#to want to bring light/hope into the world bc he seeks it himself. its bc he wasnt able to have it himself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charnelhouse · 3 years ago

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hot blood

Pairing: Thor x F!Reader Wordcount: 3+K Warnings: Dungeon sex. GORE. Whump. Torture for entertainment. Summary: Thor needs healing. You need comfort. A/N: a lot of this is heavily inspired by lore olympus and the concept of fertility goddesses/wrath. I just had it take place with the greek pantheon omni city vibe. loki lives bc its my world, baby. no real spoilers for thor 4

Thor Masterlist

It’s a catastrophic pain. It slithers throughout his veins and makes his fingers cramp as they curl into claws. When he beats his fists against the floor, it cracks. The dust gets in his eyes, blurs his vision. He is going near boneless. The agony branches out through the web of his tissue. They had used a whip for the Gods - one built from the hide of something long-extinct. Each snap against his flesh shoots him through with a surge of excruciation. He tastes blood in his mouth. He swallows his tongue on the scream that is threatening to explode from his throat.

He would like to be weak.

He would like to be weak just once.

He didn’t intend for any of this to happen. He didn’t intend for them to be caught and taken as prisoners. He never should have come.

The four white-gold suns explode through the painted glass that consumes the palace walls. There is the tinkling of a river, the burble of a fountain. The crowd screeches and howls above it all. The colors of sapphire and emeralds and rubies. She had stared up in awe before they’d been betrayed.

“Thor,” She took him by the arm, her lips brushing his shoulder. “How gorgeous!”

He squints down at where the jewel-tone light pulses and bounces. His blood is dark berry-red, viscous as it seeps out to pool beneath him. He distantly wonders how much blood he can lose before he passes out. Abruptly, the whip comes down again, and he groans, forearms collapsing and he can no longer bear his weight. It is a blessing. He allows himself to rest his cheek against the marbled floor they have chained him to. The coolness is a momentary balm.

“Thor!” she cries, and when he lifts his head, she is still across from him. They were forcing her to endure the sight of his humiliation. It is why he refuses to scream. It would be a notch in her gut. He has to be strong for her. She depends on him.

And look what you did?

Why the fuck did you bring her?

They had gone to Omnipotence City to seek aid against Gorr, and it had failed spectacularly. Ares still had a proverbial ax to grind with him. Zeus, useless as he was, had sided with his son, and now Thor served as their entertainment. Loki and Val had been stuck in a cell while they made her watch after sensing her devotion to the god of thunder.

“How romantic for a punishment!” Aphrodite cooed, her hair like a river of spun gold as it dripped down the balcony where she sat. She leaned forward, violent eyes pinned to his girl. “It’ll be agony for his lover to watch.”

“Or we simply do it to her,” Ares proposes. “A worse fate for him.”

Thor’s stomach drops, his entire body going rigid with fear. Blue-lightning crackles between his fingertips and coils around his bones. He does not want to react too strongly because then they might just use her.

“No,” Hera snaps, her coppery gaze slanting toward him. Her crown glitters as she crosses her arms over her chest. “He will last longer under the whip. She will not.”

Thor screws his eyes shut, trying to collect himself. “It’s alright,” he pants through clenched teeth hoping his words could soothe her. “It’s - it’s not that bad.”

The minotaur snarls, bringing the whip down again. The metal tip burrows into his raw flesh. Another warm wash of blood. He’s had worse. He’s certainly had worse.

No such scenarios come to mind, but he definitely has endured worse.

The minotaur grunts and then violently reels backward so that the hooks in the metal tips shred his wounds and spread them wide. He chokes, sweat sheeting down his face. His body nearly gives out as his temple cracks against the floor.

“Had enough?” Ares bellows from his seat. Thor lifts his head, giving the stupid fucking war god a death glare that he reserves for his worst enemies. He will tear his head from his shoulders and keep it in a cabinet.

Haltingly, he begins to struggle back onto his hands and knees. He is so close to howling so he bites down his tongue until he tastes coins. He is so fucking close. But he will not. He will not for her. He sits back on his haunches - his spine cramps and everything withers. His vision swims.

Thor chuckles wetly, his teeth no doubt soaked in blood. “Try harder.”

She muffles a shriek. Her eyes widening and her expression aghast. “Thor - don’t-“

He spits red and it hits the Minotaur’s hooves.

It’s a taunt - another verbal knife he hopes will piss them off because he can’t use his goddamn fists. He has never felt lower - weaker. His skin is gradually being flayed off in front of his woman.

The one person he had wanted to protect from horrors such as this.

There is no doubt that she is completely traumatized. He tries to look at her, hold her horrified gaze to assure her that he’s okay, but it’s no use. The pain is intolerable, and he can’t hold himself steady. Her expression crushes him as she reaches out. Pleading. The silent: just fucking do it…just submit, you stubborn bastard.

He may have protected her physically, but he has certainly scarred her where it counts. This episode of violence - of torture - would sit with her for the rest of her life. He knew her good heart and her gentleness. He knew that she would consider this her fault no matter what he said.

He had failed her.

His hands slide out from beneath him as he tries to find purchase on the blood-slick marble. He feels wet in his throat - in his chest. He tastes iron and metal. His skin is molten, slick with pulsing agony. When the cool air meets his shredded back, he can feel where the skin has split. The sensation of his nerves stripped open and being splintered by the tip of a magic weapon every few seconds.

One of the men holding her, grips her roughly about the jaw, forcing her closer to Thor. He flinches when his own blood splatters across her face. “We can use it on this little one,” he warns. “If this punishment doesn’t seem like enough.”

Thor’s stomach drops, a ringing in his ears. He sees scarlet. He sees a dark tunnel collapsing in on him. Buried alive.

“If you do, I’ll fucking kill you,” he growls before the whip bites into his lower back - rocking his kidneys.

“Then scream,” Ares orders, his voice echoing within the cavernous hall. “Give in.”

He makes a low, frustrated noise through clenched teeth. The muscles in his jaw spasm. His nostrils flare.

If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t on principle. He had been a stubborn fucking child and an even stubborner man. He did not submit himself like this. He did not.

But it’s her.

He finds her eyes huge and glassy. He smiles softly, a last-ditch effort to gift her some form of comfort.

Then, he howls.

***

Thor tries pacing in his cell as he frets over her whereabouts. He manages to walk a few steps before his back forces him to sit. He hates it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You fucking idiot - you fucking, no-brain, broken failure. You’ve done it again. You’ve led someone you love to death.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Val tries to tell him through the wall. She’s stuck in the next prison where they’ve crammed her in with Loki. “They’re trying to scare you.”

“Well - it’s working.”

“She’s one of us,” Loki assures him. “An Asgardian and a rare one at that. They won’t kill her.”

“There are other ways to hurt her,” Thor growls in a cold voice before scrubbing a hand over his face. She was rare - a fertility goddess capable of healing mortal wounds and invigorating beings with insane levels of power. “And they don’t know she’s a fertility goddess,” he adds. “If they did, they’d use her.”

The Greeks had their own versions of fertility gods. The Asgardians had theirs.

“Fine, fine,” Loki says. “Hera’s always had a soft spot for her, and I highly doubt she’ll let her son try anything. This whole thing is just a little punishment.”

“Little punishment?” Thor snorted as he shifted onto his side to avoid his ruined back.

Ignoring him, Loki continues. “They’ll keep us in here a few days and then release us. They’re temperamental. They also forget quickly.”

“Unless they forget we’re in here like they did with poor Gunnr,” sighs Val.

“Is that what happened to him?” Loki asks, curious.

“You two aren’t helping.”

“We will figure this out, brother. Where’s that irritating sense of perseverance? That ridiculous positivity? Don’t you always have a plan?”

***

A few hours later, she stumbles into his cell. He says her name urgently, unsticking himself from the moist, dirty stone wall. Her eyes are huge, and she immediately crawls toward him. He has no idea why they’ve allowed her inside with him. Perhaps a new torture? Have her close until they take her away.

“Thor,” she wheezes, and he meets her in the middle, his gestures frantic as he wraps his arms around her waist and yanks her to him. He checks over her, eyes raking down her body, cataloging every piece of her as he searches for injury. His hands fold about her face as he tilts it to ensure the skin is unmarked. She closes her grip around his hands, clutching at him as more tears streak down her cheeks.

“Is she alright?” Loki asks through the wall.

“I think so…” She blinks at him. Sweat dripping down her hairline. He frowns as her chest starts to hitch, and she begins to hyperventilate. “Calm down,” he orders softly, his tone both gentle and firm. “You’re working yourself up.” His ears pick up the thunderous pounding of her little heart in the cage of her ribs, and he worries she’s going to hurl herself over the edge and into a panic attack. He grabs her by the arms and forces them above her head. “Breathe….breathe slowly and deeply.”

“You’re - they almost killed you,” she stammers, her features scrunching up into despair. “Oh, Thor, you’re back.”

“They certainly did not,” He replies in a playful voice, once more using humor to try and brush away their dire situation. “It’ll heal.”

She is silent for a few moments, chewing her lip as she searches his gaze. He meets it head-on, hoping she understands that he has survived worse. Finally, she wriggles further into his lap and straddles him, circling her legs around his waist as he grabs her hips. Thor’s thumb smooths a line down her cheek, and a broken whimper bursts from her before she throws her arms around his neck and tucks her face against his throat. His torn skin screams from the pain of being rocked backward, but he remains silent. He palms the back of her skull, making soft mouth sounds, assuring her that he’s fine.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry…I’m such a mess. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m falling apart.”

“It’s ok to be scared,” he says, sealing her body to him, crushing their chests together. He can feel the round plush of her breasts, her creeping breath against his beard. “You should have never seen that.” He sneaks a kiss against her temple, and she shivers. She’s still one livewire of emotion, pulsing with terror and grief. “You promise they didn’t touch you? Hurt you?”

She stiffens before shaking her head. “Hera kept me in a room for a little while,” she says carefully. “I think they grew distracted when someone proposed an orgy.”

“Of course,” he laughs.

She leans back to look at him, nudging the hair that has fallen out of his braid away from his face. “Thor,” she says. “I-I want to help you.”

His eyes widen, the lingering pressure of his desire for her pulsing somewhere in his belly. He knows what she’s implying. He cups her jaw. “It’ll weaken you.”

“It’ll comfort me,” she returns, her voice stronger. “It’ll - it’ll make me feel better...” She strokes his bare chest, fingers catching on the inky blue fabric of the toga he’d been given. It is a paper-thin barrier, and he’s glad it’s gentle on his destroyed skin. “I want to feel you…take you inside me.” She brushes her lips across his chin, barely missing his mouth. His cock hardens, and she grinds down on it just enough to make him groan. She jerks her head in the direction of Loki and Val’s cell. “They’re asleep?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

Her lips quirk, and she lowers her voice to something silky. “I want your cock, Thor,” she pleads as her hand drifts down to his crotch. He is heavy. He is leaking. “Feel you alive…after watching them hurt….” She stifles a sob, choking it down, and he kisses her brow.

“Shh,” he hushes. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“You’re a liar,” she whispers as her eyes flash red. His heart leaps in his throat and he grabs her by the shoulders. She can’t lose it. She can’t go fully into a fury or risk…

He knows he must distract her, ease her anxiety, and so he clutches the crown of her head and forces her closer.

It is his natural compulsion - to comfort her and soothe her and coax her away from their current nightmare. “My love,” he murmurs, rubbing their noses together. “You did nothing wrong.”

Their lips meet. The kiss is painful and desperate. He tilts his head, tongue running along the seam of her mouth until she parts it. It swells into a new, fierce hunger. He savors the sugar behind her teeth - the bright slip of Spring and hothouse flowers. Ambrosia. He smells ichor in the air, which he finds strange.

“Please,” she begs. “Please, Thor.”

He ignores the smell and continues.

***

He guides her onto her back, tugging off the gossamer purple gown she’d been dressed in. He licks down her belly before parting her knees and hitching them over his shoulders. Like this, she is spread before him - her lovely cunt open and weeping for him. He sneaks a finger inside her, her walls tense before clenching around his knuckles. She gasps. “Don’t hold back,” he mutters against her folds, breath tickling the bead of her clit. “You don’t have to be careful for me.”

He runs his tongue along the seam of her pussy with his finger buried inside her. He pets and laps before covering her with his mouth and teasing her with soft pulses. He adds a second finger, a third, and she rolls her hips forward against his hand. Her head falls back as her heels jerk against the mess of his back. They catch on broken skin, and Thor quietly groans with it - at both her soaked taste and the shock of pain that she delivers.

