#your favorite weapon lyrics

[lucalyrics]

[poprocklyrics]

And if you ever said you miss me then don't say you never lied

Jude Law and a Semester Abroad, Brand New

[theeternalghost]

I want to be forgiven I want to choke up chunks of my own sins Even if the sky cracks in mourning And the heavens just won't open up for me Would you invite me in again? Let me pay for my arrogance? Won't you show me your weakness?

"Blood Sport," Sleep Token

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @witchywannabe3263 @ironenemycollective

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Tw: tension

Part 5

Words of Command - Part 6

The common kitchen in Stark Tower is wide and open, all clean marble counters, gleaming stainless steel, and a ceiling so high your laughter echoes off it. Early sunlight streams through the wide windows, golden and rich, the sky outside feathered in soft clouds.

You’ve taken over the space—apron tied around your waist, a smudge of flour across your cheek, and your favorite mixing bowl in your arms. You hum along to the music playing from the speaker, something catchy, bouncing through the room.

Sam is perched on the counter, tossing a grape up and catching it with his mouth.

Clint lounges backward in one of the bar stools, a mug of coffee in one hand, watching the chaos with a grin.

Natasha sits cross-legged on the kitchen island, absently slicing apples while watching you with something like amusement.

Steve is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and relaxed, soaking in the nostalgia of a time when kitchens like this held wartime hope and pie crusts.

You’re giggling, trying to pour vanilla without spilling it when Thor bursts in.

Thor, in all his thunderous, golden-haired glory, strides in holding a large bag of sugar like it’s a weapon. “Lady of sweetness! I have brought the… dust! That which makes the confections rise, yes?”

You blink. “…Sugar?”

He beams. “Yes!”

He dumps it onto the counter. The bag explodes slightly.

You yelp and laugh as a cloud of white puffs into the air. Thor looks momentarily concerned, then breaks into hearty laughter. “We are off to a rousing start, little one!”

You’re trying to teach Thor how to fold batter, but he stirs like he’s summoning a storm, splattering mix across your apron.

You squeal and swat his arm.

The radio switches songs. A classic—one from the 40s. The kind of tune that would’ve played from a diner jukebox, scratchy and alive with memory.

You begin to sway a little to the rhythm. Absentminded, soft. Humming.

Thor catches your rhythm and spins you suddenly—clumsy but careful, his hand a broad support under yours.

Your laugh bubbles out again—light and natural.

The door to your room creaks.

Bucky—no, Soldat—emerges, barefoot but still clothed in the same clothes from the day before, now wrinkled. He’s half-shadow, half man, pausing in the hall with narrowed eyes as he listens.

Music. Laughter.

He doesn’t understand the pull in his chest.

His head tilts slightly.

Brooklyn laces the furrow in his brow.

He knows this song. Not the lyrics. Not the memory. Just... the feel.

He follows the sound.

The moment he steps into the kitchen, the air shifts.

Everyone goes quiet, instinctively aware. Thor, still holding the mixing spoon like a sword, looks over with surprise.

Natasha’s eyes flick up—calculating, but calm.

Steve stands a little straighter.

You spot him, instantly, eyes bright with something soft. “Soldat.”

His gaze locks onto you.

Focus returns. The fog tightens. Everyone else blurs. You are the anchor.

He walks slowly into the room—silent but deliberate, every step echoing. He doesn’t acknowledge the others. Doesn’t glance at them.

Just you.

“Doll?,” he says simply.

You smile, small and kind. “You’re up.”

He nods once.

“…You were dancing.” His voice isn’t curious. It’s just a statement.

You nod.

“I was teaching Thor how to bake.”

Bucky glances at Thor, who raises his batter-covered hands and grins. “The Lady is a fine teacher, my new friend!”

Bucky’s jaw clenches subtly.

You catch it.

“Do you want to help?”

There’s a pause.

He doesn’t say yes.

But he steps closer.

That’s enough.

You pass him the bowl.

Bucky holds it like it might break.

You guide his hands. “Here. Slow. Gentle.”

His body responds better to orders than suggestions. He mirrors your movements. His metal arm remains stiff and unused, hovering.

Your small hand rests lightly on his human forearm.

“There you go, Soldat.”

He exhales through his nose. Not quite a sigh.

Behind you, Clint whispers to Sam, “This is like watching a bear learn ballet.” Nat kicks his shin.

When the batch goes into the oven, you wipe your floury hands on your apron and offer him a dish towel. He blinks at it, then uses it like you did.

Tiny progress.

Bucky stands behind you as you lean forward to check the oven. Watching.

“Smells sweet,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

You glance up.

Your voice is quiet, laced with warmth. “It’s supposed to.”

He nods slowly.

The kitchen remains warm and full of lingering scents—baked sugar, cinnamon, the crisp edge of toasted flour. One tray of muffins rests cooling on a wire rack while another still rises golden behind the glass of the oven.

Sam and Clint are arguing about whether or not Thor’s batter-slinging counts as “assault with a kitchen utensil”. Nat looks unimpressed, perched like a cat on the counter’s edge.

Steve is still leaning in the archway, arms folded, but his gaze isn’t casual. It’s on Bucky.

Watching.

Waiting.

You’re wiping a streak of frosting off the edge of a bowl when the next song comes onto the speaker.

It’s old. Real old.

Soft piano. Light snare. A woman's velvet voice, the kind that sounds like it could soothe a storm.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see…”

Thor turns toward you like a golden retriever with a crown. “Another one of your mortal songs! Come, we shall dance again!” He extends both flour-dusted hands toward you.

You glance over your shoulder.

Bucky’s standing exactly where you left him. Still, shoulders square, head slightly tilted like he’s listening to something inside the song.

That neutral mask is back—brows furrowed, lips set tight, unreadable.

