#v; is it fate or chance. ( main )

[heartsdefine]

↪ memes / accepting!

@fereldensheroes (helena) said: "I need a new job." for Amalia

        “Pretty sure that glowing thing on your hand means you're the only person who can do this one.” Hawke shrugs, taking a swig from their tankard and exhaling a sight. They have their drinking under control at this point. For the most part. “What would you do, if you actually had a choice?”

[jezebelblues]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[erratiomerula]

❛ come back to bed. ❜ // lei & saleos

subtle smut sentence starters || accepting

              There was an ounce of humor that raised the corners of her lips at his still sleepy, half gruff voice— the words lazily dripping off his tongue usually more at home on hers, for all she liked to keep him to herself before he started his day. A soft laugh is given, scarlet gaze briefly glancing towards the city far below with the gentle movement of the curtains, relenting only when she was satisfied with what she did ( or didn’t ) see.

              Dim light gleams off pale skin, reminiscent of snow when it held the heat of flames and brimstone instead. Far from bashful was she, particularly when Lei was a man of few guests— plus, it was always a pleasure to see how his dark gaze would linger on her form. As it did now, a quiet beckoning that acted like a lingering echo of his earlier words. His fingers gently graze the line of her jaw as the temptress slips back beneath the covers, bare skin caressing his in a way that made their bodies feel like a perfect fit. “You should be resting, dilectus.” Yet her words do not match the way her hands rest once upon his cheek, and again upon his chest.

             Scooting closer, Saleos gives him a chaste kiss to the lips before her prize becomes the vulnerable section of his throat, so willingly given that she smiles against his skin. He would die for her ( as he’d proven )— would kill for her ( even though it was unnecessary ). Her touch carries the uncanny heat as it sweeps further down his form, running over scars and muscles she’d long since committed to memory.

             “But you knew what would happen if you called me back to bed.” Sultry and dripping of poisoned honey was her voice, and yet it seemed to be his favorite meal.

[scapedgrace]

@ofmages​: 'trace' + 'reverse' ↳ Send “trace” to purposely touch one of my muse’s scars. Send trace plus “reverse” for our muses to switch places.

        They offer the caress without thinking, a brief brushing of their fingertips over raised flesh before their hand falls quickly away. “What happened there?” Hawke asks, seeking Anders’s eyes in the low light of his clinic. 

[heartsdefine]

        hawke leaned back in their chair with both boots kicked up on the table, balancing on two legs of their seat. their left hand rested on their stomach, the other holding a flask of something cheap and strong. they tapped their nails against the metal idly while isabela considered their proposition. it wasn't exactly easy work, intercepting a shipment of enslaved elves on its way to tevinter, and it didn't pay a huge amount. but something told them isabela might still be interested, anyway.

        “varric has a crossbow. you have a ship. and a gorgeous one, by the way.” of course isabela had been their first choice for this job. not only was the pirate a trusted friend, but she had the resources to get the job done, hopefully without having to pay some exorbitant fee. “if you're about to ask for half my share, you can have it all. we just need your help on this one.” it was important to them, sure, but even more so to fenris. understandably so.

PROMPT

@heartsdefine asked "It's a little bit dangerous, my friend."

even in the hardest of isabela's hearts, she knew that whatever hair-brained idea hawke had concocted wasn't for the feint of heart. be it monsters, another corrupted sect of templar or fighting corypheus again, there was always a calling for heroism. still, and perhaps even selfishly, isabela felt a sort of indignance at the idea of another adventure, and anxiously ran her thumb along the minting of an orlesian caprice coinface. curious, but still afraid, she finds herself staring quietly out toward the open stretch of sea from her window, and sighed out.

" you're really sweet on the idea of me tagging along, aren't you? " she pauses, a smirk cracking on her lips as she pours thought into the shimmering gleam of treasure in her hand. " i take it varric already said no? "

the coin is balanced between her fingers ; one side, the orlesian heraldry, the other, the face of a drake, it's maw and jagged teeth opened in a show of ferocity. its sides are noted as the captain stands further upright, giving the coin a toss before catching it in her palm.

heads.

" ... tell you what, mal. because it's you, i'll tag along.

i just need one thing out of you before i sign myself over to whatever band of misfits you've gathered this time around. "

[yaut-jaknowit]

V and U x male Reader

The reader is a hunter, who mostly specializes in hunting down bad bloods and traitors, having a large collection of trophies. Hunting them in plain sight but never seen, most not knowing the one that killed them is a human. V and U made it their mission to court this hunter.

(The reader mainly uses the smart disks)

Hiding In Plain Sight

Pairings: Vic'tao (Male Yautja) x AMAB!Reader x Uihoy (Male Yautja)

Word Count: 4159

Summary: A return trip to the home planet of your species offers more than what you were expecting. Earth holds many treasures. As an enforcer, you hunt down the traitors of your adopted kind. After the hunt, you find yourself in a predicament.

Author Note: A human enforcer would a perfect hunter amongst the enforcers. Many not knowing that this human is here to hunt them. Vic and Uie would absolutely love a human like this.

Masterlist

Ao3

Earth is a main attraction for any Yautja. Bad Blood or Honored. It brings any of those who are to be blooded or already are to the bountiful lands. It has much to offer. Including the birthplace of yourself. Yet, that’s all you have in common with the planet. You try to stay as far away as possible, but it seems like fate always wants you to return.

Human but not. You were raised Yautja. You were blood bound to the honor code, scared forever. For this honor, you took up the mantle as an enforcer. Many disapprove, many looked down at you. Small, weaky, human.

They all thought you would perish on the first hunt. A human couldn’t go against a trained Yautja. Yet, when you returned with the head and proved to the elders that not only are you capable, but worthy of the title. They had no choice but to bestow the title on the first human in history to you. Your adoptive dam was beyond proud of your new status among the clan. It was seen that she had raised you right, leading for her to have plenty of suitors for the next season.

More trophies decorate your ship. Many from the heads of Bad Bloods you’ve taken down. A proud sight you happily showed to those who come to visit. There was no need to hide away the fact you may be human in your core, but you were Yautja. Raised this way and shone through the darkness of what once shadowed you.

Like times before, this hunt was no different. This Bad Blood drags himself to earth. Some believe hiding amongst the intelligent species will be their shield. But now, the Yautjas had you. You could move amongst your species with ease. No one suspecting little ol’ you could do much harm.

You were the perfect hunter.

With the needed supplies loaded onto your ship for the journey, you take to the universe. Stars and planets alike whiz passed while jumped from one end of space to the other. The ship appears close to a planet called mars by the humans. The red planet acting like your shield for only a moment before you can pull yours up.

Now, invisible to any of earth’s detection systems, you continue forward. There was no need to rush the hunt. Your prey always falls into your trap. Time will only tell when.

The blues, whites, and greens of earth’s surface had grown boring after the third trip that had taken you here. The colors disinterested you. All passing in blur.

A screen in front of you located where the Bad Blood was last seen. You guided your ship towards the direct spot. This Bad Blood was known for his tricks. He likes to dig into a spot. The chances of him still being here were high. If he didn’t need to move, he wouldn’t. Not until you come for him. The perfect predator on a planet like this. Home to humans. Your species.

Yet, with him dug in like tiyt in your skin, it would be difficult to pierce his defenses. Any other Yautja would be far off worse. His scopes on the look out for a Yautja… not a human. You grinned to yourself as you set down the ship. It came to light drop on the earth’s ground in the middle of an abandoned parking lot.

A wire fence built around the space. No one could easily discover your spacecraft this far out on the edges of the massive city. A concrete jungle as the elites and elders call it back home.

The hunt begins.

.

The high pitch ding from his gauntlet has the Yautja stopping in his tracks. An alert to a Yautja entering the vicinity. He glances over at the hidden form of his partner. Uihoy, too, has paused and was pulling up the screen on his gauntlet. A known name popping up.

Both of them perked up at the sight. This human has been the talk ever since they were allowed to stay on Yautja Prime. It shouldn’t have been allowed by many peoples thoughts. Yet, when you became an Enforcer, all hell broke loose. That had been the end of the world in many peoples eyes. A human? As an enforcer? But you progressed and became one of the top. Your name would be written in the stars before your death.

And that’s what caught their attention. Such a small, weak thing able to best a Yautja. Not only once or twice, but countless times. Your trophy wall was stuff of legend not even Uihoy, as a nearing elder, could compete with.

Purrs escaped each male’s throat at thought of your proximity. The eyes of their mask flashed at each other. No words needed to know they had to hunt for you, find you and show you they themselves were worthy to be in your presence. Maybe even get you to join their group, become their mate. It would be an honor.

Each dip their head at another, barely noticeable with their cloaks activated. The concrete jungle full of eyes that could endanger them. Then, they press on.

The hunt begins.

.

Your pants were controlled as you leaped or grappled from roof top to roof top. The rush of blood filling your veins was exhilarating. Despite your human nature, your blood sung for the hunt. Called for the need to bring down prey twice or thrice your size. You may have been born in a human body, but you were meant to be a Yautja. Some elders have told you so.

Unlike some of your prey before, this one decided to find the heart of the city and claim it. No fool would chase after him. It could risk the exposure of Yautjas to the humans. But they had you. Able to walk among the humans like you were one of them.

Those would have to wait it out, until the Yautja needed supplies or slipped up. Many have run out of their patience and forfeit their pride to you. The human. Here you were, smirking to yourself as you walked through the streets. The skyscrapers too tall for your grapple to reach.

At this time of night, the streets were lacking of bodies. Only a select few would dare to walk. You didn’t know of the Bad Blood was asleep. Earth’s rotation cycle was different. It was shorter than Yautja Prime. By two hours. Who knows if he would be sleeping; the perfect time to slither your way into his hidey hole and take care of the issue at hand.

A grand building sat in front of you. The lights were off as if it slept itself. You peered up and took note of any weakness, anywhere to slip through. But, this was city hall. It was locked down tightly. You hummed quietly to yourself and searched thoroughly from the front, pearly gates.

This side was empty handed.

Then, you began your search of each side. All exterior doors were tested.

One offered you entrance to the space. A grin spread across your face as you slipped into the building and activated your cloak. The last thing you wanted to do was alert a night guard to your position. That’ll only cause a domino effect you really didn’t want to deal with. It would end with the Bad Blood making his escape via his ship.

That’s how you know of his position. There is an abandoned train yard under the city hall. Enough space for his crappy little ship to fit. It wouldn’t be hard to track the craft but the chase through space wouldn’t be exciting. Just jump after jump until either of you lose the other or you run out of fuel. Boring.

This though, was gold. To hunt him on his own territory that he’s called home for the last six months? You were giddy at the feeling.

With the safety of your cloak, you snuck around the quiet and dark hallways. There wasn’t a sign of life. You pulled up heat signatures on your biomask and found only a human nearby. A guard standing close to the entrance. A quiet huff left your nose. Such a weak warrior. Blind to what was around them. No wonder the humans have become so weak. Not worth the prey they used to be seen as in their more primitive age. Not that this era isn’t fairing better. Their medicines were horrors of stories. That only scratches the surface.

Viewing with different visions on your biomask led you to a locked door. You rolled your eyes before pulling out a helpful device. The tiny mechanism attached to the door handle. It made a small buzzing noise as it began its work. You glance over each of your shoulders and came up empty handed. Nothing on your radar as well.

Once the door clicked open, you softly pushed it open. It swung open on its hinges and revealed a darker stairway that lead down. The direction you were hoping to go.

If his craft was underground, he had to be nearby. Any rational Yautja would have their escape plan close by.

Death happens all the time within the species, but an unnecessary death aided no one. A tactical retreat is preferred to see the light of day and collect more trophies.

As the hunter you are, you pierced the darkness with heart full courage. It swallowed you hole and lead you down two flights of stairs. That’s when the real work began.

.

Uihoy’s radar led him in the general direction of a Yautja ship. If you were on earth, it meant you were on a hunt. One you couldn’t be distracted from. So, the two took decided to search for your craft. Either you would be there or not. These two were established hunters. They could wait you out until you decided to appear.

The two of them controlled their panting. They landed down harshly on worn asphalt that nearly crumbled at their sudden force. It cracked. Each standing up on their own accord and scanning the area.

In the middle of an abandoned space devoid of life sat the cloaked spacecraft. It holds no tags but the shape was unique. Unique to you. You had earned it. Long and hard battling years. Uihoy smirked to himself, proud of finding it. He came to realization there was no one aboard. The purple, cloaked male turned his head towards his partner and grunted.

Vic’tao’s camouflage flashed before retreating to reveal his yellow and blue hide. “He isn’t here,” Vic grumbled with disappointment at the situation. He was raging to finally meet such a figure. Even the best of his collection hung mindfully off of his belt. He hoped it would be enough to gain your favor. It’s not like Vic’tao knew what he was doing.

There was little courting he’s experienced with. Uihoy was the one who pursued him. Vic’tao never expected to fall for a permanent mate let alone a male. But, it had happened. That felt the yellow Yautja struggling to truly understand how to court another. He’s barely experience it himself on both ends.

Under a half-moon, Uihoy’s purple scales drank in the light once his own cloak fell victim to lack of power. The short, stout male moved towards a building that connected to the parking lot. He saw it as the perfect place to hide away until the time you decided to reveal yourself.

His partner and mate followed closely, at his side. Their strides matched. They would wait, they will finish their hunt. Predators waiting for their prey.

.

Throwing knives passed your head and sliced off lonely strands of your hair. You leapt up into the air just in time for three cross bolts to pierce the air you once stood at. They embedded into the wall behind you. You had to force your instinct of adrenaline rush to stop. It wouldn’t aid you when your energy would quickly leave in a moments notice.

Despite the darkness that became your hunting ground, you found your prey on the other side of a boiler room. Dug in worse than a tiyt. Little bugger would be difficult to kill. But you were determined to win. Another trophy, to add to a wall that continued to grow.

The familiar thang of a string filled the air. You dodged to the side by turning your torso out of the way. Another bolt sling shot to embed into concrete right behind you.

Snarls and hissing sounded from the anger Yautja. His sneak attack hadn’t worked neither did his back up plan to attack you afterwards. You smirked with fire alit in your eyes.

One of your smart disks was pulled from your belt. It was made for your smaller hands, designed for you specifically. It whirled to life at your command while you readied to throw it.

Another arrow launched directly at your chest. You rolled forward and let it skim above you. Then, the disk soared after the panicking Bad Blood who had the misfortune of facing you. He choked on a noise barely had to time to use a boiler as a shield. You stood back up to your full height and let the weapon fly back into your hand.

You tsked at the weak actions of this traitor. “You hide like a weakling. It will be freeing to rid you of your life. You won’t dirty the gene pool,” you hiss into the air and calmly walked towards the last spot you saw him. “A lame dog is best to be put down.” Those who are weak don’t deserve to live. Either nature will ensure this or an enforcer themselves.

“As if you can speak! You are a weak, ugly ooman. You have no right to walk among the Yautjas,” he spits back at and snatches a peek around the boiler. His bright red form on your biomask was on the verge of blending in with the heat that sweltered around you. He was smart, smarter than you gave him credit.

Words you’ve heard countless times. Demeaned for your nature. Only to shove those words back into their throats, choking them as you gained rank over and over.

The smart disk hums against your fingers. “I’ve earned my title countless times. I’ve been the one to make it in here and find you. I’ll be the one to carry your head out as your body turns into nothing. You’ll be forgotten while my name is written among the stars.” Your name has been sung with praise by the elders and ancients.

A snarl ripped from his throat. The Yautja launches himself as a weapon from behind the boiler and blind sided you. His heavy weight knocked you to the ground and pinned you underneath him. You swung with the smart disk at his bowed head. A crazy look in his eyes. His plan was to take care of you. Permantly. His eyes said it all.

He’s able to jerk his head back just enough. The sharp blades of the disk skim across his scales, nicking him. Bright green blood drips down onto your face. Some of his dreads are sliced off and caused a spray of blood. The Bad Blood hisses from the sensitive tresses loss and sends a punch flying for your head. You blocked the hit with your forearms.

Pain radiates up the bones. A good sign. Pain was good. Meant you were still alive, still fighting.

Another fist is launched at your head. You lean to the side. The fist cracks the concrete at the side of your head. You turn and latch your teeth into his skin. All of your strength was put into the bite. You felt the tall tale sign on your tongue and tasted blood.

