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youare-mysonshine · 4 years ago

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heavy || bucky barnes

Summary: reader’s mental health has been taking a decline and bucky is there.

Requested: No

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: talks of mental health, depression, anxiety, angst, cussing.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back I guess lmao. I’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately and I guess I kinda just wanted to put it into words, something productive? And I’ve been feeling our angsty emo boy bucky barnes. Most of you might’ve followed me for my Oscar fics but I kinda wanna branch out and I thought this would be a good time to do so. Anyways, I know that some of you have inboxed me or messaged me and I haven’t responded and I’m sorry. But I just want you all to know that if you’re struggling, I’m always here to talk. About anything, always. So, I hope you enjoy this. I might’ve cried while writing this lmao and I also might’ve ended it on such an awkward place but, i’m still getting used to writing again. (Flashbacks are in italics)

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Bucky didn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes. He didn’t miss the way you sort of slouched as you approached him. He didn’t miss the way that your smile didn’t really meet your eyes.

“Hey,” You said in a breathless voice. “Sorry, I’m late. I got held up.” You said as you took a seat across from him in the booth. Held up. It was better than telling him that you were thinking of just not showing up at all. In the end, you knew that you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t just blow off your new friend who you had so enjoyed spending time with. So, in a rush, you got dressed and made your way to the small, quiet diner that you two had taken to frequenting together. Bucky Barnes was an enigma if you’d ever met one. The way that you had met was rather.. cliche and something straight from a story.

You had been trying to lay off of the caffeine for a while, realizing that you had nearly gone through an entire packet of 32 k-pods that you had just purchased. You realized that you might’ve had a problem. You had been going pretty strong with staying away from caffeine for the time being, until you passed by a coffee shop and got a whiff of coffee. You just couldn’t help yourself; you bought a cup of coffee. It was when you were walking down the street, holding the cup of coffee in one hand, looking down, that you didn’t see someone walking right in your path. You had collided into what seemed like a solid wall and the impact had caused you to squeeze the cup of coffee in surprise, the warm liquid burning your hand, staining your clothes and the other person. You had realized it was another person you had crashed into when you heard them let out a low cuss.

Bucky’s grumpy self had been fully prepared to tell you off for crashing into him, having just left his therapist’s office, but when you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours, a million apologies spilling from your lips a mile a minute, he swallowed whatever harsh words had nearly sprung forth. He had apologized as well; both of you had been at fault. Bucky had been going over his session with Dr. Raynor that morning, completely lost in his own mind, and you had your eyes trained on the ground, something that was a bad habit of yours. The shock of realizing you had bumped into a man, a really really handsome man with the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen, had made you temporarily forget that you had practically scorched your hand with the coffee, and that you had gotten it on him as well.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You said once again, quickly averting your eyes from the handsome stranger’s face. Instead you focused on the smushed cup in your hand and the stains on his leather jacket. It just made you feel even terrible. “I, I can pay for you to get your jacket cleaned, if you want. Really. I wasn’t paying attention and I just, for whatever reason, squished my cup and.. I’m sorry.” You said, kind of breathlessly.

“It’s.. it’s alright.” His voice was like the coffee that you had been drinking. Smooth and rich. It was deep, something that reverberated deep in your chest and had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Really, it’s fine. And don’t worry about my jacket. No harm, no foul.” He said. “You should, uh, you should take care of that hand. Hope you didn’t burn yourself too bad.” He gestured to your hand, still clutching the cup, with one of his own gloved hands.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that hot. Thank you, though. And again, I’m really, really sorry.” Sparing one, seemingly, last glance at the handsome stranger, you side stepped him and began to walk away, tossing the empty cup of coffee in a trash can on the sidewalk. But you didn’t get very far because that deep voice called out to you, halting you in your tracks.

“Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” Bucky’s mouth had opened and spoken the words long before his brain could even catch up. He didn’t know why he had asked you that, but something in his gut was just telling him too.

“What?” A look of total bewilderment had crossed your face and he had seen it.

“I just, well I thought that, since I bumped into you, I could make it up to you by buying you a new cup of coffee. If you wanted, I mean. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.” Bucky clarified, hand stuffed in his pocket, waiting for your answer. For a few seconds, you simply stood there, unsure of what to say because surely this wasn’t happening? The last time that you had gone out with a guy was.. well, shit, you didn’t even remember the last time. The little voice in the back of your head, that anxious, paranoid little voice, was telling you not to go off with a stranger. You’d watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds and other true crime shows and documentaries to know that situations like this never turned out well. However, you didn’t get a bad feeling from this particular man. He seemed just as awkward and slightly frazzled as you felt. So you agreed.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

That had happened about two months ago. Ever since then, you and Bucky had formed a strong friendship. Your first time getting coffee with him had been awkward, as were the next few times that you had seen one another. But things got easier. Becoming friends was easy. You kind of fell into this routine, almost as if you two had known each other your whole lives. That was why Bucky telling you who he really was had been terrifying for him. He carried around guilt and shame and just contempt for everything he’d done. Everything The Winter Soldier represented, and when he told you, he figured that you would think the same. He had asked you meet him at the diner that had now become your spot and and you remember how he nervously wrung his gloved hands together. You remember when you asked him what was wrong and he didn’t verbally respond but he took off his gloves; the right one first and then the left, revealing a shiny black metal hand, golden lines intricately placed.

He told you then. Maybe he didn’t tell you everything but he told you who he was and he had braced himself for you to get up and storm out. Or, to yell at him and tell him how much of a monster he was. But, it never came. Instead, you reached out and placed your hand on top his. Not his real hand, but the metal one. You didn’t say anything. You just gave him that smile that was quickly becoming his favorite. Sometimes, silence spoke a thousand words. To Bucky, you had become kind of a respite for him. Even in the late nights or mornings when he woke up after a nightmare. Or after a particularly hard session with Dr. Raynor. He had closed himself off from other people except you.

Bucky might not have known it, but he gave you the same level of comfort as you gave him. You found yourself craving his presence. Every time you were around him, you couldn’t help but to smile or laugh. In the time that you spent together, your mind was clear and free from all your worries. It all evaporated into thin air. Your mind, usually so active with all sorts of thoughts and worries, could finally rest when you were with Bucky. You could sleep. You could get up in the morning without that stress and anxiety drowning you. It was okay. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

“No problem, doll.” He said, gloved hands clasped under the table on his lap. “I already ordered. Got your usual. Hope that was alright.” He added, to which you nodded absentmindedly.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Thanks Buck.” You said, mustering up a half hearted smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It was like even smiling drained the energy from you. You were exhausted. Not even just physically but mentally and emotionally. You had been having such good days for a while now, since meeting Bucky. You felt like maybe you would finally be alright but.. this feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing was quite right, it was heavy. It weighed you down. It suffocated you. You wanted to be alone, but you also couldn’t stand to be alone because when you were alone, you were just stuck in your head and being in your head was the absolute worst place to be.

The intrusive thoughts had started. They told you that you would do nothing but weigh Bucky down. That he didn’t need someone like you in his life, someone with clear problems of their own, when he was going to therapy trying to better himself. Even if it had been mandatory for him to go. You wanted to push him away, save him from yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

Bucky noticed the shift in you. Normally when you two met up, whether it was at the diner or anywhere else, you would usually talk his ear off. Not that he minded, he was content to just sit back and listen to you. Sometimes, you’d tell him about a new book that you had started reading. You had just started reading the fifth Harry Potter book and you were trying to get him to read them. You’d tell him about your day. You’d ask him how his day went, how it went with Dr. Raynor, though you never pushed for more information. You always let him share if he was comfortable with it and he appreciated that. Sometimes you teased him for being such an old man.

The food came soon after you had arrived and sure enough, Bucky had ordered your usual. It sent a pang through your heart when you realized that he had memorized your order, down to the extra syrup and whipped cream on the pancakes. Bucky always liked to make fun of you for ordering the same thing when you came to the diner. No matter what time it was, you always ordered the pancakes with extra syrup and extra whip cream, with the strawberries on the side. Secretly, though he found it adorable.

Today, you had barely even taken more than a few bites and that was what really let Bucky know that something wasn’t right. You kept your head down, eyes on the pancakes and you cut them up, bringing a few up to your mouth and chewing slowly, but you mostly just moved them around your plate with the fork in your hand. Bucky himself had barely taken only a few bites of the food he’d ordered for himself, but it wasn’t for lack of appetite, it was because of the growing concern. His bright blue eyes were now a stormy grey, kind of like the clouds that you see during a heavy storm. His brows were furrowed, giving him an appearance almost as if he were angry.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve barely eaten your food and normally you finish before I do.” He attempted to joke, to bring about that smile that seemed to always fill him with warmth. He half expected you to look up at him with that cheeky little smile, a mischievous look in your eyes and say “You know, I would be offended by that, but I know why you eat so slow, Buck. I completely understand. You don’t want your dentures to fall out.” But it never came.

You don’t know what it was. Bucky asking you if you were alright or if it was simply all the pressure of just.. everything, finally breaking, but you could feel the hot tears in your eyes. They blurred your vision until you couldn’t really see the plate of the pancakes in focus. The dam had finally come apart and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You set the fork down and buried your face in your hands, your shoulders lightly shaking as you began to cry. All Bucky could do was stare for a few seconds, alarm written all over his face. Alarm and distress because he had no idea what just happened and if he had done something to upset you.

“Woah woah, hey. Sweetheart, hey. What’s wrong?” In seconds, Bucky was out of his side of the booth and scooting in beside you. You felt the comfort of his warmth, you felt his arm tentatively, almost hesitantly, slide around your shoulders and anchor you to him. You shook your head, attempting to calm down, to stop the tears but the more you tried, the more they seemed to come.

“I-I’m sorry, Bucky.. I.. I’m sorry.. I-I’m fine. Really.” You said, sniffling. It was apparent to you both that you were not alright and he really just wanted to get to the bottom of it. Or at least attempt to comfort you. But doing that in the middle of a diner with other people around wasn’t ideal.

“Hey, my apartment is only a short walk away. Come on, let’s get you out of here and somewhere more quiet.” You didn’t protest. You just nodded and slid out of the booth after he did. Bucky took out his wallet and placed a few bills on the table, paying for the uneaten food, and then quickly led you out of the establishment. He kept his hand on you, almost like an anchor. Whether it was to reassure you or himself, he didn’t know and you didn’t mind either. It was probably the only thing that kept you from retreating inside of your mind and giving in to the panic that so desperately wanted out.

You didn’t even realize that you had reached his apartment until he had led you up the stairs and you were standing behind him as he unlocked the door. He allowed you to step in first and then quickly followed behind you, shutting the door as he did so. You didn’t really get the chance to take in his apartment because he had ushered you to sit on his couch while he knelt in front of you.

“Alright, you’re scarin’ me here, doll. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” The sheer look of concern and slight panic in his face and those pretty eyes of his made the waterworks come back again. You shook your head, your face scrunched up in anguish. Hot bullet tears fell from your eyes and left a wet path in their wake down your cheeks. Bucky wasn’t one to pry; he hated it when people tried to pry into his life and he didn’t do it to you, but he couldn’t stand the sight of seeing you cry. He couldn’t stand the sight of your once bright eyes and cheery smile just.. gone. You eyes were sad and your lips were pulled into a frown. “Talk to me, baby.” He practically pleaded.

“I just.. I don’t.. I don’t know how to explain it, Buck.” You cried. “I-I.. I just feel like..” You let out a frustrated cry when you couldn’t find the right words but Bucky was patient. He reached a hand up, cupping your cheek and wiping away the tears that kept falling. “I don’t feel.. happy. Everyday I wake up and I just, I feel fine for like a few seconds and then everything just comes crashing down on me. I can’t ever stop thinking. I can’t sleep at night. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, Bucky. And I feel fucking crazy. Sometimes I feel like you don’t even really like me. I feel.. hopeless, like nothing is ever going to be okay. I might feel okay for a few seconds but then it just goes away.” You explained, though you were sure that you probably sounded like a raving and ranting lunatic. “Before I met you, I liked being alone but I also hated it because when I was alone, I would just overthink and overthink and overthink about every fucking thing. If it wasn’t one thing it was another just giving me such bad anxiety and.. I don’t know what to do anymore, Bucky. I’m just tired of feeling like this. Feeling like nothing is ever going to be okay, like I’m never going to be okay. I just feel.. alone.”

His heart was well and truly broken. In the two months that he’d known you, he hadn’t known how badly you had struggled with your mental health. He hadn’t known the war that you fought within your mind, and how bad it had become. You were such saving grace for Bucky; you saved him from the wars inside of his mind. The constant feeling of guilt that he fought with on a daily basis, and now.. he just wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to shoulder some of the pain that you carried, the pain that seemed to be weighing you down. Both of his hands now cupped your cheeks so delicately, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. His blue eyes were shining, looking at you with not pity, but something like.. understanding. If anyone knew what you were feeling, it was Bucky.

“You’re not alone.” His smooth and rich voice was so soft, so gentle that it brought on a new set of tears. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore. You know why? Cause you got me.” He said. “I know what it’s like to feel hopeless. To feel stuck in your head. To feel like nothing is ever gonna get better. I felt like that in Wakanda. Sometimes.. sometimes, we need help. And I know I’m not one to be talking considering that I don’t really like talking to my therapist or even going,” That roused the smallest of smiles from you. “I’m here. You know that, right? I’m here. You got me and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I don’t care if you have a million bad days. I don’t care if you feel like you’re bothering me. I’ll be there every time.” You two have gradually gravitated close to one another until your foreheads were pressed together. Bucky was still knelt in front of you on the couch, his hands still holding your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. The tears had stopped falling but you were still sniffling softly. “You’ve helped me. Even if you don’t know it. You’ve helped me.” He was whispering. There was no one but you two in his apartment but he was still whispering the words meant for only you to hear. “Now, let me help you. Please.”

“Okay. I trust you, Bucky.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #tfatws #mcu #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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wonderlandhatter · 4 years ago

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Will you read to me?

Pairing: Spencer x femReader

Summary: You're feeling unsettled after a case, so Spencer helps you get some sleep and get a smile back on your face.

Word count: 1863

Warnings: fluff (is that a warning idk), mentions of an unsub, feeling overwhelmed after an unsub touches you (just your hand and waist nothing in detail). Tiny bit of angst I think mostly fluff though

A/N: Ok so this is my first attempt at writing a fic, it ended up being longer than I thought it would be, anyways if you would like to give me some feedback that would be greatly appreciated, hope someone out there enjoys this, I really liked writing it. Ooh also if I missed any warnings pls tell me.

A/N2: Hey so my old account got deleted so I'm reposting my fics if you have a sec I would appreciate it if you could boost it so i can try and get to where i was, thank you.

It had been a tough case, especially for you, the victimology fit you in every way and so you had been used to draw the unsub out, nothing had gone wrong but you could still feel his hand where he had touched yours, his alluring presence was lingering around you , all you wanted to do was go home and shower this feeling off but first you had to get there.

Unfortunately, there was still 2 hours left in the flight. So, until you did get home you would settle for sleep hoping time would pass faster, though you just couldn’t stop your mind from thinking, well overthinking. Spencer noticed this and it hurt him to see you like this he himself knew nothing had happened but he didn’t like the thought that you had even gone near that creep, to think about what he would have done to you, if the circumstances were different.

He couldn’t imagine what he would do if something had happened, you and him were close, very close, you had first bonded when he noticed your Dr who coin purse on your first day at the BAU, he hadn’t gotten a chance to say anything because at that moment Garcia bubbled into the bullpen announcing that they have a case. but when he saw it again on the jet, he couldn’t resist but to ask if you like the show, you love the show and your face visibly lit up at the mention of it as did his, you both exchanged a few words before Derek piped in to ask if that was the show with the flying phone booth but before Spencer had the chance to correct him, you did. ‘well firstly it’s a Tardis which stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space, secondly it isn’t a phone booth it’s a police box.’ Once you finish you simply smiled at him but before he could answer you piped up again early. ‘ ooh ooh and do you want to know why it’s a police box’, Derek honestly couldn’t care less but he couldn’t bare to take away the joy in your face that was brought by this nerdy little show you clearly loved, Spencer might also have been giving him a look that said ‘don’t you dare say no’, so he decided to indulge you, ‘sure kid tell me why it’s a police box’. Spencer saw your face light up even more if it was even possible, and so you began’ So the Tardis is supposed to change in appearance depending on where it is because of a component that is called ‘the chameleon circuit’ but something happened to it so it no longer works and is stuck as a police box, its explained in the first Dr who series in an episode called An Unearthly child. Oh and…..’ by this time Derek has lost interest and was only half listening but Spencer’s full attention was on you as you talked about something that clearly brought you joy, at this point he decided to chime in and so you two spent the rest of the jet ride to wherever it was you were going discussing your favourite episodes, plots and Drs. And so, a beautiful friendship began to bloom.

As spencer’s memory of that day came to an end he couldn’t help but be visibly sad at how much of a contrast your feeling were to that day, there was no smile so big you had dimples no hands moving around animatically as you talked and no interrupting your own sentences as you thought of something else you thought needed to be said. And certainly, no you trying to convince him that David tenant was the best Dr. now there was only an uneasiness about you, you looked sad and in slight distress.

Spencer couldn’t keep sitting there doing nothing, he wanted to take those feelings away no, he needed to take them away, he wanted to go over to you and hold you, place you on his lap and let you bury your face into his cardigan like you had done so many times before on your movie nights, but that wouldn’t be appropriate while the entire team was around, and he didn’t want to make you feel worse by being so forward so instead he stood up from his seat opposite Derek and J.J and made his way to you on the sofa holding his book, you were sat in the corner looking so small, holding a now cold cup of tea.

Your mind was anywhere but there so it took Spencer calling your name quietly before you realised anyone was sitting there, and as you saw him all those bad feelings were drowned out by those of joy and love, they weren’t gone but their overwhelming words were dulled, Spencer just had that effect on you, you weren’t completely sure when your feeling changed from hey that’s my friend, to hey that’s my friend who I would like to kiss, marry, and have babies with. Maybe it was the day he showed you how to do physics magic, or the day he brought you coffee every morning for 2 weeks because he spilled one the previous day on your white shirt, or maybe the first time he hugged you, you knew he wasn’t big on hugs but after a tough case for everyone he could see you needed it and honestly once he was there holding you he never wanted to stop, after that he wouldn’t hesitate to hug you, you both waved it off as friendly but you both just wanted to be as close as possible, maybe when you came to terms with the fact you would both try your best to have physical contact with each other, be it holding hands or falling asleep on each other’s shoulder is when you knew you wanted a lot more.

You were brought back by Spencer’s voice, ‘are you ok’,’ ‘oh, ah yeah sorry , my minds just wandering I guess’ you said looking down at your hands feeling bad for lying, he clearly knew you weren’t he was a profiler after all, and as you stared at your hand you once again remembered his lingering touch on your left hand, before your mind could wander further Spencer held your hand ,he spoke up ‘ don’t think about him, I know that’s what your doing , but he’s gone now were he cant hurt anyone else, were he can’t hurt you’. You looked away from him feeling silly ‘I know that, I don’t even know why I’m acting like this it’s ridiculous honestly he didn’t do anything he just touched my hand and waist but the thought of his hands on me just makes me feel sick, it’s like I can still feel him and I just want to wash it off and that’s all I can think about every time I try to sleep, I just want to sleep and forget about it spence’ as you said this you subconsciously scratched the back of your hand where his had been, spencer took both your hands once again before you could hurt yourself, ‘hey y/n, it isn’t silly, after seeing the crime scenes and knowing what he did to those women it is perfectly reasonable to be feeling like this’ you nod at his words and lean your head on his shoulder as you take in his familiar comforting smell, ‘thanks Spence’ you hear him hum in response as his head leans on top of yours.

You sit in comfortable silence just being with each other not even realising he hadn’t let go of your hand, it isn’t like you had made a move to either, and neither of you were planning on it. The jet was silent as everyone was either asleep, or going through some files, it was peaceful, it was wonderful.

You were the first to break the silence ‘what are you reading’ , ‘Alice’s adventures in wonderland’, you looked up at him from your place on his shoulder with a soft smile and simply stated ‘that’s my favourite book, I have a copy in my desk right now’ , ‘I know, that’s why I’m reading it, ‘ his reason made your heart swell as he continued, ‘even though it Is considered a classic I’ve never actually read it, I must say I am enjoying it’, ‘how far along are you’, ‘about half way’. Truthfully Spencer could have been done with the book already even though he had started it at the beginning of the flight, however this book was different, this was your favourite, this one meant so much to you and so he wanted to take it all in, he wanted that feeling you get when you first read a line that impacts you, a feeling you only get once with that line, a feeling he was getting often in this book because he knew you loved it and so he loved it.

