#Let a nice person crash out every once and a while

[hiimalex]

Thinking about how a lot of people are hating on Ragatha for getting mad in the recent episode

While I'm over here wanting to make a fucking kinsona of her because her talking about emotionally abusive mother fucking RESONATED with me.

Plus, I am low-key an asshole irl (I'm just always on edge), but I really do relate to her for the fact that she gets mad ONE time and all of a sudden everybody is calling her a bad person for it. I've had my fair share of times where I'm rude ONE time and got called a bad person for it.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 4 of forever teen Danny adopted JJ Tim and Red Hood Jason. Sorry if you're a Batman or Nightwing fan, I'm not nice to them in this one.

[Pt3: Here][pt5: here]

The last 4 years have been a riot. Danny has 2 wonderful and slightly unhinged boys that he stole from the Bats. They've gotten in so many shenanigans, between normal vigilante shit, the Bats and/or ghost/supernatural hunters trying to bag them, and them just fucking around.

It's the most fun he's had in a while. They're good kids, but they, of course, have started branching out. They're 19 (Jason) and 17(Tim) now and don't necessarily want their dad following them around. So Danny gave them his personal summons just in case and made them promise to stay close together, the two of them are good at covering for the other's weaknesses. Like how Tim only being Liminal, he can take more hits from the ghost hunters that will clock Jason as a Revenant or Jason's supernatural strength taking out the bigger assholes that target Tim for his small size or Joker mannerisms.

So he tries not to worry, simply going to work and trusting them to either deal with any trouble themselves or summon him. And for 3 months they don't need to summon him once. But at the end of month 3, he feels it.

"Hey, Eddy! I got to go! My kids are in trouble!" Danny calls to his boss, already moving to somewhere there's less witnesses to see him poof.

"Okay! See ya! ...Wait, you have kids?" Danny doesn't answer, letting the summons take ahold and pull him through the fabric of reality.

A fun side effect of being summoned is that he always ends up in his High King form. The form is humanoid in the vaguest of sense. It's also just stars and the void of space. His eyes are giant stars and his mouth is too wide and full of rows and rows of needle-like teeth. A crown of ice smokes like dry ice on his head and the ring of rage is simple stripe of neon green on his right hand's middle finger (he thought it'd be funny to flip people off with it). All in all, he's terrifying for mortals to see unprepared.

And the cussing around him tells the people hassling his sons are NOT prepared.

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU SUMMON THE GHOST KING???" A very distraught British man shrieks. Danny would feel bad, but this idiot is standing near the Bat and Nightwing AND Danny's sons are tied up in front of them.

"DAaaaAD!" Tim whines, flopping over to look at him. "They're trying to excorise Hoodie!"

"Are they now?" Danny hisses. His voice sounds like glaciers crashing together.

"Bats! What the fuck??? You didn't tell me THAT WAS THEIR DAD!" British man sounds on the brink of a mental breakdown.

"We've never seen this entity." Batman frowns.

"Yeah! They've been calling a ghost kid dad this whole time!" Nightwing defends. "How were we supposed to know they could summon this guy??"

"What...what did you say the "kid"'s name was?" British dude asks faintly.

"We didn't." Batman says.

"Weeell, Johnny-boy!" Jason sounds like he has a shit eating grin. "What they didn't tell you is our sweet ol' adoptive father is called Phantom~!"

"Oh goodie! We're so dead..." "Johnny" says and starts chugging his flask of probably alcohol. It suddenly clicks that this is the fabled John Constantine.

"You should know better than to take a job half-assed, John Constantine." Danny grins with teeth.

"Oh good, he knows my name.." Constantine mumbles to himself.

"Give me one good reason to not kill you all for trying to kill my son and kidnap the other." Danny waves a hand and slices his sons' bindings. "I have only been so patient with you bats because my sons are fond of you, but my patience is running out."

"Tim belongs with us! He needs help and healing!" Nightwing proclaims.

"I talk to a licensed therapist twice a week and take my meds every day! Try again, Big Birdie!!" Tim snarls. "Just because I'm not what you want me to be doesn't mean I'm a broken doll in need of saving!"

"Besides, don't you have a new bird to destroy?" Jason asks with a head tilt. "The second birdie died, the third got mentally fucked, the four died... I think we can count birdie #1 as mentally fucked up, meaning if we follow the pattern, birdie #5 will be mentally fucked by the time he flies the nest."

"How do you know so much about us, Red Hood?" Batman demands with a scowl.

"He doesn't have to tell you anything!" Tim steps in front of Jason and glares.

"I'm still waiting on a reason to not kill you." Danny reminds them. The bats look towards Constantine.

"Don't look at me, mates. That's head bitch of all head bitches. The fact he's letting you plead your case after threatening what he deems as his is a step up huge from most overpowered dead guys. From what I heard, the last guy would have just killed us the moment he was summoned and then destroyed the whole dimension afterwards. This guy beat that guy in single combat." Constantine pulls out a cigarette before addressing Danny, "Your Majesty, I had no idea these were your kids. I was just told a Revenant had kidnapped and "brainwashed" the ex-Robin. Clearly, I wasn't told accurate information."

Nightwing sputters, "What Do You Mean?? Clearly Tim has been brainwashed or something!!"

Constantine whips around to Nightwing, "Oh shut up, you big blue twit! King Phantom DESPISES mind control! Which means your ex-bird is with these two completely willingly."

"There's n-" Nightwing tries, but Constantine bulldozes on.

"I don't know what you did to the kid, nor do I care. But he's considered ROYALTY to the dead and undead now. He doesn't have to have ANYTHING to do with you. If you take him away from his new and apparently accepting family, that's considered an interdimensional crime, and no magician or supernatural or even god-like being will help you." Constantine takes a long drag of his cigarette. "I suggest you apologize, make your excuses, then leave them the fuck alone. Besides, crime has been at a record low in Gotham from what I hear. Let them do what they want. "

"That's because Red Hood keeps killing the Rouges!" Nightwing protests. "Who gives him the right to be judge, jury, and executioner???"

Constantine points to Danny and says flatly. "The ruler of basically everything, that's who."

Danny grins at him, his ghost half is very pleased with the man. "I shall spare you, magic man."

Constantine looks like he's going to faint from relief, moving to park himself by the door. "Just fucking apologize and leave them be, Bats."

"But!" Nightwing looks like he's going to cry. He turns his teary eyes to Tim. "Why can't you just come home, Timmy?"

"What home?" Tim stares down his nose at Nightwing, anger clear in his voice. "The Manor was Never my home. I was simply the stand in for your and B's grief for a boy you both pushed to his death. Phantom showed me what family really was. And that was AFTER I was too broken for you to accept. I was NOT Joker Junior then or now. I'm my own fucking person and I'm staying with the family that accepts me for ALL my oddities."

"You tried to put him in Arkham when he tried to go to you." Red Hood growls. "He wanted your support and help and you were going to lock him up and throw away the key."

"We were n-"

"YOU WERE!" Tim starts to trembling in hurt and rage. "You couldn't even look at me! I wanted you so badly to help me and you were going to put me in there right next to Harley! I wanted you to be my family, but I've only ever been a tool to you!"

"You weren't-" Danny doesn't like how the Bats seem ready to jump at his kids, so he freezes the Bats' feet to the floor.

"Shut up, Dickwing." Jason snarls, pulling Tim into a hug. "You lost your chance to be his brother 4 years ago. Go pretend to care about the new cannon fodder. We don't want to hear it."

"Hood." Batman finally speaks. "Who are you?"

"Who do you think, old man?" Jason takes his hood off for the first time ever in front of the Bats. They visibly startle, recognizing him despite all the changes.

"Ja-" The Bat starts.

"Shut up." Jason glares. "You were a shit dad and brother to me in life. I found the BEST family in death."

Danny picks up his boys, deciding to let them decide on the severity of the Bats' punishment. "Maiming or death?"

"... I say maim, but only because I know the newest bird and want him to stay out of the death cult his mother's in." Jason says softly. The Bats sqawk as they Just realize Danny froze their feet to the floor. Mortal tools and fire can't break/melt his ice, but it's amusing to watch the bats try.

Tim is quiet for nearly 3 whole minutes, locked in some sort of internal battle, before he answers. "Maim in a, at least mostly, healable way. Gotham needs Batman, even if we don't."

"Hmm." Danny ignores the Bats' protests to think about what he should do. "Ah! I know exactly what to do!"

He unfreezes their feet and gently forces both to the ground and processes to break both of Nightwing's legs and both of Batman's arms. He pulls one of their coms off and hands it to Tim, he's the only one that sounds normal on normal tech. Jason hasn't been able to use normal tech since Danny fixed his ecto, so Danny modifies anything he or Jason use.

"Hi, Agent A! Batgirl!" Tim's cheerful tone barely hides his seething rage. "You should send a pick up for Dickiebird and B-man! They need medical attention! Ba-bye~!"

Danny can hear the shouting over the com, but Tim simply yeets it towards the Bats instead of listening to whatever they have to say.

"I have a reason for the injuries I picked." Danny informs the room. Jason and Tim look intrigued, Constantine looks exhausted and slightly guilty about the Bats getting hurt on his watch, and the Bats themselves look dazed and in pain, so who knows if they'll remember his reasonings. "Nightwing is an acrobat and truly a bird, so grounding him is cruel, but hopefully he feels as small and helpless as you both did. Grounding him will give him time to think on his actions and their consequences."

Danny's sons look curiously at the grounded Nightwing before looking back to him.

"I broke Batman's arms so that he's forced to ask for help and communicate. He's far too old for his shitty behavior." Danny frowns. "They both need therapy, but I doubt the flying furries will actually get the help they need."

Tim suddenly cackles in delight. "Maybe THEY should check THEMSELVES into Arkham! Ya know! Since they think I, the one ACTUALLY getting help, should be in there!"

Jason starts cackling alongside his brother while Danny chuckles.

"I shall take my children home now, good day." Danny says while wrapping his sons in his invisibility and intangibility and takes them home. A cozy 3 bedroom apartment on the top floor of a building Jason owns as Red Hood.