He tries to be silent, but there is an audible noise as he makes contact with her soaked cunt. It can’t be helped, and he is too far gone to care.

He pushes his face into her, dragging his nose against the mess of her sex. He suctions his mouth with hard, deliberate surges as her thighs clamp down around his head. He suckles her clit. He shoves her up higher, angling his fingers and tongue and holding her open for his greedy mouth. He feels her come, hips stuttering against his chin. He lifts himself up, his eyes raking over her as she still jerks with pleasure. The dress is lovely and transparent against her skin. Her lashes flutter, her lips part around a rippling moan. He notices gold in her hair. He notices a soft pink light emanating off of her limbs. His back begins to feel better.

They keep silent as he moves above her. His hair spills down his shoulders, the ends tickling her cheeks and brow. He isn’t sure if Loki and Val are asleep, but they say nothing. No taunts or teases or low whistling. They know he needs this as she does.

He takes himself in hand, wiping the swollen head of his cock against the dripping, raw opening of her cunt. He slips it through her folds as her knees lock against his waist. “Don’t be cruel,” she murmurs before he begins to breach her. He pushes in slow, eyes nearly crossing as she stretches around him. A tight fit. It always is. She’s hot as the sun as her sex grasps him, chokes him, fluttering around him from her previous orgasm.

She nods in encouragement as she stares up at him; the look on her face is awestruck - idolizing. She is life itself - growing and swelling with pleasure and blood and the slick of her center. Already, the pain in his back has begun to muddle to something like a bruise. The agony has been stripped down to a sore, dull ache.

His wounds are now secondary to the heat that curls in his groin. The way his muscles twitch and flex as he takes her in slow, inexorable strokes. His cock drags through her. He wants to feel every single centimeter of her perfect, warm cunt. It burns him just as the flames of his wounds hiss out to smoldering coals. He picks up his pace, fucking into her faster despite the fact that their slapping skin becomes louder, bouncing off the stone walls.

“I love you,” she declares as he grips her thigh to hold her open. He snaps into her with less gentleness. Fierce. Hard. He is rooted so deeply inside her that he does not know where either of them ends. He plants his knees, drawing his hips back before driving forward. “Oh,” she mewls. “Thor-”

“I love you,” he says. “I would-“

“You know I’d protect you,” She interrupts, gripping his face, thumb digging into his jaw. He doesn’t stop. Not for a moment. His thrusts are powerful and sharp as punches, and as his climax begins to thrum in the pit of his gut, he staggers. He grows clumsy. “I’d to anything,” she continues. “Anything to keep you safe.”

“Is that not my job?” he presses back to her before dropping his head. With his arms framing her face, he kisses her desperately. They trade in them, mouths coupling as their teeth and tongue fight their own war - as he ruts into her like an animal.

“Not always,” she gasps into his mouth. “Not always, my love.”

Her fingers slide over his shoulders, nails scratching down his back where his flesh has healed completely. There is only the itch from dried blood. See. She seems to say. See what I did.

His love for her grows. His love is too big and too much, and it scares him.

“Come for me,” she demands as she lifts her hips, hands sliding down to his ass to force him as far as his cock reach. The fist of her cunt wraps around him, milking him dry.

His orgasm hurts. It makes him shake, a broken noise emanating from the meat of his chest. For a moment, he is out of his mind. His fingers find the peak of her cunt where he rubs and strokes until she also goes tight and wet around him.

They lie there for a while. The scent of sex palpable and thick. When he eases out of her, he pumps his fingers back into her pussy to feel his seed there. She makes a startling noise of pleasure, and that pink incandescent glow blushes to a deep, florid red.

“I have something for you,” she murmurs, cocking her head as her eyes flash with excitement.

“What could that be?”

“It’s just outside.”

It takes a moment for her words to actually sink in.

“Wait what?”

***

Val, Loki, and Thor stare in stunned silence at the hall now flooded in gold ichor. There are bodies everywhere. The minotaur’s head lies forgotten in the corner of the room.

“Ares ran like a coward,” she sighs. “I only got a chunk out of him.”

She turns toward the others, and Thor wonders how he could have missed it. She must have washed away the blood. She’d smelled like a battle when he’d been above her…inside her, but he had thought it had been adrenaline from seeing him whipped. Fear. Arousal.

The walls are cracked in multiple places. There are mahogany branches of gnarled trees sprouting from the marble. Thorns. The burnt taste of fire. A shriek of a wolf somewhere. Had she summoned creatures this time?

“I didn’t tell you immediately because I needed to heal you first…I knew…I knew you’d want to escape.” She tucks her hair back, almost bashful. Heat, once more, ignites in his belly. Gods. Capable of so much violence and shy as ever. The contrast is irresistible to him.

“I got mad,” she explains as her eyes drift to the floor. Thor can sense the simmering edge of her wrath that still resides inside her. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it explodes. The world collapses, and she ruptures with it. The fold breaks. “I’m-I’m sorry if I went too far-”

Thor advances on her, his hands closing around her shoulders as he yanks her to him. He embraces her roughly, rubbing his cheek against her hair. He murmurs her name as the realization of her devotion hits him like a white light. She had said it like a promise. She had said it like law.

You know I’d protect you.

“Wow,” Val declares, kicking a guard’s head across the hall of blood. “Cool as fuck.”

#thor odinson #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson x you #thor imagine #thor x you #thor x female reader #thor fanfiction #thor odinson imagine #thor x ofc

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

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Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

An extra for our babies can be found here!

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gojosatireou · 4 years ago

Text

Breakup scenarios with the JJK Boys

Genre and warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, pregnancy, abandonment

Featuring: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro, Na*ya Zenin

A/N: I was just feeling very angsty and emo so I wrote these breakup scenarios😍most of these are gender neutral, except Toji's one bc there's mentions of pregnancy. I'm currently accepting requests, so in case you'd like any of these scenarios to be written as oneshots/long fics, be my guest!

Reblogs would be highly appreciated

Nanami Kento:

Everyday, he returns home to see your tear-stricken face stained with worry and anxiety. Everyday, when he leaves home, you try to stop him, because you know that every mission he goes on could be his last. He doesn’t mind the fact that you try to stop him, he knows that you do it only because you love him, and you’ve built your entire world surrounded around his existence, he means everything to you. You skip meals on the days he doesn’t come back, worry for his safety gnaws at your very existence.

Nanami could never bear to see you in pain.

So, he leaves, so that you could find someone else who would not disappear into the dark hours of the night, hunting curses with no guarantee of returning, unlike him. He wanted to see you happy.

Through a constant stream of choked-up sobs, you keep asking him to stay. But all he says before leaving is that, “Maybe one day you’ll understand that this was for the best, Y/N.”

Gojo Satoru:

He couldn’t commit himself to one person.

He keeps cheating on you, returning home at odd hours of the night, his shirt stained with a lipstick that wasn’t yours, his shirt smelling like a perfume that wasn’t his.

You kept asking him how you could be enough for him, how you could stop him from seeking someone else’s company. How could you ever be good enough for him?

So, you leave, taking with you whatever leftover self-respect you had.

Its only when he returns to an empty home and a cold bed, that he realises the weight of your absence. Now, no number of apologies, missed calls or late-night texts could bring you back.

Toji Fushiguro:

It’s the day he sees you with a positive pregnancy kit in your hand, your face lit up in a wide, proud grin, that he realises he’s fucked up.

He didn’t mean to start anything serious, nothing in his life had ever been constant.

How could he possibly give you the false hope of a happy life he could never offer you? How could he bear to carry the weight of his lover and his child on his back, when there was no guarantee if he’d see the light of the next day or not? Not to mention his rivals could hold you hostage and use him against you, torturing you and his child to force him into resignation. How could he endanger the life of the only woman he ever loved?

So, he leaves, hoping that you’d forgive him for his abandonment someday.

He only leaves a letter behind, saying, “I’m sorry, I can’t stay. Trust me, it’s for the better.”

He never stops watching over you, though. He keeps an eye on you from the sidelines, watching his child grow up in your arms, his palms aching to hold the little boy in your lap.

Megumi Fushiguro:

You often wondered if Megumi had fallen out of love with you.

It felt like you had to initiate everything in your relationship, whether it be conversations, or dates. He never took any initiative to express his love for you, which made you wonder if he ever loved you in the first place or not.

Would he even notice it if you were gone?

So you break it to him, you can’t keep yourself in this dull, pathetic excuse of a relationship, with a man who couldn’t make you feel loved or valued. All his inner senses urged him to beg you to stay, to convince you that he never stopped loving you, he just wasn’t the best with words. And who was he to stop you from leaving if that was what your heart truly wanted?

While walking away from him, there was only one word you wanted to hear.

Stay.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stay in a relationship apparently devoid of love.

Naoya Zenin:

Bestie why were you even in a relationship with him in the first place🤨neways, if you were in the relationship with him, I’d strongly suggest kicking him in the nuts and ✨leaving✨

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years ago

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Request 2 of 2 is any killer you want meeting a sneaky survivor (later s/o bc I’m weak) who can get up from being moried but have reduced movement, repair speed and if they get hooked it’s instantly over for them (I say any because I want you to write what you like, I’ll probably request more characters for either prompts I sent tho if you’re ok with it)

okay so, with this ask i decided to do something a little different.

The idea of somehow surviving a mori is so bizarre and unlikely that it really took me a while to think about it. I mean, the whole point of a mori is to outright kill the survivor. so in order to bring this request to life i decided to set up some ground rules.

1.) it will be assumed that the survivor who can outlive a mori is one lucky bastard. Whether it is because the killer is in a rush and cannot ensure the job is done correctly or they just suck and overestimated their killing ability.

2.) It will also be assumed that in order to survive a mori, the person who gets up immediately seeks the best medical attention the Fog has to offer (i.e. They rush over to Claudette bleeding outta their asshole). They must also be near the end of a trial because once they escape all wounds will be healed and their supposed death will be null and void.

Below is a list of the mori’s that are a definite no-no and are a maybe (WARNING: i wrote these at 3AM)

Mori’s you would definitely die to:

Huntress (Axe to the face)

Bubba (*get that bitch Leatherface!* chainsaw up torso)

Hag (pulls spleen (?) out, needs some spice)

Deathslinger (speared from butthole to mouth hole)

Oni (sword through the chest and no more tongue)

Pyramid Head (huge knife through gut)

Freddy (fingers your chest)

Spirit (knife to meet you *screams in Japanese*)

Doctor (you got a brain? not anymore)

Legion [specifically Joey] (mans is determined and crazy strong. its lights out for you)

Mori’s that are a MAYBE live:

Trapper (basic slash 4 a basic bitch)

Wraith (*baby WHACK baby WHACK baby WHACK*)

Hillbilly (bruh it aint even that deep)

Nurse (lady got moldy worm fingers, dafaq that suppose to do)

Clown (steals a finger and cracks your back)

Demogorgon (again, cracks your back starting with your neck)

Myers (has no aim and could miss a vital organ)

Ghostface (again, has talent but got no direction)

Pig (cover that new mouth vagina quick then you’d be gucci)

Plague (i want her to spit in my mouth so)

Legion [rest of them bitches] (punk lil babies who probs can’t even open a pickle jar)

Pyramid Head (the mini mori where he just bonks you after being hooked/cage: vibe check failed)

Now, with this out of the way, I have chosen two killers to write about. hope they are ok <3

HeadCanons for The Wraith (Philip Ojomo) and The Plague (Adiris) with a sneaky S/O capable of surviving a mori

The Wraith (Philip Ojomo)

Has to do a double-take when he sees you up and walking. He’ll literally stop dead in his tracks and just watch as you stumble across the landscape, dropping all his previous activities to focus on you. You looked like a ghost.

He’d question himself for a moment. Had he actually killed you? Did he just down you and forget? No, no. Philip always remembered who he killed, their faces of fear and pain, and their cries as he slashed open their backs. He was a strong man, vicious in his attacks. There was no way he could have missed. Yet, like a living contradiction to his beliefs, you were there.

He’d stalk you, cloaked and extremely quiet, turning the invisible factor up to 120%. You wouldn’t even notice he was there. He’d follow you around, peaking from behind trees and through windows as you would hobble after teammates and sloppily repair generators. If one of the more bulky survivors were on your team they’d carry you, slinging one of your arms over their shoulders and leading you around. How selfless and thoughtful. The other, more clever survivors would hurriedly try to mend your wounds, quick hands weaving through medkits and over broken skin. However nothing they did return you to your prior vigor. You definitely carried the weight of a near-death experience. regardless, Philip felt moved by your teammates' determination to help you.