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Thor…”

Your voice draws Bucky's eyes.

Not his head. Not his body. Just his eyes—a shift beneath the surface, sharp and precise.

You’re used to it by now he doesn’t react well to loud surprises or sudden movements.

He focuses.

The song continues, gently building.

“Someone to watch over me…”

You turn back to Thor with a soft smile. “Maybe later.”

Thor raises an eyebrow. “You fear I will spin you into the fridge again?”

A tiny laugh escapes you. “Maybe.”

Behind you, Bucky blinks—slowly. His jaw loosens slightly, just a fraction.

“I know this,” he murmurs.

Everyone freezes.

It’s quiet. Not stunned silence, but that charged stillness when everyone’s afraid to move in case something precious shatters.

You turn fully toward him.

“Soldat?”

He doesn’t look at you yet. His eyes are somewhere else, pulled into the melody like it’s hooked him through the ribs.

“…This song. It was… on a… record player.” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. “Room had… yellow curtains. Big windows. A fan spinning slow. I… I was sittin’. Legs out. Had a—” He frowns. Brow tightens. “—a bruise. On my knee. From a fall. Someone was hummin’…”

He trails off.

The moment hangs, trembling.

You step toward him. Slowly. Quietly.

Socks sliding gently on the tile. When you reach him, you look up—he towers over you, but you don’t shrink back.

Your voice is soft. Careful. “Do you remember who was humming?”

He shakes his head once. It’s almost a flinch. “No. Just… hands. They put a bandaid on it. Said I shouldn’t run inside.”

His hand twitches.

You don’t reach out—not yet. But you nod gently, guiding him with the rhythm of your presence.

“Sounds like a good memory.”

He swallows. Adam’s apple bobbing once.

“Don’t know if it’s real.”

Your voice doesn't falter. “Even if it isn’t, it’s yours.”

Finally—his eyes find you.

“Doll.”

That’s all he says.

But he says it like a lifeline.

Behind you, Steve shifts, voice warm but subdued. “That song used to play on jukeboxes back in Brooklyn. Think you and I heard it a hundred times in diners after late nights.”

Bucky doesn’t react to him.

But he does keep looking at you.

You offer him a smile. It’s small, sincere. “Want me to turn it off?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Leave it.”

His voice sounds different now. Still heavy, but… less robotic. More man.

You nod.

And then—slowly—you reach out.

You don’t touch him. Not quite. You let your fingers hover over his flesh hand, palm-up, like an invitation.

He looks at it. Then at you.

Then—his fingers curl into yours.

Gently.

Carefully.

Like the song in his chest might disappear if he moves too fast.

The elevator doors hiss open.

You didn’t think much of it at first. People came and went in the tower all the time. It was a place of chaos, innovation, and the occasional alien.

But then you saw them.

Black combat uniforms. Matching gear. Earpieces. Boots moving in perfect sync.

Six men. Identical emblems on their shoulders.

STRIKE.

And suddenly… the room wasn’t warm anymore.

“Stay where you are.” One of the agents held up a hand. His voice was clipped, official. “This is a retrieval order. Designated asset—Winter Soldier—is to be taken into secure custody immediately.”

Your blood went cold.

Steve stepped forward. “The hell you are.”

The man didn’t flinch. “Orders come from the top, Cap”

You were already moving. Your legs shaky, your voice thin but rising. “He’s not an asset. He’s a person.”

You turn and plant yourself between them and Bucky—who had risen the moment they entered, body tense, eyes narrowed, not like a man afraid, but like a predator calculating.

You felt his presence behind you, that heavy silence you were learning to read. His hand hadn’t even twitched, but you could tell it was close.

“JARVIS,” you said, without looking away from the men, “alert Mr. Stark. Now.”

“Right away, Miss.”

The lead agent’s tone sharpened. “Move aside, ma’am. You’re a civilian.”

“I don’t care what I am,” you snapped. Your voice shook, but you didn’t step back. “You’re not taking him.”

From behind you, his voice was low. Calm. That unsettling stillness of a trained weapon waiting for a green light.

“Doll…”

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t—you were afraid if you looked at him, they’d see the softness in your face and take it as weakness.

“...You want me to drop ‘em?”

The Brooklyn rasp was undeniable now. Bucky Barnes’ voice, shaped by decades and sharpened by pain.

You could order him. You knew he would listen. That terrifying reality sank like a stone in your stomach.

“No, Soldat” you said, forcing steady breath through your chest. “Not unless they touch you.”

The air crackled.

The STRIKE men tensed. Guns stayed holstered, but the fingers on their triggers said they were one flinch away from escalation.

Clint had drawn an arrow without you even seeing him move. Natasha was already beside the window, calculating exits. Sam muttered, “Bad idea, fellas.”

Steve stepped forward again, jaw tight. “You know who that is. You know he’s not a threat here.”

“He’s unstable,” the agent said flatly. “You want to risk a incident ?”

“He’s healing,” you hissed, finally losing the softness. “And you’re trying to tear that away before he has a chance.”

Another agent stepped forward.

Big mistake.

Bucky was there in an instant, the metal arm outstretched to block you from them, eyes darkened to gunmetal grey. His whole frame radiated threat.

The agent froze mid-step.

Bucky didn’t blink. “Touch her,” he said, low and deadly, “and I break you.”

No shout. No warning shot. Just fact.

The way he positioned himself—just ahead of you, feet braced, body angled to protect without trapping—was instinctive. Calculated.

Not as some Soldier.

Not fully.

You pressed your hand to Bucky’s flesh forearm gently. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop his guard either.

You turned to the agents again, standing taller despite your size. “He’s not leaving this tower without a fight. And if he does… I go with him.”

The lead agent looked at you like you were insane. “You’re just some civilian, step asid—”

“He’s mine to protect.”