The silence was disrupted by a very large yawn coming from you, he must admit you looked very cute when you were tired (he may also love the fact you were wearing one of his cardigans that you had claimed as your, and you also had very cute sweater paws). ‘Here lie down’ Spencer said, you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep so you asked, ‘will you read to me’ there was barely a beat before you felt the need to justify your request, even though you didn’t need to he would do anything you asked. ‘it’s just I don’t think ill be able to sleep, and your voice is very calming’, the last part you said quietly and felt a light blush on your cheeks, spencer simply smiled and simply answered ‘of course ill read to you’, and so you laid you head down on his lap and he began reading once you were fully comfortable, ‘would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’’ ‘’that depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’’ said the cat………’’ and so Spencer kept reading to you, an you kept listening, his hand made its way to your hair and began to play with it while your hand drew lazy nonsensical things on his leg , and as you heard the words you had read a million times before, and as the man you held so much love for played with your hair all your worries and thoughts melted away and you slowly let sleep take over , you felt conflicted as you didn’t want to miss this, miss Spencer’s voice recite something that meant so much to you, it was like hearing a completely new story, but at some point you let it take over and so you were finally able to sleep, Spencer never stopped reading to you or playing with your hair in fear of disturbing your peace, he was so happy there was a smile back on your face, he would read to you every hour of every day if it meant seeing you smile.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #spencer rwid x reader

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eveenstar · 3 years ago

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𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Summary; When (Y/N) and the Bad Batch get back to the Marauder safe and sound, she realizes that a decision has to be taken.

Tags/Warnings; TBB EPISODE 16/FINALE SPOILERS. Lots of angst, mostly sadness. Relationship break up.

A/N; Inspired by this song. Cried the entire time I was writing this so I hope it's worth it! Enjoy <3

The horizon was a painting of smoke, fire and the rebel waves moving against each other. The sinking city of Kamino was slowly fading in the background, being submerged by water. The flames danced in a sad lullaby of old whispers of what once was the home of the GAR, now it was nothing but a wreckage mess of metal.

(Y/N) stared at the distance. The background noise of the Bad Batch and Omega talking faded to the melody of the ocean. Her mind and body were tired from all the running and almost drowning, of all the insanity they've been through in the past weeks.

"You're still their brother. You're my brother too."

After a few seconds, she turned her head to find the Bad Batch squad, and Omega, watching her from the ship's entrance. Her eyes met with Crosshair's, who was quickly to hide his gaze.

A soft chuckle left her throat. Her lover was always shy to meet her gaze sometimes. (Y/N) took careful steps towards Crosshair and her hand met his. The sniper was tense, kept to himself, as if afraid that his touch would hurt her.

Gently, her free hand rose up to his right cheek and turned his head to her. She smiled.

"I won't forget the time we spent together." In a half-whisper, half-sob, she caressed his cheek. "But I have to let you go, like a bird."

Crosshair kept his eyes focused on hers. His hand softly squished hers. Not even admitting to himself, but ignoring the others' presence, tears began to form on the corners of his eyes.

"I couldn't have asked for a better lover and partner." She bit her lip to contain back the sobs, now stuck on her throat. (Y/N) took a a shaky, deep breath. "It's okay, it's okay, my love."

It was only the two of them there, right now. They forgot about the rest of the squad's presence and focused only on their love and goodbye. They were the light for each other's darkness, nothing else mattered as long as they were together. But everything has to end one day, and perhaps they knew that too, once. Maybe that's why they lived each day as if it was their last together, until the Republic fell.

With an aching heart, a final kiss took place between them. Brief but full of love and long-lost memories.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

Hesitant, (Y/N) took a step back and buried her love. She gave him one last look and this time Crosshair did the same. She gave him an honest smile before taking off to meet with the squad.

Even as the Marauder got further and further from Kamino, she kept staring back, through the windows. As if she was waiting for Crosshair to suddenly hug her from behind and embrace her into the warm of his arms. But she felt cold.

So cold.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader

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onlyswan · 4 years ago

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cloudburst | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x oc

→ genre: fluff, angst

→ warnings: mention of depression, profanities bc i curse a lot

→ word count: 1.2k

summary: cloudburst (n.) an extreme amount of precipitation in a short period of time, sometimes accompanied by hail and thunder, which is capable of creating flood conditions;

or the only word close enough to describe the peculiar episodes of rainstorm that befall the vicinity when jungkook and ivy’s skin touch.

note: so um i came up with this idea for like more than a year now lol it’s supposedly a story but my motivation always ends up short so i gave it a try today and ended up using jk and i badly need to post it somewhere so here you go i guess lmk what you think?

___

“the weather app said it would be sunny today. why the fuck is it raining cats and dogs?” the woman who just entered the café grumbled, her hair dripping across the floor with every stride she took on the way to a table.

her friend it seems like laughed at her appearance, “i warned you that it rains here a lot yet you still moved. invest in all things waterproof,”

ivy looked over at jungkook with a guilty look on her face, which he deliberately ignored. he continued sipping on his coffee, one hand scrolling through his laptop and the other with no plans on letting go of hers. they’ve been here before. they’ve fought countless of times because she can’t stop worrying about how their relationship affects other people, and well, the entire planet.

“jungkook, humans need sun. the plants and trees that give us oxygen need the fucking sun. it can’t rain every day! we will die!”

“but i need you every day. is that not an enough reason?”

and how could she possibly forget this one…

“the local government is panicking about the flood. it makes no absolute sense why it would rain this hard suddenly often. i think they’re executing a project to redo the roads,”

“good. that’s their damn job,”

the thing is… jungkook knows what he wants and he will not let anything stand in his way of getting it. this fact has been well established ever since he was a little kid. when his parents wouldn’t let him get the toy he was eyeing the moment they stepped into the mall, he made his own means and got it for himself, selling the drawings he worked all night on to his classmates and mooching off them for food during recess instead of spending his allowance on overpriced food at the cafeteria. they don’t support his career choice? that’s fine. he moved out and tried, is still trying, his very best to survive in the world outside their roof. to say his parents are still baffled by this action is an understatement. he might be stubborn, and well, bratty, but he never begs. he never asks twice. it is that simple. wait. correction. was.

jungkook is a hopeless romantic. he isn’t shy about it, but he isn’t very proud of it either. he likes classic romance movies and that’s how he imagines true love would be like. he loves the yearning, stolen glances, shy compliments, petty jealousy. but oh my fucking god, not like this. he is whipped. there is no denying. the fondness he has even for the most trivial things about ivy fascinates him. why do the smallest interactions put a stupid smile on my face? why does her voice gives me butterflies? why the fuck can’t i get enough of her? his friends are terrified of commitment. if they could only hear his thoughts, they would laugh at his face. one day they will understand and i will laugh at their faces then, he would always think to himself when they discuss about not wanting to get tied down and bossed around. because he would do anything and everything for ivy. that is why he pissed off all the damn time. sure, he enjoys the longing and slow burn. but not when one small touch and it rains so hard it looks like the sky is going to fucking fall upon the earth, not when ivy is sad and he can’t hold her in his arms without making her feel more down. rain makes her gloomy and depressed, that is one of the first things he learned about her. the irony makes him want to laugh and cry. she always assures him that it’s alright, that she has found comfort in it somehow, because she has him by her side. and she means it wholeheartedly. jungkook finds it hard to believe her, but he smiles and kisses her anyway, the ringing of the raindrops against the roof turning mute. her kisses make everything better.

her love language is physical touch, so when they both came to a realization as to why it rains every time they are together, she felt cursed. why? out of all people, why her? she had boyfriends before, but the connection she has with jungkook is different. he treats her right. she is generally shy but once she talks, she would go on and on. she rambles when she is happy, excited, frustrated, or angry. they all get tired of this eventually, but not jungkook. he finds it adorable, and he listens intently whether it’s about how fucked up her childhood was or how much she wants a black cat. he makes her feel happy and loved. but it seems like the universe is against her happiness. when things don’t go her way, she shuts everyone out and drowns herself in her own misery. she knows she’s pathetic, but at least she’s not letting this patheticness bother anyone else, right?

jungkook never begs. he does not ask twice. but for ivy, he would get on his knees. just like when he spent the entire night knocking on her door.

“just leave, jungkook. this is fucking stupid. we are stupid,” she made sure to speak clearly, to not wobble on her words. her voice betrayed her at the end. “we’re over,” it came out as a whisper and she was almost terrified that he heard it. he did.

“let me in, please. let’s talk properly. how are you just going to decide that we’re done? there are two of us in this relationship, ivy,” he tried to reason with her, pulling at his sleeves in an attempt to warm his freezing hands. he wants nothing but to cuddle in her soft and warm bed, he’s in pain. he hates this entire situation, but he loves her most in the world.

“you sound ridiculous. we haven’t been together that long. you will move on, and i will, too,” the truth is she feels ridiculous. yes, they haven’t been together for that long but she has grown attached. and this hurts worse than she expected. “…right?”

“that’s bullshit and you know it. i don’t care about the consequences. i don’t want to lose you,” it has never been this difficult to walk away, so you know what? fuck ego. fuck the goddamn planet. “we will make this work. we have to. so when you’re ready to open the door, i will be here.”

ivy smiled at the sight of her boyfriend focused on drawing on his tablet, legs crossed and the digital pencil gripped by his tattooed hand she usually loves holding, but she’ll let him work for now. he tsked when a strand of hair fell over his eyes, which she brushed back immediately.

“just put your hair in a bun so it wouldn’t bother you,”

he pouted, “you do it better than me,”

“liar, you just don’t want to move,” she rolled her eyes but stood up anyway.

“maybeee,” he chuckled, averting his attention back to the screen as she did his hair. she loves his hair, more so with that damn undercut, but she won’t tell him that and well, she doesn’t really have to, because he already knows. with the way she constantly plays with it and tells him to put it up? she’s not exactly slick.

“thanks, baby. i love you,” he hummed. she kissed his cheek as a return of appreciation and fought back a wince when the lady from the other table continued complaining because the drizzle outside intensified to a rain once again.

jungkook merely shrugged and turned the screen towards her. “what do you think?”

#jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #bts #bts fluff #jungkook scenario #bts fanfic #bts angst

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xatanna-troy · 4 years ago

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SABOTAGE | D.GRAYSON

warnings: angst, comfort-hurt, themes of depression

•❅────────────✧❅✦❅✧─────────────❅•

Moving was always a hassle. Too many boxes with too many items that had their place in too many different places of her new apartment. With a sigh, she got to work on unpacking her things, hoping to get over with the chore of finding a new place for them in her home. After an entire day spent, she dropped back onto her couch, feet praising her for finally coming to a stop. Despite the home looking as it did in her previous one, maybe even more cozier, she didn't feel satisfied with the atmosphere. It felt empty, and cold. The woman brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she laid her chin on her knees, will fully ignorant of the little box in the corner of the room, unpacked and holding answers to the silent question in her mind.

Drink to forget, they say. She always wondered why no one ever said that in order to forget, you must remember first. And remember everything. Memories, Feelings; Trauma. It was a road you had to drive through in order to reach your destination. In hindsight, drinking with friends was a better idea than drinking alone. She should've done that. Worst comes to worst, she would do something humiliatingly embarrassing and end up with a killer headache the next morning, but would be safe and sound. She realized this as she finally turned her attention to the brown cardboard box that sat near her bookshelf; as she walked over with her liquor bottle in hand and sitting down infront of it.

As if she were pulled towards it, her hands reached for it and pulled it closer, setting it close to her. The light of the lamp in her living room didn't do much to illuminate the possible contents of the box, but she didn't need it. Not when she knew what was in there and why. Forgotten items stared up at her as she opened the box, cause her to feel her heart wrench in pain. From necklaces, to polaroids, to small posters and souvenirs, they all stared up at her, each one reminding her of a memory she wished she forgot.

She picked up a necklace with a metallic bird on its pendant, her thumb swiping over the scratched up metal as she smiled softly. Dick had picked it up for her birthday when she snuck off to pick up a watch for him, a watch which she had impatiently waited to get repaired, in hopes of her lover being happy to wear his father's old watch again.

"is that a robin, bird boy?"

"maybe. maybe not. i doubt you'll be able to tell the difference either way." he grinned, earning a light smack from her.

"it's beautiful. thank you Dick.."

Her smile melted a bit as she recalled all places she wore the necklace. From events that celebrated them to meetings that had them spending too much time away from each other. As ridiculous as it sounded to her now, she once believed it was her good luck charm. Slowly dropping it back down into the box, she picked out another item, a ticket to the circus. The first time Dick had taken her to haly's circus after their tour across the globe. Her eyes glimmered as she remembered how she watched him swing on the trapeze before they opened up for showtime, a nostalgia hidden in his smile like a special little secret no one was supposed to know. That was the day she saw a Grayson truly fly, and if she hadn't known any better, she would've believed he could fly without the need of a trapeze.

The woman's eyes trailed down to the polaroids sitting at the bottom of the box; photos of him holding her as they both held a smile that would've lightened up the world. Her fingers traced over a particular picture, recalling how the same night they were lounging on the couch, safely tucked into each other's arms. Sometimes fiction makes one think that the revelation of love is a dramatic moment. One that is loud and extraordinary, one that would demand attention from everyone in the room.

But that wasn't the case. She realized, closing her eyes as she let herself replay the memory. Dick had just returned from patrol, and despite her best efforts to get his exhausted self to sleep on the bed while she continued to finish her work, he protested by perching himself next to her with his arms around her, not disturbing yet keeping her presence near him. An hour past midnight, and she looked over to her lover trying to keep awake for her as she finished her work. She remembered cupping his cheek, tracing her thumb as he unconsciously leaned into her palm, his lids fluttering close.

"dick..."

He hummed,

"I love you.."

Declarations and Relizations of love were not always grand. They could also be small, delicate, quiet. Something which one would not notice when the rest of the world is asleep and it's only the two of you.

Tears began to drip down onto the picture. The unfortunate truth is that once the honeymoon phase was over, the uglier truths begin to set in.

Dick walked out of the washroom with a medication bottle in his hand. "What's this?" He asked in a soft voice, concern and confusion showing in his eyes. She looked at him, barely able to meet his gaze before trying to reach for it, snatching it away from him. "it doesn't matter. i didn't mean to leave it out." she murmured, making him look at her in disbelief, "you didn't mean to? how long..?" he trailed, taking a hesitant step towards her. The woman closed her eyes, "five years..it doesn't matter now. i'm fine." she said, before he took her hand. "it matters...i would've been there for you if i knew." he said softly, "you can't be there for everyone Dick..this is just something i have to handle alone." She protested, pulling her hand away and walking out of the room, leaving him alone to mull over the revelation.

Maybe it was one of the symptoms of depression, or maybe it was just the way she believed her mind worked, the idea that you didn't need anyone to help you when you needed it most, especially not when you're at your most vulnerable. But she wished someone had told her that it wasn't true.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably as she shook, her hand struggling to muffle the sobs that threatened to escape from her mouth. It was too much. Everything was too much. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. She was stuck and she couldn't get out. She was drowning and she didn't know how to swim. She cried and screamed in pain, thinking she was alone. Frantic footsteps made their way over to her, and the next thing she knew was that she felt someone pulling her out of everything. His warm hands cupped her cheeks as wiped her tears, before he brought her into his arms. She hated this. She hated it when he saw her during her episodes, she felt weak and useless. But at the same time, she craved for him, she craved for her anchor. She craved for Dick Grayson.

She felt her hands curl around the elongated neck of the bottle, picking it up and bringing the mouth to her lips as she took a swing of the alcohol, her throat burning as her tears continued to race down her face.

"Stop! Just stop! I've had enough." She screamed, running her hands through her hair. Dick watched her as she paced around the living room, "i don't need you checking up on me! i'm not a fucking child that you need to check and comfort me when i'm crying. i don't need your help!" she said, barely looking at him. "i never said you were. i just want to know why you won't let me help you." he maintained a soft tone, frustrating her further. "Because i'm too prideful to admit it!" she screamed, "is that what you want to hear?! i'm too prideful to want or accept your help because that means that i would have to accept that i'm so broken that i can't put myself back together!" she said, and Dick listened to her voice begin to shake. "that i'm so pathetic that i need someone else to do it for me!" She stepped back as he stepped closer. "You're not broken...and it's not pathetic. i love you and i want to be there for whatever you need me. we can do it this together..you don't have to do it alone.." he said softly. She looked at him, "i don't need you or your help. i don't need your love. I've been doing it alone and i can do it again. So just leave." she snapped at him, making him look at her in disbelief. "You want me to leave?" he asked quietly, "please. It's suffocating. just go. i'm done. we're done." she grit, watching him shake his head, before walking out the door.

It took her days to realize what she did. What she always did. She self sabotaged in effort to keep herself from getting hurt when her loved ones decided she was too much for them and left. Despite what dick had said and made her believe, she neglected him and the way he loved her...and true to her request, he didn't come back. They had the argument too many times, and each time she would tell him to leave. And each time he would believe that she didn't want that. It must've finally sunk in. She didn't go looking for him either, it was too late when she realized that she had truly lost, it was too late to make amends.. to turn back time. Convinced that she didn't need him, she moved to a different part of the city.

Her tears dried on her face as she looked at the time, returning the photos back into the box.

12:30 a.m. March 20th.

She smiled shakily, closing her eyes and envisioning his sweet smile, the details of his face and the crinkle of his blue eyes.

Come back. Come back and love me again. Come back and let me love you right.

I made a mistake.

Come back Dick Grayson.

Please..

I loved you too.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson #nightwing

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iceshard1011 · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Kaimi Alvi/Katrina "Calamity" Santos Characters: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Original Characters, (credit of patentpending), Misleading Compliment | Missy Sanders, (mentioned) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanfiction, Unreliable Narrator, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Has PTSD, Crying, References to Depression, Anxiety Attacks, Misunderstandings, Brief Internalized Transphobia, it's LAMP but there's a focus on Prinxiety, because i'm a predictable nerd, Miscommunication, spoilers for patentpending's Powerless, for the love of god read that first, 1. it's a good read, and 2. this will spoil the hell out of it Summary:

Three times Roman panicked over Virgil, and one time Virgil panicked over Roman.

Speculated alternate universal continuation of patentpending’s Powerless.

okay, did this for @patentpending. hope it’s okay! x 5k word fic is below, but please heed the spoiler warnings.

Patton got it slightly worse than Logan. Kaimi, the passionate yet kind-hearted and humble reporter — a sweet girl who couldn’t stand a mere picture of a drop of blood — was somewhere between the two. Perhaps unsurprisingly, however, ex-superhero Roman ‘The Prince’ Garcia had it the worst.

The actor could hardly be blamed. He had already suffered a fair amount of nightmares, waking up with a jolt in his penthouse’s bed, with Missy blinking sleepily up at him and asking what was wrong.

One doesn’t simply live through years of battles and fighting and bloodshed and walk away without demons. The names across Roman’s chest said as much.

He had seen his fair share of death over years of being The Prince, and while admitting this was sickening, it was not something Roman was unfamiliar with. He’d watched people die in front of him. He had caused many of the deaths himself during the fights.

He knew all this.

He also knew that it was completely logical to react to a particular, recent death in a particularly violent, particularly traumatised manner.

(He also knew he was never particularly good at listening to anyone, even himself.)

Sometimes, Roman Garcia had bad days. Days where he woke up and felt sick to his stomach for just existing. Days where he struggled to move, because the images flashing through his mind made his head spin. Days where he couldn’t look anyone in the eyes, where he barely ate, where he quailed away from comforting touches and wanted to slam his hands over the sides of his head and scream when voices tried to ask what was wrong.

He wasn’t sure what these days meant. He felt too much to be depressed. It went on far too long to be anxiety attacks. It felt too different to the post-traumatic stress episodes he had when struggling to find his way home after the sun had set.

(But he never voiced any of this, because somehow, he had a feeling Logan would vehemently disagree, which spoke levels of itself.)

Sometimes, Roman could feel the Bad Days approaching. Sometimes he struggled to fall asleep, with a strange pit curling inside him somewhere. Sometimes, it didn’t travel into the following day.

Most times, though, it did.

It was one of those Bad Days. Sometimes Roman tried to ignore it. He tried to act his way out of it. He didn’t like having Bad Days, not only because they made him feel like he was literally dying and he wanted it to stop he wanted to stop thinking stop moving stop breathing he wanted it to stop stop stop STOP!

But because he didn’t want to take away from his family’s bad days. Even with Patton’s coloured wristbands, the little puffball still struggled sometimes — and that was okay! They all always did their best to make sure the heart of their group was okay, and comfortable, and did everything they could.

Logan’s back still ached some days. Sometimes, it was so bad he couldn’t move from bed, and had to spend hours trying to just sit up. It was painful to watch, and Roman knew he hated sympathy, so he did his best not to show the way his heart twisted at the sight of the astronomer’s pain.

Virgil covered his bad days so well. Roman imagined it was the built-up practice of having days throughout his entire life dealing with dysphoria and discrimination and judgement and being spat on and ridiculed for something he couldn’t help. He may have been used to those kinds of bad days, but obviously not the days brought on by guilt, by the thoughts of what the thing he created did to people all over the world, the destruction and horror and death, all in the wake of his too-brilliant mind and too-nimble fingers. Those days were usually preceded by slow days with not much activity, phantom pains, struggling movements to do so much as hold a mug with his prosthetic arm.

It really wasn’t a surprise that Roman’s Bad Days followed Virgil’s.

So, he tried to smile, tried to stop his hands from shaking, tried to not crumble with every step he took.

Somehow, it was never enough.

On this particular Bad Day, Roman was trembling. He did that, sometimes, when it was really bad. He couldn’t stop. It was a constant tremor, in his nerves, shooting through his blood, curling in his limbs, shuddering up his body.