If you ended up being the last survivor in the trial, the others having been hooked or mori’d, Philip would always let you live. He’d watch you get back up from your position on the floor, blood spewing out of the wounds across your back. You’d groan and shakily get to your feet, swaying as you did so, before trudging off to start the final generators. He admired your commitment and vowed to not disturb you as you worked. But progress was slow and Philip always found himself circling you. Maybe if you were healed you could work better? He thought to himself as he quickly zoomed around the arena in search for discarded med-kits. He’d find some still clutched in the frozen hands of dead teammates and hurriedly he’d take and present them to you. Although he was too nervous to actually hand the items to you, Philip would quietly leave them on the floor for you to turn around and find. Then he would retreat back to the shadows and continue to watch you.

The Plague (Adiris)

Adiris would also do a hard double-take. She’d gasp loudly when she found you working on another generator. You could hear her mumbling ancient words under her breath, rambling, and getting more and more frantic as she approached you.

Unlike Philip, Adiris would have no hold-ups about hurting you and she would set to work chasing and quickly down you again. With one quick smack, you would be forced to the ground with the impossible tall lady standing over you. Her previous whispered had now progressed into full-blown shouts. She’d call out to the sky in a desperate and commanding tone, the Babylonian language feeling strange in your ears. With palms open and facing upwards Adiris would thrust back her head and shout out for an explanation. Were you some kind of God? Maybe even a demon or angel? Whatever you were, it freaked Adiris out. Her eyes focused solely on the dark sky, all previous engagements to the trial having been forgotten. You could hear her desperately calling out for her God, crying for a reason as to why you didn't die. After several minutes, with her eyes filling with tears, Adiris relented and lowered her head.

There was no answer. If you weren’t some type of supernatural being, and instead just some poor ordinary person, then Adiris had in fact just failed at killing a poor soul. She wasn’t stupid; she could tell that she was chosen to mindlessly hurt and kill people for her God. Her personal philosophy when it came to hunting down the survivors of the Fog, was to offer them a swift and painless exit from this world of suffering. But with you laying at her feet, wheezing with blood and vomit coating your clothing, Adiris had to realize that she had failed, not only herself but you. She hadn’t effectively killed you and instead only added to your pain.

Adiris knew that you carried that burden of her weapon and she felt it tear her up inside. She hated herself and her lackluster ability to effectively kill you. She debated whether to try to kill you again. But the thought of even attempting such an act boiled her stomach and made her sick. You watched her from your position on the floor. There was a deep sense of sadness in her eyes, her shoulders lowered and it seemed she had lost her prideful demeanor. She looked pitiful and lost, like a child having been told Father Christmas isn’t real. After a moment of watching her for signs of aggression, Adiris finally moved. She knelt down and gently placed a hand on your back. She mumbled something to you that sounded like an apology before she quickly stuck her hands underneath you. Effortlessly the tall lady picked you up bridal style and set off in search of your teammates. In the distance, you spotted Nea working on the last-gen. Adiris also noticed the girl and with long, determined strides, brought you to her. Nea went to flee at the killer's approach, but when she saw you in her arms, carried like a baby, she stood her ground. Adiris dropped you at Nea’s feet and with one final look, walked away never to be seen again for the remainder of the trial.

#a really unique request #much love #dbd headcannons #dbd the wraith #dbd the wraith x reader #dbd philip ojomo #dbd philip ojomo x reader #dbd th eplague #dbd the plague x reader #dbd adiris #dbd adiris x reader

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words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years ago

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So I’ve feelings about ur two ficlets of NHS offering NMJ his body and when I said feelings I meant that I’m crying like a baby rn but I’ve to ask bc I’m a sadist how do u think LXC reacted when he realises that NMJ is back? Happy to kinda see his sworn brother? Guilty bc of his part in NMJ death? Guilty bc he knows that NMJ would have wanted him to take care in NHS but apparently he did not do a good job about that? :)

Ha HA, sorry about this incredibly dialogue-light 3zun Angst Chat that doesn’t even have NMJ in it. I had to cut it in half because it got long and I have another ask about this exact concept anyway so w/e.

(the Nie Brothers Ritual Thing, which I’m increasingly starting to think I should title)

It’s Wangji who warns him. And it is a warning, make no mistake, with the precise way that Xichen’s brother comes and sits at the table and pours them both exacting measures of tea. Wangji visits him with the sort of meticulous scheduling that they once kept to when visiting Madam Lan, and today he is somewhat windswept and it should be another four days before their next appointment. But he comes, and sits, and then says, with the kind of quiet bluntness that Xichen has always appreciated, “There is something you should know.”

Xichen sighs and sips his tea. It’s the sharp morning blend that Wangji prefers, which is not a good sign. If he was hoping to appease Xichen, hoping to appeal for help from the elder brother who, even now, probably couldn’t refuse him, it would be something softer, more soothing. This means that Wangji is trying to brace Xichen for something.

Xichen doesn’t know what else he could be braced for, these days.

He finishes the cup in silence and sets it down, and Wangji fills it again, because he has the good grace not to pretend that he’s inscrutable to Xichen. Xichen waits until the cup is full and the pot restored to its resting place, and then says, “What is it, Wangji?”

It would be a lie to say that Xichen expects it to be about anything but Jin Guangyao. A-Yao. His youngest sworn brother, with his gentle smile and whip-sharp tongue and bloody, bloody hands. For the first time in decades, Lan Xichen misunderstands his brother.

“Someone else has used the sacrifice ritual,” is what Wangji says.

Xichen does the math, quickly, and tries to think of anyone who might still be loyal to Jin Guangyao. His own collateral guilts, the price of his years of inaction, have been tallied meticulously since he went into seclusion five months ago--Jin Rusong, Qin Su, the Wens. But who might have survived Jin Guangyao’s death throes, to bring him back? A disciple in Lanling, seeking revenge? How much does Jiang Wanyin hate his brother? How much did Jin Rulan love his uncle?

And then Wangji speaks again, and Xichen’s thoughts come to a halt so quickly that his ears ring.

“Nie Mingjue is coming to Cloud Recesses.”

The world reels around Xichen, his hands shaking as they come to rest on the tabletop. Wangji reaches out to touch his shoulders--Sizhui really has been good for him--and waits, holding Xichen steady as he breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

It isn’t until Xichen’s hands have stilled that Wangji says quietly, “I am sorry, xiongzhang. There wasn’t--a kind way to tell you.” And he would know, of course he would know, Xichen’s ever-steady brother who chased any word of the Yiling Patriarch like it would kill him to stop.

“Who--?” Xichen chokes out.

Wangji closes his eyes, sits back on his heels. He is Hanguang-jun, one of the finest cultivators of their day, and he has been as strong and youthful as he was the day he left seclusion all the years since. Now Xichen thinks he looks very tired. Too old for this. They grew up in a war and came of age in a genocide and Xichen allowed it and Wangji lost nearly everything in it, and he wishes that the world hadn’t come to settle so firmly on Wangji’s shoulders, after everything.

“His brother.”

Bile gathers at the back of Xichen’s tongue. He drinks more of the sharp tea, bitter and beginning to be oversteeped, to wash it away.

Xichen can picture Nie Huaisang perfectly--as he was when they were young, when he was a student at Cloud Recesses four times over and Xichen was amused at the idea of stern, driven Mingjue trying to harass his brother into studying. Like a hunting dog trying to corral a cat, while Huaisang blinked liquid black eyes and pouted and refused to be managed.

Xichen can picture A-Yao, dimpled and quiet and brilliant, at his elbow.

Xichen blames Nie Huaisang for the death of Jin Guangyao. Xichen blames himself for the manipulations of Nie Huaisang. Xichen is grateful to Nie Huaisang for his brother’s happiness. Xichen hates Nie Huaisang for making him complicit, one last time, without even the cold comfort of knowing if he had truly been used. Xichen loves Nie Huaisang because he knows how to love him, how to protect his dage’s brother, with the surety of years of practice.

Mingjue will be so angry that Xichen did not stop this.

“When?” Xichen whispers, and Wangji, brilliant Wangji, knows what he is asking.

“He was perhaps two hours behind us. Wei Ying will stall him at the gate, if you need longer.”

“No,” Xichen says, and he cannot hope to make his voice strong, but he manages to keep it from shaking. “Let him in."

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji says, watching him with their family’s brilliant golden eyes like he’s seeing every fracture line hidden under Xichen’s skin. He thinks he’s mostly fracture lines, these days. “This was not your fault.”

“No,” Xichen agrees, bringing one hand up to cover his own eyes. The clear, pale light streaming through the paper covering the window seems very bright, suddenly. His eyes are burning. “Like so many things, this was not my fault. Not in any way, except in idleness.”

He does not need to see Wangji’s face to know that he is only barely holding back an argument, by the iron hand of his self-control and the precepts against arguing with seniors and family members. Wangji only follows those precepts when it suits him, these days--Chief Cultivator is a title that buys a great deal of leeway--but he keeps his silence.

Xichen’s brother has always been kind. He drinks his oversteeped bitter tea and pretends that he does not see the escaped tears running down Xichen’s cheeks.

#lan xichen #lan wangji #nie mingjue #the untamed #mdzs #the nie brothers ritual thing #starlight writes stuff #ummmm i don't have an excuse #turns out i just really like lxc's headspace! this was fun to write!#ft my Thoughts about how much lxc blames himself for post-jgy #and also about how at least lwj is good at visiting loved ones in seclusion (and it makes lxc hurt to have put lwj back in that position)#there is a second half in the queue somewhere but i'm trying to keep these real short which is really Not my brand #second half is finally FINALLY gonna be a nmj pov! big sads in that one kids!#how many ficlets do i need to write in this universe before i have to title it? i'm thinking about something from shayfer james #i really like shayfer james for the nie bros. 'where we belong' is really good for nmj and 'tombstone road' for nhs.#a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #timetomakeanewwish #asked and answered

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troybeecham · 4 years ago

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Fr. Troy Beecham

Sermon, 3 Advent 2020

John 1:6-8,19-28

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

This is the testimony given by John when the Judeans sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’” as the prophet Isaiah said. Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.”

I frequently wonder why our lectionary chooses to cut out parts of a Gospel text. The reason given is usually due to a thematic focus. In this Gospel, in which light is the theme, why would verse 9-18 be left out when they are focused on the light? Hereare the missing verses that were left out:

“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’” From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.”

So, what can we make of why the lectionary finds it important to focus on John the Baptist and leave out the light he came to proclaim? What can we learn about Jesus, his identity, life, death, and resurrection, by taking a close look at his cousin John the Baptist? The most direct answer is that the way John the Baptist is treated foreshadows how Jesus will be treated: suspicion, awe, rejection, and execution.

An important first question is to ask why would the power players: the Judean aristocracy, the Temple hierarchy, and thecivil authorities in Jerusalem; why would they care that a rural prophet was attracting crowds to the wilderness and wasbaptizing repentant sinners in the Jordan river? Because those with power always treat those they deem to be threats to their power the same way, in every age and in every place. This is a consistent indictment about humankind in the Scriptures: we seek power rather than seeking God.

In honor cultures, people are expected to behave in specific ways according to their inherited status. The Baptizer was a rural priest, and the son of a highly respected rural priest, Zechariah. John is in trouble with the Judean hierarchy because he is not behaving like a rural priest is expected to do. Here we see one of the fractures in Judean and Israelite culture that began after the Jews returned from exile in the 6th century BC. Rural priests, priests not part of the Judean aristocracy or the Temple aristocratic priestly families, experienced a great deal of marginalization by the aristocratic hierarchy of Jerusalem and the Temple. The historian Josephus indicates that the gulf between the aristocratic priests in Jerusalem and the large number of rural, so-called ‘lower’ clergy was at an all-time highjust before the outbreak of the Judean rebellion against Rome beginning in the mid-60s AD. We can see similar attitudes within the Church, sadly.

The contrast between the living conditions of the rural clergy and the very evident luxury in which the Jerusalem priestly aristocracy lived in had been a great source of strife. The fact that they Jerusalem aristocracy lived in such luxury while the vast majority of the Israelites during the Roman occupation were living in profound poverty was a focus of the preaching of both John the Baptist and Jesus. The poor, the dispossessed, and the hungry were looking for light in the face of such overwhelming darkness. Those with power tried to co-opt John and Jesus both, and failing that they sought to discredit them and finally to eliminate them. The same is true today.