[giuseppe-yuki]

money, money, money

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 6.8k

warnings: curse words, allusions to sex, RUDE people, sprinkle of angst (?)

summary: you introduce max to the good and bad sides of having money.

a/n: roughly inspired by crazy rich asians- one of my fav movies!!!

edit: bonus birthday oneshot :)

photo credits from pinterest :)

it was no secret to the majority of the world that your bloodline was rich- filthy rich. with your father’s side of the family owning the equivalent of half a small country and your mother’s side of the family the owners of several major corporations, you had no lack of paper bills in your bank accounts.

along with your siblings and your cousins, you grew up pampered, only going to your country’s best schools and wearing only the latest fashion. you were picked up by a chauffeur in a personal sleek black bentley and had a team of maids at your beck and call. hell, you were even granted access to a private jet in case you wanted to fly somewhere exotic just for fun!

as a child without a sense of the value of money, you thought all children lived like this. every birthday, you expected only the very best from your parents. on your sixth birthday, your parents closed down disneyland and let the kids rampage throughout the park. for your cousin’s grade school graduation, your aunt bought an entire cruise liner (company) and held a week-long party on the water to celebrate. when your little brother passed his driver’s license, your father bought him a customized ferrari pista (that he might have crashed three days in) as his first car. when christmas came by, your grandma flew in your entire family to her private island in first class, and surprised all the kids with their very own mini play homes in the backyard that were each the size of a small apartment. 

slowly, as you matured, you realized how lucky you were. while eating the caviar and champagne at the expensive gala, the homeless were out in the cold, eating the leftover crusts in oily crumpled pizza boxes that they fished out of the trash. each dollar in your bank accounts could go to sick children whose parents couldn’t pay the hospital bills for, and instead, they were going to mega yachts that sat in the monaco bay most of the year. besides, wouldn’t your parents' money run out some time? 

it seemed that many of your cousins and siblings didn’t give a fuck. you watched them exponentially abuse their power, blowing through thousands of grands for luxury cars they drove only once and exclusive rooftop parties where they swam in pools of champagne. one by one, you saw them drop out of school and spend every day as the life of the party. once they rapidly grew out of the excuse of being “young, naive, and not knowing better” their reputation to the general public became “spoiled and out-of-touch” with society. 

you of course, weren’t totally exempt from this. you had to admit that you occasionally spent a few k on a nice little bag for yourself, or had an occasional trip to bali for some sun. however, you focused much more on your studies and helping others than partying. instead of spending your draining your mother’s company assets, wouldn’t it be better to have your own? why wield a black card embellished with your father’s name in gold when it could be your own name? with your own money, you could also donate huge amounts to people in need- all under your name.

slowly, you built up your own credible business using the knowledge you gained, and it soon skyrocketed into a world-wide profitable company. 

even with such success however, all your siblings and cousins laughed at you. running a company? they had chuckled, in their balenciaga suits and miu miu dresses. why do such tedious work when you can just marry into a rich family?

rich family, you scoff, looking at one of your cousins at the yearly family party that your family threw. though she was dressed to the nines, hair done up and jewelry glistening on her neck, she looked absolutely miserable. her husband, that everyone knew she had just married “for the money” stood on the opposite end of the room, flirting unashamedly with a rather uncomfortable looking waiter. that was really funny, considering that your cousin had been bragging about how much her husband loved her at the last function. she had even shoved a picture of her next to a humongous flower bouquet into your face, teasingly stating how “you never had this experience before, huh?”

your brother wasn’t that much different. although he looked rather successful with a big quarter of your mother’s company stocks, you knew that he was in major debt from burning through his bank accounts gambling at casinos around the world. he paraded around the room with his wife, who hung on his arm so proudly, but only because she didn’t know a thing. if you hinted at your brother’s little “problem,” you knew that she would have the divorce papers ready by afternoon the next day. 

as the party went on and the alcohol broke down the painstakingly-built facades of your family’s relationships, you began to stop envying their so-called perfect lives. you realized that all they knew about was money. what did they know about love?

love to you was a kind man with blue eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled at you, light brown hair that was oh-so-soft to run through with your hands, and a soothing voice with a twinge of an accent and slight lisp. love smelled like his soft cologne, and tasted like the spiced sweetbreads he would bake on the weekends. 

max was the total opposite from the cocky and money-hungry douchebags from your home country that were more attracted to your wallet and family influence, which was what you liked about him. even the way you met him was different. usually, the men would make it all about themselves, trying to impress you with their “achievements” (owning three ferraris is not a keystone achievement, david) or throwing technical jargon at you to sound smart. if you somehow invited them on a second date, they always showed up late and would tear off their clothes the second they got in the house, expecting to get to third base immediately. however, you met max through a friend of a friend at a small party in monaco. he could barely look you in the eyes and stuttered through his sentences, which you found quite refreshing compared to the arrogant guys that you usually encountered. on your first date, he got you some rather wilty looking tulips, but also brought some homemade bread that you swore was the best you ever ate. on the second date, he yapped about all the flags of all the countries he knew, but you didn’t mind because he let you ramble your own interests after. before long, you moved in with him in his apartment on the edge of monaco, and had the honor of calling him your boyfriend.

so now, lying in his arms on his tiny bed, you felt more at home than ever. 

the sunlight streams in through the windows above his bed, casting a glow across his face and filtering through his impossibly long eyelashes. you take a minute to admire the angelic scene, before one his cats leaps off of who-knows-where and jumps on his face. 

he yelps, and unwinds his arm from around you to softly push who you assume to be sassy away from his head. 

you flash a glare at sassy for ruining such a nice moment, before picking her up and attempt to “throw” her off the bed. 

unfortunately, max yanks her out of your hands before you are able to.

“hey!” he says in a chastising tone. “be nice to sassy. i’m sure she didn’t mean to.” 

max sits up on the bed and gives sassy a few head scratches before placing a kiss on her soft head. sassy meows at you, which you swear is in a mocking tone. across the room, jimmy sprints over and takes a spot next to max, purring for head scratches too, effectively pushing you off the bed. 

you didn’t understand how your boyfriend couldn’t see that his cats were literally devils. you were basically subject to their abuse every day (i.e. random ankle attacks, knocking over all you fragile items, unplugging your devices, cat hair in your food, and the worst one, stealing max away from you). scowling, you surrender your rightful spot on the bed and pad into the kitchen in your slippers to start the coffee. 

it’s not until both the coffee and breakfast is ready when max finally enters the kitchen, now freshly dressed. the cats scamper around his feet, curling lovingly around his ankles. 

“sorry about that, baby.” he says, pulling out his chair and taking a seat in front of his plate of food. “jimmy and sassy just wanted some love.”

you roll your eyes before settling down into your own seat.

he spears a few sausage links and eggs into his mouth before glancing at the clock. eyes widening, he shoves the rest of the food into his mouth and chugs down the hot coffee.

“so sorry, i have to run!” he sputters out, “i’m going to be late to my engineering meeting!”

he dashes to the bedroom to grab his bag before running back into the kitchen to press a kiss to your cheek in goodbye. 

“have fun at work too, baby!” he yells before the front door slams closed. 

sighing, you finish your plate before washing the dishes in the sink. he was always late for his engineering job at a small office in downtown monaco. max somehow always got to his office in time though, but probably because he raced his little yellow renault clio rs on the streets like he was some type of formula one driver. meanwhile, you had your “work” at home (which typically meant one phone call to your secretary to make sure everything was running smoothly, a quick scroll through your company accounts, and then netflix on the couch).

from the time you met to the time you started dating, you never got to telling max about your family history or your job. it was actually kind of unbelievable that he didn’t notice actually, even when all your clothes were covertly designer and heels were always red bottoms, or when you seemingly traveled out of the country every other weekend for company meetings. however, he never asked, so you never told. 

well, that was until he came home that night. 

his footsteps echo on the ground as he walks out from the bathroom, but stops before he gets into the kitchen

“hey baby,” he says, tilting his head. “what’s this?”

you stop stirring the pasta sauce, looking back to see your freshly showered boyfriend questioningly glancing at your open macbook on the couch.

you must have forgotten to close out of your company bank account tab. quickly, you throw the spoon aside, slam the laptop shut, and throw it to the side. 

“that’s nothing, baby.” you say, rushing back to the kitchen and stirring the bubbling red mixture again. 

“oh-kay…” he says, walking up behind you and reaching over to help strain the pasta noodles. 

while straining the water out in the sink, he flashes you a quick glance. “was it like…” he whispers quietly. “adult material or something?? is that why you didn’t want me to see it?” 

what? 

you look back him, an unimpressed look at your face. “adult material, max???” you repeat back at him. “no. i was not watching adult material on my work laptop.”

“okay, whatever you say, baby.” max says, clearly not believing you. clearing his throat, he continues. “so, um… anyways, my coworker george was talking about how he met his boyfriend alex's parents over the weekend, and i realized that i never met your parents before. do you think we can maybe pay them a visit?"

you freeze, halfway sliding out a plate of garlic bread from the oven. 

“i- um, don’t think that’s wise, maxie.” you reply quietly.

your boyfriend wrinkles his brow. he stops the plating of the noodles and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“is it…is it because they are assholes?” he asks, looking at you seriously. “cause it’s okay if they are- i understand, because my dad…my dad is not very kind either.”

you can’t help to think about your family in your home country. you could never take your maxie there. they would rip him to shreds, degrading him for being rather plain and destitute compared to them. you would never want to put your boyfriend through your parents, either, who would probably criticize him for wanting to marry you just for the money, even if max didn’t know a goddamn thing about how you earned your funds. 

you rub your face. “no, it’s not that.” you sigh, “i- mean- it’s just complicated over there in my home country. i don’t want you to feel pressure or uncomfortable-”

max cuts you off with a hug, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “i really don’t mind, baby. i’d really like to meet the people who made such a kind and beautiful person like you.”

you blush a little at his words. even if you have an uneasy feeling to your stomach, you nod lightly. it can’t be that bad, right?

if you were to take max over to your home country, there was no doubt he would be exposed to your massive fame and influence there. to slowly ease him into the more luxurious side of your life, you first introduce the luxuries of a private jet the day you take off from the airport.

“a private JET???” your boyfriend shrieks, looking at his speciality boarding pass. 

hurriedly, you shush him to avoid the glares of other travelers within a yelling distance of you both. 

“max, please be quiet.” you hiss into his ear. “yes, it says private jet.” 

maneuvering your cart with your lv-branded luggage to the side of the terminal, along with max’s one small carry-on and two pet cages with the reincarnations of the devil inside, you pull out your phone to check the location of the driver who would take you to the separate private-jet entrance. 

like magic, he materializes behind you, tapping you on the shoulder. 

politely, he takes your horde of luggages and max’s items before politely gesturing towards a massive black lincoln that was definitely not parked there before. 

“this way miss,” he says curtly, before reaching forward to open the car door for you. 

max, snapping out of his confusion, snaps his hand out first and roughly yanks the door open, and nearly hitting both you and the driver. 

“i’ll open the door for my own girlfriend, thanks!” he retorts, glaring suspiciously at the driver, who just shrugs and starts loading the luggage into the back of the car.

when max climbs into the spacious back of the lincoln, you can’t help but giggle into your hand. 

“max, you need to relax,” you laugh, placing a calming hand on max’s leg. “he’s my driver. it’s his job to open the door, okay?”

your boyfriend sniffs, pouting a little. 