He had done his best to avoid his roommates. He had slept in that morning, half genuinely trying to go back to sleep, half feigning sleep whenever Virgil quietly shuffled into the room to check on him. When he finally got out from under the covers, he spent at least an hour and a half in the bathroom, under scalding shower water and making himself more presentable than strictly necessary as he knew he was not going to be mentally equipped to leave the apartment today.

“‘Morning,” a quiet, gruff voice greeted Roman as he finally mustered up the coward to step out of the comforts of his bedroom.

Almost immediately, the confidence he’d been trying to summon all morning threatened to leave him.

Roman swallowed. “Good morning, Sunshine!” he chirped merrily, gliding into the living room. “Where’s the rest of the fam?”

“Went out for lunch,” Virgil said from the kitchen. Roman blinked, and Virgil glanced over his shoulder at the silence. “It’s one in the afternoon, Ro.”

“Oh.” Roman felt slightly faint, but he wasn’t sure if that was part of having a Bad Day.

“You must have had something of a busy night.” Virgil smirked and skulked from the kitchen, moving over to him, and Roman wondered if he was going to need to rush back into the bathroom. “Insatiable thoughts keeping you up, love?”

Roman’s tongue was heavy. “Not quite,” was all he could murmur in reply.

Virgil’s perfect brow furrowed, his gorgeous eyes flicking with worry, and his lips were not flecked with blood, that was just Roman’s imagination, they were in the apartment and it was fine, and oh god, he was losing it, he couldn’t keep it together, not today, not right now, he was going to— he needed—

“Roman!” Virgil’s yelp of concern was drowned out by the roaring in Roman’s ears as he threw up in the kitchen trash can. The ex-hero’s arms trembled in an effort to keep him up.

Focus, focus. It’s okay. It’s fine.

Gravity felt like it was trying it’s best to drag him to the ground. He felt just like he had when he’d first lost his powers, trembling and scared and desperate—

He heaved again.

There was a smooth, rubbing sensation running up and down his back, and it helped as he coughed and spluttered and hacked up more bile.

“Oh, baby,” Virgil’s voice whispered, and Roman’s stomach twisted again, but he had nothing left to throw up. “I didn’t know you were feeling sick.”

“‘M not,” Roman mumbled, feeling light-headed.

“Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?” Virgil murmured, and Roman felt boneless as his boyfriend guided him into their bedroom. Something damp and warm wiped at his face and he pulled away with a grimace. Something else was thrust in his face, and he squinted at it.

“Rinse and spit,” Virgil ordered, gesturing to the glass of water and the tub he was holding. Roman obeyed without protest, then sunk back down against the bed sheets he’d fought so hard to escape from.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it seemed to go far too quick before Virgil was back beside him.

“Did you eat something funky?” Virgil asked, pressing a blessedly cold hand to Roman’s flushed forehead. “No one else was feeling ill.”

It took a minute for Roman to realise that the reason Virgil’s hand was so cold wasn’t due to his natural lack of normal bodily heat, but because it was his metal hand. The one he had made for himself, after he had lost it, after his eyes had widened and gone pale and—

Roman was going to be sick again.

He wondered, though, if he was going to vomit, why Virgil had not rushed to get something for him and had instead sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Roman against him.

It was a moment before he realised that the thing bursting from his chest wasn’t vomit, but hoarse, screaming wails.

Virgil hushed him over and over again. He ran his hands — only one hand really, and god Roman’s chest was hurting, was he even breathing? — up and down Roman’s back, through his hair, caressing his cheeks, rubbing his arms. Anything and everything to try and soothe his boyfriend.

Virgil would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. He had never seen Roman like this. Even at his wits end as a hero, even in the heat of a battle, no matter what had happened, Roman had never broken like this, ever.

Virgil, in no way, thought Roman was broken, as a rule. He wasn’t useless or weak or any of the things he knew Roman struggled with labelling himself. After everything, he was still one of the strongest people Virgil knew, and he had met many people over the course of a few months.

So what on Earth could have set Roman off? He knew sometimes that the ex-hero struggled with not being able to zip around town to nab food, or smell the far-off ocean, or hear his family’s heartbeat unless he was pressed against their chest… but he had never broken down just like this.

Maybe it was a build-up. Maybe it was everything that had piled onto him spilling out. It was certainly a possibility, wasn’t it?

But then Virgil pressed his hand — the right one — to Roman’s flushed cheek, and his boyfriend keened, jerking away from him and scrambling back across the bed.

Horrified, Virgil raised his hands.

“Hey, sorry, baby,” he said, as gently as he could.

Roman’s chest was heaving, the only colour in his face from the flush of loss of oxygen from crying. His eyes were wide and wild and darted around. He was shaking all over. He’d stopped screaming, but his mouth still hung open, like he meant to keep crying but had rubbed his throat raw.

“What is it?” Virgil asked, and Roman met his eyes. “Tell me what’s happening, Ro.”

Roman looked like he was torn between reaching for Virgil and tearing into his own scalp — and, well, Virgil knew which one he personally preferred.

“Can I come over?” he asked. Roman buried his face into his knees and whimpered. “I’m going to sit next to you, okay?” He slowly shuffled forward, making sure to be as obvious about where he was at all times. He leaned forward so his breath brushed against Roman’s bangs. He didn’t touch him. “Hey.”

Roman didn't look up, but his quivering, pale, sweaty hand moved from where it was clutching the blankets and inched over to grasp the edge of Virgil’s sleeve.

“I’m here,” he assured Roman softly. “Just take your time.” Roman’s shoulders shook. Slowly, carefully, Virgil linked their pinkies together. “Breathe, Pretty Boy. You’re okay.”

“I’m— sorry, I’m sorry—” Roman gasped, but Virgil cut him off.

“Ah-ah.” He shuffled ever closer, brushing their legs together. “No apologising.”

“I couldn’t— I— you—”

“Breathe.” Virgil pulled Roman’s hand up by the sleeve, not kissing it but just barely pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s calloused knuckles. “Four, seven, eight, remember? Four, seven, eight.”

Roman nodded unsteadily.

They sat like that, for what could have been minutes or hours, Virgil wasn’t sure. Logan and Patton hadn’t planned on returning for another few hours, so that allowed the pair to sit in relative silence. Roman’s heavy breaths still shook in the still air, and every now and then he whimpered. Virgil didn’t move to touch him. Roman didn’t pull away. Virgil wondered if he had had a sensory overload.

“Do you want the fidget cube?” he asked softly. Roman hesitated.

“Where is it?” he asked in a rasping voice.

“Wherever you last left it,” Virgil answered with a smirk. He made to pull away. “I’ll go find it.”

Roman’s grip tightened. “No!”

Virgil froze and slowly moved back. “Okay. Staying here.”

“Th-thank you,” he gasped. “I-if you leave, I’m scared— I’ll— spiral—”

Virgil’s throat thickened with the urge to cut him off and tell him to breathe, but maybe Roman needed to say what he was thinking.

“I’ll see— red— it’ll be red and gold all over again— and I can’t— I won’t—”

Virgil frowned. What on Earth was he talking about? He squeezed their fingers.

“Can’t do that again, Virgil, I can’t!”

“Okay,” Virgil said. “I won’t leave.”

“Please don’t,” Roman agreed with a sob. “Please don’t leave me. Please. Please.”

“I won’t. I’m not.” Virgil pressed carefully closer. “I’m right here. I’m staying here.”

Roman shuddered and finally lifted his head. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, met Virgil’s, and he had to bite back a gasp.

Roman looked shattered. Like someone had taken something that meant the world to him and thrown it to the ground and let the pieces break into millions of tiny little pieces so small and far and in between that there was no hope of ever rebuilding what he’d lost. There was a lump lodging itself in Virgil’s throat.

“What is it, Roman?” he asked, quietly, desperately. “Please talk to me. Let me help. I want to help.”

“Make me stop thinking about it,” Roman begged. “Please, Virgil. I can’t— I can’t live like this anymore, I want it to stop, I need it to stop!”

“What, baby?” Virgil whispered fervently, moving to kneel in front of Roman and press his hands to his face. “What do I need to stop?”

Roman caved, fresh tears rolling down his face, and he reached up to grasp onto Virgil’s right hand. Virgil couldn’t feel it, but he could see Roman’s knuckles going white in his grip.

It took approximately three seconds.

And then—

Oh.

“Oh.” Virgil’s voice was choked. He was half worried he was going to throw up next. “Oh, Roman…”

“I keep— having these days— bad days, where I can’t think about anything else, and it’s— it’s hard, to function, to do anything, really, and I want to be near you — I really, really do, always, forever, but it gets scary, and it hurts, and all I can think about is— is—!”

“Can I hug you?” Virgil asked.

“Please,” sobbed Roman. “Please, please, hug me.”

Half of a second later, Virgil was curled around Roman, protecting him from all angles of the world, wishing more than anything that he could protect Roman from the battle waging inside his own mind.

He thought it could have been the lack of Roman’s powers. If that was the case, love and admiration was required.

If it had been a flashback, or Missy, then a distraction was in order.

If it had been literally anything else, Virgil would have been prepared.

His dumb ass had never once considered anything before or after the moment he woke up, disorientated, and confused in the clearing of that tower, Roman bent over him and shaking like he was now.

Whenever Roman quailed away from his touch, Virgil had always thought that it was a recovering-from-abuse day. When Roman stayed in his room all day, Virgil thought he needed to be by himself for the time. When he refused to meet Virgil’s eyes, he thought he was still mad at him for creating that weapon that destroyed so many lives. When Roman turned Virgil down during nights when he was feeling excited and hungry and that pulling want to be pressed against him, Virgil had let himself worry that it was because he was wrong, because Roman didn’t want someone like him.

All this time, Virgil had been worrying about himself, while Roman had been slowly crumbling under horror and blood.

Virgil swallowed down the emotion clogging his throat.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“I love you,” Roman was saying, over and over and over again, and “I’m sorry, sorry, so sorry,” and Virgil couldn’t have either of that going unchecked.

“Shh,” he hummed, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. Breathe. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Roman looked up, opening his mouth to protest, but Virgil pressed his finger to his boyfriend’s lips. “Ah-ah,” he said softly, “no apologising.” More tears squeezed from Roman’s eyes. Virgil pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, too.”

Roman hiccupped. More tears rolled down his face.

That’s it, Virgil decided. Arms still around Roman, he sent a quick text to Logan and Patton, either to not worry about returning in time for dinner or being extra quiet when they came back. Then he pulled back (and pressed a kiss to Roman’s temple when he made a wounded noise at the retreat) and moved to close the blinds before wriggling from his binder. He shuffled them both beneath the bed covers.

“Nap time,” he declared.

Roman looked startled. “It’s barely noon.”

“Nap time,” Virgil insisted, and Roman relented. “Come here.” Gently, Virgil guided Roman’s head down to his chest, where he could rest his ear directly over Virgil’s heartbeat. A long, long breath blew from Roman’s nose. His own heartbeat, which had previously been thudding madly against Virgil’s stomach, slowly calmed.

Smiling, Virgil slipped his headphones from his pocket and connected them to his phone. He picked a calming but engaging playlist and offered Roman one bud. Tension slowly, slowly, bled out of his tight frame.

Virgil kissed the top of his boyfriend’s head.

“I’m here,” he said again, and this time it meant something entirely different. “I love you.”

Between Virgil’s gentle breath ever-so-slightly ruffling the crown of Roman’s hair, his steady-beating heart thumping under one ear and the calming music in the other, Roman fell asleep quickly.

After that, Roman didn’t have as many Bad Days. Or, maybe he did, and he just didn't remember, because now Virgil knew what to look for, and how to fix it. Roman also had a sneaking suspicion that Virgil had let something slip to the others, because they were always just as helpful as Virgil when he wasn’t around.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t so much as it was the random Bad Days, as it was bad nights.

Roman was standing on the very top of the tower. The sun was setting gloriously over the ocean, casting the city in a beautiful golden-orange glow that reflected off the brown of Roman’s eyes. Wind ruffled at his hair. He could smell the sea spray. He could hear children laughing as they walked home from school. His chest swelled. This was his city, and he had done well with it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Princey,” Virgil said beside him, and Roman’s heart beat harder at the small smirk he shot his way. “You had some help.”

Roman grinned, sauntering over to raise an eyebrow down at his adversary. “That I did. I really must thank Calamity at some point.”

“Oh, sure, for being thrown into a tree?” Virgil rolled his eyes, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. Roman almost wanted to eat that look off his face.

So he did.

And after a heated make-out session perched precariously on top of the highest point in the city, Roman took the time to just stare into those gorgeous, thunderous eyes.

You’re beautiful, he thought, all the time. You’re stunning. You’re so clever and strong, and I wish I could be anywhere near worthy of you or your time. You deserve more than this could have ever given you.

“I love you,” he said, because he could, now, he had learnt how to.

Virgil grinned that happy, carefree grin.

“So this is who you’ve replaced me for,” a pleasant, chilling voice said from behind Roman.

He turned, narrowly missing a strange, thrumming attack from Missy, and glared at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Her smile was innocent compared to what she practically purred.

“Only what I’m best at.”

Roman’s lip curled angrily as she leaned forward, her voice a whisper against his ear.

He wouldn’t actually remember what she had said to him, then. He would only hear a quiet gasp, not quite a breath and not quite a wheeze, sounding simultaneously right at his neck and a hundred yards from him.

He turned, but he lost his footing, and suddenly he wasn’t standing on the tower anymore, and he couldn’t reach out, he couldn't move, gravity was dragging him down and he couldn’t get to Virgil and Virgil was already dead and Missy had won and he was powerless and useless and he couldn’t do anything and—

“Roman! Ro, breathe! It’s okay! It’s alright, breathe.”

Roman blinked, and he was sitting on a soft ground, in a dark room…

He swallowed, and the bedroom was suddenly very, very quiet. He coughed, his raw, and wondered how long he’d been screaming for.

Roman rubbed his throat gingerly as a pair of hands flittered about, pressing against his body, his face, accompanied by a murmuring, reassuring voice. Lips pressed to his forehead, his temple, his nose, cheek, chin, eyelids, everywhere they could reach, and Roman heaved a breath.

Finally, he managed to meet Virgil’s gaze through his own fear and the dark room.

“Hey, Stormcloud,” he croaked. “Sorry for waking you.”

Virgil cut him off by kissing him soundly on the lips. “What have I told you about apologising?”

“If it gets me a kiss each time, I think I’m inclined to keep doing it,” Roman said with a sore attempt for a smile. Virgil didn’t comment on the rough edges of his expression, the way his voice wavered, or how his hands shook. He wrapped his arms around Roman’s chest, resting his head on his shoulder.

“What was it?” Virgil asked, because most times Roman took solstice in admitting his fears, especially when they came in the form of a nightmare.

Roman wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist and dragged him to sit practically in his lap. “Nothing.”

There was a pause, because he was obviously lying, and there was only one nightmare Roman refused to talk about. Virgil knew this, and he never pushed. He didn’t need to, anyway.

“Well.” He pressed a kiss to Roman’s shoulder, slowly moving up to his neck. Roman sagged against him, glad for the contact. Virgil nuzzled into his boyfriend. “Nothing sure seems like a whole lot.”

“Unfortunately,” Roman agreed somberly.

“Think you can go back to sleep?” Virgil murmured. Roman twisted to bury his face in his soft, purple hair.

“Cuddle?” Roman asked tentatively, because sometimes Virgil tightened his binder too much and Roman never wanted to cause him any discomfort.

Virgil smiled, because he knew Roman worried, and he was never opposed to cuddling. “Of course.” He guided the two of them down, letting Roman snuggle up to his chest in his favourite position, where he could feel Virgil’s heartbeat and feel his breath.

Virgil wrapped his arounds around Roman’s torso and squeezed reassuringly. Roman was already asleep again. Virgil fell asleep himself with a smile on his face. Neither of them woke until broken morning light was streaming onto their faces.

Roman wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.

He remembered Calamity stumbling into the city centre, yelling for everyone to get down. He remembered being confused moments before the place exploded in flames. He remembered groaning and realising Virgil had thrown them to the ground, covering him with his right side. He remembered Patton fussing over the four of them, assured they were all okay and uninjured.

Kaimi may have been there, at some point, helping them to usher everyone away.

He remembered the new supervillain picking a fight with Calamity. He might have remembered Kaimi’s outraged cries when she hit the ground.

He remembered as he rushed for Calamity’s side, and she was fine, but then the villain’s focus was on them.

He remembered feeling that same old frustrated agitation at being useless, powerless. Helpless.

He remembered Virgil stepping in to try and defuse the situation. He definitely remembered the villain raising a weird-looking gun in his boyfriend’s direction.

And from there out, he was back on that tower. He was throwing himself at Missy, tearing and batting and punching and fighting with everything he had because he had to keep her away. He was without powers, but he was still strong, and he was determined, and he wasn’t going to let her hurt him again, she would never hurt anyone again.

And then they were both falling, and Missy was shrieking beneath him, except it wasn’t Missy, it was the villain, and they were beaten to all hell, and god, had he done that? And there were flashing lights, and people talking, some were shouting, and he was still twisting, still kicking, still fighting—

“Hey, hey!” Virgil’s voice said, and Roman froze. His vision cleared. His boyfriend, whole and unharmed and okay and concerned, so damn concerned, was in front of him, cold hands on either side of his face.

Roman lost himself in those seas of grey and silver, and all the fight left him. He collapsed into Virgil’s chest, pressing his face into his boyfriend’s neck.

“Kaimi, get some help!” Virgil shouted over Roman’s head, and he tried shaking his head.

“‘M okay, Virge,” he mumbled. Virgil hushed him. Cool hands ran through his hair, and he melted.

The rest of it was a blur.

Nothing caught up with Roman until he was mildly thinking that he wasn’t hungry enough to eat this cookie, and he blinked, confused.

He looked up and around him, taking in the interior of Bake My Day. It was dark outside, and empty. The sign on this side of the door said, Welcome! We are OPEN. He looked down at the plate of Crofters Jam cookies in the middle of the table shared between him, Virgil, Logan and Patton.

He blinked spastically, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Hey, Pretty Boy.” A hand was clutching his. Roman looked across at Virgil, who smiled at him. “How’re you doing?”

“I…” Roman tried to speak, but his mouth was dry.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Patton murmured, rubbing his back.

“You went into shock,” Logan explained. “You didn’t respond on the way to the hospital, or the way back here. We were told it would fade by itself.”

Roman blinked again. “What happened?”

No one seemed keen to answer that question.

“Kaimi and Katrina went home,” Patton answered without answering. “They were both okay. The police took care of the villain. He doesn’t have a name yet, apparently.”

“I… I mean to me,” Roman said weakly. “What happened to me?”

“We don’t know,” Logan said quietly. “You… snapped.”

“You got so angry.” Patton’s voice trembled; almost scared. “You just… lost it. You threw yourself at that villain like you still had your powers. It was…” The purple wristband was flush against their skin as they clasped their hands together too tightly to be comfortable. “It was so scary.”

Roman recoiled slightly, stricken. Logan didn’t notice, too busy focusing on Patton, rubbing his thumb gently along their hands.

“It wasn’t you that was scary.”

Roman looked around to see Virgil had moved from his seat across from him and was now crouching beside his chair. “It was the idea of your actions. How reckless you got.” A hint of a smile played at Virgil’s lips. “You looked kind of hot, being that badass.”

Roman couldn’t find similar happiness in himself. “I attacked that… that person.”

Virgil worked his jaw before nodding mutely.

Roman blinked rapidly, trying desperately to work out how to feel. He opened and closed his mouth as Virgil stood, rubbing his hands into Roman’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t… here,” he said finally, and Logan and Patton glanced at him. He kept his focus on Virgil and those beautiful eyes of his, willing him to understand, to not make him explain it. “I was… I was back there again.”

Virgil softened ever-so-gently, and Roman felt a tidal wave of relief crash into him at the understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, although he knew Virgil hated it. “I don’t mean to do it. Sometimes it just happens, I can’t help it. It’s so stupid, I’m stupid, god, I’m so dumb, I wish I would stop, I’m so—”

Virgil’s lips were on his, cutting his stream of words short. Roman closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of his boyfriend pressed against him. He gripped Virgil’s waist, taking the time to calm his racing mind. He was in Bake My Day. Virgil was kissing him. Logan and Patton could either be cooing or looking exasperated.

When Virgil pulled back, his voice was quiet, subdued. “I think I have to stop rewarding you for this kind of thing.”

“I’m not so sure,” Roman said, leaning forward for another kiss.

“If I may interject,” said Logan, carefully, “Roman?”

Only a little peeved, Roman turned from his boyfriend to the astronomer, who looked rightly sheepish, but there was something else in his eyes — apprehension, but with touches of something softer, kinder.

“What you’re feeling is natural. It’s healing. Have you… brought this up with Dr. Picani?”

Roman ducked his head. Logan sighed expectantly.

“I know, I know,” Roman grumbled. “I’ll… next time we go, okay? Is that okay?” he asked Virgil, who of course smiled and kissed his cheek, murmuring a soft, Yeah.

“I’m—” Roman cut himself, despite Patton’s curious look. “Tired,” he finished himself, with a woozy smile.

Patton smiled back. “It’s been a big day. Why don’t we retire for the night?”