John is intentionally distancing himself from this luxury and corruption and accentuating his rural priestly heritage. John presents himself more like a prophet who declares the will of God and the judgment of God against those who oppressed the poor, especially those who did so in the name of God. What radical words! No wonder they wanted him gone. When they come to question him, they want to find out if he is trying to start a popular movement, an insurrection. He tells them that God is acting, that God is bringing judgment, and that action and judgment, that shining the light in their darkness, was the Son of God, the Messiah, who was already in the world. It is he who will bring about the overturning of the powers of the world, who will baptize with ‘fire and the Holy Spirit’.

John is but the voice crying in the wilderness exhorting his listeners to prepare the way of the Lord. Because Jesus has not yet been baptized nor initiated his ministry, the delegation from Jerusalem isn’t interested in the “coming one” John announces.They will deal with that problem if he ever shows up. For now, they return to Jerusalem, feeling safe. The Jerusalem delegation now understands that John’s baptismal rite is symbolic action of repentance, not insurgence. But they know to be looking for the one whom John called the Light of the World, the one bringing fire and judgment. They know that their time is short, and they will be ready, in the same way that all who are jealous of their power and privilege are ready, and who also live in constant fear of losing their power…ready to strike, punish, control, kill, and destroy any who threaten their power. This is true today as in every age. And all the world is waiting, either in hope or in fear, for the coming of the Light of the World, who came first as a suffering Messiah and is coming again in great power and glory to be the Judge of all peoples.

The powers of the world have already been judged. All who wield power share in its judgment. The poor in spirit, the oppressed, the meek, the humble, and the peace makers shall inherit the earth when the Lord returns. The question that we have to ask ourselves is where are we on that continuum? Do we wait with dread or with hope for the coming of the Lord?

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

#father troy beecham #christianity #troy beecham episcopal #jesus #father troy beecham episcopal #saints #god #salvation #peace #martyrs

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fmdtaeyongarchive · 5 years ago

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↬ my long night is not over.

date: early 2019.

location: seoul, south korea.

word count: 2,019 words, not including lyrics.

summary: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification. depression tw. like, this entire thing is about ash’s depression. not proofread because i wrote this all in one night and i’m just throwing it into the queue before i get some sleep lmao.

days off didn’t come often. when they did, ash had a habit of finding some way to fill his time anyway. it had been trained into him, almost literally, not to let a spare moment go to waste since the age of thirteen, and it was hard to ever fully knock that insistent voice out of his head that told him he needed to be busy or he was wasting his life away.

a day off where he didn’t have plans to do any work was unsettling. he’d been laying in bed for hours in an attempt to feel relaxed, but he couldn’t stop his mind racing when there was nothing else to keep it busy. yet, he couldn’t seem to will himself up to do something to waste his time. it was as if his thoughts were weighing down on his chest and preventing him from rising out of bed and forcing himself out into the world like a useful human being. he could recognize, despite his own irrational need for action, that it was odd that he felt his value so intrinsically linked to whether he ended the day with something accomplished when he worked from before sunrise to after night fall every other day of the year. his skin itched with restlessness, but his limbs refused to move, like they were too heavy for his body to lift.

it wasn’t a physical weight. he wouldn’t be getting torn to pieces at the next fitting he had to go to. it was a purely emotional weight, and ash had felt it before. it had been a while since it’d been this hard to fight, though. it may have something to do with his promotions for “untitled, 2014” coming to an end. singing that song on stage every day, multiple times a day, had worn his emotional nerve endings ragged and it made sense that they didn’t want to be exposed to the elements outside of his bed that could fray them again. it’d been a risky move on his part to agree to beat himself up in front of an audience and on camera so consistently. he didn’t have any regrets about it, but some hidden part of his psyche must and it was punishing him even more now by setting off the other parts of his psyche that he didn’t want to venture into the dark and cavernous depths of.

years ago, these episodes of heaviness hadn’t come like this to weigh down on his chest and mind. back in elementary school, he couldn’t remember ever experiencing the feeling, at least not enough to stay in his mind a decade and a half later. as much as he’d like to blame it on bc as he did most of the problems in his life, he couldn’t draw a direct connection to them to make it a fault of theirs either. he hadn’t started feeling this way the day he’d stepped into bc entertainment as a trainee. it wasn’t something in the air of the training building that had done this to him. the times he’d felt it the most often had been since then, but something told ash it would have grown worse as he got older anyway. no longer seeing the world through the eyes of a child was an inevitability regardless of his career path and seeing the harsh scope of reality made it harder to want to crawl out when he was stuck in a ditch like this.

the first time he’d felt this way, he’d been grocery shopping with his mom back in san francisco. his mom was busy piling their items onto the belt to check out and ash’s mind was left without something to distract it and keep the clouds from sweeping in. a feeling of dread had expanded in his chest like a rapidly filling balloon. as vast and wide as the feeling seemed to be, his insides felt completely and utterly empty at the same time. he’d sat in the backseat of the car on his way home from the grocery store so his mom wouldn’t notice the hot tears that wanted to spill out of his eyes. he couldn’t figure out why they were there in the first place. he wasn’t sad and it didn’t feel like it normally did when he wanted to cry. he was numb. suddenly, hopelessness was the only emotion he could reach out and grasp in his palm, all the excitement of life killed on impact like insects on a car windshield. even the idea of exiting the vehicle instead of letting his body rot away within it had felt so utterly pointless. his body would rot somewhere some day anyway.

it’d been such a strong feeling, or rather, a lack of feeling, that ash had never forgotten that day.

the sensation had come back time and time again since then. when he was twenty and the feeling had been constant for months to the point of driving his manager to force him to seek help for it, a psychiatrist had assigned a name to it and ash had wondered why it had taken so long for someone to notice and label it. it explained a lot, ash had discovered when he’d done a search into it beyond what he knew from media. the antidepressants had helped some after trying out a few different options. it was walking a delicate tightrope of what he needed and what bc needed once management knew he was on medication. if he gained weight from it or it impacted his ability to perform, it’d need to be abandoned immediately. that had made it a challenge to find one that helped without unacceptable side effects, but ash had found a variety that worked well enough as time dragged on and the fact that the feeling wasn’t ever going to fully leave him alone sunk in.

no medication could stop him from having days like this completely. “they can’t cure you. they’re to help make it more manageable,” as he’d been told, and any optimism for such days to be in the past had vanished.

so why was it still so painfully unmanageable on days like this?

_______________________________________________________________________

days passed before ash felt up to getting to work in the studio, and even once he did, he had to force himself to ease back into it. the weight never wanted to leave that easily, even after it’d dug its claws out of him enough to let him breathe. friends and colleagues dropped by the studio here and there and it wasn’t easy to smile all the way to his eyes just yet, especially not after long days of trying to do his best at public appearances, but he could press keys on a keyboard to create chords and that was something that could be celebrated as a small victory as long as he wasn’t faced with too much at once.

the simple piano melody came to him as he sat for hours in the studio. it was mostly a succession of chords and nothing too show-offy, but it wouldn’t fit his mood if he did show off. he didn’t feel like he had a few days earlier, but still, he felt like whispering, not shouting from the hilltops. there was no point in trying to write something upbeat when his brain wasn’t ready to expend the energy necessary to go there yet.

the next day, the strings came into the composition. he made a mental note to ask if bc would be able to provide him with real string recordings if the song was ever completed and given the green light for release. he couldn’t see it ever being a single as it was, without a climax or likely much of anything resembling a hook, but maybe it’d be nice to use somewhere in the middle of an album track list one day in a spot that called for something a bit delicate in its closeness to ash’s heart.

the composition wasn’t much, but it was nice on the ears even without vocals. he let the song exist in a purely instrumental form for a while, considering its use as an interlude or outro on a future album. it was cinematic in an understated way, like the score of an animated movie during the scene where the main character was reflecting. they’d be staring into a pool of water for heavy-handed metaphor and there would be fireflies dancing in the dark night around them as a symbol of hope. there wasn’t much hope in his heart writing the song, but the idea of that use of the track brought a dull smile to ash’s face nonetheless. he’d never considered composing scores for movies. he should give that a try one day.

_______________________________________________________________________

he came back to the track several weeks later, with pages of lyrical scrawls he’d gotten out while busy with his work schedule. for the moment, his chest wasn’t so leaden, but it was too familiar and lasting a feeling for him to forget what his really bad lows were like just because they’d passed for the moment.

the world keeps rotating. it’s getting dark alone. my blank mind. there’s no song i want to sing. i want it to be quiet now.

simple rhymes came together into verses and a chorus to be sung lethargically over the music. he’d record his vocals later on when he could decide the best delivery without faking his emotions, but in their content alone, there was a tone to how they should be sung.

the lyrics were a mix of reworded thoughts he’d scribbled down and his own additions as he sat in the studio but they came together like an aimless stream of conscious, perfect to represent the headspace he wanted to convey. it was the closest he could get to writing them when he wasn’t able to. he wasn’t able to pull himself out of the pitch black dark for the sake of creating something, but he could put into words what he’d felt later. they weren’t beautifully poetic, but neither was life most of the time. simplicity didn’t have to mean an absence of meaning. ash had learned that.

he’d written similar songs before. off of his first album, “pause” had been near and dear to his heart for the way it bared parts of him he’d been expected to keep hidden. he had no idea how much the depth of his struggles had been received, but it was having it out in the world that made it cathartic more than how other people felt about it. this track could hopefully bring more peace to him in knowing that some songs could come purely from his heart in a raw way that bc entertainment couldn’t take away from him. if they ever approved it, they’d monetize it and slap a pretty album cover on it with ash smiling or seducing the camera, but that would never take away the truth within the songs he’d written from such an integral core of himself.

when ash had started, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to accomplish with the song. was his purpose merely to get his thoughts and feelings out onto paper so that they didn’t have to keep floating around in his head? or did he want to selfishly indulge himself by using his keyboard and paper in place of therapy he didn’t have time for in his schedule these days? it hadn’t been clear at the beginning, but once the words were written out in front of him like a poem, he realized that he hoped his own stream of consciousness would be something someone else could relate to. maybe it wouldn’t be the song to save anyone’s life or brighten their whole day, but there were times when knowing there were other people who had felt the same way was the only semblance of comfort that could be found. ash hoped he could be that. no matter how much his music had to become something else to please other people, he hoped this piece could be something else: a song not to please anyone, but to speak to someone like him.

#depression tw #fmdverification #&& queued #almost done with album verifications! hallelujah

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sleepywrds · 6 years ago

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summary: hyunwoo can’t forget the beautiful doctor with the kind voice, so he seeks you out for a lunch date.

prompt: hello may I have a shownu fluff where he’s saved by a doctor and he falls for her afterwards? thanks 💖

ship: shownu/fem!reader

genre: fluff

count: 1.5k

a/n: aaah i’m finally done i hope i didn’t disappoint ;; took me rly long bc i didn’t know what to write but alas, here it is!

"Y/n!"

Heavy breaths heaved behind you, accompanied by quick, thudding footsteps echoing on the tired floor and a familiar voice calling your name. At the call of your name, you pause walking and glance over your shoulder, expecting a co-worker to be behind you-- maybe another doctor, a nurse, or the intern you're currently supervising-- but instead, you meet a panting, red-faced man in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, bent over from chasing after you down the hall. In one hand, he holds a single fake rose with a small card tied to its stem, hanging by his side.

You blink in confusion. "Excuse me, but who are you...?"

The man straightens up, showing himself to be none other than Son Hyunwoo, one of your patients who had been discharged a week ago. His bangs stick to his forehead with all the sweat dripping down it, cheeks puffed out from all the panting, and his eyebrows quirk up in sincerity.

"Oh, Hyunwoo!" you say, breaking out into a smile of familiarity. "You're here again?"

He'd been a patient in the hospital for two weeks after a minor car accident and you were responsible for him over the course of his stay. As you recalled, he'd recovered exceptionally well, ready to bounce back as a dancer despite having a whiplash and a few other injuries to his muscles. You warned him to be careful but he was more than glad to take off from his room...so why was he back in the hospital?

Hyunwoo doesn't say anything yet. His eyes stay on the floor, the single rose stays in his hand, and his lips stay pressed together. Though he isn't panting anymore, a light red still colours his face and the tips of his ears, as if he was blushing from embarrassment instead.

You frown. "Is there something wrong? Is the medicine not working?" And why did he chase you down?

At last, he opens his mouth, though the reply comes slow and tentative. "No," he answers. "I, uh, wanted to ask you something."

"Oh." A shrug. "Sure. What's wrong?"

