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mo0nfairy · 2 years ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

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shangchiswife · 9 months ago

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dating aragorn headcanons!

hi guys this is the first time in a while that i've written something so i hope that you enjoy. i just recently rewatched lord of the rings and i'm obsessed with aragorn again so here are some headcanons!

aragorn x gn!reader

Aragorn is the biggest gentleman ever. You basically won the lottery when you started dating him.

The lyrics “In a world of boys he’s a gentleman” are about him 100%. Taylor Swift you are not slick at all.

Do not be fooled by his rugged looks, this man is the biggest romantic. He will plan the most romantic dates for the two of you even when he’s busy trying to be King. Even when he’s busy with his kingly duties he will still find a way to shower you with affection. Whether it’s leaving little love notes on your nightstand or bringing you a flower bouquet, he always wants you to make sure that you know that he’s thinking about you.

Aragorn’s love language is through acts of service. He wants to do everything for you. You are his first priority. You’re not feeling well? He’ll drop everything in his schedule to make sure you’re alright. Your weapons aren’t clean? He’ll clean them no problem. You’re cold? Bro will gladly take off his shirt and give it to you so that you’re not cold anymore.

When you guys were trekking through Middle Earth this man made sure that you got as much rest as possible

“Aragorn it’s my turn to take watch” you had said, rubbing your eyes with exhaustion. He walked over to you and put a hand on your shoulder. “You’re still tired, rest, sweet one, I’ll take care of it.” “But-” “No buts,” he said as he pushed you down gently. “Alright well I’m taking your shift tomorrow night,” you grumbled as you put your head in his lap and immediately fell asleep.

Let's just say he didn’t let you take the shift the next day.

He is soooo overprotective of you. He’s always been very protective over those he cares about but he’s especially protective over you since you’re his number one priority. Aragorn's actions are driven by genuine concern and love. He simply cannot bear the thought of losing those he holds dear and will do whatever it takes to keep them safe.

He’s the person who taught you how to fight. You were so embarrassingly bad at first but Aragorn never once made fun of you. He was patient even as you started getting annoyed with training. He was determined to make you a great fighter and it worked.

During the fellowship, you fought fearlessly alongside Aragorn and took down hundreds of orcs together. At one point, Merry even playfully called you guys a power couple because of how hard you both fought together, which made you both grin at each other.

You and Aragorn are basically the hobbits’ parents. They all love you so much and look up to you both with the utmost respect. You both admire them a lot too. Their loyalty and determination never fail to inspire both of you to keep going, even when things get tough and the future feels uncertain.

You’re also best friends with Gimli and Legolas. They have so much respect for you. They are also always trying to one-up each other when it comes to you so they can be your favorite. Spoiler alert you could never choose between them!

Gimli often pretends to be grossed out by displays of affection between you and Aragorn, and likes to tease the two of you with mock disgust. “Oh, just get a room already!” he’d say which would make you and Aragorn laugh. However, deep down, he secretly harbors a soft spot for romance and enjoys witnessing the love and affection between you two. He may grumble and groan about it on the surface, but in reality, he finds it heartwarming to see the bond you share and the happiness you bring each other.

Aragorn isn’t really big on PDA but once you’re alone together, he's affectionate and attentive, making sure you feel cherished and cared for in every moment you share.

In public, he keeps it subtle with affection, but every now and then, he'll gently caress your palms or hold your hand, just enough to let you know he's there. It's his quiet way of showing love without drawing too much attention.

This man loves to give you forehead kisses. Whether you're feeling on top of the world or weighed down by the challenges of the day, Aragorn's forehead kisses are his way of saying that he’s always going to be there for you.

You often find yourself snuggled against his chest, your hand resting over his heart while his arm encircles you protectively. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin, a soothing sensation that relaxes you.

He also has the softest singing voice. It’s so pretty. He mostly sings old Elvish tunes but sometimes he’ll sing some songs in English.

You and Aragorn both share a love for animals, and you often find yourselves adopting stray creatures in need of a home. He's clearly a dog person through and through (I don't make the rules), but he has a soft spot for cats as well.

You love it when Aragorn tells you stories about his past. Whenever he starts recounting his adventures, you're all ears, completely mesmerized by his past. Secretly he loves your fascination with his stories and it fills him with a quiet sense of warmth.

You have a shared love for adventure and often find yourselves exploring new places together, whether it's hiking through scenic landscapes or just going around Gondor.

He is also the best listener. You tend to yap a lot but he does not seem to care at all. He will listen attentively, asking questions every so often, drinking in your every word. He always wants to make sure that you feel heard.

Aragorn also dreams about starting a family with you. He's always imagined the joy of being a father and raising children together, but he'll only take that step if you're both on board and excited about it. Your comfort and readiness are his top priorities, and he wants nothing more than to embark on this adventure together, hand in hand.

#lord of the rings x reader #aragorn x reader #lord of the rings imagines #aragorn imagine #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #viggo mortensen x reader

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jeankluv · 6 months ago

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The prophecy - Gojo Satoru

summary: Gojo Satoru knew he was the strongest, he perfectly knew. But that didn’t mean he didn’t cry and that night while everyone still preparing to fight Sukuna, he cried. He cried because he felt completely alone and only seen as a weapon

paring: Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

tags: angst, canon universe, manga spoilers, Gojo centric, lyrics, fluff, mutual feeling, no use of y/n, Gojo thinks reader hates him, open up for a second part.

note: i wrote this some time ago and never actually posted, everything i have to say is that I love Gojo Satoru so much and i miss him like crazy. If y’all like it I could write a second part and explore more about this pair, but this part is mainly focused on Gojo’s character

words: 1,7k

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist | part 2

“I’ve been on my knees, change the prophecy”

Gojo Satoru only cried four times in his life. The first time he was 5 years old and he wanted to learn to ride a bicycle, but he fell to his knees and bled. The elders of the clan and his parents always told him that he should not cry and that he should be strong, but that day when he got to his room he cried hugging his favorite puppet.

The second time was when he was 17 years old, Suguru had left and he didn't understand why, again he cried alone in his room wondering if he could have done more for the one who was once his best friend.

The third time he was 27 years old, it was after killing Suguru, he stood there statically looking at the lifeless body of his old friend and let the tears run down his cheeks.

The last time was now, when he was 29 years old. And once again he was alone.

He always wondered if his whole life was already written, if there was a prophecy that said that he who possessed six eyes and limitless was destined to always be alone. That was the burden he had to bear for being “the strongest.”

He wondered if he would be able to change jujutsu society and thus change everything. That if someone in 100, 300 or who knows when had the same powers as him again, they would not have to be alone, that they would not have all that burden from the moment of birth.

Satoru was born with a price on his head, he was used by the higher ups since he was 15 and now he was facing what could be his last battle and ironically if he died they will continue to use him as what they have always made him believe he is. A weapon.

Satoru did not mind dedicating his life to exorcising curses, in fact he liked it and they satisfied him, especially if they were of a high level. But he wanted to stop being alone, he wanted to stop being seen as the strongest, as a weapon to use.

When the idea was proposed to him, the first thing he thought about was what would happen to Yuta. He knew that Yuta could only replicate the techniques for 5 minutes and then he lost them. In the best case scenario, he would return to his original body, right? The second thing he thought was that it wouldn't be necessary, and he was prepared to beat Sukuna, he wasn't going to lose. And the last thing he thought was that he would once again be used.

Now there he was in his room, alone, crying because he just didn’t feel like anyone really cared about him. Why didn’t Shoko object? Why didn’t anyone object to the idea?

He sighed and throw himself to the bed, looking up to the ceiling of his bedroom, preventing his tears from falling down.

“Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company”

The door opened letting in light from the hallway, Satoru did not move, he knew the cursed energy immediately. He let you come in and sit on the bed a little away from him.

“I think it’s an awful and dehumanizing plan.” You said.

Satoru chuckled, holding his tears, the room was dark but still he didn’t want you to see him crying. “Can’t believe you are the one standing for me.”

“Don’t get over your head Gojo and besides one of your kids, Yuta also stood for you.” You said. “And I’m pretty sure Shoko hates the idea but believes in you more than anyone else.”

“Really?” He whisked.

“You don’t think like that?”

“Well…” He sighed. “After feeling all my life used as a weapon by this cracked society, I wasn’t surprised if people were willing to use me as a weapon even after my death.”

You fell silent, processing Satoru’s words. “Satoru…” He hummed. “You feel lonely?”

Satoru turned his face towards you, thanks to his six eyes he was able to see you clearly. And why were you crying? You off all the people? You who hated his guts? Why?

“Why are you crying?” Satoru inquired and you wiped your tears away.

“I’m not crying and besides it’s dark you can’t know.”

“I have the six eyes, I see everything.”

“I doubt…” You whispered.

“What?” Satoru stood up and moved closer to you.

“Nothing.” You tried to avoid him. “Do you like plan B? Be honest.”

“To be honest, I don’t know.” He sighed. “If I lose… that might be the only way to kill Sukuna and bring Megumi back but I’m worried about Yuta, it would be awful for him to get stock on this body, although I’m pretty handsome.”

“You are not serious.”

Satoru chuckled. “But for real, if that’s the only way… then it’s okay.”

“But it’s not.” You said. “You want to be used as a puppet? As a weapon?!”

Why were you so sad? So angry?

“All my life it’s been like that, it’s like a prophecy and maybe if I let them use me one more time maybe I can redo that prophecy, so no one else has to go through what I, we went as kids.”

You stood up from the bed and walked away from it. “I hate you…” You whispered but still Satoru was able to hear you.

“I know you always say how…”

“No.” You shook your head next to the window. “For you to have the six eyes, you’re pretty blind you know?” You chuckled. “You once said that you had the theory that love is the most twisted curse right? Well you were right.” You laughed. “Love really consumes you, especially when the person you love won’t look at you the way you want them to look at you.”

Satoru's heart started to rise with each one of the words you were speaking. He was still confused and overwhelmed by what you were saying.

“It’s funny right?” You said once again. “I’m such a coward and selfish person, silent for over 10 years and now that you are about to face the greatest threat of your life I’m here, making everything about me and my feelings.” You look down. “Please Satoru, let someone assist you during the fight, let me assist you.” You were on the edge of tears. “I’m also a special grade, my kitsune fire technique could help…”

“I work better alone.” He cut you off.

A silence fell between you too and your nails dug into your palm, causing small wounds. “That’s what everyone has always told you.” You whispered. “But you don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to hold all that weight alone.”

“Who do I have to speak to, about if they can redo the prophecy?”

Satoru took a deep breath and with a shaky voice, spoke. “I’m the strongest, it’s what I must do, so everyone is okay, so everyone can…”

“Stop with that Satoru! Stop…” You throw your hands to the air. “What about you? I don’t want you to die Satoru, I don’t want you to be used as a puppet.”

“Enough.” He said your name in a whisper. “The decision has been made, I don’t care.” He stood up and walked towards the door.

“You do care…” You whispered. “Because then why would you be crying here, alone?” You walked. “Hiding all your burdens, all your pain for just yourself. Why?”

Satoru stopped himself and tried to catch his breath but it seemed like the room was running out of air. You walked to him and took his hand on yours and rested your forehead on his back.

“I’m here Satoru…” You whispered against his back.

You felt his grip tighten around your hand and you held onto him tightly as well, letting him know that you were there.

“What should I do?” He whispered.

You stayed silent for a moment and then spoke. “What if you do a binding vow? Just in case Sukuna…” You were unable to say those words.