“fine.”

after boarding the jet and ascending safely into the air, you settle into your padded chair. meanwhile, max runs around the jet like a little kid, pointing out the “special features,” much to the amusement of the staff. 

“omg, baby, look!” he yells, pointing at a wooden-paneled door behind your chair. “the bathroom is huge!” 

you nod, and hum in agreement, sparing a quick glance at max, who was opening and closing the door as if it would change what was behind it. 

he then charges toward a cabinet near the middle of the plane, which is stuffed to the brim with your favorite snacks. “wow!” he shouts, before sprinting towards a similar cabinet further down, which you know is the alcohol storage area. 

there’s a moment of silence before max steps into view with three gin and tonics and one of your favorite drinks in hand. he carefully sets them down in front of you, batting away a disgruntled-looking bartender who held a half-open bottle of gin that you assumed he was in the middle of pouring when max snatched the bottle away. 

you apologize profusely to the bartender while max watches on, straight up chugging his drinks. 

“this is wild!!” he whispers, pointing to the cups in front of him.

no more than five minutes after sending the bartender away with a little tip, max has already finished two of his three gin and tonics and was already bounding out of his seat to explore the rest of the plane. 

once you hear his exclamations of joy from the back of the plane, you know he has discovered the master bedroom.

before you have a chance to take a sip of your own drink, max basically pounces on you and drags you towards the private bedroom. your boyfriend pushes you onto the soft bed, yells out the door. 

“give us a little bit of privacy, okay?” he shouts to no one in particular, before slamming the door shut. 

he turns back to your figure lying spread-eagle in the bed, and wiggles his eyebrows. 

max is the first one to talk after you both lay on the bed, lips swollen and cheeks red. 

“so…?” he says, running a hand down your back. 

“so… what?” you ask, looking up at him from your position sprawled on top of him. from your point of view, you could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest, his slightly damp hair, and the way his blue, blue eyes study your face. 

“so, when were you going to tell me that you were…like…rich?” he replies.

you maneuver yourself to a sitting position on your boyfriend’s lap, looking him nervously.

“well…” you remark, twiddling your thumbs. this wasn’t the way you thought you were going to break the news to max. 

“i grew up more- comfortably in my home country, thanks to my family and their connections. i was lucky to not have to worry about money at all. when i became a little older, i separated myself from the rest of my siblings and cousins to form and take care of my own company. then, on a business trip, i met you and then.. yeah, you know what happens next.”

an awkward silence fills the room, with max digesting the information and you toying with a stray thread from the bedcovers.

your boyfriend opens his mouth slowly.

“a company?” he questions, turning to you. “what company?”

you scramble off the bed for your phone, and type something quick in the search bar. when you find what you are looking for, you rotate the phone towards your boyfriend, the glowing screen reflecting on his features. 

it only takes one or two seconds for max to scan and decipher the words on the screen.

“YOU’RE THE CEO OF REDBULL??” max shouts.

when the wheels of your private jet hit the bumpy runway, it was midnight. your pilot’s voice crackles on the intercom, politely notifying you that you have arrived, and are free to disembark whenever you’d like. outside, you can see several workers unloading your luggage, along with jimmy and sassy in their pet carriers.

you turn to max, who was intensely staring at his screen, unmoving. you assume he was still in the middle of his fervent wikipedia dive of you and your family’s entire history that he insisted on learning, once he got over the initial shock. 

“max,” you say, nudging him slightly. 

he doesn’t budge, eyes trained like an eagle on his screen. 

you pull on sweatshirt before nudging him again, this time a little harder. “max, come on, we gotta go.”

he snaps up, and pockets his phone before mock saluting you. “yes, of course, miss ceo! whatever you say!”

you roll your eyes. max was a little extra sometimes.

he trails behind you obediently as you climb down the stairs to get off the plane, and into a sleek black limousine. 

before long, you find yourself on the familiar streets and freeways that you used to frequent when you were younger. it feels the slightest bit nostalgic, so different from the streets of monaco that you became used to thanks to max. 

you look back to find max tilting his head at you. 

“where to now, miss ceo?” he asks in a curious tone.

you smile.

”i know just the place.”

even when it was close to three am, the downtown streets were still packed with people. vendors engulfed the street sides, selling delicious soups and snacks beckoned to people, and little shops with bright signs advertised souvenirs, clothing, stationary, and everything in between. the car inches to a stop when you come upon a familiar old building that you remember visiting often as a child. bright glittery letters on the storefront and windows exclaim, “lombardi ice cream shop.” a line of people streams out the door, an ode to the delicious creamy treats that the shop has been selling for years. god, you could basically taste the ice cream on your tongue already.

you practically leap out of the car, dragging max with you towards the front of the shop. the red bottoms of your heels click against the concrete, turning many heads in the crowd along the sidewalk. you hear gasps of shock and a few whispers of your name along the crowd. they automatically parts like moses and the red sea when you get closer. max hesitates, wide eyed, at the edge of the crowd. 

”c’mon,” you laugh, taking his hand and leading him through the people.

an old woman, back hunched with age, waddles out of the kitchen and greets you warmly when you arrive at the counter. without realizing, a warm feeling spreads across your chest. she was basically like a second mother to you, considering you spent your entire childhood frequenting this shop with your cousins and siblings. whenever you visited your home country, you would always make sure to pop by her shop (not that she needed your business- her lines always curled around the block, day and night). 

“ahh!! welcome back, honey,” she exclaims, wiping her wrinkled hands on her apron. “you’ve gotten so beautiful!” throwing a glance at a shy max hesitantly hidden behind you, she sends you an eyebrow raise. “ah, and i see you brought a boy back huh?”

you reach over to give the weathered old woman a hug, blushing. “hello, momma lella! yes, this is my boyfriend max.”

max waves a polite hello, one hand still nervously holding yours.

the elderly woman smiles kindly at max, not hiding how she looks him up and down. “well, i approve!” she states, giving you a thumbs up and a wink. “polite and handsome!” 

without another word, she grabs the largest size cup and fills it to the brim with creamy chocolate ice cream. sprinkling a good amount of sprinkles and shoving two spoons into the cup, she offers it to you. 

“on the house!”

you and max sit on the sidewalk with the cup of ice cream, watching people walk by and cars zoom through the traffic. occasionally, max takes his spoon and shovels a large helping of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. 

“you look like you’re really enjoying the ice cream,” you state, noticing the chocolate smeared over the corners of his mouth.

max just smiles at you in the way he always does, with the dimples and the crinkle in his eyes. 

suddenly, your moment is ruined when a flash goes off in your face.

max jerks back, rubbing his eyes, not used to the invasive cameras that made up your childhood.

you whip around towards the flash, seeing a small herd of paparazzi smiling wickedly. a rare spotting of you in back in your home country for the first time in years? that was payday for them. a flash of anger shoots through you, causing you to throw your wooden spoon at their expensive cameras. unfortunately, it just bounces off of the arm of a short looking man carrying a heavy duty camera.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell, shooing them away from max. “can you just leave us alone for one second?”

bothersome paparazzi like this was common when you grew up in a family rich with drama and money. you recall them camping in front of your house, shutters clicking once they saw a sign of movement. whatever mistake you made, like tripping over a small rock or fighting with your sister over a doll, was publicized and dramatized into unrecognizable stories on gossip magazines that were popular in your home country. it was a pity that this was max’s first introduction to these pests. 

you pull max with you as you shove your way roughly through the paparazzi. they deserved it if you accidentally smashed someone’s lens. 

max stumbles behind you. 

“wha-?” he says, holding the half-empty chocolate ice cream. “where are we going?”

you huff. “away from those wannabe photographers- i hate them so much.”

you flip open your phone to call your chauffeur, but your app notifies you it would take a total of ten minutes for him to weave through traffic to get to you both. in the distance, the paparazzi raise their cameras again, shutters clicking as they photograph your pissed off expression and a dumbfounded max next to you. you can practically see the headlines tomorrow- ‘bratty billionaire back in country!!’

like a godsend, a futuristic-looking car rumbles to life next to you. that will probably get you home and away from these fuckers fast, right? hurriedly, you march over to the disgruntled middle-aged man in the passengers’ seat.

“five million for your car- right now.” you say, dead serious. 

the man’s eyes widen comically large. 

“five mi-“

you cut him off quickly, seeing the paparazzi darting closer to max, who was still holding the ice cream and eyeing the cameras wearily. 

“yes, five million. i’ll mail you the check.”

without another word, the man tosses you the keys and hefts himself out of the car. you leap into the drivers seat just as he gets out, and jam your finger on the window down button to beckon max into the car immediately. 

the moment he sits down on the expensive-looking leather seats, you rev the engine and leave the paparazzi behind in the dust. 

it’s not until you are halfway back to your penthouse when max finally speaks. 

“this is a super nice car,” he states, running his hand against the interior side panels. 

you look around, really noticing the detailings of the car. the sides look like they are made with some carbon fiber material, and it seemed like it didn’t even have a door handle- just straps you pull on the corner of the dashboard. 

”yeah, i guess so,” you admit. “i just bought this off of that dude back there in order to get away from the damn paparazzi.”

max wrinkles his brows. 

“you bought-?? what??? you know this is an aston martin valkyrie, right?”

the next morning, when the sun shines through the skyline windows lining your penthouse, you keep your promise by instructing one of your staff to send the promised check to the random guy on the street (fernando, he said his name was). your boyfriend scrolls idly on his phone next to you, probably scrolling through your family’s lengthy wikipedia page again. his cats stamp around your white bedsheets as if they owned the place. you think about what you both could do today. perhaps visit the children’s hospital? before moving to monaco, you frequented many small hospitals, bringing gifts for the children. it always felt good seeing the sick kids light up with joy. or, you could go shopping, although you did spend a little bit much on the random car yesterday. or- 

before you can complete your thought, a familiar ringtone lights up the screen of your phone. your mother’s name lights up your phone, as if taunting you. before you second-guess yourself, you smash your finger into the green ‘answer’ button and place the phone to your ear.

your mother’s voice flows through the speakers, sending a wave of nostalgia throughout your body. 

“darling!” the voice hums, “why didn’t you tell me that you were back in your home country? i had to find out over the silly little paparazzi pictures on the newspapers!” 

damn it, you think, cursing silently in your head. it seemed that the paparazzi from yesterday night had probably sold your pictures to some trashy gossip magazine that had caught the attention of your mother. that meant that you had to face your family sooner or later. 