He fiddles with the single rose between his fingers, eyes alternating between staring at you and glancing away, apparently unable to maintain eye contact with you. A number of people look at him as they pass by, curious at the fake rose in his hand, at a man in a leather jacket standing still in the middle of an otherwise busy corridor. Suddenly aware of your surroundings, you motion him to move towards the side of the corridor so that other people wouldn't bump into him anymore.

"Sorry about that," Hyunwoo says, stepping aside and ready to speak. "I, uh. I wanted to ask you something. Are you--" he clears his throat, stalls for a few seconds-- "are you free this Saturday?"

Saturday. You try to hide the frown that creeps across your face. Sure, you were free that day; the only weekend plan you had was to walk your dog on Sunday. So you nod. "Yes. Why?"

And then Hyunwoo hands you the rose. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Saturday noon brings you to a large, quaint restaurant tucked in a quiet neighborhood near downtown Seoul. A wealth of sunlight shone on the two-storey building. The whitewash of the picket fence, tables and chairs alternated with the rustic brick walls and the hanging metal pots, plants drooping out of their respective pots, vines curling this way and that, leaves swaying in the wind. In spite of the silent area, the restaurant was bustling with customers, clanking sounds and loud chatter leaking out from the wide open doors.

Noticing how well-dressed the other patrons were, you suddenly feel underdressed in your simple shirt and jeans, not expecting Hyunwoo to invite you to such a place. All he had told you was that he would treat you to lunch. Oh well.

Making your way towards the entrance, you peek inside, hoping to find your so-called date waiting for you already. There, near the farthest corner of the restaurant and sitting right beside a large, lovely window, Hyunwoo leaned back in one of the white chairs dressed in a blue button-up, his sleeves rolled up halfway to show his strong arms. His eyes were distant, staring at a random spot outside the window, his golden skin highlighted by the sunlight that fell through. In front of him were two tall glasses of what seems to be coffee-- hazelnut, maybe, with a large pile of whipped cream on top and a straw poking amidst it-- along with two plates of chocolate cake.

Your heart skips a beat. Right. His features had always struck you as handsome. That was something you realised in his first few days at the hospital as he would stare out of the windows, his constant brooding expression melancholic, his jawline sharp and the profile of his nose strong.

As you approach him, his eyes cast a glance over you and causes him to flinch in his seat. A nervous light glimmers in his eyes as he watches you approach him.

"Hello," you greet him with a smile.

He returns it back. "Hi."

"This is a pretty place," you remark, seating down opposite him. "How did you find this?"

He shrugs. "My sister brings me here for lunch sometimes. She loves the atmosphere."

"I can see why." You take another round observing the entire cafe. "It's really beautiful."

"Like you," Hyunwoo blurts. A second later, he blinks in realisation and his mouth drops in embarrassment. "Ah, sorry. That wasn't intentional."

You stifle a laugh. "Thank you."

"Here, have some cake." He pushes one of the plates towards you, which you gratefully receive. "I hope you like chocolate."

"I love it." Smiling up at him, you cut yourself a piece of cake and pop it in your mouth. "It's delicious."

"Help yourself." A pause in conversation. Chatter, laughter and clinks of forks against plates fills in the space between. Ten seconds of an awkward stare where Hyunwoo's dark, eyes bore into yours until you force yourself to look away from his invasive gaze.

And then, he breaks the silence with, “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me well during my stay. I know it’s your job to do that, but you were very kind to me.” Hyunwoo averts his gaze, bashful. “And you were very beautiful. I couldn’t forget you after I left.”

You blink, not sure where this was going or how it came about.

"I wanted to talk to you again," continues he, "and I visited the hospital several times, but you were always busy and I couldn't meet you at all. When I saw you the other day, I thought I wouldn't see you again. So I ran."

Oh. Warmth creeps across your cheeks.

Gesturing to the table, Hyunwoo says, "I thought it would be great if we could have lunch together, because I enjoyed our conversations a lot. I wanted to know you more.”

You already know, from the conversations you've had during his stay, that he was a back-up dancer at a talent agency and taught dance lessons at a nearby studio. Of course, there's more to him than that that you haven't discovered.

Sending him a smile, you shrug and say, "Sure."

Through the hour-and-a-half lunch you've had, you learn that he shares a flat with six friends, has travelled around the world with them, and prefers to eat cake over seaweed soup for his birthday. That he almost became a swimmer. That he likes to sing, but doesn't want to go through trainee life. That he thinks you're beautiful and you should know it.

"Stop that," you tell him with an embarrassed smile.

In turn, you tell him about life outside the hospital. About your dog who was turning four this year. About the nearby park where you walk through often, because nature and fresh air clears your head. About your favourite weekend dramas and concerts you've been to.

"Do you know Yoo Kihyun?" Hyunwoo asks over his own cake.

"Yeah! I listen to him a lot. His voice is amazing."

He breaks into a shy grin. "He's one of my friends."

"Really!" Your mouth drops open in surprise, but neither of you particularly mind at the half-chewed cake inside. "How did you befriend him?"

Hyunwoo shrugs. "We met in high school," he starts, and continues from there.

When lunch ends and your plates are cleared, neither of you want to return home just yet. He takes you around the district, offers you a large hand to hold while both of you marvel at clothes, at skincare, at books and trinkets and animals in the local shelter. He smells of wood, you note every time you catch a whiff of him. Wood and spices and a distinct musky scent. He's solid, something you've observed from your days of looking after him, but he's more solid and stable than he appears to be. He's built to protect, it seems. Standing beside him on a busy street felt like being protected from the whizz of passing cars and the flurry of the crowd and the hot sun that threatens to burn everyone.

Your heart flutters.

That afternoon, you return home with a satisfied tummy, a new number on your phone, and another lunch date set for next week.

#mxwriters #mxnetwork #monbebe net #monsta x #monsta x scenarios #monsta x drabbles #shownu #shownu scenarios #hyunwoo #fic:mx #drabble #fluff #mine.txt

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iamanartichoke · 6 years ago

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I don’t know if ur still taking prompts but I saw this prompt once that was like “ur ship is in a situation where one kisses the other & the other is just shocked bc it’s not the situation that would happen in & they don’t expect it from them” like using it as a distraction or something?? Okay honestly it didn’t say that it explained it much better but if u .. kind of understand .. can u do it with valki? Or something similar

So this prompt inspired some Loki and Thor feels, which came out, in order to let Valkyrie pick up the pieces (kind of) so … I hope it’s in line with what you had in mind! Also, this is not particularly flattering to Thor, so I apologize, but I still love him, truly. Some of my prompts have been set in the Sanctuary ‘verse, but this is very much not, just as a disclaimer. Anyway, I hope you like it and thank you for the prompt and your patience!

Word Count: 2126

Loki’s biggest mistake, he would reflect later, was believing that Thor was at all capable of treating Loki as an equal.

It should not have been a surprise. Even after Loki had fallen, Thor had not seemed to understand - had not seemed to care - what drove Loki’s actions. Thor, who called Loki’s grievances imagined slights, who turned to throw blame at Loki’s feet quick as lightning when things went wrong, who had not hesitated to leave Loki writhing in immobilized pain on Sakaar.

You’ll always be the God of Mischief, Thor had said. Loki heard the truth behind the words - you’ll always be lesser, Thor might as well have said. You’ll always be a weaselly trickster up to no good. Returning to Asgard with the ship to save them all meant nothing, in the end. Loki thought he could die trying to prove himself to Thor, and Thor would only look at his corpse and scoff that his death could have been more glorious, had be bothered to try harder.

Three days after they’d set course for Earth, Thor gathered his tiny council - Heimdall, the Valkyrie, Banner, Korg, and Loki - to discuss preparations and logistics for their journey. While Loki appreciated that Thor included him on the council, he could not help but bring up the fact that Earth might not be the best destination for the Asgardian refugees.

“Surely we might be better received on Vanaheim, perhaps,” he suggested, “or Alfheim. Somewhere we’ve already got an alliance.”

“Earth has an alliance with Asgard,” Thor countered, “and it is where we have friends. It’s like a second home to me.”

“To you, yes,” Loki said, “but not to the rest of your people. Earth is a chaotic world, brother. Its governments are often in opposition to one another. Wars between the humans are on-going and violent. They are fickle creatures.”

“You think too little of them,” Thor said, clasping his fingers together. The others had grown quiet, watching Thor and Loki volley back and forth like it was a sporting match. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki noticed the Valkyrie bring a flask to her lips. “I have lived among them, brother; I know how they operate.”

“You know how your Avengers operate,” Loki refuted, keeping his voice even, though irritation was beginning to prick at his nerves. “Not humans.”

Thor tilted his head slightly, and the corners of his lips tilted in what Loki was beginning to recognize as Thor’s new smile. It was not borne of amusement or good-nature; it didn’t reach his eyes. (Eye, rather.) It was a smile that revealed an impatience Loki had never realized Thor possessed; it was a smile that said Thor believed he was right and that to try to convince him otherwise was to waste his time.

With a pang, Loki realized that it reminded him of the way Thor’s arrogance had taken hold before his first coronation.

“Do you mean to say that the Avengers are not humans?” Thor asked, with a lifted brow.

“I mean to say that they are not representative of Midgard as a whole,” Loki returned evenly. “Have you even considered the humans’ innate hostility toward a superior race? How much trouble it can cause?”

“You still think us above them.” Thor’s voice was flat.

“Of course I do,” Loki snapped. “We are above them. That is simple fact.”

“What’s simple fact,” Thor replied, his remaining eye darkening, “is that you are willing to put the remainder of Asgard in peril so that you can hide from the consequences of your crimes on Midgard. Don’t pretend that’s not what this is.”

Loki blinked. The words were cruel, even for this new Thor, and Loki’s guard was lowered enough that they hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. “Is that truly what you think?”

“I think that you always act in your own best interests, Loki,” Thor replied, “everyone else be damned.”

Loki’s anger sprung up so violently that it was a visceral shock to his system. He felt heat rush to his cheeks as he glanced around the table. Everyone was making great pains to avoid his gaze. When Loki looked back at Thor, he saw something that might have resembled regret, as if Thor realized he’d gone too far, but he did not take back the words.

“Clearly,” Loki said tightly, as rage began to build up beneath the surface, pulsing in his veins, “my opinions are not welcome here, so I shall take my leave.”

“Loki -” Thor began, but Loki was already pushing away from the table.

“Do as you wish, your Majesty,” Loki said. He spun on his heel, fists clenching at his sides. His anger radiated palpably off of his skin and several of the electric lights in the room burst and shattered as he passed. He paid them no mind. He just kept moving like a walking statue - eyes straight ahead, shoulders rigid, features frozen into a mask of impassivity. Anyone who looked at him, however, would have seen the dangerous darkening of his green eyes and been wise to stay away.

Loki didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he had to put as much distance between himself and Thor as possible. He thought of going to his quarters, but he did not wish to be cooped up in the tiny, empty space. He thought about going to the Commodore and simply taking it, Thor and the rest of Asgard be damned. He’d fly far away from this wretched ship, seek out Xandar or someplace similar, where all he’d need was his wits and a bit of gold to start anew.

In the end, he went to the observatory deck, where just a few days ago Thor had been crowned king and Loki had felt balanced and centered, for the first time in years. They’d all been riding the high of a battle hard won, he supposed, and the reality of Asgard’s destruction had not truly set in. What a fool Loki was, to believe anything had truly changed.

He stood at the window for a long time, long enough for his anger to simmer and cool, receding back under the surface. He wished that he could lose himself out among the stars - that he could simply be swallowed up by the glittering darkness and disappear into the void. It was such a tempting thought, until one remembered what terrors lurked in the folds and shadows of the void, unseen. Loki shuddered.

Soon, he heard footsteps approaching. He listened to the shuffle of the person’s walk, light and a bit uneven, before he determined it was the Valkyrie. “Are you lost?” he asked, without turning around.

“No.” The Valkyrie continued her approach until she was standing beside him. She folded her arms across her chest and gazed out the window, not looking back when Loki glanced at her. “Just seemed like a nice view.”

“View’s the same at any window,” Loki told her, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m not sure why you chose this one.”

“Perhaps I wanted the company at this particular window,” the Valkyrie replied, lifting her shoulders. “Do you mind?”

“Yes,” Loki said honestly. “I do mind. I’d rather be alone.”

“Hmm.” Valkyrie did look at him then, something measuring in her gaze. “I think you’re right, you know.”

“About being alone?”

“No. About Earth.” Valkyrie reached into her pocket for her flask and offered it to him. Loki accepted it and brought it to his lips. He took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving her face.

“You could have said so,” he replied when he lowered the flask, handing it back to her. “In the meeting.”