“A binding vow…”

You nodded against his back. “I know that for it you need to give up something and you probably won’t want to give up what I’m about to suggest…”

“I will.” He turned to look at you. “You suggest that I give up the six eyes, to come back alive.” You nodded. “I will do it.”

You felt like crying. “Good…”

Satoru smirked and kissed your forehead. “Thank you…”

“I hope you don’t have to lose it…” You whispered. “I hope you kill Sukuna off and you come back to us, to me.” You whispered the last part.

Satoru hugged in a hug that almost hurt, but that you knew that the both of you needed.

“It’s late, I should…”

Satoru didn’t let you move. “Stay…” You froze, not sure what to say or what to do. “You said I never looked at you the way you wished, but…” Your heart started to pump in your chest, you could almost hear it in your ears. “Stay with me tonight, pretend like I’m yours for tonight and let me pretend like you are mine.”

You swallowed and hugged him back. “I don’t want to pretend.”

He giggled with a sad tone. “You will have to wait…” He whispered.

You thighed the grip, not wanting to let him go, afraid of him leaving. “Have you been sleeping?” You whispered.

Satoru shook his head. “Badly… really badly.”

You caressed his back gently. "Try to sleep." You said and he responded humming. “I hope you can break that prophecy, Satoru.” You whispered and Satoru wrapped his arms around you tighter.

Satoru hid his face on your neck and in silence he also hoped for that, he hoped to return alive and to be able to finally have someone besides him. To be loved and to be cherished. He hoped he didn’t have to beg anymore and no one else in the future needed to go through what he went through.

That no was seen as a weapon for the Jujutsu world and their youth was never taken from them.

Satoru Gojo just hoped for that, for the prophecy to stop, to break. To be happy with those he loved.

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starrydali · 16 days ago

Note

hey do you write luke fics if not idk but could you write one inspired by imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift especially the lyrics ;

Whether I'm gonna flip you off or Pull you into the closet I haven't decided yet But I'm gonna get you back

if not u could change it to someone you do write for

byeeeee

Get You Back - Luke Castellan

∘°∘♡∘° Hii! I don't know if it fits what you wanted well, but I tried my best! :)♡

✧˖*°࿐*✧.┊Luke Castellan was infuriating. One day, he acted like you didn’t exist—cold, distant, untouchable. The next, he had you cornered, all charm and smirks, like you were the only thing on his mind. It drove you insane, and yet somehow, you couldn’t pull away. Because when Luke decided he wanted you, resisting was impossible. ✧. ┊

You hated him. You really did.

At least, that’s what you’d been telling yourself for the past week.

Luke Castellan had a way of driving you insane. He’d made himself scarce for days—no sly remarks, no flirtatious smirks, no anything. Just silence. Like you didn’t even exist. And the worst part? He made it look easy.

You’d see him laughing with his friends at the dining pavilion, walking past you at camp without so much as a glance. If you tried to talk to him? He brushed you off with a casual shrug and a dismissive, “Not now.” Like you were nothing to him.

And yet, here he was. Today was different.

You’d barely made it past the weapons shed when a hand reached out, tugging you by the wrist and pulling you around a corner. “What the hell—”

“Missed me?”

Your heart stuttered. Luke.

He was leaning against the wall like he owned it, that infuriating smirk stretched across his face as though the last week hadn’t happened. His blue eyes were sharp, piercing you in place with that frustrating, unreadable look of his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you scoffed, trying to tug your arm free. “Get lost, Luke. I’m not doing this with you.”

But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled you closer, a little too close, his fingers trailing down from your wrist to your palm. You shivered at the contact, hating yourself for it.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased softly, his voice dangerously smooth. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You’ve been avoiding me? You stared at him in disbelief, anger bubbling up in your chest. “Oh, I’ve been avoiding you? Are you kidding me?”

He tilted his head, that smug look still plastered on his face. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t like the quiet.”

You glared at him, the weight of the past week crashing down all at once. “You ignored me for days, Luke. Pretended I didn’t exist. Now you’re suddenly… what? Trying to be all charming again?”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, like he enjoyed hearing you say it. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Maybe I was testing you,” he said, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. You smacked his hand away, but it didn’t faze him. “Wanted to see how long you could last without me.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re such an ass.”

“And you love it,” he shot back smoothly.

Before you could respond, Luke moved closer, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of campfire smoke on him. His hand brushed against your jaw, his fingers soft but deliberate as they tilted your face up to his.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something softer, something more dangerous, “you look cute when you’re mad.”

“Luke—”

“You missed me,” he said, cutting you off. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. His confidence was unbearable. “You can’t even deny it.”

You wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, he leaned in, his lips just barely grazing your ear as he spoke. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been waiting for this. For me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeat. You hated that he was right. You hated the way he played with you—one day cold, the next pulling you back in like you were his favorite toy.

“I hate you,” you whispered, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

Luke pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, that smug grin still firmly in place. “No, you don’t,” he said quietly. “You hate that you can’t stay mad at me.”

And then, before you could stop him, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow, calculated, but it wasn’t gentle. It was Luke staking his claim, reminding you that no matter how much you tried to pull away, he owned you. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and the worst part? You didn’t fight him.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling quickly. He stayed close, his forehead brushing against yours, that damn smirk back in place.

“See?” he murmured, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “I knew you’d come around.”

You stared at him, still reeling from everything. “You’re impossible.”

Luke only grinned wider, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back, releasing you. “And yet, you’re still here,” he said. “I’ll see you later, babe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You were left standing there, heart racing, cheeks flushed, and brain spinning. Because he was right. You couldn’t stay mad at him, no matter how hard you tried.

And the worst part? He knew it.

✧. ┊ ⁭Send requests! :)

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hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

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Dust and harmony

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

CW: Nothing really, except reader using an award as a weapon

Description: Hotch and Rossi catch a glimpse of your concert as you're cleaning the house.

A/N: Send requests here

It was one of those rare, blissful days where everything seemed to fall into place. The morning sun poured through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. The coffee brewing in the pot smelled just right. And with a full day off from work, you decided to tackle the house chores that had been piling up the past couple of weeks amidst your busy lives. Your first mission was to clean up the dust that had gathered on the shelves and surfaces around the house. With Aaron at work, you had the whole place to yourself all day, a perfect opportunity to crank up your favorite playlist and get things done.

After a quick breakfast, you got to work, moving from room to room with a cloth and bowl of warm soapy water in hand. The rhythmic beats of your favorite songs pumped through your headphones, helping you find a rhythm as you dusted every nook and cranny. It kept you focused. As you made your way back to the living room, you felt a little surge of energy, the music pushing you to clean with more enthusiasm than usual. You were lost in the rhythm Your playlist shifted, and Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” started playing. A smile spread across your face as you recognized the opening notes, you couldn’t resist the urge to sing along. The song was powerful and full of emotion, and even though its message was far from anything you’d experienced in your relationship with Aaron, you couldn’t help but belt out the lyrics with all your heart. You worked your way around the room, singing loudly as you dusted off the coffee table, the bookshelves, and the frames on the walls. The lyrics flowed out of you naturally, your voice filling the room as you wiped away the dust. As you sang the chorus, you reached for an award you'd won in your field of work. It was made of glass in the shape of a pyramid. It sat proudly on the mantle, a symbol of your hard work and dedication.

You were completely caught up in the moment, swinging the trophy around as you sang and danced to the beat, your voice echoing through the house. You found yourself fully immersed in the character in the song, even if it was all in good fun. Your eyes were closed, your heart was racing with the music, and you were unaware of anything else - especially the fact that Aaron had just unlocked the front door and come home. Aaron had wrapped up his day earlier than expected and, as promised, brought David Rossi along with him. Rossi’s old whiskey decanter had been broken during one of the team's poker nights, and as a result, Aaron had offered to give him an extra one he had at home. They stepped into the entrance quietly, Aaron was so used to moving silently after years of working in law enforcement and hunting unsubs. On a regular day, you probably wouldn't even have noticed him.

Instead of a quiet house, they were greeted by the sound of your voice, loudly singing about keying cars and slashing tires. Aaron stopped in his tracks, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. Rossi, too, was caught off guard, but quickly found himself grinning at the scene. “Is that…?” Rossi started, but Aaron simply nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They moved closer, staying just out of sight, watching as you danced around the living room, the trophy raised high like a prize. You were lost in the song, belting out the lyrics with ease. The combination of your unrestrained performance and the contrast of the lyrics with your actual relationship made for an amusing sight, and Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Should I be worried about your car?” Rossi leaned in, his voice low and filled with humor. “She just likes the music,” Aaron shook his head, still smiling. There was an unmistakable hint of affection in his tone. As the song reached its climax, you spun around, still holding the trophy, your voice soaring with the final lines. “I might’ve saved a little trouble for the next girl, ’cause the next time that he cheats…”

That’s when you finally noticed them. Aaron and Rossi stood in the doorway, grinning like a couple of kids caught sneaking cookies from the jar in the pantry. For a split second, your heart leaped into your throat, and you let out a startled scream, clutching the trophy in front of you as if it could somehow protect you. “Easy there! We come in peace.” Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, laughter rumbling in his chest. Your face flushed as you quickly pulled off your headphones, letting them drop around your neck. “You scared me half to death!” you exclaimed, trying to recover from the shock. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said gently, Aaron’s expression softened as he took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection. “So, Hotch, should I assume you’re in trouble? That song choice seems a little… implied.” Rossi glanced between you and Aaron, a teasing grin on his face. Before you could say anything, Aaron turned to Rossi with a knowing smile. “She has a thing for breakup songs. It’s not about us,” he explained. “Actually, she listens to them because she feels secure in our relationship.”

You huffed, more embarrassed than offended, and quickly put the trophy back on the coffee table. “Don't profile me Aaron!” you whined, your voice taking on a playful edge as you grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the chest, and he caught it easily, his deep, warm laugh filling the room.

“You two are something else,” Rossi watched the exchange with clear amusement, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest, the grin on his face widening. “But seriously, I’m going to need that decanter before I get caught up in your little domestic drama.” Aaron nodded, still smiling as he set the pillow aside. “I’ll get it for you,” he said, his tone gentle as he turned back to you. “You okay?” You nodded, letting out a small laugh now that the initial shock had worn off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… maybe a little warning next time?” “I’ll make sure of it,” Aaron promised, his eyes warm as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Nice pipes,” Rossi winked in a teasing tone as Aaron walked toward his office to retrieve the decanter. “Thanks. Just… don’t tell anyone at the BAU, okay?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Your secret’s safe with me,” Rossi assured you with a chuckle, following Aaron into the office.

Left alone in the living room, you shook your head, a smile still tugging at your lips.

You glanced around, taking in the room, the warm sunlight, the dusty cloth still in your hand, the trophy back in its rightful place on the mantle. As you finished up the last bit of dusting, you couldn’t help but hum the tune of “Before He Cheats” under your breath, a smile tugging at your lips. Aaron might have caught you off guard today, but you knew he loved every bit of your quirky habits, just as you loved his.

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

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innerfare · 2 months ago

Text

Eustass Kid Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Eustass Kid angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded:

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes.

Brushing Your Teeth Together:

Was always too ADHD to stand in front of the mirror for a full minute brushing his teeth, always ended up wandering around the ship while brushing and then forgetting to finish; only started staying put when you began joining him.

Flowers:

If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them.

Type of Date:

He’ll take you to a concert, best seats in the house. He would prefer rock, but he’ll go to any concert you want. Honestly has no qualms about pulling up to an Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift concert with you, won’t go so far as to learn the lyrics but will nod his head and dance with you because he doesn’t believe people should be ashamed of their music taste (that being said, he can’t help but be embarrassed by just how much he likes Olivia Rodrigo; Sour is punk rock and Brutal is his favorite song, no matter what Killer says). He’ll buy you two matching t-shirts, too.