The night air was cool as it swirled around the four of them, laughing and joking. Logan groaned and Virgil smirked at Patton’s puns. Patton squeezed Roman’s hands, and Virgil rested his head on Roman’s shoulder. Logan got caught in a lecturing infodump about some fascinating concept he’d recently discovered.

Roman thought that maybe, as they walked hand-in-hand, he was going to be okay.

It wasn’t often that anyone made moves on Roman.

Not only was he quite physically intimidating and quite often surrounded by a group of friends, more often than not he had a purple-haired gremlin he had dubbed early on as “his boyfriend” at his side.

Even then, however, when he wasn't around any of his family members, and off by himself (on rare occasions), it wasn’t something he had on his mind.

Until he ventured off to look at some stall in the distance that looked like it could be selling Disney posters.

Markets took up this side of the city every Sunday, and Roman had begged and pleaded to go ever since he found out. He didn’t want to go alone, because where would the fun in that be? Finally, eventually, Virgil had agreed, followed by Logan. (Patton had never needed much convincing.)

And now Roman was mightily regretting it. Both dragging the others along to the festive markets and darting away from them to go look at something by himself.

Roman was good at saying no. He was!

He was just also… easily flustered.

“Oh, come on, pretty boy,” the man before him purred, and Roman wrinkled his nose.

“Like I said,” he bit out firmly, “I’m fine.”

“You are,” the man agreed, and he almost reminded Roman of supervillain Remy The Sandman. “I could take you back to my place, if—”

“It is the middle of the day,” Roman said. Just walk away, his instincts snarled at him, sounding familiarly like Virgil, and for once Roman listened.

He turned.

And his arm was grabbed.

Roman jolted, surprised. He hadn’t been touched like that before, by a stranger. Not like this, anyway, where his muscles and bones were just as fragile as everyone else’s, and he could bruise, and bleed, and it was a very startling truth.

He was so shocked that he didn’t think to pull away while the man leaned in, breath nipping at his chin.

Then the man cried out, and his hand released Roman’s arm, and Virgil was raising a second fist to hit the man again.

“Not your metal arm, babe,” Roman said automatically, and Virgil paused. After a moment of indecision, he kicked the man’s knee, and he cried out again, dropping to the ground.

“Do yourself a favour and piss off,” Virgil snarled. His face was contorted with fury. One fist was shaking with rage, the other creaking under the strain he was putting it. Roman’s pursuer quailed away with a scowl, then limped off.

Roman was still in a daze as Virgil whirled on him, his face instantly flickering back to worried and loving and affectionate and god, Roman was so, so in love.

“Are you okay?” Virgil was asking frantically, his eyes scanning his boyfriend. “Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?”

“I’m a hot mess,” Roman confessed pragmatically.

Virgil stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Meaning…?”

“You are very, very attractive when you’re pissed.”

Virgil flushed, his eyebrows raising. “Oh. Um.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and a smile tugged itself onto Roman’s face.

“It’s okay,” he assured him. “You’re always very attractive anyway, so I’m mostly used to it.”

“Oh, stop,” Virgil told him. Roman did, though only in favour of kissing him until they were both breathless.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #romantic LAMP #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #cross posted on ao3 #tw vomit #tw harrassment #tw ptsd #spoilers for Powerless!!#fanfic #long post

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dragonseattofu · 4 years ago

Text

School Days (TWEWY Fanfiction)

Summary

As the gang prepares for the annual school cultural festival, Shiki's not hiding in Eri's shadow anymore, and other people are starting to take notice. At the same time, Neku learns that the line between more than friends yet less than lovers is starting to blur.

Notes:

So to try and somewhat contribute to the very smol neshiki twewy fandom, I wrote this self-indulgent piece. It might come off as OOC, but at the end of the day I hope it’s enjoyable to at least one person out there (even if that’s just me). Dedicated to @altorav and @trashcan-of-a, in their efforts to show the world how wholesome neshiki is, you’ve inspired me. I hope you like it! (Plus we needed some fluff post episode 3 angst).

Preview:

It was that time of year again, the annual school cultural festival. A time of ostentatious costumes, overly enthusiastic maid/butler cafe hosts/hostesses, and even more unnecessary social interactions that Neku would rather just avoid school all together.

What a drag, the teen thought as he drowned out his classmate’s debate on what theme they should do.

Looking at the window from his seat, Neku was grateful he listened to his mother this morning and grabbed an umbrella. The cumulus clouds hung low, their edges tinged grey.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. Make sure to sign up for your roles before the end of the day!”

Pulled out of his reverie by chairs scratching against the worn linoleum and erupting chatter, Neku stood up from his seat and walked over to the bespeckled girl two rows down.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” The petite girl asked before he even got out his greeting.

He picked at one of his spiked out strands of hair, “is it that obvious? Festivals are such a bore.”

“They are not! And this year we have Beat and Eri to celebrate it with. Even Rhyme’s coming! It’s going to be fun!” She was really enthusiastic about this, and not the false happiness she tried to pull during their time in the Reaper’s Game, but genuine excitement. He couldn’t help but mirror her smile.

“Yeah well, what are we even doing?” He turned his attention to the board and shuttered.

“Seriously? A play … Cinderella? Cliche much? Yep, this is going to be torture.”

“Oh come on, it’s not going to be that bad! Eri and I are going to be in charge of costumes, you could help us—“

“Hey Sakuraba!” Yuji shouted from the front of the classroom, “thanks for signing up for props and set, man! We’ll have a meeting after classes in the auditorium at 3!”

Neku looked at the class president as if he had sprouted reaper wings, “what the?”

“You signed up for set-up?” Shiki asked him, getting up with her books and supplies all gathered neatly in her bag.

“Hell no, who signed me up?”

“I did.” A streak of pink wandered over to the pair. Before the young boy could protest the predicament she put him in, the girl placed her arm around Shiki’s shoulders protectively.

“I found some of your sketches in Shiki’s notebook and I figured you’d be really good at making the sets. Plus, this way you can walk Shiki home after school when it gets late. Kill two birds with one stone, right? Eri ended her explanation with a wink, much to Neku’s chagrin.

Just as quickly as Eri appeared, in a blink she was gone, yelling over her shoulder, “see you later guys! Shiki, let’s get started on the costume designs after school today!”

“Come back here Pinkie!” The boy hissed at her retreating shadow.

Shiki laughed at their antics. She grasped Neku’s fist he was shaking at her best friend gently and smiled at him before repeating, “hey, it’ll be fun, okay?”

A slight pause and resigned sigh were her only responses.

“This never reaches my mother’s ears. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He threatens, knowing full well that Shiki and his mother had each other's numbers saved as favorites.

~~~~~

Reluctantly, Neku made his way to the auditorium after school. To his surprise, he learned that the play was going to be a parody of sorts, a “Cinderella in Shibuya” story. The sets would be modeled after iconic spots in their neighborhood, one of which would be inspired by CAT’s mural in Udagawa! Even though Neku was still sulking in his seat for having to stay after school, he didn’t hate the concept.

“So gang, we’ll need a couple of supplies to start with constructing the sets and painting them.” Yuji started speaking as he walked up the steps leading to the stage.

“Takeda-sensei mentioned that we have some spray paints left over that we could use to save on budget.” Taking a seat at the edge of the stage, the class president looked into the crowd of faces and asked, “Has anyone used spray paints before?”

The answer was quite clear from the deafening silence. Neku could just sit quietly in his seat, admire the ugly clock above the stage, ticking away at the wasted minutes he could be spending with his friends if he wasn’t stuck here…

Or he could take a page out of Mr. H’s book and expand his world. Push his horizons out as far as they'll go. If Shiki was trying to overcome her insecurities and expand her world beyond Eri’s, then maybe he should too. Plus, he could use the practice.

“... I have,” Neku hesitantly muttered, not used to voluntarily bringing attention to himself. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer as all the eyes in the auditorium turned to him.

Yuji’s surprised expression was replaced with a huge grin, “Sweet man, thanks for volunteering! You good with the Udagawa set? It’s the only one that would look wild spray painted.”

Like he needed to ask, “yeah.”

“Cool!” Yuji said, “now let’s move on to the Hachiko set. Anyone good with sculpting?”

The remainder of the meeting was spent dividing up the work. They’d start assembling the sets tomorrow, and painting would start in a couple of weeks depending on how long it took to build everything. Satisfied that he could finally go home and relax, Neku sauntered out of the auditorium, flipping open his phone to see if he had any messages. None from Shiki, huh, I wonder if she went home already?

He didn’t get a chance to dwell on why he thought of Shiki just now because he spotted the girl in question sitting outside under one of the awnings at the main entrance.

“What are you still doing here?” Neku asked, slowly approaching the brunette. Shiki turned to the sound of her name, recognition dawning in her eyes and she waved at him.

“Eri forgot she had a doctor’s appointment today, so she had to leave right after classes. I had to stay late with Mina and Ai for the costume supply list, and I wasn’t sure if you had left already.” Shiki looked up at the sky, watching the rain fall around the bench she was sitting on. “I’m waiting for the storm to let up before heading home.”

He had to stop himself from admiring her, she looked stunning surrounded by the falling rain, the setting sun reflecting off of the droplets that shimmered like jewels falling from the sky around her.

“You forgot your umbrella didn’t you?” He asked, seeing her flinch at the accusation confirmed his suspicions. With a sheepish smile, she nodded.

Neku pulled out the folded umbrella from his knapsack and opened it up, leaving room on his left. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” she replied, getting up to join her companion as the sounds of two pairs of footsteps splashing in a nearby puddle reverberated off the school buildings.

After a couple of blocks of comfortable silence, Shiki asked, “So how did your meeting go?”

He adjusted the umbrella before muttering, “Boring.”

“Oh.” Shiki wasn’t entirely surprised. The festival seemed like more of a nuisance to him.

“... The play’s going to be a parody in Shibuya?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it interesting? Eri and I decided to do a fusion of victorian punk for the costumes!” Neku could practically see the stars shining in her eyes, “fairytale gold with midnight navy, flowing dresses with chains and netting! It’s going to look awesome —“

So enthusiastic about the creations in her mind, Shiki didn’t see that she stepped into the bicycle lane beside her, with a cyclist approaching at an alarming speed. Neku tossed the umbrella from his left hand to his right and grabbed Shiki’s shoulder from behind, pulling her into his chest in one swift motion. Not a second later did the wind pick up next to the two teens, the bicyclist flipping the middle finger as he passed them.

“Watch where you’re going!” Neku shouted.

“You watch it kid!”

As his senses started the return to normal from the brush of danger, Neku asked Shiki if she was alright. He didn’t move away from her, only bringing the umbrella over to shield the rain that started to drip on his hand holding her shoulder. The rhythmic pattering of droplets hitting the umbrella slowed her heartbeat enough to reply.

“Yeah, a little shaken though. Thanks for the save,” Shiki said, their eyes meeting. The proximity of their faces caused their already flushed cheeks to redden a deeper hue, both quickly turning away in embarrassment. Shiki reluctantly removed her hands from his chest, and with a little hesitation, Neku released his hold on her.

Confined to the edges of his seemingly small umbrella, Neku cleared his throat and offered the girl his arm, “I-I think you should hold on to me, you know, in case I need to save you again.”

This time she pouted, “I saved you a couple of times too, you know,” Shiki commented, her nose held high defiantly. Without hesitation, she accepted the arm that extended out to her, cheeks dusted pink from frustration because he was teasing her, and that she was holding onto the person she may or may not have feelings for. With their arms now linked, the two continued their walk home as the rain started to get heavier.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be sure to thank Piggy when I see him next time.”

“Ugh, gosh Neku, Mr. Mew is a cat!” She pulled the black stuffed animal out of her bag and shoved him in the boy’s face for good measure.

“Hey there Piggy, thanks for saving me back in the UG. Think you can save me from your master’s death glare?” Neku chuckled while guiding Shiki across the street. She was getting more annoyed with him by the second, but he couldn’t help himself. As they waited for the crossing signal to change, Neku took the time to admire the way she crinkles her nose when she’s arguing with him, and how she tightens her grip on his arm when they can proceed across the street. He’s staring too long at her, he realizes and he blushes because may or may not have feelings for her.

They were dancing around where they stood with each other for months now. Definitely more than friends, but a little less than lovers. Neku couldn’t deny that if he ever would be with someone, it would be Shiki, but they were both still learning how to be themselves. That was more important than being branded as something they weren’t yet ready for just to satisfy other people. Shiki was important to Neku, and vice versa because they were partners, and if anything was going to happen beyond that, would just happen on its own. Right now, Neku enjoyed having Shiki this close to him, talking about what the next couple of weeks would be like as they walked home together, and that was good enough for him.

~~~~~

A couple of days had passed since the shared umbrella incident, and yet again, Neku found himself staying after school, moving one of the newly constructed sets into the west wing of the auditorium. It wouldn’t be long before he could take the massive blank mural outside and start spray painting the design he had been ruminating on. With the last of the sets neatly tucked away, Neku silently nodded at Yuji to signal his leave, before picking up his things and heading out. The fluorescent “20:35” shined on his phone as he tapped it to life, lighting up the shadowed hallway as he walked further into the school.

Neku heard her voice on his way to the classroom. He knew she was probably still working, oftentimes the last person in her group to leave, but what surprised him was the presence of another, more masculine voice in response to her quiry.

“Most people don’t know about that collection, it sold out within a couple of hours after release.”

“Wow, did you manage to get anything? Oh, lift your neck a little higher.”

“Sure thing.” There was a pause and Neku took the opportunity to peer into the classroom through the silt in the door. He could see Shiki standing on a stool, intently working on the collar of their classmate’s costume. The voice belonged to Hiroshi Minaru. He was casted as the prince in their festival play, and it looked like most of his costume was complete, sans a couple details Neku knew Shiki would never overlook. She was so deep in thought that her face was barely inches from the boy’s neck. “It was a bloodbath at 5 in the morning, but I grabbed the limited edition mint polo before this other dude and I thought I was going to die!”

Neku heard Shiki giggle, and he subconsciously clenched his fists. He felt like he shouldn’t be there, eavesdropping on her. With another guy… She’s clearly still busy, and it’s not like they had planned to leave together. He debated whether he should just go, make up an excuse as to why he didn’t wait. He felt uncomfortable, and he didn’t know why.

“All done! How does it feel, too constricting?”

“No, It’s perfect Misaki-chan, you’re so amazing with a needle and thread! You really have a talent for sewing.”

“Thanks,” she said bashfully, “now, give me a good turn!”

The boy took a step back and spun around, his cape flowing around him, “how do I look?” He put his hand to his chin, and smirked at her with a lifted brow.

“Like a dashing prince charming.” Shiki replied with a friendly smile, the ones Neku had seen time and time again.

“I’m really glad we got to work together like this for the festival, it’s nice to talk to someone about fashion with an eye for clothes making.”

“Yeah, me too. Most of the time it’s just Eri and I…” Shiki looked down, steadying herself to step down from the stool. Hiroshi offered her a hand, which she gladly took.

“M-Maybe ... sometime I could show you some photos of my Mus Rattus collection?” Hiroshi said, looking up at her from below, their faces mere centimeters away.

The pair made eye contact and the next thing Neku knew, he saw her pitch forward.

“Misaki-chan!” “Shiki!”

Thankfully, she landed on her feet, still holding Hiroshi’s hand. Both heads turned to the door that was forcibly ripped open, leaving the orange haired teen standing alone, concern written on his face.

“Shiki, are you okay?” Neku asked, walking toward the pair. He saw her slide her hand out of Hiroshi’s as she redirected her attention to him.

“Yeah, a little shaken but I’m alright.” She turned to Hiroshi, “Thanks for catching my fall Hiroshi-kun.”

“No problem Misaki-chan. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she beamed at Neku, “while you’re here, what do you think?” She asked, gesturing toward Hiroshi, to which their classmate posed with a smile.

After a second or two, “I think I see a button loose.”

“WHAT, where?!” She scurried to Hiroshi, who stiffened at the sudden scrutiny.

“...made you look…”

“Neku, jeez!” Shiki puffed her cheeks. He just smiled as she attacked him with a series of punches to the arm.

Clearing his throat, Hiroshi excused himself. It was quite late already, and he felt like he was intruding on what seemed to be a private moment.

“See you later, Misaki-chan, Sakuraba-kun.”

A comfortable silence soon fell upon them. Shiki moved to gather her belongings, tidying up her projects neatly to be continued tomorrow.

“Let’s go?” She asked, holding her bag behind her back.