“hello, mother,” you reply curtly, trying to avoid the topic. “how may i help you?”

your mother tuts through the speakerphone. “oh, your own mother can’t just call to say hello?” 

you groan. “no- i mean yes-“

your mother cuts you off, laughing. “i’m kidding, darling. i just wanted to let you know that i’m hosting a party at our estate tomorrow, to celebrate your arrival! you’ve been in monaco for a god-awful long time. your cousins and siblings will be coming too- i’m sure they’ll all excited to see you after your hiatus in monaco!” 

you hesitate before responding. your first instinct was to say no, because everybody knew full well that the only reason your cousins and siblings even bothered to show up at these kind of events is to save face and show off their new ridiculously expensive clothing and cars, not to welcome you. however, this also gave you a chance for max to meet your parents, like he wanted back in monaco. it isn’t a hard choice when you agree to meet the next day.

max revs the engine once again as he pulls the valkyrie to stop in front of the valet at the front of your family’s estate. 

through the tinted windows of the car, you see one of your snobby cousins, dressed in an jeweled gown, jump at the loud sound and clutch her husband’s arm tighter however, her husband ignores her to get a good look at your aston martin supercar, which makes you laugh. to your surprise, he is not the only one. a few other family members gather around, admiring the hypercar. 

in the passenger’s seat, max’s mischievous grin slowly turns into a frown of nervousness as he spots the crowd of people gathering around you both. you know it must look intimidating, meeting your significant other’s family, especially when they had such high expectations of you. you place a kiss on his cheek. 

“you ready, maxie?” you ask, patting his shoulder comfortingly. 

he nods, before opening the car door. 

like the gentleman he is, max quickly hurries over to the passenger’s side of the car to help you out of the car. you gladly take his hand, and step out of the vehicle daintily. straight away, you can hear the confused mutterings and jealous glares of your family members start up, which follow the both of you into the house. 

like expected, your childhood home is decorated a little over the top. people mingle under crystal chandeliers around staircases draped with real flowers. from the second living room, music drifts out that sounds suspiciously like martin garrix. a fancy bar is set up a room that was usually the dining room, with a bottle of every single alcohol you can ever think of. the courtyard, usually empty save a few plants, was turned into outdoor buffet bar, complete with a five story cake and massive chocolate fountain. 

once inside, max attempts to introduce himself to the first friendly-looking family member that he sees, which happens to be your aunt on your mother’s side. he sticks out his hand, a smile gracing his face. 

“hi, my name is max,” he says, “i’m your niece’s boyfriend.”

your aunt nods politely, shaking his hand. 

“hello max,” she says, visibly studying him, “what are you, a ceo? businessman? sports star?”

”auntie!” you say, shocked, cutting max off from his response. that rude bitch. although she looked relatively kind from the outside, all she really cared about anyone was their power and money. which was probably why your cousin married a mega popstar that was away half the time. like the rest of your family, money trumped true love. “you can’t just start a conversation like that!”

max shakes his head, “no, no, it’s alright. i’m an engineer.”

“ah,” your aunt says, knowingly. taking a sip of her champagne, she continues, “head engineer, huh? of what company?”

thinking he might have misheard her, max corrects her, “oh- no, not head engineer, just an engineer, like in an office.”

your great-aunt’s friendly demeanor automatically drops.

“just an engineer?” she responds, coldly.

you notice how max’s face falls the slightest bit, before he plasters a fake polite smile on his face. he shuffles uncomfortably, glancing at you, as if saying, did i say something wrong?

before you can say something rather rude to your aunt, a hand clasps your shoulder. turning around, your brother beams at you. 

“sister!” he exclaims. “i haven’t seen you in a hot sec. too busy partying in monaco, huh? or doing your silly little business things for redbull?”

he then eyes max, to which he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “who’s this, huh? your boyfriend?”

”yes,” you snap, still a little pissed from your aunt’s rude reaction. 

your brother puts his hands up jokingly, in a surrender position. “damn, okay, no need to be defensive.” 

he sticks out his hand to your boyfriend, who takes it gladly. 

“what’s up, dude,” your brother says, shaking max’s hand. “i saw you pull up with my sister in that sick aston martin valkyrie! you must have some insane connections- the waitlist for that baby is like years long.”

your aunt answers before your boyfriend can. 

“there’s no way he could have bought that car- he’s just an office engineer at some company at who knows where,” she says pointedly.

hearing this, your brother’s impressed look turns into a sneer of disdain. he steps back from max in disgust, as if he had just turned into some horrible monster. he chuckles at you.

”wow, sister, you’ve outdone yourself huh? an office engineer?”

your family, slowly becoming aware of something going on, turns towards the scene. a wide-eyed martin garrix turns off the booming music in the back.

you shove your brother further away from max, causing the glass of champagne to spill onto your brother’s designer suit. 

“what’s wrong with you?” you exclaim angrily. “at least he has a job, unlike you!”

ignoring the bubbling liquid staining his suit and your enraged expression, he turns toward max, still eyeing him with disgust. “how pathetic, leeching off of my sister’s money as a ceo? ha, you probably used her card to buy that valkyrie, didn’t you?”

next to you, stunned into silence, max’s blue eyes begin to fill with tears. 

behind you, your aunt lets out a cackle of laughter, along with a few members of the crowd.

you just about launch yourself at your brother, wanting more than anything to bash his head in.

as if it couldn’t get worse, your mother pushes through the crowd gathered around you both, and grabs your arm before you can make contact with your brother. 

“hey!” she yells, yanking you back. “what is going on here?” 

your brother grins, pointing at max. “your precious daughter went and got herself a little gold digger boyfriend- and look, he’s crying!”

you glance over to max, heart sinking. like your brother said, he had a tear running down his face, and he shook a little with embarrassment. it reminded you of a story that max once told you, how his father had often upset him as a child when he was forced to do karting. an anger flared inside of you. max had only wanted to be a good boyfriend and introduce himself to your family, but was in turn ridiculed in front of a crowd by your hypocrite brother.

your mother turns to max, then turns to you. 

“is this true, darling?” she asks, tilting her head. “does he exploit you for money?”

does max exploit you for money? you can hardly even comprehend the ridiculous sentence. you roughly yank your arm out of your mother’s grasp and march over to max. you lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze. 

you turn towards your chuckling brother. he won’t be laughing soon.

“you’re really one to talk, brother! you think you’re hot shit, with a large chunk of mother’s company stocks. well, wouldn't it be a shame if everyone knew that you are in debt from your uncontrollable gambling problem, hmm? i wonder what your wife feels about that?”

you take comfort in the way the smug smile drops from your brother’s face, now replaced with a withering glare. the silent crowd gathered around the scene lets out a gasp, in light of this news. their focus now was trained on your brother instead of max. 

“and you!” you exclaim, turning to your aunt. “since you think the word gold digger is so funny, auntie, wouldn’t you like to know how your own daughter is one, huh?” 

your aunt jerks back, not used to the crowd’s attention trained on her, along with your harsh words.

”yeah,” you continue, “if you would stop judging people based on their worth in money, you might have been able to see that all she does is spend her husband‘s money on inane things in order to ignore his multiple affairs!”

from the back of the room, you hear your cousin burst into tears while her mother, your aunt, standing in front of you, turns as red as a tomato. 

gently, you lead max towards the gilded gold front door. your family gives you judgemental looks as you make your way through the crowd. turning back one last time before you step out, you address the crowd. “don’t think any of you guys are any better. all you lot do is leech off of trust fund money!”

max stays silent all the way to your penthouse, as do you. after a hot shower, you bundle him up in your soft fluffy blankets until he looks the puft marshmallow man. you can’t help but feel terrible. he silently shuffles towards you, which you respond by pulling his head against your chest. jimmy and sassy watch wearily from a distance on the carpet.

you are the first to cut through the silence. 

“i am so sorry that my family did that to you, maxie.” 

he doesn’t answer, but the new tears that soak your expensive silk pajama set does the answering for him. 

you run your hand through his damp strands of light brown hair, and rub his back comfortingly. 

he pulls back from your embrace to wipe his eyes briefly. 

“why do you love me?” he hiccups, cheeks wet with tears. “like- i have no money, two cats that you hate, and- and- a tiny apartment-“

“max!” you say, cutting him off from his ramblings. “listen to me.” 

you look into his watery eyes, eyelashes wet with tears.

”i really don’t care if you lived in a literal dirt hole with no job, or if you were a formula one world champion. i would love you no matter what. i love your blue eyes and your pouty lips and your lisp, and your cologne, and the bread that you bake, and your little apartment and even though it may not seem like it, i love your stupid cats too.“

he chuckles wetly at the last part of your sentence.

you kiss the top of his head.

”you don’t know how much i love you, max emillian verstappen.”

a devious grin slips onto his face. he shoots you a sultry look. 

“show me.”

and you do.

later, when max lays asleep on the bed, love bites on his neck, face slightly flushed, and back bare, you get up to fetch your phone.

the person you seek is only a few taps away. he picks up on the second ring, politely greeting you even though it was an ungodly hour. you tell him your request, but he hesitates slightly. 

”are you sure-“

you cut your financial advisor off as politely as possible. 

“yes, that’s right. i would like to buy the entirety of my mother’s companies and my father’s estates.”

the sounds of pencil scratching paper fills your ears before your financial advisor lets out a sound of approval. 

“right away, ma’am!”

a/n: APOLOGIES for my week-long hiatus!! take this fic as an apology... your normal spinoff series! scheduling will resume shortly <3

also let me know if you have a better name for this piece- i was STRUGGLING trying to name this one ;-;

[ducksido]

What if yuu back at their world was a slave, therefore didn’t really have any rights- so in twisted wonderland with crowley telling them around they think its normal? That all he does IS kind- cause their last master didn’t do that back home (maybe even hit them- wounds all over their body? Is ok if not), and everyone is worried for yuu cause they dont ask for help, they dont fight anyone- they just let others tell them to do things- they don’t question crowley’s actions- maybe even think its allowed in twisted wonderland since no one had done anything about it either.

Concept + Scenerio

Background Back in their original world, Yuu was a slave—owned, used, discarded. Stripped of agency, affection, and freedom. The smallest kindness—like a master who didn't beat them that day—was something to cherish. Yuu learned to obey without question, never speak out, and always assume they were in the wrong. They never had choices. They never had the right to need.

So when they’re dropped into Twisted Wonderland, and the Headmage Crowley tells them to clean dorms or survive without a dorm, they don’t even blink.

They obey.

Scene: The First Real Concern

“Yuu, that’s messed up,” Ace mutters, standing at the doorway to Ramshackle Dorm, arms crossed. “You seriously haven’t eaten today? You were at Heartslabyul cleaning toilets for five hours!”

Yuu blinks. “He told me to.”

“Crowley?”

Yuu nods.

“But... he just left. Didn’t even say thanks.”

Yuu shrugs, smiling gently. “It’s okay. I wasn’t punished.”

Deuce stiffens. “Punished?”

Yuu pulls down their sleeve instinctively, realizing they’d let a scar show. “He doesn’t hit me. That’s really nice of him.”

Silence.

Ace and Deuce stare.