The words surprised even you. Not because they weren’t true—but because you hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

Behind you, you felt Bucky breathe in. A long, slow inhale that felt like a boundary shifting.

The agents exchanged glances, clearly unsettled. Seconds later, JARVIS chimed back in.

“Miss, Mr. Stark is en route. ETA thirty seconds. I suggest these gentlemen reevaluate their survival instincts.”

The tension in the kitchen could be snapped with a breath.

The STRIKE agents were still half-positioned in front of you and Bucky. Their expressions were sharp, poised, but increasingly uncertain. Clint hadn’t lowered his bow.

That he pulled from god only knows where.

Natasha was eyeing their flank, calculating at least five different ways to kill them all. Steve stood at your shoulder, barely resisting the urge to punch someone through a wall.

Then—

DING.

The elevator opened like curtain call.

Tony Stark stepped out, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, sarcasm already loaded like live ammunition.

“Well, well, look at this charming little hostage situation. We having a bake sale, or did I miss the part where government stooges now raid my private tower without asking?”

His tone was light, but the edge beneath it was diamond-sharp.

You felt Bucky shift behind you again, metal fingers twitching in small, reflexive movements. He was still tense, unreadable to most—but you could see the microexpressions. The slight drop of his shoulders. The faintest breath exhaled. He knew you weren’t alone anymore.

The lead STRIKE agent straightened. “Mr. Stark. Our orders—”

“Oh no, I love this part,” Tony interrupted smoothly, strolling toward you with casual arrogance. “You barge in like a low-budget SWAT team, threaten my very adorable receptionist—hi, Sunshine,” he nodded to you mid-sentence, like this wasn’t life and death, “and expect me to just roll out the red carpet for an armed extraction in my own damn house?”

You gave him a look somewhere between mortified and deeply grateful.

“Sir, this is a classified retrieval.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony slurped his coffee obnoxiously. “Here’s another classified fact, you’re all about five seconds from being escorted out by a literal army of sentient vacuum cleaners with plasma beams. JARVIS?”

“Ready to deploy, sir. With enthusiasm.”

The STRIKE agent hesitated.

Tony dropped the act for a moment. His voice dropped an octave. Flat. Cold.

“You don’t get to take what isn’t yours. And he—” Tony’s eyes flicked to Bucky, “—doesn’t belong to you.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. His stance was still guarded, but he leaned subtly toward you.

“Doll…” he said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “…who the hell is he ?”

“Tony, is” you murmured softly, almost amused through the adrenaline. “My boss ... also a friend”

Bucky made a noncommittal grunt and rolled his shoulder. He didn’t look convinced.

He didn’t know Tony. Didn’t care about Tony. But you said he was a friend—and that was enough for now.

He stood like a wall at your back, that unmistakable air of restrained violence. His body language screamed don’t test me, but the only person he actually looked at was you.

“Alright, playtime’s over,” Tony said, switching gears. “He stays. She stays. You all leave. If your higher-ups have a problem with that, tell them to call me—though I might be unavailable, what with the lawsuits I’m about to file for trespassing, unauthorized operation, intimidation, and—you guessed it—traumatizing my receptionist.”

“You’re not authorized to shelter an unstable asset—”

“He’s not an asset,” you snapped, voice rising for the first time since the confrontation began. “He’s a human being.”

You startled yourself with how fierce you sounded. Tony turned toward you, raising a brow like he was genuinely impressed.

“Oh, that’s new,” he muttered. “Look at you, getting all Warrior Princess.”

The agents finally, slowly, backed down.

They filed into the elevator with stiff, silent precision. No one said goodbye.

[akira-dulbar]

Servant of Evil

part1 part2

Damián Wayne x Twin Reader

Summary: You weren't supposed to be born, but you'd still give your life to your brother. He was the heir to the demon's head, the son of the bat, the prince, while you were his most faithful servant, his servant of evil.

Warnings: Yandere Reader. (?), Image taken from Pinterest and Ai.

The blue lyrics are the song.

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They've always told you the same thing since you were a baby.

You weren't supposed to be born.

Your mother, Thalia, and your grandmother only wanted one heir, not two, and although they could have killed you, they didn't, perhaps out of mercy, and perhaps to be your brother's most faithful servant. You don't know that, and you don't care.

"You will be the prince, I am your faithful servant."

From a young age, Damian was raised to become a worthy heir to the title of two great lineages, that of his mother and that of his father.

He studied and trained in everything, striving to be the best of the best, to become like his father. He never complained, never got upset, he just obeyed.

Meanwhile, you were different. Although you studied and trained like your twin, it wasn't to become an heir to the great lineage from which you came, but to be your brother's servant.

You studied to be useful to him, you trained to be his sword and shield. You were raised to be loyal, to serve him, to not doubt him, to obey him. And just like Damian, you didn't complain, you didn't get upset, you obeyed, you obeyed him.

"Fate separated the path between you and me."

When you met Jason, your first thought was that he wanted to steal what you loved so much. That was your position as Damian's servant, and Damian himself.

He was stronger, faster, and much more helpful than you were at the time, and you hated him for it. When he first arrived, you didn't see him as a threat. He was like a zombie when he arrived, skinny, malnourished, and half-dead. But when your mother took him to a room where a green light emanated from, everything changed. A Monster, as you liked to call him, the size of a suitor, with the strength of a lion, and the loyalty of a disciple.

When Damian had a problem, he would appear as if summoned and end up helping him, and you would stay there… without having been of any use.

You also hated it when your brother got involved in fights, helping him land the final blow in training as if the two of you belonged in those positions, and that wasn't the case. You were his servant, his sword and shield, not him. You didn't understand why he wanted to steal that position from you when Damián already had you.