He nodded as she walked out of the classroom, shutting the light, and closing the door behind them.

~~~~~

The evening air whistled in his ear, a chill nipping at his nose. The weather was getting colder, the days shorter, and staying in school longer for the festival meant commuting home when the sun was either gone or disappearing beyond the horizon. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck in a feeble attempt to fight the shivers moving up his spine. He looked at Shiki to see how she was fairing.

He saw that her cheeks were pink, from the cold or something else he didn’t know. He moved to look at her eyes, surprised when his eyes locked onto hers. Shortly after both teens looked away in different directions, a little more flushed than before.

“So Hiroshi-kun’s costume is coming together really well. The gold accents Eri wanted really worked out better than I imagined,” Shiki said.

“That’s because you brought it to life.”

Shiki looked at him with wide eyes. Neku’s always been blunt to a “T,” never sugarcoating his thoughts regardless if they were well-received or not. When he says things like this, Shiki can’t help but feel elated. He believed in her and her abilities, it was just a simple truth.

“Thanks Neku.”

She heard a muffled mhmm from his scarf.

A couple steps later, “... what were you and Hiroshi talking about?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Hiroshi-kun is really into Mus Rattus’ recent fall collection. Some of the pieces had some pretty neat fabrics and we started talking about textiles and fashion. I didn’t know there would be someone else that liked fashion as much as Eri and I.”

Neku grunted a reply. Realizing that he was a few steps ahead of her, Shiki quickened her pace to match his.

“Is something … bothering you?” Shiki questioned the boy, subconsciously giving him the doe-eyed look he found both irritating and endearing.

Neku felt agitated; more so frustrated because he didn’t exactly know why he was agitated. Flashbacks from that rainy day came to mind, Shiki holding onto his arm under a shared umbrella, walking home side by side, more closely than before. The memories made him feel warm and excited. Then he remembered the princely-dressed Hiroshi holding Shiki’s hand as if she was his princess he had come to rescue, and he grunted in displeasure. He came to a stop, trying to sort out his emotions. It showed on his face enough for Shiki to raise an eyebrow in concern.

“Let me in,” Shiki said quietly, “trust me?” She placed a hand on his arm delicately.

It’s not that he didn’t trust her, it was more like he didn’t trust what would come out of his mouth coherently. He looked at her hands, and with great care, took her hands into his own, slightly larger ones.

“I … ugh … want to … hold your hands.” Neku mummered, so low and into his scarf she barely caught it. But after a couple of months of getting to know her partner, she knew how to really listen when he verbally or wordlessly communicated something.

Not exactly sure where this was coming from, Shiki just replied with the first thing that came to mind, “I want to hold your hands too,” she said with a soft smile.

That was a good sign, right? Neku was nervous, but an excited kind of nervous. They were going into a very delicate topic, one that they had been carefully tiptoeing around since they came back to the RG. He didn’t know if he was ready to take the next steps, but now’s a better time than never he reasoned. He slowly realized that he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Can we talk about…this, us?” He said, looking down at their joined hands, giving hers a light squeeze.

A pregnant pause ascended, and Neku didn’t realize he was holding this breath before he heard her speak.

“Well, I like hanging out with you, being with just you.” She closed her eyes in thought, “and I like when you walk me home.” She gestured to their hands, “this is nice too, I would like to do this more often.”

Shiki opened one eye to gauge her companion’s reaction and took a leap of faith, “I guess I’ve kind of had feelings for you for a while now, since the first time you saw me in the RG, the real me. I was super embarrassed when you told me that I was prettier than Eri. I thought you were just trying to cheer me up so that Beat and Rhyme wouldn't worry, but then I remembered that you don’t say needless things, that you really believed it, so I started to believe it too.”

Looking him straight in the eyes, Shiki continued, “I like the way you make me feel, like I’m a better person than I think I am, and I want to be the person that you see in me…”

He still hadn’t uttered a word, slowly processing what he was hoping wasn’t a dream. His silence continued and Shiki was beginning to lose her nerve, “and you should say something now because this is super embarrassing with you just looking at me like that!” Gosh, she wanted to pry her hands away so she can bury her face in them!

So the feeling was mutual all along, Neku thought, and he couldn’t stop the goofiest smile that emerged on his face.

“Well … you were my entry fee,” he replied, trying to look everywhere but her. Neku had told Shiki and the gang about his three week experience immediately after they returned to the RG. He was so apologetic for dragging her back into the game again that he didn’t see her embarrassment about what being his entry fee really meant. If he didn’t want to dwell on it, neither would she. However his comment had greater weight now, and she blushed knowing what he was implying, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

“Geez, I just gave you a whole monologue! I want something more than that. Say it!”

“Alright, alright, geez stalker don’t get your undies in a bunch,” he chuckled, and with a little bit more confidence said, “Shiki, I like you too.”

It felt like a veil had lifted, like the metaphoric waltz they were dancing finally concluded and they just stood there, hand in hand. Neku swore he heard music in his ears, the Shibuya’s metropolitan sounds harmonizing with Shiki’s melody into a rhapsody only he could hear. One day he would tell her about it, her song that was playing in his mind when she told him that she liked him. But for today he would just burn her smile into his memory, the smile she had when he told her that he liked her.

Neku didn’t know what the near future would hold, neither of them doing well under the pressure of their friends that had been right about them this whole time, but he wanted to do this right, and take it slow. For now, all he just wanted was to be with her, and hold her hand a little longer.

“Let’s take the long way home, through the park?” Neku suggested, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Y-yeah.” She stuttered as he boldly gave them a chaste kiss.

So into their own world, hands laced together, setting a different course home, did the young couple not realize the chuckle in the wind at the bet he just won on who would confess first.

#neshiki #TWEWY #the world ends with you #the world ends with you animation #neku sakuraba #shiki misaki #twewy #twewyani #twewy anime #twewy fanfiction #the world ends with you fanfiction #mypost #my post #myfanfic #my fanfiction

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bribe-the-door · 4 years ago

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the things that we’ll never know [001]

the one where best friend!harry apologizes

a/n: hi friends :) it’s been a minute... hasn’t it? i’ve been going a bit stir crazy waiting for quarantine to end and the world to feel normal. so, to deal with the angst i have toward the current state of the world, I give you: fine line era angst.

let me know if you’re interested in seeing more from me! i sure miss writing and i think it might be something i get back into these days :) xoxo h

***

Are you still watching?

A banner pops up on your laptop screen, pausing the credits of yet another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. You scroll to the corner, click “yes”, and settle back into your spot; the corner of a well-worn grey sofa. A small grey cat, lovingly named Bean, readjusts her head and falls back asleep against you. The familiar two-beat drum sounds and Netflix shines in its red glory, the only light to illuminate your small space.

It is probably better this way, the darkness.

Having remained almost completely stationary for the past three days, the apartment is showing signs of abandonment and disarray. The space, normally light and airy despite its tiny size, feels cramped and stuffy. Plants droop in their pots as the sun sinks deeper into the sky and you’re too bothered to turn on the string lights. Instead you stay put, wilting, too.

Your laptop is wedged between a plate and bowl from a long-since concluded meal. A lone coffee mug sits cold, the dregs of drip coffee stagnant in the bottom of the cup. It will leave a ring of discoloration when you try to scrub it clean. There is a mess of cords under your legs; a charger, heating pad, headphones.

You’ll untangle them later, you tell yourself.

A sudden rush of action on-screen catches your attention, diverting your thoughts for a few minutes. An ambulance rushes to the hospital and interrupts a love triangle moment. Someone is caught in a longing gaze across the emergency department. Chaos ensues and there’s a dramatic cut to the next scene of hands furiously moving through surgery.

Your phone buzzes next to you and you glance at its screen, blue light casting a gastly glow over your face. It’s nothing important and you swipe to close the app.

A glaring red “1” catches your eye.

Your thumb hovers over the message app, knowing exactly what this text says. It’s remained unread, untouched, for three days now. An internal battle heats up in your brain, and, avoiding the turmoil altogether, you shake your head and lock your phone. It’s tossed aside as you push off of the couch. Netflix continues to play in the background.

You make your way into the kitchen (Bean following, curious) and scour the cabinets for something else to add to your pile of dishes on the coffee table. They’re bare except for a stale, half-eaten loaf of bread, some peanut butter, a box of elbow macaroni, and a can of peaches. A stray protein bar is likely hiding out somewhere in there, too, but you close the cupboard in defeat.

Since when were you so easily shaken by a simple “hi”?

A single laugh floats from your lungs. It happens again, this time out of disbelief.

And then it turns to a sob.

There is nothing simple about this greeting.

[three days earlier]

“Y/n,” Harry sighs. His hand rakes through his curls and leaves them disheveled. “It’s not that difficult of a concept.”

You feel your heart lurch into your throat, the second time this evening. The silence leaves only another opportunity for Harry to drive the wedge deeper between the both of you. He seldom leaves an argument without having the final word.

His eyes find yours amidst the tension. It’s uncomfortable and feels similar to the way your father scolded you as a child. His gaze locks you in place; cold.

“You’re acting as if you can’t see what I see,” he says, voice hardly a whisper. It grows in volume as the emotions well up within his chest. “Feel what I feel… It’s not /there/ anymore, y/n.”

Your lips part in attempts to interject, but are closed just as quickly.

“You’re not here anymore.” Harry’s head shakes and his eyes continue their grip on yours. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried and tried and nothing seems to stick. Not a single goddamn thing! I can’t figure you out, y/n. I’m going crazy trying to understand where I went so wrong.”

An angry fist pounds the table beside him and you stand in your place; fear paralyzes you and you are one with the cold kitchen tile. It’s a standoff now and neither of you move. You can’t move.

“Do you not have anything to say?” he spits, disbelief tinting the outburst. His eyes pity you, searching your face for any semblance of attention. Emotion. Something.

“I…” you begin, swallowing back the lump that’d made its presence known minutes ago. Your mind draws blank as his eyes bore into yours. This feels completely out of left field.

“Nothing?!”

“Harry, please.”

His hands fall to his sides in a final defeat. “No… No. No, y/n.” He’s talking to himself, muttering under his breath. He begins to turn away from the table, phone in hand. The counter is his next pursuit, likely in search of his keys, you presume.

“Where are you going? You ask, snapping to attention when you realize the familiar path he’s taking. He’s done this before. Many people in your life have taken this path, actually.

It’s the one ending in a slammed front door, an empty foyer. You don’t shake those feelings easily.

Harry laughs, “I’m not sure. But I’m not staying here.”

You take a step toward him and try to form a coherent sentence, but your tongue trips in the process. You don’t come up with much, but it’s an attempt.

“But, what about us, Harry? I love you!”

His body turns slowly to face you. He’s got his belongings in hand—the weathered notebook he keeps with him at all times, his keys (in a loop around his fingers)—and a sweater drapes itself over the crook of his elbow. Harry’s hands are full, but his eyes fail to show any sign of life.

“How do you know what love is, y/n?” He asks, tone dripping with doubt. “How do you know what that could possibly mean when you show yourself no love?”

His accusation holds the same comfort as burning your tongue on coffee. Stubbing your toe on the doorframe. A paper cut washed with soap.

When you fail to answer, Harry earns his final word in this argument.

“I can’t stay with someone who doesn’t love herself. I can’t fix you, y/n.”

Instantly, your chest floods cold. It’s an interesting sensation, as your cheeks run warm from anger while the rest of you ceases to function. You’re confident your heart fails to beat any longer; your lungs constrict like a snake around its prey.

“I’m done trying.”

Harry leaves you in the kitchen, the sounds of his boots echoing further and further away from where you stand. The front door shuts with a firm slam and serves as his ‘goodbye’.

You’re left standing in your spot, frozen as your thoughts race silently through your head. It feels like TV static buzzing in your ears and you can’t turn down the volume.

How is silence so deafening?

***

The phone sits in your hand as another /ping!/ sounds. It burns in your hand as you realize whose name sits above the few words on your screen.

Harry (7:54 PM): Y/n… Can we talk?

Your mouth tastes of pennies and you relax your jaw, grimacing at the now-sore part of your lip imprinted by your teeth. The red “2” shines angrily from its spot at the bottom of your phone. With a sigh, you tap on the square and reveal a text-thread you wish you never have to read again.

The blue and grey boxes hold words and emotions from days ago and, in your separation from them, you’re unprepared for the visceral reaction deep within your chest. Your heart drums underneath the cage of your ribs, constant, but worried. Like it knows something you don’t.

Feelings are pushed to the wayside and you begin to type back a response.

You (7:58 PM): Sure.

The grey “typing” bubble appears almost instantly after yours delivers. /He’s been waiting for you to respond/ you realize.

Harry (7:58 PM): It’s such a relief to hear from you, y/n.

Harry (7:59 PM): I miss you.

Grey’s Anatomy plays across the room from you, another heated argument on-screen, but it is drowned out by the thudding of your heart. It’s working in overdrive now.

For days, you did nothing but attempt to forget Harry’s existence: his clothes sat in a pile at the bottom of your closet (despite the overwhelming urge to pull that grey jumper over your shoulders at this moment); your mirror sits bare now that the polaroids of you both are nowhere to be found; his favorite coffee mug, along with his small collection of shot glasses and a teacup with the matching spoon, have been packed away and sit in a small cardboard box beside your kitchen counter.

Your apartment has been picked apart, day by day, to rid Harry of the space. It feels impossible, though, with how much time he spends (spent?) here.

Another text pops up:

Harry (8:07 PM): Y/n, are you there? I really want to make this right.

“Ugh!” you groan, loud enough to make Bean stir from her spot. “Sorry, baby, I’m just…”

Just what? you think to yourself. Just… Frustrated? Confused? Hurt?

Bean nudges your elbow with her tiny head, rubbing against your arm to try and earn some affection. You reach behind her ears and scratch small circles until she begins to purr. It’s hard to focus on anything present right now; you find yourself mulling over things from weeks ago. Swept up in memories once sweet now stab at your heart with a vengeance reserved for the most heinous of crimes.

There was the date at sunset in the park, complete with a chilled bottle of prosecco to celebrate your graduation and a slice of pie from the bakery down the road. The time he surprised you at work with balloons, a bouquet of peonies and eucalyptus (your favorites), and a stupid grin of his face “Just Because”. Remember when Harry decided to decorate your entire apartment for Valentine’s Day because you’d mentioned in passing no one had ever done anything for that holiday growing up, and it was your favorite? There were roses everywhere; Bean had a pink bow on her head, and Harry insisted on baking a heart-shaped cake.

Why did something so seemingly perfect cut even deeper on second thought?

You sigh again, shaking your head at the phone.

“What do I do, Bean?” She chirps in response and you let out a single laugh. “You have it so much easier, you know? No boys to break your heart, no job to take up all of your time.”

You pick her up and hold her in front of you, leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers. Her sandpaper-tongue brushes over your nose and she meows again.

“Okay, sorry.” You put her down and she curls up in your lap, purring against your stomach.

Things move in slow-motion as you think, and you’re not entirely sure how much time has passed. Phone in hand, your fingers anxiously hover over the screen and anticipate a string of words. Each time, though, they feel wrong, and you delete the entire thing.

”I just want to make things right.”

It feels like an internal battle to decipher what Harry means with this pleading. There’s a part of you who wants nothing to do with him, another who desperately wants him back, and the most confusing part, who feels like you were the one in the wrong here. Love is a tumultuous thing; intense, passionate. It feels utterly terrifying in the simplest of ways. Was your lack of self-love really what caused such an uproar in the first place? Had you been blind to your own hatred this whole time?

A knock at the door interrupts your ponderings.

Bean looks up suddenly, ears flickering at the noises from the hall. She jumps from your lap and runs to the dining table, hiding behind its oak legs. You can hardly see her, only the glimmering green of her eyes as they move to survey the apartment.

It takes minimal thought to figure out who stands on the other side of the door and you aren’t sure if it’s wishful thinking or fear of confrontation.

You stand and cautiously approach the hall, legs more like jell-o than limbs. Another knock sounds and the hair on your arms stands on end. This feels like a scene from a horror film; ominous. In attempts to steady your breathing, you don’t reach for the door at first, knowing full-well who stands on the other side.

The floor creaks underneath your right foot, and you swear under your breath. A quick “shit!” before you remember why you’re being so timid in the first place. A grimace crosses your face in wait.

Harry sighs from outside the door. “Y/n, I know you’re right there.”

You don’t say anything and instead look through the peep-hole. His face looks defeated, eyes searching the door for you as if he knows your every move.

“Can we please talk?”

The doorknob seemingly glows in response to his suggestion, simply begging for your touch. It feels entirely wrong to refuse conversation with the boy who, for the past few years, so gingerly held your heart and cared for you more than any family member could have.

He just wants to talk, you remind yourself. A quick talk.

You twist the lock on the knob, a metallic “yes” answering him instead of your own words. Next is the deadbolt, then the chain. The knob feels heavy in your hand as you turn it, but there isn’t any going back now.

Light floods into your apartment from the common hall, accompanied by the stale smell of cigarette smoke. Harry moves only his gaze to meet yours.

“Hi.”

You swallow before answering and realize how tightly you’d been holding your jaw the entire time. “Hi.”

His hands are in his pockets, and, illuminated by the harsh fluorescents of the hallway, he should have looked intimidating. But his shoulders hung low and his eyes were unsure.

Clearly neither of you were ready for this.

“Can I…” Harry starts.

You gesture forward, backing up against the door and allow him to enter.

He hesitates slightly before moving into the entryway, hovering for just a moment. The stiffness in Harry’s shoulders fades slightly as the door shuts behind you but the tension in his presence only increases.

Harry turns to face you, and, against your best interests, seconds pass as minutes. Slowly enough to study over his eyes; shadowy in the dim lighting of your hallway but ever still green. They invite you in like a warm mug of coffee after a chilling walk home from work and you find yourself biting back a grin. It all feels wrong, having him so close.

But, the heart wants what the heart wants, right?

“Can I?” He asks, more succinctly this time.

You nod a single nod, stepping a single step closer. He reaches forward to cup your chin in his hand, tipping your gaze up at his for just a second. That same emerald draws you in just like moments before, a safe embrace.

A welcome home.

Harry stays like this for just a moment more before dropping his hand, a sigh leaves his lips. You’re disheartened at the buildup leaving just as quickly as it’d come on.

“So about that text...” you laugh. He shares a laugh, too, but there’s a hint of pain in his tone.

You anticipate they’ll be a lot more hurt tonight.

***

feel free to let me know what you thought! this is just a little piece and it’s been fun to work back into the writing scene <3

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction

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kwanisms · 5 years ago

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No Longer - jjh

⤑ genre: angst, angst, angst ⤑ pairing: Jaehyun x Reader ⤑ warning: angst, strong language, alcohol consumption, sexual content, dark themes (tw: depression, suicidal thoughts) ⤑ summary: Jaehyun relives the past two years leading up to where he is now. ⤑ word count: 1.7k

a/n: this has some pretty dark themes in it so i just want to take this time to say that if anyone reading this is having a hard time whether it be in school, work, or life in general, just know my inbox and ask box are always open. I am here for you so please don’t hesitate to reach out. I love you all and please read this with caution. it’s some really heavy stuff. I wrote this when I was having a depressive episode and it’s not edited. ~K

The apartment sat dark and empty, the way it was when you left. Jaehyun could barely bring himself to get out of bed in the mornings but at the same time he didn't want to be in the apartment by himself. Not when you weren't there.

Meeting you was a rare chance that Jaehyun had been thankful for ever since it happened. He was immediately drawn towards you and didn't hesitate to say hello. Your smile caught him off guard, blinding him with your radiance.

He succeeded in getting your number that day and called you some time later. That was the first time he could recall being on the phone for several hours. Telling you all the cheesy jokes he could think of, enjoying the sound of your laughter.

It didn't take him much longer to ask you out on a date. You accepted immediately. Jaehyun planned the whole day. He took you out for a picnic near the Han River. Afterwards, the two of you spent most of the day relaxing and talking.

He tried hard to be a gentleman, even asking to hold your hand. You accepted and the two of you walked hand in hand down the banks of the river. He could remember the day like it was yesterday.

He wore a white long sleeve shirt with fitted black jeans, and grey sneakers. You had on a peach colored sweater with a white skirt and white sneakers. The day was mild with a slight breeze, soft grey clouds covered the sky in an overcast.

The date ended after the sun set and Jaehyun walked you home. You thanked him, kissing him on the cheek before heading inside for the night. Everything went well, according to Jaehyun and when you texted him another thank you, he knew this would be the first of many.

Time went on and one date turned into three, which then turned into a relationship. One month turned into six and soon you were celebrating your one year anniversary. For the special day, Jaehyun recreated your first date, except on a private boat on the Han River.

The lunch was exactly what he had prepared before. After eating, the two of you went topside to watch the sun set before Jaehyun pulled you out of your seat for a dance. It was the perfect day. The only thing that could have made it better was a surprise which you delivered.

You had missed your period. You were pregnant.

Jaehyun was shocked for sure but excited to start a family with you. He promised to take you ring shopping the next day, a promise he made good on. It didn't take long to find the perfect ring. Jaehyun was the one who found it.

Things seemed to be going well until the unimaginable happened. You called him at work, hysterical on your way to the hospital. Jaehyun left work early to meet you at the emergency room. He waited outside your room while the doctors worked tirelessly on you.

When they finally came out, they broke the news to him.

The baby was lost. You suffered a miscarriage. Jaehyun's heart shattered into pieces at the doctor's words. He was then allowed in to see you. It took every ounce of his willpower to stay strong for you. He needed to be.

He promised that things would be okay. He promised to be there for you. He promised that when the time was right, you could try again. He wasn't about to give up on you. Not when he loved you so much.

Things were okay for about a month before everything started to deteriorate. Your mental health took a huge hit. You couldn't bring yourself to get out of bed or take care of yourself. Jaehyun moved you into his apartment.

With his help, you started getting up, eat, and bathing regularly but only if he was by your side. Jaehyun had no qualms about this arrangement if it meant he got to be with you and be by your side.

As things started to get better, Jaehyun noticed you started to pull away from him. You were starting to distance yourself from him, especially when things started to get intimate. At first, Jaehyun understood but after the allotted time to heal passed, he started to get worried.

"You still love me, don't you?" he whispered one night while lying in bed. You looked over at him, eyes wide. "Of course I do," you replied. "I love you so much, Jae," you added.

He rolled over to face you. "I know what we went through was rough, trust me, I do," he started, reaching up to caress your cheek softly. "I miss you," he added. "I miss the intimacy."

You turned to snuggle into his warm embrace. "I know," you whispered. "I just need time." Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you. "Okay, baby," he whispered into your hair. "I'll give you time."

Jaehyun let out a sigh as he looked around the apartment. You said you needed time but clearly what you needed was space. Jaehyun could recall how even the smallest intimate gestures like a back hug or kiss on the cheek sent you over the edge. Soon, the two of you were fighting over anything and everything. Jaehyun hated it.