Reactions From Others

Riddle notices how Yuu flinches at sudden loud voices—not because they’re scared of detention, but because they expect to be hit. He becomes uncharacteristically gentle around them.

Trey quietly begins leaving snacks at Ramshackle’s doorstep. He doesn’t bring it up, but watches carefully when Yuu eats them—like they’re afraid someone will take it away.

Leona, initially indifferent, is furious when he catches wind of Crowley’s "commands" and Yuu’s disturbing loyalty. “You seriously think he owns you?” he snaps—and when Yuu doesn't answer, just lowers their gaze and says "He feeds me sometimes," something inside him breaks.

Azul, the businessman, sees the signs too clearly. That kind of obedience can’t be bargained—it’s beaten in. He starts offering deals not for advantage, but to give Yuu choices. Even if they say no.

Idia avoids people, but he watches Yuu through Ortho’s reports. The first time he sees Yuu thank someone for yelling at them (genuinely thinking they deserved it), he asks Ortho to monitor them for signs of depression.

Vil begins guiding them with a firm hand, yes—but now with conscious intent: to teach them to say "No," to ask for what they need, to look in the mirror and see a person, not property.

The Breaking Point

Crowley once tells Yuu to clean the school’s chandelier—without magic. While balancing on a broken ladder. Yuu doesn’t question it. Of course they don’t. They're halfway up when their knees give out from exhaustion, and they fall.

The crash echoes through the halls.

Yuu wakes in the infirmary with everyone around them. Grim is sobbing. Professor Crewel is livid. Crowley is nowhere in sight.

“What were you thinking?!” Crewel snaps.

“They told me to,” Yuu whispers. “I had to listen.”

“You didn’t.”

Yuu looks confused. “But... he feeds me. He gave me this place. I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe him pain.”

Healing Slowly

The realization doesn’t come overnight. Healing doesn’t come in one heart-to-heart. But:

Grim starts sleeping beside Yuu every night, growling at anyone who tries to order them around.

Rook begins teaching them gentle affirmations—“You are not property. You are prey worth protecting.”

Silver teaches them boundaries. Lilia teaches them freedom.

[chanandlersstuff]

Sunshine and Loverboy

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 8.639

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and emotions and lots of feelings.

Author’s note: Hiii, thanks a lot for the love I've been reciving for the series and the nice messages.

It's been a while, but not that long, time it to perfection to be a month.

I hope this is what you wanted to read after the last part, after the rough path between them. And I want to say that I would gladly made them suffer more, but I didn't want you all to hate me so I fast forward right to the part we all wanted.

With that being said, enjoy, there's more to come about those two and I hope you enjoy it. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

May 2022. This is what you came for.

Months had passed. Quiet ones. Months of polite distance, of sterile texts. A "Happy Holidays" here, a “Congrats on the trailer drop” there. Nothing like what it used to be. Nothing close to warmth.

They’d both thought the time apart might heal things. Soften the edges. Drown the ache. Maybe time would do what neither of them could, make it easier to let go.

But the second they saw each other again, it all came crashing back. The longing, the weight of everything unsaid, the quiet ache blooming behind their ribs like something alive.

For Hayden, it was like the sun had finally broken through months of grey skies, like something inside him, something starved, was finally warm again, like something in his chest uncoiled all at once, then immediately twisted again, tighter than before.

For her, it was like remembering how to breathe and hating herself for how much she missed it. Her heart slammed against her chest like it wanted to break free, like it wanted to jump out her chest and run to the person who it belonged to.

They saw each other across a sea of people. Publicists, fans, cameras, executives, handlers, stylists, all of them blurring into white noise.

Hayden stood still, rooted to the floor in his black tailored jacket, hands stopped mid air, eyes only on her. Like the room had tilted. Like the lights and sounds and flashes had vanished and the noise disappeared.

It was just her.

She walked slowly, trying not to rush. She had no right to, not after the silence, not after that night. But her body betrayed her, it always did around him. Her smile faltered for the first time that day.

God, he looks good.

Hair swept back, eyes lit from within, the curve of a smile he was trying hard to hide. Not perfect. Just…Hayden.

People moved between them. Camera crews. Assistants. Disney PR. She gave a practiced smile. He nodded to someone saying his name. 

But they were walking towards the other, slowly, tentatively. One moment there they were, the other they were close. Too close.

She looked up, timid and unsure, the way she had the very first time they met in person, like she was bracing for impact, and Hayden’s body was moving before his brain could catch up. Stepping forward and hugging her.

Not a staged hug. Not a half-press of bodies for the sake of polite industry affection. No, his arms wrapped around her like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it again.

She froze for a second, caught off guard. Her breath hitched, but then her body remembered too. Quickly easing in his arms, inhaling deeply so he could invade all her senses, her hands gently curled at his back softly.

But the hug was over far too fast, ripped away by reality. By flashes. By movement. By all the eyes watching. 

They stepped back and it was like it never happened. But it did. It so fucking did.

His heart was still racing. Her perfume clung to the fabric of his jacket.

She looked at him, blinking the daze out of her eyes, a hand still hovering like it didn’t know where to fall.

Hayden found his voice first. Croaky. Thin. Meaning every word.

“You look good.”

God, you look incredible.

She smiled, small, timid, but he knew it was a real one. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “So do you.”

Because he never didn’t look good.

She wanted to say more and he wanted to hold her again, but then a handler’s voice cut through the moment. He was needed for a press stop while she was needed for photos, which put a slight look on her face, which was quickly gone, but he noticed. 

And just like that, they were being pulled apart again. Looking over their shoulders briefly before they were gone. 

Back into the crowd, back into orbit, apart, once again, and God, it hurt more than before.

Because even after all this time, touching her still felt like home and letting her go still felt like hell.

Along the day, they were ushered here and there, photo lines, interviews, press booths. They barely had time to breathe, let alone talk and maybe that was a mercy because they wouldn't have known where to start.

They kept looking just past the other, like they were pretending, like it didn’t ache. But the tension grew. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, her pulse skipped. Every time he heard her laugh from across the room, he looked without meaning to.

They were orbiting again. Two moons caught in the same gravity, doomed to circle without ever colliding. Close, but never quite touching. 

When she found a second to breathe, a moment of peace, she slipped into the panel crowd, as if she was just another fan. Because before she was a director, she was a fan.

She texted Ewan as she found a spot at the side of the crowd, watching as the room swelled with anticipation.

Just bumped into the cutest looking boy dressed as you Might’ve found my favorite Obi-Wan

You’re in the panel?

Yeah

Don’t get lost in the crowd We need you

You’re going to do fine You’re more used to the reflector than me

I'll be fine Your lover boy on the other hand…

He's going to be fine too The people love him He just has to believe it

You love him too?

You’re about to be presented Good luck

You didn’t answer, so I’m taking that as a yes

She didn’t reply, just stared at the stage as the lights dimmed and the host’s voice boomed through the space, echoes of excitement curling in the air.

Minutes after, with a great song in the background, the pair walked in sync to the big couch in the middle of the stage and, as the fan girl she was, she cheered and applauded for them. It took five solid minutes for the crowd to stop making noise, encouraged by the older of the pair of course while he looked around.

She watched Hayden in all his glory. The shy smile on his lips, how he waved to the crowd with that unsure, sweet energy that only made them scream louder, the way he manspread with those legs long, one hand casually on his knee, his hair was swept behind his ears. He was mesmerising to her eyes, he always had been and always will be. The black suited him perfectly. 

Hayden was trying not to look nervous, but she knew him. Too well.

The typical questions were asked, how it felt to come back, how it was feeling to be back, how excited they were to be there. Normal, routine questions. The interviewer asked him a question, but he praised the crowd, making them go wild again. While the crowd died down he looked among the ground, her cheer was the one that was heard, and she almost passed out from embarrassment, but it was like they had some kind of pull towards the other because the second she opened her eyes big, he found her and an immense smile plastered across his face, unfiltered, real.

They called his name but he kept watching her way.  He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, not for a second. Even in a room full of adoration, it was her he looked for. Her he wanted to impress. Her approval he still needed like oxygen.

The flashbulbs didn’t bother him. Only her silence did numbers on him.

He was seated in the middle of the stage, people calling his name, but he could feel her. A whole sea of people between them, and he felt her. Always.

It took a little nudge from his friend and the interviewer calling his name again to take him back to the present. “I’m sorry what?” Hayden said with a smile.

The crowd and the interview laughed and his friend took the chance to lean in and whispered something to his ear. “I take by the look on your face that you found her, lover boy.” Ewan leant back on his seat and enjoyed how his friend rolled his eyes but a blushed appeared in his cheeks.

The interview went back to normal, back and forth with question and answers and the crowd shouting how much they loved them, they laughed and smiled the whole time. While he wasn’t answering questions, and Ewan was, Hayden kept glancing to where she was and then looked around, to not be too obvious, like he was afraid he might get caught wanting her.

“You know, I had to bridge a gap between my last work as Obi-Wan and then Alec Guinness in the New Hope and we just sort of brainstormed what we thought about it. The film was going to be a movie at one point and it turned into a series. Thank God Miss Director became our director because she's splendid.” The people cheered and she smiled, not only at the nickname but at the kind words. “My god she's so good, she's so talented and because she directed all of the episodes it's got her singular vision throughout.” The praise of Ewan, an actor with so much experience in his career, someone who she admired, made her blushed and smile like crazy. “And yeah, you'll see where he's at,” he finished with a cheeky smile.

“And Hayden, how about you?” The interviewer looked at him. “I mean obviously you are, you were, playing Anakin and now you're kind of playing Vader and so, how are we seeing these changes happen? What are we seeing from Anakin now or are we seeing Vader?” They all were excited for the answer.

Hayden sat straight and smiled. “That's what makes this character so compelling, that duality, that inner conflict of self-identity.” The crowd cheered. “It's just been such a thrill to get to come back and continue my journey with the character and to get to explore Darth Vader at this point in the timeline has been huge.” They applauded. “But more than that, it’s been a gift to do it under the guidance of someone so capable.” He paused and looked her way again, but this time, he didn’t look away. “Ewan said, Miss Director, as we like to call her…” His smile softened, sincerity bleeding into every word. “She’s incredibly, the best out there. She’s so intelligent and cool and creative.” 

Hearing those words from his lips made her blushed like a teenage girl all over again. 

“She did an amazing job showing these characters at their best. For the fans. For all of us.” The people cheered again and he nodded. “Let’s get an applause for her, she’s amazing,” Hayden said. 

And before anyone could react, he started clapping. Loud. First. Proud. Ewan joined in, then the rest of the stage, then the room, making her freeze in her stop. 

A sea of people cheering, clapping, and yet, he was watching her. And she was watching him too, because she always did.