You See His Cabin For The First Time:

It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway.

Fighting and Making Up:

Actually loves to fight, lives to butt heads. Has a notoriously bad temper, meaning the two of you often fight. Serious fights usually happen because his temper got him into trouble. The number of arguments you’ve had while you’re patching him up because he got in a nasty bar is unreal. Your argument always over something stupid, at least in his opinion. He usually ends up storming off and locking himself in his workshop because he doesn’t want to yell at you too much but he’s furious with you and still has a bunch of adrenaline flowering through his bloodstream from his last fight. Alternately, he’ll start fights with you when feels like you’re keeping something from him, even if it’s something small, because it drives him crazy and he thinks you should be an open book. He's not really the jealous type when it comes to physical stuff, but he does get upset when you seem to have an emotional or intellectual connection with someone else, and that can cause some arguments. Oh, and fights are most definitely foreplay, so you can conclude how the two of you make up.

Paradise 1:

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment.

Paradise 2:

Escaping the chaos of life and climbing a desolate hill, sharing a late afternoon snack as you stare up at the clouds and point out different shapes, saying, “that’s you,” when you see a funny one. Arguing over which one of you gets to be the dragon cloud, your argument turning into roughhousing and the two of you accidentally rolling down the hill, him laughing and kissing your cheek when he knows you’re okay and then starting the argument again.

Nightmares:

It’s never like it happened with his first love, Victoria. And it’s always some way new. You fall overboard during a storm and drown, Kid diving into the water to save you but sinking due to his devil fruit ability, Killer diving in to save him but leaving you to die. You get deathly ill and he enlists the help of his ally, Trafalgar Law, to save your life, but he betrays Kid and kills you. He gets captured by a crew of enemy pirates, and when the crew comes to save him, you get killed in the crossfire. The nightmares just keep coming like this, you dying because he couldn’t protect you or expected someone else to do it for him. And each time he wakes up, it is with a renewed certainty that the only way to keep you safe is to do it himself.

I Love You:

You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.

You’re Jealous:

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him.

———

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astridthevalkyrie · 9 months ago

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your match is made | xavier x reader

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.” “Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—” “I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.” “Stop,” you whisper. But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

cw: fluff, like that's it that's literally it this is so fluffy

word count: 6.6k

a/n: lyric credits used in this fic: téir abhaile riú by celtic woman <- fire song btw, listen to bless your ears, it also sets the vibe of this fic very nicely tbh. jeremiah's my favorite boyfailure.

Lanterns hang from every available line in and around the town square, brightening any block lucky enough to fall under its horizon. In every corner and roadblock, there are carts littering the streets, dozens upon dozens of merchants calling out their best prices on their finest goods, all the way from fabrics stitched by the very same threads used for the royals’ robes, to common sweet chocolates that all the teenagers are purchasing in bulk to share with their friends and younger siblings. There is room to move around, but there is not a single area that is not bustling with people, either trying to purchase steamed corn from the stalls or simply enjoying the festivities with their families. And in the center of it all, the bards play with such finesse that their fingers may as well be the source of the music rather than the instruments.

Such is the celebration of lights, a celebration of the light. Of Philos, of this miracle that humanity has been gifted with. Every year without fail, the people gather in the town square to commemorate this historic occasion, and every year without fail, it is the grandest jamboree you have ever bore witness to.

“C’mon, Xavier,” Jeremiah protests out loud, “what would be the point of having the crown prince with us if he refuses to pay for our meals?”

Xavier simply shakes his head, the serene smile never leaving his face as he denies Jeremiah for the third time tonight—he clearly derives great pleasure from doing it. “I’d hate to rob you of the chance to participate in Philos’ market tonight of all nights.”

Jeremiah groans at his right, and from Xavier’s left, you giggle. It’s the same routine every single year, and at every occasion to be honest, and yet Jeremiah never stops trying to emphasize the difference in his wealth versus the royal family’s. Xavier, who you think would give his last dime to an ant if it looked hungry enough, looks like he loves refusing Jeremiah more than participating in any one of the activities tonight.

The spicy aroma of rice cakes fills your senses then, and you let out a longing sigh as you look to the stall decorated with steaming bowls on all sides. “I’m starting to get hungry too, now.”

Both of them follow your gaze, where the vendor is hurriedly turning this way and that to discuss prices and accept payments, while three of his chefs work in the back, delivering more as the demand increases. Xavier hums quietly, then takes out a small black pouch from his pocket.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat.” He holds out the bag for you to take, but before you can, Jeremiah scoffs, loudly.

“Oh, that’s sick.” He points an accusing finger at the prince. “That’s sick! If you keep playing favorites, you’re going to get betrayed when you take the throne, I hope you know. I swear I’m going to lead a revolution against you myself.”

“Do you really think my grandis knight would ever let you harm me?” Xavier shoots back, and you beam as Jeremiah rolls his eyes, snatching the pouch straight out of his fingers.

“I’ll take this, and I’m going to get two”—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—”two bowls, and I’m not sharing. Your grandis knight can split her portion with you.” With that, he stomps off in a huff, leaving Xavier with his head tilted and a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t understand. There should be enough coins for three bowls.”

“He’ll get you a bowl.” You raise your voice enough for Jeremiah to hear as he walks. “He’s very grateful that you offered your money, isn’t that right, Jermy?”

Jeremiah makes a rude gesture without even turning back to face you, and you laugh, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to follow him. If it were any other member of the royal family, they’d be getting swarmed right about now, and would likely require at least ten guards to stand around them at all times to ward people off. That is how the king and queen sit, a few blocks away from the main festival, up on a platform elevated high enough that no one could think to climb it, with Lightseekers both in front of them and on the ground, safe and observing the celebration from a distance. Philos’ crown prince is different. Xavier is out in the town with the common folk so frequently that he’s almost lost all the celebrity status his title comes with. Of course, that makes him popular in an entirely different way. The people in the market always seem happy that someone of such high status would lower himself enough to walk and talk amongst them.

His hand slips lower as the two of you go after Jeremiah, warm fingers intertwining with yours. You think little of it, reckoning he doesn’t want to get separated with so many people around. Xavier isn’t one to shy away from touch, at any rate. Once you spar with someone enough, it’s only natural to become physically comfortable with one another. He places his hands on your shoulders when he wants to guide you somewhere, bandages your cuts with his own calloused palms, presses his lips to your forehead to check whether you’re sick or not. In the face of all that, him holding your hand while running through a bustling crowd is hardly surprising.

Jeremiah is waving the pouch in the air hopelessly, trying to be noticed amongst the rest, when the vendor spots the two of you. “Xavier!” he calls happily. “Good timing, I have a fresh bowl ready just for you!”

“Unbelievable,” your chestnut-haired friend mutters under his breath, elbowing you as you laugh at his misfortune. Xavier steps closer, and you see him hold up two fingers to ask for more. When he points over, you wave to the vendor, who waves back before calling out instructions over his shoulder. In almost an instant, he has three steaming bowls filled with rice cakes ready for you to take. Your mouth almost waters at the sight.

Xavier picks up one of them to offer to you, which you take gratefully. Taking a few steps to the side to avoid crashing into anyone, the three of you find a relatively less crowded place to dig in.

Before you can take a heaping sip from the spoon, he gently takes your wrist and blows on the hot broth, meeting your eyes with a soft, concerned look. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” you remind him teasingly, but blow some air of your own onto the spoon before finally digging in. As the flavors explode inside your palate, you hold back a moan at how good it tastes.

“Miss Knight!” a high-pitched voice calls out, and you turn in time to see a tiny pink blur moving past people’s legs.

“Adelaide!” You hand your bowl to Jeremiah, who passes it to Xavier without even blinking, and kneel down to catch the blur in your arms. “Look at you, you look so pretty! I love your dress!”

The little girl’s eyes light up at the compliment. “Thank you! Miss Knight,” she bounces up and down eagerly, “I made something for you!” In her hands, she holds out a product of one of the several craft stalls set up for the children during the festival, a simple but elegant flower crown that she holds out like a grand prize. And from how your heart melts, it may as well be.

“Oh, how beautiful. Thank you so much. Would you put it on for me?” You tilt your head down, and she places it on with all the care a child of six years would have. You know you’ll have a difficult time getting it out in a while after the flowers tangle with your hair, but you don’t mind at all. Adelaide is your favorite person to visit whenever the three of you come to town, the daughter of the seamstress who makes your uniforms, and you’d do anything to see her smile the way she is now.

“You look like a princess,” she says in awe. Your cheeks warm, and you stand up, gesturing to the other two.

“Speaking of which, you remember Xavier and Jeremiah, don’t you?”

Her small hands grip your dress robes as she hides behind your legs, peeking out at them. Xavier, with both his hands occupied holding your bowl and his own, merely smiles encouragingly at her, while Jeremiah waves. “Hiya, Adelaide. Your dress looks awesome!”

From the corner of your eye, you see her face turn bright red, and right as you’re about to coo inwardly about her adorable little crush, you hear someone calling her name. All your heads turn, as an older blonde boy, out of breath, almost pushes past people in his rush to run to her.

“I told you not to run off like that! You could get lost—oh.” He stops short when he sees you, blinking as the color returns to his cheeks after his run. “H-hi there.”

“Hi, Neville.” You smile at Adelaide’s older brother, who’s almost always around when you visit. “Enjoying the celebration?”

“Definitely—I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, I was helping Mother with her stall, a-and I didn’t know your master would give you the night off.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And the grandis knight is at the king’s side, he could hardly stay to train me on such an important night.”

“Right.” He stands with his hands on Adelaide’s shoulders, only staring, seemingly forgetting why he’s there in the first place. For a few moments, no words are said at all.

Right when you’re about to cough awkwardly, he snaps back to attention. “Um, would you like to dance?”

“She can’t,” Xavier says immediately, almost making you jump. He’s almost right behind you, looming over your shoulder and staring Neville straight in the eyes with an expression you’ve never seen on him before.

“Xavier!” The blonde bows clumsily (and unnecessarily) before straightening up, an unspoken question in his eyes. He looks between you and Xavier, and while you hadn’t been planning to agree to his request in the first place, you look at Xavier curiously as well. He’s never before dictated what you do during the celebration, whether you’re with him and Jeremiah or with some of the others in your class.

“She can’t,” he says again, a bit more softly, “she can’t, because…” He takes one glance at you, then down at the two bowls in his hand, then looks back up. “She’s already going to dance with Jeremiah.”

“What?” both you and your supposed dance partner question at the same time.

“You’ve been meaning to ask her to dance the whole night.” Xavier’s blue eyes fall on Jeremiah, with a pointed gaze. “This song is about to end, I think now is as good a time as any.”

“But I’m eating!” he whines, shaking the bowl in his hands as though to beg Xavier to take pity on him.

“I’d be happy to dance with her before Jeremiah steps in—” Neville offers, but he’s cut off by Xavier again, and this time his voice is icier, and his eyes are narrowed on Jeremiah who’s pouting at him.

“No, I think Jeremiah should do it now before it’s too late.”

Whatever message he’s trying to get across, Jeremiah clearly understands it, groaning and taking one last sip before grabbing your hand and tugging you to the main grounds. You’re only slightly irked that no one actually waited for your answer on whether you wanted to dance or not. But you’re more confused than anything else. Just a few minutes ago, both of them were fine, what could have happened so soon to make Xavier sound so cold?

