken a seat before him on the glass coffee table, knees pressed together tightly and unintentionally brushing his as she settled her hands into the crease between her inner thighs, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world was using her back as shelf, the flyaway hairs that had fallen from her ponytail kissing along her jaw and caressing her temples almost apologetically, as if trying to comfort her for what was next. 

Y/N hadn’t spoken a single word before Harry was already breaking down. 

It wasn’t dramatic or spontaneous like the break-up scenes in the rom coms he often fancied; it was quiet and concise. The hot tears streamed down his cheekbones and followed the slope of his sharp jaw, squeezing out of his tear ducts and rolling along the bridge of his nose, itching the very tip, to which his instincts responded by spurring him into wiping away the water with the front of his shoulder. 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her out of self-hatred and shame— how could he be as selfish as to cry when everything that was about to unfold had been solely of his doing. He knew he didn’t deserve the best outcome, but he had hoped for it. Prayed that she could find it in her tattered heart to grace him with the option to rebuild what he had so recklessly torn down. He didn’t deserve it and he’d felt like he never would, but he had promised himself he would try and earn it if she gave him the chance. 

But that was just the hopeless romantic in him flaring up again. Reality was sharper and much icier. 

Harry had taken in a deep, trembling inhale, feeling it cut his lungs and tug at the pit of his stomach. He’d released it in stuttery spurts through his nose, back muscles contracting with dread. He found it in himself to uncoil one of his index fingers, gently grazing the curve of Y/N’s right knee with the bed of his nail. 

She’d tensed up momentarily, toes curling into the rug below her feet, but didn’t shed him away. It was the first time he’d touched her since last night and though it made her feel sick to her stomach, she figured she’d allow it as a parting gift. 

The air stood still for a few elongated seconds that seemed to drag out for an eternity. Finally, one of them spoke up. 

“Y/N...” Harry had choked on the singular word, swallowing thickly in an attempt to recuperate. 

The syllables seemed to lodge in his throat, outright refusing to emerge, likely due to the fact that he spent the day soundlessly moping to himself. He forced them out anyways in a low croak. 

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons. 

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.” 

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution. 

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence. 

Harry had cleared his throat softly, mind treading through his jumbled thoughts to try and sew together a worthy sentence, the pad of his forefinger tracing down the visible threads of Y/N’s worn jeans. 

“I didn’t mean any of it.” 

Though it’s the truth, it sounds feeble and pathetic. His words had then started tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or rhythm but simply in an attempt to communicate his rawest emotions. 

“That’s not an excuse or anything, but I just want to make sure that you know. And if I knew all of this was going to happen, I would’ve never brought it up in the first place. You’re important to me— I hope that all the time we’ve spent together shows that— and to lose you over something like this…” Harry pauses, choking up at the sheer notion of having to let her go. He continues his speech slowly to avoid another mishap, though it quivers nonetheless. “To lose you over something that was so stupid on my part would tear me to shreds, Y/N. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There’s nothing I can do now except apologize until my voice gives out and pray that you give me the chance to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it and I know that the damage I’ve done could be beyond repair, but I also know that I will spend every second trying to mend it if you allow me to. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I know we’re young and that it sounds dramatic and I’ve been told a billion times over that I love too deeply for my own good but I don’t care because I know it’s the truth. Without even the slightest bit of doubt.”

His words had echoed across the walls of the flat, the dim buttery light of the single lamp in the living room casting their seated shadows over the creme surfaces. The dark silhouettes of their bodies seemed to absorb his message, picking it right out of the air and engulfing it into the ominous shade. 

All that could be heard was Y/N’s faint breathing as she processed his confession and the occasional sniffle on his part. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds— Harry had counted. A frail distraction, but a distraction either way.

A deep inhale had cut off his mental stopwatch and he could tell Y/N had cried recently before arriving because the air had to force itself through her stuffy nose. His index finger had twitched anxiously against her knee. He found himself counting again, this time the target had been the thin lines of the rug beneath the reinforced glass of the coffee table. He hadn't known it then, but his urge to count whatever he could to pass the time had been the start of what would later develop into a coping mechanism.

“I don’t know what to say.” 

It had only been a day but Harry had missed the sound of her voice more than he’d ever care to admit. She was talking to him rather than at him and it was enough to halt the fresh flood of tears that had been gathering across the glossy sheen of his irises. It was a victory, no matter how small. 

The sentence she spoke, however, was a whole new battle he had to face within itself. 

The words hurt, but luckily, they didn’t cut. There were dozens of harsher possibilities of what could’ve come out of her mouth and that makes him thankful for what he’d received. 

Harry had shifted in his seat, pulling the sleeve of his old Greenbay Packers sweatshirt over his free hand and tucking his arm across his stomach. His other hand remained on Y/N’s leg as non-intrusively as possible. “Is there anything you want to get out? Anything at all? I want to hear it no matter how bad you think it is. I deserve it as much as you deserve to express your feelings.” 

He hadn’t noticed when, but at some point he had absentmindedly tilted his head up to look at her. What brought it into clear attention was when she did the same and their eyes met. 

Y/N’s expression had crushed the oxygen from Harry’s lungs. 

He had hoped it would be different after everything he had said. That her eyes would hold some form of love within them, even if it was shrouded with sadness and disappointment. He had aimed to draw an ounce of forgiveness from her that he could cling onto and expand; he had aimed for redemption. 

Instead, her eyes held the same barren gaze that she had doted when she had walked in— vacant acceptance. 

Her own speech had confirmed his worst fears. 

“I don’t know if we have a future together. All I know is that right now, I feel like I could never forgive you for what you did. Watching you treat someone you barely knew the way you treat me made me feel like what we have isn’t real. Sex can be something both meaningless and meaningful and the lines between those two is finer than most people think. And even though I know in my heart that you’re telling the truth about not feeling anything towards her, I just can’t let it go. I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that you called her what you call me. That you kissed, touched, and held her the same way you do me. You made her feel the same way you make me feel. And the whole time, I was sitting there watching you do it, begging you not to and trying to communicate to you that you were crossing the line and you didn’t even notice.”

Y/N had lifted her hand from her lap, running the back of her wrist across her cheeks messily. Harry could see the tears sparkling on her lashes and he felt like his chest cavity was going to collapse in on itself. 

When she had spoken again, her voice was tight and packed with all of the pain she’d been holding onto since the incident happened. 

“You took all of the private little things that had built our relationship and shared them with someone else just to get your dick wet.” She releases a short spurt of a laugh, miserable and humorless, her palms smacking down against her thighs as she shrugs her shoulders for emphasis. “Intimacy is the most important factor of genuine love and you went and tossed it around like it was nothing. We’ll never be able to regain that; not in the way we had it before. I don’t know if I could ever trust you with it again. I shared myself with you because I love you— we opened up to each other in that way because we worked up to it. And now that you so carelessly let yourself have it with someone else, I’m too disappointed and hurt and fucking terrified to let you see me vulnerable like that again.”

Y/N had locked her eyes with Harry’s and his heart had shattered into a million shards. 

They had been swollen and bloodshot, tiny red veins webbing across the dull white, scraping at her irises and relentlessly chipping the color from them. There was no twinkle left whatsoever; the specks that normally decorated around her pupils had completely defused, disappearing into the murky sea of the muted shade behind them. 

“You broke my fucking heart, Harry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you pick up the pieces.”

He had never heard her say his name like that, so dismal and void of emotion. He’d never felt more unworthy of love than at that moment and he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He’d fucked up and now he had no choice but to marinate in it for the rest of his days. 

The process of separating was painfully fast. 

As it turns out, when she had left the morning after everything had happened, she had gone to visit Niall. 

Niall had been the mutual friend that had introduced Harry and Y/N in the first place so, naturally, Y/N’s first instinct had been to seek his counsel. She had kept the details of the breakup to herself but from how distraught she had seemed when Niall had opened the door to his flat, his hair sticking up at weird angles and his eyes crusted over with sleep, he had known it was not on good terms. She had stood there with dried trails of tears staining her cheeks as her entire body shook like a leaf and the second he had opened his arms caringly, she immediately collapsed into them, violent sobs wracking her body unapologetically. 

The Irish lad was as big-hearted and supportive as friends came and it was seen in how he offered her the spare room in his apartment that was normally occupied as a home gym. 

“I haven’t had a roomie since I was twenty but as long as y’don’t leave your dirty underwear in the living room, I think we’ll get along just swell.”

With Niall’s help, Y/N had finished moving out by the end of that same week. 

They did the brunt of the job while Harry was busy at work, though there was an awkward instance when he unexpectedly came home early on the last day of moving. 

Luckily enough, Niall had been the one retrieving the last couple of items so Y/N was saved from the ordeal. 

The two men had contemplated each other, Niall standing with the cardboard box tucked beneath his arm while Harry stood parallel to him stiffly, keys grasped tightly in his fist. Harry didn’t know how much Niall knew of what had happened, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth, so he had remained silent until the blue-eyed boy finally spoke up first. 

“Mate, I don’t know what happened between you two or why, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this torn up before.” 

Harry had sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in forlorn agreement at Niall’s comment. This was Y/N’s indirect way of telling him that the reason behind their breakup was meant to be kept a secret amongst their friend group. It was one last act of kindness towards him on her part because both of them knew that if word got out on what had happened, everyone would likely turn on Harry and shun him out. Y/N didn’t want that for him— despite everything, she found herself genuinely wishing him the best because she still loved him. A part of her always would, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it. 

The last thing she needed was to cling onto bitterness and make him suffer; it would be counterproductive considering her end goal was to move on. The whole situation would stay hidden and hopefully everything would eventually blow over. 

Avoiding each other proved trickier than expected in the beginning, but it gradually became routine amidst their everyday lives. 

Y/N avoided grocery shopping at Harry’s favorite market and he proceeded to change the coffee shop he went to every morning before work, well aware that it was the one she fancied the most due to the specific brand of creamer they carried. Y/N insisted on the second closest movie theatre whenever she went out with her friends for a film, knowing that Harry liked the one closest to Niall’s apartment because it was smaller, more homey, and did free refills on popcorn and drinks. Harry started frequenting the gas station near the twenty-four hour gym instead of the one near Y/N’s place of work and started doing his early morning jogs at the park on the opposite side of town, which wasn’t too bad considering it was only about a ten minute drive. Y/N stopped going to art museums all together— they were mainly Harry’s thing, either way. 

When it came down to their friends, they did the best they could. Whenever there would be a plan to go out for lunch, dinner, drinking, or any other event, they made sure to invite one and not the other, alternating turns. It kept the situation fair, though birthday parties were much more complicated. Staying on opposite ends of the club or flat would have to do. 

No one ever questioned the breakup too thoroughly, thankfully. All Y/N told them was that it ended really badly and that what was best was that they stayed clear of each other. Harry stuck to whatever he learned Y/N had said, brushing off the occasional curiosity thrown his way with a tired, “I’d rather not talk about it, yeah?” 

They were grateful to all of their friends for not pushing for details too much and respecting their privacy. Family members were harder to shake off, but both managed to keep things under wraps with the right amount of sternness. 

///

Three weeks and four days had gone by, according to Harry’s calendar, and things were remaining seemingly civil. That is, until Harry had a bit too much to drink on the fifth day and ended up drunk calling Y/N as he sat on the floor of his kitchen, eating from what he was sure was an expired box of Cheerios while counting floor tiles and wondering why the fuck he even liked tequila in the first place. 

The phone had rung three times and then the line abruptly cut off, sending Harry right to voicemail. 

“Hey, this is Y/N! Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone right now, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

His eyes had immediately begun to water as her voice crackled through the speaker of his phone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard it and he hates that he had almost forgotten its gentle trill. The bright chime of her words were so different than the last time he’d heard her speak— her tone was easy and good-natured rather than dismal and hurt and he missed when she would regard him that way. Now, it was directed at a random person on the other end of her phone line who she might not even know and for some reason, that made his stomach twist. 

The Cheerios had started to taste funny so he opened the cabinet across from his spot on the ground and chucked them in the bin. He had then leaned back against the wall of the kitchen island, head repeatedly thunking against the polished hardwood as he redialed her number and waited, tiny hiccups plucking at his vocal chords and shuddering his shoulders without consent.

This time, it had rang only once before cutting off, meaning that she knew it was him and that she was actively delicining.

But Harry’s stubborn and insistent— which admittedly are some of his worst traits— and the fact that he had been shit-faced had fueled these characteristics. He’d continued to call her another four times before the line was finally picked up. 

His voice had filled with enamored relief as he quickly sat up, a weak smile starting to spread his cracked lips. “Y/N, hi, I—”

“Harry, you gotta cut this shit out, man.” 

It wasn’t Y/N. The person speaking had a much deeper voice with a smooth, raspy undercurrent covered in a heavy Irish accent. Their tone held a stern yet concerned edge.