The press photos were chaos in slow motion, shouts from photographers layered over one another like crashing waves.

“This way, Ewan!” “Hayden, eyes to your left!” “Miss Director, chin up, beautiful!”

Flash. 

Flash. 

Flash.

They were all lined up, grinning like professionals, rotating in and out of different formations, cast group shots, duo shots, solo poses. Everyone playing their part in the well-oiled, red-carpet machine.

And she? She was luminous in the storm, blinding. To the point Hayden could barely breathe. Staring like a young boy, breath snagging behind his ribs.

How is her face not plastered across every screen in the world? How are there not statues built in her image? How has the world not fallen in love with her already?

She looked like she belonged in another dimension entirely. Her suit was plum-purple, almost like the stains she had on her lips on new years, that kissed every curve like it was made just for her. Her heels gave her just enough height to command the space as she moved with subtle confidence, and her silver jewelry sparkled each time she moved under the lights. She was elegant and slightly fidgety in a way only he would notice. She looked like a star who didn’t know she was one. Like something that shouldn’t be real, and yet… here she was.

And the scent. That jasmine warmth that he had memorized since meeting her. It hit him again as she walked past, brushing just close enough that he could feel the hem of her suit against his leg.

God, she was mesmerizing.

Hayden watched her from the opposite end of the lineup, his own face calm and composed for the cameras, but his eyes kept drifting. Even when it wasn’t his turn, even when he should’ve been adjusting his stance, he looked at her.

She looked like a goddess and she didn’t even know it.

And now everyone else would see it too. Everyone else would know what he’d always known. She was splendid. She was brilliant.

Maybe that was how it should be. Maybe he should’ve always been just a witness to her becoming. Still, he missed being part of it.

She laughed, genuine and sudden, and his eyes snapped to her without thinking. Ewan had said something to her. He didn’t know what, he couldn’t hear it over the noise and shutter clicks, but her head tipped back with laughter, hand instinctively brushing Ewan’s arm as she leaned in, her face lit up.

His chest clenched, not with jealousy, but with envy, sharp and cold and familiar. Because once, it would’ve been him.

It should have been me.

Once, he would’ve been the reason she laughed through her nerves. Once, she would’ve leaned into his space like that. Once, she would’ve nudged his side with her elbow. Once, she would’ve looked to him for safety in the chaos. Once, it would’ve been his name that calmed her heart.

But now? Now he just kept stealing glances and swallowing the ache down. Now she stood three people away, and every inch felt like an entire universe. But God, he missed being the one she looked at when she laughed.

How on God’s green Earth you let the center of your universe slip just far enough that you couldn’t reach her?

“Can we get one of Hayden and Miss Director together, please?” a photographer called out, cutting through the noise.

The whole world paused and his stomach twisted.

He would’ve declined, gently, if she hesitated, if she so much as flinched. But she didn’t, instead a smile appeared on her lips. That small, tired, quiet smile, the one she gave when she’d already felt too much that day and was still standing.

She walked toward him, unhurried. Graceful. Controlled and he met her halfway. When their eyes met in the middle, everything went still. 

The lights, the cameras, the shouting voices, all of it dissolved into a low hum in the back of his mind, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. Everything in him leaned toward her without moving. Every cell of his body reached.

As soon as her hand found his back, gently, his lungs stopped working, his body stilled, like even breathing might ruin it. Just by a simple touch, steadying, familiar, touch.

For months, he’d only remembered the feel of her touch in memories. Ghosts of her touch. The phantom sensation of her closeness. Now, here she was. Real. Near. And he could barely take it. His body shuddered with restraint.

Her touch seared right through the fabric, right into his skin, right into the ache he’d been carrying since the last time he hugged her, all the way back to September.

He had to physically stop himself from looking at her the whole time, from turning into her the way he used to, like a planet caught in her pull. He looked forward, like he was supposed to, pose, smile, look composed professional and separate, but his jaw was tight from the effort, molars hurting.

Every part of him wanted to turn into her, to lean in, to surrender at her mercy, and the flesh was weak, so he looked at her. Because he couldn’t not and it wrecked him.

The makeup was soft and flattering, but it was her eyes that did the most damage, sparkling, alive, present. And, God those lips. Parted ever so slightly, the corner twitching with nerves or humor or both. They were the kind of soft that invited sin. The kind that made him forget every vow of distance, every plan to hold back. Hayden almost crumbled at her feets. 

His body screamed to lean in and kiss her. To close the space that never should have existed between them.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Because this, she, was gravity and he’d been floating, lost, for far too long.

He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and taste every month he’d spent without her. He wanted to tell her that every reason he’d had in July, every wall he’d built, felt just a little less solid now.

But he didn’t have the right.

He could have kissed her then. But he didn’t. He could have chosen her. But he pulled away.   He could have kept choosing her. But he was a coward.

Even if he still believed it was the right choice, believed it had protected her, protected them both. Standing next to her, her hand on his back, his name being shouted by strangers, he wasn’t so sure anymore. All reasoning shook, it shook hard. And in its place, in its cracks, bloomed something else: Regret. Bone-deep, breath-stealing, regret. Because he still ached in every place she had once loved him and he still loved her in every place that could not speak it aloud.

Then he noticed it, the tiny tells of her anxiety.

The way her fingers curled slightly against his blazer. The way her shoulders looked perfect to everyone else but were just a little too tight. The way she held her smile like it was painted on.

So he leaned in, subtly, and his hand lifted slowly, gently, brushing across her back in a barely-there caress, meant only for her.

His voice was low, only for her ears. “Just breathe and smile,” he said, tenderly, every syllable feather-soft. “You’re a natural. Everyone here loves you.”

She looked at him, just a flick of her gaze, but it was enough.

“You got this, Bubble,” he reassured her.

The nickname fell from his lips like it had been waiting there the whole time. Like it had been sitting just behind his teeth for months, desperate for permission to breathe.

It was effortless. Natural. Home. A real one. And she smiled, looking at him and Hayden did too, making the cameras click for a few seconds before they looked up to the front.

He was almost certain it was the only photo from the entire day where his smile touched his eyes. Born from her touch. Her warmth. Her nearness.

Because of her. Always because of her.

And as the flashbulbs went off, as they stepped away with professionalism still wrapped around them like armor, he wondered if she could feel it too—that unspoken thing lingering in the space between their hands.

That thing that still lived. That never stopped living.

Backstage was a hive of movement, headsets crackling, clipboards flipping, assistants whispering frantic directions, stage lights flickered behind curtains, the final checks were happening. The crowd outside was already thunderous, laughter, cheers, the sound of anticipation about to break, the bass from the stage thumping low against the concrete beneath their feet.

She stood near the back wall, near the emergency exit light, which she was about to use to escape, hidden from the bustle, just far enough from everyone to look like she needed space. Not close enough for anyone to really see her.

But he saw her.

Hayden had been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, completely ignoring what one of the cast was saying, eyes glue to her.

Because he knew.

Knew from the way her hand gripped her own arm like a lifeline, from the way her eyes stared out at nothing, from the way she bit down on her bottom lip, too hard, too long. Panic. The familiar threat of it. Coursing under her skin like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t think, nor ask and just walked up, quiet and slow, and stopped a breath away.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He stepped in a little closer, cautious, like approaching a skittish bird. “You with me?”

She gave the smallest nod, fragile, like it took everything she had.

“I can’t breathe,” she admitted. The whisper of it cracked something in his chest. “I can’t—I don’t think I can do this.”

His chest ached. “Okay,” he said, voice a thread. “Okay. Just look at me, alright?”

He didn’t say “you’ll be fine” or “you always pull through”, because this wasn’t about reassurance. It was about holding her there, right in that breath, and keeping her grounded.

So he stepped closer and her eyes lifted, wide and shiny, fragile. And he stood in front of her, not blocking, but shielding. Like a wall. Like a harbor. Like a man who would keep the rest of the world at bay if it meant she could breathe.

With his 6’0” frame towering over her, broad shoulders cutting her off from the crowd behind them, he dipped his head until they were eye level. Until the world shrank to just the two of them.

And reached for her hands without hesitation, took them in his like they belonged there. His thumbs brushed gently over her knuckles.

“Just here,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

Her icy fingers tightened around his warm ones. It was too soft, too much, but it was also all she had.

She blinked up at him then, eyes glassy with panic, lips parted in the way they always were when she was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Just breathe, alright? Just with me.”

She inhaled, shaky. Then again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I don’t—I’m not—”

He knew the words before she said them, because he knew the script. Impostor syndrome was a familiar ghost. But it had no place in her.

So he brought one hand up to her cheek, warm hand to her cold skin, and tilted her face gently upward, brushing the edge of her jaw with his thumb, just enough to catch her eyes. His other brought her trembling hand to his chest, right over his heart, and pressed it there, warm and solid beneath her palm, grounding her.

“Don’t do that,” he said, and his voice cracked, just a little. “Don’t say you’re not supposed to be here. You made this. All of this.”

She looked like she might break, so he stepped in closer, closer than he should have. Close enough that her forehead could rest against his chest if she leaned forward even an inch.

His heartbeat was so steady, grounding, strong enough to borrow, and her forehead slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead just below his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

And he couldn’t not hold her, so he did. She hadn’t realized how close she was to falling apart until he wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her gently against him, securely. As if he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, because this was muscle memory. Because this was them and she let herself be folded into him like a breath finding its place again.

He tucked her gently beneath his chin, letting her rest against the warmth of him, his taller frame folding around her protectively. Hayden pressed her into him with just the right amount of pressure, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. Just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

She melted into his hold, like her body knew exactly where it belonged. Her breath started to even out. The noise outside faded into background static. Her heart beat slower. His scent calmed every frantic nerve.

Leaning down just enough to the point his lips brushed against her temple, his hand came up, slowly, reverently, to stroke through her hair, soft and steady. The way you touch something sacred.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met in person?” he asked, voice a whisper only she could hear, wrapped in warmth and memory.

She shook her head against his chest.

He smiled, barely. “I told you… If they chose you to be here, it’s because you’re the best.”

Hayden pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand now on the side of her neck, thumb brushing lightly under her jaw. His eyes cathing how her lower lip quivered, her eyes glossy.

“It’s true,” he said again, firmer this time. “So don’t let your head play games with you.”

Her chin dropped as she nodded, and a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

And Hayden, God, he wanted to wipe it away with his hands, to brush it aside with his lips, with his soul, with every part of himself he’d been keeping quiet for months. He wanted to hold her face, kiss the panic out of her skin, give her peace in a way only he ever could.

But he didn’t and instead just held her closer, anchored her there to him.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured, low and gentle. A prayer. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

And so they did.

Inhale. Exhale.   Together.

Her forehead rested against his chest for the briefest second, her hand still over his heart, his arm still anchoring in place. Their chests rising and falling in sync. The rest of the world kept moving, but they didn’t. They stayed.