The Yautja rips his arm back but left behind a chunk of his flesh in your mouth. You spit it out at him and used the distraction to your advantage. The disk is shoved into his chest and pierced his belly scales. He howled and reared back, losing his balance. His body tips over onto his back. You were on your feet and following the traitor with each step. There was not an open opportunity of space between you. You wouldn’t allow it.

Blood stained the floor while he dragged his body back. You grinned like a mad man with his green life essence dripping down your chin. Fear entered his golden eyes. The Yautja finally saw his death near.

Like many before, he will fall to the weak, meek human.

His back met the wall. Trapped and at your mercy. You placed a foot on his chest and pressed down. “Say your prayers to a god you bretrayed. Maybe Cetanu will forgive your transgressions,” you growled.

The disk lifted high above your head.

It was brought down with a great force.

The gruesome sound of flesh tearing echoed back at you. His head lolled to the side, nearly pausing for a second. Then, it flopped over onto the ground. Blood, bright and vibrate in the darkness, glowed. You stood to your full height and took a deep, calming breath. The hot air in here stifling.

You began the cumbersome cleaning of evidence. Not a drop of blood could be left. Not unless you want the Yautja species to be discovered. An action that would damn you and turn you into a Bad Blood. Anyone trigger happy and ready to kill the human would be free to hunt you. More than ever before.

It didn’t take long though for the blue acid to eat away at the body and left nothing behind. Nothing to be discovered. The blood, you took it upon yourself to scrub away. An action your brain has been engraved to remember. Those who taught you ensured you would never forget to pick up after yourself. Leave nothing behind.

Before finishing up, you headed towards another door that led you further underground. Towards the abandoned train yard.

.

It had been hours since the two of them had taken roost in the abandoned building. The younger of the two was growing bored. Why couldn’t this damn ooman hurry up?! The trophy on his hip grew heavier. Vic’tao dug himself a deeper grave with each subconscious thought. Maybe it wasn’t good enough? Would it even turn your head towards him? Would you give him a piece of your attention? Paya, he hoped.

Movement at the edge of the fence caught his attention. The yellow and blue Yautja sat up higher and stalked towards the broken window. The cool night easily showed your blazing heat signature. You were jogging swiftly and leapt over the wired fence with ease. Your body moving with grace that only a hunter could perfect.

The male sighed and watched you slow down to a walk. Vic’tao looked over at Uihoy. The two of them nodded at the other. Then, they were on the move.

Out of the building, uncloaked, they strutted side by side. Vic’tao rounded the ship first. Your eyes immediately narrowed on him.

A warning snarl left your throat as you paused. One of your hands, the one not carrying the head of your prey, went to your belt. The smart disk just waiting to be used.

Your eyes scanned over their forms. These weren’t Bad Bloods. Their faces aren’t ones you recognize on the list. Neither did you recognize the markings on their bio-masks. You stayed weary, prepared for anything. Your head lifted as if silently challenging these two to speak.

An old elite and an average, young hunter. A strange duo.

Each of them pulled their masks free from their faces and respectfully bowed their heads. You hummed quietly to yourself. They know who you are. Not that many don’t nowadays.

The purple, a nearing elder, raised his headfirst and met your eyes in a calm manner. There was no challenge, nothing to provoke a battle. He was the one of few who wished to talk rather than fight you’ve met before.

“It is an honor to meet you, enforcer. We are lucky that we meet at the same time,” he spoke in a higher voice than you expected for a burly Yautja. All you did was raised a brow and looked at them, disinterested.

There was more important things to worry about rather than these two… fans? Is that the best word for them? You eyed the yellow one. He was nervous. He would meet your eyes but his fingers twitched. Youngsters.

Before you had the chance to just continue onto your ship, the yellow male dropped to a knee. Your fingers slid into the holes for your smart disk. In his hands, he presents a skull. Moderate in size but a creature you would rather not mess with.

“I present the skull of a Xaq-oew!” he exclaims by bowing his head and fully presenting the skull to you. Your shock lasted longer than you would like to admit… but no one has ever tried to court you before. Let alone, you having the chance to court a female. A great enforcer but the species was entirely wrong. A fact you’ve been belittled since you could remember.

In your state of shock and silence, the purple male dropped down as well. In a calmer manner, he offers a different skull. Another creature. One you have had the misfortune of meeting. An encounter you nearly lost.

“We understand that courting a male is unheard of. Yet, your skills and abilities…” the shorter male trails off.

“Once we heard of you, it was our goal to court you!” the other one butts in. It seems his anxiety was getting the best of him. Something he needed to rid of if he is to survive further in his life.

Purple glared at him for a fleeting moment before returning his gaze to you. “It would be an honor if you became our mate and join our group.”

Your heart beat hard in your chest. This surely couldn’t be happening. You’ve been told countless times you wouldn’t be able to court anyone since you’re human. No one would want you. But… here are not only one but two males presenting skulls to you in the traditional Yautja way. They want your hand as their mate.

A few more seconds passed before you took a breath in to speak. “I accept your challenge to court. Show me your best skills and I will think about joining you,” you responded in a cool tone despite how fast your heart was beating. It felt like you were on your first hunt again. All by yourself with no aid. Just you and the jungle.

On the right, the yellow and blue Yautja cheered, still knelt in front of you. You raised a hand. His excitement came to a halt. “First off, I believe names are in order. Second, I shall give you my information. I want to hunt with you. See how well you could provide for me.” Any male vying for attention should know they must prove they are the best. Their genetics are top of the line. Not that genetics is a play for this courtship, you didn’t want to mate with two weak males. You wanted someone who could keep up with you.

Each gave their names. The purple one was Uihoy. The yellow one was Vic’tao. Then, you gave them your contact so the three of you could set up a time for a hunt. You were looking forward for this but kept yourself calm.

This would be your first hunt in over a year with another Yautja.

You took their skulls and felt their weight in your hands. Now, you would have to find a space to put these. A section for courting skulls. “I shall find these a good home in my trophy room,” you said and looked up at them.

“Are we able to see it?” Vic’tao asks. The nerves in his system had finally calmed.

A brow was raised at the male. “When you deserve to see it,” you retorted back with a firm voice. You’ve barely met the males. The needed to earn that right.

Uihoy smirked. “We will. We will show you our skills and awe you.” You weren’t impress with the words and continued to look at him, uninterested.

Each skull was latched onto your belt. You hefted your earned Yautja head back over your shoulder. “The next time I should see you two will be on fresh hunting grounds.” Then, you bided them a goodbye before taking your leave.

There was an unknown feeling that swarmed your chest. You pushed it back and closed the ramp behind you. Now, you had to prepare for a hunt.

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter eight || understanding

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 8.1k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

Gojo’s voice is eerily devoid of its usual nonchalance, even devoid of the warmth you’ve come to know from him. The words carry a weight familiar to any sorcerer. His grip on your shoulder tightens and although you know you’re safe from his sure-hit domain, the realization brings no comfort.

His chest is rising and falling as quickly as his heart is pounding in his chest as his warm breath fans the top of your head. His breathing grows quicker, deeper, and you feel his lips brush the top of your head, before he’s gone from your side entirely.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to register exactly what happens. You hear a gasp, a cry, a growl. Each one followed by the slumping sound of a body hitting the floor. With wide eyes, you turn to face the sorcerer when the sixth sound rings in the air of the still room.

Standing only a couple of feet away is Satoru, but there’s no warmth, no cunning smirk, not even a cold and calculated glare across his features. He’s panting heavily through his parted lips, blood spattered across his face. The crimson liquid drips from stained white locks, coming to land on his shoes beneath him.

Before you have a chance to take a look around at the damage, the lives fading from the room, Gojo lifts his head, an eerily unfamiliar look in those blue eyes of his. He doesn’t look like himself, wide eyes filled with a seething anger like fire raging through a forest. Like nothing can quell the flames that had ignited.

Still, he teleports to your side, wrapping an arm around you as he guides you out of the room. He makes a point of using his body to block you from the sight of the room, guiding you away from the carnage as he closes the door behind him.

Now out of the room, you turn to observe him. You aren’t sure if the move he made was the right or wrong one. You don’t have enough information to truly judge the higher-ups, although you disagreed with their methods. But still, they were people. People who sentenced you to death without ever considering giving you a chance. The moment the sentence was given, you knew your fate had been decided for you the moment you had entered the room. 

As you realize that, you know Gojo knew that too. That’s why he had insisted on remaining in the room, this was the plan he had always had in mind all along. Whether he knew he would snap or not, he always knew this would be the outcome.

Whether it was the right call or not, you weren’t sure.

You just knew that the lack of mercy he’d displayed towards them scared you.

But looking up at those crystalline blue eyes now, glinting with an anger you’d never before witnessed in him or anyone, you recognize something.

The way the pads of his fingers grip your shoulder like he was holding onto you for dear life, the way he positions his body to prevent you from seeing the carnage behind him, the way the anger behind his eyes glints with something else, something more. He’s scared, too.

“Gojo?”

Chest still heaving, his furious eyes flicker to you, but they seem to look through you, like he isn’t all there.

“Are you… okay?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s a foolish question, but it’s all you can think to say. You inhale sharply, turning to face him as you pull out of his grasp. Examining his expression, you tug your lip between your teeth.

Thoughts race through your mind as you try to think of something, anything, that might help, but you don’t know the man standing before you. Despite being at the school for several months now, he never let you get to know him. You never bothered. You were both always at odds with one another.

“Gojo, I-” you hesitate when he reaches out to grip your forearm. “They’re…” Dead. You don’t dare voice your concerns. “What if that was the wrong move, what if-”

“There was no other option,” he practically snarls, pulling you closer still to him as you flinch. His anger isn’t directed at you, rather he seems to be protecting you, even from himself.

Staring down at his hand on your arm, you realize he’s shaking. The vicious fury blazing within him is enough to strike fear into anyone who would witness him, but as he grips your arm for dear life, you know your fear pales in comparison to what he was going through.

Fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt with your spare hand, you recall the one thing Gojo had thought to do when you needed comfort and he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he’d done it because he needed it too.

Closing the small distance between you, you wrap your arms around his tall form, his pounding heart beating hard in your ear. His heart rate seems to increase for a moment as he stiffens, before slowly wrapping his arms around your core. Gradually, his breathing slows and returns to normal, his chin dropping to rest on your head.

Woodsy and sweet scents mingle with the stark smell of iron stained into his clothes as you inhale shakily. You don’t dare move, working through your own emotions as you let him do the same.

You couldn’t deny that you were scared, but as he finally pulls back and those familiar blue eyes are no longer looking through you but at you, you knew he needed someone in that moment as much as you had needed someone moments ago on death’s door.

In a strange twist of fate, it seemed you needed one another. Your fates entwined.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly, terror ripping through the flames of anger. “It was the only option- I- I- I’ve thought of everything, I-” He heaves a breath in, running a hand through his hair and pulling at it as he leans his head back in thought. “I just-” his voice is low, a burly growl. “I can’t let them keep sentencing people to death every time they’re scared-”

Lips pressed into a thin line, you watch his frantic movements as he continues to ramble.

“-as soon as something inconveniences them-”

“Gojo.”

“-make it my problem to do their dirty work-”

“Gojo,” you try again to get his attention, uncertainly reaching up to set a hand on his arm as it falls back to his side after he flings it into the air while rambling. He doesn’t seem to notice your touch as he flails his arm in the air again.

“-I’m nothing more than a- a-”

“Satoru!” You call his name again, firmly placing your hand on his chest to get his attention. He seems shocked, blinking down at you. “It’s okay.”

He purses his lips at the sympathetic smile you offer as you realize what’s going through his head. Yuta had been right all along. He did care. He wasn’t afraid of the repercussions of his actions against the higher-ups, there was something else he was afraid of, and though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself, it was undeniable.

“We’ll figure things out, okay?” You wait for his nod before continuing. “Let’s get out of here,” you move your hand from his chest to tug on his sleeve and urge him to follow you. The walls of the narrow hallway feel as though they’re about to cave in on you and you can’t bear to stand so close to the room now barren of life.

He stays a short distance behind you, letting you lead the way down winding halls out to Ijichi, waiting outside the car. Ijichi turns to face the two of you, eyes wide as he sees the crimson stains in Gojo’s hair.

“Jujutsu Tech, please, Ijichi,” you tell him with a smile. He nods solemnly as he gets in the car.

The ride back is silent save for the sounds of the road and the consistent chirping of the summer cicadas. Your gaze remains out the window for the duration of the trip, thoughts racing through your mind.

Despite the silence, it’s strangely comfortable beside Satoru, and you realize for the first time since your first meeting, you know where you both stand with one another.

He seems to be on edge sitting beside you, leg bouncing while his hands fiddle with anything in reach in an attempt to ease his overactive thoughts.

As Ijichi pulls into the school, you slide out of the car and the silence follows you to the cabin, broken only by the excited barks of Taro at your return. He comes up to you both, body wagging from side to side with his tail at the sight of not just you, but also Gojo.

He cracks an uncertain smile at the pup before grumbling something about taking a shower and disappearing into the washroom before you have a chance to talk to him. You want to reach out and talk to him, but he’d practically bolted out of reach.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you bring your hands up to rub your face, the emotions you’d been holding back for the sake of staying strong pouring out. Making your way to the guest room, you shed yourself of the day’s clothes, throwing on an oversized T-shirt and shorts, throwing your hair up into a bun and collapsing on the bed.

You aren’t sure how long you stare at the ceiling when the washroom door across the hall clicks and Gojo exits, pulling a white T-shirt over his head. Gray sweats hang low on his lips, his toned abs visible for a brief moment as Gojo pulls the shirt on. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he rakes a hand through his snowy locks and throws on his sunglasses, looking out at the living room and kitchen.

Realizing you aren’t there, the dove-haired man swivels to face your room. Too tall to fit through the doorway, he ducks as he pokes his head into the room. His eyes bore into you from behind his glasses, a more put-together expression on his face than earlier.

“Hey, uh-”

“Thanks for not killing me,” you blurt out, accidentally interrupting him.

He chuckles dryly, shooting you a half-hearted smirk. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

“Do you want the answer to that?”

His brow raises, though he catches the teasing lilt to your voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, slowly making his way to the edge of the bed to sit a small distance from you. The bed dips under his weight and he pushes his hand through his hair once more to keep it out of his face.

You let out a shaky laugh. “When?”

He catches your meaning and purses his lips. “When you thought I was gonna kill you,” he pauses, “and when I-” killed them. It doesn’t need to be said. He eyes your reaction, chewing on his lip. “I didn’t have a choice.”

You always have a choice, you want to insist, but you stay quiet. Of course it scares you that he was so willing to kill, but you also had him to thank for still being alive.

As if he can read your mind, he continues. “I know that’s a bullshit excuse, but someone wasn’t leaving that room and I-” he clears his throat to prevent himself from choking on his words. “I’ll be damned if it was you.”

You blink in surprise at the honest admission, whether fueled by genuine care or guilt.

“‘Sides, Miriko’d have my head if they got you.” He shoots you a lopsided smile.

“Your head would be the least of your concerns, Six Eyes,” Miriko chimes in from the back of your hand before disappearing.

Gojo huffs, entertained.

“It’s… okay.” You struggle to find words, still a bit scared at the other side of him you’d seen.

“There would never be an end,” he begins, “to the killing, if I didn’t end it myself.” You aren’t sure if he’s trying to convince him or you. “Yuta, Itadori, you…” he sighs.

“I understand,” you whisper, knowing the unsaid name of Geto hung on the tip of his tongue.

Gojo’s eyes close for a moment as he lets out a breath, relieved to find you hadn’t run off.

“What’s gonna happen now, with the higher-ups gone?” You ask quietly, looking up at his tired blue eyes.

“Dunno,” he admits. “The Shibuya incident left us pretty dry of sorcerers. The old asshole in charge of Kyoto will probably take over.”

“Is that… good?” You tilt your head.

“Not sure,” he sighs in exasperation. “Zen’in, Kamo, the old man,” he lists, “at the end of the day they’re the lesser evil, I guess.”

“Will you be in trouble?” You ask, gasping with realization. “Will they send someone after you?”

“They mighta been foolish enough to go after you, but they aren’t foolish enough to go after me.” There’s a small smirk on his lips.

“Awh, does that mean you think I’m strong?” You tease, kicking your feet playfully.