“This isn’t good for either of you. You’ve got to try and move on, H.” 

It was Niall and he was on Y/N’s phone and Harry could feel himself about to vomit. 

He had forced himself to speak, clutching his stomach with one hand as if it would keep the bile from rising. His words came out slurred and numb, tongue feeling heavy and unbelievably large in his mouth. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s asleep and you should be, too. It’s three in the morning.” 

Harry’s brows had cinched down angrily over his lashes. Somehow, in his muddled brain, he was able to form a coherent train of thought about the current situation. If Y/N was asleep, that meant her phone had probably been on a nightstand beside her bed or splayed across her duvet or even on the floor considering she had a habit of twisting and turning too much. If Niall had picked it up, it meant he had to be in close proximity to her. It meant he had been in her room, possibly in her bed...

Harry’s throat burned as acid rose from his stomach. 

“I wanna talk to—”

He was cut off by the alcohol he’d had earlier resurfacing and splattering across the off-white kitchen tiles he’d been counting. 

The spluttering noises filtered through the phone crystal clear, much to his friend’s disgust.

“Jesus, Harry, just get yourself together, will you?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Niall’s voice had come through again, gentler and less annoyed. “Do you need me to come over and help?” 

“No.” Harry had blurted out with panic evident in his demeanor. He’d wiped at his soiled mouth with the sleeve of his black Nike jumper, staring hollowly as the mess before him traveled across the cracks of his floor. An all too familiar swelling had started to fill his tear ducts. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.” 

Apparently, it had been the third time he’d drunk-called in the span of two weeks, though he didn’t remember the first two times. He did remember this third time though— the stench stuck to his sweatshirt for a while. 

///

The next month that followed that cursed Friday night had been significantly better for Harry. 

He went out with friends and actually had fun more times than not, as long as he didn’t let his mind wander to what Y/N could be doing since she wasn’t with the group. Slowly but surely, he began to mend. 

The movies had always been his and Y/N’s favorite date idea so the first couple of times he’d gone out to see a film after the breakup had been tough, but he’d powered through the rough patches. Their favored seats at the very back of the cinema had gradually just become exactly that— seats. He was eventually able to enter a theatre without even as much as a glance to the last row. When Harry would go out to eat, he relearned not to order in excess anymore since he wouldn’t be needing those extra fries or two extra beef tacos or those couple buffalo wings she used to pick at religiously. Going out for drinks was easier on his wallet now that he could drink both of the two-for-one Happy Hour shots, the only issue being that sometimes he’d forget and order the next round while he had a perfectly untouched whiskey shot right there. He had sworn off tequila— he could still feel the way it had seared his throat, somehow manifesting an aftertaste of honeyed cereal.

Niall usually went out with the rest of the gang, but not as much as he used to and that bothered Harry extremely— bothered him to the point where he’d get the overwhelming urge to tear his hair out if he allowed himself to amble in his head too much. He hated being the jealous type, especially when he was no longer entitled to it. Especially not when Niall was such a nice best friend, willingly present for him on the nights where things went downhill and he needed someone to pick him off the ground— literally— and tell him that he would be alright.

The days Niall missed out were spent with Y/N and it wasn’t a secret. Harry had heard about how much closer they’d gotten recently through conversations that would happen across the other side of the booth, when his friends thought he wasn’t paying attention or that he was too sloshed to be properly present. He wasn’t, though. He was hyper-aware of every anecdote and syllable exchanged and it would make his mouth go sour. 

One night, he had drummed up enough courage to ask Niall outright about Y/N. They’d been out bowling and the Irish brunette had been standing off to the side waiting his turn, sipping on a pint and cackling his ass off every time Adam rolled the ball into the sideline gutters. 

Harry had been standing next to him for a while, leaning back against the machine that redispensed the bowling balls, taking tiny gulps of his third white rum margarita. The liquor filled his tummy with a certain type of empty warmth that numbed his better judgement and before he could talk himself out of it, the words were escaping his lips in a low, sheepish tone. 

“How’s Y/N?”

Niall had paused mid-sip, his entire body going rigid for a second as he kept the rim of his large glass perched at his lips. He had then pulled back from his beer, licking the froth off his Cupid’s Bow and craning his neck to acknowledge the green-eyed boy directly. 

“She’s doin’ good. Treading through the bills and tryin’ t’fill the rest with thrills, like we all do.” 

Despite the light nature of his response, Niall’s accent had been heavier and Harry’s not sure if it was due to the alcohol or the tension-packed subject of conversation. Probably both. 

Harry had nodded his head slowly— casually— and taken an ice cube into his mouth, cracking it with his teeth in the way Y/N used to scold him for. He had stared intently at the condensation gathering around the tips of his warm fingers for a few heartbeats before looking back up at Niall with aching curiosity. 

“Is she happy?”

The Irish bloke had opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking over what he had been about to say. That teeny fraction of time filled Harry with enough nerve-grating suspense to that he was sure he’d pop a blood vessel.

Niall had cleared his throat softly, sighing tiredly through his nose. “She’s better than she was right after the split.” 

Harry hates that Y/N’s doing better. He knows how petty and selfish it comes off, but he can’t help it. If she’s doing better without him, it means she might never need him again— it means he’s replaceable to her. He can hardly fathom that thought without the backs of his eyes prickling. 

Harry had swallowed thickly, nose stinging and jaw clenching. “Is she seeing anyone?” 

Niall tilted his cup against his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the beer, grateful for its help in making this talk way easier. He’d given Harry a sympathetic slink of his head. “I don’t think that’s the type of question you should be asking, Har. One day, you might not like the answer you get.”

Harry’s fingers had tightened around the stout cylindrical glass in his grasp, rings biting into his skin. His voice came out strained but unwavering. “Is she?”

His friend’s blue eyes had flitted across different points of his face, sussing out Harry’s attitude and whether he could be convinced to back down on this specific topic. 

When it was obvious he wouldn’t budge, Niall sighed heavily once again, this time through his lips. “She’s not, no.”

Harry can’t quite place a name to the flood of emotions that had crashed into him like a tidal wave. The closest he can relate the experience to is breaking the surface of an ocean of suffocating uninformed doubt, instead filling his lungs with illogical optimism and stunned relief. 

There was hope for them, even if the sliver was fine as a hair. 

Harry had found himself drawing closer to Niall, eyes doe-like and pleading, the neon lights of the bowling alley washing his face out with bright purples and drunken blues. “I wanna see her.”

“You can’t.” The objection had been quick and authoritative, causing Harry to blink as if he’d just been smacked between the eyes.

“Why?” It was a stupid question— he knew why. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of them.

“Because you’re only going to set yourself back. And even though you might not be thinking of the consequences it could have, I am, and I’m not going to let you hurt her or yourself more than you already have.”

And that’s when Harry realized that Niall knew. He’d heard the whole story.

The guilt-ridden young man had broken eye contact, looking down at his scuffed heeled boots. “You know.” 

“She told me a while back.” Niall’s confirmation had hung across Harry’s shoulders like a lead jacket. “You fucked up, mate. Bad.”

A weak, remorseful, “I know.” was all he could muster. 

“She knows you didn’t mean it, but I don’t know if you can come back from this, H.”

Harry repeated his previous phrase, but this time, it had been heavy with a form of undignified recognition. He was slowly coming to terms with the crushing possibility that he might never get her back. 

He’d downed the last of his drink, feeling it reluctantly settle into his stomach. He had then locked gazes with Niall once again, his own conflicted and needy, which in turn caused his friend’s to mold into one of deep worry and pity. 

“Will you just...Will you tell her that I love her so much. That I love her to the point where it’s pathetic. And that I’m so fucking sorry. That a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of her and that I’d give fucking anything to earn her trust again...And that I found her Sherpa jumper under the bed and washed it in case she wants it back.” 

Niall had snorted lightly, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s ability to be so unintentionally pure even under the most stressful circumstances. He’d tossed an arm across the jade-eyed boy’s loaded shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was very obviously needed. 

The reluctance had melted out of Harry in less than a breath, his arms wrapping around Niall’s torso, face pressing into the shorter man’s broad left shoulder. The tears he was holding back were evident in his quaking voice. “I miss her.”

Niall had remained silent for a while, not wanting to push any more boundaries. 

He had made due with running his palm across the expanse of Harry’s back in soothing circles, only speaking up when he felt his mate’s tears seeping into his knitted sweater. 

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah? You’re gonna get through this.” 

Niall wasn’t entirely sure if his words were the truth. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for his best friend, so he comforted him to the best of his ability and prayed that whatever happened in the couple’s future would bring them closure. 

Harry had gotten home that night feeling deflated and more regretful than ever. The emotional exhaustion had fused into his muscles and joints and he’d ended up collapsing on the couch, too depleted to take the walk down the corridor that led to his bedroom. 

His sleep was restless and worthless, as it tended to be of late, but it beat having to sulk consciously. The pain was less sharp and his sorrows were covered in a hazy fog that somehow made everything bearable. He slept well into the afternoon and awoke with a mean kink in his neck and a dull thumping in the back of his skull— karma, obviously, for his lack of self-care and shitty drinking habits. Nothing coffee couldn’t fix.

///

As it turns out, Niall had struggled some to pass on Harry’s message to the intended party. 

Y/N had been sitting on the couch when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, snuggled cozily in a Friends blanket Niall had gotten last Christmas in a game of White Elephant. She had been so focused on an episode of Master Chef that she hadn’t even heard him unlock the door. 

Y/N had momentarily glanced away from her show when she saw Niall enter the living room through her peripheral vision, watching as he toed off his rusty brown Clarks boots, kicking them into the corner beside the television stand. “How was bowling?”

“It was good! Mitch beat me by two points but, frankly, I think he cheated while I went to refill my pint.”

Y/N had scoffed in amusement, taking a sip of the chamomile tea in her Mickey Mouse mug, shaking her head distractedly. “Can you even cheat in bowling?”

Niall had shrugged his navy blue peacoat of his shoulders, draping it over the backrest of the worn recliner that was perpendicular to the couch she was currently inhabiting. He’d arched his eyebrows challengingly. “Obviously there has to be a way ‘cause I never lose. And especially never to Mitch and his shitty hand-eye coordination.”

Y/N had set down her mug in the small hole created by her crossed legs, the warmth of the drink radiating through the ceramic cup and seeping through her cloud-patterned pajama pants, heating her inner thighs soothingly. Her expression had then matched up to his, brows raised tauntingly. “Or maybe you were just off your game.”

Niall had slumped into the old recliner, sighing heavily as it creaked and extended. The Irish bloke had snuggled deeper into the cushioning of the seat, absentmindedly wiggling his toes in their rainbow polka-dotted socks before giving his housemate a pointed look. “Maybe you should shut up and go back to watching random people make squash noodles.” 

“Actually, it’s eggplant ravioli.”

“Actually, that sounds like arse.” 

A round of bubbly laughter had belted out of Y/N and it had been contagious, the same type of giggling escaping from Niall’s lips. Then, comfortable silence had fallen over the two as they centered their attention back onto the cooking show. 

Niall hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic. There was no real proper segway into conversations about exes— he didn’t want to upset Y/N with the sudden intrusion on her healing process. But he had made a promise to Harry. 

Aside from the obvious negative factors, mentioning him would also give Niall insight into how she was currently feeling about the entire situation. He’d be able to accurately gauge what her emotions had resolved on the matter and therefore be able to give Harry a solid response on whether he had any chance left for reconciliation. He’d be able to confidently tell him whether hanging on was worth it or if letting go was the best choice. 

Though Niall and Y/N had been living together for almost two months, she hadn’t started opening up to him fully about the breakup until three weeks in. And even with the whole story laid out bare for him to examine, Y/N shared very little of her mending path with him until they were five weeks in. For a while, her version of “opening up” was simply telling him what had occurred and he’d had to fill in the rest of the mental and emotional blanks himself. 

It had not been hard to come to the conclusion that she had been feeling like utter shit right after it happened— insecurity was awfully present as well as the haunting weight of thinking she wasn’t enough. Though Harry had put those worries to rest the day they had separated, they still lingered in her subconscious, constantly poking and prodding and picking at the membrane of recovery she had developed around her heart.

Y/N had felt numb for days after she had ended things. Boiling anger had created a buffer for the pain that was dwelling just under the surface and it had powered her for about three weeks. Then, at four in the morning on a random Thursday, her real emotions had burst through the fine cracks that had been webbing themselves into that unstable wall of rage. 

She’d had a dream about him that was actually a memory. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the scene as it had been one of many alike— they had been cuddling on the couch. But for some reason, it cracked something inside her. 