“Have you really been meaning to ask me to dance all night?” you try asking, but Jeremiah only rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up. I already have to deal with His Majesty the Oblivious Idiot tonight, I can’t deal with both of you.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Miss Grandis Knight!” one of the bards, the violinist, waves to you. You’re momentarily distracted, smiling at her. It’s quite nice, if maybe a bit egotistical, to hear anyone call you what you’re trying so hard to be even when you haven’t achieved it yet. “Coming to dance?”

“I am!” you shout back cheerfully. “Give me a good one!”

She thinks for a few seconds, then makes a motion to the other musicians. Placing the violin against her collarbone delicately, she begins to pluck a familiar tune, one that has you lighting up and has the crowd cheering. Even Jeremiah grins as the two of you face each other, both of you well versed in proper dance etiquette from taking the same classes growing up.

First, he bows, mimicked by the other men in the large circle that’s formed, extending a hand to their dance partners. Then you, and the other ladies, curtsy, and with a light step you take his hand and begin the dance. The bards begin to sing the contagious melody, as you and Jeremiah step in place, back and forth, your arms extending then coming together, before he twirls you under his arm. Both of you are laughing for no real reason, perhaps aside from how frivolous this is compared to the fighting techniques you’re usually partaking in together.

The song builds, and builds, and his hands slip to your waist, helping you leap across him before he ducks his head dramatically. The violinist calls your name, pointing at you to sing the next verse. Through your giggles, your cheeks warm at the attention, but you oblige.

Swishing your dress around you, you bounce off Jeremiah, pointing at him with a flourish. “Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where—” Your eye catches Xavier’s, who’s watching you as though you’re the main event. With everyone else’s attention already on you, you’re not sure if you can possibly take any more, but something about his gaze makes your chest feel lighter, as though in this celebration of lights, the real light is the one staring at you, the one who has eyes for no one else. “There's fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there!”

The bards take over the song again, yet the spell doesn’t break. As Jeremiah twirls you again and hands you off to the next man, switching dance partners easily, you beckon Xavier towards you, urging him to join.

The night is young, you try to convey to him wordlessly, and I don’t want to be without you.

He steps forward, as you switch dance partners again. While you hadn’t meant to dance in the first place, it makes you feel lightheaded in a good way. The movements you have to do are light as opposed to rough and unforgiving on your muscles, and the alternating hands on your body handle you as gently as possible instead of trying to seek out all your weak points.

Your head tilts to the side, trying to see if Xavier entered the fray or not. You’ve lost sight of him, in a different part of the circle now, and you can’t search properly without breaking the formation of the dance and ruining everyone’s fun. The next person you spin into ends up being Neville, who chuckles shyly and tells you, “Not bad, Miss Grandis Knight!”

His moves are far more stiff than Jeremiah’s, but far be it from you to judge when he hasn’t had formal training. The important thing is that he tries, and you still have fun, and besides, the song is ending now. You’re almost back to where you started in the circle, just one more spin and—

A familiar, calloused hand grazes yours, skimming down the side of your arm. You gasp at this touch, far more coarse than the others, and the only one to leave you breathless, not least because it’s accompanied by the striking blue of Xavier’s eyes.

When he extends and brings you closer, it is more than just natural. Xavier is of royal blood, it is almost as if he was born to do this. Your feet step with his without you having to look down, so familiar with his balance and pace from years and years and years of sparring together. And not even once do you break away from his piercing gaze, because you’re nervous that if you do, he might just disappear.

The song comes to an end, with a final step forward and your hands on Xavier’s chest, and everyone erupts into cheers. The noise surrounding you makes the silence between you and him all the more deafening.

As the two of you simply stare at each other, breathing in sync, one of his hands reaches up, first resting on your cheek before then making its way up to gently adjust the flower crown that had slanted on your head while you were dancing. Once he fixes it, his head tilts down, just enough that his nose brushes against yours, and a smile forms on your lips.

“I am very pleased you joined, my liege.” Your eyes shine in gratitude.

Xavier opens his mouth to respond, and that’s exactly when Jeremiah chooses to slump against his shoulder, yawning. “Oh man, I’m spent. When do we go back to the academy?”

Xavier looks mildly disgruntled. “This is going to go on for hours,” you tell him, frowning, “we can’t leave now. Besides, the fireworks will start soon.”

“Another dance?” the crown prince suggests, sliding your palm into his.

Jeremiah gives him an unimpressed look. “Give it a rest.”

Stepping past the two of them, you look at all the tables mostly occupied by children being distracted by someone painting little butterflies and stars on their faces or the tiny flutes that are passed out for them to blow into. One of the pastry vendors is handing out baked goods for free, and while you didn’t actually get any chance to eat earlier, you want to find something to actually do. You’re not tired after dancing; on the contrary, now you’re restless and brimming with energy.

“Come on,” you declare readily, taking both their hands and pulling them into the ruckus. Your boys have little choice but to come along with you. Your feet will start to ache soon too, you’re sure. But for now, while they don’t, and while the way Xavier was staring at you is still burned into your mind, you want to enjoy yourself.

Once again, his fingers tangle with yours, clinging to your hand warmly—a stark difference to Jeremiah’s, which you have to grip onto harder to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. He whines and complains the whole time, telling you he’s sore all over and that the three of you should try and beat the rush by leaving early. You’re used to this routine every year, so you’re not fazed. Nor is he serious, because even though you could physically force him to stay, Jeremiah never tries to leave until you and Xavier are good and ready.

As you run, different students in your section call out to you and Jeremiah. People are just slightly more hesitant to address Xavier directly, but you’ve never understood such a thing. The last thing he is is intimidating. Well, maybe place a sword in his hand and he becomes slightly fearsome (to everyone except you). There’s still no need to pretend that Xavier ever struts around demanding everyone show him the highest respects. He’s the furthest thing from arrogant.

It makes you feel proud, really, knowing you’ll be in the service of Philos’ greatest king.

“Xavier!” someone finally calls out. For a second, you’re thrilled, until you see who it is, and your face falls.

The title of grandis knight comes with a certain authority. Not one that you actually have yet, of course, but people respect the current holder of the position, and as his prized mentee, that respect teeters down to you most of the time.

Keyword being most.

Just a few months back, you and Lillia had been close friends. You weren’t as close to her as you were to Xavier and Jeremiah, but she was still someone you confided in. You knew a few personal things about her, and she knew a few personal things about you. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a guy, or your trainer, or one of the older students. Just another girl around your age training to become a Lightseeker.

But you should have realized that the respect you garnered by swearing to be the future king’s bodyguard came with a reasonable risk of betrayal as well. And yes, betrayal is a strong word. Technically, nothing happened. There is no accusation you can level at her. At least not without someone calling you hysterical, and that’s hardly needed when you’re already a woman seeking the highest position in the court, second only to the king himself.

It had come down to one night, with just you and her sitting and talking about nothing in particular, when she had leaned in and asked you something.

“So do you like anyone?”

It had been a quiet night, and the two of you had been the only ones awake, holed up in an old classroom, so you hadn’t thought any consequences could come from speaking truthfully—or at least, what you had genuinely believed to be the truth.

“Not really.” You’d shrugged, leaning back on the desk you were sitting on, putting your weight on your palms. “Most of the people in our section aren’t really my type.”

“Really?” Lillia had smiled slyly. “Not even Xavier?”

Your nose had wrinkled—not in disgust, just confusion. “Xavier? Why?”

“What do you mean? You two spend all your time together. You’re always sparring. Doesn’t romantic tension build up after something like that?”

“Maybe if we were equally matched,” you’d huffed, shaking your head, “I always beat him, I certainly don’t feel any tension. Besides, he’s going to be king. And I’m trying my best to be his grandis knight. We could never be in a relationship even if we wanted to be.”

“So you don’t have any interest in him?” she’d asked, a little more forcefully. You’d thought nothing of it at the time.

“I mean…” Your stomach had twisted a bit uncomfortably and you’d averted your gaze. “If you had a sword to my neck, if I had to choose someone…”

And it had forced you to think about it. A far off scenario, if he wasn’t going to be the king, or if you weren’t going to be the grandis knight, or maybe both. It had been difficult to see Prince Xavier as anything else, but…it wasn’t impossible. If you were both just students, or partners, or even if you worked at that bakery that he loved to frequent.

If you were just a normal person, and he was as common as everyone else, the first thing you’d thought you’d notice about him would be his eyes. It’s what you notice about him most of the time regardless. He has nice eyes. They have a sincerity in them that most people lack. And he looks at you a lot, so you would know.

He’s not bad to look at either. And he’s kind. A good leader. With a precious heart. And skilled fingers—

Blinking out of the hypnotic thoughts you’d fallen into, you’d hidden your suddenly flustered state as best you could and simply answered, “I suppose if I had to choose to love someone, I’d choose Xavier.”

And that had been that. Or so you thought. Everything had been alright, at least.

Until the next morning, when you’d walked out of your class and seen Lillia’s arms around Xavier’s neck.

For a second, it had felt like Philos stopped turning on its axis.

It wasn’t like Xavier had reciprocated. But that was only because he had been too polite to shove her away, and it would’ve been inappropriate to engage in anything further. Crown prince or not, he was still a guy, and obviously a pretty girl pressed into him in such a way would interest him.

And Lillia had caught your eye, and smiled triumphantly, as though to say well, if you don’t want him, then…

Even though you hadn’t said you didn’t want him. Well, you had said you weren’t interested, yes. But you had also told her that if someone held a blaster to your face if you didn’t cherish someone, then you would cherish Xavier. And maybe that hadn’t been a confession, but it hadn’t been you giving her permission to pursue him either. Not that she needed your permission, because it wasn’t like you had a claim on him, and it wasn’t supposed to make your chest burn that he, even for a second, looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

You hadn’t confided your weak feelings to anyone else after that.

“Hi, Lillia,” Xavier says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize until now that the three of you had approached her. “What’s this booth for?”

“Oh, it’s amazing,” she gushes, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging. Your eye twitches. “She’s a fortuneteller. For just a few copper pieces, she’ll answer any one question you want to know about your life.”

“Really?” he asks softly, and all your gazes shift to the woman who bows her head to the prince, sitting in her chair with a purple drape over the small table in front of her. “I’m not sure what I’d want to ask.”

Lillia smirks in a way that makes you uneasy. “Well, I asked about my future partner.”

“Partner? For sparring?”

“For marrying, you dolt,” Jeremiah snorts, “c’mon, Xav, sit down and let’s see which unlucky soul gets to be queen of Philos.”

You’re nervous that he will, and you’re nervous that you won’t like the answer. Because it wouldn’t be you, you’re sure of that. And you shouldn’t want it to be you. That doesn’t mean you think he should be with her, either. What business did Lillia have pursuing Xavier, at any rate? She was training to be a Lightseeker too—but of course, the average knight did not have the same restrictions the grandis knight did—not that it matters because you have no say regardless—

But Xavier shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. My future partner will simply be…whoever the kingdom deems the loveliest of the lot.”

Your heart both inflates and deflates at his response. On one hand, you hadn’t wanted him to have his fortune read, for fear of heartbreak. On the other hand, a part of you had foolishly hoped that he would have the same option to love like everyone else did.

“You should do it,” Jeremiah nudges you with his elbow. Before you can protest, Lillia’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yes, you should! Here, come sit.”

“Um, I don’t know.” Warily, you gaze over at the fortuneteller, who merely gives you a serene smile. “Is she going to give me someone’s name?”

“No, just a description. She told me my future partner would be someone of noble descent.” Lillia beams, showing off her too-perfect teeth, and suddenly you feel inadequate. You know what she’s implying, even if Xavier doesn’t. After all, there are very few people who would match that description.