Something shines in Satoru’s eyes as he watches your movements, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at you. The moment lasts a second too long and you hum, wondering what’s going through his mind. He coughs, mumbling a ‘sorry’ before responding.

To your surprise, he responds in earnest with a chuckle. “You kidding? You’re terrifying when you wanna be.” He leans back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t see your wide-eyed shock from where he lays.

You let the moment hang, your brow knit together in thought.

“Why choose me?”

“Hm?” He props himself up on an elbow. “You or the old hags that told me to kill my students? We went over this.”

“No I know that, but-” you hesitate, the strange feeling of his lips brushing the top of your head replaying in your mind over and over. Maybe it was nothing, but the rational part of you can’t let it go. “You protected me.”

He blanches, eyes flickering to the side. “I was just doing what felt right.”

Your heart sits in the pit of your stomach, nerves chilling your spine. What felt right? That answers less questions than it poses. Your lips part, only to watch Satoru spring to his feet, practically dashing to the door.

“Lessons start back up tomorrow. We need a plan to defeat Sukuna,” he abruptly shuts the door, leaving you further confused than you were before as thoughts race through your mind.

Watching in silence as he closes your door behind him, you furrow your brow. Why did it seem as though he kept running from you?

You swallow hard, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The only question racing through your mind parts your lips as you whisper to yourself.

“What the hell?”

–

Another sleepless night, another early coffee.

Moonlight pours through the living room window, illuminating the tabletop where your phone sits. The exhaustion deep within your bones is undeniable, yet sleep doesn’t seem to come. Even sitting with legs pulled to your chest on the couch and your dog at your feet, the world feels so daunting.

The feeling of facing the world alone had returned when Nanami left, and slowly but surely you had felt as though you were getting somewhere with those emotions, but now you weren’t so sure. Gojo’s words from earlier hung in the air around you like a fly, unable to shake the feeling he meant something deeper. Not to mention the fact that Gojo, one of the most confident and cocky people you knew, had seemed to lose his edge twice now in one day, running from you.

Worse yet, was the undeniable realization that you felt no fear towards him. In spite of his actions earlier and the fact that death was something that seemed to plague and suffocate you, you felt oddly safe around him. Albeit a bit confused.

It was all too much. The questions, the uncertainty, the anxiety following the meeting with the higher-ups. It all loomed over you like a monster threatening your sanity.

Your head snaps to the stairs as Gojo makes his way down to the kitchen, his hair disheveled as though he’d spent the entire night raking his hand through it. His top half is barren, toned chest and abdomen on display and to your surprise, your eyes trail down his built figure. His usual blindfold covers his eyes and you wonder if he can see at all in the darkness, neither of you bothering to flick on a light.

Your question is answered quickly as he notices there’s coffee made and tilts his head, jumping when he notices you in the living room.

“Shit! I didn’t realize you were awake.” He holds a hand up to his chest in shock.

“Isn’t the whole deal with your Six Eyes thing that you can see everything?”

He chuckles, looping a finger under the material and pulling it down. “That’s the point of the blindfold. Can’t use all my cursed energy just lookin’ at you- around. Lookin’ around.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t hear you make coffee.”

“I didn’t,” you tell him, giggling as he wrinkles his nose at the bitter and very cold coffee he’s just sipped.

“The hell are you drinking this for?” He asks, dumping the mug and then the pot of coffee down the sink before beginning a new brew.

“Didn’t want to wake you up,” you shrug, fiddling with the mug of cold coffee in your hand.

Noticing your movements, Satoru strides over to you and pulls your mug from your hands. With a click of his tongue, he’s dumping that down the sink too.

“Hey! I was drinking that,” you complain, though he does have a point.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he scolds, smiling happily when Taro hops down from the couch with a wagging tail, demanding pets with small whines. Gojo kneels down, scratching behind his ears.

“That’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” you gape.

“What can I say? I’m charming,” the sorcerer grins, chuckling as he catches you rolling your eyes. He mumbles some happy words to Taro in a sweet voice, pleased when the pup plants himself down and waits with him as the coffee brews.

“Your charm won’t work on me,” you tease.

“No?” He smirks, and you suddenly feel fluttering in your chest. Swallowing, you watch the way his muscles clench as he pours you a mug of coffee, careful to step around Taro who follows closely behind him.

Setting his own mug on the coffee table, he leans forward to hand you another warm mug, his fingers lingering on yours and setting your skin ablaze as he pulls his hand back and plops himself down on the couch beside you with a sigh.

Composing yourself, you take a sip. “This is better,” you admit with a grateful smile.

Gojo hums, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “There’s so much going on, I-” you let out an unsteady breath at the gravity of your stress. “-I’m so tired, Satoru. When I close my eyes though, it’s just… a mess.”

He frowns, tilting his head as though he was eyeing you. “We could do something to get your mind off things,” he suggests, sipping his coffee. “We could watch a movie.”

You debate his suggestion before nodding slowly in agreement. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“There’re a bunch under the TV if you wanna take a look.”

You hop off the couch with more pep in your step than before, hoping a movie will soothe the endless stream of thoughts. Opening the cabinet, you’re surprised to find Gojo seems to have a massive movie collection ranging in genre from Romantic Comedy to Horror.

“Are you a big movie guy?” You ponder, moving your finger over the spines of a group of horror films.

“They’re fun,” he grins. You shoot him a smile, giggling to yourself as your finger slides over the spine of Digimon: The Movie.

“I didn’t take you for a Digimon guy,” you comment, the familiar case a sudden blast from the past as you remember watching it with your dad when it first came out. Sliding your finger over the case as you reminisce silently, you don’t notice Gojo opening his wallet and flicking a card at you.

Squeaking in surprise as it makes contact with you, you look down at the card that sits on the floor. It’s an old digimon card, frayed corners laminated to keep it from getting any further damaged. Picking up the card, you flip it over, eyes lighting up at the sight. In the classic art style, Metal Greymon is hunched over, mouth parted with claws facing the player.

“This was in your wallet? You’re a nerd!” You tease with a grin, giggling as Satoru shrugs. “I’d be more impressed if it was Gabumon, though. He’s the best.”

“I’m more of a Guilmon guy myself,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward, “but Gabumon’s a good choice.” His blue eyes examine the movie in your hands from where he sits across the coffee table. “You’re into Digimon?” He doesn’t attempt to mask the child-like giddiness at talking about something so simple and mundane with you.

“My dad and I used to watch it all the time. I loved that old Gamecube fighting game.”

“That’s it,” he stands up, slipping the movie case from your hands and popping the disc into the DVD player sitting below the TV. “We’re watching this.”

You hand back his card with a giggle, the both of you sitting down side by side on the couch as Taro settles at the end of the couch beside you. As the opening ads play, Gojo tilts his head at you.

“Did you play a lot of games growing up?”

“Yeah I guess so,” you shrug, “honestly I still play a fair bit.”

“No kidding?”

You nod, thinking back at the consoles sitting at your old cottage. It must look abandoned at this point, coated in a layer of dust. “Yeah I mean… I was always alone, it was nice to unwind with a game.”

“You shoulda told me, I’ve got a Switch upstairs. I could kick your ass at Mario Kart,” he teases with a grin as he points at his chest. He sets his arm down across the back of the couch, his bicep brushing your shoulder in a manner that sends heat rippling across your skin.

“I’d like to see you try,” you rebuttal playfully.

“I’m the reigning champ, Shoko and Sug-” he blanches, quickly clearing his throat and correcting himself. “Shoko and I used to play all the time.”

There’s a sad edge to his voice, and finally the time feels right to ask the question that’s sat at the tip of your tongue since Yuta brought it up. “Suguru?” You ask softly.

He stiffens, forlorn gaze trailing away from you. “Yeah,” he admits, swallowing. You allow him a moment to steady himself, gather his thoughts.

“You two were close, weren’t you?”

“Something like that,” he sighs bittersweetly. He shuffles uncomfortably, the subject still clearly sore. It’s a feeling you know all too well, one you fear not even death will do you part.

You clear your throat, pleased to have made some sort of real connection with your white-haired counterpart, but not wanting to push him. “I’m sorry, when you showed up at my gate with him, I didn’t-”

“You don’t owe me anything, y/n.”

You hesitate at the firmness in his words, surprised to hear such a tone from him. “No, I know but I was-”

“y/n,” he interrupts again, “you don’t owe me anything. Definitely not an apology.” He rolls his shoulder, his forearm brushing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You did me a huge favor.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” It’s all you can think to say.

He chuckles again. “Stop apologizing,” he insists, attempting to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“We don’t need to do this,” you insist, shaking your head. This little game of apologies wasn’t necessary in your eyes. Although there were still clearly things left unspoken between you both, you had no doubt in your mind anymore that Satoru was on your side and you were well aware of his regrets.

“No, we do.” His sharp eyes are boring into you now and he takes a deep breath. “I was a fucking grade A asshole. I was so sure Miriko would be like Sukuna that I never gave you a chance,” he pauses, “sorry Miriko.” He bites his lip briefly before continuing. “Then these past few weeks I got to know you and I-”

You lean closer to him, listening intently.

“-I was scared of you,” he chuckles, cheeks visibly reddening. “You reminded me of Suguru. Your wit,” he glances at the Digimon movie title screen that’s been looping for a couple of minutes now, “your interests, your abilities.”

You can feel his warm breath on your cheeks as he finally faces you fully. You hadn’t realized he was so close to you until now, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end at the close proximity.

Running a hand through his long white hair, he moves strands from his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your lips part in disbelief, not only at receiving such a genuine apology, but more importantly because of the weight of the statement. The weight of the comparison to someone who meant the world to him.

“I-” you stammer, trying to make sense of his admission. “I forgive you,” you tell him, your voice small. You bite your lip, your body set alight once more as you see the way his eyes flicker to follow the movement. Did you imagine that…?

The silence following feels like a moment and an eternity all at once. Your skin blazes, while your muscles are frozen in place, unable to think as you feel the warmth of his breath repeatedly fanning your face. You part your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as your crimson irises take in the way his lidded eyes look at you, pupils blown.

“S-Satoru?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He clears his throat, leaning back against the couch.

“Sorry,” his cheeks redden as he fumbles for the remote. “Gabumon is waiting for you,” he recovers quickly, his sly smirk returning as if your entire body wasn’t on fire from the interaction just seconds ago.

Blinking a few times, you sit back and try to focus on the movie, your thoughts racing. Taro’s head plops down on your lap and you busy yourself with petting his head, your mind eventually focusing when Gojo playfully nudges you at the sight of Gabumon.

No longer drowning in thoughts, your eyes begin to grow heavy and at some point, your consciousness fades.

–

The unpleasant feeling of a kink in your neck wakes you the following morning. You groan at the feeling, groggily blinking your eyes open. With your vision still blurred, a woodsy scent hits you and you wonder if you left the window open. No, even then it’s not so much a natural scent.

You attempt to roll onto your back, surprised when something pushes back against you.

“Careful, you’ll fall off.”

You freeze, bringing a hand up to wipe the remnants of sleep from your face. As your vision clears, you become very suddenly aware of how you’re sprawled over your roommate’s bare chest, your face barely an inch from his chin.

Jumping immediately to your feet and out of his grasp, you stare at him in bewilderment. His sunglasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, a calm expression staring back at you from where he lays on the couch. For a moment you think you see hurt flash in his eyes, but you’re positive you’re mistaking something else for that.

“Sorry!” You hurriedly apologize, face flushed at the idea of falling asleep on top of Satoru. You glance back at the screen quietly playing the looping menu screen of the Digimon movie, still.

“I wasn’t complaining, Pretty,” he smirks slyly. “You seemed tired.”

Your muscles seize at the sound of the pet name, your heart palpitating in your chest hard enough to make you think you were having a heart attack. A pet name from Satoru of all people. Worse yet, your stomach bubbles and flutters in ways you can’t begin to describe, because surely he wasn’t causing that feeling. Right?

You swallow hard, your nerves getting the better of you as you take a step back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

Gojo watches with an amused smile as you stumble around, muttering the occasional ‘um’ or ‘uh’, before your words finally find you.

“I should- um- get ready for the lesson,” you blurt out, turning on your heel and bolting to the washroom, ignoring Gojo’s snickering behind you. Shutting the door as you bolt to the washroom, you heave out a quiet groan, rubbing your face in humiliation.

That was embarrassing to watch, even for me.

Don’t say another word, Miriko.

Of course your audience would decide to chime in right now. Throwing your head back against the door, you let out a prolonged sigh and race to get into the shower, praying the warm water would quell the embarrassment seeping through every crack in your composure.

As the hot water wets your skin, you let out a breath of relief as the steady stream drowns your thoughts. Thank god for that, too, because any longer with thoughts of Gojo shirtless and you might start to lose it. 

As the steam fills the air, you close your eyes, allowing the hot water to cascade over your body and ease your tensions. Your eyes flutter open, droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you let your shoulders relax and take a much-needed long shower.

Throwing the tap off after allowing yourself longer in the shower than usual to cleanse yourself of your confused and uncertain thoughts, you reach out for the towel and-

It’s not there.

You reach a bit further down the rack where your towel should be. It has to be.

It’s not there.

You panic, realizing suddenly that you had done laundry and hadn’t replaced the towel.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, weighing your options. You either had to call for Gojo, or wait until you air dried, which isn’t really an option because the air on your warmed skin is cold.

You groan loudly, raking a hand through your dripping hair.

“Satoru?” You call his name loudly, unsure if he hears you and you call out his name again.

“Need some help in there?” He asks with a suggestive tone that only furthers the blush creeping up your neck.

“Gojo, please,” you beg quietly. “Just put a towel outside the door.”

You hear an amused hum before his footsteps begin to move away from the door, returning a moment later. “Towel’s outside!” He calls before you hear his footsteps walking away.

You let out a breath of relief, poking your arm out the door to grab the towel and dry yourself off. Putting on your clothes from last night again, you hurriedly make your way back into your room, take the time to groan into a pillow, and change into a clean dress. It’s the first time you’ve worn one in a while, given that you’d struggled with your motivation for the past month. For once, you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

Once you’ve put your hair up and done your makeup, you make your way back out to the kitchen with just enough time to make a coffee before your lesson.

“What, no cold coffee this morning?”

The abrupt intrusion of Satoru’s voice in the quiet air of the cabin causes you to jump and you send him an irritated glance as you nearly drop your mug. He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he hops down the stairs and slings an arm casually over your shoulder. The material of his blindfold blocks you from seeing the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Flustered this morning, are we?”

Though you’d always known Gojo to have no concept of personal space, this was something new entirely, even for him. You swallow hard, refusing to look at him as your steady gaze remains on the slow drip of the coffee pot in front of you.

“I’m just tired,” you insist stubbornly, stepping out of his grip.

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, his tone betraying the fact that he doesn’t believe you. “You seemed pretty well-rested this morning.”

With his endless prodding now beginning to give you a headache, you rub your temples. “Satoru, we should focus on work,” you insist in an attempt to get him to ease off.

He chuckles, taking the hint to give you a break as he busies himself with other tasks.

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you prepare one for yourself before absent-mindedly preparing one for him as well, just the way he likes it with a bit of creamer and an absurd amount of sugar. You’re not sure when you learned his coffee order, but it feels like second nature as you pass him the mug.

He smiles gratefully, accepting the mug from your hands and taking a sip. His brow raises, eyeing you with surprise from behind black fabric at the way his coffee is made to perfection. Almost like the action of making his coffee was deeply ingrained into you, you hadn’t thought twice about the amount of sugar needed to make his coffee just to his taste. “Thanks,” he hums, leaning on the counter.

You smile up at him, taking a sip of your much more bitter coffee and letting your thoughts wander to the lesson today. The first one in a month. The thought is an uneasy one, life is considerably different since then and in many ways it feels more urgent than ever to train Yuji as quickly as possible if you were at such a great risk of being attacked again.

“Do you know who it was that attacked us?” You ask Gojo, swallowing at the horribly vivid memories resurfacing.

“Yeah,” he sighs, his shoulders hunching forward as he adjusts his grip on his mug. The pale blue button-up he wears wrinkles at his shoulders, pulling taut on his back. Your eyes trail over the muscles briefly, returning your attention to him as he continues. “I’ll worry about that, though.”

“Don’t you think it would be good for me to know?”

“Focus on Yuji’s training. I’ll handle him.” His nose scrunches as he sees the way you narrow your eyes, obviously growing frustrated with him, but still he doesn’t let up.