It had been scarily vivid to the point where she could feel the ridges of Harry’s finger pads tenderly passing over the skin of her exposed arm as she had laid between his legs, her head nestled into his strong chest, ear drums thumping with the sound of his relaxed heartbeat. She could feel his breathing, pectoral muscles rising and falling with penetrating inhales that had fallen into rhythm with her own. There had been faint movement above her and a sudden warmth had erupted across her forehead, his lips flushing caringly between her brows. The heated glow had washed down her temples and nose like syrup, vignetting her mind with a feathery, sleepy haze. It dripped over her tingling cheeks and buzzing ears, running down her neck and infusing into her chest, calming her from the inside out. He had whispered something unintelligible against her skin, his deep voice warbled as if he was talking underwater. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, the mellow, pleasant tone of his voice was enough to lull her. She had never felt happier, more fulfilled, and more at peace than at that moment. 

Harry had always been the one factor that could drown out the static of her troubles with the simplest caress of his touch. He could make any problem sink away just by cupping her jaw and thumbing over her cheekbones. Could make the end of the world creak to a stop just by knitting his mouth to her’s. Could melt away any obstacle by brushing his palm over the dip of her spine. He had always been there, and at the time, it had felt like he always would be. Through that assured remedy of relief, she had been able to live her life one step at a time, bracing even the worst moments with a clear mind and strengthened energy, all because he stood behind her— with his warm hands and consoling aura— every inch of the way. 

Y/N didn’t have that anymore and though she pushed it down and claimed it didn’t phase her, she was falling apart inside. 

It was only a matter of time before it came rushing out all at once. 

She had jerked awake from the dream as if she’d been stabbed, face wet with tears, her pillowcase dampened to the point where she would have to replace it. The breakdown that followed hadn’t included any screaming or slamming or stomping; it had been quiet and concise, much like Harry’s on the day she had left. 

She’d laid on her side, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees to her chest, drawing into her body as if it could keep all of her feelings from spilling out. Heavy tears had swelled her already bloodshot eyes, her entire face stinging as fresh sheens of water washed down the dried saltiness of the ones prior. Her nose had run so badly she’d had to resort to using an old t-shirt as a tissue. The sounds that had escaped her were low and broken— cracked, stuttery whimpers with no real words behind them. The noises were just another outlet for the aching to seep out; her eyes just weren’t enough. 

Her back had hunched over as she constricted into herself even further, burying her face into her sopping pillow, feeling hot tears soak into the saturated fabric. She could barely breathe that way and it helped calm her down some— no air meant no sobbing. No sobbing meant she was on the way to picking the pieces back up to put herself together again.

It took her awhile to come to her bearings. Her body had stopped shaking but the tears didn’t seem to want to go away. It irritated her that she couldn’t control this— she hated not being able to do anything other than just drown in it. 

Without meaning to, she had released a gut-wrenching growl of frustration that tapered off into another round of heart-breaking sobbing. Her stomach throbbed, the pain so deep it was almost palpable. 

Y/N had hoped the pillow would muffle it enough not to wake Niall, unaware that he was already up. He’d awoken on his own, making a trip to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He’d been sipping at it slowly, mind still stuck in a meaningless dream, when the sudden noise had echoed down the hall that led to Y/N’s room. 

Niall rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, irises grey with sleep. He had blinked a few times, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass down carefully onto the marble counter, trying to limit any sound interference as his ears strained to listen for any more crying. He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t imagining it in a half-unconscious stupor. 

But no, it was very much real. If he focused enough, he could just barely hear the soft sobbing coming from his friend’s bedroom. He had a good guess on what it was about.

He’d stood still for a moment, mulling over what he should do. His first instinct had been to go in and comfort her, but with more thought, he wondered if it would be better not to meddle in her grieving out of respect for her privacy. He knows that if he were crying over a bad breakup, he’d want to be left alone. But he also knows that shouldering a burden like the one she’d faced could put anyone in a really dark place; he wasn’t just going to stand around and let her crash and burn. 

Niall had wandered down the corridor attentively, footsteps light as to not startle Y/N. He’d turned to knob to the door with immense care, pushing it open with his shoulder and peeking in. 

The crying had stopped abruptly, which gave away that she knew he was there. He couldn’t see much in the dark room— the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the curtains didn’t do much for the fact that he was lacking his glasses— but he could see the silhouette of Y/N’s body curled up under the duvet, trembling ever so slightly with the effort of keeping in her sobbing. 

Her housemate had cleared his throat to get rid of the gravel in his dormant voice, as well as to fully alert her of his presence. His words had still come out in a raspy croak, but at least they were understandable. “You alright in here?” 

Y/N had sniffled feverishly, desperate to put out a collected facade. She hated when people saw her so vulnerable without her anticipating it. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.” 

Her voice had cracked near the end of her response, giving away that she wasn’t good at all. The air had been silent for a moment, then Niall’s muddled footsteps thudded against the thick carpet.

Y/N could feel him standing behind her, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, the soft scent of his ocean-scented deodorant tickling her itching nose. “Are you sure?”

There had been no response other than the comforter tightening around her frame. Her hair was splayed across her face in a wild, matted mess, keeping him from being able to read her features. 

Niall had sighed heavily and then the bed had dipped with his weight, sheets shifting and springs squeaking as he settled into place beside her, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. 

More silence followed, Y/N refusing to budge. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this considering he was still friends with Harry; she didn’t want to split him down the middle or force him to take care of her alongside her ex. She knew Niall too well, certain that he had been offering help to Harry, too. She’d heard him answer the array of drunken phone calls on her behalf so she wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma. She’d heard him leaving the house at unintelligible hours only to return smelling like Harry’s favorite vanilla cinnamon candle. She’d even found one of Harry’s t-shirts (which she had gotten him herself) in the laundry basket, which had probably been lent to Niall after an alcohol-related accident. 

Niall was too kind for his own good— too caring. Y/N had learned a lot about him in the time they had lived together and the one characteristic that stood out more than anything was his savior complex— his default setting to provide love and assurance to anyone that needed it, no matter the stress it put on himself. She didn’t want to take unfair advantage of that. 

Her friend’s voice had torn her out of her guilt trip, loaded with adamant concern. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this room until I know you’re genuinely better so stop being stubborn and let me help.” 

She’d jerked suddenly when she felt his large hand coast up her back. His touch was gentle and nurturing, squeezing her shoulder expectantly. It wasn’t hard for her to let go into him. 

Y/N had turned towards Niall, hand ducking out from beneath the duvet cocoon she’d swaddled herself in, moving her hair out of her splotchy face. Their eyes had locked and she’d immediately felt the remaining anguish flush out of her system. 

The look on his face was so kind and protective and it made her feel safer than she had in the last couple of weeks. Even in the limited lighting, she could see his eyes were glossy with the genuine desire to help her heal, inviting her to share her problems with him, silently promising that they could shoulder the weight of it together. She didn’t have to fight this on her own. 

Y/N had spent the rest of the night in Niall’s arms, crying into his chest and utterly drenching his Eagles t-shirt, though he didn’t complain once. He had kept his lips pressed to the top of her head, running his warm palm up and down her shuddering back and telling her that she shouldn’t bottle up her feelings— that it didn’t make her weak to show them, that openly sorting through them with someone else would make it less scary, and most importantly, that it was “okay not to be okay all the time.” 

For the next month or so, Y/N and Niall’s heart-to-hearts had been a real breakthrough for her. All of her undealt fear and self-doubt no longer badgered her anymore— it was almost all gone. She hadn’t felt this emotionally liberated since before the split and she could feel the shards of her heart welding themselves back together, ushering her into a more healthy, serene state of mind. She was on the road to her old self again and the relief it brought was otherworldly. 

It could be seen physically, too. The bags under her eyes had faded and her face carried a certain rejuvenated glow that it had lacked for weeks. Her smile and laughter were buoyant and loud again, not hindered by any inner conflict anymore whatsoever. When she went out with her friends, she didn’t find herself mentally checking out in the middle of conversations or movies or drinks like she had plenty of times before. She actively participated and engaged in events instead of just going through the motions and it felt so fucking good to get a taste of actual joy for the first time in so long. Things were looking up, and though she still had that hole in her chest that only Harry could fill, she was learning to deal with it in a beneficial and independent manner. It was okay not to be okay all the time. 

///

All of these instances had scattered across Niall’s eyes, whirling around in his skull as he sat back in the old recliner, trying to decide if he should pass on Harry’s bowling alley message onto Y/N. He knew she was doing way better, but he didn’t know if hearing from Harry would break her all over again. He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want the sheer sound of his name to send her into a self-destructive spiral for the rest of her life— she had to learn to cope with him being mentioned regularly because it was bound to start happening again. People couldn’t walk on eggshells around both of them forever. 

And Niall also needed to know where she stood on her relationship to the British boy— whether she was willing to give it another shot or whether it was best to tell Harry to move on completely. They were adults, after all, so questions needed to be answered and ties needed to be either tightened or severed for good.

“Harry was there.” 

“I know, Niall. That’s the reason I wasn’t.” 

Her tone had taken him by surprise. It had been jokeful and amused, holding no obvious resentment he could detect. It’d been a good start to the Ex Talk, if Niall had ever seen one, as long as it didn’t turn into her using humor as a deflecting mechanism. 

“He asked about you.”

Y/N’s hands had tightened around her mug, crossed legs shifting her weight. She had broken away from the television screen, meeting Niall’s cautiously hesitant gaze. Her eyes had held an emotion that he couldn’t quite place— it was mostly blank, but it held a smidge of something he could only think to refer to as pained curiosity. 

When she’d spoken again, it had been soft and fragile. “What’d he say?” 

Niall had leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping onto his parted knees as his fingers sifted together, chin resting on his knuckles. His voice had been as cautious and hesitant as the look in his sky blue irises. “He said to tell you that he misses you and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’d do anything to earn your trust again, that a day doesn’t go by that he doesn’t think about you, and that he loves you so much ‘to the point where it’s pathetic.’ His exact words.” 

Y/N had been quiet for a while afterward, the TV droning on in the background with chefs running around kitchens, cursing about food burning and incorrect ingredients. Niall hadn’t pushed her on an answer; he’d simply sat back with his hands flat across his belly, allowing her all the time she needed to process the speech. 

When she finally spoke up again, her voice had been taut, strained by the heaviness of the message she’d received. “Anything else?”

Niall had intentionally left the lightest part of the conversation for the end, hoping it would provide her with some form of ease, as minimal as it would be. “Yeah, he said you left your Sherpa jumper at his place and was wondering if you wanted it back. If I were you, I’d say yes. Fleece sweaters are fuck-you-in-the-arse expensive.” 

His comment had the intended affect, his heart fluttering with relief as he watched Y/N’s face break into a huge grin, eyes crinkling as airy laughter bounced all around her. Some of the tension in her body remained, but most of it had dissipated out. A fraction is better than none. 

Y/N had managed to talk through her giggles. “Yeah, I think I would like my sweater back, actually.” 

“Great!” Niall had clapped his hands together once, head wobbling in a jerky shake for silly emphasis. He’d pushed his palms against the armrests of the recliner, catapulting himself onto his feet and pointing at Y/N playfully. “I’ll get that sorted for you, then. Now, if you need me, I’m gonna be in my room, passed out on my bed for the next twelve hours, neck-deep in a beer coma. Feel free to check if I’m breathing every now and then, yeah? Got a dentist appointment next week that I’d hate to be dead for.” 

Y/N had sat on Harry’s words for the next week or so. They hadn’t spurred her into a meltdown (as she’s sure Niall had worried they would), but they did loiter in the back of her mind, keeping her awake past appropriate hours by playing her heart strings like a violin. 

There was one part of the message specifically that took up a chunk of her sleep more than the others, scattering inside her head and running along the crevices of her brain, the meaning behind it stirring the pit of her stomach into a hollowed frenzy: I love you so much to the point where it’s pathetic.

That one measly sentence carried so much baggage to unpack.

Harry’s choice of words were transparent on how he was dealing in the aftermath of the split. 

Y/N knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was— it had been obvious in the way he had put her on a pedestal for the entirety of their relationship, constantly showering her with all different types of affection to let her know how much he cherished her. It ranged from the simplest gestures— like keeping her favorite chocolates stocked inside the pantry at all times— to extravagant actions— like randomly buying her an expensive necklace she’d stared at for a bit too long at the mall. He was always aware of her, always going out of his way to show her how much he loved her, and she had never felt more appreciated than when she was with him. 

When it came to expressing that love verbally, Harry only ever connected it to words that carried positive connotations. Words like, “truly,” “madly,” “deeply,” “immensely,” “entirely,” and “wholeheartedly.” He wanted her to know that when he thought of her, any negativity was immediately expelled from his mind; she could always make him happy, no matter what. 