“I could have,” she agreed, “but I don’t think it would have done much good. You and Thor are both so stubborn - when you get going, there’s nothing anyone can say.”

Loki scoffed and looked back out the window. They were allies in battle, perhaps, but being in their presence for a few days did not mean she knew either Loki or Thor. Not truly, not enough. Behind his back, he pressed his thumbnail into his palm, relishing the sting. “You must know,” he said, “that Thor is always right. Even more so now that he is king.”

Valkyrie said nothing. Not that Loki expected her to. He sighed, unclasping his hands so that he could examine his fingers. “Thor’s changed,” he went on, more quietly. “He’s always been arrogant, but I thought he’d outgrown it. Circumstances necessitated he outgrow it. Now … now he seems to be regressing into the hothead he’d always proven to be in our youth.”

“Maybe not,” Valkyrie countered. She tipped her head back, downing the rest of her flask. “He’ll seek you out,” she added, tucking the flask back into whatever pocket it came from. “After you stormed out, he was regretful. Said he didn’t mean to upset you and he’d grown too defensive. It’s just a quarrel, Loki. All siblings have them.” Valkyrie smiled a little. “You’ll kiss and make up, sooner or later. Thor does value you, even if you can’t see it.”

Loki felt a lurch in his chest. “Why do you care?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her. “I don’t even know you. Nor do you know me.”

“Call it turning over a new leaf,” she replied dryly.

They were quiet for a few moments, and then, as if on cue, Loki heard Thor’s heavy footsteps drawing near. He closed his eyes, wanting to neither argue with Thor nor work it out. Not yet. Either option seemed exhausting.

Perhaps, Valkyrie could tell. “You wanna talk to him?” she asked in a low voice, leaning in.

“Not really.”

“Loki!” called Thor, and Loki started to turn, but then the next thing he was aware of was Valkyrie’s lips against his.

He let out a sound that might have been a yelp, had she not swallowed it down. Her fingers went to his hair, gripping the strands and, even though everything rational in him screamed at him to pull away, Loki felt himself respond. She pressed against his lips, seeking entry; he granted it and her mouth felt molten against his tongue. Loki felt dizzy and somewhat faint, his heart thudding in his ears.

“Wow, um, okay,” Thor said, sounding very far away, and only then did Valkyrie pull back. For a long moment, she and Loki stared at one another. Loki noticed her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed much brighter than they had a moment ago.

Then Valkyrie turned her head enough to look at Thor, without letting go of Loki. “If you don’t mind, your Majesty,” she said, cocking an eyebrow, “we were hoping for some privacy.”

“Oh, um, right.” Thor looked nothing short of bewildered as he looked from Loki to Valkyrie and back again. “Loki, I just thought we could talk, but - uh, I guess … I mean, I can find you later. If you want.”

Loki managed to nod.

“Right. Okay.” Thor took a couple of backward steps and then shook his head. “I’ll just … see you two later, then,” he added, and then all Loki was aware of was the quickening of his steps as he all but fled the deck. When he was gone, Valkyrie finally let go and stepped back.

“What in the Norns was that?” Loki finally asked, backing up as if he expected her to fling herself at him again.

“Distraction,” Valkyrie said simply, and then laughed. “My God, you should have seen your face. It was hilarious.”

Loki was still having trouble finding his words. He could not remember the last time he’d been kissed. It had not been a priority in a very long time. “Distraction?”

“Yeah. Not only did I put off your inevitable talk with Thor,” she said, “but now, you’ll have something to talk about besides how much you two hate each other. Or love each other. Whichever.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to thank you.” Loki’s tone was laced with a dryness that he did not quite feel. His heart was still beating too quickly for his liking.

“You kissed me back,” Valkyrie said with a shrug. “That’s thanks enough, if you ask me.”

“I -”

Valkyrie grinned and tossed her ponytail. “You’re welcome,” she said, and then she was sauntering off before Loki could respond. He watched her go, suddenly aware of her in a way he had not been before. He watched the swing of her ponytail, the shift of her walk, and then he brought his fingers lightly to his lips, and he smiled.

#tumblr prompts #charlotte writes #loki fic #valki #valki fic #thor and loki fic #brodinsons #angst #post thor ragnarok fic #a nonny mouse

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susandsnell · 6 years ago

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whaaat Hadestown sounds awesome!!! i’ll definitely check both those out but it sounds like Hadestown is like, the style of my dreams. also anything that starts as a folk opera is awesome bc i love the concept of a folk opera. follow up: i’ve seen some things about Be More Chill and somehow missed its jump to Broadway? what’s it about?

Sorry I took a day to get back to you, musical anon, but I just had to write my penultimate final first thing this morning! Hadestown is the style of everyone’s dreams, and I really hope you like it when you do check it out. It’s incredibly unique.

As to your second query, permit me to have some obnoxious gif usage because life is short and I am now permanently on my bullshit. And, well. You just asked me, Coco, about Be More Chill.

WELCOME TO HELL. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE NOW.

(Festive, right?)

So!

Be More Chill is a very loose adaptation of a (vastly different and quite offensive) 2004 novel by the same name. It did the work of my dreams, which is combine my two favourite genres, science fiction and musical theatre, in a big way, while also stealth being a narrative about mental health, recovery, friendship, love, and sexy computers. Also, the songs are absolute bops and the music style is contemporary but still unmistakably Broadway. It’s also openly inspired by Little Shop of Horrors (while also being very much in the vein of other wacky, culty musicals like Reefer Madness, a bit of Rocky Horror thrown in, etc), which is a major plus.

It’s a darkly hilarious, sci-fi-horror-teen drama-romance-musical, in short.

In long??? A little gist:

So, our leading man, Jeremy Heere, is a (canonically Jewish! Canonically Jewish! CANONICALLY JEWISH!!!) typical high school geeky outcast who struggles with severe anxiety, self hatred, and a vast panoply of other issues. He’s badly bullied, only has one friend, Michael Mell, who is quite literally the savior of the universe, and crushes on the local theatre kid (and a literal queen), Christine Canigula. In an effort to impress her, he takes the advice of the local bully, Rich, and buys a pill from the back of a Payless shoe store called a SQUIP (short for Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor), which, if ingested and activated by Mountain Dew (just go with it I promise it’s worth it), installs a computer chip in his brain that can manifest the illusion only he can see of a personification that is an intensely attractive person (has been cast as multiple genders depending on the production!!!) who will instruct him on what the right thing to do or say is so that he can overcome his perceived social and personal failings, and improve himself, and maybe get the girl.

Of course, this thing goes evil, and absolute epic mayhem ensues.

Where do I even start with what I love about this musical?

The characters are incredibly true to life; literally nobody is who they seem to be in terms of typical high school, sci fi, or even theatre tropes. which is part of the ultimate message (and I love that!!!) Jeremy’s narrative is very much a subversion of the typical entitled-nerd-boy-goes-wild-trying-to-get-the-girl, because his actions and mistakes are steeped very much in long lasting mental health struggles (he literally mentions having to go to the nurse constantly due to his anxiety attacks), as well as a heartrendingly realistic and depressing home life, and the show is very clear about this, pulling no punches. He’s flawed, he’s sweet, he’s funny, he’s tragic, he’s redemptive, he’s just…wonderful.

Michael, who in any other show would be ‘the goofy best friend’ character and that’s it gets an incredible arc showing his brilliance, and his own inner demons, including the big showstopper Michael In The Bathroom, which is famous not only for being an incredible song, but because it goes there; it depicts the entirety of a severe panic attack in gut-wrenching detail. All set to awesome music, of course. His depth is revealed in that the otherwise cheerful, happy-go-lucky best friend character whose life seems to revolve around the protagonist’s brought to the logical conclusion of this archetype; extreme codependency and other mental health struggles. This is by no means all that he is – I’d explain why, and what an incredible, positive, heroic character he is, but I won’t dare spoil where his arc ends up going.

Christine Canigula, our leading lady, is a badass feminist and so much more than a perky theatre kid; she’s shown to struggle much in the same ways Jeremy and Michael do, she’s politically involved and dedicated, while still being desperately uncertain about what to do with her life, her entire character is dedicated to subverting expectations (all her big numbers end with a subverted rhyme to prove this!!), she’s developed so much more than other love interest characters, and is in so many ways so much more than a love interest. She’s fiercely intelligent, but tempted to take the easy route to popularity in different ways than Jeremy, while being more inclined to being true to herself, and her autonomy drives the plot. She’s also canonically a woc who has ADHD and she’s a gun control advocate. Like??? When will your faves ever? Her romance is believable and wonderful and driven by what she wants and her arc, while subtle, is integral to the plot.

I could do a paragraph for each character (and if you’re on my blog, I’ll probably get around to writing meta for each of them), but the popular kids, the bullies, even the apparently useless parent character…none of them are what they seem. As for the SQUIP, I don’t dare reveal the awesomeness of that particular villain, except to say that it’s a metaphor for…a number of things, while incredibly enthralling, and The Pitiful Children, the big villain song, is honestly up there with any of your Disney villains for a truly epic sci-fi experience. It’s a completely irredeemable villain whose appeal lies in its irredeemability, especially fascinating because it’s a machine, and hence gains no sadistic pleasure from it’s evildoing; it merely seeks results, which is just chilling.

The cast is incredibly diverse, and there is a TON of LGBT+ representation, including Michael having lesbian mothers, a completely non-stereotyped bisexual male character who ACTUALLY CALLS HIMSELF BISEXUAL OUT LOUD, and who is arguably the most tragic character in the show, but that tragedy is separate almost entirely from his orientation, and more.

While being lighthearted sci-fi fare, it deals pretty straightforwardly with a number of heavy topics, such as mental illness, suicidal ideation, extreme loneliness, self-hatred, isolation, trauma, abuse, sexual orientation, dysfunctional families, dysfunctional friendships, existential crises, near-death experiences, brainwashing, addiction, bullying, torture (of the sci-fi variety but still pretty damn hard to watch), and even (albeit briefly, but it still bears mention) male sexual assault, and handles all of them exceptionally well, never overdoing it on any of them (they’re interwoven and sometimes entirely subtextual to the plot) but also being honest enough about the fact that some of our darkest moments include incredibly dark comedy, all while never making light of these serious issues. That being said, consider this the trigger warning paragraph if any of that’s a limit for you! They’re so wonderfully balanced by a narrative of healing and forgiveness and loyalty and love that it makes the story all the stronger; seeing everyone facing these awful things, and being able to overcome them together.

It’s also the type of sci-fi that I love; the kind that, like Back to the Future, Weird Science, and Stranger Things embraces a retro aesthetic, and is a smaller, singular fantastical/sci-fi element contained in a setting that is otherwise very recognizable to our world; the kind of adventures you feel like you could have between your own classes. The sci-fi effects and costumes are incredible, especially in Act 2.

AND, and and and, It’s an underdog story within an underdog story; it opened in a regional theatre in Jersey for a limited run in 2015 and closed very quickly, and everyone assumed it would never be picked up again, but in Winter 2017, it blew up by sheer word of mouth due to a combination of the original cast album being on Spotify and the popularity of certain amateur productions since it got licenced; eventually, it got a 2017 regional theatre revival at Exit 82, and that sparked an online fandom so strong that the show got a second chance with an off-Broadway run that happened this past summer, which in turn got so successful that the show is transferring to Broadway. All the way from a seemingly failed regional limited run, with most of the original cast (who are darlings, as are the creators, incredibly empathetic people bringing this wonderful, weird, warm story to the forefront). And who doesn’t love the meta of the show itself being an underdog when the cast is entirely of underdogs?

Just. Please. Do yourself a favour and check it out. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cheer. I heard about it only peripherally since around mid-2017 ish and then only really got into it this past May/June, and….gosh. My life’s gotten so much better since. I’ve met dear friends through the fandom, dragged other dear friends into this glorious pit, and the show, as a narrative of healing, is helping to heal me, too.

Possibly a new all-time favourite.

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galactichen · 7 years ago

Text

different worlds || baekhyun

[1] [2] [3] [4]

i hope you guys are enjoying this au as much as i am! it starts getting serious in this part (mostly bc of angsty baek...)

5614 words; soulmate!au; baekhyun/reader scenario; general, slight angst

“What do we do now?”

“First things first: we do not tell your father about your soulmate being a peasant in the village you're forbidden to go to. That will just stir up trouble we don't want to deal with.”

You look down at your hands and twiddle your thumbs. You’re seated at the desk of your study with Luhan and Yifan standing on either side of the room. Luhan is turned toward the window, looking out with a blank look on his face. Yifan, on the other hand, is slumped against the wall with an old book of yours in his hands, although you know fully well that he isn’t reading at all.