And what you hated most was that he treated you like an equal instead of Damián's loyal servant. You imagined he only wanted to win your affection and then make you betray Damián, which you would never do for anything in your life. You'd rather die than betray your brother.

"You're not a servant." Jason stared at you as he said that, which puzzled you. The two of you were in the training room. He was training while you cleaned your brother's katanas. This was a great honor since Damian didn't let anyone touch his weapons. Letting you do it was a sign of mutual trust between the two of you, something not even Jason could match.

"You don't have to clean Damian's things; you're not his servant."

"Cleaning the prince's things is an honor not just anyone can have, not even you." Speaking like that to your mother's favorite toy wouldn't be well received and there would surely be punishment, but since it was just the two of you, you didn't think there would be a problem. After all, he was being too mean.

"Kid, what are you? His twin or his servant?" You were surprised by his courage. After all, it was strictly forbidden to say that you were Damian's twin because that would make it known that there were two heirs instead of one, and it wasn't the right thing to do. That's why you weren't even recognized as an Al Ghul, but rather as one of his faithful servants. If Jason said that you were the twin of Al Ghul's heir, it would get Jason punished, regardless of the fact that he was Talia's favorite toy, and right now, that was what you wanted most.

"I am the sword and shield of the Al Ghul heir, his most faithful servant. How dare you believe I have the blood of two great bloodlines like the prince himself?"

"Is that what helps you sleep?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No, you're just a child. You're not supposed to believe yourself to be someone's servant, or even think of sacrificing yourself for them."

"You don't know how much of an honor it is to be the faithful servant of the Al Ghul heir. After all, you're just Lady Talia's favorite toy. Wait until I tire of you." You saw Jason's eyes darken and turn bright neon green. For a moment, you felt like you had said something you shouldn't have.

After that, Jason said nothing and just continued training, while you continued with your work of cleaning your brother's weapons.

"If it's to protect you, I wouldn't mind becoming a worthy slave to evil."

When there were some who doubted your brother as the heir of Al Ghul, you didn't hesitate to follow his orders.

"Kill them," Damian said in front of you, looking at you as if only you were capable of carrying out such an important mission.

"As I ordered, prince." Then you took one of your katanas and filled it with the blood of those who doubted your brother. He was the heir. There can be no traitors or those who doubt him.

If you had to kill everything that stood in your way, so be it.

"We had to be born within expectations."

Damian Al Ghul, the heir, you, his most faithful servant, who would give his life so the prince could rise to the abyss and power.

"If the whole world were to go against your will, I will be there to enforce it."

There were a pile of corpses around you, some of those who dared to doubt your brother, others of those who tried to kill him, and still others you didn't know what they had done, but your prince had given his will, and you fulfilled it. "Kill those who wish for my downfall." "Yes, my Prince."

"So never stop smiling."

Damian rarely smiled in the league, but you still did your best to make him happy. You fed birds so they'd land on your hands and ran to show them to Damian only to get a smile from him. You sneaked into the dog training room and took out one of his smallest puppies to show Damian, who happily held them and smiled when they wagged their tails.

He was happy, and because of that, you were happy with him. You wouldn't let anyone separate you, not Jason, not his mother, not his grandfather. The League would never make you betray your brother. He was your prince, and you were his servant. No one would ever separate you, I promise you that.

"Will you serve me loyally until death?"

"Always my prince."

"Very soon, I'm going to fight with my mother to finally meet our father. Will you come with me as a faithful servant?"

"I am your sword and shield, I will be your shadow and your loyal servant. Behead me if you think I'm lying in my promise."

"So be it."

"You will be the prince, I am your faithful servant"

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What do you think? Did you like it? Do you want part 2? I do want part 2. I want to do more with this theme, but I don't know what else to do. Any ideas?

Anyway, I don't know much English.

[hoe4hotchner]

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

[elliespassagerprincess]

i would really like to see rockstar ellie dating actress reader 🙏🙏🙏

Headcannons: rockstar!ellie x actress!reader

masterlist

☆ Ellie Williams is the storm before the show starts. Inked arms, low-slung guitar, whiskey breath, and lyrics laced with venom. Her vibe is gritty and raw — she doesn’t do commercial spots, doesn’t care for endorsements. But when she sees you — a radiant, pristine actress on a talk show — something in her stops.

☆ You first meet at a fashion week afterparty. You’re in couture and diamonds, and Ellie’s in a ripped vintage tee and worn boots. She smells like leather and tobacco, eyes roaming like she’s memorizing you.

☆ The chemistry is instant, but Ellie’s overwhelmed. She pretends she doesn’t care, gives you a cold “cool dress,” but then goes home and writes six songs in one night. They all sound like longing.

☆ Your lifestyle is soft-spoken interviews and carefully planned PR moves. Hers is being dragged out of hotel rooms by managers and getting banned from venues for lighting joints on stage. But when you speak, Ellie listens like a disciple.

☆ You become a quiet obsession. She watches every film you’re in, boots up old B-roll footage, memorizes the rhythm of your voice in interviews. She starts talking like you. Dressing cleaner. Subtly shifting for you.

☆ When you finally text her first, she stares at the message for ten minutes before replying, fingers trembling. She drafts seventeen replies and erases each one. She wants to seem effortless, but her heart is pounding.

☆ Ellie doesn’t fall in love — she plummets. The second she kisses you, it’s like a wire snaps inside her. From then on, her music becomes more desperate. More romantic. Rawer. Critics start calling her new sound “haunted.”

☆ She becomes territorial fast. It’s subtle — a hand gripping your waist tighter at parties, lingering glances at anyone who looks at you too long. You’re polite. Ellie’s ready to fight.

☆ Ellie is never comfortable with fame, but she thrives in chaos. She only ever smiles in public when you’re next to her, and her fans catch on quickly — noticing how her entire face softens around you.