He hated how hostile you had become towards him and he wasn't sure how to fix it. The arguments had gotten worse and it all came to an end when Jaehyun asked why you couldn't just be happy with him when you dropped the bomb that you could be happy, just not with him.

Like that day the doctors told him his child had died, Jaehyun's heart shattered into pieces. You broke down sobbing, telling him that you cared about him, truly, but you were no longer in love with him.

And just like that, you left his life. Leaving the apartment void of your presence, your warmth, your love.

When you left, you took a part of Jaehyun with you. His entire life started to fall apart. He started drinking heavily to numb the pain of your leaving. His friends started to become worried when he showed up late to work and even more so when he stopped coming altogether.

On the surface, he was grieving the loss of the love of his life. Internally, he was drowning. He was suffering and no one else could see it. He preferred it that way. He didn't want anyone to worry about him anymore than they already were.

As his mental wellbeing declined, Jaehyun started becoming more reckless, more dangerous. Soon he was having dark thoughts of death and dying. He tried to ask for help but his friends sort of pushed it aside, saying time will help.

Time wasn't helping though. The longer he went on, the more he wanted to end everything. The only person who seemed to be paying attention to him was Johnny.

Johnny noticed how his friend had seemed to go off the deep end after the relationship ended. He kept tabs on Jaehyun the best he could and when the reckless behavior started, he did the only thing he could think of. He told you.

When word reached you that Jaehyun was becoming a danger to himself, you asked Johnny to step in for you. He promised to try.

Johnny asked Jaehyun to meet up with him. At first, Jaehyun refused, wanting to be miserable at home but Johnny finally convinced him to go out to a bar with him. Jaehyun put on some.clean clothes and headed out to meet Johnny.

The bar was quiet, surprisingly for the amount of people inside. Johnny met him by the front door, greeting him with a smile. "Hey man!" he said reaching out to pat his friend on the back. Jaehyun forced a smile as Johnny led him to the bar, finding two seats near the end.

Johnny ordered drinks for the pair and they started talking. Jaehyun noticed how his mood improved slightly spending time outside with his closest friend. As time went on, more drinks were ordered, and the bar started to empty.

Johnny set his drink down and looked at Jaehyun, watching the younger man chug his fifth drink. Johnny winced as Jaehyun finished it, setting his glass back down.

"How can you drink like that?" Johnny asked. Jaehyun looked at his tall friend, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess I just got used to it," Jaehyun said. Johnny eyed his friend suspiciously. "Yeah…" he trailed off. "I guess so."

Jaehyun looked down the bar at the bartender and asked for another but Johnny interjected. "Can we get two waters, please?" Jaehyun looked up at Johnny with disgust.

"Water??" he asked incredulously. Johnny nodded. "You need to hydrate." Jaehyun shrugged again, accepting the glass of cool water that was set in front of him.

After taking a large gulp, Jaehyun let out a chuckle, causing Johnny to look at him. "What?" Johnny asked with a smile. Jaehyun shrugged again, his eyes watering slightly as the weight of everything he was feeling finally broke his spirit.

"Have you ever wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again?" he whispered, not looking at Johnny. The older male slowly turned his head to look at Jaehyun. "What?" he whispered. Jaehyun turned to look at Johnny.

"You've never wanted to die?" he asked, genuinely shocked. Johnny shook his head. "No. I can't say I have," he replied. Jaehyun fell silent, looking down at the bar top. Johnny hesitated before finally speaking up.

"Jae?" he asked. Jaehyun turned to look at him. "Yeah?" he asked. "Have you…" Johnny began before looking around. Once he was certain no one was eavesdropping, he turned back to Jaehyun.

"Are you thinking about killing yourself?" Johnny asked. Jaehyun scoffed. "I've only been thinking about that since she left," he said before taking a sip of his water. Johnny's jaw dropped slightly. "Jaehyun," he said a little more sternly.

"What?" Jaehyun snapped. "Do you want help?" Johnny asked. Jaehyun looked away. "No. I'm not going to actually do it. I just miss her a lot, Johnny." Jaehyun said, his voice cracking. Johnny nodded. "I know you do, Jae. I know this is hard but you should talk to someone."

Jaehyun shrugged. "Maybe so," he whispered. "I guess I should try," he added.

All he knew was that while you no longer loved him, he could no longer live like this. He had to do something.

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takerfoxx · 4 years ago

Text

happyandstupidotter submitted:

Oh man, this took me long. Long story short, I had a lot of work and I wanted to have time to read the chapter again and review. So here we are 2 weeks later.

Before I start I want to talk about that dream Oktavia was having. Even though it was quite simple and straight forward it reminded me of Stuff TM.

I don’t know if you know about this one fun fact, but one of the interpretations of Kyoko’s witch version was that she was named Ophelia as a reference to the character with the same name from Hamlet. In Hamlet, Ophelia fell in the water and embraced death by letting herself drown.

Hamlet!Ophelia’s death has some similarities with Kyoko’s first witch out in the PSP game. In that route, after Sayaka witches out and Oktavia is killed, Kyoko survives, but witches out after realizing that Sayaka is indeed dead and that she wouldn’t be able to escape having an horrible death. So, we have Hamlet!Ophelia letting herself drown to stop being a tool being used by Hamlet to meet his own selfish ends and we have Kyoko letting herself fall to despair after Sayaka/Oktavia’s death to be free of the circle of suffering she found herself in after she made the contract. I quite like this interpretation of Witch!Ophelia’s name.

And the other thing it reminded me of was of the special ending after episode 8 in which Kyoko reaches out for a drowning Sayaka. Ahhh, love that ending.

Anyways. Plot.

I’ll be serious with you, I read Kazumi many years ago and I barely remember it. I had zero memories of a dead girl and clones of said dead girl for instance. Even though that’s the case, I am enjoying the clones very much. They are weirdos full stop, but that is what makes them charming. In their own way. That and the fact that their simple existence makes Kyoko think hard about what it means to like two girls who share one body and how she should approach it to not fuck up things with the girl that is currently driving the meat sack. Soul vapor sack. You get it.

Seriously, this is the most complex and angsty love triangle EVER. I love it. My heart was full and content with all the KyoTavi content from this chapter, thank you so much.

Since we are in the love subject… April has a girlfriend, huh? Kyoko and I shared the same shark reaction to that information. I was so not expecting it. Man, I already love April. The entire Kyoko-April conversation was GOLD from start to end. April has trouble expressing facial emotions that are deemed socially acceptable, but she’s clearly great. I’m excited to learn more about other calendar sisters.

I’m also excited for Mami to get proper professional help at some point in this arc. Or at least her meds back. Fingers crossed for the people in the city to have something for her.

And get Kyoko her cowboy hat. The poor girl will start dreaming of cowboy hats soon if that doesn’t happen.

Thanks for the chapter! It was great reading it twice.

I was wondering when I would hear from you, lol.

Y’know something funny? I of course know who the original Ophelia is (English major, son of an English teacher, grandson of a theater set producer) and even made a reference to it in Ophelia’s introduction in WN, but until you explicitly pointed it out just now, I don’t think I ever consciously made the connection between Ophelia’s death and the frequent motif of Kyoko drowning that keeps popping up in my stories. I mean, you’d think it be obvious, seeing how the WN Ophelia is terrified of water, Kyoko and Sayaka’s special ED literally shows them drowning together (which is what Oktavia’s dream was referencing), Kyoko canonically can’t swim, and I later want to also have the RD have an aversion to water as well, but that was mainly to have her be a foil to the water-loving Oktavia. I mean, I might have noted the connection somewhere in WN and referenced it, but if I did then I forgot immediately. So chalk it up to another unintentional but very appropriate connection.

Kazumi Magica had its ups and downs, but the (SPOILERS!) big twist was interesting. Basically, Kazumi found out that she was actually a clone of Michiru, who had turned into a witch and was killed by her friends, so her friends tried using witch flesh (which I guess they could get somehow) and magic to try to clone her. Kazumi herself came out all right, but at one point she discovers where they were keeping the failed clones, and a fight ensues in which she’s forced to kill the clones. And I always felt that the clones got a raw deal, so I stuck them in RD, had them discover the original Michiru, and form a family with her.

The love triangle was one of those happy accidents. The original plan was for Oktavia to simply turn back into Sayaka at some point, kind of like how Candeloro became Mami in IM. But I realized that I had spent so much time building up Oktavia as her own character and made her identity issues such an integral part of the story that doing that would be kind of a slap in the face. Then, when I was writing Restless and had everyone turn into their opposite selves at the end of their respective dreams, I realized that this would be a great way to introduce the original Sayaka as a character separate from Oktavia and see where that takes us. And as it turns out, where it takes us is ANGST!

April was honestly so much fun to write. I’ve talked a lot about how I like to beings that are usually treated as disposable (clones, the undead, aliens, AI’s, and so on) and humanize them as much as possible. Like, okay, to me, introducing unsettling, uncanny valley clones with strong Stepford Wife vibes to creep the characters out is one thing, but I feel that once you actually got to know them and realized that they’re also people with their own lives, it kind of changes how you view them. Having April have a girlfriend was a big part of that.

And Mami getting some seriously much-needed help was a long time coming. Hell, they all need it.

Also, obligatory:

You ever get the feeling that the people who made the Madoka Magica Online character cards never actually watched the show?

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acdeaky · 4 years ago

Text

lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

warning: fluff, angst

note: happy 800 @versdan ! not me (creating two storylines for one idea and only writing the one with the happy ending bc i’m a sucker for love), wrong bitch. i’m so so incredibly sorry for not posting for like a month! i've been busy with work and i’ve really missed writing, so i’m hoping i can do a bit more (at some point) and get more work out for you guys to read :))

word count: 1.9k

THEN

the field was soft and light that morning. the wheat had barely begun to grow and only touched your mid-calf, but it still itches whenever you passed it. the oranges and yellows in the sky made the mornings better. the fresh, crisp air of the open space made the mornings better. gwilym made the mornings better.

and he was there, just a few feet in front of you, guiding you through the wheat field, making a path for you. often, he glanced back, watching as you trudged and trekked over the terrain.

this morning, specifically, it was tough. the lack of a downpour in the late spring weather had caused warm nights and dry days, even drier mud which you almost tripped over everyday. the passage through the field was just a small consequence of having the best view of the mornings, and gwil; you’d keep him with you wherever you went.

the lake was already glistening when you made it to the opening. like always, gwil waited for you before stepping over the hill, offering you his hand - which you gladly accepted - for support. your other hand wrapped around his bicep as you made your way up and over the hill, finding your nestling spot easily enough after so many times.

and the sky was orange, and yellow, and all shades of happiness that you could think of. it reflected off of the lake and across the scenery, covering the trees and grass with colour.

without his knowledge, you always snuck a glance at gwilym. his light brown hair always fluttered in the wind, making what was usually a neat look, a disheveled one.

the sun looked good on him in the morning.

after years of seeing him like this, after coming to this spot almost every weekend of every year for ten years, it never got old; he only seemed to get better every year.

NOW

it was raining. a typical instance for london in the autumn. your usual outing on a friday night was hastly changed to a night in at yours. as always, gwilym brought the food and you the drinks. after he arrived, drenched down to the bone in water, his coat was hung up to dry, his sweater was changed into one that was permenantly at yours and both of you were settled on the sofa.

an age old film was playing in the background as you ate and later cleared away from dinner. it wasn’t long before boxes were thrown away and your places were taken on the sofa. gwil’s back was pressed against the back of the sofa, with your body tucked into his side as one of his hands idly drew patterns on your skin.

as the night grew older, you changed and went through a few episodes of a joint-favourite tv show and your eyes slowly began to close, leaving you asleep on gwil’s shoulder. almost your entire body was cradled into his side, your body turning subconsciously in your sleep to the welcoming warmth of him.

the next morning, you found yourself in your bed sheets, tucked up and away from the patter of rain from outside. it seemed the storm barely let up, keeping the weather steady throughout the night. only a few inches beside you, gwil was still in his slumber, the steady rise and fall of his body telling you he wouldn’t be awake for a while.

the urge to stay next to his warmth was strong, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to do that; it would be too much to add to a definition. a definition of your relationship that was most definitely not, but also was most definitely, defined.

so, instead, you pulled yourself away from what could be - once again - and began brewing some coffee and making breakfast, something completely undefinable.

THEN

the late summer evenings were always your favourite. it could be nine o’clock, but the sun would still be hovering in the sky, painting it with the most gorgeous shades of pink and yellow as the heat of the day had settled and remained, requiring only a thin hoodie to shield yourself from the natural coolness of the night air.

it was only yourself and gwil out at the moment, the others having retreated back into the house to either sleep or grab a drink. neither of you had realised that you were alone, only being interested in each other and your conversation at the time.

gwil was sat straight on the long sofa, his knees knocking into yours often as he swung his legs side to side. you were sat curled up, your body facing gwil and the others - being on the end allowed that - with your knees only ever centimetres away from him.

throughout the night, even before your friends began to leave, you two only seemed interested in each other, having little giggles and whispers to one another while the others conversed together.

during the few days you’d been away for the last couple of weeks of the summer before returning to university, your friends had placed bets on when something - anything - would happen between you and gwil. they kept it hidden, not letting anything slip of what they were up to.

nothing happened, though. you spent the rest of your time away as friends, having your little moments together several times a day.

it wasn’t until the sun had completely set and the pinks and yellows had faded into blues and blacks, with hints of purple, that you and gwil retreated back inside. the fire was left to burn out and the mess of the evening was left until morning.

NOW

with typical london weather, it was pouring. the storm had been growing slowly over the past hour or so and now showed no signs of stopping. the weather had perfectly captured your mood over the past few days; the consequence of ignoring gwilym in turn of sparing your own feelings.

but that would end soon. he was outside your door, his face flushed and cheeks warm, a coat, matching gloves and scarf, haphazardly thrown on, his knuckles rapping at the door. it pulled you from yourself, the TV’s job at drowning out the world with white noise had failed.

you barley even registered that he said your name. it came as a sweet whisper, not even making its way to you, rather past you, and through into your apartment. uninvited, which he was. you had thought the minimal messages and short responses had told him what you wanted to say. but he was here and he was-

“can i come in?” he asked, taking your blank expression and the ignoring of his first word as your continued ignoring of him. you could only nod, moving to the side a little to allow him room to get through the door, closing and locking it quickly after.

gwil had begun to pull of his gloves and scarf, his coat drenched in water. he left it over the back of one of your chairs, hoping by the time he left it would be drier, whenever that may be.

you watched as his methodically made himself comfortable, as he had done many times before. except, this time, he didn’t pour himself and drink or take his usual seat, he remained standing, his body stiff and hostile.

who to speak first, you thought. there were the differences; gwil had arrived at your apartment, but you had been disregarding his presence for the last few days, so it was debatable. and yet, it seemed gwil was in no mood to speak first, so you had too.

“gwil-”

“no,” he started, “please don’t start this bullshit on not being ready to talk, because at this rate i’ll be dead before you finally tell me anything.”

sparing your feelings meant ignoring gwil in hopes of forgetting how to love him so you could be friends again. but, in the short time, the distance had made you feel deeply for him. the disappearance of him during your daily, and weekly, activities you do together was noticeable and you really didn’t want to leave it any longer.

but you also didn’t want to be left heartbroken. so you did what you did, and now, you regret the very idea of it.

“i just don’t know how i’m feeling, okay?” you felt small. even in your house, his presence was so large, so overbearing, you felt like you didn’t belong, like you were the intruder.

there had been many times where you tried. it had been something unspoken between you two for years and you wished, with your entire heart and soul, that you could just finish being the coward and own up to how you feel. yet, your heart refused to work, refused to be compatible with your head and pushed the only person you’ve truly loved.

gwil sighed, hearing those words for what could have been the hundredth time; he’d lost count. but he refused to get angry, refused to be hurt and upset over something you can barely help. “just,,, let me know so I can stop second guessing whatever is going on between us, okay?”

it was soft, not at all what you thought it to be. paired with the way you can only imagine he’s feeling, that should have been a lot harsher, more strident. but that wasn’t gwil, and that wasn’t the way he was with you.

the next few minutes consisted of harsh glares, glancing away and silence which could be cut with a knife. it wasn’t pleasant. yet, you could think of nothing to say.

pained and desperate to end this, you crossed the space between you, so that you stood in front of him, trying to get him to see that you don’t want an argument. your feelings for him are here and there, but most certainly, there. you’d rather keep gwilym than let him go, as pitiful as it sounds. the preference of keeping him in the knowledge that he feels for you like you do him is too strong to let him go as a result of your childish exploits.

so you tell him, more show him. you’ve never felt your touch to be so soft before you held his face, cupping his cheeks into the palm of your hands while your thumbs lightly stroked the outgrown beard that littered his face. gwil hadn’t even registered your touch, thinking it was his imagination and that you hadn’t, after the days previous, just touched his with such softness and kindness.

but you had, and you leaned up towards him, his height being an extreme disadvantage in instigating a kiss. yet, you reached, allowing your lips to rest a top of his with the upmost gentleness.

you felt twelve again, running through the fields in the early morning, your hand barely touching gwil’s as his wide stride took him further away from you. you felt like you were back at that lake, the early morning sun causing the ripples to glisten as the soft pinks and purples kisses the scenery around you.

you felt nineteen again, sat among friends as you laughed together, your body being only inches from gwilym’s, so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his delicate breaths, and his knees as they knocked into your own. you felt the warmth of him and the fire and the remainder of the sun, setting, leaving the world once again with a reminder of purples and blues.

you felt whole and where you were supposed to be.

TAGLIST: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty @1001-yellow-daffodils @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80 @goldhoran @scarecrowmax @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawings @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen @bhxrdy

#versdan800wc #gwilym lee #gwilym lee fic #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfiction #gwil lee #gwil lee fix #gwil lee x reader #gwil lee fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody #x reader #acdeaky

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toxicpineapple · 5 years ago

Text

my (personal favourite) writings from 2019

I don’t have anything for January because I guess I didn’t write/didn’t post anything then? At any rate, here are my favourite writings from every month of 2019.

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February:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764769/chapters/41916899 : “To Give Life Meaning”, a 5+1 things Hinanami fic I wrote over the course of several days, mostly at night. The honourific situation with this one is messy and there are the beginnings of a lot of good lines? Like I know what I was trying to say. But it’s not the kind of thing that I would be happy posting nowadays. (Ignore the fact that it says it was completed in September of this year; I went through nine months later and separated the different sections into chapters so that it would be easier to read. I wrote and published all of it back in February.) This was the second Danganronpa fic I ever wrote.

Content warnings: Contains talk of suicide, and mentions of being suicidal. Generally in the past tense. Nobody is proactive in this fic.

---

March:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18232343 : “Hold his hand”, the very first Amasai one-shot I ever wrote. I got the idea for this one late at night thinking about how Shuichi would react if his mom died. I was actually going to write this with Ryoma comforting him, or Kiyo maybe, but I ended up doing Rantaro because I watched all of his FTEs with Shuichi and was like… I do like this green man. Anyway, I’m glad I did, because if I hadn’t I don’t know if the Amasai series would… even exist. That’s really weird to think about.

Content warnings: Minor character death on the part of Shuichi’s mother. The focus of the piece isn’t her dying (as it is in fact from Rantaro’s perspective) so much as it is the conflicting emotions that it stirs up for Shuichi, but it’s still, y’know, someone’s mother dying. Anyway, read with caution.

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April:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468478 : “Does it matter?”, a late-night fic where Aoi is conflicted about her sexuality and calls Makoto to talk about it. I wrote a lot of one-shots in April (I actually surprised myself going through them haha) but this one is my favourite because it touches on things that I don’t see addressed a lot. Makoto and Aoi are good friends. 10/10.

Content warnings: Internalised homophobia. It hasn’t triggered anybody that I know of because it’s mostly just Makoto giving advice and Aoi coming to the conclusion that she really likes Sakura in a not-so-platonic way, but y’know.

---

May:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776947 : “Shuichi thinks too much”, another installment in the Amasai drabbles series, and… wow. I literally only posted Amasai in the month of May. This one is my favourite (of the ones I posted in May, obviously) because it’s the one where Shuichi realises that Rantaro is claustrophobic and then they have a messy first kiss in the wake of Rantaro’s panic attack. I like fics where Character A kisses Character B and B has to be like… slow down partner… ur panicking. I also just like milking Rantaro angst so it’s a win-win. I go back and read this one periodically :)

Content warnings: Panic attacks, claustrophobia. Shuichi is exhausted in this fic haha but at least he has his shit together enough to know exactly what he’s feeling through the whole thing.

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June:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19210423 : “Quiet Moments”, an introspective drabble/character study in which Peko thinks about how much she loves Ibuki. Damn, I love Pekobuki. I haven’t written nearly enough for them. I wrote a lot of things in June (including an Undertale one-shot which was a strong contender for this spot just because this list is dominated by Danganronpa stuff) but this one is my favourite because it was just me… rambling about how much I love Ibuki… and projecting onto Peko. Which I do every time I write this pairing, but I didn’t make this list to call myself out, so yeah I’m just going to move on.

Content warnings: Peko briefly mentions that Fuyuhiko had to get an appendectomy within the piece, but it’s nothing intense.

---

July:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974424 : “Take his soul with a kiss”, a Grim Reaper AU in which Maki is Death and Kaito is a guy with the audacity to tell her to wait a week before grabbing her soul. I’ve finally hit the part of this summer where I was eating one meal a day and spending the rest of my time on my laptop writing fic. 14k words a day, babey! I wrote all my favourite pieces in July (Shuichi’s love hotel, the one where Rantaro pierces Shuichi’s ears, the domestic Hinanami, the one where Shuichi has a breakdown and everyone comforts him, that one where Shuichi is mean to Kokichi and then apologises) but this one definitely deserves to be here because it’s my favourite. I like Momoharu/Kaimaki/Harukaito (idk what y’all call it man) so, uh. Yeah.

Content warnings: Death is talked about a lot but I don’t want to spoil anything about the ending by saying shit so I’ll just??? It’s a Grim Reaper AU, procede with caution. Oh, and Kaito has a lung disease.