This being taken into consideration, one can understand why Y/N had been utterly baffled when Niall had told her that he’d referred to his love for her as “pathetic.” It gave her insight into just how hard he was taking the breakup— hard enough to the point where he was so desperate to get her back that he felt pathetic. This told her that he loved her so much he was willing to admit that it was sad and pitiful, especially since he was a grown man, and especially because they’d been split for just over two months. That span of time is long enough for a person to at least start moving on; long enough for someone to sever themselves from that stage of hopelessly clinging to what once was and to look forward to what the future could bring. 

But instead, Harry had allowed himself to regress back into a lapse of needy pining, pleading with Niall— and in public, no less— to tell her that he missed her so much it was embarrassing; that he cared for her to the extent that it was humiliating; that he loved her to the point where it was miserable. He wanted her to know that what he had done had been tearing at him nonstop since it happened, that it would likely haunt him for years to come, and that he would never forgive himself for it. 

All of these confessions weren’t any different than what he had told her the day they had broken up— they were the same bullets he’d hit when he was sitting before her, teary-eyed and distressed, begging her to give him another chance. However, for a reason unbeknownst to her, they penetrated deeper this time, slamming her square in the chest like someone had punched through her ribs, squeezing her heart with their fist.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally let go of the splintering anger she’d been clutching onto from that day, which had likely blinded her from absorbing the rawness behind Harry’s apology. Maybe it was that she’d had weeks to work through all of her jumbled emotions, finally untangling herself from the bitterness that had been clouding her mind for what felt like ages. Maybe it was just the simple notion that she fucking missed him— missed him more than her pride would ever let her admit. 

Missed the way his nose would scrunch up in distaste when he didn’t agree with something, the way the edges of his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, missed his boyish giggling and how it would go up in pitch when he laughed too hard. She missed the way his dimples would carve into his cheeks when he smirked, the way the little mole under the left corner of his lips would jolt with the slightest motion of his mouth, and the way his large, warm hands would feel as he would knot their fingers together, his thumb caressing over the tops of her knuckles. 

Y/N missed the way her head would sink into his chest when she would hug him, his arms cradling her against his body while he played with the ends of her hair. She missed the small group of freckles at the base of his neck— missed tracing them with her lips while he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into spontaneous giggles at the feathery sensation. She missed the way he smelled, like mandarin shampoo and musky, spiced deodorant and his ocean salt cologne and that stupid fucking candle.

Y/N had remained on the fence for a few days about what to do, mentally jotting down the pros and cons of reaching out to Harry to make amends. The defining moment had been the day she’d gotten her sweater back. 

///

Niall had gone out with Harry to see a movie, returning home with the Sherpa jumper hung across one of his forearms, tucked into his elbow. He’d held it out for her between his thumbs and index fingers, flapping it back and forth triumphantly, eyebrows arched with dramatic glee as a huge goofy grin buckled his cheeks. “Look at what we have here, then!” 

He’d tossed it towards her on his way to the kitchen, belting out a cocky, “You’re welcome!” over his shoulder before disappearing behind the archway. 

The minute Y/N had caught the hoodie in her arms, the scent hit her like a bus. It invaded her nostrils without permission, sending a sharp ache through her chest. 

It was perfectly faint since Harry’s smell never tended to be overpowering— he had a very light hand when it came to cologne, well aware that too much could be agitating. That being said, the brand he used was potent even when dispensed in small amounts, so it’s salty sea aroma usually lasted through a couple of washes. He had probably nonchalantly chucked the jumper into the laundry with his clothes, which had resulted in the smell being strung through every single thread of the fabric. 

Beneath the initial layer of his cologne laid the softer scent of the vanilla cinnamon candle that she knew too well. It was tender and homey, just the right ratio of sugar and spice, its cozy undercurrent enveloping her in familiarity. 

It launched her into a round of fleeting flashbacks. 

The fractions in time consisted of a winter day spent snuggled on the sofa under thick blankets, half-empty mugs of hot cocoa discarded on the coffee table and a Netflix show drawling on aimlessly in the background. Not a single soul had paid attention to the screen; Y/N was too busy straddling Harry’s lap, planting wet, sloppy kisses down his throat as he dangled his head over the side of the armrest, hands gripping her hips needily as she rocked against the bulge in his sweatpants, a dreamy, pleasure-drunken smile adorning his swollen lips. Low hisses and weak whimpers had resonated from deep in his chest, rolling off his tongue as his mouth had absentmindedly fallen open at the warmth growing between her thighs. Her fingers had twisted into the loose curls along the back of his skull while she’d gasped his name all breathy and whiney along the underside of his jaw, working herself against him at a desperate pace, his palms trailing underneath her pajama bottoms to grope at her ass. 

Harry’s voice had been distant and echoey in the memory, but it made her cheeks sizzle nonetheless. “God, I love you so fucking much. Could spend the rest of my life between your thighs...Could spend the rest of it anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Another flashback had shuffled forward like a deck of cards. This one was of a foggy, rainy evening spent napping soundly in their bed, limbs tangled messily with their bodies half-naked, her heated lips pressed to the lulled pulse that throbbed beneath Harry’s flushed neck. His hand had been petting over her mussed up hair, mouth pressed lovingly to the ridges between her brows, smoothing them out in order to defuse whatever was troubling her in her dreams. 

She’d awoken, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep, her mind partially conscious as she had taken in a long inhale, blowing it out through her nose. Harry had run the pad of his thumb over her lashes gently, helping her get rid of the blurriness that had taken her under. She had blinked up at him drowsily, a watery smile spreading her buzzing lips. Harry hadn’t said a single word and he didn’t have to— he’d just stared down at her over the tops of his lightly colored cheeks, the right edge of his mouth flicking upwards in endearment, his bright jade irises glossy with fondness. He didn’t have to say a single word because his expression silently told her everything she needed to know. 

Y/N had snapped out of the memories in the blink of an eye, a sudden tickling sensation bristling down her cheeks. She’d reached up to touch her face in confusion, the tips of her fingers coming back wet, the water glinting cruelly under the dim lighting of the living room. Her brows had furrowed in objection, both at her tears and at being so abruptly yanked out of moments in her life when she had been the happiest. Her body reacted out of instinct, desperately searching for a trace of him to clasp onto, her hands fumbling to bring the flouncy material of the sweater to her nose. 

She’d taken a saturated breath in, the pleasant odor hugging her trembling frame and kissing her heart. The tears had then started flowing freely across her waterline and down the bridge of her nose. They had seeped into the fleece hoodie and she’d immediately jerked back from it, not wanting the treasured item to suffer the same fate as most of her pillowcases. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her have to wash it— she refused to let the comforting aroma leave her. 

Y/N spent the next three days in that jumper, only taking it off to shower. She wore it religiously, taking it to work, to the superstore when she went grocery shopping with Niall, to lunch with a friend, to a doctor's appointment she barely paid attention to, and even to bed. In the span of seventy-two hours, she had developed an addiction to the scent that was woven into the fluffy article of clothing, needing to have it around her at all times in order to function properly. 

It was sad, really. It was just a smell and she knew it would eventually fade away, but she just couldn’t help herself from wanting to be wrapped in it every second of the day. It reminded her of a time in her life when everything seemed flawless— where there wasn’t a gaping hole in the center of her chest that could only be filled by the one person who had accidentally hurt her beyond compare. 

Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the flood of memories that the stupid hoodie had fished out from the corner of her subconscious, where she had shoved them with the intent of never looking back. They loitered her dreams, broadcasting over the inside of her eyelids for hours on end, dissolving away when her alarm blared beside her ear, leaving her with a hollow feeling toiling at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how long she could deal with it, but her sanity was starting to wear thin, cautioning her that she had to do something or else she’d go absolutely mad. 

On the night of the fourth day, Y/N finally cracked. 

///

Two months and thirteen days. 

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up. 

It is currently 11:43 PM, meaning that in a meer seventeen minutes, it would be two months and fourteen days since the split. 

Harry is laying in bed, as far away from his digital clock as possible, watching a random Christmas movie that Netflix had recommended, one hand buried in a bowl of kettle corn that he’d already refilled twice as the other holds his phone an acceptable distance above his face. 

The movie is cliche, if he’s being honest; something about Santa Claus dying and passing on the torch to his dead-beat son that didn’t want it, so it ended up going to his overly-perky younger sister instead. The twist was supposed to be that a woman had never been Santa Claus, but he could see that ending coming from a mile away, what with her natural ability to get along with kids and the fact that she dressed like a literal Elf on the Shelf. It’s heart-warming in the way that all Christmas films are and it had the witty humor one would expect it to, alongside a cute furry animal sidekick that people couldn’t help falling in love with. 

But it just didn’t really impress him. The message is sweet, the execution could’ve been better. 

Yet, he only deemed it fair that he finish the movie. He’s already three-fourths of the way done and though the intended surprise was obvious, he might as well see it through. 

In the middle of the climax scene where the young woman was putting on the Santa suit for the first time, his phone dings with a chime he hadn’t heard in too long— two months, thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-four minutes, to be exact. 

Harry had been so startled he’d dropped his phone on his face.

“Ow! Fucking hell!” 

He sits up in one quick, stiff motion, the hand knuckle-deep in the popcorn bowl flying up and knocking the dish upside down, the sticky kernels rolling across his disheveled duvet. The sleek black device falls into his lap, nose pulsing in pain as it had taken most of the heat, his caramel-coated hand rubbing messily along his flannel pajama pants to try and get rid of the stickiness. He then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to stifle some of the stinging, bumbling to get his smartphone into the palm of his clean hand. 

The screen lights up with a text message and Harry blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it in some type of pain-induced hallucination. 

But no, the message is very much real and it’s authenticity sends him into a dull stupor for a minute. He comes back to when the phone vibrates with another ring, alerting him for the second and last time that the person he wanted to talk to the most had actually reached out to him; it was in his best interest not to keep her waiting.

Y/N: Hey, are you free to talk tomorrow?

[jamiedc-they-them]

Reckless Pride (Platonic)

hey can i request a dany x sibling!reader where r tells dany how coming to westeros was a bad idea, and that they'll follow her no matter what and then they're on raeghal when hes shot down and then idk angsty... B

Being twins was a thing that sometimes happened. It just was. Granted, with your family history, didn’t have the best expectations. But you and your twin sister broke them. Instead of fucking, you didn’t. Good job you.

You and Danny acted like actual siblings; none of those longing stares of that type of love. No, just sibling love between you both. You were both best friends rather than fuck buddies.

Still, your brother wasn’t the biggest fan of that. He hated that you both didn’t give him what he wanted. He wanted heirs with his blood. He wanted a throne for himself. That selfishness drove him. It drove him to lash out at you both and hate you both with a fiery (pun intended) fashion.

That was what led (other than just being twins) to you both being protective of the other. Danny more so as you held the more masculine tropes; anger, hate, vengeance, little emotional expression. Obviously, Danny was the other side of that coin.

So, when the chance came for your brother to get what he wanted; he took it instantly. He didn’t care that it meant selling your sister and being with those he deemed savages. Granted, their methods were wild and what not. But, to him, they were nothing more than pawns.

Danny and you saw some sort of humanity to them. Even if not much; you saw how much genuine care Drogo showed your sister. Even how seemed to keep on eye on you too (be that either by Danny’s request or otherwise). That definitely pissed your brother off.

“So, I see the little whore has got you under the Khal’s protection?” Your brother sneered as he entered your tent. While you had both once feared him (Danny still did) you had learnt how to piss him off and how to use it against him.

“Careful, brother. Reckless ambition normally ends in consequences they didn’t see coming.” You warned your brother. Danny entered the tent, so she heard your warning that was meant for your brother.

“Y/N!” She yelled out in concern as she ran to your side after your brother punched you. You had to admit, he did have a good punching arm on him.

She grabbed you as you tried to get back at him, barely holding you back. She kept a hand to your chest to keep you from creating more conflict and escalate things further than they already had been.

“Y/N calm down…calm down.” She whispered to you softly, but she was scared. She was scared for the both of you. As much as she didn’t care for her other brother. You were her best friend, her twin. You were someone who would her back and she would always have theirs.

No matter what.

 Your brother was a bother, a massive pain in the ass. And other words. Either way, when he came stumbling into the tent where a party was being held, you watched with calculating eyes. You watched as he went towards Danny (after finding her, of course) with a drunken stagger. Even then, you could tell that he was not in the best of mindsets (even at the best of times when it came to you both).

As soon as the sword was drawn, you started to walk over to help Danny out; however, Jorah stopped you and gave you a look that told you to calm down. Danny moved her eyes to you and slightly shook her head.

Her eyes gave you a simple message, “I’ve got this”

So, you watched as she stood up to face him with an apathetic look. She’d already eaten a heart and found a genuine connection with the Khal. Still, as a worried brother you watched your twin. You knew you both always felt fear for the other that one day you would lose them.