It was torture and home at the same time.

“You’re not alone,”  he whispered into the space between them, just for her. “Not tonight.”

Not ever.

She smiled, barely. Broken but grateful. “You always say the right thing,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“I don’t.” His lips curved, eyes lowering, heavy with everything he never said. “Not usually.”  Not with you. “But I know you and that helps.”

She let out a soft breath of a laugh, shaky but real. Because yes, he did. Better than anyone ever had.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Eyes searching every inch of her face like it was the last time he’d be allowed to memorize her.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the right words still lived somewhere between his throat and his chest, and neither would give them up. So they stayed there, stuck and heavy.

A call came from the stage crew, they were about to be introduced and the curtain was about to be lifted.

She pulled back gently, smoothing her jacket with a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

And he nodded, jaw tight. “Anytime you need me.”

Then she gave him a small smile, tight, brave, and walked past him, her perfume trailing behind like the memory of a dream he never got to finish and he stared after her, fists clenched at his sides.

They couldn’t keep doing this. They wouldn’t. Not after tonight.

They still hadn’t really spoken, but it wasn’t necessary because their silence had learned to carry volumes.

All day they had been pushed and pulled, spun like planets around a dying star, and still, the second they laid eyes on each other again, they remembered everything. Every laugh. Every almost. Every smile. The goodbyes.  And it was still too much.

And the tension? The ache? It hadn’t faded with time, it had evolved, becoming something deeper, quieter, unshakable.

The road was quiet, almost eerily so after the storm of energy that had been the convention. The soft hum of the highway filled the silence around him, headlights stretching into the dark as Anaheim faded behind him. 

His shirt had the first couple of buttons undone, sleeves folded almost to his elbows, suit jacket thrown in the passenger seat, and one arm resting on the door. 

The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving only the low ache of exhaustion mixed with the buzz from earlier in his bones. His mind was elsewhere, like usually lately, and a constant hum in his chest that had started since he saw her again.

His phone rang once, a smile appeared on his lips as soon as he saw the name of the caller and pressed the button on the dash. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Her voice was bright and sweet, like it always was.

It always made something in him settle, no matter how loud his world got. No matter how heavy.

“Did you talk about the show today?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We had a big panel. Lots of people. A lot.”

“Did you wear that dark shirt you look cool in?”

“I did,” he laughed. “You always know what I’m wearing, huh?”

“Because I know you,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. “And I saw the panel on Youtube.”

“Did you now?”

She hummed. “They were so loud, when you and Ewan walked out” she commented. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

“And they screamed and clapped so loud when you talked about Bubble too,” she sounded happy. 

He smiled, chest aching in the best way.

“You looked like a total nerd in love, daddy.”

Hayden’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Did I now?”

“You did.” She giggled. “Everyone in the comments said you were ‘down bad.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but I do now.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna have to talk to your mom about your internet access.”

“Too late.” She said it like a challenge, then softened. “Did she look pretty?”

His smile softened too. “More than pretty.”

“Did you say that?”

“No,” he admitted, voice small now. “Not with those words.”

“Why not?”

And there it was, that tiny dagger of truth.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I guess I got scared.”

“Of what?”

He blinked. “It’s not that simple, bug.”

“Why not?” Her voice tilted up. “Do you love her?”

The words hit harder than expected, not because they were new, but because they were true.

He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

There was a long pause on the other end. He could hear her thinking.

“Like…movie love?” she asked, and he could hear her climbing into bed on the other side of the phone. “Like when the boy looks at the girl and knows he wants to be in her movie forever?”

He smiled, painfully. “Yeah. Just like that.”

There was a rustling of sheets.

Then, soft and serious: “Then why haven’t you told her yet?”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain fear and timing and guilt and almosts.

“I think you should tell her,” Briar said firmly. “Because if you love her like that, and you don’t say it, then… she won’t know she’s in your story.”

He blinked up at the ceiling.

“And I was watching Anastasia again today,” she added, her voice dreamy now, “and remember how Dimitri gave her the music box and said he didn't know he was in love with her until he wasn’t with her anymore?”

He smiled, heart squeezing. “I remember.”

“And he almost let her go,” she whispered, “but then he didn’t.”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’re my brave Daddy, right?”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Then don’t be like the boys who are scared. Be like Dimitri. Say it. Or else you’re gonna be sad. And I don’t want that.”

He sat in silence for a moment, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want that either,” he said.

“You love her,” she said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “So go tell her.”

And suddenly, everything settled.

It was a truth settled into him like a stone finding its place at the bottom of a lake. Because she was right.

Not that he didn’t know he loved her, because he had known it for a long time. But hearing it out loud, from the voice that mattered most in his world… it struck him differently. 

It solidified the truth. 

Now it was clear. Solid. Unshakeable.

He loved her. Loved her and he had to tell her with honesty, with himself, with every truth he’d held back since July. He had to tell her, not next time, not if it comes up. 

Hayde you have to tell her now. 

Because she deserved to know she was his story, she’d always been. And maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay what?” she asked sleepily.

“I’ll tell her.”

A pause.

Then her quiet little voice again, already half-asleep: “Good. You always sound happier when she’s around.”

It’s been a long time coming. 

The street was quiet. That kind of quiet that only lived between midnight and dawn, where even the wind seemed to whisper.

Hayden parked outside her house, headlights dimmed. The dashboard lights glowed soft orange, casting shadows across his face. The dash clock blinked back at him, the numbers meaningless, his breath fogging faint against the window. He sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him.

His chest was tight. Breath shallow. A wild, restless energy alive in every inch of him.

What are you doing, Hayden?

He stared at the house. At her house. Lights still on inside, a flicker of warmth behind the curtains. Her world. Her quiet. It looked warm inside, safe. It looked like her.

He closed his eyes. Briar’s voice still echoed in his chest like gospel. “You love her, so go tell her.” 

He could have waited for the “right time”, but having her in his arms again at the convention had opened the floodgates, and he couldn’t live behind the dam anymore.

He couldn’t go another night pretending he was fine, because holding it in hurt more than the fear of being turned away. He’d already wasted enough time.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, shoving the door open.

The night air hit him like a wave, cold, honest as he walked up the front steps, heart hammering like it wanted to tear through his ribs. Like if he didn’t knock right now, he’d stay lost in the almost.

He knocked. Once. Twice. And then the door opened.

She stood there, hair down, wrapped in a worn hoodie, barefoot on the wooden floor, glasses sliding down her nose. And still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he breathed.

Her brows furrowed, surprised. “Hayden?”

His name in her mouth was soft. Questioning. A little stunned.

“I know,” he said quickly, hands up like he might stop her from closing the door. “I know. It’s late. I’m sorry, I just—”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her tired eyes. The way she held the door with one hand, like she wasn’t sure if she should let him in.

So he stood in the glow of her porch light and let it spill.

“I was an idiot,” he said, voice thick. “I’ve been an idiot. Since July. Maybe longer. I’ve been walking around pretending I’m okay, that I made the right call. But I didn’t. I’ve been so, madly, in love with you, and I didn’t say it. I let you walk away from me with a broken heart.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just breathed.

He kept going.

“I meant what I said back then. About the risk. About wanting to protect you. But I should’ve told you the rest. The part where I—” he swallowed, rough and sharp, “—I wake up thinking about you. All the time.”

His voice dropped, like he was afraid of how big the truth felt, but he ached with it.

“Where your laugh is one of my favorite sounds. Where every time I see jasmines I think of you. Where I want to know what you think about my outfits because you are one of the most stylish person I know.”

Her eyes softened, just a little. And it kept pouring out.

“Where breakfast with you is one of my favorite moments and I want them with you, every day. Where I want to stay up until four in the morning watching musicals with you, even though I’ll complain and secretly love every minute. I want to kiss you in the morning, and fight over what coffee brand to buy. I want all of it. I want everything with you.”

He stepped closer, just enough for the light from inside to touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For being a coward. For hurting you. For not choosing you when I should’ve.”

A pause. A breath.

He let his hands fall to his sides, itching to touch her, completely open, completely bare.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

He looked at her, eyes burning, and stepped forward. One more inch. One more heartbeat closer.

“I think about you. Constantly.”

A moment of silence. Then he breathed, like it might be his last chance.

“Maybe it’s late. Maybe I missed my moment. But I’m here now. I’m not afraid. I’m just—”

He gave a quiet, broken laugh. Shook his head.

“I’m just a man, standing in front of the woman he loves, asking if there’s still a chance.” His voice came out all raw and wrecked.

She stared at him and he thought maybe his heart would stop from the weight of it all.

Her lips parted. Her chest rose. But no words came.

“I know I hurt you,” Hayden whispered, every word cracking under the weight of it. “I know I did. But I had to say it, because if I loved you less… I might be able to talk about it more.”

Her eyes shimmered in the porchlight. The night bent around them like the first verse of a love song that had taken too long to write. There he stood, on her porch, his heart in her hands, chest crack open, waiting, hoping

And she… folded her arms, leaning in the doorway, she tilted her head, full of grace. The quiet stretched between them, tight as thread.

“Can I talk now?”

Hayden’s chest nearly caved in. “Yeah,” he breathed, almost afraid to move.

And that was all she needed to let it bleed.

Not a scream, not anger, just truth, cutting, clean, honest. The kind of truth that struck like lightning and still tasted like honey.

“You broke my heart, Hayden,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “You shattered it. And not all at once. Not loudly. You did it slowly. Quietly. With every look you didn’t give me, with every word you didn’t say, with every time you chose fear over me, with every time you said half the truth and left the rest buried in your chest.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t speak because she needed to say this. He needed her to say it.

“But the worst part?” she said, taking a step closer, voice trembling with the kind of love that never left even when it should have. “I kept being in love with you, through all of it, even when it hurt. I kept being in love with you when you left. I kept being in love with you in the quiet. I was still in love with you even when I hated myself for it, even when I told myself to move on.”

Every word from her lips hit him like scripture. Like prophecy. Like truth. He took them in like they were breath and his lungs were on fire.

“I waited and waited, smiling through it.” Her voice cracked, barely. “Telling myself it didn’t matter. That the series was enough. That my work would be enough. But it wasn’t. You were supposed to be enough too.”

He tried to speak, she raised a finger, silencing him like a queen.

“And don’t you dare show up here, in the house, in the place you look like you belong in, just to tell me all the things I begged to hear months ago. Don’t you dare to say all that if you’re not ready to stay.”

A tear fell, glowing silver on her cheek.

“But,” she breathed, voice faltering, just a note, then rising again like a crescendo, “if you mean it, if you’re here, not to borrow me but to choose me, then yes. There’s a chance.”

Her arms dropped and stepped forward then. Just one step. But it was everything.