Who could read in a situation like this?

“We could always just pretend that this,”ーYifan gestures in front of himself to signify that he means the situationー“never happened. We can simply go about our daily lives and forget about everything that’s happened. We’ll figure something out about the whole soulmate situation, but it’s probably too late to get your ring back by now.”

“And you’re suggesting that we just leave him with my family heirloom?” You turn towards Yifan in disbelief. Is he really suggesting that you just forget about your family heirloom that is currently in the hands of a village-born thief? Not to mention it’s your soulmate.

What a strange twist of events.

Yifan looks at his older brother sheepishly, who has been standing at the window rather silently ever since you allowed the two inside your study. You watch as Luhan reaches up and tenderly runs his fingers over the fabric covering his neck where his mark is hidden from view.

“Yifan is right,” Luhan finally says after a long moment, and you can't believe your ears. “We should forget about it. He is long gone anyway, and for all we know he has certainly sold off your heirloom to one of the traveling merchants by now. It’ll be far too tedious trying to locate such a small item, not to mention the suspicion it will arise from your father. I apologize, but it’s for the best that we put it all behind us and move on.”

Alright. Let’s just ignore the fact that the ring I just lost is a family heirloom that has been passed down from generation to generation, you think rather angrily to yourself. I’ll be questioned about its whereabouts and I’ll have to just lie and say that I’ve lost it because I’m a careless little girl.

“Fine.” You fold your arms across your chest. “Say I agree. What will we do about the soulmate part? We can’t exactly lie out of that, can we?”

“Agreed. Lying about soulmates will bring even more complications. However, that would mean that that village boy will have the future of the entire kingdom in his own two little hands,” Luhan murmurs, appearing to be rather deep in his thoughts. His arm finally lowers until it’s loosely hanging by his side. “Even if we trained him, even if you accompanied his side everywhere he went, that boy was not born to rule.”

You huff. So my future as a queen has practically been ruined by that village boy. My ‘soulmate’.

Then there’s a sudden knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call out. Unconsciously, you straighten your back and fold your hands neatly in your lap. Yifan stands to his full height and slides the book back onto the shelf beside him. Luhan doesn’t move from his spot at the window.

The door opens to reveal a servant who politely bows before saying, “An urgent letter has arrived for His Highness Luhan and His Highness Yifan.”

Yifan approaches the servant first, reaching for the silk envelope in the servant’s outstretched hands. You watch from the corner of your eye as Luhan’s attention is finally diverted from the window, demonstrated by the way he turns around with a raised brow.

“Thank you.” Yifan proceeds to scan the envelope before gently prying it open as the servant makes a brief exit after bowing once more. Luhan advances towards his brother with slow footsteps, the heel of his boots hitting the tiles of the floor with a soft thud each time.

The room falls into silence as the brothers read the letter. You busy yourself with the few scraps of parchment scattered across your desk, piling them neatly in the corner.

“It appears there’s been an urgent matter in our kingdom that requires our presence,” Luhan speaks a lot louder than needed to just be speaking to Yifan, so you peek over your shoulder in curiosity. Luhan stares back at you, an apologetic look marring his soft features. “We’ll have to depart at once.”

“At once?” You echo.

Luhan confirms your words with a firm nod.

Yifan folds the letter and tucks it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “It would have been nice to spend another day or two here. It was nice being away from our responsibilities to spend time with an old friend.”

“Ah, but not all goes according to plan, does it?” Luhan chuckles quietly. “I promise we’ll figure something out for you, alright?”

You could only nod. What am I going to do on my own?

Am I just going to put it all in the past, like they said?

Your brows twitch. No. I won’t.

Luhan and Yifan make their farewells brief with a quick pat on the back and an exchange of words you don’t bother to listen to. You’re far too deep in your thoughts to listen to what they have to say. Then they’re out of your study in a flash, Yifan’s legs a blur and Luhan practically jogging to keep up with his younger brother’s long legs.

It’s time I take matters into my own hands.

Dressed in not one of the elegant gowns that you wear daily but an old nightgown instead, you find yourself atop a horse from the stables and cloaked in a long, midnight black robe, the hood pulled over your head. The horse trots along the road rather quickly, though not so much that it’s galloping.

After Luhan and Yifan departed the palace towards their own Kingdom, the Highlands, to attend to an urgent matter, you spent several days looking for a window in your schedule to head out into the village. And at long last, you found it appearing to be after dinner one dayーtoday. You quickly told the nearest servant you were headed for Castletown, and you were out before the servant could even bow.

It’s not long before you’re out of castle grounds and onto the road to Castletown. While the road is rather winding with several sharp turns, you arrive safely nonetheless.

Castletown is as busy as ever, bustling with people and energy alike. The amount of happiness that resonates from Castletown residents makes you feel mournful for those in the outer village that you visited two times now. Not for him, though. That poor excuse of a soulmate.

Then you find yourself trotting further and further away from the familiarity that is Castletown and closer to the isolation that is the village on the outskirts. Or are there more of them?

You shake that thought out of your head as you hop off your stead, tugging him over to a simple tree hidden amongst many more. You’re here to get your ring back, not to ponder about what other villages your father could be potentially ignoring. Tying your horse to the tree, you leave a few carrots on the ground before departing with a little pat on his head.

Entering the village on foot rather than by carriage was an entirely different experience. One that you never anticipated.

Instead of villagers stopping and staring at you in awe, they merely brush past you without a second glance. They keep their gaze straight ahead with nothing but their task at hand to focus on.

They ignore you.

And you’re not sure how to feel about it.

All your life, the attention was always on you. You; the princess, the heir to the throne, soon to be the ruler of the kingdom. Foreigners who arrived to the palace often only came to seek your hand.

Having everyone around you practically ignore you…

You didn't want to think about the twisting feeling in your stomach every time someone accidentally bumped into you and didn't bother to apologize with a deep bow.

Focus, you tell yourself. You straighten your back and stride forward.

But then you stop.

Where are you supposed to find him?

It then occurs to you that you barely know your way around this place. You don't even know how big this place is. Is it small? Big? Tiny? Enormous? Will you get lost if you wander too far?

You regret taking carriages for granted.

So you decide to simply wander. Wander about what appears to be the main square of the village, where market stalls upon market stalls surround a certain open area of the village. Even at this time of day, the markets are still bustling with people, though with much less energy as compared to Castletown. Whereas in Castletown, the people are happily purchasing whatever they could and whatever they wanted, here in the village the people hunch their backs and clutch what they have to their chests. Their eyes dart from one stall to the next, scanning for what they can possibly afford.

It breaks your heart.

You stop paying attention to where your feet take you and instead indulge in your surroundings with your own eyes. Not through a window, but with your eyes.

To see what you haven't seen before. To see what hides beneath the veil that is the village’s misery.

Passing what appears to be a tailor, you spot a little girl through the window, no more than seven years old, holding a needle in one hand and a long piece of fabric in the other. An older woman stands above her, watching as she sews something into the fabric. When the girl finishes rather quickly, a genuine smile spreads across her face and she appears to compliment the young girl’s handiwork.

Then comes the pub. There are no windows for you to peek through, but bright lights and bursts of laughter from inside seep outside through the cracks in the wooden door. Voices are drunken and loud, but you can tell they're enjoying themselves inside. The door then suddenly swings open, causing you to jump, and out come two young men in their thirties. They gush about their time catching up and arrange another future meeting before bidding farewell, heading back home to their awaiting families.

“Would you like to try some cake, sweetie?”

You turn towards the unknown voice, only to face a woman standing on the other side of a cobblestone counter of a bakery. There are crinkles on the outer ends of her eyes and her lips wear thin, and you're smitten by the way she beckons you over with a smile on her face despite your lack of response.

“Some leftover cake from this afternoon,” she says, pulling up a plate. Her voice carries the familiar village accent, though it's not as heavy as the farmers you've heard during your past visits. “Made with vanilla beans I purchased from the merchants not too long ago.”

You struggle not to make a face when she uses her hands to pick up a slice to put on your plate.

“Can you get some for me too, Auntie?”

Your head snaps to your left as a figure plops down on the stool a couple seats over from you. The woman slides your plate in front of you.

“Ah, Baekhyun!” The woman’s eyes crinkle upwards into crescents. “How nice of you to stop by! I've been saving this cake just for you.”

Your jaw slackens when the light appears to wash over the figure.

It's him.

Baekhyun.

No doubt about it.

He's dressed the same as the last time you saw him; a pair of old pants as well as a patched-up shirt. Bits of dirt litter his bronzed skin and his hair shines with grease from lack of wash.

But your eyes are elsewhere. You're busy scanning for something...something off. Something that shouldn't be there, that you're hoping actually isn't.

Your heart drops to your stomach when you spot it.

The drawing of a dove was on his left inner wrist. The one identical to yours.

Your fear has been confirmed.

You silently turn back to your cake as the woman and Baekhyun continue chatting. You're suddenly grateful for the hood that hides your face from the world and from the villagers who don't recognize you.

Because now that you've found him, you don't know what to do.

Back with Luhan and Kris, it was easy. Call him out and demand the ring. If he refuses, use physical force until he complies.

But now?

Now that you've seen what the village is really like with your own eyes...how bad is Baekhyun and his familyーgiven that he has oneーsuffering? What if he needs the ring for what it's worth, more than you in order to bring his family comfort and a sense of happiness?

What if?

Questions flood your head one by one. You're suddenly second-guessing your decision to come here. Perhaps it's the sudden loss of confidence without Luhan and Yifan by your side that you feel this way. Perhaps it's your naive heart taking control again.

Or is this pity that you feel? Do you feel sorry for Baekhyun, even though you've only had a small glimpse into his life?

“Oh, sweetie.” The woman chuckles heartily. “You haven't touched your cake at all! Is everything alright?”

It doesn't occur to you that she's actually speaking to you and not Baekhyun until she leans further into your personal space.

Startled, you jump back. “Y-Yes, everything is alright.”

“Are you sure?” She leans away when she senses your discomfort. “I might be a stranger, but I'm here if you need to talk to someone.”

How can I talk when the boy I'm thinking about is right beside me?

“I'm alright,” you insist. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Must be about the harvest, eh?” The woman picks up a stack of dirty plates from the floor and places it behind the counter. Picking up one plate, she begins to clean it in a bucket of water. “Farmers weren't able to harvest much this season. There's barely enough for the whole village to survive off of during the coming winter.”

“Y-Yeah.” You’re hesitant to touch the cake with your fingers, but having not been provided with utensils you’re left with no choice. Breaking off a piece, you pop it into your mouth. This is actually...very delicious, you think to yourself. It reminds you of the pastries you are often served back home. You're absolutely blown away by the burst of flavor in your mouthーsomething you were honestly not expecting, especially from a place like this.

Never judge a book by its cover.

“It's a pity, really,” the woman continues. “That poor excuse of a King is just sittin’ upon his throne all regal and powerful, ignoring the dying villages around him. It ain't our fault now, is it? The weather be wrecking all the crops that we live off of and yet he still turns a blind eye. A man with power like his should be helpin’ his peopleーnot leaving them out in the dust to fend for themselves.”

The cake suddenly turns to sandpaper in your mouth at the mention of your father and by the way the woman speaks of him.

“Why should he care about us?” Baekhyun mumbles. You turn your head slightly so he's in your line of view. You nibble at your cake, watching as he munches away on his own slice. “We’re nothing but dirt on his polished leather boots. Just a burden he’ll get rid of sooner or later.”

“Ah, but Baekhyun,” the woman cuts in. “We’re his people. We are more than just dirt on his shoe.”

“Doesn't seem that way,” he snaps. “The only ‘people’ he seems to care about are the Castletown residents.”

“Well aren't you a little moody tonight? What's goin’ on with you?” The woman scoffs as she continues scrubbing plate after plate. “Anyone in their right mind around here will definitely agree with you, boy. But don’t forget: a king isn't a king unless he has subjects. Without his loyal subjects, he ain't nothing but a man on a throne. And those loyal subjects just happen to be those Castletown residents you speak of.”

“If he's gonna call himself a king, he better clean up his act and start caring for us because whether he likes it or not, we’re his people too. Who knows when we'll stop being loyal to a bastard like him.” Baekhyun stands up faster than a jack-in-a-box and his stool topples over from the force. As he digs his hands into his pockets, you think he's searching for spare change to pay the woman for his meal, but he simply turns and begins to walk away. “Who knows? Maybe we’ve already stopped being loyal to him.”