☆ Her tattoos become more personal. You never ask for it, but one night she comes home with your initials inked just below her ribs. “Didn’t hurt,” she lies, even though it bled.

☆ You once called her your “wild poet” in an interview. She kept the magazine and folded the page under her pillow. No one’s ever described her so intimately. It fuels her next EP.

☆ You bring calm into her world. She brings fire into yours. You teach her how to walk red carpets with confidence. She teaches you how to scream into the void and laugh after.

☆ Ellie refuses to let her team auto-tune her anymore. “She likes my voice cracked,” she says. And it’s true. You told her once your favorite part of her music is when she breaks mid-line.

☆ She gets jealous when you’re on set with male actors. She won’t say anything outright, but you come home to her music blasting and ashtrays full. Her lyrics that night drip with possession.

☆ You two rarely post each other publicly. But when you do, it’s cryptic: a photo of her guitar beside your high heels. A blurry picture of your hand in her back pocket. The internet unravels.

☆ You become Ellie’s muse in every way. Her lyrics shift from angst to aching love, to obsession, to reverence. She once wrote a chorus that just repeated your name over and over like a prayer.

☆ Her notebooks are filled with half-finished lines about your smile. She never shows them to anyone. You’re her secret weapon, her sacred chaos, the reason she still believes in beauty.

☆ She hides a tiny recorder in her jacket pocket when you talk. The cadence of your voice, your casual sentences—they end up in songs. Her producers find audio clips of you whispering her name in demo tracks.

☆ You don’t realize she’s writing about you until you hear her perform live. One lyric is word-for-word something you once said while crying into her chest. You look at her in shock. She just smirks.

☆ Ellie hates being away from you. She becomes unbearable on tour — grumpy, distracted, lashing out. Her manager starts scheduling shows closer to your filming locations just to get her to function.

☆ She writes you letters she never sends. When she’s on the road, her notebooks are full of “I miss you, I can’t breathe without you, I hate these hotel sheets, they don’t smell like you.”

☆ Every gift she gives you is handmade or vintage. Never brand-name. She’ll find a first-edition poetry book, a rusted lighter engraved with your initials, a guitar pick she carved herself.

☆ Ellie’s obsession is sacred, not sinister. She doesn’t want to control you. She wants to belong to you. She once said, “I’d shred my voice if it meant you’d feel loved.”

☆ When she sees you on screen crying, she cries too. Even if it’s acting. She once stormed out of a premiere because a character hurt you in the film. She couldn’t stand to see it.

☆ She calls you her “religion” in private. Says she prays at the altar of your neck. Says your laugh resurrected parts of her she didn’t know still lived.

☆ You’ve walked in on her writing a song, crying. Not because of pain, but because she says she loves you so much it physically hurts sometimes. You hold her till the strings stop trembling.

☆ Ellie starts performing barefoot. She said it makes her feel closer to you. She used to hate vulnerability — now she bleeds it on stage, for you, always.

☆ She doesn't believe she deserves you. So she works harder. Becomes cleaner. Still messy, still Ellie, but she fights to be good enough to stay in your light.

☆ Her fans know about you. They chant your name at concerts, hold up signs that say “YOU ARE HER MUSE.” She reads them from the stage with that crooked, private smile.

☆ You once walked out during an argument. Ellie wrote a seven-minute track called “Runaway Star” that night, dropped it without promo. It charted #1. You came home crying.

☆ Ellie always touches you on stage when you’re watching. Whether it’s adjusting her necklace with your ring on it, glancing at you before a verse, or mouthing “mine” when she sees you smile.

☆ When you wear her band tee on set, the entire internet erupts. Ellie screenshotted it and set it as her phone background, then wrote a song called “Hollywood in My Shirt.”

☆ She’s obsessed with your hands. She watches you gesture during interviews, kiss the backs of them when you’re stressed, holds them tightly when no one’s looking.

☆ You anchor her. When she spirals—bad reviews, stage anxiety, old trauma—you bring her back. You don’t calm the storm. You hold her through it, and she loves you more for that.

☆ Ellie once punched a guy at a party for making a crude joke about you. You scolded her, but she didn’t regret it. “I’d lose every gig if it meant they shut their mouths.”

☆ She writes you lyrics she never shares with the world. A private archive of confessions, promises, dreams. One night, she plays them all for you under candlelight.

☆ You teach her to love herself. Slowly. Carefully. You remind her that she’s more than noise and notoriety. That she’s soft and good and worthy. She writes a love song about it called “Unlearn.”

☆ She hates photo shoots but does them for you. When the magazine asks why she agreed, she replies: “She looks at these. That’s reason enough.”

☆ Ellie can’t sleep without your side of the bed warm. On tour, she wraps herself in your sweater and listens to voicemails from you until she crashes.

☆ She wants to marry you but is terrified you’ll say no. Not because you don’t love her — but because she still thinks you belong in a world she can’t touch.

☆ Ellie thinks you’re her greatest song. And not just the inspiration — the rhythm of your walk, the tone of your voice, the way you sigh. She hums you.

☆ Her favorite place on earth is wherever you’re filming next. She follows you like a loyal shadow, always finding new melodies in the way you exist.

☆ You once acted in one of her music videos. It wasn’t just a video—it was a story she wrote just to watch you move through it. She directed every shot.

☆ She hates sharing you with the world. When you walk carpets or kiss someone on screen, she watches with clenched fists and says, “They don’t get to keep you. I do.”

☆ Ellie keeps every note you’ve written. Even the silly ones. She carries one in her wallet that just says “don’t forget to eat” in your handwriting.

☆ She studies your interviews. Even years later, she replays your answers and mouths along. It’s a form of worship.

☆ You found a shrine once. Not literally—but her studio was filled with drawings of your silhouette, lipstick-stained napkins, press clippings, and your smiling face.