“You don’t have to do everything alone.” There’s a hint of irritation in your voice, mingling with hurt.

His face is fixed straight ahead, avoiding your gaze, avoiding the obvious hurt on your features. “Just let me handle this, Pretty.”

Your heart jumps into your throat at the pet name, only given away by your fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “We talked about this Satoru, please don’t be stubborn.” You manage to keep your frustration and nerves in check as your tone comes out even.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, feigning indifference to your words but you know him now. You can read him. You know he’s growing upset.

“With all due respect Gojo, you’re in no position to be keeping this information from us,” Miriko chimes in, red shining eyes apparent on the back of your hand, a forked tongue slithering out from between her pointed teeth.

“Have I been upgraded from Six Eyes?” He teases, blatantly ignoring the way irritation flashes across your face.

Miriko’s eye narrows. “Don’t test me,” she warns in a hiss.

He hums slyly in acknowledgement, not pushing his limits but visibly pleased.

“Why are you so determined to keep this from me?” You ask as he takes another sip of his coffee.

His jaw clenches and you know you’re both one step away from being at one another’s throats. As usual. “It’s not your-”

“For fuck’s sake Gojo, can you cut that out?” Your exasperation finally grows to a breaking point as you motion in the air in disbelief that yet again he was being uncooperative. As if every moment of progress you thought you were making was for naught. “You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t get to know!

His head snaps towards you, mug set down with a heavy snap on the marble counter. “I’m not-” He takes a step towards you, pausing as he watches your frustration further bloom as he growls back. “It’s not like that.” He strains to keep his voice down, running a hand through his hair before pulling his blindfold down. His blue eyes are troubled when they finally land on you.

Your lips part. “Then what is it?”

“I’m trying not to be the asshole you think I am,” he sighs, taking another step towards you. His voice loses its edge as he gives in.

Setting your coffee down, you press yourself to the counter. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I don’t think… you’re an asshole.” You admit, shoulders dropping as the tension begins to ease now that he’s being honest with you. Red eyes meet his blue ones, his internal debate clear as day in the troubled glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m trying not to… extort you anymore. I’m trying-” he hesitates. “-I’m trying not to involve you in this world that I know you don’t want to be a part of.”

You blink once, twice, three times. It’s strange to hear such consideration from the cocky and overconfident sorcerer you’d come to know. Your lips form a circle, a silent ‘oh’.

“I don’t want-” he hesitates again, stepping forward. He’s painfully close, a realization that sends a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. “I don’t want to involve you anymore if I don’t have to, not when I…”

You tilt your head as he trails off, wondering what’s going through his mind. For someone who had been so one note when you met him, he’s one of the most complex people you’ve ever met and the one person you struggle to understand the most. You find yourself leaning forward slightly, his breath fanning your face faster as his breathing rate increases.

“Not when… I…” He trails off again, toned arms resting against the counter on either side of you as he cages you in. His eyes flicker to your lips, pupils dilating. His voice lowers, husky. “When I could treat you like this.”

Whatever internal battle was being fought in his head finds its victor as he leans in and presses his lips to yours, chaste and gentle. Your heart pounds in your chest as you freeze, tense in his arms encircling you.

When he pulls back, there’s desperation painting his features as he examines you. Shocked, you meet his wide-eyed stare pensively. Your thoughts are racing, searching for answers. He doesn’t dare move until you do.

You don’t know how to make sense of the confusion, but the butterflies in your stomach threatening to burst make more sense to you than any rational thought.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, sliding up his pecs as you lean back in. His pulse sprints in tandem with yours beneath your arm, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet again. He moves his lips against yours fiercely, no longer gentle. He’s desperate, sliding his left hand up from the counter to your waist, his fingers clutching at your skin in a manner that you know will bruise.

His right hand encircles you, pulling you flush against his toned body as he parts by barely an inch from you, just far enough to see your flushed features, the way your chest rises and falls.

He smirks against your lips, his voice a whisper meant for your ears only like a sacred lament. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

Your ears burn as you stare up at him through your lashes. Your body is alight with the flames of attraction, your confusion a distant thought as the haze in your mind sings only of your want. How could something like this with someone like Gojo feel so right?

“I don’t want you involved in any of this anymore. Not because I don’t trust you-” he pauses, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He hums in satisfaction as your eyes trail the action. “-but because I want to do better by you.”

“That’s not your decision to make, Satoru.” Your voice is small, but steady as you admonish him. A newfound confidence courses through your veins as you fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” he says, soft lips pressing against yours with urgency, as though he couldn’t possibly bear to be apart from you even for the length of your conversation. His muscular arms tense against your back as his grip on you tightens.

You barely pull back from him, bunching his shirt beneath your fingers. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m a part of this now.”

“I know,” he sighs again, defeat dripping from his tone. He’s not happy, but he’s willing to respect your decision, and that’s all you can ask for. For once, he’s compromising.

Running his thumb absentmindedly over your abdomen from its place on your waist, he watches the way you chew on your bottom lip, as though either of you is waiting for the other one to make a move.

“Should we…?” You make a movement to take a step back in an attempt to head to your lesson but he shakes his head.

“Just give me one more minute of this,” he whispers, sliding his hand up your body to cup your face. He’s gentle now, as though handling porcelain, as he leans in again. His long white hair tickles your forehead and you smile into the kiss, a reaction matched eagerly by Satoru. His lips are addictive and you find yourself melting into him.

Whether it’s something you’ll learn to regret, you don’t know. This new side of Satoru is fascinating, and as your arms slide over his shoulders and your fingers slide through his undercut, soft strands of white hair tangling in your grip, you want to keep exploring it. You want to keep exploring him. Tugging on the snowy locks, a low wanton groan escapes him, igniting a fire in your lower abdomen.

It scares you. It excites you. 

He pulls back, pupils blown as he chuckles. His voice is an octave deeper than you’re used to. “If we don’t leave now, you’re not getting me out of this cabin,” he warns with a coy smirk.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you nod slowly, untangling your fingers from his hair and falling back onto the ball of your foot. His arm doesn’t leave your waist as though he can’t bear to not feel your touch as he leads the way out the door and towards the meadow tucked within the trees.

He moves his blindfold back over his eyes and slides his hand up your body as the treeline comes into view, resting it on your shoulder in a more characteristic manner.

“y/n!” Yuji calls your name excitedly at the sight of you on your own two feet with no support. You hadn’t seen him since you’d fully recovered so as he bounds over to give you a hug, you smile. 

Gojo’s hand parts from your shoulder, watching from beside you with a warm smile. Yuji bounds back over to the table, excitedly telling you about movies he’d watched with his brother, and things he’d gotten up to with the second-years in the way you would tell a parent. It’s endearing and you wear that fact like a badge of honor.

It’s apparent he misses Fushiguro, but you know if you have any chance at defeating Sukuna and saving Yuji, it’s best that they stay apart.

As you settle down at the table to begin your lesson, Gojo finds his place at your side, his knee brushing yours lightly.

Your plan for the lesson had originally been to work with Yuji to draw out Sukuna’s technique as you’d barely scratched the surface of that lesson when you’d been hospitalized, but Miriko is quick to speak up before you have the chance to begin.

“I have a proposal.” Her toothy frown sits on the back of your hand as usual, eye flickering between the three of you.

“You wanna marry me, Miriko? How cute,” Gojo teases with a grin.

“You test my patience, Six Eyes.”

“Downgraded already…” he mutters, pouting as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand.

You giggle, letting Miriko continue.

“Yuji, please block Sukuna out to the best of your ability,” she pauses as he nods, “I believe I may have a way to kill the King of Curses.”

All of you sit starkly straight, every ounce of attention trained on Miriko now.

“Gojo, when you used your domain with y/n and I, I was unable to move.”

“You used your domain on them?” Yuji inquires, but Miriko moves on, not willing to touch on that subject. It’s an issue for another time, and an issue she wants no part in explaining.

“I am considerably weaker now than I was when we first met. y/n transforming did a number on my technique. I believe if we are able to weaken Sukuna to the point I am at, I would be able to kill him.”

The words hang in the air like static as each of you processes what’s been said. Along with it, a new hope. A solution, maybe.

“How weak are we talkin’?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning closer to you in the process.

Miriko ponders the question for a moment. “My technique relies on souls in my domain and my river is at approximately half of its original capacity.”

“So chip him down to half? That’s do-able,” Yuji looks to Gojo for reassurance, the two nodding at one another.

“As much as I would like to agree with you both, Sukuna outclasses me. I do not believe it will be so easy.”

“I can do it,” Gojo says confidently, setting his large palm over your thigh reassuringly as you cast him a worried glance. His touch still sends electricity through you, a feeling so unfamiliar and yet comforting.

The idea of taking on Sukuna is an uptaking, and it certainly won’t be easy. You know it, Yuji knows it, and Gojo knows it, even in spite of his confidence. But it’s a sliver of hope, and you have time to prepare, to train. To flesh out a plan.

Better yet, you have someone alongside you who's not only on your side, but rooting for you. Someone who cares for you. In fact, as you glance between Miriko’s appearance on your palm, Satoru at your side and Yuji across from you, you realize you have some sort of semblance of a family.

A family you’d give your life to protect, and it warms your heart in ways you hadn’t thought possible anymore. Finally, your life feels fulfilling again and-

Gojo stands suddenly, whipping around to face the treeline on the far side of the meadow behind you.

“Satoru?” You ask quietly, unable to see what had caught his attention as you follow his gaze. You turn your attention back to the sorcerer, confusion turning to concern as his hand reaches out to grip your shoulder steadily. What really strikes fear into you is the way it feels like he’s doing so to hold you back.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You freeze, every blood cell in your body running cold as dread twists in your stomach. Satoru’s grip on your shoulder tightens further as you twist your head to get a view of the newcomer.

Your whimper could stop a force of nature with the gravity of your pain as your lips part to speak.

“Kento?”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you for staying with me through all these chapters! this was such a fun chapter to write and went through many iterations but i'm pretty happy with the outcome ♡ god i love gojo

[audiart]

I like your post series ideas, I'm interested in the fate of two characters who were deprived of a happy ending: 1. The first is Doll. Since Uzi was able to bring back Cyn, what's the problem with bringing back Doll? + besides, maybe it's just a stylistic element or Uzi's tail with the first image of her new design has redness.

2. The second is J. Since Cyn got a second chance, J deserves one too. + your designs of Nori and Cyn are super cool. Let's hope that at least Porter won't get psychological trauma

Hehe you're the first to point that lil detail out!

Yes, Doll is in there. She's a silent observer and hasn't made Uzi aware of how close she is to the surface.

The Absolute Solver is a hive-minded network that all users are connected to; to be infected with the Solver means your consciousness and neural network exists far beyond your body. ("I have backups")

If the main host of the solver knows who they're looking for well enough and how to do it, they could theoretically bring any Solver host back to life in a new body.

But Doll is just so so tired after her long fight, her consciousness just floating in the AS Network with fleeting visions of how the world's moving on without her is enough for now.

As for J, she has a lot of trauma to recover from. She's the sort to lash out at friends and isolate herself and isn't coping well with ANY of the changes to the monotony that was her life.

She spent decades denying Tessa's death, decades pretending their mission was anything more than meaningless genocide, hunting down rogue/patched Solver Drones, and preparing for ASCyn's arrival.

Sometimes on their flights V, N and Uzi see J in the distance but their pings never receive a response. She's often found around Pod landing sites but doesn't stick by long enough for anyone to find out why.

And thank you!!! Porter's time will come. She has some big shoes to fill and bigger expectations to meet; let's hope she won't crack under the pressure.

[kurishiri]

25 . . . alfons main story — mad love finale

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: none; i hope you enjoy 🪞🤍

—— Alfons’ POV ——

If life were a fairy tale, finding happiness would be a simple thing.

As long as you were gentle and kind, someone positively brimming with love, that was enough.

Such were often the protagonists of these stories... and this very role would usually find their happiness, as they were meant to be.

But, what if you were a villain, the worst of the worst?

What would happen if the one you fell in love with, then, was that very ‘protagonist’ in those fairy tales——?

Perhaps, the chance of finding that ‘happiness’ for yourself in the end would be ceaselessly low.

What about me, you ask?

——Hehe, that is a good question indeed.

Which would you say is the answer?

—— Kate’s POV ——

——After the promised month...

I turned in my final report to Victor, who looked up with a satisfied expression.

Victor: Thanks for this, Kate. For keeping our secrets to the end, and for recording their sins.

Kate: It’s a relief that I was able to manage this job you entrusted me with.

K: I wanted to record all of what I honestly could say were sins, taking laws and morals into account.

Victor: So you did. And the things you specially mentioned were also quite an interesting read.

Kate: I just really wanted to write down what I could about what I felt of the things I saw before me.

I couldn’t make a clear-cut claim that such deeds ‘were not a sin,’ as those were simply my personal feelings,

but I also couldn’t set aside all personal feelings and make a confident claim on all fronts that such actions ‘were a sin.’ It was a last resort, so to speak.

In reality, the things that Alfons did were much like facing a mirror: ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were but two sides of the same coin.

He would show others illusions, drive others to the brink of madness——but some people sought salvation in that very deed.

His job, where he took the lives of others, was without a doubt a sin to be sure——but there were lives that couldn’t be saved without taking those of others as well.

Victor: Well, if you ask me, I’d say these notes of yours are actually essential and valuable things.

Kate: Huh...?

A little surprised, I stared at Victor, who narrowed his eyes fondly.

Victor: I said this from the start, didn’t I? That I wanted you to write what you thought were sins.

V: And in your eyes... they were not people who were cursed to commit sins,

V: but rather another individual like yourself. I could clearly see that as I read your reports.

V: And you did not make assumptions based on statuses, titles, and superficial impressions... rather, you tried to face them before your eyes.

V: It’s that part of you that I truly do believe will lead England to a better place.

With a hint of affection, Victor looked down at the words.

It was the same expression he would occasionally give to everyone in Crown and me.

Kate: Can I ask... why did you and William start Crown?

Victor: Hm? Let’s see...

V: Just as we held the same wish for our country to become a brighter place to live in for everyone,

V: we had also wished for those who could only live within the darkness to freely spread their wings... I would say.

Perhaps I still only knew a fragment of the darkness of the world that spread before them.

But, even so, I had no qualms stepping into that very world.

Victor: Now then, with this you are free to do as you like.

V: So, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you plan to do from here on out?

Kate: Of course you can ask.

I raised my chin in response.

Kate: I would like to continue working as fairytale keeper.

K: Because I want to spend my life fighting against Alfons’ fate.

Much like a swaying illusion,

the Alfons before me slipped between my fingers so many times I had long lost count, leaving my heart a wanderer without a place to call home.

But, every time that happened, hope would once again show up before me.

Kate: I tried looking into it with Roger, and I felt then that there was something even I could do.

K: And besides... the more we relive our memories, the deeper they become a part of us.

K: So, just maybe, if my body — from my eyes to my ears to my nose, and everything — were to take that all in deeply, there could be something left behind in the end.

Victor narrowed his eyes with a smile before nodding.

Victor: ...That’s wonderful to hear. You have my full support.

Kate: Thank you.

Victor: Well then...

V: Have you told all this to the person in question himself about it?

Kate: About that——...

—— Time skip ——

Kate: And with that, I look forward to working with you from now on.

Roger: Same here.

In the report to Her Majesty the Queen, I had written in there about Alfons’ Curse and his ability,

and so, I summarized everything I knew and gave it to Roger, the corners of his lips quirking into a smile.

Roger: But aren’t you a bad lil lady, sneaking part of the report meant for the Queen.

Kate: Well, I would say such reports find their value when handed to a highly competent researcher.

K: I’m sure even if I searched every nook and cranny of England, I wouldn’t find another researcher as earnest about Curses as yourself.

K: So, I was thinking if this could help research on Curses make even a bit of progress,

K: then this would benefit Her Majesty the Queen as well, seeing as she uses Cursed ones for the good of the country, right?

Elbert: ...hehe.

Hearing a laugh that resembled the sunlight filtering through the leaves from beyond a light lace curtain, I looked up.

There, I saw the smile of a beautiful person, who was on a simple bed for an examination, looking at us.

Kate: Did we say something strange...?

Elbert: No... it’s just, I was thinking how the way you speak has come to resemble Al a little.

Kate: Huh?