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August:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442290/chapters/48499868 : “Causation and Correlation”, another 5+1 things fic (I have a good chunk of them) where Kyoko can hear death and so she goes around saving people. Also, in the end of the fic, someone saves her. It’s a cute fic and I love writing Kyoko so obviously this one is my favourite. (The one where Kokichi has parents and the Kaemugi fic I wrote that month are ones I really like too… this isn’t easy for me gamers ;w;) This is one of those fics where I was feeling extremely confident about my writing abilities the whole time I wrote it, and I’m still really proud of it.

Content warnings: Again, uh, death? Attempted murder, near-drowning, sickness, head injuries, and also attempted suicide. (Nobody dies in this fic, though.) Kyoko has her work cut out for her in this one.

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September:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20577251 : “Cigarette smoke”, a vaguely nonsensical Saimota piece I wrote where Kaito breaks down and Shuichi comforts him. I’ve only written Saimota twice and both times it’s been Kaito angst because you guys, you just, you don’t address his sadness at all unless it’s in Oumota (and we all know how I feel about Oumota). I should start referring to September as “the month of angst fics I wrote in the middle of the night” because that’s exactly what all of it was. This one wasn’t a vent fic, but there were a lot of them. September is also the month I started doing Amami week, so there’s a lot of that, too.

Content warnings: Kaito really… berates himself in this one. His internal dialogue is hard for me to read in this one because he’s super hard on himself. He also has a meltdown and starts hyperventilating at one point (and the way I write breakdowns is always super descriptive) so please make sure you’re happy and healthy before reading.

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October:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195527 : “In the forever sense of the term”, what is probably my favourite Amasai fic at this moment, where Shuichi and Rantaro are forced to address Shuichi’s abandonment issues, and also there’s crying. A lot of it. From Shuichi mainly but a little bit from Rantaro too. I was surprised at how many fics I wrote in October because I was mostly focusing on Inktober I should think? I wrote a lot of original works in Inktober (though I ended up falling off the wagon at the end due to burnout) and it was a really fun experience! I think it strengthened my skills as a writer. Anyway this one is cathartic as hell.

Content warnings: The self loathing is strong with this one. It’s one of many mental breakdown fics that I’ve written this year. And there’s obviously the abandonment issues thing. Yikes.

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November:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399748 : “One hundred and twenty six tiles on the ceiling”, where Himiko ends up bailing on plans she made with everyone to hang out and instead stays at home, stewing in self deprecation, until Ryoma shows up, and then everyone else comes to take care of her. Another one of those ones where everyone is there for someone after a breakdown. I like this one because Himiko is my baby and most of the angst the fandom puts out for her is centered around Tenko and Angie, which sucks because I headcanon her as having depression. Like, depression that is entirely unrelated to the people she knows kind of depression. I didn’t write a lot in November because I had a relapse, but I like this one anyway.

Content warnings: Depressive episode, disassociating, suicidal ideation, all the ugly things that come with depression. This isn’t a pretty fic. I don’t write depression as something that’s pretty or poetic because it’s not. It fucking sucks and that’s just how things are going to be.

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December:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976864/chapters/52442179 : “An Ode to Yellow Carnations”, a 5+1 things fic where Tsumugi is a florist and Kaede takes different people to her shop until eventually she goes by herself. Is anyone surprised to see this one here? I wrote it for Tumblr’s Danganronpa Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2019 and went waaaay overboard with it. Which is probably why I like it so much. It took me ten days to actually complete, and I’ll frame it like I was diligently writing the whole time, but anyone who knows me knows that I never do things in that way. In truth I switched ideas for the fic four different times and then wrote half of it all in one night when I was hit with a surge of inspiration. I was really nervous that the person I wrote it for would hate it since it’s so long, lol. (Hi Alerane, I love you.) Anyway, I’m gonna think of December of this year as the month where I spent a really long time on a bunch of fics and then posted them all at once.

Content warnings: Very minor character death, mentions of alcohol use (nothing egregious, just recreational use on an outing with friends and all the characters are of age), also Kaede doesn’t go outside in this fic.

---

I’m going to try and get out one more fic before the year ends. To be honest I wasn’t expecting to have updated Search by now so I’ve been kind of sitting around wondering what I should write. Maybe I should just start on the Aki chapter, but I’m kind of putting that off because writing those chapters takes a lot of energy and Aki’s is probably going to double Tsubaki’s in length. (Which is great, since Tsubaki’s was already a monster of a chapter on its own.) I’ve had a really great year for writing, y’all. I’ve made lots of friends and learned a whole lot about myself, and my writing style, and the characters I’m trying to portray.

I didn’t include any long-term multi-chapters in this list, like The Best Lies or my Fanganronpa (rip… I swear I’ll pick it back up again soon, I love those characters) but if you want to track my progress as a writer without reading eleven different fics, I’d really recommend reading one of those, because you can see it happening as the chapters go on. There’s so much that I’d probably write differently from where I am now as a writer, because that’s just how things work. Life is like that. You do things a certain way in the moment, and then later, you wish you could’ve done them differently. It’s impossible to live your life without regrets, or things that you’d like to do over again.

But for what it’s worth, I’m really happy that I don’t have to. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me this year. It hasn’t been the best, but it’s been all that it’s been capable of being.

Here’s to a new decade.

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unstoppableforcce · 5 years ago

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what we do now that it’s over (3)

alt. title: war happened. emotions happened. they’re in love and I’m making it cannon myself

finnpoe / stormpilot

this episode ft. some more angst and lots of soft ! check it out on my ao3 - relliot

still accepting requests between works - r.e.

The bright light woke him immediately, he feared it was the sun, that he had slept outside the entire night, covered in bugs and sweat and everything he feared when he agreed to come to Yavin with Poe.

But it wasn’t dawn, just the automatic porch lights when they sensed motion.

“I told you I was fine, so you stayed up for me?”

Finn blinked, still trying to make out the shadowy shape out of the intense lights. The voice was just raspy enough that he couldn’t place it to Poe right away, not until his mop of curls came into view and his face finally illuminated.

He coughed, cracking his neck, groaning in discomfort. “I needed to say something…”

“Get up, come on.”

He almost didn’t want to let him help him up, but Poe was fully awake and functioning while he was, at best, a tired slump of himself. Poe took his arm and slung it over his shoulder, the two of them walking together into the house, both in silent agreement to keep their footsteps quiet as Kes was asleep downstairs.

Poe was particularly grateful for the silence, knowing that if Finn had something to say, he was going to hear about, and he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.

By the time they hit the stairs, Finn was awake enough to walk on his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to mentioning it, to pull from Poe as they slinked upstairs. He set him down on the makeshift bed in the loft, pulling back briefly and sighing, hands on his hips as he glanced back down the hall to see Rey in the other bedroom already asleep, then back to Finn.

“I shouldn’t make you sleep out here, you can take the other bed-”

“I just fell asleep on a porch; I think this is a luxury.” Finn fought back, rubbing over his chin and the stubble growing there.

Poe stopped himself from saying anything else, going through a similar motion with another sigh.

Finn wanted to say everything he had planned to say, to sympathize and get him better… It was too late, they were both too tired, Poe barely looked awake, much less attentive.

It was going to have to wait.

Finn broke the silence. “We’re going out to the Force Tree in the morning?”

“Yeah, I think, you know, Rey seemed excited for it…”

“Right, yeah, good.”

Poe nodded along, incapable of anything else as a yawn ripped through him.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Finn added, kicking out of his boots, releasing Poe from the conversation.

The next light he saw was the actual rise of the sun, beading through the windows of where he slept, sparkling through the fabrics strewn about. It was a much nicer surface to wake up on, his muscles groaned but not nearly as uncomfortable as he had been when he woke up in the middle of the night.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sighed, just as he heard a soft patter of feet coming to where he sat. It was Rey, looking an adorable mix between sleepy and well-rested, and she had remembered to change into separate clothes to sleep in, unlike himself.

“Morning…” She chimed, halfway through tying her hair up into her normal knotted style. “I saw you outside last night, but I figured you’d make your way inside.”

“Yeah…” He chuckled out, just as a much heavy set of steps made their way into the room from the other side.

Poe looked even worse than yesterday, if he had gotten any sleep at all, he didn’t look it.

“Morning,” Rey added again with a soft smile.

“Yeah, morning.” He sighed, positioning his hands back onto his hips. “You guys good to head out after we eat?”

They both nodded and he joined in with him.

“I’m sure my dad’s already up and cooked, I’ll change and meet you down there.” He spoke again, almost entirely to Rey, not even glancing down to Finn once as he spoke before turning away.

Rey raised a brow, but Finn shook his head, neither of them saying anything, just turning back to their respective sectors to change their clothes and meet Kes downstairs.

Poe was right, he was cooking, and looked like he had been for a while, a full meal prepped for them and waiting on the table while he sipped at his caf.

Rey and Finn sat down, waited for Poe but when he didn’t come down in the first few minutes, they began eating, and eventually, he sauntered down the stairs, grabbed a plate and leaned against the counter.

“I’m excited for you to see the Tree, Rey, and you, Finn, I’ve heard it’s an incredible experience for force users.”

“Oh, I’m not a Jedi.” Finn defended; a cheek full of food.

“That’s not what Poe says, heard you’re great with a saber and-”

He dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter and shook his head, trying to laugh it off but no one around the table was buying it. “Yeah, but I’m not like Rey.”

“My mistake…” Kes said carefully, downing the rest of his caf and shrugging. “You should probably get going if you want to beat the suns.”

Poe nodded, bending over the table to collect plates and walking them over to the kitchen while Rey tied up the laces on her boots, Finn doing the same. “We’ll be back by sundown; do you need anything else?”

“I’m going to walk the Belken, set the droids out in the fields…”

“Well if you need anything-”

“Go.”

So, they did. Poe leading the way with a pack thrown over his shoulder, trekking out the front door and heading out

Yavin was nothing if not beautiful. It was a one body wide path, so they hiked in a line, first Poe, then Finn, then Rey, almost completely in silence as the natural noises of the jungle around began to drown out even their thoughts.

The sun barely threaded the dense canopy of leaves above them, stray beams cutting through and sparkling across their very quickly sweating bodies. Eventually, the foliage on either side of the well-worn if not slightly overgrown path faded back some, leaving just enough room two people now. Finn took a few extra long steps until he settled into step alongside Poe.

They were each quiet, but Poe was noticeably stewing in his own personal hell.

They couldn’t stay. They just couldn’t any longer.

Poe didn’t even notice him coming up alongside him, that was how out of it he was. Finn passed a gentle nod back over his shoulder and Rey got the message, slowing her step and giving them some distance.

“We need to talk.” Finn tried at first in a whisper but after a few beats, repeated at a more audible volume, getting Poe to snap his head back his way.

“Talk about what?” He chuckled, rubbing the sweat off his brow with one swipe of his wrist wrapped with a scarf.

“Whatever the hell is going on with you…”

“Nothing is-”

“Okay, you can’t keep pretending you’re fine but ever since we got here you’ve been acting different-”

“I haven’t-”

“Can you let me finish?” Finn snapped, enough for even Rey to raise an eyebrow at even if she kept her mouth shut and her eyes down like she wasn’t paying attention.

Poe only bit his tongue and raised his hands gently in surrender, not much, but enough.

“Listen, we came here because the war is over and we can slow down, we need a break, we need a chance to figure it all out and you’ve just been boiling.” He sighed out, bringing them to a stop on the path, Rey no longer pretending to be chasing butterflies. She was paying as much attention as Finn, neither of them ignoring it now.

“He’s got you in on this too, the both of you conspiring against me-” Poe rambled out, barely capable of forming the words on his tongue as everything continued to biol under his skin, turning him red and it wasn’t from the heat. “I’m fine and the two of you need to start worrying about yourselves.”

“Poe…” Rey sighed, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder which he hit away like swatting a fly. “We don’t know what’s going on and we just want to-”

“This is a lot coming from you.”

He was crying now, trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t, but he couldn’t help himself, the tears hot on his face as he shifted on his feet, the beams of sunlight splattering his face in a bright yellow. He couldn’t stop himself now, he just couldn’t.

“You said it yourself, we came here to slow down, and you’ve spent the entire time watching me because you can’t do what you’re telling me to do… to realize you have to figure out what you’re going to do now that it’s over too.” Poe ranted out, pushing his finger into Finn’s chest, stuttering him back a step. They could read the regret on his face, but he didn’t stop, he couldn’t.

Finn and Rey exchanged a look but before either of them could form a rebuttal, he redirected to Rey.

“You still won’t even tell us what happened to you on Exegol, which is fine…” He rubbed his brow, “We don’t know each other that well, I don’t expect it, but it’s clearly weighing on. So, you guys don’t get to come after me. You don’t.”

No one knew what to do, least of all Poe. He expended every last ounce of his energy by shouting at them and now he couldn’t meet their eyes. Blowing out a breath, he shook his head and turned away, continuing down the path. By himself.

Rey followed first, keeping her eyes down and continuing the silent march. After a few seconds and a deep and shuddering breath, Finn did the same. They were all lost in their thoughts the entire rest of the hike, now finding themselves grateful for the gentle hum of the jungle.

By the time they reached a small bridge, Poe was already waiting for them, a small stream flowing underneath it. But he didn’t want to talk, he waited just long enough for them to catch up, then continued, going right from the bridge and following the path for a few more minutes before reaching the end of the path, the end of the Dameron property.

It was like a breath of fresh air rushing through their bones, through their hair, through every inch, every atom of their being. Rey got a whiff of it when they first got there, but that was faint, like a gentle breeze, this was a full-blown tornado force of feeling. It was in the air, it was all around, it was breathtaking and rejuvenating all at once.

And Finn could feel it all too. Rey was immersed in it, but he could still feel it.

Even Poe couldn’t ignore it, they didn’t know what he was feeling but his whole disposition had still changed. He slowed down, he softened. This kind of power? Force-sensitive or not, it could be felt.

It was an extensive tree, an intricate design, towering into the treetops, much bigger than Poe remembered from when he was a kid, from the last time he was out here.

Rey’s breath caught as she slowly approached it, coming up next to Poe as they both inched towards the base. She stepped carefully over the thick roots, ripping off her gloves and outstretching her hand for the wood. Poe did the same but with slightly less caution, much more familiar as he drew his fingers over it.

Finn squatted next to one of the largest roots bulging out of the dirt, laying his hand down soft onto it. The feeling was there, and it was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

But his finger ran over a groove, following along a curve that caught his eye as soon as he glanced down.

A small P engraved, not well, sharp edges, it must have been a knife…

“My father yelled so loud when he found that…” Poe mused. Finn glanced up just long enough to catch that Poe had been looking his way, staring even, pulling away as soon as he caught him, both of them turning back to the tree. “I was young, eight or nine I think… trying to feel something more, I don’t know…”

They both kept quiet, not knowing whether the story was over or not and not wanting him to retract further into himself.

“I haven’t been back out here since then.” Poe chuckled to himself, pulling his hand away and walking down further to where the roots dipped into the stream, the two of them electing to follow as he collapsed down into the dirt. “It wasn’t even a year after my mother died.”

Finn gave Rey another nod and she gave one back, retreating to the tree which was calling her to do just that.

He sat down on a rock opposite Poe, his boots tipping into the humming water as it flowed past.

“Everything changed after she died.” He wasn’t crying. He was unnaturally stiff and maintaining a painfully stern stare off into the water a few feet below.

“Poe…”

“I got out of here as fast as I could. And there’s just this… there’s this guilt, it’s heavy, it’s weighing me down and it’s been there for years…” He scoffed, reaching to his neck and grabbing the ring around the chain hanging there, tugging it gently back and forth. “I thought winning the war… I thought it would all go away…”

“But it’s worse.” Finn sighed with a nod to faint that Poe wouldn’t have been able to see it even if he was looking that way instead of into the water.

“It’s so much worse…”

He reached over and grabbed his hand, the one not holding tight to the necklace but resting on his knee. Poe glanced down to his grip on his hand, to the calloused skin that held tight to his own. A deep breath in, deep breath out.

He pulled away. He didn’t want to, but he had to.

“I guess we’re all still trying to figure it out.” Poe let out one last ragged sigh. “Figure out what we’re going to be now that we can be anything…”

He finally looked up and met Finn’s stare, so soft, eyebrows furrowed out of concern and chapped lips jutted out in a near pout. Poe’s stubble had progressed to a ragged beard by this point, not full yet, but a few days and it wouldn’t be a surprise at the rate it was growing. And the bags under his eyes, they were caving into his face, he was a ghost of himself.

Finn didn’t imagine he looked much better. He wasn’t getting any more sleep than Poe was, his head just as wrecked by being here, or at least half as wrecked watching Poe spiral so much.

“Well, Rey seems to have it all figured out at least…” Finn laughed out, swiping a hand under his nose with a futile attempt to melt away the heavy tension.

They both glanced back up to Rey and sure enough, she was levitating by the tree, rocks spinning around in a gentle blur.

“Nah… I think we’re all stuck.” Poe sighed, grabbing a stone and rolling it down into the water, making a light splash. “And I don’t think we can go anywhere until we figure it out.”

“Just don’t forget we’re here.” Finn smiled softly, extending his hand for the water Poe kept in his pack and he obliged. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Poe passed over his bottle and huffed, other hand still hanging around the ring on his neck. He licked his bottom lip and sucked it back in briefly before looking back to Finn.

“Yeah, I know…”

#finnpoe #stormpilot #poe dameron #finn #rey skywalker #rey #post tros #tros spoilers #A Long Trip Home

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chasingshhadows · 6 years ago

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on michael & maria

Yup, Imma talk about it.

I’m unfortunately well aware of the ~discourse~ on this particular topic, but I have Opinions and Feelings so I’m gonna share them. In this post, I’m gonna follow their relationship from the beginning of the show through episode 1.11 (Champagne Supernova). (The events of 1.13 are a topic that I’ll be addressing separately and a bit more in-depth.)

I am in what appears to be a minority of Malex Roswell fans that thinks the show did a really great job of setting up and seeing through the relationship with Michael and Maria, both in the ways it became physical and the ways it became emotional.

Before I begin, I want to emphasize something about this relationship that seems to bother a lot of people or maybe just go unnoticed: Much of the development between these two, while absolutely present, is not overt and oft times isn’t even on-screen. I get why and how this bothers people because it’s understandable to want to see character development on-screen and not have to infer it from context or subtext, or have to rely on people like me to do the work of going through the season and finding it. Plus, that means it likely falls through the cracks for most casual viewers who don’t take the time to process and analyze the meanings behind what they’re seeing. I get that, and understand that it’s frustrating.

That said, I’m here to play with everything the show has given us, and that includes the subtleties of the Michael & Maria dynamic. I’m a master extrapolator ok.

And just a ~warning~ to the shippers reading this: This post is about Michael & Maria and their relationship and how it builds and grows. This is not an extended diss post on Maria or Miluca, so if that’s what you’re looking for, this post is not for you. That said, I would be remiss in not acknowledging to any Miluca fans reading this that I am a hardcore Malex shipper and can’t guarantee that my bias in that way doesn’t leak through. Just - you’ve been warned.

Also to clarify - when I use the word “relationship,” I do not mean Relationship like, couple. I mean, any two people that interact with each other have a relationship with each other.

TL;DR: Michael and Maria were and are far closer as friends than most people seem to believe before they became involved. The journey of them hooking up, catching feelings, and coming together is marked by progressively stronger signs of affection and attraction. The development is there, if you care to look for it.

And now that my thesis is clear, let me show my work.

Anyway. Let’s start at the beginning.

We learn right as Michael is introduced that he spends a lot of time at the Wild Pony, and that getting arrested for getting drunk and getting into fights there is a common occurrence for him. As Maria runs this bar, this means the two of them spend a lot of time together, likely at odds considering she’s probably the one calling the cops.

The first interaction they have as characters isn’t an interaction at all, and seems to contradict the last assumption, at least in one way. Because Maria sees Alex looking at Guerin and the first thing she says about it?

She acknowledges he’s “rifraff” but then immediately says she thinks he’s hot. And then at Alex’s dubious look, she tries to justify. Which means that’s something she’s noticed, and the “sex in a truck” is something she’s thought about. And she and Alex have an easy enough relationship even after a decade spent mostly apart that she feels comfortable bringing that up. She’s gossiping about cute boys with her long lost best friend and Guerin is the cute boy on her mind right now.

This, my friends, is what we in the biz like to call foreshadowing.

Now, something that is entirely not stated but is at least tangentially hinted at: Michael is a punchy drunk that intentionally picks fights at the Wild Pony. Now, who do we know who appears to also spend a lot of time at the Wild Pony and are also walking “Hit Me” signs? That’s right, Racist Wyatt & Racist Hank. I’m not saying it happens every night or even every week, but I have to imagine at least a few times over the years, Michael decided to take out his dramatic cowboy angst on the two racist assholes spouting off in the corner. And regardless of her distaste for the violence and her annoyance at needing to call the cops again, I have to imagine that Maria at least noticed that Michael is throwing punches for the right reasons sometimes. (and again, none of this is explicitly stated, but all of the pieces are laid out and it doesn’t take a casual viewer to put them together).

We first see them actually interact at the bar during the blackout and it is hella flirtatious; they’re both smirking, leaning forward, teasing. It’s playful.

More than that though, it speaks to a deeply ingrained familiarity, friendliness, and banter. Michael swipes a bottle from behind the bar - an expensive bottle, apparently - as if that’s just a normal thing for him to do. And Maria doesn’t even try to stop him - sure, she Hey!’s him, but her only objection is, “that’s a health code violation” as she goes about cleaning up the bar and collecting glasses.

Again, I know this is subtle, but it says so much about their relationship before this moment. That Maria lets him grab the bottle. That he hears that he’s caught and just…. continues opening the bottle while making a teasing comment about her power-outage decorations. That she just watches as he takes a drink straight from the bottle. The soft, teasing “Didn’t I ban you for life?”

This isn’t behavior she would allow from just any customer and especially not one who we’re led to believe is a Problem Customer. And their conversation about his tab and such indicates they aren’t like, best friends or anything, but they’re on familiar enough territory that they can joke and tease and steal liquor like it’s habit, like it’s just how they are.

And remember - they both grew up in this town. They’ve probably known each since they were 11 (when Michael was sent back to Roswell) but definitely knew each other in high school. I doubt they ever hung out or even really interacted all that much but they have that awkward “I know too much about you because we’ve been sharing space for 15 years” thing going on.

And now Maria has watched him make a valiant attempt to drink himself to death for half a dozen years and bury his sorrows in anyone that’ll have him. She’s smart, she’s learned her lesson with Chad, she doesn’t just want to be another notch in Guerin’s bedpost.