Still, you watched as your brother was brought to his knees and the Khal threw gold into the pot that was bubbling away happily. Danny held out her hand for you; you took it and stood next to her. For once, the roles were flipped. You were the emotional one whereas Danny kept her’s in check.

“He won’t hurt us anymore.” She promised you and gave your hand a squeeze as said person’s screams echoed for a moment before gong still. A BANG! Made you look and see the melted gold on his head.

 You were in your own tent. For once in what had been a long time, you were speechless and slightly scared. Don’t get it wrong, your brother deserved what had happened to him. It was just…the look on her face. Something had been opened; a door you were sure she was going to walk through herself. A door to a dark place. A place where anything would be done to get what she wanted.

You closed your eyes, hating yourself for thinking that about your sister that had been nothing but kind to you since birth. Then again, everyone had a darkness inside of them. Everything was capable of dropping the deep end and never coming back from it.

Although you hated it, you knew your mind had a point. You knew that something had snapped inside Danny. It was a subtle shift.

You closed your eyes and let out a breath. If you were going to help her not fall down the path that your brother fell down; you were going to have to act now rather then later.

So, you left to find your sister to do the first step in a plan you were making up the whole time.

Step 1: Fight for her in her army while also being a trusted advisor to her. That way you could keep an eye on the two fronts.

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

You were 8 when your brother first hit you. It was out of defiance of something about your sister (your brain made you forget what the topic was) and the next moment, a hand struck your face and you fell to the ground.

“Y/N!” A same aged Daenerys ran over to you as she yelled your name in pure concern.

“Step away from him, whore!” He yelled; that boiled rage in you. You swung at him and caught him off guard. As soon as you did, you grabbed Danny’s hand and ran with her.

You entered his room and hid under his bed. You knew he’d check your rooms first and never suspect his own to be the chosen hiding place.

“Why did you do that?” She asked you with an unsteady pace. Her breathing was picking up, she was panicking.

“I had to protect you and defend you –”

“But, look at has happened to you in the process –” She lightly pressed a hand to your bruised cheek. You grabbed the hand and lowered it slowly.

“I’m fine.”

“Just…don’t be so reckless like that, again.” She warned you.

Funny that she was the one who gave you that warning back then.

 Danny held some resistance, but she let you fight. She seemed to see that you were better suited out there anyway than cooped up inside.

So, with Jorah as a mentor, you learnt how to properly fight. Even the Khal gave you private ones. So, you could fight on two fronts: honourable and not honourable. To you, it didn’t matter if it was honourable or not, it just mattered you won, and the opponent didn’t. You weren’t much of a believer in a life after this one; so, killing someone with non-honourable way wouldn’t exactly matter if you made it through and not them.

So, you learnt what you could form the two whiles being at Danny’s side when she needed you. Being an ear to guide her and a brother to her when she needed that support. One of those times was when the Khal had sadly passed.

You had started a genuine friendship with him. He called you brother on a few occasions and fought with you when you needed backup. He loved you like his own. Obviously, getting along with him made Danny happy. She wanted her twin to be involved with her goal as much as possible. As of now, you were the only human of her family that was still around. So, she wanted you in her life, even if she worried about you going out on these missions

Now he was gone, and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

 “Danny –” You said softly as you entered her tent.

“Not now, Y/N.” She said, stopping you before you said anything.

“Danny –” You tried again, knowing that she shouldn’t have to go through this alone.

“I said not now!” She yelled at you in raw, unfiltered grief.

You didn’t say her name again, you only took her in your arms and held on tight as she tried to fight back. In the end, however, she sunk into them and cried. Just let it all out, all the grief and pain. She cried, sobbing into you.

You didn’t say anything, you just let her cry. You knew words wouldn’t help her through this moment. She had lost a child and lover near enough in the same moment. You knew this would only drag her further through that open door. But you knew that bringing it up now would not be a good idea. You knew that it was better to leave it for now.

For both of your sakes.

 “Sorry.” Danny said softly as you flinched away from the sting that trying to clean your cut had caused. Neither of you wanted the other in pain. Yet, here you were, yet again after getting your ass kicked by your brother for something or other. It wasn’t like he needed a reason to hate you both anymore.

It just seemed like merely existing and being a threat to what he wanted was enough justification for him to hit you and do whatever monstrous acts he did to Danny. You didn’t want to even think about that.

“It’s ok. Just stung is all.” You told her. She, in a gentler way, dabbed the cloth on your face.

“It’s not ok. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed because of this.” Thinking about it now, you would’ve laughed.

“You know we can just put a heated blade to it, right?” You said to her, moving on from the confrontational words.

“What?” She asked, in a moment of shock and concern. However, after a beat, she understood what you meant and went to fetch one. You grabbed her hand and showed her one you always seemed to keep in case of emergency.

She didn’t confront you on that, only left to heat it to use. She could only theorize that you would use it on your brother when you had the chance. Although, the chances of that getting you killed shot right up.

If she was scared for you before, after that day she was terrified.

 Meereen was another piece to her puzzle to gain control. She already had a footing; she’d burned slavers and freed slaves. But you were worried, very worried. But, right now, a rider from the city was coming out to face you all.

Daenerys turned to you all, the three of you (a new friend being the third) all putting yourself up as bait to go after him.

“I’ll go.” You said, and Danny couldn’t hold her worry as she instantly answered you. She was calm with the other two. Then it came to you.

“No.” You, her best friend since birth, her twin. She needed you with her. She wanted you to be there at the end.

“Danny, I can beat him.” You assured your sister.

“I said no.” She said, more firmly. For a moment, the two saw a more vulnerable side to her. A side she tried to hide. With them, she was calmer. But, with you, it was raw, sisterly, instinct driving her here.

“Let him.” She looked to Jorah with shock. Even if she just called him one of her closest friends. IN this moment, she couldn’t look angrier and more disappointed in him.

She looked at you, seeing the confidence in your eyes. She knew, in that moment, that you weren’t the children either of you were now. You were a fighter. You always had been.

 You let him come to you, something your new friend had taught you. Instead of going on the attack, you’d play defence and then go on the attack.

You let him rid, let him get his hopes up that he would win. He got closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. He rods more and more, eager to reach you and then to kill you. To prove himself to his city.

The next moment, his horse fell to the ground. He tumbled to it, rolling in his armour.

You approached him, blank face as you did so. Danny watched you with an impressed look. As you got to him, you only stabbed him and ended his life.

Was it fair? No. But, you were alive, and you weren’t.

Danny had sent broken cuffs to the walls of the city before the fight. You saw it in her eyes. The truth she carried, that she had freed them.

But you also saw the lie as well, that it meant all her actions were in the right.

 “You bitch!” Your brother yelled as he went to strike Danny. You ran up to him, pushing him away. He turned his gaze onto you.

“No, Y/N stop! Stop! Leave him, Y/N. Leave him. It’s ok –”

“It’s not ok!” You yelled; your brother only watched you with fiery eyes.

“I know. But you must leave it. Please –”

“You don’t deserve this.” You said, keeping your gaze on your brother.

“Maybe. But, leave it.” You looked at her, “Leave it. I’ll see you after.” You were speechless. Your sister, as much as she hated it, was allowing it.

But what had hurt you was that it came out as an order; no longer a plead.

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You had the city, and she was loved. That was the issue, she was loved. No one was challenging her. It was just what she said goes. Granted, she was the queen and all that. But any argument that didn’t go her way, she walked away or merely didn’t change her view until someone else did.

If no one else was going to do it, you were.  

“No.” Now you were firm.

“Y/N –” Danny tried to say, but you continued.

“Your going to marry one of the bastards?!” You were loud; the other ones in the room only watched you both.

“I need to keep control –”

“Through marriage?! To him of all people!” She had seen you angry before; but it had never been directed at herself. She started to see her older brother in this moment, not her twin brother.

“I’m losing control. It’s either slavers rioting or the slaves themselves. Some want chains, others don’t. What would you have me do?!”

“Listen to us! Ask us for fucking advice! And actually listen! Instead of dismissing or argue. For –” You stopped yourself before you would cross some kind of line, “Just, why have us if all you want from us is for us to saw you’re right and move on.”

Your words got to her; they struck a chord with her. If more than anything, they hurt her. But, to you, this is what you needed. It was what she needed. She needed someone to calm her down. She was starting to lose control and was willing to do anything to hold onto it.

Yes, your brother was a monster, no question. Now, however, she was the one who was going to a dark place to keep some kind of peace and control.

Yes, this place was vital in some way as a home and place to stay for now. But her end goal was to go across the sea and take over the seven kingdoms. It wasn’t to stay here, so why did it matter if you did or not have this place.

“They want chains. Let them –” She looked at you in shock.

“Y/N…” She drifted off, looking at you in disappointment. She was about to go into queen mode again when you spoke up before she could.

“What would Viserys do in this situation? If he was still here? If he was still in control?” You asked. Now, you had crossed that line.

“Get out.” She had never used him against you. Now you were doing that to her. She wouldn’t let it slide.

You went to talk, probably to try and take it back. But she had heard enough already, “I said. Get. Out.” She was definitely in queen mode now. Now, you were merely a soldier. You weren’t an advisor. You were a soldier in her command.

 “Are you ok?” You asked your sister as she walked into the room; she didn’t answer, only placing herself at the balcony.

“Come on Danny, talk to me.” You begged her, standing next to her.

She only looked out at the view. Yes, what he did was horrible. But –

“You can’t keep doing that.” She said, softer than she had before.

“I can’t just let him hurt you.”

“You can help me after, just like I do you.”

“Did he tell you to –”

“No! I hate him just as much as you do,” She turned to you, “But, angering him more does not do anything but make it worse. I need you to stop doing that.” Now she was the one who was reckless.

She saw the conflict on your face. She saw the dialogue you were having with yourself internally. Like most twins, you could read each other easily.

“I don’t like it either,” She told you, softening her voice more, “But…. just do this. For me, please?” She asked, taking your hand in her own.

 “We have a mission from our Queen. One she wants just for yourself.” Grey Worm said as he approached you. He had respected you. Only now, he looked at you as another of his men. He cared for them, and you. But you were ultimately at the beck and call of your leader.

“Why just me?” You asked as you stood up.

“She ordered it. We don’t question her.” God, it sounded like a cult. Yes, you knew the importance of armies and having a good amount of control; and you knew that they were in debt for her for being saved by her.

However, you knew that she had fully gone through that door. Now she had a place to live. She was close to being able to go over to the other side of this world to go after an Iron chair. You were sure she was starting to become disillusioned with her family name. A lifetime of abuse and powerlessness mixed with loneliness was driving her now.

It seemed she was even willing to lose you both in death in bond wise. Seemed she was risking anything and everything to get to this throne now.

You were sure that if you said no, you’d either be arrested or killed. So, with no other choice, you took the job.

 You could see why she gave it to you. It was a hit job; something that been attempted on her a few times. Even yourself. Now, she was using those tactics on her enemies. And sending in a person she used to see as a brother rather than another name of a list of people to send out to die.

So, you went. It was a slaver, a bad person, you wouldn’t debate that at all. He was a man who owned people and hurt them if they disobeyed. Now, you were continuing that reckless cycle of death and punishment. Only now you were a free person doing the killing.

The man tried to fight back; tried being the key word. You merely slashed him in the belly and then snapped his neck. It was quick, simple even.

 The next time you helped her heal the physical wounds, she was crying too much to talk. You weren’t going to hold it against her, though. You knew it was bad what he did. Now, however, you just had to help her heal physically. You knew mentally would be another ball game entirely.

“Tha—Thank you.” Daenerys said to you with a stutter.

“Of course, we need to watch out for each other, right?”

She nodded, “Right.”

 “Is it done?” Your queen asked you as you walked back into the main room. For once, you were at the entrance and being the one who was scrutinised by her rather than you are being by her side and trying to find the truth yourself.

“Yes, my Queen.” You answered, making sure to hold the last word to make your feelings on this known.

She looked you up and down, “Very well.” She said, dismissing you.

 A few months of fight after fight, you had gone across the sea. But, at this point, your dynamic was almost completely void. You had barely spoken, neither of you trying to patch things up where you left off.

During your visit, you were called, “My lord” even if you weren’t looking like one in any way, shape or form.

Hell, even the way you held yourself argued otherwise. You only spoke when spoken to and not at any other point.

You looked and acted hollowed.

It had gained the attention of Jon Snow. Who, while he had begun some sort of dynamic with Daenerys; with you he had become a friend to you? He had taken the time of day to speak to you and bond with you. Plus, a trip beyond the wall helped you get closer as well. If it wasn’t for him, you’d have been dead a few times.

 When you got to Winterfell, it led to Arya Stark finding you an intriguing person. Someone called a lord but held themselves as anything but.