☆ She told her fans once, “I write because of her.” They screamed. You cried.

☆ Ellie thinks you’re her beginning and her end. And she’s okay with that. She once whispered, “If this all burns down, I want you holding the match.”

☆ You caught her crying after a show once, saying, “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.” You held her face and replied, “You created all of this. You deserve everything.”

☆ Your career starts soaring. You land an award-winning drama, then a major franchise. Suddenly your face is everywhere — billboards, perfume campaigns, movie posters. Ellie pretends to be cool about it, but deep down, it terrifies her. The world is starting to realize what she’s always known: you’re unforgettable.

☆ Ellie sits front row at your film premiere. She’s in all black, sunglasses at night, and refuses press. But the second you appear, she smiles like someone just handed her the universe in a wine glass.

☆ Your fans adore her. They call her “your grumpy groupie.” You once posted a photo of her backstage with a badge that says “property of THE actress,” and it trended for days.

☆ You win a major award. On stage, you thank your team, your family... and then you pause, eyes welling up, and say, “To the girl who taught me how to be loud, how to be soft, how to love—Ellie, this is ours.” Ellie leaves the theatre to cry alone.

☆ Paparazzi love catching your contrasts. You, glowing in designer silk. Ellie, beside you in ripped denim, tattoos out, holding your purse while glaring at cameras. It becomes an internet meme. She doesn’t care. She likes holding your things.

☆ You once had a sex scene with another actress, and Ellie watched it frame by frame, chewing her cheek raw. When you got home, she couldn’t meet your eyes. You had to pull her onto your lap and say, “There’s only one girl who ruins me. She’s sitting right here.”

☆ She writes a whole album about the idea of marrying you but never tells you. It’s angry, pleading, hopeful. The tracklist spells out your initials in acrostic.

☆ You catch her staring at engagement rings once. She tries to hide it. You don’t mention it. But that night she kisses your hand and whispers, “If I ever lose you, I’ll burn everything down.”

☆ You love her exactly as she is. The rough edges, the obsession, the tangled jealousy. You’ve never wanted to fix her. Just stay close enough to catch her when she spirals.

☆ Ellie starts introducing herself as “your wife” by accident. Sometimes it’s on purpose. At a party, someone flirts with you and she says, “She’s married. To me. Just not legally. Yet.”

☆ You keep Ellie grounded. She gets overwhelmed by fame, by noise, by how much she wants you. But you’re steady. You remind her to breathe. To eat. To make music because it matters, not because it sells.

☆ She paints your face on a guitar. It’s subtle — your eyes, hidden behind swirling ink. She plays that one only on her worst days.

☆ You start writing too. Quiet poems in the margins of scripts, love letters you hide in her suitcase. Ellie finds them and weeps like she’s found a lost part of herself.

☆ When she tours, she always reserves two hotel rooms. Not for space. For the fantasy. One for her, one for her “wife.” She keeps a nightgown in the second bed. Pretends you’re there.

☆ She proposes in the least expected moment. No cameras. No stage. Just the two of you in a shitty diner at 2 a.m., her eyes red from crying, whispering, “If I don’t make you mine forever, I’ll never be whole.”

☆ The world explodes when the engagement leaks. Headlines scream, “Hollywood’s Darling to Marry Rockstar Anomaly.” You both lock yourselves in a cabin for a week and forget the world exists.

☆ Your wedding is rumored to be unhinged. No guest list, just a private ceremony in a wild field with Ellie in a black suit and you barefoot in silk. She sings her vows through tears.

☆ Ellie can’t stop touching your ring. In interviews. In bed. When she holds your hand, her thumb circles it over and over like she’s grounding herself in proof. You’re hers. She’s yours.

☆ You’re offered a role as a queer icon in a prestige drama. You almost say no — afraid of Ellie’s reaction — but she reads the script and goes, “Play her. And I’ll write her a soundtrack.” That album becomes the most critically acclaimed of her life.

☆ The idea of babies makes Ellie lose her mind. She wants to hear your voice in a tiny human. She wants to see your softness pass down. You’re not ready yet, but she’s already written a lullaby. It’s called “Mama’s Muse.”

[shangchiswife]

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.

[jadetheblueartist]

ALABASTER C. TORRINGTON ANYONE??

“Don’t think twice- you’ll be dead in a second.

Turn your eyes from your hands to the heavens.

Kill your pride, turn your fear to a weapon,

And don’t you forget it.”

The Ethan one

Pfffff the lyric got long but like how was i supposed to cut any of that out come ooooooon

@drksanctuary the tag you requested (also thank you for in turn motivating me to actually do this fjdjhvhfjdjdj)

Also like look at him and Ethan lined up

I don’t ship them bc like platonic stuff is my favorite but like I want them to be the bestest of friends and this is me fulfilling that ig ahhhhhhhhh I have these drawings titled “stuck in a box” bc of just first thing in my brain but it kinda fits the vibes I feel

Ok yapping over I’m tired now dnckdhfihdvihdfiheivhiehvih

[starrydali]

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! :)

[innerfare]

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. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[jeankluv]

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.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Permit Master Summary!

Gem is judging!

Round One: Best Smallest Thing

Jimmy- Tiny yoda he got from Grian which he wasn't supposed to tell Gem (1 Point)

Pearl- Baby crafting table that apparently isn't what she was going to bring originally so Gem is mad she gave into peer pressure (2 Points)

Joe- Tiny Hands (3 Points)

Ren-Tiny Skateboard that comes with skate shoes for his fingers that Gem watched him buy (3 Points)

Cub- Coin from 2015 Minecon (4 Points)

Martyn- Cat toy he stole from Jimmy's house and cat toy he stole from Grian (4 Points)

False- Tiny Minecraft Turtle (5 Points)

==========================

Round Two: In Hermitcraft build the most interesting face. Then using your real face, immitate the face you just made. The closest immitation wins.