So, not wanting to seem like a coward, because the king’s sword is anything but a coward, you step forward, sitting down in the leathery chair. You’re about to reach for your pocket to take out the copper pieces, when Xavier reaches over and places them in the fortuneteller’s palm, giving you an encouraging look that makes your heart sink. Perhaps you should have listened to Jeremiah earlier and called it a night.

When the woman takes your hand, she closes her eyes, running her thumb back and forth against your calluses. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you try not to move a muscle. For some reason, it feels like if you so much as twitch, you’ll get the wrong answers, and you’re not even sure what the right answers are.

Her eyes open, piercing yours with a startling gaze. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “I see three things about your lover.”

To hear that word—lover, instead of spouse or partner, makes your entire face feel hot. Lillia giggles, saying something under her breath that you don’t catch but makes you feel violent tendencies nonetheless.

“First, he is someone held in very high regard by all around him.”

Oh no.

“Second, a longsword is his weapon of choice.”

Oh no.

“And third, you have known him all your life.”

Well, she may as well have just screamed Xavier’s name at the top of her lungs.

Everyone is silent for a few seconds. There is a heavy pause in the air, because who else could she be referring to? Who else fits that exact description? All Lillia was told was she’d be with someone of noble descent, which could be at least a few people. The painful beating in your chest is onset because there is only one person that your fortune fits.

You know it, he knows it, even Jeremiah and Lillia know it.

So you do the only thing you can do. You calmly stand up, offer the fortuneteller a tight-lipped smile, and turn on your heel and run.

Behind you, a few different people call your name, though you note distinctly that Xavier isn’t one of them. After that, even if other people are still recognizing you and trying to get your attention, you can barely think straight enough to identify their voices, let alone respond. You run, out of the town square, out of the festival, out of the sight of anyone who could possibly perceive you.

You run as far as you can before your legs start aching, which, unfortunately for you, takes a long time with your endurance training. By the time you feel even a twinge resembling pain, you’ve already made it a far distance away from the celebration, near the seamstress’ shop.

With gritted teeth, you heave yourself over the fence, knowing you’re more than welcome in her garden. It’s luscious, orange and lavender chrysanthemums in the center stealing the spotlight from all the other flowers. Instead of going towards them, you curl up next to the lilies, because you already feel unremarkable enough.

It’s not that you think Xavier would be disgusted by you. The two of you are friends—but that’s exactly it, the major problem of having feelings for him. Besides the fact that you are supposed to brandish your sword in his name, you cannot like him because you’d rather die than lose your best friend. You couldn’t even say how long you’ve known him, but you do know that he’s the best part of your life. Not for anyone would you bow your head. Not for anyone would you lay your life down. You’ve observed Xavier for years and years and there is not a single other person in the royal family that you would follow into any battle, through any world, past any planet.

You groan, burying your face in between your knees. At some point in between the months Lillia first asked you about him and now, you’ve gone beyond just considering him as more than a friend. You’ve even got past having a measly crush on him.

You’re in love with Xavier, and it’s awful.

Breathing slowly, you gaze up at the night sky, where the fireworks have still not made their appearance. The wind teases the flowers around you, making them tilt a little to the left, which is oddly how you feel too. Not uprooted, but bent, just like a flower.

With a blade of grass in between your fingers, you follow the direction the flowers are blowing in, only to find yourself staring at shining ceruleans.

“Xavier!” you gasp, eyes widening with a start. You move to stand as a reflex, but he raises a single hand, and you stop.

There isn’t a single bead of sweat on his face. He is breathing a little raggedly, and his uniform is stained with some sap he must’ve not been able to avoid from the bushes on the way over. His face—well, his face is pristine as always, there isn’t a moment when the prince of Philos looks anything less than dreamy. But it’s not his features you’re gazing at, but the concerned expression upon them, directed straight at you, with caring eyes and pinched brows.

You almost want to cry just at the thought you’ve worried him.

“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, cautious, fragile. Like you may break if he’s too forceful in his questioning.

“Yes, fine,” you reply automatically, though you suppose you now have to make up a story for why on Philos you ran away like a child, especially because he sits next to you, knees raised in the same manner as yours.

“I was merely…overwhelmed, by the crowd.” The explanation sounds weak even as your tongue speaks it, but you cannot think of any other reason for your actions. At least this is easier than the truth. Anything is easier than the truth.

For a few seconds, there is silence, and as uncomfortable as this already is, you can’t bear it. So you turn to look at him, and you realize with burning cheeks you realize he is staring right back. You don’t even think he’s looked at the blossoming flowers even once; his head seems to be fixated in your direction.

“I know you constantly score better than me,” Xavier says softly, “but I am not foolish.”

With a hesitant hand, as though he’s asking for permission, he reaches up to once again adjust the flower crown on your head. Your heart falls, and you really should’ve known better to think Xavier could not read you like an open book, especially after a fortuneteller quite literally did read you like an open book.

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.”

“Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—”

“I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.”

“Stop,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

Your lower lip trembles. Never once did you take him for the cruel type. There is no rule nor reasoning for this, to utterly expose your feelings even more and mock you for them, and if you sit here any longer you’re afraid you will begin to sob, and then not only will your friendship with Xavier be at risk, but your future position as well. The grandis knight cannot be weak. The grandis knight cannot shed tears for such silly matters as love.

To preserve your role, to preserve your reputation and your dignity, you make to stand, to run even farther this time, but Xavier holds your wrist before you can, tugging you back to face him. There is no cruelty in his expression, in fact there is a tenderness as though he is somehow touched by your very clear devotion to him.

His finger tilts your chin up, unwittingly making you demand a respect you don’t believe you deserve right now. His brow is pinched, as though he’s upset that you would let anyone, even him, turn you soft as a dandelion.

“I also know,” he breathes, “that this kingdom finds you incredibly lovely.”

The world seems to stop.

“As…” Xavier’s hand rests itself on your cheek, and the most beautiful smile lights up his face as he murmurs, “Do I.”

You lean in the same time he does, and faintly you hear fireworks erupt as you kiss the prince of Philos for the first time.

The world is quiet, and so, so, so loud. Blood rushes to your face and to your ears, and you ignore it by placing both your hands on his cheeks, whimpering softly at how good he tastes. Every burning feeling and sensation you’ve felt in his presence these past few months, and really, your entire life, all seem to explode in this moment. The world is blue, and white, and Xavier.

His lips move so gently against yours, once again acting as though you are fragile, but it feels good this time, the idea of being something so precious as to require care for him. His thumb rubs soft circles into your cheek, you can barely pull away from him to assure him that he can be more forceful if he wishes, more wanting, more greedy.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, asking for what you aren’t sure, but you nod your head regardless, because you’d think you’d give him your very soul if he were to ask.

When you do pull back, he is looking at you so longingly it makes you more breathless than even dancing you did earlier. His gray-blonde hair nearly conceals his eyes, so you brush it from his face, breath hitching at his proximity. You’ve always known that he’s the apple of everyone’s eye, but you’ve never had the privilege to admire him so closely before.

“I don’t need a fortuneteller to tell me who my partner is.” Xavier rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing. “Whether it’s for sparring, or marriage, or anything else. You are the only one I want with me, through everything.”

You’re surprised you can even muster words when you shyly respond, “Likewise, my liege.”

His eyes shine, and the two of you finally look up to admire the fireworks bursting across the sky in incredible explosions of color. They pale in comparison to the eruption within you, but they are magical nonetheless, and you lean your head against his shoulder to watch.

A gentle kiss is placed on top of your head. “I know we only celebrate this once a year. It is a special time. Still…” He meets your gaze again, and the corners of his lips turn upwards. Tonight, there is only you and him now, you’re sure of it. “Would you mind terribly if we were to ignore the fireworks?”

Maybe one day you will learn to resist him. You sincerely doubt it, though.

“Not at all. But the seamstress and her kids will probably be back soon.” You place a begrudging hand on his chest, not wanting to stop him, but trying to act proper regardless. “Neville checks on the garden every night. He might see us.”

Xavier seems to consider this for a second.

“Oh well,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you again, “what a shame.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry at all, and amidst the soft glow of moonlight, you surrender to him, lost in your very own little celebration of lights.

a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime i’ve written a character x reader story where they’re at a party and they dance together but then leave to have a nice moment by themselves i’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

#love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier #lads #xavier fic #lads x reader #lads xavier #l&ds x reader #l&ds fic #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #valkyrie stories

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niallerspayno · 9 days ago

Text

Black and White - Part 3

Masterlist

As One Direction’s hair and makeup artist, you’ve always had a flirty friendship with Niall. But one wild night in Las Vegas changes everything when you wake up married—and management insists you stay that way. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or finally admit there’s more than friendship between you?

Tags: Niall x reader, friends to lovers, forced proximity, fluff

Part 1 | Part 2

...

The day unfolds in a blur, and you do your best to avoid Niall. It’s not that you don’t want to see him—it’s that you’re scared of what might happen when you do. The morning’s kiss lingers in your mind like a ghost, haunting you with its sweetness and the vulnerability it demanded.

You stick to the crew, throwing yourself into the tasks of the day: managing schedules, prepping supplies, and assisting with the stage setup. Every time you catch sight of Niall, he’s looking for you. His eyes scan the room with a focus that makes your heart race, but you always manage to duck behind someone or slip out of sight.

Niall, however, isn’t making it easy.

When lunch is delivered, you find your favorite sandwich waiting for you at the catering table with a small note in Niall’s handwriting: Don’t forget to eat, love. -N.

Your cheeks burn, and though you try to ignore the flutter in your chest, you find yourself clutching the note tighter than you should.

Later, during the soundcheck, you linger in the shadows at the side of the stage, watching the boys run through their songs. Niall’s voice rings clear and confident, his presence on stage magnetic as always. But between verses, he glances toward where you’re standing. His eyes meet yours, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to make you duck your head and retreat further into the wings.

By the time the concert rolls around, you’re emotionally exhausted from dodging him all day. You station yourself behind the mixing desk, far from the stage where Niall’s charm feels almost weaponized against you.

But you can’t avoid him forever.

Midway through the set, Niall’s voice comes through the speakers, quiet but purposeful. “Alright, this next one’s special.”

The crowd cheers wildly, and Niall steps closer to the mic, his guitar hanging loosely around his neck. “I want to dedicate this song to someone who’s been with me through thick and thin. She’s smart, funny, and way too good at avoiding me, but I think she knows how much she means to me.”

Your heart stops.

Liam shoots you a knowing smile from his spot on stage, and Louis, ever the instigator, points right in your direction. The fans pick up on it immediately, and a wave of cheers and screams ripple through the arena.

Niall chuckles, his eyes locking with yours across the distance. “This one’s for you, love,” he says, his voice low and earnest.

As the opening chords of Little Things fill the air, your chest tightens. Every lyric feels like a confession, a quiet declaration of everything he hasn’t yet said out loud. Tears sting your eyes, and you turn away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment shared with thousands of strangers watching.

When the concert ends, you slip out before Niall can corner you. But back at the hotel, you know you can’t avoid him forever.

...

Back at the hotel, you pace outside the door to your shared room with Niall, your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t face him, not after the dedication, not after dodging him all day. The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes had found yours even among the chaos of the crowd—it was too much.

Without thinking, you turn on your heel and make your way down the hall to Lottie’s room. She opens the door almost immediately, her brows furrowing in concern when she sees your face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, stepping aside to let you in.

“I can’t…” you begin, your voice cracking as you slump onto the edge of her bed. “I can’t stay in that room with him tonight.”

Lottie closes the door and crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. “Why not?”