“Place at the table free?” She asked as she had approached you silently.  You had been sat at a table with others, but you were one your own for the most part.

“Course, my lady.”  You answered as if an autopilot.

She sat, liking the silence for a moment. She hated small talk as of late. Seemed you did too, that just made her more interested in talking to you.

“Why aren’t you up with your sister?” She asked you, gesturing her head towards the woman in white.

“Not really much of a sister now.” She looked at you with a confused look.

“Then what is she?”

“A queen to anyone else who’d asks it.” She nodded but continued her question.

“And to you?”

“Just like the rest of them. Someone willing to risk it all for something so tame.” You were honest, it had been the first time you’d told anyone out loud.

“She seems lonely.” She commented.

“Yeah, well. Accidentally push some people away in an attempt to focus on what you want, that’s what you get.” Arya was more intrigued now. You were honest and not a bullshitter. You had survived the game so far, so you had to be doing something right.

She decided she liked you and sat with you on the table.

 Daenerys had spotted you talking to the young Stark. She watched you as you smiled and spoke. She missed you, she did. She missed having you by her side to support her as an advisor/soldier/brother. Now it was just the middle option.

She wanted to apologise, she wanted to get things back on track. But she wouldn’t show weakness here. Not in front of these people who would soon be under her rule.

 The battle against the dead had come and gone. A night that had taken a lot of lives, almost yours in certain situations. Arya and you had stuck together during it apart from the end.

It had, however, taken a close friend of yours, Jorah.

At the funeral, Arya stood with you as you watched your friend be burned and put to whatever came next.

 As you walked off, you felt a hand grab your arm. You turned, seeing your sister look at you as something other than a soldier for once. You caught Arya’s eye, and nodded for her to continue. She did as ask.

“What, my queen?” She hated the way you threw the name back at her. She was hurting, as were you. But, right now, she wanted; no, she needed support.

“When we go to Kings Landing, I want you to ride Raeghal.” You watched her with mistrust, as if she could be lying to you. She hated it, “I need us to be ok.” She said, maybe it was the grief, the hurt of losing a close friend that made her not look at you as a soldier anymore.

Despite the anger you carried, you nodded. It was something. Something was better than nothing.

 So, you rode. Well, you flew, but still. You flew for what you were sure was your first time. But you seemed to be quite adept at it, despite this fact. As you did, Danny watched with a happy smile. Despite the pain of losing Jorah, having you be happy for once was enough to help for a little.

That was until the spike went through Raeghal. She could only watch as you fell on top of the dragon.

“NO!” She cried out as she watched you hit the waves below. She rose up to the clouds, then went straight down.

She was gong to make them pay.

 She had lost her best friend next. The losses were piling up, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t lose anyone else. Well, that was mainly because there was no one else. There was no one else left to lose really.

Then her heart hurt more at the last memory of you being you falling towards the ocean.

So, as Jon approached to try and get her to spare the people of Kings Landing. She only had one thing to say.

“Would they have shown Y/N the same mercy if they had him at their mercy?” Jon knew the answer just as well as she did.

No; no, they wouldn’t. So, why should she?

 You washed up on shore. How? You had no idea; mainly just pure dumb luck had brought you there. You were alive though, that was what had mattered.

You closed your eyes a moment. You could just stop here; you could just stop and give up and let yourself die. You could just let your sister have her way in the dark door that she was shutting behind her now.

 “Danny.” You said as you got ready to leave with the Dothraki. She was terrified, something you understood. You felt your own fear for her. But it was just another dumb and reckless move your brother was making in a mere hope that he could reach his end point.

“Yes, Y/N?” She asked you in a soft, almost childlike voice.

“Look at me,” She did so,” Look, whatever happens. I’ll be there, ok? I’ll be there until the end.” You promised her.

 No, you couldn’t stop. Especially not when you heard screams in the distance.

You stood to your feet, saying, “fuck the armour” and ditching it. It was ruined anyway and would only run you down.

If there was one thing those that taught you to fight had done, it was show you how to conserve energy the best way possible.

So, you ran, you ran as fast as you could towards the screams.

The screams that you knew had been caused by your sister.

 You saw the burning gate of Kings Landing as your own lungs burned. How you made it? You didn’t know, you were just glad you did.

It was then you saw a horse coming out of the gate, a white one. It was one that belonged to Arya Stark. You continued onward to try and catch up with your friend.

“ARYA!” You yelled to her. Somehow, your voice reached her, and she stopped, before meeting your gaze. She dropped from her horse and ran to you, you both embraced each other.

“I thought we lost you.” She said, in a voice that was different to what you were used to. It was scared, an almost childlike one. It reminded you of your sister. The one who had the firepower to burn the city and do the damage that had been caused.

“Are you alright?” You asked her as you gave her a once over. She did the same to you.

“Are you?” She asked, concern dripping from her words.

“I’ll live,” Your words gave her some ease, “Now, where’s my sister?”

 She was giving a speech, your apparent death apparently meaning nothing at this point. She stood, talking about all the chaos as if it was the plan all along, as if it was a victory rather than what it actually was.

A defeat. A massacre.

You moved forward, only for your friend to grab your arm. You looked to her and she shook her head.

“You can’t go out there, you’ll be killed.” She warned you.

“I have to stop her.” You vowed. She nodded, agreeing with you; but she then nodded her head behind you. Turning, you saw Jon walking up to her.

“Come on, we’ll go around. I used to run around this area when I visited. We can take a shortcut to get up there without getting caught.” You nodded, following your friend as she did so.

 “I have to get in there.” You said as you walked between the two siblings. Jon looked at you with shock, but it died when he looked at Danny once again. The woman he loved and his aunt. It was complicated. So, maybe the cycle wasn’t completely broken.

“I don’t know how to do it…” He drifted off. You saw his conflict first-hand; you looked at Arya. She seemed to be more guarded in his moment, but she softened as she saw your sad look and nodded. You gave your own, knowing what you had to do.

“I’ll do it.” You said, Arya gave you a blade to do it with.

You looked to Jon, giving him a pat on the arm and leaving to do what needed to be done.

 “Y/N…” You heard Danny say as you looked up to meet her gaze. Her eyes watered as she looked at you with that sisterly love that had been lost so long ago and replaced with either apathy or slight care.

“Did you even look for me?” You asked, for once not feeling selfish in your question.

“I had a war to win, Y/N. And, look, we made it. We did it. Father’s stories weren’t true…. But we won!” She was excited; you’d never seen her this excited apart from when you were both younger and heard those stories.

Now, this seemed to be the end of that story.

“One last hug before you take the seat?” You asked, trying to keep your voice from cracking. She obliged your request, running over and hugging you tightly. It had been the first hug you’d have in so long.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry I did that to you. You’re my brother. The good one. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.” She went to say more, but a knife was plunged into her before she could do so.

She gasped, eyes wide staring back at you as she looked at the blade in her stomach. You held her shoulder’s as you laid her down on the ground. She looked at you with that childlike innocence for a moment longer.

“I’m sorry.” Was your last exchange before her breathing stopped and her eyes glazed over?

You let out a sob as you fell back. You had done what had been needed; you stopped the cycle of death and destruction. You had stopped her reckless moves, only if a little too late.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, you saw Jon above you. He held out an arm for you. You took it and was hauled to your feet.

“Give me the knife,” You looked at him with confusion, “I’ll take the fall,” You went to answer back; to argue your case when he continued, “You’ve done so much for family in a short space of time. You brought Arya back to her humanity. And you helped us when needed. Just…let me help you this time.” So, you handed him the blade, uttering only two words.

“Thank you.”

 You stayed out of the politics, but Jon was being banished beyond the wall. However, it was a fit thing for the man, he was always better there anyway.

Oddly, you were invited by the Stark’s to see them off. Seems Jon’s words were right.

So, you stood to the side as you watched the siblings see each other off. Even if seeing it hurt you a little. Once they had all said their own goodbyes, they looked to you and silently told you to approach.

“I almost lost myself,” Arya admitted, “But, meeting you helped show me the path I was on and what it could lead to. Thank you for that, Y/N.” She said as she hugged your firmly. She seemed to sense your grief as well, as she tightened it a little more at your tense reaction.

“I’ll be sure to write to you and let you know what I found.” She told you as she pulled away.

Sansa gave you a smile, “Winterfell is always going to be open to you, my lord. You’re welcome any time you’d want to visit. We’re in a great debt to you.” She said, you smiled gratefully at the offer; you bowed to her to show your gratitude.

Bran just watched; you didn’t really have much to say to the new king. Besides, he probably saw it coming anyway.

Jon looked at you with mixed emotions; not at yourself, of course; but at your actions, “You can still come, if you want.” He offered you, sweetly.

“I can’t,” You declined, “I need to fix this. I couldn’t stop her quick enough. So, I have to try and help rebuild what she broke.” Jon nodded, respecting your answer and reasoning.

“I wish you well, lord Y/N.” You placed your arm on his.

“I wish you a safe journey, Jon Snow.”

 You were the last Targaryen now. That was once told to be a dangerous thing. But, in your eyes, it was going to be peaceful. Yes, you’d morn your sister for years to come. But you had a calmer spirit now. The reckless streak in you had been buried years ago. But now it was gone for good.

 Now you could focus on the future. Now you could slowly rebuild. After all, you’d seen what happens when you rush it and give into power.

[wordynerdygurl]

Sweetness and Light

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  This is the last of my 500 Followers Request stories and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you!  As I was working on it, I saw a challenge from @peterman-spideyparker​ and took on one of the quote prompts, “I am in love with you and I’m terrified.”  It just flowed into this story so well!   Thank you @brokenthelovely for the amazing request!  Enjoy! Summary/ Request:  I’d like to request a Loki fic.  The reader and him have feelings for each other but he won’t make a move because he thinks everyone will be against it and he isn’t good for her.  She starts dating some guy and he tries to let her go but everyone eventually calls him out for letting her go and of course he realizes he was an idiot and then wins her back and they all live smuttily ever after! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  Some fluffy smut at the end, a little angsty and Loki being mischievous!

Why did you always have to look so good?  That was the thought crossing Loki's mind as you flitted past, one arm wrapped around Bucky, the other around Natasha.  Laughing, your scarlet lips a daring contrast to the emerald dress caressing you in ways that made Loki jealous of satin.

He was always so aware of you.  Without conscious thought, Loki would, inevitably seek out your soft figure.  Relaxing only once he knew you were in his line of sight.  

His ear, normally attuned to classical music or epic poetry, could pick up your sugarcane sighs across a crowded room.  The lilt of your voice, dropping to a whisper in order to tell a bawdy joke, seemed to float above the hollow ringing guffaws of everyone else.  To Loki you were a songbird, glorious of plumage, spellbinding in sound.

It was a nightmare for the fallen prince.

A being as lovely as you lived in the light.  Sunkissed and radiant, you had this annoying habit of drawing everyone into your orbit.  Even the historically stoic, your Bucky Barnes or Bruce Banners, found their withered roots spreading in the enchanting glow of your attention.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't immune either.  Just yesterday she had smiled at Loki.  A genuine  smile, something he had never experienced before, which set off a chain of events leaving the young God spooked.  

“What?  You're smiling at me… It’s eerie, quite frankly.”  Snarky sarcasm laced each syllable as Loki sipped from his espresso's miniature cup, Natasha's ever watchful eyes on him. “Come on, Loki.  You know…"  Waiting for his response, impatient and searching, she cocked her head.  "He has to know right?  Right?”  Turning to Captain America, his nose in a book, Natasha shook her head in disbelief.  

Searching through the assorted granola bars, desperately looking for a dark chocolate almond wrapper but coming up empty, Loki was only half listening.  "Damn, all out."  Meeting Natasha's glare, "I have to know what, exactly?" "I… I can't.  Not today.  Not with you, Loki"  Spinning on her heel, steaming tea in hand, Natasha left with a wide eyed glance at Steve.

"Not that I truly care, but what exactly is her problem?"  Biting into an overripe pear, juice running over his fingers, Loki spared a look at the doorway before The Captain could answer.

You again.

Coasting into the room, bubbling and bright, whistling to yourself, "Hiya Stevie!  How's the book?  You like it?"

Smiling at you in a way that made Loki's blood boil, Steve sighed, "It's so good.  Like, speaks to my soul, good."

Shooting a wink his way, "I told you!  The part where she goes to the farm?"

"And she sees the truck!"

Scooting into the seat next to Steve, your hand resting on his bicep so casually, "I know!  Oh, it's so good!  Wait until you read the ending!"

Wishing he was sightless, Loki really didn't want to see anymore.  Watching Steve grin at you, your easy connection with the super soldier visible to everyone, turned Loki's stomach sour. The wholesome display of you and the Captain, discussing some novel, made Loki nauseous.