(Did it really sound like him...?)

I felt heat rising on my face suddenly, and in haste I tried to change the subject.

Kate: Uhm, so what brings you here, Lord Elbert? Did you get injured anywhere?

Roger: He was staggering on his feet from sleep deprivation, so I just gave him some sleeping pills to put him to sleep.

Kate: A-are you alright...?

Elbert: Yes. It happens quite often... so it’s nothing to worry about.

E: ...If there is anything troubling you, though, you can tell me. I will do anything I can to help.

E: So that this time, for sure... this happiness will not shatter for the both of you.

(‘For sure’...?)

His words made me feel a bit uneasy, but seeing a bit of sadness in Lord Elbert’s eyes, I didn’t prod further.

Thinking back, it felt as though until something that could bring about the end happened, like Alfons leaving behind a will and disappearing,

Lord Elbert had always been watching over us from a bit of a distance.

(Maybe someday... I will come to understand what the words just now meant, and why his eyes seem so sad.)

Kate: ...That goes for you too, Lord Elbert. If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.

Elbert: I appreciate it. ...But, if you and Al are happy together, I couldn’t ask for anything more... I think.

Roger: So basically, you’re gonna continue being Al’s exclusive fairytale keeper.

R: ...So, that leaves us with the question: where in the world is the person in question on the day that marks the anniversary of your contract renewal?

Kate: That——...

K: You’re right, he isn’t here... or anywhere...

The things I had talked about with Victor, and everything else too... I had not yet talked about any of it to Alfons.

It was all because Alfons had gone out somewhere on some whim of his, and had yet to return.

—— Kate’s room ——

Kate: Just where did he head off to...

I knew he knew that today marked the promised day.

(Isn’t he even a tad curious about whether I’ll stay in the castle or return to the city...?)

While I did feel a bit blue, when I returned to my room, I saw an envelope I never seen before on top of the bed.

(I-I can barely read this messy handwriting... it’s Alfons...!)

I opened the envelope in a panic——and on it only the words ‘post office’ were written.

Kate: W-what in the... is he telling me to go there? What is going on——ahh, jeez!

Nothing would come out of me just standing around, so I bolted out of my room.

—— Post office ——

Director: To think not only would you turn in such a formal resignation, but also come greet us in person, that makes me happy.

Director: For the record, if you ever find trouble at your new workplace, you’re always welcome back here.

Director: Oh, yes, that’s right. There was someone who came in telling me to hand you this envelope if you came by.

This time, I was sent to the pub——

—— Pub ——

Pub owner: Hey there, it’s been a while, miss. Did Al make you cry again?

Pub owner: If he does something to hurt you, you let me know. I’ll give him a good blow with the bottle he keeps here.

Pub owner: Oh yeah, before I forget. Here, Al said to give this to you if you came.

And then after that, I found myself in the market that the boy we had saved from the Docklands arson was working at.

—— Market ——

Boy: Ah... m-miss...

Boy: Uhm, at the docks... I wanted to, uhm, thank you... for saving me...

Boy: R-right now, I... I was referred to by the one who got me in the hospital... and so now, I’m working here...

Boy: I didn’t know life could feel this warm till now.

Boy: Ah, and this... the mister from that time told me to give this to you if you came, miss...

—— Kate’s room ——

Kate: Haa... haa... jeez, all that and I’m back where I started...!?

Being sent here and there thanks to those letters, by the time I returned to my room, the sun had already long set.

The final envelope was placed on top of my bed, just as the first one had been——

“Welcome back. I am aware you must have been run ragged the entire day, but if you so fancy, how about a party tonight?”

“If the answer is YES [1], then please dress up and come to the dining room.”

Albeit unreasonable, I still did as the message told, in the end having dressed up like the fool I must have been.

Even the Alfons in my mind was laughing mockingly at me, saying, ‘You truly are so foolishly earnest,’ as I ran for the dining room, and...

Kate: Alfons, what in the world were you trying to do—— ...!?

The sight of the dining table decorated with an extravagant dinner took my breath away.

Alfons: To think you were just run sooo very ragged, and yet you ended up still coming here...

A: You truly are a fool, aren’t you.

Alfons, who was sitting leisurely in a seat,

stood right up and walked toward me, respectfully extending his hand.

Kate: Did something happen? ...Ah, did Victor prepare all this...?

Alfons: No? The one who prepared all of this while you were running all around London was none other than me.

A: Well, how about it? Doesn’t it take your breath straight away? By all means, please praise me with the most colorful words you can muster.

Kate: Wait, you prepared... all of this...?

Alfons: Oh dear, had it slipped my mind? It just so happens I am quite proficient at cooking.

Alfons flashed me a wink as he said so.

Alfons: You may perhaps call it the result of having eaten rubbish for meals, but I can hardly resist anything delicious, you see.

A: It’s a surprise for you.

And with that, he escorted me, still in a daze, to my seat.

Alfons: Say, Kate, how was it, taking in the outdoor London air today?

He spread a napkin on my lap, his breath as he giggled brushing my ear.

Kate: Huh...?

Alfons: I do imagine the post office must have been a nostalgic trip. And seeing as you’re so very honest and earnest, so it must have been a place you hold close to your heart, no?

A: And I reckon you don’t hold many great memories from the pub. Well, anyhow, the place in and of itself isn’t bad.

A: And see, the boy you saved is now living a fine life in the lively parts of London, I would think.

A: ...Did you ever feel like going back?

This man beside me wore the devil’s smile.

It would seem that the real goal behind making me run all around today was not to buy time for a surprise.

——Would going back not make you happier?

He had me go all around the entire day just to allude me to the devil’s whisper.

Kate: You are the utter worst, I swear.

Alfons: Oh my, your words do vex me.

Kate: I guess I will leave the castle and return to my normal everyday life... if I said such a thing, what would you have done with this feast?

Alfons: Why of course, I would eat everything here by my poor little lonesome in tears.

A: You would be free from getting yourself tangled in this tragedy, and I would dance upon this amusing stage, just as I always had been until now. That’s all there is to it.

Kate: Is that so...

K: In that case... here’s my answer.

Returning his look, I pressed my lips on his.

When I bit his lips sweetly, Alfons narrowed his eyes.

His lips wore a smile that looked as though he was looking at a kitten playfully clinging onto his fingertips with its fangs.

Alfons: ...I hear you, loud and clear.

His whisper fell between our lips before my breath was stolen once again.

Kate: Mn... ——ah!

Alfons held me in his arms and lifted me up like I was a child,

and he set me on top of the dining table, causing the napkin that was on my lap to flutter down to the floor.

Alfons: I will return your kiss, directly on your body.

[1] After a bath.

[2] You have bad manners. (+4 / +4)

[3] After we move rooms.

Kate: ——But, doing this on top of a table... it’s bad manners...

Alfons: Dare I say, though, you are not much better in that department, seeing as you’ve tempted me with such a sexy dress, no?

He ignored my protests as if it was the most natural thing, and holding my hand, he pressed it on the table.

Alfons: Heh...

Kate: mngh...!

The palm of his hand slipped in the slit of my dress, slowly crawling up my thighs,

causing my body to jump and the wine glass to fall with a clang.

Alfons: And anyhow, I’m more than sure you have long known by now——

A: I hardly have the sincerity to honor things like manners, no?

Looking down at me, collapsed on the table, Alfons smiled mirthfully,

before he stood up, taking off his coat and gloves.

Seeing him do so, I forgot about where we were as I felt a heat rise within me.

The whole day, I missed him so, so much... and that feeling burned within my heart, to the point it hurt.

Kate: ...This whole day, while I was walking around the city, I couldn’t think about anything but you. You were the only one in my mind.

K: I kept thinking to myself, oh, maybe the next place I’ll see him and whatnot... that was all I could think about...

As my feelings swelled——I took his tie, pulling it toward me.

The feeling of his weight on me was so endearing, I wanted to cry.

Kate: There’s no longer room anymore for something like my old life... everything is just positively filled to the brim with you.

Even if I was made to dance in the palm of his hand, and toyed around with... before tragedy awaited us in the end...

Kate: So what if all of it is a tragedy...?

K: I will see to it that you have so much fun you fall off the stage——

K: And I will show you the world’s most amusing tragedy.

Alfons: ...Hehe, so I see. An ‘amusing tragedy,’ you say...

A: Indeed, if the one playing the role of my dance partner is you, that does hold a charming ring as well.

A: Say, Kate... actually, all of today was exactly for this.

The memory of the night we had first met seemed to overlap and melt together with our connected gazes.

Kate: And what is ‘this’...?

Alfons: Your words, and the way you looked so very angry as you burst into this room,

A: and how I expected you to dress yourself up for this very party, despite how angry you were...

A: It was all to reveal your true love through those things... and relish in that.

Kate: ngh, ah...

Those naughty fingers tickled my skin, lighting a flame in my core.

Heat throbbed where his waist was pressed against me, my legs spread.

Just as he said... even though he was like an illusion who slipped between my fingers, if he sought out my love so greedily...

Indeed, if he were to do something as folly as this,

——I felt my heart might burst from fondness and happiness.

(Tell me more. And carve more of yourself in me.)

(Your words, your heat... and your truth.)

Alfons: ...I see that you are not bringing up anything about the dinner tonight, unlike the cupcakes.

Having seen right through me, my words caught in my throat, and he looked down at me in delight.

Alfons: My, just where did that spirit from earlier go? Come now, tell me, won’t you?

A: In times like this... what do two people who love each other to the fullest do?

My heart pounded in my chest so hard, it was a bit hard to breathe.

After all, beyond the mirage that had vanished, I could now see your true smile.

Kate: ...Dinner can come later.

K: At times like this... we should make a mess of each other and make love.

His thin lips slowly curved up.

Alfons: ——Ah, thank goodness.

A: Truth be told, the menu is all foods that taste good even while cooled.

(Wh...)

Kate: Wait, was this what you were aiming for from the beginning...?

Alfons: Ahha! Mind not phrasing it as though I’m only after your body? It’s quite scandalous, you know.

Kate: I am pretty sure I’m half right though at least...

Alfons: And perhaps the other half, then, may be something like a sincere heart, love, or something of that nature, no?

A: Whatever you wish to believe is the truth itself.

Utterly ridiculous and a good-for-nothing; villainous and insincere at best, he was much like a nightmare.

He loathed tragedies, and he liked cats.

Oh, and he liked delicious things... and probably, me as well.

That was the Alfons I knew——the truth I never, ever wanted to forget.

Alfons: You won’t say something like how you are already at your limit now, will you?

A: ...After all, you will entertain me more, won’t you?

The end awaiting us——would it be a tragedy? Or a comedy? There is no way to know.

But is that not what makes a story interesting?

The characters in the story can only venture onwards, believing in the ending that they themselves wish for.

This love may prove to be the spice that heightens the cruelty of a tragedy,

Or, perhaps, it would become the key that will turn this into a comedy——

But regardless of whichever it turns out to be, the ‘truth’ I want to believe in... had already long been set in stone.

Fin.

Act 3 • An amusing dinner party

← prev fin. epilogue → his side

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

NOTES:

[1] The original Japanese text quite literally says [YES] on there, in English letters and all caps. This may have a hidden meaning, so to speak, of Alfons inviting Kate to have sex. At least in Japan, couples may be gifted with pillows where one side says ‘YES’ and the other ‘NO,’ basically to indicate whether you want to do the deed, so it may be a sort of small subtle reference to that.

END NOTES: oh my gosh i half can’t believe i managed to translate an entire main story branch, i feel proud of myself for that 🥹🤍 i feel like this route as a whole was just such an emotional roller coaster, haha. i like how the last part is sort of left on an open-ended note, sort of like how they don’t know what the future will hold, but for now — in this moment — they are happy. i think for them, that is the best thing.

also i really like how kate was even able to get some closure with side characters here too. just the way they put in all the side characters in this chapter, it’s like the things you do will come back to you, you know.

i hope i could do alfons some justice and that you enjoyed the main story of his mad love branch!

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment, send an ask off anon, or dm to be added or removed!

[just-a-ghost00]

💌Someone wants to reach out!

Trigger warning : this reading mentions the passing of beings and other sensitive subjects. It is way heavier than I intended and I want to make sure that you know what you get yourself into. If you are underage, refrain from reading this post. If you know that you are sensitive to such subjects, refrain from reading as well, as a security measure.

As this is going to be a very detailed reading, I only put two options to choose from. To help you identify if you picked the right group, I will use some letters to try to get keywords as confirmation signs. In this reading, we are first going to try to identify who is trying to reach out to you. Then, we will find out what they wish to say to you. At the end of your reading, you will get a short advice from your guides. For this PAC I will be using letters, the White Numen tarot and the Threads of fate oracle, as well as some self made tissue box messages.

Group 1

Note from reader : As I was doing the last adjustments of your reading, I looked up at the sky through my window and looked at the clouds. That might be something the person we're talking about used to do a lot. In the shape of the clouds I saw many N and a few A. Those might be significant initials.

Letters : M F T I U A S N E M R S C V U Keywords : Mass, rain, Insta, star, rats, Cain, museum, amuse, Muse, cinema, mics, revue (French for magazine), fame, Reita, Sumire, saint, Cirus, Marcus, Mars, trains, Venus, arts, man, versus, Mantis, fumer (French for smoking), fast, cars, music, rants, Francis, frantic, France, matsuri (Japanese for festival), mister fun, musc, sister, fan, Ventura, Messi, faint, vain, veins, Traum (German for dream), stairs, Uranus, Saturn, Vermin, races, fire, Aries, Uranium, Taurus

Who is trying to reach out?

Creative soul | Unusual talent | Singer | Heterochromia | Earth angel | 5th house personal creativity I SERVE | 2 of pentacles, 7 of cups, page of swords, The Void, The Weaver, The Revolutionary

Okay I know this is going to sound crazy but I picked up on Moonbin. I can't explain why as I didn't know him very well. But I thought of him as soon as I wrote that channeled message you are gonna read in the next section. Aside from that, I can definitely tell that whoever is trying to reach out to you has passed on. This person was full of life and ideas, there were many things they wanted to say and do but they didn't get the chance to give life to all their dreams. They were young. Very young. This person wanted to fight the darkness and be a ray of hope in a world of doom. They had great ambitions and though they were battling their own demons, they truly believed in good and wanted to be good. They believed that they could weave their destiny as they wanted and that they could change the world if they tried real hard. They wanted to leave a positive impact around them. Heal the world. I'm also picking up on Michael Jackson energy. Maybe you or this person was a Michael Jackson fan. They may have been misunderstood by people around them when they were living. Maybe they were made fun of as a child because of their peculiar personality and talents. Maybe this person saw or did things that people didn't believe in or were afraid of. They were the first in their family to be like that. Maybe they were the first to be queer or the first that had a special talent that was deemed out of the ordinary. Could have been an artistic talent but also something related to the unseen. Maybe they could sense ghosts or they had downloads about specific events. They could have been the first to break from the family patterns and traditions. Like maybe in this person's family people were carpenters or automobile constructors from father to son and they chose to be an artist instead. I'm drawn to the snake on the Weaver card. Maybe snakes were important to this person. Like it is a symbol that represents them or this could be their chinese zodiac sign. Years of the snake are 1905, 1917, 1929, 1941, 1953, 1965, 1977, 1989, 2001 or 2013 and the next one will be 2025. But more than zodiac, I feel like they related to snakes in the sense that these animals are often feared and viewed as negative when they are neither good nor bad. They hold the potential for both and will only be "bad" if you threaten them. The reason I got drawn to the snake is because I know of an artist that passed on whose clothing brand logo was a snake. If any of you are familiar with The GazettE, I'm talking about Reita and his brand SNAKEDLOWS. Especially the one with the Ouroboros that was used in 2022. If you don't resonate with any of these artists, this could have been a family member, whether you knew them during their lifetime or not.

What they want to say to you :

"Dear love, I cannot stress enough how much I love you. You lit up my life in so many ways. I can never thank you enough for the support and love you have given me over the years. I owe so much to you. I was able to live a good life because of you. Please allow me to return the favor by being your n° 1 fan from now on <3 Fighting!"