Baekhyun’s words not only leave you speechless but also conflicted. He does not have the right to be calling your father a bastard when your father is the one managing the kingdom as a whole, including the poor areas. Your father is the one securing trade routes in and out of the kingdom, including the merchants the village seems to rely on, for their lack of produce isn't doing the village much good.

However, your father is also at fault for ignoring the poor areas. You know yourself how he is, only paying attention to Castletown and heeding to only their needs.

But what about the needs of the poor? They have voices to be listened to, too.

Voices that are being drowned out by the cries of the rich.

“That boy,” the woman sighs. You turn your attention back to her, finishing the last of your cake in a hurry. “A sad one, he is. Living off of nothing but scraps ever since he was a little boy. He often steals to help provide for his adopted brothers and his mother. I’ve tried to offer him a job here, but he refused.”

You look over your shoulder, watching as Baekhyun’s figure grows smaller and smaller. I have to catch up.

“Thank you for the meal.” You slip your hand into the pocket of your nightgown, pulling out several silver coins. Hastily dropping them atop the counter as you stand up, you try to ignore the woman’s face of shock as best you can.

“I-It’s only worth a few copper-”

“Keep the change.” You smile. “It was delicious.”

And you're scurrying away before you could change your mind and before she could call you back.

“Wait up!” You shout.

He doesn't respond.

“I said, wait up!” You yell again.

“Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to anyone.” He stops in his tracks and spins around, staring dead into your eyes. There's recognition in his eyes when they land in you. “Especially you.”

“W-Wait,” you say, but he's turned around again. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” Baekhyun laughs a little although there's no humour in it. “I'd recognize that snobby little voice of yours anywhere. Came to get back your ring? Where're your bodyguards?”

Snobby little voice. The way he says it in a bit of a nasally voice makes you want to punch him in the face, had it not be considered unladylike. “Yes, and not here. I came by myself.”

“A princess like you, coming out by yourself to this miserable little village just to see me? Well, I am honoured.” Baekhyun’s voice bleeds sarcasm. “But unfortunately, your effort to come here has been wasted. I traded off your little ring ages ago to a tiny merchant the size of a barrel. Said it was worth thousands and gave me all he had to offer. You’d be surprised to know how much a little gold ring is worth until you’re living on the streets with nothing but rags.”

I knew it, you think to yourself. But that's not all I've come for.

“Baekhyun-”

“Oh lord, she knows my name. Are you going to babble to your father and cry to him about how a peasant on the streets sold off your little ring for food so he can actually survive for longer than a week?”

“-do you know what soulmates are?”

He stops. “Soulmates?” He pauses as if thinking. “Nope, not a clue. Enlighten me, oh High and Mighty one.”

“They're two people destined to be together,” you explain. Now, you're not sure why you decided to be so straightforward, but it's too late to undo what already has been done. “Made for each other. Like two sides of a coin. Two halves of one whole.”

“And why should I care?” Baekhyun finally turns around to face you. The two of you find yourselves in a dark alley between two rather large buildings, the bustle left behind for a quieter atmosphere. “See, while all you rich people are out here talking about destiny and halves and whatever, I'm actually concerned about what I'm going to have for dinner. If I'll even have dinner. If I'll even have dinner for the next few days. If I should have set portions so I will have dinner for the next week.”

Because this concerns your future. My future. “Because everyone has a soulmate, Baekhyun. You, me, and everyone around us.”

“Well, ya see, we’re busy trying to-”

“Baekhyun, look at your wrist.”

The way he immediately looks at his left wrist makes you believe that he's already seen the mark before, but thought nothing of it. Then, he looks at you. “And?”

You approach him slowly and wordlessly. He tenses up as you come closer, but you ignore his posture as you hold up your own wrist so he can see your own mark.

The mark that you share.

“They're...the same,” he breathes.

��Do you know what that means?”

You watch as his eyes flicker back and forth from your wrist to his, the gears in his head churning as he struggles to figure out the puzzle.

“No way.” Baekhyun drops his wrist in realization. “No. Way.”

You don't say anything as he shakes his head multiple times, backing away slowly. “There is no way I am destined to be with you. A princess. No way.” He sounds absolutely disgusted.

“But we are,” is all you can say. You swallow the words you really want to say. Being destined to you has practically ruined my future as a successful queen. You might feel sorry for him, but that doesn't mean you're not feeling resentful about your near-ruined future.

“How can I,” Baekhyun gestures to himself, “be destined to you? That doesn't make any sense! Is this your way of telling me that I'm supposed to be the future king?”

“Listen, if we can just talk this out-”

“Talk this out?” Baekhyun practically shrieks. His voice seems to bounce off the walls, yet no one bats an eye. “Woman, I got kicked out of my house for stealing your goddamn ring, and you come to tell me that I'm destined to be with you? Do you know how much trouble you've caused me these past few days? I've been living on the streets because of you. You and your arrogant ways.”

That's when you snap.

“And I'm supposed to be sorry for that? What about my future as the future queen? The future ruler of this kingdom?” You shout back, “You're the one who stole my ring in the first place; if anything, this is all your fault. What am I supposed to tell my father? ‘A peasant I met on the streets is my soulmate and he will be the future king of this kingdom.’ The other lands will think of us as a joke!”

“If your bastard of a father never ignored my village in the first place then we wouldn't be here arguing like kids,” Baekhyun growls. “I wouldn't be living on the streets living off of scraps I find from dumpsters. My adopted brothers would still have their birth parents, and we wouldn't be an embarrassment to your ‘perfect’ kingdom. Life might be hard for you, but have you ever experienced life on the streets? Barely knowing if you're gonna survive the next day? No, you haven't, because you've been spoon-fed since the day you were born and everything you've ever wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter.”

Your blood boils with anger, but you can't seem to find words to fire back. Because he's right. Everything you've ever wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter.

But you're stubborn and stubborn people don't give in and apologize easily.

“Is that it? That's all you're gonna do? Just stand there and stare at me angrily?” Baekhyun laughs darkly. “Is it because I'm right and you have nothing to prove me wrong?”

Your lack of response only gives him the satisfaction that he is right.

“Don't talk to me ever again. Soulmate or not, I don't care. Just leave me alone.”

And for the fourth time since you've met him, he walks away without another word.

“Baekhyun!”

The said man looks up from his spot on the cobbled ground. He straightens at the familiar voice but refuses to look.

“There you are,” Junmyeon says, stepping into the light provided by a hanging lantern from above. “Look, I'm really sorry about-”

“Kicking me out of the house?” Baekhyun’s voice is ice cold, and Junmyeon steps back from the shock. Baekhyun doesn't want to see Junmyeon. Not now. “You're gonna have to do a lot more than a simple sorry, Junmyeon.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches as hurt flashes across Junmyeon’s face.

“Mom’s worried about you,” Junmyeon whispers.

“So? Aren't you glad I'm not there anymore? You won't have to deal with a thief in your house.” The words seem to flow out of Baekhyun’s mouth and he can't stop them even as he feels his heart shatter at his own words.

“Baekhyun, I won't ask for your forgiveness. But I'm asking for you to please, come back home.” Junmyeon is growing desperate with every word. “Kyungsoo has stopped eating from the guilt eating at him. He thinks it's all his fault that you're out here all alone.”

The mention of Kyungsoo makes Baekhyun soften ever so slightly. “Tell him it's not his fault and I don't blame him. He was just doing what he thought was right. It's my fault I'm out here, and I deserve to stay out here for all that I've done.”

“Baekhyun-”

“Just leave me alone, Junmyeon. I'll come back when I'm ready.”

The next day, you're back in the village, this time with some food you stole off the counters of the kitchen wrapped in a silk cloth.

Honestly, you're not sure why you're back here when the one person you're here for, clearly doesn't want to see you. Maybe I'm just feeling pitiful about his situation.

Maybe it's because he's my soulmate.

Or maybe...it's because I feel sorry for what I've said to him.

Instead of taking in your surroundings like last time, you head straight for the familiar alley where you had left Baekhyun the previous night. He might not be there, but it's worth checking. Also because you had no idea where else to look.

Stepping into the darkness that's illuminated by a few hanging lanterns on the walls of each building, you carefully step your way through the alley. You feel as if there's eyes watching your every move, hiding in the darkness, and a shiver goes down your spine with every sound that you hear.

It wasn't scary last night, you think to yourself. Probably because you were too busy yelling at Baekhyun to be paranoid.

Finally, you spot him sitting on the ground further in the alley, staring off into space.

“I thought I told you I didn't want to see you again.” Baekhyun’s voice is monotone and cold. He looks up at you with a stone-cold glare. “Are you here because you genuinely care about me or are you here because I'm your soulmate and that's just what soulmates do?”

“Neither. I came to apologize for what I said to you yesterday. I was wrong to be pinning the blame on you, about the whole...soulmate situation. It's not your fault.” You stop in front of him and plop the silk cloth onto the ground. Fresh fruits roll out and there's another wrapped cloth inside the unfurled one. “These are for you.”

“You...brought these for me?” He grows quiet and there's a hint of something you can't place your finger on. The glare on his face melts away as he scans the contents of the unfurled cloth.

You nod.

“There's no poison or anything that will kill me, is there?” He looks up at you and you can practically see the desperation in his eyes. Desperation for food he probably hasn't had in who knows how long.

You almost laugh at him. “And why would I do that?”

“To punish me for stealing your ring and talking nonsense about your father.”

“A bit far-fetched for that, don't you think? Now eat up or the cookies will get stale,” you say, and you soon find yourself sitting on the ground next to him. It's extremely uncomfortable compared to the plush seating you're accustomed to, but you don't complain.

“Cookies?” He looks at you with a tilt of his head.

“You don't know what cookies are?”

He shakes his head and you can't help but gawk at him. He doesn't know what cookies are?

So you snatch the smaller bundle and unwrap it before holding it out to him, revealing round, hard pastries with little chocolate chips sprinkled across their surfaces.

He hesitantly reaches out, glancing between you and the cookies. Still, he takes one nonetheless and bites into it.

Then he's practically shoving it down his throat while reaching for more.

“Is it good?” You ask, amused rather than disgusted by his lack of manners. Baekhyun only nods in response.

You watch as the cookies gradually vanish one by one, as Baekhyun reaches for more and more until the last one had finally been devoured.

Baekhyun speaks up just after he swallows. “Why did you bring me all this?” He gestures to the silk cloth on the ground with the various fruits atop it.

You could only shrug. “To apologize.”

“I know that much already.” Baekhyun coughs. “But...thanks. Even though I've been nothing but a complete arse to you.”

“I don't blame you,” you find yourself saying. “I think I would have acted the same way if I were in your shoes.”

The two of you look away from one another, looking at everything but the other.

“So.” Baekhyun finally speaks up after a long moment of silence, save for the busy hustle of the village not too far from where you sit. “Soulmates, huh? I suppose it's no surprise I've never heard of it until you came around. Royals never really share their tales with us peasants.”

“It was always a thing in the palace,” you respond. “Nobody really thought of soulmates being for peasants. They always thought it was a noble thing. I did too, once.”

“Once.” Baekhyun snorts. He then falls silent, and you're itching to ask another question.

“What happened with...your family?” You're hesitant to ask, fearing the worst out of Baekhyun. You've managed to somewhat settle your differences to finally have a proper conversation for once, but you might have ruined it now.

“I don't want to talk about it,” he answers. “Goes farther back than your little ring.”

“Oh.” You drop the subject.

“Speaking of which.” Baekhyun digs his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. “Here. Take it back.”

He holds something out in the palm of his hand for you to see. Curious, you lean over for a peek.

It's your ring.

“You...never sold it?” You don't move. Only your eyes flicker back and forth between the man in front of you and the ring. Baekhyun shakes his head in response.

“Never found it in me to sell off something that has value behind what it's worth at first glance.”

“...Thank you.” You pick it up from his palm and he lets his arm drop to his side. You slide it back on your finger, the familiar cold metal against your skin soothing to the touch.

“So you can go now. You have your ring back,” Baekhyun murmurs. You watch as he shifts his body so he's lying on his side, head on his arm and towards you. “Just forget everything about me and the whole soulmate thing. It's probably just some sort of trick. We don't belong together, you and me. You probably know that better than I do.”

Just as Luhan and Yifan said.

But you find yourself reluctant to leave. You look down at the marking on your wrist. There's no way you could just...forget. You couldn't just forget the boy from the village, your soulmate.

But he's right. We're from two different worlds.

We don't belong together.

#this is the best its gonna get so imma post it and go #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #exo #exo scenario #exo k #different worlds #soulmate au #update

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