As it was, you were practically perfect, Steve was actually perfect.  Together you were All American, teeth crackling, sweetness.  It was blinding, the beautiful brilliance of the pair of you.  Sunshine and pretty teeth, foreheads nearly pressed together, seemingly lost in a private world.

"Have you ever read it, Loki?"  Your voice changes.  He notices because it's not as warm or friendly as before.  It cools just a bit, freezing your intentions, confusing the hell out of Loki.  

You haven't looked at him once, a thing Loki wishes he didn't notice.  Even now you're focused on the cover of this wonderful book and not the God of Mischief.  Turning to the sink, Loki answers you over his shoulder.

"Drivel, I suspect.  Midgardian garbage.  Melodrama and kitsch… no thank you."  Focusing on washing the pear from his hands, lest he get sticky, Loki's features are unreadable.  His voice though, that oozed disdain.

"I like it… so far."  Steve defended, trying to correct the conversation.

Your mysterious voice went soft, "Well, can't win 'em all I guess.  Thanks for teaching me about your literary tastes now, Loki, rather than after the wedding!"  

He stiffened at your teasing comment.  His back was to you, gripping a paper towel, drying his hands.  Wedded to you?  What a ludicrous thought.

Tossing his towel into the trash, Loki sees you rifling through the snack bin, "Dang!  No dark chocolate almond granola bars?  That's why I come down here!"  Plastering on a pretend pout, you pass behind Loki and suddenly you are that bobbing band of gold again.  "Drink some water, Loki!  It's good for you!  See you later, Steve!"

A hurricane was less destructive.  In a matter of minutes you had blown in and out, leaving Loki in the wreckage of your touchdown.  Even Steve was different after your visit.

"Man.  Natasha is right.  I never noticed it before… but, holy moley."  Chuckling as he returned to the much adored story, Steve looked at Loki over the pages, "You're crazy in love with that girl."

"What?  How dare you!"  Feeling the hot flash of anger flood his face, Loki instinctively went for his daggers, ready to silence the impertinent Avenger in front of him.

Lifting his hands in a sign of surrender, Steve was still laughing, "I take it back.  I take it back.  I won't tell her that you like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about.  Like her.  Like her?  What's to like?"

Steve closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest, "Everything.  Loki, she's just a great person.  And for some reason she likes you.  A lot."

"No.  Not me.  You maybe, but not me."

"Wrong.  It's you, buddy.  And… I think you like her too."

Those words had taken root in Loki's head.  Sprouting branches of thought that he would have never considered possible even hours ago, Loki tested the strengths of Steve's accusation, the validity of his claims.  Could it possibly be true?

Loki denied it.  What a silly idea, really.  To think that some little earthling might tempt the rightful King of Jotunheim, Prince of Asgard, son of Odin and God of Mischief.  Hardly.

And yet… He couldn't help the niggling feeling that there was something about you that deserved his attention.  

Was it in the way you seemed surrounded by music everywhere you went?  Either singing or humming, whistling a tune or blaring your playlist, it was rarely quiet in your presence.  Annoying.  But also, rather charming.

Or perhaps it was your turn of phrase.  "Yes, sir Drill Sergeant!" was a favorite whenever someone asked for your help.  "Put some pep in your step, a little glide in your stride, a little dip in your hip!"  With quips and quotes for all occasions, it seemed to Loki that you had a ready answer for everything.  No situation ever caught you off guard.  You were funny, unflappable and light.

Then there was your physical form.  Curvy.  Soft.  Deliciously feminine and daringly female.  

You wore short skirts with canvas tennis shoes.  Vintage band t-shirts with wide legged trousers and suit jackets.  You rolled up your jeans and sloughed around in ancient wooly cardigans.

Patterns got crossed, like plaids with polka dots.  Colors collided.  But you always pulled it off, an avant garde runway model for a post-modern haute couture design house.  

In short, you were the essence of cool.  Effortless.  Easy.  

"Oh gods… I do.  I like her."

It was that thought that kept Loki awake all night.  When sleep tried to claim him after an hours long workout with Thor, your voice pulled him back to wakefulness, the message relayed through the compounds AI.  "Hi everyone!  Don't forget!  Tonight is the annual scholarship fundraiser hosted by our favorite philanthropist, Tony Stark.  Tuxedos and gowns kiddos!  See you there!"  Even recorded you sound chipper and cheerful.  It delighted and disgusted Loki in equal measure.

At the fundraiser, tucking himself into a shadowed corner, Loki pretended not to watch you and your emerald gown.  Nursing a cocktail, chatting only when absolutely necessary, his plan was to forget his wayward thoughts and yesterday's conversation with Steve.  If you kept away, he might get through the night.

An hour in and Loki's restless with need.  What he wants to do is march over to you, take you in his arms and press that pliant body of yours to his.  Feel your crimson lips, taste your singing mouth and discover if it's as warm as he imagines.  

His tumbler hits the bar with a heavy thunk.  Running his hands through his dark hair, tightening the knot of his tie, Loki exhales once.  With renewed purpose, crossing the floor, he’s stalking towards you.  Nothing will distract him now.  He is a man of action going after the thing he wants most.  You.

Just a few steps more, Loki thinks.  Your profile is illuminated in the dim lights of the hall.  You're laughing.  You are always laughing, it seems.

Watching as you swing your head his way, Loki's certain that you've spotted him and his intentions.  Wanda taps your shoulder, directing your focus back to her as she points into the crowd, giggling in your ear.  A man, broad and strong, strides into your circle.

Loki's step falters as his excellent hearing picks up your joyful squeal of delight.  This person, this interloper, puts his hands around your waist.  Swinging you into a possessive bear hug, kissing you at the same time, he makes a show of literally sweeping you off your feet in front of everyone at Tony’s gala.  

You’re a blur, the motion of it making Loki dizzy.  He is also frozen in place.  Questions buzz like angry bees at the familiar way this person is handling you.  It's not right.  It's not proper.  And it's all because those are not Loki’s hands on you.

"Loki!  Hi!  I want you to meet my boyfriend Marcus!  Marc, this is Loki!"  

A beefy hand extends your way, attached to an equally beefy person, with an overeager smile.  "Loki!  I've heard so much about you.  You're good with knives, right?  Maybe we can train together sometime?"

Loki, noticing how Marc's hand rested possessively on the swell of your hip, thinks, Yes.  I would love to throw daggers at you, Marc.  Instead, with a charming chuckle Loki answers, "Well, our girl is too kind.  It was nice to meet you, Matt."

"It… it's Marc."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!  Marc.  Right.  Apologies!  Please, enjoy your evening!"  Plastering his smile on permanently, pride stinging, Loki slunk away to nurse his wounds in the solace of his room. 

You were with Marc now.  He was too late.  And there was no good excuse beyond pride for Loki's inability to see the plain truth.  You were pretty wonderful, something Loki had always known, deep down.  Now, you were someone else's.

In truth, it took Loki two days to square with the fact that you were with a lesser man.  You were beautiful and clever and a constant delight, but you were with Marc.  There was no changing that fact, right?

Wrong.  The reason Loki didn't surface during waking hours for the next week was because he had a plan.  He would win you, do the work, make you realize that you belonged with him. 

Yet, each plan failed in one way or another.  

When Loki accidentally on purpose cancelled your dinner plans at a trendy new hot spot, Tony had called in a favor.  You and Marcus had dined in the private wine cellar, met the chef, and walked back into the compound holding hands.  Loki stormed away before you could tell him all about your wonderful night. Overhearing Marcus brag about a weekend away, bathing suits and a boat, Loki asked Thor for help.  “It’s the weather.  You see, I need it to rain.  I need thunder and lightning.  And all those wonderful things that you control.” “Brother, I am the God of Thunder, not the God of Weather.” “Can you please, just… do this one thing for me?  Please?” Whether it was Loki‘s manic sincerity or his desperation that convinced Thor, Loki would never know.  What he did know was that your seaside sailing excursion had been cancelled due to unprecedented storms.  However, Wanda had helped Marcus with booking a hotel room for two nights instead.  You had a couples’ massage and drank champagne.  Loki sulked. Feeling like a cartoon coyote, Loki knew the surrender was near.  Always pragmatic, and resourceful, he had realized that as much as he might want to woo you, it was possible that you did not want to be wooed.  At least, not by Loki.   So, the handsome prince, with a gloomy face, once again strayed from the others.  Not content to make small talk when his heart knew such hurt, Loki slept during the day and moped around at night.  He avoided everyone as much as possible.  When interaction was inevitable, it was brief and direct.  Loki had no energy for games.  He was played out. He was also hungry. Which is how he found himself in the kitchen at 3:00 am, spooning cherry jell-o into his face, thinking about you.  He was so wrapped up in the idea of you that he could swear your voice was playing in his head.

“But, I don’t understand.  Marc?  That… that’s not fair.  I told you.  I told you how the job was… what I had to do… how it might be hard sometimes… But I thought?  Oh.  Oh…”  

Pausing, Loki realized that you weren’t an illusion.  You were at the compound, and tonight you weren’t laughing.  In fact, Loki was fairly certain that he heard a sniff, something that you did when you were crying.  He remembered hearing it when the gang watched Old Yeller.  You had sobbed over the fictional pup.  It was adorable then, now, not so much. “Well… if that’s what you really think… Wow.  Ok, Marcus.  You made your point. Goodbye, I guess.”  Loki had heard you cry before.  Over the old yellow dog in that movie, because of a missing classified document and once due to Clint's awful singing.  Tonight though, there was silence.  Expecting to hear your sobs, Loki, surprised by the quiet, risked a peek around the corner to check on you. Probably, because you thought you were entirely alone at the inhumane hour of three in the morning, you let yourself sink down to the floor.  Bathed in the blue light of the Avengers “A”, resting your head against the textured wall with your phone still cradled in your palm, one fat tear rolled down your cheek.

Later on, Loki would tell you that everything that followed was because of that tear.  Something about that shiny track of sadness had hit the jokester right in his heart, watering the shriveled seed of his love for you.  It made him want to hold you, to keep the hurts of life away, protect you from the kind of sadness that had forced your happiness into hiding. Unhappy didn't do your current mental state justice.  More silent tears joined the first.  Another failed relationship, and if you were honest the water works weren't for Marcus.  They were for you.  

He was a handsome distraction, for sure.  And his reasons for dumping you?  Valid.  True.  

Canceled dates, long nights at work, the constantly ringing phone.  All things that you found more important than Marcus.  He was absolutely correct when laying the blame for this failure at your feet.  You did not want your partnership with Marcus to thrive, survive.  You had been killing time with him and that wasn't fair.

Not when there was someone else on your mind all the time.  

Marcus had been a paltry replacement for the man you really wanted.  Even though you had tried to deny it, fight against it, every time he touched you, you ached for the nimble fingers of a demigod.  Each kiss from Marc made you hungry for the flavor of Loki's mouth.  You hated yourself for it but stopping those thoughts had proven too difficult to manage.  In response, avoiding your boyfriend had become an easy habit to cultivate.

Which was worse, you sat on the floor wondering.  Having the wrong man or having no man?  Lusting after one while leading on the other?  Being desired by Marcus but faking your interest in him?  Wanting Loki but not being wanted by him in return?

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, mad at yourself.  There was no way to know Loki was watching you fall apart from the safety of the kitchenette.  Awash in self anger, almost alone, you struggled to pull yourself together.

Instead of second guessing himself, taking a deep breath, Loki swiftly rounded the corner and slipped down next to you.  His bony knee brushed against your own, "Some might give you a penny for your thoughts… but I'm afraid I only have a dark chocolate almond bar."  "Loki…"  Sighing with a small chuckle, barely surprised at his presence, you grabbed the offered snack, "My thoughts aren't worth this much."

"That's where you are wrong, dove.  I would pay this and more to have a better understanding of you."

Snorting derisively, "Really?  Most days you can barely be civil to me."

Loki's fierce gaze locked on your watery one, "Yes… well.  For that, I apologize.  You… You are a very nice person.  I, unfortunately, am not."

Swiping at your wet cheeks, smiling, "You are too!  Or, you can be… if you want to be."

"No, I leave chivalry to my brother.  Kindness to Captain Rogers… Sweetness to, well, you."

Turning toward him, your leg folded under you, "You're here now, and with my favorite snack, no less!  That's pretty nice, Loki."

Shyly smiling, "About that… I know you like them.  I keep a small stash in my room, in case Stark runs out."

"What?  Really?"  It's hard to believe that Loki would be so secretly thoughtful.  Playing with the wrapper in your hand, you raised a glance to the studious prince beside you, "That's… that maybe the sweetest thing anyone has done for me."

"I doubt that.  I'm sure your friend, Marcus, has done kind things for you."  Just saying the name made Loki's heart leap, worried that it might spook you.  Or, and this was worse, that you'd defend him because Marcus was the one you wanted.