Complementary info - The wildling, take risk, the pillar, connect to heart, The Void, 7 of pentacles, 7 of swords, page of cups rx, 3 of wands rx, King of pentacles

They are trapped in a state of limbo and they want to connect with you to be free. But they also want to help you set yourself free from patterns and obligations that you don't resonate with anymore. You are lying to yourself about the state you are in. You keep working and working without taking into account how you feel. Your life has become more of a routine and less of an adventure. You closed your heart to favor your mind. It's like you no longer marvel at life and try to run from your truth. They want to connect with you because they don't want you to do the same mistakes as them and ignore the signs that you are not okay. They want to help you ground yourself into an environment and a state of being that is healthy. Behind the Void hides Get curious. Behind the king of pentacles hides the knight of cups. They want you to be curious about love again. To open your heart again. To fight for your happiness because they don't want you to know the same fate as them. It's like they're saying "there are things I wish I knew sooner because if I'd known them maybe I wouldn't have had as hard of a time as I did". "If I'd known, I'd have told people how I felt. Maybe I would have been saved from my own sorrow. I don't want you to drown in your feelings like I did". There's a theme of mental health issues, suicidal tendencies and/or abuse from close circle like family members, friends. It's like this person in their life time chose to prioritize their job and the well being of others to the detriment of their own health and emotional security. They withheld information, pretended that they were fine when they were not. They hid behind their success and their career and most likely worked themselves until it was too much for them to handle.

Advice from your guides - 3 of swords, the world, The Pillar, Ask Body

Don't isolate yourself and remain in your anger or sadness. Speak up to somebody, reach out, open your heart to the world. There are other people who share your pain and doubts, who will be able to relate to what you go through and help you on your journey. Strengthen your body but also pay attention to the signs it is sending you. If you feel unusual pain, pay attention to it. Your third eye is opening. You are becoming more sensitive to spirit and other's emotions. So make sure you build strong enough walls to protect yourself from spiritual attacks. Ask your guides for help if you feel like you can't rely on anyone. Spend time in contemplation and prayer. The spirit of the cheetah is here to remind you that it's important to save your energy and only spend it for what matters. You need to find your center back instead of dispersing your energy in many projects at a time. "It is not unusual for the Cheetah Spirit Animal to come as a guide and support for people who have intense feelings. If you are empathetic, Cheetah reminds you it’s okay and healthy to cry. It releases all the excess input bumping around in your aura while cleansing and decreasing stress. Pause for a moment. Cry and then give yourself something wonderful afterward." You are asked to slow down and take time to let your emotions be expressed instead of repressing them. [Source : what is my spiritanimal]

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Group 2

Letters : D R A A E T U E E O O Q A U E Keywords : tour, route, area, Qatar, road, dare, tear, deer, dear, rate, root, tora (Japanese for tiger), rat, door, eau (French for water)

Who is trying to reach out?

Cancer I FEEL July 20 to August 10 | Model | Heterochromia | Healer | Musician | Dorky/quirky | 7th house Awareness of others I CONNECT | 10 th house Outerworld I ACHIEVE | 8 of pentacles, 6 of cups, King of swords, Self love, The Void, The Seeker rx

I get two possibilities for this group. Some of you could have a passed on ancestor / parent trying to contact you. For others, this person is living but you are not in contact with them at the moment. In both cases, I get this feeling of communication being blocked. It's as if you refuse to be in contact with them or you delay the moments when you are in contact with them. No matter the situation, you are taking refuge in your work as a way to avoid them. This person could be a soulmate and/or someone from your childhood. I get the feeling of a dynamic between someone that is quite old and someone that is quite young. Like a clash of generations. This is just one example between many but think of a parent and their child or a mentor and their protégé. This person could have had a higher status than yours. Aside from the careers mentioned by the tissue box messages I also sense law enforcement, military, politics. Positions of authority in general. It's like you've created a bubble around you and you stay in that bubble. No matter how hard this person is trying to reach out, their attempts are cut short by the distance between you. It's like you voluntarily keep them at bay. I feel a lot of sadness and worry coming from them. It feels like they're afraid that they can't help you. They can sense that something is troubling you and they wish to help you in any way they can but you refuse their help. They feel lonely and left out. It saddens them to see that you don't seem to trust them as much as you used to. They understand and recognize your need for space and independance, your passion and goals, your personal legend. But they also wish that you would let them be a part of it, let them in into your world and give them the opportunity to contribute to it even just a little. More than anything they want to reconnect with you and go back to lighter and innocent moments, where you share memories and try to build a future together. This doesn't have to be a romantic thing. Actually I feel more of a parental vibe than a romantic one. But of course it's going to vary depending on people so for some it could be a romantic partner that is/was very protective of you and kind of acted as a parental figure.

What they want to say to you :

"My child, you need not to cry. Our fate isn't one to worry about. I cry for all of you who are here on Earth, who do not know the taste of true love. I cry for my brothers and sisters who still have to fight the same battles, though I've fought them before. I wish I could heal the world. I wish I could heal you too. <3"

Complementary info - Underworld, Seeker rx, Paradox, The Revolutionary, knight of pentacles, 3 of pentacles, knight of pentacles, Judgement

They wish that instead of giving a lot of attention to others you would allow yourself to receive help and attention from them. That you would stop keeping them at bay and let them show you a new perspective, a different way of doing things. That you would let them pave the way a little more for you and shed light onto other paths, other skills, other people that could be helpful. They want to find a common ground with you and create something stable, fruitful. They want to team up with you in order to restore balance in your life. If some of you are facing legal matters or have been wronged, they want to help you get retribution. They wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself and stop fighting your battles alone. It's like they're saying "it doesn't have to be just you against the whole world, you don't even have to fight if you don't want to ; if you truly want it, let me stand by your side". For a lot of you this concerns your career or your studies. They wish that you would share your load with them. They wish that you would come to them for advice instead of trying to save them the worry because they're going to worry anyway so they might as well worry with you. They wish that you wouldn't be so harsh on them and judge them so harshly. You underestimate this person's ability to understand you. They wish to say "I've been there to and I know how you feel". They want to let you know that you are not alone, they fully support you in your decisions and choices. They're ready to fight for and with you. All they need is your command. They're saying "tell me what you need and I'll be getting it for you, tell me your fears and I'll send them away". Just one word from you and they will serve justice. There's also a theme about prayer, similarily to group 1. I heard "God is mighty and if you ask you shall receive". I know religion is a touchy subject so I don't want to force beliefs on anyone but if that is something you resonate with then they encourage you to keep going and turn to God for help.

Advice from your guides - Death, Versatility rx, page of cups, 4 of swords

They want you to take rest and do things that you enjoy. You may want to get your health checked. Put an end to connections and habits that are detrimental to you.

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Five)—Revised

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: aemond spying on the reader as she meets the council. council meeting gone wrong.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

Chapter Five: The Council

~Aemond's POV~

Hidden in the secret pathways, he was sure he was slowly losing his breath. Not because the profoundness of the Blacks and Greens have attended, or the conversation he has heard in countless times. Or the fact when Aegon volunteered himself to watch the council within to pass of as entertainment. Alicent insisted on her sons to stay put. As always, they behave. Especially the new encounter in King’s Landing.

As much as Aemond hated to admit, he couldn't abide anymore to what's in store for the council, especially to a certain name he expected to hear.

“I still don’t know what you find so special about this girl,” Aegon commented, peeping through the secret view from the secret tunnel.

Swallowing, Aemond paid him no mind as the meeting was about to commence.

“I thought you prefer to a company of older women,” Aegon added.

On his thirteenth nameday, Aegon has taken the young Aemond to Streets of Silk. His innocence is ruined by the time he returned back to the Red Keep.

“Quiet,” Aemond said, not facing his older and drunken brother, now that Aegon carried wine in a pouch. “We don’t want mother to scold us again, do we?”

“Daemon is here,” Aegon whispered in his ear with dismay.

With certain guests like Daemon came for one thing. To question.

“But our father isn’t present,” Aemond said. "Even if he is, I doubt he’ll live to see the forging tale before us.”

“Who cares about him? He’s in his bed, slowly dying away even when he’s already a rotten corpse.”

Aemond ignored him.

“This might be a chance for us to survive from the fate of our house,” Aemond whispered, but Aegon is unsure and oblivious to what Aemond meant.

The moment the doors droned a creaking sound, the council ceased their talk and focused on the main objective they have been longing to grasp.

You, appearing as miserable and beaten, limped legs dragged.

It was quite clear either Otto—or Daemon—ordered the guards to escort you.

Aemond held his breath. He has seen countless women in the Street of Silk, but has never seen like a strange aura exuding, something he can’t quite put. He has seen many women in tourneys and gatherings and ceremonies, he has seen them in training yards for a good long look of his training, and gardens and lavish gatherings and lessons with the septa—all are stiffened with false courtesies and sweet smiles. But the air of your presence filled him with conundrum, raw and ethereally indescribable he couldn’t pinpoint to how he reckoned you, regardless of exchanging words once.

His eye laid watching the soft sways on your locks and cinch of your waist clung tight nightwear. The suppleness on your skin somewhat bruised. Other than that, you’re in your broken state; bandaged and eyes averting to look below.

Watching you tossed your hair over after the guards pinned you down, the twinge in his chest lightened. As soon as he learns your name, he’ll endow you. But quickly faded when he spotted to how their mistreatment.

"What in Gods’ name happened to her?" Aemond muttered.

Aegon discerned Aemond’s eager impatience.

“Patience, Aemond,” Aegon said, eyes twinkled at your quiet presence. “You wouldn’t want your special lady to be feared by you if you show yourself again.”

Aemond leaned in back to mutter Aegon’s ear. “Perhaps it’s you who’s impatient.”

Only Aemond could watch afar, despite the distance is at its proximity between the secret walls. Soon, he abided, await for your lowering gaze to come alight and basked in glow.

~Your POV~

The guards released you after a sudden drag they put you from your deep sleep. Men in the council weren’t the only thing to watch out for; at the corner of your eyes, the guards were there, Daemon is also present in the council.

“At last,” Otto stated in quiet merry. “I was afraid you might not show.”

Still drowning under the influence of Milk of the Poppy, you said nothing but you head bobbed in sleepiness; shaking on the inside; your hands clamped in cold sweat, rubbing your palms altogether, gawking your lulled eye down on the ground.

You said nothing; eyes narrowed in drowsy exhaustion.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding to your first arrival at the Red Keep,” Otto informed, wearing the sincerity of his smile. Daemon, on the other hand, observed you by the pillar; his posture was exteriorly calming in a calculating way. You’d think meeting with the cast is a good for setting up pranks, but turns out the meeting is set for an intimidation. In other words, King Viserys is nowhere to be seen.

“You’re well aware to why you’re summoned in the council,” Otto asked.

Without looking, you felt the eyes of the council members and the guards sent their pierced gazes at you before you responded, “I know.”

“The King wishes to acquire of your existence,” Otto resumed. "But he's ill, as of late. Would you kindly introduce yourself to the court of the small council?” he demanded.

The sky outside the Red Keep thundered.

Over your veiled face and bandage from your tousled hair, Steady, you eyed on each member, not knowing on who to look; you didn’t want to make a miscalculation that could lead your early demise.

Beside you, Alicent’s hues sparked with encourage; a tiny curved quirked upward upon her lips.

Behind the council walls, there was none other than green shadows of her sons. Although while Aegon peered with amusement as Aemond with intrigued notion. Darting your eyes at Aemond, the sensation in your body faltered with alerting thrill and admiration. Without realizing, corner of your melancholic lips twitched, one dimple dented, but reformed back to a scowl, bandaged hands, your back slouched as your hands folded and rubbed altogether.

Drowsy, your head threw back in lazy gesture, released a heavy sigh, your vision blurred.

Otto inclined back in his seat with his hands folded, attentive. “Might I acquire ask to where are you from?”

Your heart thumped.

“Based on your accent, you neither sound like one of us as Westerosi. Are you from Essos?”

Subtly, you shaken your head.

“Great Moraq? Leng? Quarth? Yiti?”

You licked your parched lips, eye frantic below your lap. “Where the fuck is my cigarette,” you hissed.

Startled, the council is confused with your question.

"I beg your pardon?" Otto spoke, stunned.

“I'm not going to give the answer you wanted unless I have my belongings,” you answered, your quiet voice deepened with loudness, lounging back against the chair frame as your arms resting on the armrest, you head tilted back against the frame. This time, your eyes pierced directly, knowing this information you’ll provide won’t take overnight.

Otto unyielding eyes shot back. “Whatever it is, you can retrieve your possessions back after you answer, my lady.”

You scoffed.

Meanwhile Alicent whispered—inquired Criston where your belongings are.

After a couple minutes passing, the knight returned with none other than your clutched purse.

Sweeping your hair back, huffing as you gave the council members the glare.

The council exchanged concerns.

Otto conceded. “I’d like to say my gratitude on saving my granddaughter. However, I would like to know how you got here into Westeros. More so in King’s Landing.”

You paused and adjusted yourself in the seat again, putting your folded hands on your lap. “Look, I don’t know how the fuck I got here. I went to a party, got drunk and then slept on my bed in my apartment. The next thing I knew that I was cold and wet, and someone pulled me over back to the shore from drowning at Blackwater Bay; I was unconscious for two days until the third day and then I was being chased by three men in armor.”

“Do you remember what house they’re from?”

You leaned your back and pondered. From what it appears, it’s all too hazy until it struck. “No. But this one knight saved me from them—Ser Remon Blackwood.”

“Must’ve been the Brackens chasing after her,” Daemon concluded. “Damn Brackens and Blackwoods never cease to shed grudge and the indulgence of their pettiness.” Daemon darted his unpredictable glare at you. “What I want to know is how in the Seven Hells did you survive? Or was it Ser Criston who murdered them in Kingswood?”

Some council members collectively gasp in silence, rather in a quiet outrage, anticipating.

Gritting your teeth, you explained, “For the record, I only saw Ser Criston when I woke up, when he took me to King’s Landing. Before Ser Criston found me, those three men were hunting me, saying that I should be bred with their children, called me a whore—one said he wanted to eat my flesh after done raping me and then other said whoever makes me scream the loudest wins and give birth,” you answered. “In return, I stabbed them in the knees, cut their cock off, then disfigured one man’s face with the knife. Is that good enough for you or should I spell it out for you?”

Each and every one of their faces blanched.

“Why aim for the knees?”

Your long locks shielded your good eye. “They exposed their weak spot.” The corners of your lips twitched.

“Is it true you found her in the forest, Ser Criston?” Otto asked.

Criston’s shoulders shrugged. “It’s true. She was lying on the ground when we reached to the exit, all smothered in bloodshed.”

The silence collectively ensued, replacing with coherent whispers.

“Knights often had armor on their knees, even their cocks.”

“I’m certain she’s a wildling.”

“For Gods’s sake, Wildlings would never set their foot here, not even King’s Landing!” Daemon is annoyed by the other council’s statement.

“You’ve never been into the Wall,” one council member said.

Daemon folded his arms. “No, but I heard stories of their customs—filthy animals they are as they come.”

“You mentioned Ser Remon Blackwood,” Otto said, facing you. “He managed to pull you back out on the shores from Blackwater Bay.”

Your voice lowered. “He did.”

“From what I’ve gathered, when Alicent and Rhaenyra saw you in the Maester’s room, your peculiar clothes and your hair are covered in dark sand, you were at Dragonstone while unconscious at the time?”

Everyone was looking at you intently.

“I was.”

“On that night, there was an occurrence that awoken the dragons—the whole Westeros. Nobles and common folk often talk for the past few weeks, regarding to the incident. The green star befell from the skies and plunged into waters of the Blackwater Bay—in Westeros. Have you heard of it?”

Confused, you didn’t answer.

“Daemon was there, that’s when he last met Ser Remon Blackwood—Ser Criston saw to it.” Otto then exchanged glances with Alicent. “We were…I hate to be the bearer of news or gaining the notions of accusing. But…we believed that you’re the green star that fell from the sky.”

At the very least, nothing surprises you anymore. You were drunk at someone’s birthday party, then off to sleep in your apartment, but off to sleep and find yourself awake in the middle of the forest, in Westeros, is utterly mind blowing, but soon accepted the fate that’s been thrust onto you until the reminder.

You scoffed, your hand gestured in. “Wait just a damn fucking minute,” you interfered. “Whatever you’re thinking, you—”

“So you’re the one who causes my Caraxes to nearly bitten my hand off in half. My dragon couldn’t sleep well for the last few days,” Daemon fumed as he went closer to you. Daemon clutched the side of your neck, fingertips pressured. But you were unfazed.