You bury your face in your hands, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because I’m a mess, Lottie. He’s… perfect, and I’m…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Lottie says sharply, moving to sit beside you. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You need to stop tearing yourself down like this.”

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. “You don’t understand. Niall deserves someone who—”

“Stop,” Lottie interrupts, her tone firm but kind. “What Niall deserves is someone who makes him happy. And that’s you. You’re so caught up in your insecurities that you can’t see how much he loves you.”

Your stomach twists, her words hitting too close to home. “He doesn’t love me,” you mumble, though the words feel hollow even as you say them.

Lottie scoffs, standing up and pacing the small space. “Oh, come on. You heard him tonight. He dedicated Little Things to you. Do you think he does that for just anyone?”

“He was just trying to—”

“To what?” Lottie cuts in, turning to face you. “Embarrass you? Show off? No, he was trying to tell you how he feels because you’re too stubborn to listen when he says it outright.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Lottie says softly, sitting back down and taking your hands in hers. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes on the bedside table. You glance at the screen, your heart skipping a beat when you see Niall’s name.

Goodnight, love. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the message. The simplicity of his words, the patience and care behind them, is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Lottie leans over, reading the message, and lets out a soft sigh. “See? He’s not giving up on you. And you shouldn’t give up on him—or yourself.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling in your chest. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Lottie says firmly. “And you will. But maybe you need to stop running long enough to let him show you how much he cares.”

As you lay down on Lottie’s spare bed that night, Niall’s message still glowing on your screen, you can’t help but wonder if she’s right.

...

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, and you stir awake in Lottie’s room, stretching against the unfamiliar sheets. A glance at the bedside table reveals your phone buzzing incessantly with notifications.

Groaning, you reach for it, only to see your lock screen flooded with mentions and retweets. Your stomach twists with unease as you swipe to unlock it.

Your heart sinks as you spot the culprit: Lottie’s tweet, sitting proudly at the top of your feed.

“Couldn’t be happier for these two❤️ Congrats to Mr. & Mrs. Horan! 🥂 #CoupleGoals”

Beneath the caption is a photo. You blink in surprise when you realize it’s from months ago—a candid of you working on Niall’s hair in the dressing room. You’re mid-concentration, a comb in one hand and a bottle of spray in the other, while Niall sits relaxed in the chair. But it’s not the act of you doing his hair that catches your attention—it’s the way Niall is looking at you.

His blue eyes are soft and adoring, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips, as though you’re the only person in the world. The sheer intensity of the expression makes your breath hitch.

“Lottie!” you exclaim, sitting up abruptly.

She groans from her bed, half-buried in pillows. “What?”

“This,” you say, holding up your phone. “What the hell is this?”

She cracks an eye open, smirking when she sees the screen. “Oh, that? Just a little public service announcement.”

You glare at her, your face heating. “A public announcement? Lottie, this is—”

“Beautiful,” she interrupts, sitting up and stretching. “It’s beautiful, and so is the way he looks at you in that photo. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your protests falter as you glance at the picture again. The comments are filled with excitement and positivity:

“They’re so cute together!” “Honestly, this is the most wholesome thing I’ve seen all day.” “Niall looks like he’s totally smitten.”

A lump forms in your throat when you see that Harry has retweeted it with, “Finally. #TeamNiallAndY/N” Liam’s retweet simply reads, “Told you it was true love.”

Even Zayn, who rarely gets involved, has chimed in with a single heart emoji comment.

Your heart aches as you lower the phone, the reality of the situation settling heavily on your chest.

“I thought you wanted people to think the marriage is real,” Lottie teases, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“This isn’t about that,” you mumble, clutching the phone.

“No,” she agrees, her tone softening. “This is about you finally realizing that maybe the rest of us aren’t crazy for thinking you two are perfect for each other.”

You don’t respond, staring down at the photo again. The way Niall looks at you is overwhelming, like he sees something in you that you can’t bring yourself to see in yourself.

“Do you hate it?” Lottie asks gently.

You shake your head slowly, your thumb brushing against the screen. “No. I don’t hate it.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. “Because neither does Niall.”

Your chest tightens as her words sink in, and for the first time, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’s right about you being enough.

The room feels quieter than usual as you gather your things from Lottie’s bed, trying to ignore the way your heart is fluttering at the thought of Niall. You’re grateful for the space you’ve had overnight, but now that it’s time to pack, you can’t help but feel the weight of the conversation still hanging between you. It’s been a difficult few days, but the photo Lottie posted earlier has somehow shifted something inside you. You can’t put your finger on it yet, but something feels different.

You take a deep breath and finish packing your bag, taking your time so you don’t have to face Niall just yet. You know you can’t keep avoiding him, but part of you is terrified of what will happen when you do finally face him.

When you walk into the hallway, you spot Niall just outside the door to your shared room. He’s standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking down at his phone. His hair is messy, as if he’s just woken up, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as soon as he spots you.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice warm and a little too hopeful for your liking. You feel your heart race, and you can tell he’s trying so hard to close the distance that’s been between you these past few days.

“Hey,” you reply quietly, avoiding his gaze as you make your way past him to the elevator. You feel the subtle pull of his presence, and though you don’t look at him, you can sense how close he’s standing.

He catches up to you before you can escape, placing a hand gently on your arm. “Listen, I wanted to talk,” he begins, but you cut him off before he can say anything more.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, still avoiding his eyes. “Just… let me get to the airport.”

Niall looks at you for a moment, his hand lingering on your arm as if he’s searching for something in your eyes. Then, with a deep sigh, he lets go and nods, his voice quieter than usual. “Okay, yeah. I just… I’m glad you’re back with us today.” He hesitates, as if trying to find the right words. “You’re coming with me and the boys on the jet today, by the way.”

You pause mid-step, confused. “What? I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupts, smiling at the disbelief in your voice. “You’re flying with us. This time, it’s not commercial. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just… I want you around. I’m tired of not being able to see you.”

You blink, trying to process the change. You’ve always flown commercial with the crew, a quiet observer of the chaos that comes with touring. But now? Now, Niall’s pulling you into his world—his world with the boys, a private jet, and the kind of attention you’d never expected.

“I—Niall, I didn’t expect—”

He cuts you off with a gentle grin. “I know. But I’ve missed you, and I figured you deserved a little upgrade. You’ve been working so hard, and I just want you to be a part of everything. I don’t want you to be so far away.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your chest tighten. “Niall, you don’t have to do this,” you say softly, still unsure of your place in all of this.

But Niall shakes his head. “I want to. I need you there, Y/N. You’ve been an important part of all of this for so long, and I don’t want to make you feel like an outsider.”

You’re caught in the warmth of his words, the weight of his care settling around you like a blanket. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you nod, and that’s enough for Niall.

“Great,” he says, his smile widening. “It’s settled, then. I’m just happy you’ll be with us.”

He steps closer, brushing a hand over your shoulder briefly. The touch is gentle, filled with a tenderness that leaves you breathless. Niall’s always been this way—open, kind, and unafraid to show you how much you mean to him. But the way you’ve been pulling away has left a gap that you’re not sure how to close.

“Ready for the flight?” he asks as you walk together toward the door. “We’re gonna have a blast.”

You nod, but you can’t help the swirling uncertainty that still tugs at your insides. You know Niall’s trying to break down your walls, but your fears still hold you back. He may be right about how much he cares, but you’re still struggling to believe that you deserve it.

...

The private jet hums softly, the engines a steady purr beneath the gentle chatter of the boys. You sit next to Niall, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he gently rubs soothing circles over your knuckles. The soft pressure of his touch helps ease some of the tension in your shoulders, though you still feel the storm brewing inside.

The boys are scattered around the cabin, talking easily amongst themselves. Harry and Liam are in the seats across from you, joking around with Zayn, who’s sitting by the window with his headphones on, looking like he’s trying to shut out the noise. Paul, ever the calming presence, is chatting with Louis at the back, but you can tell he’s observing everything with a quiet, watchful eye.

Even with all the noise and chaos of the tour life, it’s peaceful here. The small, intimate setting of the jet feels like a little world unto itself, one where it’s just you and them, removed from the constant spotlight. And for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe a little easier, the weight of everyone’s teasing and attention putting you at ease.

Liam, leans over and gives you a teasing smile. “So, is it official yet? You two going public or are we still keeping the mystery alive?” he says, his eyes flicking between you and Niall.

“Lottie already let the cat out of the bag,” Zayn adds with a smirk, nodding toward his phone. “Her tweet’s all over the place now. I’m surprised you two didn’t already do the big reveal.”

You look down at your hands, your stomach flipping. The tweet. The photo of you and Niall from months ago, when you were working on his hair in the dressing room, and the way Niall was looking at you in that moment… like you were the only person in the world. The comments were all filled with warmth and support, even from the boys. Still, you felt exposed, like something too private had slipped out into the world too soon.

Niall’s thumb traces your skin gently, grounding you in the present. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice filled with concern as he notices your discomfort.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, trying to push away the unease, “just... a lot to take in.”

Harry leans forward, grinning. “The fans are loving it though. Lottie’s tweet got so many likes, it’s almost like she’s made you two official.”

“You two are the worst,” you mutter, giving them a small smile, though the teasing only heightens the feeling of everything being just a bit too real.

Niall chuckles beside you, but there’s a softness in his gaze when he meets your eyes. “I don’t care about the fans, love,” he says gently, his hand squeezing yours. “I just care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, but you can’t bring yourself to respond right away. Instead, you turn your head toward the window, trying to find something to focus on outside, anything to distract yourself from the weight of his words.

After a few minutes, Niall shifts a little, his voice low and a little hesitant. “I miss us,” he says quietly. “I miss the way we used to joke around, you know? You always kept me on my toes, and now... I feel like you’re pulling away.”

His words are like a gentle tug at your heart. You glance at him, meeting his blue eyes that are full of warmth but also a trace of concern. “I’m not pulling away,” you whisper, though even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I just... I don’t know how to handle everything now that it’s... real.”

Niall leans in closer, his hand still holding yours. “What do you mean by that?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. You’re afraid to say it out loud, but the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. “It feels like... we’ve crossed a line, Niall. It’s not just fun and games anymore. It’s real. And I’m scared.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just holds you in that steady gaze, his thumb continuing to trace circles on your skin as if he’s trying to calm the whirlwind inside of you.

“It’s always been real for me,” he says quietly. “But I get it. Things change when you stop pretending, when you stop playing around. But just ‘cause it’s real doesn’t mean it’s something to be afraid of. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You close your eyes, the warmth of his words sinking into you like a balm. You want to believe him, really, you do. But all the doubts that have plagued you still linger, and you’re not sure how to let them go.

The conversation is interrupted when Louis, who’s been watching the two of you with a mischievous grin, pipes up from the back. “I still don’t get why you two are so quiet. Just kiss already, for God’s sake. You’re making me uncomfortable!”

The boys all laugh, and even you can’t help but chuckle, though the laughter feels a little strained.

Niall grins at Louis, “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters, but his hand squeezes yours again, bringing you back to the quiet, intimate moment you’re sharing with him.

As the plane begins its descent, you find yourself looking at Niall in a new light—still scared, still unsure, but also hopeful in a way you haven’t been in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to take a step forward.

...

The dressing room is buzzing with the usual chaos as the boys get ready for the night’s performance. Lottie is finishing up Liam’s hair while Harry cracks jokes with Zayn about their latest tour antics, and Louis pretends to choreograph a full-on dance routine in the corner. The atmosphere is lighthearted, the easy camaraderie that’s always existed between you, Lottie, and the boys filling the air once again.