But, he’s cute and he’s safe, so she flirts.

I mean look at this:

Like fuck, she’s practically purring.

Michael is clearly on board with that mood. This is sexy, this is him fully ready to hear exactly what he can do for Maria, this is his mind in the gutter.

He makes a joke - in a super sultry voice, mind you - about being her least favorite customer, to which she laughs while passing him glasses for the tequila (yes, it’s mezcal, I know) he stole.

This is all very friendly, y’all. And that doesn’t mean they’re the braid-each-other’s-hair, tell-me-all-your-deepest-secrets type of friends, but they are friends. Not best friends, but casual friends. Almost a coworkerly-type of teasing affection. They’re two people wholly comfortable with the other, they’re fond of each other. They tease each other but there’s never any bite - it’s playful and fun and easy. They sit on opposite sides of that bar at least several times a week and yeah, Maria has to call the cops when shit gets rowdy, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate Guerin’s personality and presence, or that he doesn’t enjoy the teasing banter with the hottie behind the bar that he knows he has no chance with.

From there, Isobel steals the floor, and Maria is annoyed and not taking shit. She makes a crack about Michael’s drinking, and Isobel makes her move.

And then Maria sees something I’m sure she’s seen before when he’s with Isobel but is still at odds with the Guerin in her mind - she sees Michael being soft, tender, and concerned.

And this prompts Maria, for what I believe is the only time in the first season, to call him Michael.

Jump to the day when both Isobel and Mimi go into institutions. Maria has reached her limit. She’s strung out, she’s had to fall back on her last resort because nothing else has worked and she’s feeling like a failure; she’s feeling lost because her mom has been her rock her entire life. And Michael is actually in a similar place. He’s been trying to protect Isobel, his own rock, from herself for so long, he’s let that destroy himself, his hope, his future, and now she’s put herself in the hands of people he vehemently distrusts because he failed.

So, they’re both here to drown their sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. And again, let’s talk about the fact that Michael gets an entirely different treatment than any other customer that might walk through that door. Because what she sees in that mirror? It’s a kindred spirit. It’s a broken man who’s been crumbling on a stool in her bar for years and who looks just like she feels: like he’s just a step away from shattering.

And this is also Michael Guerin, with whom she shares an easy camaraderie, who she knows can be soft. So, she lets him stay.

One drink. No talking.

She passes him the bottle and he sighs in relief because Maria is giving him exactly what he needs right now. To not be alone with his thoughts. To lose himself a little bit in a haze, to let the alcohol blur the self-hatred swirling in his mind.

And Maria, Maria doesn’t wanna crack. She doesn’t want to fall apart, because she can’t, because it’s her job to hold it together - for her mom, for her friends, for this town. She’s supposed to be the fun, happy friend, the bartender, the good time.

She’s not allowed to break.

But she knows if she opens her mouth, she will. So when Guerin starts to thank her, she shuts him right down.

Notice that she calls him Guer? Not Guerin. Not even Michael. But Guer. That’s soft, that’s familiar. That’s a nickname, and it rolls off her tongue like that’s normal. Like she’s used it before.

It’s these things, y’all, the little things that truly show us the depth of this relationship. I’ve seen said more times than I can count that Michael and Maria’s connection, their friendship, him “knowing her”, her feelings - that they all came out of nowhere. That these two went 10 years without liking each other or being attracted to each other and ~one day~ it all just changed. And that’s just not true. This thing between them, it’s been there, simmering, slowly building. The signs are there if you know what you’re looking for, if you know what it looks like before two people that know each other fall into bed, before they catch feelings.

And y’all, these two? Are a veritable construction zone of signs.

What happens next is pivotal to this relationship. Because Maria was right, opening her mouth was a catalyst and she starts to crack, and then loses it completely.

And this, this is new for Michael. Maria never cracks, never cries. She’s a firecracker and a half, fierce and strong, she commands the room, and never shows weakness. It takes him a moment to catch up to what he’s seeing and then-

This is so soft. He lets out a comforting “hey” as he wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, holds her tight. Tries to give her the stability she’s clearly lacking, lets her lean on him for support.

He’s there for her. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t try to tell her it’s ok. Doesn’t cross any boundaries. He’s just there, just present, and lets her take what she needs from him in that moment.

This, again, proves the depth of their bond. Their friendship. Maria wouldn’t let any deadbeat from the bar touch her like that, especially not in a moment of weakness. And Michael wouldn’t offer unconditional comfort to anyone either - he’s not cruel by any means, but few people rank high enough to deserve his kindness. But here, Maria not only lets Michael hold her, she leans in, grabs at his jacket, settles in close.

She trusts him, and he cares for her.

And you can see even as he holds her, he’s still confused. He’s still not entirely sure what’s happening, but he pulls her closer anyway. Because she needs it.

This a turning point in their relationship. This is the moment they go from banter friends to comfort friends. The moment their friendship deepens from something fun to something warm. Something real.

A few weeks later, they’ve both come off their respective cliffs. Maria has come to him for help. And as we learn at the end of the episode, there’s an emotional attachment to her request. This sign is special, this sign specifically is important to her - and she’s trusting Guerin to fix it.

Now we know that “no once can fix a car as fast as” Michael, and that Isobel, at least, has a habit of calling him to fix things for her, but what this tells us is that Michael also likely has a reputation around town as a fixer, as a handy man. Enough, at least, for Maria to know Michael can fix this. And between his reputation and her experiences with him, she knows him to be dependable and reliable enough to do this for her.

They’ve fallen back into their banter because it’s easy and it’s not heavy. Because they’re still Maria and Guerin even after a moment of tenderness. Because this is natural to them.

Now, Michael says something that apparently confuses people. Because Max says, “Dude, tell me you’re not sleeping with Maria,” and Michael immediately shoots back with, “Never!” And to some, I suppose, this feels incongruous with his behavior in the next episode. And all I really have to say to that is if I truly “never” slept with any of the people I’ve said I would “never” sleep with, my List would be like…. half as long.

Anyway, Michael brings the sign to the bar later that same day. Which is significant because - remember what else is going on that day. Isobel nearly died. He’s been running all over town with Liz and worrying about losing his sister - the single most important person in his life - and still, he made time to fix Maria’s sign.

He and Max left the junkyard right after Maria dropped it off, and we saw him at the hospital, then chasing down Liz, then taking Liz to his bunker, then to the cave, then he ran back to get Isobel from the hospital.

Which means after Isobel went into the pod, Michael went back to the junkyard to fix Maria’s sign. Just as much because she needed it as because he needed it. He needed to do it, needed to not fail someone he cared about that day. Needed to have something to show to himself that he could fix things, to prove to himself he could fix Isobel.

And when he drops it off, Maria notes how fast it was, having no idea just how fast because she doesn’t know everything that happened that day. He reiterates that he could have made her a new sign, but what he means is that he wants her to know that he would have, for her. Max once said that Michael has never done anything for anyone, while we all know that that line was a flaming pile of bullshit, it’s true that Michael isn’t someone to offer his help to just anyone; he’s picky about the people deserving of his effort and he’s letting Maria know she’s one of them.

And she softens. She opens up. Explains the real reason she needs this sign. Let’s Michael see a glimpse of something she hid from her own best friend.

It gets heavy for a moment, which is a territory they’re still figuring out how to navigate. Maria “hmms” at Michael’s “beacon” comment and he aptly puts together that that’s all she wants to say on the matter. He redirects them into more familiar territory with a teasing joke to break the tension and Maria follows him there with a, “Jerk” and a poorly disguised smirk.

It’s comfortable. Easy.

Six weeks pass before we see them together again, though it’s certainly not the first time they’ve interacted, judging by the fact that Michael has racked up another bar tab.

Maria greets him coolly - whether that’s because of her mood re: her mother, or because Alex is there and Alex has already expressed discomfort at being around Guerin (see: human trio reunion scene) is unclear, but she does greet him. Even if she’s a bit prickly, he still warrants her attention just by walking in the door.

And this may be some of my own projection, but it also speaks a little to me of Maria starting to catch on - subconsciously, at least - that she might have feelings for Michael. After my own experiences with the Chads of the world, I tend to react defensively around people I start to fall for, including being actively cool around them. It’s not pulling pigtails, not quite, but more I’m-terrified-of-you-finding-out-I-have-feelings-and-rejecting-me-so-I’ll-be-extra-unfriendly-so-you-think-I-don’t-like-you.

Michael is flirting - stung, from Alex’s rejection, and trying to get lost in a distraction - but Maria lets it slide right off her.

When we see them again in Texas, it’s awkward, but not because of them. Max and Liz are seeing each other for what appears to be the first time since her declaration that they are not meant to be, after having promised to save the life of the woman who killed her sister because she can’t stand to see Max hurt. So. It’s awkward.

Michael recognizes this immediately - having spent significant time with Liz who I’m sure pointedly refused to talk about Max, and at least some time around Max even before the 4+ hour drive in which he was fully back on his broody bullshit - so he tries to cut the tension by teasing flirtily with Maria. Because that’s a thing he can do. Something that’s natural and fun for them.

Maria teases right back, likely having seen at least some of Liz’s side of this, and makes her subtle exit, knowing full well Michael would join her and leave the two lovebirds to their awkward hello.

Note that when Michael goes into the tent to have his hand healed, he goes in with Maria. Not Max, whose idea it was. But his friend, Maria. Which means they spent the long wait in that line together. She clearly needs proof - or disproof - of Arizona’s powers as much as Max, but we all know what Michael’s hand means to him, and that he was willing to have Maria there while discussing it, potentially having it healed says, again, so much about their friendship.

Arizona talks about Michael reopening the wound in his mind and he looks to Maria for reassurance. And Maria gives that to him, freely and warmly. Organically. And you can see how much that little act helps him, that he’s able to continue forward knowing she’s there.

And when Arizona essentially blows them off, Maria - who is here, remember, to find a way to heal her own ailing mother - offers Michael the comforting shoulder rub, the defensive “Come on [let’s get out of here]”.

When Maria is upset, following Arizona’s reveal as a fraud, it’s Michael, not Liz, her best friend, that follows her. For all that Michael wanted to go in guns blazing and confront her before, he’s ready to walk away when he sees that Maria is upset.

And no, Michael is not the arbiter of friendship, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with supporting someone when they’re upset. He doesn’t know, as Liz does, that Maria does not need that, so this is his way of trying. Maria is important enough for Michael to try.

And thus gets us to my favorite scene of the Michael/Maria saga.

She says with a teasing smile on her face. She says with a fond glance at Guerin.

And his wink says he knows and he’s playing along.

When she gets up, Michael is concerned. Asking Liz if she’s going to follow her. “Don’t you think she needs a girlfriend or whatever?” Because Michael wants to make sure Maria is being taken care of.

And then.

I just. Cannot get over. This look. This is awe, this is wonder, this is heat. This is Michael for the first time seeing Maria, seeing just how strong and fierce and powerful and beautiful she really is. This is The Moment that Michael stops thinking of Maria as a fun, flirty friend, and starts seeing her as something more. As someone he might be able to really fall for. As someone who maybe, just might, be able to fill the void left behind by Alex.

And so he just stares. He cannot take his eyes off from her y’all. The whole rest of this scene is Michael just fixated on the marvel that is Maria DeLuca. He’s watching her the entire time Liz asks Max to dance. Watching her sing upon that stage. Hell, Liz has to grab his face to get him to look away and still his eyes find her again.

And Maria, for all her teasing and banter, is the one to make the first move. She extends her hand to Michael, beckons him forward and:

Imma just let that speak for itself.

She doesn’t just do it once those, she reaches for him again, just gently touching him, making contact. And it’s not just comforting contact like Michael did when she cried, or when Maria touched him in the tent. It’s not even really friendly.

No, it’s decidedly sensual. Sexy. She’s touching him in ways that are meant to illicit a reaction.

And it’s a reaction she gets, when Michael follows her from the bar.

Look at that smile. She’s teasing him, but you can see she’s happy that he’s chosen to be there, out there, with her. This is the face of a woman who’s just drunk and high enough to forget her reasons to stay away, and is just letting herself be giddy that the person she likes is here with her. She’s not thinking about her worry of being another one of Michael’s one night stands, not thinking about not letting herself get attached for fear of being hurt (spoiler alert: she was already attached).

That’s the thing, with humans. We’re really really good at lying to ourselves when we’re afraid. We’re experts at denying the existence of something that scares us, and convincing ourselves that we’re safe. Maria has convinced herself she feels nothing for Michael because admitting those feelings, even to herself, when she feels certain he doesn’t feel the same way, would be devastating. So she refuses to acknowledge it, pretends it’s not even there.

And that’s why we see such a drastic change in her behavior from night to morning. Why she was all smiles and wiles and flirtation when she was drunk, high, and looking for a distraction, but was cold and in full denial mode when she was sober and facing down the reality of the door she’d opened. Her subconscious is trying to preemptively protect her from the pain and she’s projecting her anger at herself onto Michael.

Exacerbated, I’m sure, by the fact that by the time they actually kissed, and slept together, neither of them were that drunk. We see them wander off together with a joint before Max and Liz leave the bar, and we don’t see them together again until after Liz and Max have found a hotel, gotten into bed, each tossed and turned long enough to get back out of bed, get dressed, head out to the park and talk, and then go back to bed. So I’d say it’s been at least a couple hours since their last drinks that things heat up.

So Maria doesn’t even have the excuse for herself that she was wasted because she wasn’t. Neither of them were. She let herself give into her feelings and attraction in a moment of weakness and the only one she’ll have to blame when it bites her in the ass is herself.

Even if Maria is refusing to allow herself to believe she has feelings, there is still a gut feeling that what she did was a mistake, was going to get her hurt. The mind can be interesting in that way, warning you of danger without allowing you to see what that danger is.

Michael is in a different place here. He’s upset, but in an entirely different and far more silent way than Maria. Alex broke his heart, again, just yesterday. He had to watch Alex walk away from him and for the first time, it truly felt final. Alex said it was over, full stop. I don’t think Michael had ever before thought about moving on from Alex, not really. He was always just waiting.

“Where I stand, nothing’s changed.”

But now Alex walked away and it looks like this time, he really isn’t coming back. And for the first time Mchael has to consider what his life might look like without Alex in it, and suddenly here Maria is, being the actual walking definition of charm and grace. She’s someone he knows, whom he knows to be good. She’s gorgeous and kind and beautiful and fierce. And he’s seeing for the first time just how strong she is, how courageous.

He’s mesmerized.

And he’s paying attention. To all of Maria’s little touches and smiles. To the way she seems to want exactly what he wants. Which is why he’s so unaffected by her protests and denials the next morning. Because this is Maria, his friend. He teases and pokes fun because they’re friends and he can. And because, as everyone in Roswell knows, Michael is an expert at navigating the awkward morning after, so he eases her panic about people finding out, and then teases some more.

Michael’s in a great mood. The sun is shining, there’s a gorgeous woman lying next to him, and maybe for the first time that he can remember, he’s not thinking about Alex. Or Isobel. Or anything that hurts.

That doesn’t last though. Alex shows up, reignites every emotion Michael has ever felt for him, and leaves Michael more certain than ever that he’ll never get to have Alex the way he wants him. (I have another meta on this coming, I promise). And so he’s hurt and alone again.

And he has Maria’s necklace.

So he decides to give it his best shot. He brings her the necklace, laying on a casual desire. Keeping it cool while still making clear what he wants.

And I’ve already talked about what happened with Maria and Alex between the ride home and Michael showing up, but the important take-aways here are:

Maria did not truly accept her feelings for Michael until she heard herself lie about them to Alex

Maria does not know Alex and Michael’s history beyond “they kissed once as teenagers” and “Alex still loves him”

Maria never wants to see that look of pain on Alex’s face again

And Alex knowing about them sleeping together also tells Maria that Michael, within hours of promising not to do so, told him. So she’s understandably pissy about that.

She cuts right to the chase when Michael starts to flirt.

And Michael’s face is… wounded.

Because he came to Maria to forget about Alex. He came to Maria because he likes her, and because he wanted to see if that spark he felt could light a fire, could turn into something real. He’s exploring, for the first time, the potential of really falling for someone who isn’t Alex.

And that’s what it is, at this point: potential.

But Maria says no, so he does with Maria the exact same thing he did when rejected by Alex - he deflects. Pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Why do you keep saying it can’t happen again, I got it the first time. That’s not why I’m here at all!” (narrator voice: it was, in fact, exactly why he was there).

And both of their faces when Michael walks away tell us this isn’t want they want.

This scene is a little bit devastating. Seeing Maria refuse herself something she wants. Seeing Michael once again turned away due to something outside his control.

But he takes the hint and leaves. He’d made an attempt and was shut down, and he wasn’t going to push it.

It appears they don’t see each other again until the morning of the Gala, when Maria straight up pretends she doesn’t see him.

And Michael calls her on it, because it’s bullshit and he knows it. They were friends before they slept together and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let that get in the way of what appears to be his only human connection aside from Alex.

Maybe it’s me, but this line was delivered with exactly the right amounts of relief and disappointment. Relief that she won’t have to endure seeing Michael in a tux. Disappointment that she won’t get to see Michael in a tux. It’s a Mood.

Michael makes a joke because that’s what they do. Maria said no, but he wants to ease them back into their friendly camaraderie. He doesn’t want to lose his friendship with Maria.

But Maria can’t do what she and Michael do. Because what she and Michael do is why she fell for him. So she can’t let them go back to being banter friends across the bar, not yet anyway. She needs time and she needs space so she can get over him.

Not to mention: Maria doesn’t know. Period. Maria doesn’t know Michael’s feelings for her might be genuine. Maria doesn’t know that Alex and Michael’s history is fraught and traumatic and painful. Maria doesn’t know that Michael and Alex were seeing each other over the summer. Maria doesn’t know that their history doesn’t start and end with that kiss in the museum. She doesn’t know that Michael still has feelings for Alex. And while Maria knows Alex is in love with Michael, she doesn’t know he’s made any effort to show that to Michael.

And she doesn’t want to hurt Alex. He’s always been there for her and she wants to protect him. To protect herself.

So she makes a jab about the museum - it was intentional insofar as she meant to drive the wedge of Alex further between them, but again, she does not know what else happened after Michael kissed Alex at the museum. She isn’t trying to hurt Michael here, she’s trying to build a wall.

When Michael says “It’s over. It’s been over,” she has no reason not to believe him.

And Michael isn’t saying that because he’s trying to come on to her again. He’s saying that because he can see that Maria feels guilty and he’s trying to assuage that. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The look Maria gives Michael here. The glance to his lips. She is gone on this man already. She wants him. She wants to believe him. She wants to be allowed to give in to him.

But she’s not. So she throws up more spikes and walks away.

This moment makes a whole lot more sense if you remember that, as far as we know, Michael has only ever given even a single shit about two humans in his entire life: Alex and Maria. We know what Alex is and was to him, the narrative makes it absolutely clear that Michael has been in love with Alex for a decade and has essentially been idling, just like Max, for Alex to come back. He sees their love as cosmic.

And we know what Maria is to him. She’s his friend. Someone who gets him, at least the little stuff. The light stuff. His sense of humor, his penchant for drowning his sorrows in substances, his compassion and his dependability.

Someone threatening that friendship? The one and only truly painless thing he’s ever found on this forsaken planet? Not a smart person.

Michael and Max make it to the Gala and that protective streak flares again. Because he was right. And Maria is innocent and now she’s vulnerable, and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let anything happen to her.

This is him continuing to not push boundaries, even when she can’t hear him. She said they can’t continue whatever it was they started, but they were friends before that and he wants to go back to that. Go back to fun.

Not to mention that he is visibly worried in a way we have only seen him express before for Isobel and Alex.

He sits there, holding her, letting his presence be known as a comfort, stroking her hair.

So that when she wakes, she knows immediately that she is not alone. That she is safe and being looked after.

And at the first sign that she may not want him there? He immediately offers to leave, and not only leave, but find someone else she trusts to look after her so that she still won’t be alone.

“You gotta stop showing up for me like this, Guerin.” is what she says, but what she means is “you have to stop reminding me why I fell for you. Stop making it so hard for me to get over you just by being you.”

(And also just a reminder here that Maria is still under the influence of an inhibition-lowering drug. That means it makes her do and say things she would not normally allow herself to do/say. She’d never have admitted these feelings to Michael had she been sober, or under the influence of an intoxicant she’s used to, but this is not that. This is literally a date-rape drug and anyone who has anything shitty to say about Maria in this scene can Fite Me.)

And when Maria says that she never wants him to leave?

Riley put it best: “That is not the face of a man whose feelings have just been reciprocated. That is the face of a man whose life just got very complicated.”

His lips barely twitch towards a smile but he can’t even hold it. He knows he’s supposed to be happy, but he can’t feel it. He wanted to believe that he could want this, that his feelings for Maria could drown out the way he feels about Alex, but like with Maria not realizing her feelings until she heard herself lie, I don’t believe Michael truly recognized his lack of feelings until he heard Maria admit the depth of hers.

I think Michael absolutely, 100%, no doubt cares deeply for Maria. I believe he is unquestionably attracted to her. I think she makes him happy and feel light because she’s not bogged down in the trauma that marks his life, and because she, by her own admission, actively tries to be the Fun Friend.

And I think Michael wants to have feelings for Maria. Because he believes he can’t have Alex and continuing to dwell on that will only continue to hurt him. He wants to move on, and Maria is literally walking perfection. There is no reason Michael shouldn’t absolutely return every bit of her feelings and then some.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. His heart belongs to another.

Now we don’t see the end of the night for Michael and Maria, but we do know that he takes her home. How do we know this? Because there’s no way a man who emphatically threatened to explode anyone who came near her while she was drugged would let her go home alone. Not a chance in hell. I doubt they talked at all, but he made sure she made it home safely.

And that, as far as we know, is the last time that they see each other before the finale, before Michael shows up wrecked and broken and needing to feel something, anything, that doesn’t hurt.

I’ll be diving into his, Maria’s, and Alex’s headspaces, and then taking a look at the dynamic as a whole, but none of what happens in the finale makes any kind of sense if you don’t fully recognize everything that came before it. What lead to it. It was a perfect storm of emotion and heartbreak, and this is just one cloud.

#miluca #m&m #michael guerin #maria deluca #roswell new mexico #rnm meta #rnm #miluca meta #i just have a lot of feelings #on michael & maria #i've been working on this since i finished episode 9 #sooooooo here it finally is lolololol #michael guerin meta #maria deluca meta

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