"Don't play coy, Loki.  You know he just dumped me.  It's over… it's been over almost since it began."  Resting your warm hand on Loki's arm, the zing of your touch scorching his cool skin, distracted and disoriented him for a moment.

Whispering, almost timid with wanting to know, "Did you love him?  Do you?"

Slumping forward, your shaggy hair covering your face, "Nope.  Not even a little bit."

"Really?"  Loki fought against the swelling of glee that surged through him at your admission.

Snapping your head up, searching his face, "You sound surprised.  You shouldn't be… See, Loki,  I'm not as nice as you think I am."

"Oh yes you are… even now you feel bad about all this.  You wish you could have loved Marcus, eased his hurt, regardless of your own unhappiness. "  

Shaking your head gently, shrugging, "It would be easier, I think.  Less painful.  And I wouldn't be alone… again."

Loki betrayed nothing in his voice, but his mind was in a tailspin.  In a husky hum, he asked you, "Is that all you want, dove?  Not to be alone?"

Flashing your floormate a small smile, it faltered when you realized just how close you and Loki were.  He hadn't moved.  You had.  Near enough that you felt his body's heat melt into yours.  

"No… but it's a good start, don't you think?"

Instinctively, Loki reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.  "I think I am in love with you and I'm terrified."  

Hanging in the air between you, Loki's words, uttered so casually, expanded to fill the following silence.  Raising his hope filled eyes to yours, Loki offered a half smile, "Come on dove, if I have even half a chance, then for Odin's sake, tell me."

First your body went cold, shocked at Loki's revelation.  Next, a flush of heat rolled over you, flaming your cheeks.  It settled into your lower belly as a throbbing ache, an unscratched itch, needy and raw.

Murmuring, stunned, "You like me?"

Tossing his dark hair, "No… no, little one.  I love you.  And I am truly scared that you don’t feel the same way."  Loki shifted, mirroring your posture, your folded knees grazing against each other.  Leaning into your space, Loki's hands cupped your face.  Brushing his lips across your forehead, he kissed down the bridge of your nose and over your heated cheeks.  

His thumbs stroked along your jaw, tilting your chin up, as your lips parted.  Wasting no time, Loki pressed his firm mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly.  You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, drawing you deeper into Loki's arms, his tongue licking into your warm mouth.

Happily swallowing your sweet sigh, Loki's lips asked for more of you and you obliged.  Your hands gripped his shoulders, enjoying the firm muscled man beneath your hands, savoring the taste of Loki's tongue.  He pulled away first, groaning, "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too."

Picking up your hand, threading his digits through yours, "But… my leg is falling asleep sitting here on the floor."

Laughing out loud, "Me too!"  You moved to stand, but Loki tugged you back down again.

"Before we go… I wanted to ask you out for a proper date.  Dinner, a movie… dancing, drinks… whatever.  You name it!  I want to do this right, you see."

Nodding, you bit into your bottom lip, "I will let you wine and dine me, Loki.  I promise.  But… if I'm honest with you, I have been thinking about kissing you for months now… and I don't want to stop."

Loki stood taking you with him.  Once you were on your feet, your tall god wrapped his arm around your waist, snuggling you into his chest.  "I was afraid I had missed my chance.  That someone else had taken your heart."

"It's always been yours, Loki.  I’m in love with you too."

Your body melded to his.  Those lips were on your neck, making you gasp in rapture, as Loki's hands cupped your bottom.  Draping your arms over his broad shoulders, feeling the tensing muscles underneath the fabric of his dark tee, had you panting.

"Gods, you are incredible!"  

Like a purring cat, you rubbed your cheek into Loki's chest, "I could say the same about you."

Swallowing hard, still keeping you close, Loki studied your expression.  "Come on, dove.  Let's go."

Confusion crowded your features, "Go where?"

"I'm taking you to bed!"  Loki scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, as if you were a distressed damsel.  Squealing his name, you threw your head back, happy in Loki's capable hands.

In his apartment, naked on Loki's bed, you let his mouth devour you.  Starting with your full, round breasts, Loki licked and sucked your nipples under they were painfully taut.  Then his fingers found your peaks, pulling and tugging, until you were mewling for more.

Loki's tongue traced a line down the center of your body.  When he reached your glistening core, Loki used his thumbs to part your lower lips, blowing gently over your aroused flesh.  "Stop wiggling, dove!"

"But Loki!  I need you!"  As the words left your mouth, Loki's tongue licked through your silky skin, circling your clustered nerves.  You cried out when he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips while still licking against your sex.

With shaking thighs, your body released hard while Loki drank down your nectar.  Kissing back up your body, you tasted yourself when his mouth met yours, your tongues colliding.  Reaching down between your bodies, your fingers found Loki's significant size and you smiled wickedly.

"Easy kitten!"

"Oh no, I want you, Loki.  Hard and fast.  Please?"  When he tipped his head, agreeing, you gave his length a gentle squeeze.  Loki rested his forehead to yours as your lovely little hand directed him to your velvet core.

Once there, Loki's mouth found yours, tenderly kissing you as he gently burrowed into your slick satin skin.  Taking more and more of you, claiming your body with his deep thrusts, Loki's hips rocked into you.  Each plunge pushed you closer to completion.  

Your walls tightening, gripping Loki, had him moaning your name.  "I'm close, dove… so close."  

"Me too, Loki!"

His clever fingers dropped to your cleft, rubbing your engorged button, as Loki drove into you once more.  In a flash of supreme pleasure your bliss roared through you, stealing Loki's climax at the same time, as you clung to your man.  Shivering from the intensity of your passion, you refused to let Loki go, keeping your arms firmly around him as your body moved mindlessly in delight.

Loki kissed away the happy tears that spotted your cheeks.  Brushing the hair back from your face, he whispered tender words like "love" and "beautiful" and "darling girl" until slowly your tense muscles relaxed.  Loki gently withdrew from you, rolling you to your side to face him, wrapping a protective arm over you.

Satisfied beyond reason, you looked at your raven haired lover, eyes heavy.  "You should sleep, dove." "Hmm… yes.  But you'll stay with me, right, Loki?"

"Of course.  You're my sweet girl."

Scrunching into his side, snuggling under his quilt, you smiled.  “That’s me!"

The next morning Loki stirred some sugar into his tiny espresso cup, a secret smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  Steve sat at the counter, a newspaper spread out in front of him, mug of coffee nearby.  From down the hall, your whistling reaches the room before you do.

"Hiya Stevie!  Any good news in there today?"

Tearing himself away, "Not that I've seen.  How are you?  You seem… happy.  Happier than usual."

You lock eyes with Loki, grinning from ear to ear, "I am.  Things are good… great even."

Hopping up on the island, looking through the bin of snack bars, Loki steps between your knees.  "Looking for this?"  

"Yes!  My favorite treat!  And my favorite you!"  Throwing your arms around his neck, you draw Loki into a deep kiss, his hands running up your sides.

Understanding lit up Steve’s face, "Whoa!  Wait!  Is this real?  Did it finally happen?"    

"Yup!  So, uh… tell Tony we're taking the morning off, ok?"

"Actually, Steve, please tell Stark that we are taking the rest of the day off.  Don't call.  My sweet girl and I will be too busy to answer."  With that Loki grabbed you by the hips, wrapping your legs around him as he marched you out of the room.

Sweetness and Light, that’s what you were and that’s just what Loki needed.   ----

Tags:  @brokenthelovely​ @iamverity​ @just-random-obsessions​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @mizfit2​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @lots-of-loki​

[magnctic]

                                                    OPALS TASK .

  — under the cut you’ll find 6 wanted connections for ms alejandra barrera !!!

@opalsmedia !!!

( ❛ come on mystery girl , give me something ❜  ) . — open to prodigies

 a moment of weakness . a moment of being tipsy ( maybe ) , vulnerable , and general emotions getting the best of her . . your character goads alejandra one night . maybe you’re even just trying to get to KNOW the locked-up-shell that she is . there’s a pause . silence . your eyes meet . it’s dark , and cold , and you both don’t know what you’re after , but know there’s something . .  something . .  . LIPS COME CRASHING TOGETHER . suddenly . frantic . messy . you are each other’s oxygen for one night , and only one night . you cling to each other . but it is what it is . . a mistake . one which alejandra is embarrassed over ( from her own momentary lapse of control ) . you don’t speak again . not about that . not a chance . alejandra will never allow for it .

tldr : a messy  , rushed one night stand that ends very awkwardly

( ❛ oh no , you hit me in the heart ❜  ) . — TAKEN by ISADORA

  alejandra was not good to you . in fact , she was bad . she was closed off , snappy , chasing perfection & endless battles within herself . she had growing to do  . there was one particular instance / event that really ripped you both apart . and it was her fault . but she’s forever been trying to fix it . trying to fix things between you both . you are not being won over . tensions rise , and rise , and alejandra hates the idea and vision of her having messed up so badly . SHE DIDN’T MEAN TO . this ends with a bang . there’s screaming on both ends , yelling . long-time truths are finally revealed . heartbreak swims between you both , knowing things will never be the same again , no matter how hard alejandra tries  . alejandra has a bit of a breakdown and begins to realise she still has a lot of self - improvement to work on . but she will get there . she has to .

tldr: alejandra needs to break down and admit that she isn’t perfect . this is a pretty important development for her arc and character !! she needs to scream and yell and cry ugly tears . but also , feel free to yell right back and make this as angsty as you want !

( ❛ it’s okay to not be okay  ❜  ) . — TAKEN by EVELYN

 giggles . laughter . the sight of perfection is shortened when alejandra is around you . mainly she just has . . fun . flirting . silliness . she can let her hair down with you . you never expect anything from her . once more , alejandra is a completely different person around you . someone who you can call for a late night drive , or mcdonalds run . you laugh until your stomachs hurt . you just mould together , and bounce off each other . nobody would guess that you two are friends , because in any other circumstance . . you’re complete opposites . you are somebody whom she LETS see her in a non - perfect state . she lets down the facade . ( the only other person she was like this around was rhys ) .

tldr: a tiny bit of a flirtationship , a tiny bit of a ‘ bad influence ‘ if you want to call it that . more just a fun friend to help loosen alejandra up and show her fun side to .

( ❛ we’re not friends , we’re family  ❜  ) . — open to anyone

  a sense of unity . you lean on each other , rely on each other . your weakest moments are shared . your hardest battles are fought together . you are , simply put , family . two halves of one whole . you are not complete without each other . there is a raw honesty with both of you . you don’t hide things , and you don’t filter them . there is no secrecy here , but absolute transparency . when one is hurt , you admit it to the other . late night conversations fill hours , and hearts are poured out to one another . you are each other’s safety net and security blanket .

tldr : a genuine extremely close connection of two characters being ride or die , take-it-to-the-grave , basically siblings . they are 110 % honest and real with each other , and one of the only people alejandra genuinely opens up to about herself !

( ❛ break my heart , i expect you to .  ❜  ) . — open to anyone

   abandonment. alejandra is well versed in it . first her biological parents and then . .  . you . that’s right . you left alejandra . one day you were there , and the next you simply vanished. it broke her heart into a million pieces . alejandra never thought she’d see you again , until years later , here you are at the opal society . and oh , how it hurts . how it aches . how it burns . life is so cruel and unfair . alejandra acts cordial , but under it all . . rage and hurt is boiling and brimming to the surface , ready to explode at any moment . why did you leave ? why why why ?

tldr : this can be romantic or platonic , i don’t mind ! basically , your character left for WHATEVER reason you can think of or discuss and it really shattered alejandra into a million pieces  . she pretends to hate you , but she’d take you back in a heartbeat because she really loved you and probably always will .

( ❛ the lovers need to clear the road .  ❜  ) . — open to prodigies

  you fall into something . together . it’s not love , exactly , but it is something neither of you were expecting . it just . . happens . one day you’re at a meeting together , and then suddenly time spent together is too easy . you like each other , but you’re not sure to what extent . you’re both pre-occupied with others on your minds , maybe , and thoughts of other things . but this . . this is easy . you fall together , and it’s platonic in every sense except that you call it a relationship and you hold hands , and you’re great together . god . you’re really great together . and you think you want to be together , because you think that’s what is meant to happen here . but you’re not designed together in that way . you’re not fit for each other . no matter how hard you both try .

tldr : alejandra needs to see what a healthy relationship is like . i want this to be very wholesome and sweet , and basically someone maybe taking time to be like ‘ uh alejandra , keeping that bottled inside isn’t normal ? ‘ and teaching her how to let go of some control . this is a very selfish self-serving plot , but yes okay somebody date alejandra and show her how to develop things romantically in a healthy way . i don’t want this to end in bad blood , but perhaps both of them being like ‘ you know what ? i think we are just friends ‘ , but they teach other a lot during the time of their relationship .