“Fuck off,” your voice raised, eyes hardened, shoving Daemon away, but he wouldn’t budge, his clutch tightened on you.

“Daemon, spare her—she did no such treason; she protected and defended your life with hers on the bridge and the life of children,” Otto said, but you detected his sarcasm. Otto never cared for the Blacks.

Behind you, you felt a heavy presence towering over you. But no one was there, as if someone’s watching over you.

Daemon studied your features. “I find it hard to believe that a young lady like you who could fend off your opponents with a blindfold. Tell me, how did you manage to strike under such vulnerable condition,” His fingertips caressed you on your cheekbone, leading down on the side of your throat, thumbing across the smooth flesh.

Your hand clutched his, nails deepened.

“None of your goddamn business,” you answered, cold expression in your good eye unwaver, shoving his touch back in lenient motion; your body leaned back. “A little “thank you” for saving your royal, arrogant ass would’ve been nice.”

Daemon clicked his tongue and stepped back, giving you the broken knife you once held underneath the folded handkerchief. “You attacked the men in armor with this. You stole this Ser Remon Blackwood, didn’t you? The sigil marked on his dagger,” he seethed.

Quietude engulfed the air.

“Think what you like, princeling. But Ser Remon Blackwood gave that to me for protection. I promised him that I’ll give the knife back the next time I see him…”

Daemon shaken his head. “His body has been found, buried. His family were in mourning. Seeing them would consider to be the worst idea.”

Hearing Remon Blackwood’s death, you carried no hope or peace of mind. Instead, you sulked, but insisted on not showing the upsetting factor invaded in you. When you veered Daemon’s eyes, he could offer nothing but sympathy, but molded to indifference. Somehow, it left you clouded in anger.

“This is certainly a waste for our time,” one maester said. “We’ll never get information out of her!”

“Filthy as her mouth, spiteful as a venomous beast.”

“Surely she’s a born Wilding.”

While the council spoke over, nose scrunching, you assumed, almost sinisterly ill from the flips and coils in your belly, watching the young knight carrying on what it seems to appear—your clutched purse.

Your eye fixed on the object, glaring at the young knight, who was taking his sweet time to chat another guard—a report, you assumed.

At your attentive gaze, Alicent ordered the young knight in order for you to retrieve your belongings—all which are intact due to the quality of your clutched bag.

The young knight handled your possession, but as he called you, you stare into space, contemplating. The world you admire was starting to piss you off. You understood that you’re the outsider. With your unhealed wounds, what can you do? In a world of Westeros, men and women died often.

You stared into space so much that you didn’t sense others watching you. All you wanted was a peaceful sleep, but the guards are strong, with your weakened health, you fought them off, but they got the upper hand.

But each time their discussion extended, you rarely responded; blanked expression, white noise ringing louder, and concentration in your head afloat elsewhere.

Until—

You gripped the young knight’s hand, without looking back over your shoulder and twisted his fingers; he yelped, his body collapsed as you twisted his hand and arm farther with your good hand, with your position changed—then with both hands, you shifted—slammed his weight against the marbled table, his arms twisted on the back, leaving everyone standing in shock. The council collectively had their breaths inhaled, paled at the sudden shift within you.

“I said, don’t touch me,” you reminded him, voice darkened.

Criston tried to hauled you, but you resisted.

“He has your possessions,” Alicent begged, motherly as she sounded, while the guards prowled at your direction to arrest you.

At once, you released the young knight and reclined back to your seat. From there, you opened your purse after retrieving it, inspecting all your items are intact. He hissed, appeasing the pain on his hand. The council members slowly arrived back into their seats.

“Seems you’re no ordinary maiden,” Otto said.

You ignored him. “I haven’t had a chance to get a fucking break. I think you got the answers by now that I’m not from here. I’m neither a prostitute nor a foreign bitch or a Wildling from those places you mentioned, one that you people are accusing me of.”

Nobody moved.

“I don’t think you understand the occurrence, my lady,” Jason Lannister barged in with soft voice. “In fact, you have no clue to why you’re graciously summoned.”

“I didn’t know being “graciously” summoned in the meeting by guards dragging me out of the blue.”

“You don’t know what it’s at stake. You have woken the whole seven kingdoms in Westeros! And the dragons barely slept—flying about the skies and roared as if they’re dying. I suggest you start acting like a noble maiden instead of being a foolish common whore in Street of Silk,” Jason Lannister suggested.

In paused silence, everyone was waiting for your answer.

Opening your clutched bag, you took out your dragon lighter and the pack of cigarettes; lighting up the cigarette and blew a smoke as you turned away.

The council watched in astonishment as you held a foreign object in your hand.

“Where I come from won’t matter, and as far as I’m concerned I would worry about something else more important, if I were you.” Your eyes narrowed it almost shadowed.

“Father, she’s in no better shape. It would be best if we leave her for a proper recovery to regain answers,” Alicent said, giving you sympathy. “Dragging her from her bedside while under the Milk of the Poppy won’t do much good.”

You looked at her with a smile in gratitude.

Shutting his eyes, Otto rubbed the bridge of nose. “We will continue this tomorrow. King Viserys would like to witness the accountability of the young woman.”

The council absconded the meeting, as you watched them up and left, you did the same, leaving to your quarters, but the Cargyll twins followed and escorted back.

~Aemond’s POV~

Under a stricken of nightly hour in King’s Landing, after a long watch in the secret pathway, Aemond’s internal aggravation simmered and worsened as time struck pass. Hands flexed and fingernail scratched against the palm, recalling on you exiting the council, despite the Cargyll brothers kindly escorted you back to a spare room that Aemond assigned since your first arrival. He could never undo the memory of you.

Soon, Aemond learned that Daemon ordered them to a quick way “summon” you. Ser Criston and Aemond abducted the men in armor who mistreated you, yanking the sleeping guards buried deep the underground of Red Keep, only for their tongues to be cut and their bones to be bloody and fractured.

He got up and under the lavish wooden box, it contained in miscellaneous items. But underneath, he had the possession of your clothes—all washed and dried. No blood stains or mud was to be seen.

Once he gathered the materials, Aemond lounged back on his velvet chair near at the great hearth, not averting from the bright fire, clenching your attire in his arms, and lifted to his nose; a fainted scent of vanilla and strawberry wafted, aroused his cock.

His heart aflame, determined and tribulation all at once. He must have you. He must claim you as his only lover. He must claim you and your smile alone. His white flower, his hope, his wandering light. He must succeed.

No matter what.

Taglist: @galactict3a @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @darylandbethfanforever9 @blackswxnn @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved.

[heartsdefine]

@orxna:

        ▌ continued. "Oh, but I really don't need it," Orana starts as Hawke notices the way her eyes linger on a particular booth within the busy Hightown market. The elf quickly rearranges the produce in her basket, giving her hands something to fiddle with. She reminds herself to be more careful, Hawke has already been so generous with her she doesn't want to seem ungrateful, "W-We should finish getting our things, it would be terrible if the butter melts."

        Hawke slows their steps before they can move completely past the stall that's caught Orana's attention. “You know, it's all right to have something just because you want it, not because you need it.” They usher her closer to booth with a gentle hand on her upper back, looking over the assortment of fine scarves. “Look, there's a discount if you buy two, and I've been thinking of buying one myself anyway.” It's not entirely a lie. They are missing one of their scarves, recently. Hawke scoops the basket from Orana's arms before she can further object. “Go on. Pick one for me too. We've got everything we need, and we can afford to splurge a little on something nice.”

[fourormore]

[Image description: A polyam flag with the words “four or more fic-a-thon” on it. To the left of the infinity sign, there's a post-it that says "4 weeks to go". End description.]

THE FOUR OR MORE 2024 FICATHON HAS ONLY 4 WEEKS LEFT — Prompts by fandom

AO3 COLLECTION | SQUIDGEWORLD COLLECTION

Whether you've been itching to write something for that one prompt that you've been chewing on since day one or you're just hearing about this event and your curiosity has been piqued, this is your chance to see if someone has requested a fandom you're interested in. And if no one has requested your fandom, why not go ahead and leave a prompt. You never know who's watching.

Fandoms listed alphabetically with links to the respective prompts below the cut. Don't forget comments can have more than one prompt.

THIS LIST CONTAINS PROMPTS LEFT UNTIL SEPTEMBER 21st 1:30 pm GMT/UTC -4. Want to know if maybe someone has left more prompts after this? Check the main Ficathon post for more info.

A

A fandom you've never written before

Ace Attorney

Angel the series

Attack on Titan

B

Babylon 5

Buffyverse (Part 1)

Buffyverse (Part 2)

C

Chicago Fire

Chicago Med

D

Days of Our Lives

Doctor Who

Doom Patrol TV

F

Fate/Stay Night

Final Fantasy VII (Part 1)

Final Fantasy VII (Part 2)

Final Fantasy VIII

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Friends

Full House

G

General Hospital

Grey's Anatomy (Part 1)

Grey's Anatomy (Part 2)

Grey's Anatomy (Part 3)

Gossip Girl

M

Monster Prom

P

Pretty Little Liars

Psych

S

Sabrina the Teenage Witch

Saved by the Bell

Sense8

Star Ocean 2

T

Teen Wolf

The Murderbot Diaries

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System

Twisters (2024)

W

Warhammer 40000

Women's Murder Club

X

X-files

Y

Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Multiple fandoms or crossovers

A League of Nobleman, Tian Guan Ci Fu, The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System

Ace Attorney, Any fandom, Amphibia, Doctor Who, Dracula, The Owl House, Pokemon Horizons, Stardew Valley, The Great Ace Attorney, Star Trek AOS, Star Trek DS9, Star Trek Lower Decks, Star Trek TNG

Animator Vs. Animation, Any fandom, Deltarune, HfjONE, Omori, The Demon Headmaster (2019)

Angel the series, Buffy the vampire slayer (Part 1)

Angel the series, Buffy the vampire slayer (Part 2)

Any fandom, Angel the series, Buffy the vampire slayer

Any fandom, Charlie's Angels

Any fandom, Chicago Med

Any fandom, Danganronpa, Team Fortress 2

Any fandom, NU: carnival

Any fandom, Pitch Perfect

Any fandom, Love Between Fairy and Devil, Marvel, MDZS/The Untamed

Any PreCure Series, Delicious Party PreCure, Star Twinkle PreCure, Tropical Rouge PreCure

Beast Wars: Transformers, Detective Conan/Magic Kaito, Leverage, RWBY

Bridgerton (TV)/Much Ado About Nothing (Shakespeare or 1993 movie)

Caos, H2O, High School Musical: The Musical The Series, Outer Banks, Teen Wolf, The OC

Critical Role, Star Wars

Dead Boys Detective Agency, Julie and the Phantoms, Sense8, Star Trek Voyager, The Raven Cycle

Dishonored, Dragon Age

Final Fantasy VIII, MDZS, Teen Wolf, Voltron (2016)

General Hospital, MCU

Kamen Rider (various series), Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger, Samurai Sentai Shinkenger, Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V, Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

MDZS, Star Trek, The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Voltron (2016)

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to contact us.

[arthenaa]

Courting the MC more specifically with a music. Both or our beloved Slytherins helping each other out. Can we do a Hufflepuff character cause I love the challenge of it. Thank you and good luck!

harana - sebastian x hufflepuff!reader x ominis

definition: means to serenade. an old courtship tradition in the Philippines that men do to formally meet and court women. Usually done by singing.

summary: After seeing the sudden rise of suitors after saving Hogwarts, Sebastian and Ominis go out of their comfort zones to top the other men in courting you. Even if it means getting to sing a little.

note: ahhh tysm for requesting !! not sure if this is what you meant but i immediately thought of my culture's old courting tradition so why not <3 i also love writing ominis and seb as two idiots in love who love vying for ur attention. the song below sets the mood and its opm (filipino music) and its v good ahhhh its optional tho! the song's abt a person falling in love w someone and finding them as their muse.

tags: reader is gender neutral despite the definition, fluff fluff, seb and omi are jealous fucks and being the slytherins that they are they get competitive, the end slowly descends to a crack fic cause its 3 in the morning, mentions of breaking kneecaps and homicide but its just ominis joking around, reader acting like a slytherin for a few seconds, reader is hinted to grow up in filipino culture but its just mentioning harana, other than that everythings by ur choice, seb and ominis insulting gryffindors BUT ITS NOT SRS ,,, ily my gryffindor readers, i love writing imelda as a menace, seb and ominis duet, im so fucking in love w them.

"That's the twelfth fucking letter I've seen today." Imelda eyes the letter on your desk in transfiguration class as the three of you enter the room. Poppy sends a harsh glare at the Slytherin as you busy yourself with examining the letter.

Do you think that saving Hogwarts and the fate of the wizarding world would lead you to this type of situation? Not at all. Sure you expected some type of attention— If anything, you wish you didn't receive any unnecessary ones at all but certainly Merlin has other plans for you. The result of being in Hogwarts' main spotlight has caused numerous heads to turn. At first, it was out of respect but then that same respect suddenly turned into something more.

You could hear whispers of attraction from your yearmates and the giggles from 3rd years as you roam the halls of the castle. It felt good for the first few days but now with the number of gifts and letters you're receiving, you wished you were once the 5th year who people regarded as a late bloomer and not worthy of their time.

You sigh as you read the letter, raising your eyebrows in amusement as it contained quite explicit details regarding you. You close the letter fast before shoving it in your satchel. "Hopefully, that's the last one."

"Ha!" Imelda scoffs as she sits down beside you. Poppy sits on your other side. "After that whole fiasco at the Great Hall, you think their fragile egos would allow that to top their chance with you?"

You let out a groan at the mention. For some reason, one of your suitors decided to send a howler to top the other gifts sent to you. Apparently the thought was the louder it is, the more it'll get your attention. He took it quite literally and you spent most of your lunch wallowing in misery as Poppy comforted you.

"I just pray there wouldn't be any more howlers screaming at Y/N's face. A bit of an overreaction must I say. Who would want to date that?" Poppy sends you a pitiful look. You pinch her cheek at her concern.

"These things are overwhelming— You think if I asked Leander to drink a polyjuice potion of me in exchange for blackmail on Sebastian, would he agree?" You turn to Imelda with a hopeful gaze. The Slytherin girl chuckled.

"I'd drink a polyjuice potion of you if you gave me blackmail of Sebastian." Imelda leans close with a mischievous gaze before backtracking with hesitance. "On second thought, I might just be bombarded with love letters and that goo goo eyes from Sallow and Gaunt so no I take it back."

"Goo goo eyes?" You let out a confused laugh. "Since when do they do that?"

"All the time." Poppy chimes in as she watches students slowly pile in the classroom. "It's quite fun to watch actually."

"No, they don't?" You incredulously reply as you glance back and forth at your seatmates.

"Yes, they do." Imelda retorts

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do." Poppy puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering it slowly. You playfully shove her hand away.

"On a third thought actually, let me drink the polyjuice potion. I'd like to mess with the two and see their fucking reactions when I tell them I'm in love with Garreth Weasley." Imelda jokes as she nudges you with her arm. It might've been the best time for the subjects of the conversation to enter. You stop yourself from laughing as Sebastian winks playfully at you, walking towards your table and propping a leg on the elevated platform. Ominis follows behind him, smiling at the sense of your presence.

"You're in love with Weasley?" Sebastian gasps dramatically. Imelda spins around in surprise before scowling at the entrance of Sebastian.

"As Y/N." Imelda responds. Sebastian turns now to you with a raised eyebrow.

"Y/N's in love with Weasley?" Ominis adds more to the confusion. You roll your eyes at them. Poppy watches as the two men tense at the thought, waiting for your explanation. She thinks Imelda is right. This is quite amusing.

"No, I'm not. Stop twisting things." You correct them. Ominis and Sebastian visibly relax and it almost makes Poppy cackle.

"Then who's in love with the Gryffindork?" Sebastian seats on the seat in front of you, Ominis sitting beside him. "Oh yeah, before I forgot."

Sebastian turns around to you, placing a bag of chocolate frogs on your desk. You fall silent at the gift before smiling at him. Sebastian nonchalantly licks his lips before continuing. "It's from both of us."

"Both of you?" Imelda leans over to send a knowing gaze at Sebastian who flips her off.