You're moving between them, carefully applying makeup, adjusting hair, and adding finishing touches to their outfits. Your hands feel steady as you work, but you can’t ignore how much it means to be surrounded by all this laughter and warmth. Things feel more normal now, the distance between you and Niall beginning to melt away. You find yourself joking along with the boys, teasing them like you used to, and for the first time in what feels like ages, your heart feels lighter.

“I’m telling you, Louis,” you tease, “you’ve got the best moves out of anyone here. But, you know, the world’s not ready for all that talent just yet.”

Louis strikes a ridiculous pose, causing the entire room to burst into laughter. "You're just jealous,” he jokes, putting on an exaggerated pout.

You roll your eyes, and Zayn smirks, chiming in, “Someone better tell Louis he can’t dance in the front row during the show. It’s too distracting.”

The playful teasing continues, and in the middle of the laughter, Niall suddenly catches your eye from across the room. He’s sitting in the makeup chair, a content smile tugging at his lips as he watches the chaos around him.

You glance at him, a small smile of your own creeping up as you go back to touching up Harry’s hair. Niall’s expression softens, his eyes warming as he catches your gaze, the fondness in them unmistakable. You know the moment he speaks, his words will be full of that open, heartfelt honesty he’s always had.

“Oi,” Niall calls from his seat, his voice light but full of affection. “When are you gonna stop making everyone else look so good and give me some attention, eh? You’ve already got half of us looking like movie stars.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Someone’s feeling a little too confident today.”

Before you can say anything else, he pats the chair next to him. “Come here,” he says, but instead of waiting for you to sit, he reaches out, gently pulling you into his lap. It’s so natural, so easy, and you can’t help but melt into the warmth of his embrace. “I missed you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and you feel a rush of emotions you’ve been trying to avoid. You've been putting distance between you, but here he is—pulling you into his arms, not letting you pull away.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but then you give in, leaning in to kiss him softly on the cheek. It's quick, but the tenderness of the moment makes your heart flutter.

“You alright?” Niall asks, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid to push you too much.

You nod quickly, offering a faint smile. “Yeah, just... it’s been a long day, you know?”

He nods in understanding, his hand resting lightly on your waist, keeping you close. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the room fade away, and it’s just the two of you in the space between the teasing and laughter.

Louis, noticing the exchange, gives you a mischievous grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Aww, look at that. Mrs. Horan making Niall blush,” he teases, causing everyone to pause and look your way.

Your breath catches, your cheeks flushing at the playful remark. But there’s no malice in it—just warmth, just lighthearted teasing. And you can’t help but smile, even though the idea of being “Mrs. Horan” feels foreign and suddenly so real.

“Stop it,” you mutter, feeling your heart race. “We’re just friends.”

Niall, ever open with his feelings, flashes you a playful grin and says, “Not for long, Mrs. Horan. You’ll see.”

The room bursts into laughter, but it's not mocking—it’s full of warmth and affection. The teasing doesn’t bother you, not anymore. For the first time, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the connection you share with Niall and the boys.

As the laughter dies down, Niall gets up to leave with the others, already heading toward the stage. Before he goes, he pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His voice is low and sincere as he whispers, “See you out there. I’ll be looking for you.”

You watch him walk away, your hand instinctively going to the spot where his lips lingered, and your heart skips a beat. You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long while, you feel hopeful.

Lottie catches your eye from across the room, a knowing smirk on her face. “You two,” she says softly, teasingly. “It’s so obvious, you know?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays the way your heart is fluttering. “Not a word,” you warn, though deep down, you’re starting to accept what’s been right in front of you all along.

...

The concert has ended, and the buzz of excitement is still thick in the air as everyone begins packing up. Roadies move efficiently, coiling wires and dismantling equipment, while the rest of the boys joke around and take selfies with crew members. You hang back near the edge of the stage, watching the scene unfold with a soft smile.

“You alright there, love?” Niall’s voice cuts through the hum of activity, gentle and warm.

You turn to find him standing a few feet away, his guitar slung casually over his shoulder. There’s something easy in his posture, like he belongs exactly where he is, but the glint in his eye is entirely focused on you.

“Yeah, just… soaking it all in,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding toward the center of the stage. “Stay with me for a bit.”

You hesitate, but the way he holds out his hand—steady, patient, and inviting—makes it impossible to say no. Slowly, you make your way toward him, your fingers brushing his as he helps you up onto the platform.

The stage feels vast and quiet now, the crowd long gone, the energy of the night lingering like a distant echo. Niall settles onto one of the stools left behind, patting the one beside him.

“Sit,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

You sit, curiosity flickering to life. “What are you up to, Horan?”

He grins, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “You’ll see.”

The first few chords are familiar, soft and aching, and as he begins to play, your heart skips a beat. It’s Irresistible.

His voice is low and smooth as he starts to sing, the words weaving through the air like a spell.

“Don’t try to make me stay, or ask if I’m okay

I don’t have the answer…”

There’s something different in the way he sings, something intimate, like each lyric is meant for you and no one else. You can’t help but watch him—his fingers dancing over the strings, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, the way his voice carries every ounce of emotion in his heart.

When he reaches the chorus, your breath catches.

“I find your lips so kissable

And your kiss unmissable

Your fingertips so touchable…”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world feels impossibly small, just the two of you in this vast, empty space. The words seem to hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and you wonder if he’s trying to tell you something he can’t quite say out loud.

“Niall,” you murmur as the song fades, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sets the guitar aside, leaning forward just slightly, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah?”

“That was… beautiful.” You can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his smile. “Felt like the right song to play.”

Your stomach twists in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “You sang that like it meant something,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Niall doesn’t hesitate. “It does.”

The silence that follows is electric, charged with all the things neither of you is saying but both of you are feeling. His hand moves, just a little, brushing against yours where it rests on your knee. The touch is light but deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re irresistible, you know that?” he says softly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart race.

You laugh nervously, trying to break the tension, but it doesn’t work. “You’re just saying that because I let you drag me up here.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And I think… you’re startin’ to believe it too.”

The vulnerability in his words is disarming, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to run from it. Instead, you let yourself lean into it, even just a little.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Niall’s smile grows, and for a moment, you think he might close the distance between you. But instead, he just leans back, picking up his guitar again.

“Alright, love. Your turn,” he says, strumming a playful chord.

You raise an eyebrow. “My turn for what?”

“Tell me your favorite song, and I’ll play it for you. Consider it my way of keepin’ you here a bit longer.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but you can’t help the way your heart swells. As you sit there, watching him wait for your answer, you realize that maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind staying.

“You & I.” You respond.

Niall tilts his head at your request, his brows raising slightly. “You & I? Proper classic that, isn’t it?”

You nod, biting your lip. “It’s one of my favorites. Please?”

His smile softens, and without another word, he adjusts the guitar in his lap and begins to play the familiar opening notes. The sound is achingly beautiful, filling the quiet stage with a gentle melody that feels like it’s wrapping around you both.

His voice, smooth and rich, carries the lyrics effortlessly.

“I figured it out

I figured it out from black and white

Seconds and hours

Maybe they had to take some time…”

The way he sings feels personal, each word dripping with quiet emotion, as if he’s speaking to you and you alone. His eyes flick up to meet yours occasionally, and every time they do, it feels like the floor beneath you shifts.

The boys, who had been lingering further back on the stage, grow quiet. Louis leans against a stack of amps, his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. Harry nudges Liam, who just shakes his head with a soft smile, while Zayn raises an eyebrow at the scene unfolding.

“Would you look at that,” Louis whispers, pulling his phone out silently.

The camera clicks, capturing the image of you perched on the stool beside Niall, your expression a mix of awe and affection as you watch him sing. Niall’s focus is entirely on you, the guitar cradled in his hands as the stage lights cast a golden glow around you both. Louis grins, opening Twitter.

“Look at these two. My heart can’t take it. 🎶💙 #YouAndI #UnmissableMoments”

He hits post, shoving his phone back into his pocket as the song builds to its crescendo.

“You and I

We don’t wanna be like them

We can make it ’til the end

Nothing can come between

You and I…”

Niall’s voice is steady, strong, yet tender, and you can feel the emotion swell in your chest. By the time he reaches the final note, the room feels heavy with unspoken words.

The applause is soft but heartfelt as the boys clap quietly in the background. Niall gives a small, bashful smile, his fingers still resting on the strings.

“Didn’t butcher it, did I?” he teases, his voice low, a hint of nervousness lacing the question.

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “No. It was perfect.”

For a moment, you just look at him, the air thick with something unspoken. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, and you’re almost certain he can hear it.

“Niall,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can see the surprise flash in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something deeper, warmer.

“You sure about that?” he asks, his voice gentle, his tone teasing just enough to make you smile.

You nod, your pulse quickening. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “C’mere.”

He shifts the guitar off his lap, placing it gently to the side. His hand moves to your cheek, the pad of his thumb grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you. His touch is light, careful, like he’s afraid you might break if he holds on too tightly.

The world around you seems to fade, the faint hum of the stage lights the only sound as he leans in. Your breath catches when his lips brush yours, feather-light at first, testing, as though he’s giving you one last chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean in, meeting him halfway, and the kiss deepens. His lips are soft and warm, moving against yours with a mix of confidence and tenderness that leaves your knees weak, even though you’re sitting down. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you just a little closer.

There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s slow, deliberate—like he’s savoring every second. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, woodsy and fresh, mingling with the warmth radiating from his skin. His thumb strokes your neck absently, sending tiny sparks of electricity through you, and it feels as though he’s memorizing the moment, etching it into his bones.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, the rhythm echoing in your ears, but it’s not the frantic kind of beat you were expecting. It’s steady, like a quiet reassurance that this—whatever this is—is exactly where you’re meant to be.

When he finally pulls back, it’s gradual, like he’s reluctant to let the moment end. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he lingers close. His thumb makes one final pass over your skin before his hand drops to your lap, where it stays, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you hums with something unspoken, something fragile and new, and yet somehow ancient, like it’s always been there, waiting for you to find it.

“You alright?” he asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, his thumb tracing idle circles over the back of your hand. “Good. That’s all I want.”

The stage feels impossibly small now, like the only two people in the world are you and him. You don’t know what this means—what happens next—but for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to figure it out.

You lean back slightly, your gaze locked on his. “That song,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady. “It felt like you meant it for me.”

Niall smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squeezes your hand gently. “Maybe I did.”

Your chest tightens at the quiet honesty in his voice, but instead of retreating, you let it settle over you like a warm blanket.

For now, that’s enough.

…

The walk back to your shared hotel room is wrapped in a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words. Niall stays close, his hand brushing against yours now and then, the occasional touch sending a flutter through your chest. The air is cool, but his presence beside you is a steady warmth, grounding you in the moment.

When you reach the room, you slip inside together, greeted by the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. The room feels cozy, a quiet sanctuary from the emotions of the evening. You kick off your shoes and let out a deep sigh, the kind that comes from both relief and exhaustion.

Niall lingers by the bed, watching you with a small smile as you grab your pajamas and head into the bathroom. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you haven’t seen in a while—your cheeks have a faint flush, your eyes softer, lighter. There’s something there, a little glow you hadn’t expected, and it makes you pause.

When you emerge, changed into your soft cotton pajamas, Niall’s already under the covers. His hair is mussed, and the dim lighting casts a golden halo over his features. He looks so effortlessly himself, so inviting, that it takes no second thought for you to climb in beside him.

The bed is warm, and the moment you settle, Niall pulls you into his side, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. You rest your head on his chest, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat greets you. It’s a soft, grounding sound, steady and constant like him.

“Long day,” he murmurs, his voice low and honeyed, the vibration of it resonating through his chest beneath your cheek.