I didn't catch what everyone's faces looked like.

Cub used nerf darts being held up to his face.

Joe is already dressed as a pumpkin which is what his face was.

False has utilized a snack box and oranges.

Ren, Martyn and Jimmy all used sticky notes to imitate theirs.

Pearl drew on her face in green sharpie.

Cub got a 1

False got a 2

Joe and Ren both got a 3

Martyn and Jimmy got a 4

Pearl got a 5

==========================

Round Three: Write a jingle to encourage donations. The best jingle wins. You can use non hermits.

Jimmy has stolen Oli immediately. Oli is playing the keyboard at home and Jim has a toy guitar. Jimmy isn't singing or doing anything at all, just having Oli do it.

False tried to get Skizz, Kirsty, and Impulse but they all said no. She is the only one with no partner. She is using a variety of paddles and an aluminum food tin, and asking chat for rap lyrics because she can't sing. She has decided to pull up a beat on her phone and rap to it.

Martyn has a bunch of weapons as instruments that he is having Skizz use for drumming and is using chat for lyrics. He is also rapping. I liked his the best.

Pearl is singing to herself and is using Karn to sing and write lyrics. They are just singing, no instruments. They did a very Aussie song.

Ren is using paddles and a stool as drums and has commandeered a Gamer's Outreach employee named Stage (?) to play harmonica. He's doing some kind of chant? His was my least favorite.

Cub has the cat key board with Impulse playing and is using chat for lyrics. Cub is also rapping to Impulse banging on the keyboard. Short and sweet.

Joe has a phone keyboard and Badger. He has done a song to tune of Old McDonald.

Jimmy gets 0 points. Oli gets 5 points.

False got 2 points. She is not happy. She is threatening to beat Skizz up and yelling.

Pearl and Karn's acapella Aussie duet gets a 3.

Cub and Impulse get a 3 for Impulse's silly little expression.

Ren and Stage got a 3 because Gem pities Stage.

Joe gets 4 points for a "fantastic little jingle".

Martyn gets 5 which we expected.

Bonus Task: They tricked Jimmy into lining up 100 pieces of grass. In classic taskmaster fashion, no one else did it.

==========================

Task Four: Take the best shot. Either record it and send it in discord or tell them when you're ready to put in their brain boxes later.

Everyone has grabbed Weapons except for Jimmy.

I got this sick screenshot of False.

Pearl dunked the enderman plushie in the toy chest.

Joe has a Nerf bow and arrow and tried to hit a sheep in a cardboard cutout and missed three times and hit once.

Cub has a toy bow and arrow and failed to shoot it into a Target bag three times and hit once.

Martyn managed to catch a rubber chicken thrown from a balcony in a bucket.

Ren repeatedly failed to shoot a coffee cup off of Karn's computer when asked to do it live, but someone got a video of him doing it successfully to show them

False has a good shot of Martyn. Just a nice photo she's gonna Tweet out.

Jimmy failed a bunch of times to try and kick an orange in a cone and ran out of time. "Chat, your streamer, useless" said Gem to Jimmy's stream.

False is still mad at Gem. "I don't usually say to send hate, but please send hate to Gem".

Jimmy gets 0 points for not taking a shot and wasting oranges.

Joe and Cub both get 1 point for failing repeatedly but at least they tried.

False gets 3 points for taking an unflattering shot of Martyn.

Pearl gets 4 points for dunking the enderman smoothly.

Ren and Martyn get 5 points for being actually impressive.

==========================

Round Five: Meet up with your partners in Hermitcraft and invent the best secret handshake.

Teams: Cub and Joe, Martyn Jim and Pearl, Ren and False

Ren is going to get murdered by False. She is so angry at him because he can't figure out how to get into a group. They are building two "hands". False is going to kill this man. They are making their handshake even after time is up. Ren is trying to tell her time is up and she is telling him it doesn't matter and to just listen to her.

The Evo Crew is setting off firework rockets and jumping from a high place with totems. Pearl is stealing from Cub and planning on paying him back later. They have the energy of a group of children trying to make a play to get to sleepover.

Cub and Joe are having two armor stands shake hands. They are the only ones doing anything efficiently.

THE HANDSHAKES ARE MEANT TO BE IRL! THEY PLANNED THEM IN MINECRAFT BUT HAVE TO DO THEM IRL!

The Evo Crew did a little dance one at a time and threw a bunch of Nerf Darts like fireworks.

Joe and Cub are fake dueling with forks.

False and Ren have jumped, did a fake little throw on the ground, done a spin, and then jumped towards each other to do a high five.

False accidentally said on the main mic that she's going to throw an orange at Ren's head.

Ren and False and Joe and Cub got 4 points.

The Evo Crew got 5 points.

==========================

Final Round: Disguise a carrot. The best disguise wins.

Pearl's Final Result:

Joe's Final Result:

Cub's Final Result:

False's Final Result:

Jimmy's Final Result:

Ren's Final Result:

Martyn's Final Result

Final Round Scores:

Joe gets 1 point because he hid his rather than disguised it.

Cub gets 2 points for being low effort.

False gets 3 points because Gem can still tell its a carrot.

Martyn gets 4 points.

Tied for 5 points are Pearl, Ren, and Jimmy.

==========================

Final Scores:

7th Place: Oli-5 points

6th Place: Jimmy and Cub-15

5th Place: Joe-17

4th Place: False-19

3rd Place: Ren- 23

2nd Place: Pearl-24

1st Place: Martyn-27

Martyn wins all the tiny things!

[genesis-laced0ut]

Ashes of Us

Cheater!Eddie Munson x reader

If u enjoy be sure to like and reblog!!

PART 2

You never thought you’d be that girl.