"Thank you. I was supposed to get some on my trip to Hogsmeade later. You're heaven-sent." You giggle as you lean forward to pinch Sebastian's cheeks before ruffling Ominis's hair. The two only grumble in thanks, ears flushed red. Of course, you wouldn't notice, Imelda thinks as she watches Ominis fix his hair without even snapping at you for ruining it.

"No one's in love with Garreth. Y/N was just asking Imelda if she'd drink a polyjuice potion of them in exchange for blackmail on Sebastian, would she agree." Poppy explains as she leans back against her chair. Sebastian turns with furrowed eyebrows.

"You'd offer me over that?" Sebastian gasps, betrayed. You chuckle at his expression before glancing at Ominis who shrugs at the thought.

"It's quite a tempting offer." Ominis jests before Sebastian smacks his arm in retaliation.

"I mean if you spend a day like Y/N, won't it be so entertaining with the number of love letters they're getting?" Imelda places an arm on your chair behind you, sighing as she drums her fingertips against the wooden surface of the back of the chair. This catches Sebastian and Ominis's attention.

"What letters?" Ominis's voice is quiet but firm. You sit up, tense as if you've been caught doing something you shouldn't be doing.

"You don't know?" Poppy unawarely responds. "Y/N's the center of attention. Tons of suitors are asking for their hand. The gifts are horrendous so far though. Especially, that howler."

"Is that the same fucking howler I heard people talking about in the greenhouse?" Sebastian looks at you for confirmation to which you sheepishly nod.

"That's quite aggressive." Ominis huffs in annoyance. "Can't believe they would resort to unnecessary means of conveying feelings rather than just doing it properly."

"It's fine guys." You try to reassure them. "It'll die down."

"Do you take that as proper?" Imelda raises her eyebrows, eyes subtly glancing down at the bag of chocolate frogs on your desk. Sebastian squints his eyes to a glare at her.

"You ought to learn how to keep your mouth shut, Reyes," Ominis replies as he pulls out his quill. Reyes leans back to catch Poppy's eye before quietly mocking Ominis, repeating his words. The Hufflepuff laughs at her antics before sitting up at the entrace of Professor Weasley.

You catch Sebastian's hand moving back up and resting on your desk, palm facing up. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as he seems to focus on Professor Weasley's discussion but the twitch of his fingers as he motions for you to give him something says otherwise. You try to give an extra quill at first but he shakes it off, then the chocolates, then a handkerchief but none fits what he's blindly requesting. So as a joke, you place your hand in his palm and surprisingly he curls his fingers to hold yours. It was an odd position but you smile at his cheekiness. He tilts his head to the side, smirking at you from the side of his eye.

The moment was short-lived however.

"Mr. Sallow, I advise you to focus in class and have your hand hold your quill instead." Professor Weasley shoots a pointed look at Sebastian and then at you. You smile sheepishly, hesitantly pulling your hand away.

The Slytherin boy only smiles innocently. "Apologies, Professor."

Ominis grumbles beside him, hitting the side of his thigh with his knee. The Sallow boy makes a show of holding his quill toward Professor Weasley who shakes her head in amusement. His eyes then look up to assess the room, finding multiple stares at him. Most of them were filled with jealousy.

Definitely worth it.

"You're a moron. An idiot." Ominis hisses as he pinches Sebastian on the way out of class. Sebastian yelps in pain as they stop in a secluded corner to allow Ominis to chastise him for his little act back at class.

"What? It was worth it!" Sebastian reasons as he rubs his abused arm. "The look on their face was hilarious. You should've seen them."

Ominis raises an eyebrow at him to which he chuckles. Before the two could ask you to hang out with them in the Undercroft, Poppy had immediately whisked you away, claiming that you two had plans for something back at the Hufflepuff common room. If being nice was a person, Sebastian thinks it's you as you allow yourself to be dragged away by the energetic girl. Imelda however was a pain in the ass as she gives the both of them with a knowing look and a wiggle of her eyebrows before moving along to wherever she's going— probably to fly her stupid fucking broom.

"I didn't know we had competition." Sebastian says as he leans back against the stone walls. His head turns to Ominis who does the same as him, fiddling with his wand.

"I mean why wouldn't we." Ominis blows a raspberry. It almost makes Sebastian laugh at how uncharacteristic it is but he knows better. Ominis is worried. "It's more understandable that they'd have more admirers now."

Sebastian nods in understanding as he now turns to face the almost empty corridor. The soft breeze from outside blew softly against their robes, tousling Sebastian's curls.

"Doesn't change the fact we're first, though." He smiles, nudging Ominis's shoulder with his own. Anyone who probably wasn't Leander Prewett would immediately guess the budding attraction these two had for you. Samantha Dale was the first one to point it out, and if she weren't Sebastian's dearest friend, he probably would cast an oscausi on her for being so loud with her teasing. The two kept it from each other at first before they both noticed things at the same time. How different the other acted around you. All it took was a hushed conversation in the Undercroft and your sudden presence as you entered the secret room with an excited smile as you gushed about your adventure with Natty and the Hippogriffs, that the boys had a silent agreement.

That they'd pursue you together.

Of course, it didn't hinder the fact that you might choose only one of them. So they agreed to not disturb each other's alone time with you or their individual efforts in pursuing you. After all, they were best friends first before you.

It didn't also help the fact that they haven't formally courted you yet.

"I heard from Poppy someone had given them a bouquet of roses in their common room. It caused quite a commotion yesterday." Sebastian scoffs. "Why are we now only knowing this?"

Well it was probably because they were deemed to be the rivals to have the best chance on winning you over. They had been with you right from the start and we're considered to be your dearest friends. Of course people would keep things from them.

"Anyways, did you get the thing?" Ominis tilts his head toward Sebastian's direction. "I still can't believe this is how we'll do it."

"It's romantic! Also, yes." Sebastian grins as he leans his body against Ominis. The blonde stumbles a bit to the side at the sudden pressure on his side.

"Get off me."

"No."

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to agree to our hangout a while ago. Poppy insisted her situation was too dire to ignore." You smiled sheepishly as you open the doors to the room of requirement. Ominis smiles in understanding while Sebastian whistles as he admires the place.

"Will never get used to this at all." Sebastian sighs dreamily, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stands at the center of the room. You promised to make it up to them before Poppy rudely dragged you away to your common room and when Imelda grudgingly approached them in the Slytherin common room with a message from you, they were quite ecstatic. The two made haste in gathering their things to meet you at the assigned place (Ominis made sure that Sebastian had the thing they needed before leaving).

They had been here a couple of times before. Once after that whole scriptorium escapade, You had said that it was only fair that you show them your secret hideout after they had entrusted theirs with you. Ominis tried to argue that it wasn't necessary, not realizing that you were actually leading them to the place but you had already pulled them in and shown the wonders of your vivarium before they could even have the chance to say no.

"Same." You breathed out before turning to them with a smile. With a skip on your step, you grab Ominis first and guide him to suit down at the lounge area located at the center of the room. It faced the vivariums quite nicely, allowing a glimpse of the happy creatures fluttering around in their dens. You then moved to the brunette who lets himself be dragged to the chair beside Ominis. "Wait here, I'll just feed them. Highwing's got herself a new offspring and Godiva's handling triplets. I'll be right back."

You spoke of your Hippogriff and Niffler with love and affection that it almost makes Ominis jealous but he only nods in understanding. 'Really, over a niffler?' Ominis thinks, pinching himself on the thigh as he hears your footsteps fade away inside the vivarium.

There's a moment of silence before Sebastian reaches over to slap Ominis's arm. The blonde yelps in pain. "What the fuck?"

"Are we supposed to y'know..."

"What?"

"To..." Sebastian makes hand gestures to which Ominis makes a deadpan face.

"To?"

"Y'know..."

"You do know I can't see you right?" Ominis grunts, annoyed. He could just sense Sebastian making weird movements with his hands from the way his robes ruffled against each other.

"Right, forgot. Silly me!" Sebastian laughs. He's been trying to piss off Ominis since this morning from making tasteless pun jokes to borderline harassing the poor blonde. Ominis has only had enough before he decides to result to homicide (jokingly).

"Keep making jokes like that and I'll break your fucking kneecaps off."

"Damn, you don't have to go that far." Sebastian moves his chair slightly to the right in fear of what Ominis might do.

"Keep your eyes peeled, Sallow," Ominis threatens like a fucking menace in society. "Disability is never a choice unless I inflict it."

"I'm sorry."

"Got that right."

"I'll be there in a moment!" You had emerged from one of the vivariums on the second floor. Sebastian and Ominis awkwardly smile at you, the brunette going for a wave as well. You smile at them before heading back in. The room had given you a way to easily travel between vivariums, giving you fast access to tend to your beasts.

Sebastian turns to Ominis and huffs before a determined look flashes on his face. "It's now or never, Ominis."

"Now wait a fucking minute—"

"You can do it," Sebastian grumbles under his breath as he apparates a guitar in his lap. He adjusts the instrument as he glances up at where you had disappeared. "Any moment Y/N walks through those doors and we don't do this now, we lose to fucking Leander Prewett. Would you allow yourself to lose to a fucking Gryffindor of all people?"

"No," Ominis replies as he grips his knees in nervousness. "That would be degrading... I don't like being degraded... Actually.... I change my mind, it depends."

"Depends on what?"

"... Nothing, just forget about it. Anyways, I would rather be stomped on by a troll than let Leander Prewett get a chance."

"Exactly! It's like getting stupefied in the ass." He furrows his eyebrows in determination as he reaches one hand to grip Ominis on the shoulder.

"You speak as though you've experienced it."

"... Things are better left unsaid, my friend." Sebastian smiles before they hear your voice again, this time coming from left vivarium. Sebastian smacks Ominis's arm before placing his hands back on the guitar.

"On three." Sebastian whispers before counting down.

The soft strumming of the guitar catches your attention. You had been trying to get Neo, Highwing's son, to stop following you back into the room after you had tried to tend to your patient guests below but now, you just wanted to investigate the sudden music filling your ears. You quickly make your way out of the vivarium, stepping into their vision as you gasp in marvel at the sight of Sebastian playing the guitar beautifully. You lean against the balcony railing, biting your lip as you pointlessly fail to prevent a smile from coming out.

It's Ominis's voice that even shocks you further.

Georgia, wrap me up in all your

I want you in my arms

His voice is magical and melodious. Like raindrops softly tapping against the window or the sound of a piano on a sustain pedal. Continuous and ethereal. You stare at him in awe as he continues to sing.

Oh, let me hold you

I'll never let you go again like I did

Oh, I used to say

As Ominis sings, your eyes catch Sebastian's eyes, never leaving yours as he expertly plucks the strings of the guitar. Your breath hitches as his eye never seem to leave you as you descend the stairs, slowly making your way towards them before stopping a few meters away from where they're seated. Then you hear Sebastian's voice.

I would never fall in love again until I found them

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

It's beautiful. The way Ominis's ethereal voice blends with Sebastian's smooth one. While Ominis reminds you of magic itself, Sebastian gives you the feeling of reality. The concept of it all. It sounds quite ironic with two concepts unimaginably relating to one another but in your world, it coincides perfectly. Two unintangible concepts make sense together. Just like you three. Vast differences and yet you had formed a bond like no other.

Your smile reaches to your eyes as you listen to their song.

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you.

The strumming softly ends as the both of them lick their lips in nervousness. There was a moment of pause before you let out a soft giggle and clap joyously at their performance.

"That was wonderful!" You walk towards them, sitting on the coffee table in front of their seats. Sebastian and Ominis blush at your compliments.

"Do— Do you know what it means?" Ominis hesitantly asks.

You stare softly at the two. "It's harana, isn't it? You're both serenading me?"

Sebastian breathes out a shaky breath before nodding. "We've felt for you for quite some time now. We decided to pursue you together. Apologies if that made you feel overwhelmed."

"No. No! It's quite alright." You reassure them. "I'm happy that you've resorted to this method. It certainly brings back a lot of memories from home. The streets are always filled with music because of it. I wondered if I would ever get to receive one."

You bite your lip as you reminisce, your hands fiddling with each other. You let out a sigh before reaching out to hold one of their hands in yours. "Thank you. I'm glad you did."

Sebastian eyes furrow in confusion. "Are— Are you allowing us to court you?"

"Mhm."

"Is it me or?"

"Together." You nod as you glance back and forth at their surprised faces.

"Together?" Ominis whispers.

"Together." You repeat.

It takes a moment to process before both of them surge from their seats to hug you. You almost fall off but the Ominis's hand on your waist catches you. The three of you laugh.

"Well I mean, three is better than two, right?" Sebastian giggles like a schoolgirl as both he and Ominis lean back enough to be close to you and not hog your space with his weight. "I can't fucking believe this."

"Well, you have to." You smile before you smugly cross your arms over your chest "I was gonna let you two court me either way, I was just waiting for you two to ask."

"What if we hadn't agreed to pursue you together?" Ominis raises his eyebrow in suspicion. Your eyes playfully look away as you purse your lips.

"You have to." You shrug with a smile. "I'll make you. Besides, it's no secret that you two like each other as well. I have eyes you know."

The two blush once again at your observation to which you two laugh.

"Well, green has always looked better with yellow." Sebastian coughs as an attempt to recollect himself before smugly smiling.

"Unfortunately, I have to disagree." You sadly smile. "Imelda says we'll look like puke together. She's decided to call us that if we do in fact get together."

"Well, fuck Imelda." Ominis snorts. You giggle at his reply as Sebastian nods, agreeing with him in badmouthing your friend.

"Fuck Imelda indeed."

You decide to let this pass and fly over your head. Surely Imelda won't mind.

She doesn't need to know.

A/N: This took quite long HAHAHA but I had fun hehe hope this satisfied you anon <3 will be editing this in the morning gnight

[scapedgrace]

@doriaen​​​: trace ( dorian being Nosy hshdhd ) ↳ Send “trace” to purposely touch one of my muse’s scars.

        The scar curls around their bicep, a thin line of raised flesh like a cuff around their upper arm. Muscle twitches slightly under the brush of Dorian’s fingers, and Hawke pauses to watch him trace the line, brow rising. But they do not draw away. 

       “Nearly lost that arm,” Hawke says, casually, as though they don’t remember the pain. “Sometimes I still lose feeling in my hand.” They flex and extend their fingers, then curl them into a fist, testing. “Varric’s book would have you believe I made it out of that duel with barely a scratch.” They laugh. “I suppose he thought that’d make for a better story.” 

[cosmica-galaxy]

Do the boys have friends? Who do they hang out with and talk to outside of the human? As cool and fabulous as they are, they can't spend all their time obsessing over the human; that's just plain unhealthy! You've got to have a healthy balance between all of your friend groups! ^v^

Yes, they do actually! All the alliance members have some units they talk to outside of the human's influence. Usually members of their own faction. Such as Vee talking to the tv woman and her bodyguards regularly or Camron talking to Malco or the newbie group he first arrived with. DJ has a whole battalion of friends and buddies he hangs out with regularly. Buddy has gotten to know a few units around the base. Primarily the main trio, like Camron. They hang out from time to time, but his priority is usually the human and the pack. But he's not glued to their side like I make him seem he is. He patrols the territory of the base and does routine checks for any mimic nests that get too close to the base border for comfort. He also oversees any other camera mimics that join the pack after all the main guys do. Pal visits his old pack regularly! He flies out from time to time to go visit them and check on how his older home is doing. It's natural for speaker mimics to visit old nesting grounds and it's akin to him visiting his childhood hometown before he moved away to join the human and the alliance. It brings peace of mind to him that his old friends and elders, as well as their new youngins, are okay and out of bombing range of the skibidis. His old home is also called "sanctuary" by the way! Fiend...doesn't really have many friends. It's mostly because he's pretty introverted and very intimidating to the units. Whom avoid him whenever they can. He's a lonely soul deep inside, but how he was raised combats the desire to reach out and befriend others. TV mimics are solitary and don't meet up or pair up with outsiders...well...typically. How he joined the human was because he grew tired of the lifestyle. TV mimics also don't visit their parents once they're older. They get pushed from the nest and they have to make a living for themselves and survive. It's a hard-knock life for TV mimics. But when the opportunity to change his desolate lifestyle came to him in the form of a strange group of mimics traveling with, and being LED by, a prey item...he decided to take the chance and change his fate. So now, he's friends with the human. Even if he won't admit it, he's friends with Buddy and Pal too. They all filled that deep cold hole in his heart and he would sooner die than admit it. But the human knows.