You hum in agreement, nuzzling into him a little closer. His body radiates warmth, and the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and clean—lingers on his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his hand beginning to move in slow, soothing circles over your back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the word coming easier than you expected. “I think I am.”

A soft smile curves his lips. You feel it more than see it, his chin brushing lightly against the top of your head.

The quiet stretches out, comfortable and full of something unspoken but deeply understood. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—circles, swirls, lazy lines that melt the last bits of tension from your body. The motion is hypnotic, your muscles relaxing one by one as you sink deeper into the warmth of him.

He shifts slightly, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. The kiss is feather-light, but it’s enough to send a wave of warmth through you, pooling low in your chest.

“I meant it,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp in the quiet room. “I’ll wait as long as you need. No rush. No pressure. Just… us.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm and reassuring. You shift against him, your nose brushing the curve of his neck as you let out a quiet, contented sigh.

“Thank you,” you mumble sleepily, your voice barely audible against his skin.

His hand pauses on your back for a moment before resuming its slow, rhythmic movements. “Always,” he whispers, his breath warm against your hair.

He tugs the blanket higher around you both, cocooning you in the shared warmth of the bed. His fingers trace over your shoulder now, up to your collarbone, and back down again in a soothing, lulling rhythm. The sound of his breathing, steady and calm, blends with the faint hum of the city outside, and you let yourself relax fully, cocooned in his care.

As sleep pulls you under, you feel his lips brush your temple one last time, a quiet promise etched into the night. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe in the safety of this moment, in the warmth of him, and in the possibility of something beautiful waiting just ahead.

...

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, bathing the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You wake slowly, your senses gradually piecing the world together—the crisp scent of the linens, the weight of the blanket over you, and the steady rise and fall of Niall’s chest beneath your cheek.

His arm is still draped around you, holding you close even in sleep. His face is serene, every line and feature softened by the quiet vulnerability of slumber. His lashes rest against his cheek, and his lips are slightly parted, his breath slow and even.

You don’t move at first, content to simply watch him, the peace of the moment wrapping around you like a second blanket. But as your gaze lingers, an ache stirs in your chest—a deep, quiet longing that feels equal parts terrifying and wonderful.

Before you can think too much about it, your hand moves on its own, reaching out to gently trace the curve of his jaw. Your fingers barely skim his skin, hesitant at first, but the warmth of him pulls you in. You let your thumb glide over the rough stubble on his chin, the texture grounding you in the reality of him.

He stirs under your touch, a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes flutter open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his gaze hazy as it settles on you. But then he sees the way you’re looking at him, and a soft, sleepy smile curves his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, the Irish lilt more pronounced in its drowsiness.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers stilling on his cheek.

He shifts slightly, his arm tightening around your waist as he blinks himself further awake. His gaze searches yours, his eyes warm and curious. “What are you doing?”

“Just… looking at you,” you admit, your voice quieter than usual, as though the moment might shatter if you speak too loudly.

His smile grows, softer and more genuine, and he turns his head slightly so your palm rests fully against his cheek. He leans into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. “Like what you see?” he teases gently, though there’s an undercurrent of sincerity in his tone.

You nod, the weight of your emotions catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to speak. “Yeah. I do.”

His expression shifts then, his teasing giving way to something deeper, something quieter. His free hand comes up to cover yours, holding it against his face as he watches you, waiting.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice soft but steady. “About everything. About you and me and…” You trail off, searching for the right words.

“And?” he prompts, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“I’m ready,” you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m ready to really try with you. A real relationship—not just this… married-on-paper thing we’ve got going.”

His breath hitches slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and your heart starts to race. But then his lips part, and his voice comes out soft, almost disbelieving.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it,” you say, your hand pressing a little firmer against his cheek. “I’m scared, but I don’t want to be anymore. I want this. I want you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and radiant, like the sun breaking through a storm. He shifts, propping himself up slightly so he can look at you properly, his hands framing your face now.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll take it slow. However you need. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe with me.”

“You already do,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Niall’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and the air between you grows thick with an unspoken tension. His hands remain gentle on your face, his thumbs brushing over your skin as though you’re something precious. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, your lips meet in a kiss that starts soft and sweet but deepens quickly.

It’s a release, a culmination of all the quiet moments and tentative steps between you. His lips are warm and soft, and the way he kisses you is unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. You sigh into it, your hands sliding from his face into his hair, tangling in the messy blond strands as he shifts to pull you closer.

When his arms wrap around your waist, you take the opportunity to move, pushing yourself onto your knees and leaning over him. He lets out a soft, surprised laugh against your lips as you settle yourself on top of him, straddling his lap, but it’s quickly swallowed by another kiss.

“Niall,” you murmur between breaths, your forehead resting against his for a moment.

“Yeah, love?” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, his hands steadying you at your waist.

“You’re…” You pause, trying to find the words, but instead of finishing the sentence, you kiss him again, pouring every ounce of feeling you can’t quite articulate into the way your lips move against his.

The room is alive with tension as you straddle Niall, your legs on either side of his hips, his hands warm and firm on your waist. His touch lingers, teasingly possessive, as though he’s making up for years of restraint all in one moment. Your lips meet again, a fire igniting between you that has you completely consumed.

His kisses are deep, unrelenting, and filled with everything unsaid between you. His tongue brushes against yours in a way that has your breath hitching, your fingers tangling in his hair as if anchoring yourself to this moment. His stubble grazes your skin as his lips move to your jawline, then trail down the column of your neck, leaving a path of warmth that makes you shiver.

“Niall,” you murmur, your voice soft but laden with need.

He groans at the sound of his name, his grip on your waist tightening as his lips return to yours. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispers against your mouth, his breath warm and uneven. “Every damn day.”

You smile against his lips, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “So have I,” you admit, the honesty spilling out of you as naturally as your next kiss.

His hands move to your back, his touch slow and deliberate as he presses you closer, your bodies flush against one another. The heat between you is electric, every small movement fanning the flames of desire that have been building for far too long.

You shift slightly, your thighs tightening around him as his hands slide beneath your shirt, his touch searing against your bare skin. The intimacy of it, the sheer closeness, makes your heart race.

But you’re so lost in each other—so completely consumed—that neither of you hears the faint creak of the door opening.

“Oi, seriously?”

The familiar voice has you freezing mid-kiss, your eyes flying open as you turn toward the doorway. Standing there, arms crossed with an expression that can only be described as both amused and exasperated, is Louis.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, quickly burying your face in Niall’s shoulder as mortification floods through you.

Niall lets out a low groan, his hands still resting on your hips as he turns his head toward Louis. “Really, mate? Timing’s impeccable.”

Louis raises a brow, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a grin. “Well, excuse me for trying to check if you two were alive. Didn’t realize I’d walked into... that.”

Your cheeks burn, and you try to move off Niall’s lap, but his hands hold you firmly in place. “Don’t,” he murmurs softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “It’s okay.”

Louis, however, is already pulling his phone out of his pocket, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I mean, I could just leave...” he starts, but the way his thumb hovers over the screen makes it clear he’s not going anywhere.

“Louis,” Niall warns, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement.

“What?” Louis says, feigning innocence as he snaps a photo. “For posterity.”

“Delete that!” you exclaim, finally finding your voice as you glare at him from over Niall’s shoulder.

Louis smirks. “Too late. Already in the cloud.” He pockets his phone with a shrug before turning toward the door. “Don’t take too long. The lads are placing bets on how red your faces are when you finally come out.”

With that, he disappears, leaving you and Niall in stunned silence.

After a beat, Niall chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath you. “Well, that’s one way to break the tension.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never leaving this room again.”

He gently tugs your hands away, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “Hey,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t care who knows. Let them tease all they want. I’m right where I want to be.”

Your heart swells at his words, and despite your embarrassment, you lean in to kiss him again—soft, slow, and filled with the promise of everything still to come.

Niall’s fingers linger on your waist as you slide off his lap, both of you still breathless and flushed. His lips are swollen from your kisses, and the look in his eyes is a mix of heat and tenderness. He grins, his voice low and teasing as he murmurs, “Guess we’ll call this... to be continued, yeah?”

You laugh softly, brushing a hand over his chest. “Definitely to be continued.”

Niall leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead before pulling you close, his hands warm on your back. “We should head downstairs before Louis sends a search party—and probably a few humiliating tweets.”

You groan, already dreading what awaits. “He already took that photo. What else could he possibly do?”

Niall chuckles, grabbing your hand as he opens the door. “Love, it’s Louis. He’ll have spun an entire story by now.”

The two of you make your way to the hotel dining area, the sound of laughter hitting your ears before you even step inside. As you round the corner, the boys and Lottie are already gathered at a table, plates of food spread out, the atmosphere lively. But the moment you and Niall walk in, the room falls silent.

“Well, well, well,” Louis starts, standing dramatically as if presenting the two of you to an imaginary audience. “Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!”

“Oh no,” you mutter under your breath, already bracing yourself.

Louis picks up his phone from the table, holding it up like a trophy. “For those of you who missed it—and by that, I mean no one, because this photo’s gone viral—behold!”

He turns the screen toward you and Niall. It’s the blurry photo he took upstairs, the one of you straddling Niall on the bed, his hands firmly on your hips, your faces just inches apart.

“Oh my god, Louis!” You cover your face with your hands, mortified.

Lottie bursts into laughter, nearly choking on her orange juice. “Louis, you are the worst, but also, this is incredible.”

“I mean, if this isn’t a wedding night moment,” Louis says, smirking as he puts his phone back down, “then I don’t know what is.”

“Delete it,” Niall says, though he’s clearly amused, his arm slipping casually around your waist.

“Absolutely not,” Louis fires back, leaning back in his chair. “It’s art. The world deserves to see it.”

Harry, sitting across the table, grins as he sips his coffee. “Honestly, though, we were all wondering how long it’d take you two. Years of pining, and then you go and get married before anything happens?”

Liam shakes his head, a teasing sigh escaping his lips. “Seriously. You two could’ve saved us all the trouble by just admitting it back in the day.”

“It’s about time,” Zayn adds, his tone cool but the glint in his eyes giving him away. “The tension was unbearable.”

“And exhausting,” Lottie chimes in, her smile genuine as she looks between the two of you. “But honestly, I’m just happy you’re finally happy. It’s about damn time.”

Niall squeezes your waist gently, pulling you closer as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “For the record,” he says, glancing at the group, “we’ve decided to start a real relationship. Officially.”

There’s a beat of silence before Louis dramatically claps his hands together. “Finally! Took you long enough! Honestly, I was about to write the vows myself.”

“You would write the vows,” you say, rolling your eyes but laughing despite yourself.

“Better me than Niall,” Louis quips. “He’d just sing them to you.”

“Not a bad idea,” Harry says, grinning. “Actually, Niall, got anything prepared? A little ‘She’s the One’ serenade for the table?”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Niall says, laughing as he pulls out your chair for you. He sits beside you, his hand staying firmly on your knee under the table. “Let the lady eat in peace.”

“Fine,” Louis says, a sly grin on his face. “But just so you know, this isn’t the last you’ve heard of it.”

Breakfast continues in the same lighthearted tone, with jokes flying across the table and occasional references to the infamous photo. But through it all, Niall stays close, his touches gentle and constant—his hand brushing against yours, his knee bumping yours under the table.

And for the first time in a long time, surrounded by laughter and warmth, you feel truly at ease. It’s as if the walls you built around yourself are finally crumbling, and you realise you don’t mind one bit.

#niall horan x reader #niall horan x y/n #niall horan fanfiction #niall x reader #niall horan x you

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