The one who lost herself trying to hold onto someone else.

The one who ignored the warning signs — the late replies, the sudden coldness in his voice, the parties he “forgot” to invite you to.

The one who loved someone even when it hurt.

And with Eddie Munson, it always hurt.

You met him freshman year.

He was a mess of denim and chaos, laughing too loud in the back of every lecture hall, scratching song lyrics into the margins of his textbooks instead of taking notes.

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

Smarter than the way he smiled at you one afternoon, all dimples and dangerous promises.

Smarter than thinking you could be the one to fix him.

By junior year, you weren’t smart anymore.

You were in love.

You found out on a Tuesday.

Not a dramatic, cinematic Tuesday.

A normal, bone-achingly cold Tuesday where you were stupidly happy to get off work early, giddy to surprise him.

Maybe you’d even stay the night.

Maybe he’d sing you that half-finished song he always said he was writing about you.

You held onto those maybes like a fool.

His door was half-open.

The hallway smelled like burnt incense and cheap weed.

You pushed the door open with a shy smile already forming on your lips—

—and you saw it.

Her.

In his bed.

In his fucking bed.

Wearing your favorite Metallica shirt — the one you used to steal from his closet, the one he used to tease you about.

Her hands were twisted in his hair.

His mouth was on her neck, the way it used to be on yours.

You froze.

You couldn’t even breathe.

It felt like someone had driven a knife into your stomach and twisted.

You should have screamed.

You should have thrown something, cried, anything.

Instead, you just stood there, a ghost at your own funeral.

And when he finally looked up —

when his brown eyes went wide and horrified —

you realized something even worse:

He knew.

He knew what he was doing.

And he still did it anyway.

“Baby—” he stumbled, shoving the girl off him like she was nothing, tripping over the sheets to reach you.

His voice was cracked and desperate.

“Baby, I— it’s not—fuck, please—”

You stepped back.

You felt like your body wasn’t yours anymore.

Like you were watching this happen to someone else.

She stared at you with wide, smug eyes.

Not even sorry.

Not even ashamed.

“Save it,” you croaked, your throat raw with unshed tears. “Don’t… don’t fucking touch me.”

He was crying now.

Actually crying.

Fat, ugly tears running down his face, the same face you used to trace with your fingers late at night, whispering promises about forever.

“Please,” he gasped. “It didn’t mean anything. I was drunk, I was high, I— I didn’t even know what I was doing—”

“You knew enough to take off your fucking clothes,” you snapped.

Your voice was shaking, but the rage was stronger.

It had to be.

“You meant everything to me, Eddie.”

You said it so quietly it almost didn’t sound like you.

“And I was just… convenient,” you finished, bitter and broken and hollow.

“Someone you could fuck over when you got bored.”

He looked like he was dying.

Like he couldn’t stand to hear the words — because he knew they were true.

“I love you,” he choked.

It sounded like a weapon now, not a comfort.

A curse.

You smiled then — not sweet, not kind.

Something sharp and cold and dead inside.

“No,” you whispered.

“You just love what I let you get away with.”

And then you turned around.

You walked out, ignoring the way he called after you, ignoring the sound of him falling to his knees in the hallway, sobbing your name like a broken prayer.

You didn’t look back.

If you did, you knew you would never leave.

Later that night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself break.

You tore down the Polaroids of you and him taped to your walls.

You deleted every voicemail, every text, every song he ever sent you at 2 a.m.

You cried so hard you thought you might throw up.

You hated yourself for still loving him.

For still aching for him in places you didn’t even know could hurt.

You slept in one of his old shirts — not out of nostalgia, but because you were too wrecked to change.

It smelled like him.

It smelled like the graveyard of everything you lost.

You dreamed of him that night.

Of his hands, his smile, the way he used to call you his lucky charm.

When you woke up, your pillow was soaked in tears.

You realized something even worse than heartbreak.

You would survive this.

And somehow, surviving felt like the cruelest thing of all.

.

.

.

Its currently 5:17 am and i havent slept. Have a lot of this fic done already. Lmk if yall want more!

DONT FORGET TO LIKE AND REBLOG!!!

PART 2

[blintzestein]

Hey Joan! Where do you start when writing a melody? I keep trying to get into making music, but I never know how to come up with a melody. Any tips?

listen to your favorite ones! over and over and over and over and over and over and over until you drive yourself crazy!! GIVE yourself earworms!!! hum or sing to yourself constantly!!!!

you might think it would clog your head with other peoples melodies instead of birthing new ones, but ANYTHING you could make would take influence from or have been something used in previous work in the first place! like, almost the entire spectrum of music has been done and is out there in nearly every possible combination already!! it's math! this is not a disheartening fact!! original work is the sum of its parts, its roots!

i think what did it for me was a decade of having the entire homestuck discography on my ipod as a teenager! beyond the music used in homestucks animations, the bandcamp was a beautiful melting pot of music of all different genres and subgenres made by dozens and dozens of different artists. i would shuffle the ipod and to this day i could still run into homestuck songs i haven't heard. it's incredibly inspiring, so much work done by so many people to create hundreds of instrumental stories interpreting characters, their feelings and thoughts their histories their lives, player lands and planets, weapons, an absolute audio basket. the Land of Fans and Music. so now similarly i make instrumental songs that are trying to tell you something, mostly what i'm feeling without singing lyrics. it's such a beautiful art form to express yourself!!

what you have to do is not stop listening to your favorite music all the time! then what might happen is, during your moments of silence gears will turn in your head crushing all those melodies into a fine powder and mixing them together until you're humming something new. i think, at least, this is somewhat how the experience has gone for me. i can't probably give you the true right answer if there is one at all, who knows how many things affect this!

thank you for your ask :) i hope i'm comprehensible

[niallerspayno]

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.