“I still want it all. The breakfasts. The arguments about which movie to watch. The inside jokes. The midnights watching storms. The faint cigarette smoke on my clothes. The laughing until I can’t breathe. The way your hand finds mine without looking. I want all of it, mundane and the extraordinary.”

Another tiny step closer, her hand founding the front of his shirt.

“But I’m not giving you pieces of me this time, Hayden,” she said, looking straight into him. “It’s everything. Or it’s nothing at all.”

“Everything,” he breathed out, somehow. 

She nodded and grabbed his collar, pulling him down into her like gravity was a myth. 

And the kiss?

God.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collapse, a wildfire. The moment when the orchestra explodes and everything the story has been building toward finally hits.

It was messy and wild and impossibly right. It was months of longing and regret and aching hope, poured into mouths that had waited too long.

Her hands tangled in his curls, pulling, grounding, owning him. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her back, the curve of her jaw, like he was trying to memorize every inch he'd lost, like she might vanish again if he wasn’t careful.

She tasted like tears and relief and forever.

And he kissed her like he was dying and she was breath. Like he knew every second they’d been apart and wasn’t wasting a single one more. Like he had been dead, hollow, since July and a kiss, not any kiss, her kiss, brought him back to life. Like she restarted his heart and somehow, she did.

Their bodies molded, their hearts crashed. It was too much and still not enough.

She clung to him like he was the anchor and the storm, arms wrapped around his middle, fists curling into his shirt, anchoring herself like she belonged there, because she did. And he held her like she was the place all the compasses had been pointing to, gripping her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When they broke apart, barely, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together like a prayer, she whispered:

“Don’t leave again.”

And he didn’t even hesitate.

His voice was steady, full of wonder and worship and the kind of love you only admit once you’ve nearly lost it all.

“Not unless it’s with you.”

And right then, under the porchlight, they stopped being an almost and became the always.

The morning light spilled like melted gold across her bedroom, stretching over linen sheets, dipping into the soft curve of her neck where her head rested on his chest.

Hayden lay still, one arm around her back, the other resting loosely on her thigh where her leg tangled with his, her bare foot resting against his calf. Her breath rose and fell against him in even rhythms, like the tide. 

Familiar. Soothing. Home.

He wasn’t sure what woke him first, her warmth or the way his heart felt like it had finally stopped holding its breath.

He tilted his head, slowly, carefully, and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His fingers were gentle, reverent. She looked like something out of a dream he never wanted to wake from. He could’ve stayed there forever, watching the sunlight kiss her cheeks, memorizing the softness of her lips, the flutter of her lashes.

He could have, but he had a better idea.

Pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head, he whispered, “Back soon,” though she was too deep in sleep to hear.

And then he slipped quietly out of bed.

When she woke, the scent of him still clinging to the pillow beside her, on her skin, in the room, and a smile appeared on her lips. But she didn’t feel him and her sleep-heavy brain whispered that she’d imagined it, that last night had been a dream, one of the ones she never dared to hope for.

But then, she opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the warm light, and reached to the other side of the bed and it was still warm and the sound of soft clinks and muffled humming drifted in from the kitchen.

She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes, hair wild from the night, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Barefoot, she padded toward the kitchen, the cool floor grounding her as she rounded the corner.

And then she saw him.

Hayden. Barefoot too, in the hoodie that was his but she never gave back, sleeves pushed up as he stood at the stove, humming lowly to himself while he scrambled eggs and coffee brewing while toast popping.

Sunlight poured across the floor like it was showing off for him. As if it was leading her to him.

Her knees buckled a little and a smile stretched wide across her face, slow and stunned.

She walked toward him, slow and light, and slipped her hands under his hoodie from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back.

“Morning,” she murmured.

He hissed softly at the cold of her fingers. “Jesus,” he laughed, hand instinctively finding hers, warm and steady. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peeking around his arm.

“Breakfast,” he hummed, as if it were obvious, as if it weren’t the single most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed at 7AM.

Giving him a light kiss on his back, she climbed onto the counter, legs swinging lightly as she watched him move, comfortable and easy like they’d always been this way.

He turned back to the eggs, but her presence kept tugging at his attention. She looked too cute there, hair messy, hoodie swallowing her whole, eyes sleepy and still full of love. So damn dreamlike that in between buttering toast, he leaned in and almost stole a kiss.

But before his lips could meet hers, her eyes flew wide and she jerked her head back. “No!”

He blinked, stunned. “What—?”

“I didn’t brush my teeth!” she cried, already hopping down from the counter like a woman on a mission.

And with that, she bolted down the hall, bare feet thumping against the floor, disappearing toward the bathroom.

Hayden laughed, really laughed, head back, shaking his head like she’d just told the best joke of his life. He couldn’t have given a bigger damn about morning breath or bed hair. She was her. She was his. And that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, she padded back into the kitchen, lips freshly minty, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands and hair tied in a half bun.

She tried to walk past him on her way back to the counter, but his hand found the back of her neck as she passed, warm and firm.

He tugged gently. “Now give me my kiss,” he said, voice husky with sleep and something deeper. Something that made stars appear in her eyes and her knees falter a little. “Please,” he added, caressing her nose with the tip of his.

She leaned in and he met her halfway.

This time, it was slow. Sure. Devastating.

He kissed her like a man who had every intention of doing this every morning for the rest of his life. His hands cradled her face, guiding her, owning the moment, and she gave in gladly, letting him lead, letting herself fall.

When they broke apart, barely, she tilted her chin up, fingers weaving into his curls like they belonged there. With a breathless smile, she pulled him into a kiss, not urgent, not hungry, but slow and reverent. A kiss laced in sunlight, a kiss that was a promise.

She sighed into his mouth, the softest moan slipping from her lips, something so small and yet it lit every nerve ending in his body on fire. His free hand slid down, steady and sure, wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him like the only place she was ever meant to be was right there.

They didn’t part when the kiss ended, not truly. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between them. Her arms stayed looped around his neck, caressing the hairs at the nape of his neck and his hands held her like she was something he’d dreamed into reality.

She was looking up at him, not just with affection, but with awe too, like he was something celestial, like she couldn’t believe he was real.

He exhaled slowly and lifted one hand to her face, and with a kind of touch that could only be born from deep, aching love, he traced her features.

The soft arc of her brow, the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, still pink from him, and she let him, totally entranced.

Her face rested in the cradle of his hands, her eyes sparkled, lips curved into the faintest smile as if the joy inside her was too big to stay hidden but too sacred to shout and he couldn’t stop smiling too

“What?” he whispered, like anything louder might shatter the spell.

Her lashes fluttered. “I’m mentally recording this moment.”

His chest stuttered. His heart roared.

“Are you…” he swallowed, breath catching, “utterly, incandescently happy?”

She just nodded, slowly, surely, and smiled so impossibly wide that it made the corners of her eyes scrunch, made his knees go weak, made every regret he'd ever known disappear like morning mist.

“Good,” he breathed, voice catching in his throat. “Me too.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her again, softly and sweetly. Like a prayer answered. Like they had all the time in the world and he would spend every second kissing her just like that.

When they parted, their foreheads still touched, she leaned into his palm. Her eyes closed, feeling peaceful and full.

And he could not stop looking at her, and didn't want to stop either. He let his eyes memorize her all over again.

The way the morning light kissed her skin. The baby hairs that curled against her temple. The way her breath caught when he brushed his thumb beneath her eye. The way her lips curved, still tingling from his. The way she looked, so radiant, so his, in the quiet haven of their morning.

He memorized every single detail all over again, because he knew that after losing her once, he’d never survive it again, he was never letting go again. And more to his satisfaction, she didn’t want to let go either, she was happy right where she was, in his arms.

Next Part →

TAGLIST: @frommywindow17 // @lillianacristina // @shyartisanvoidwagon // @watersquirtpewpewboomm // @yomommaandyogranny // @shqwqrma // @florence-vikander // @bryjohn98 // @its-sappho-biotch // @mysardencut // @fan-goddess // @weallhaveadestiny // @hueanhdang // @ittybitty-rt // @fromasgardandback // @mmb-09 // @elisamoons // @harryisacuties // @little-diable // @angie2274 // @fallinlovewithevil // @mrsmikaelsxn // @naginithemage // @maleahcastro3 // @gwendolyngonzalez // @drawingdroid // @darkestnite // @ooostarwarsfandom501st // @lonelywitchv2 // @chixnugg22 // @moni-cah // @hesvoid34 // @princessvader15 // @nevess // @ilovenarrystoran4ever // @mecrazybish // @blueeyedbesson // @syko-juice // @thetinylittlebird // @b4b3tte // @lily-strnlo // @leahdrads // @niclove // @bloatedandalone04 // @dream-this-nightmare-overnightmareover // @lonelyreadergirl // @sweetcheesecakesblog // @risas-bajo-el-arcoiris // @xangelicangel // @hannis93 // @vikilinda // @ohamilton614 // @tiffsbagels // @nutellanja // @myede // @dessxoxsworld // @kollover24 // @freyagallileaevans // @nostappenn // @tammyjackson50-blog // @4-everm-0-re // @qualitynerdbouquetstuff // @tired-ass-show-girl

[k0mmari]

Okay people, I need to talk about IDOL!Shen Yuan AU before I explode (aka slight Aggretsuko inspired office au…..)

I’ll try to make this short for once jdvfhbjdhbvdf, but basically SY has been (forcefully) made to work for his brother(SJ) in the family company, after SJ decided enough was enough, and SY was going to do something with his life besides rotting away in his bed whether he liked it or not. The thing is, he wasn’t (just) rotting in bed reading atrocious novels, but he also took some time to experiment with music as a hobby, and over time, he grew a small following.

Though, after he was dragged to work at SJ’s side, the ever boring of dealing with paperwork and staring at white walls was eating at him. It’s not like he struggled doing his job, in fact, he was quite good at it, but he wasted no effort to make it very clear that he did not like that he was there in the first place. So, in an act of rebellion and to just do SOMETHING other than feel every passing second of the day in a cubicle, he decided to work even harder in his music hobby. It eventually led to SJ finding out and sparing no words to say that SY needed to focus on his real job, which only made SY brat out even harder, even managing to find an alternative music club and booking a few performances.

It went great! More people showed up than he expected, and all went great, but since his health was still not the best, after that he basically spent a whole month crashed out, not being able to do any more performances and barely able to go to the office once a week.

Anyways, it all led to SY thinking he had proved SJ right that he couldn’t continue this life style, and even thinking about quitting it, but one day while he was scrolling on the comments on one of his MVs (aka a Fancy Lyric Video), one of the comments mentioned that SY was one of the most important influences for that person, and that it inspired them to start pursuing music. It was the first time he had received a comment of that nature, and it lit the fire of his motivation back up.

Some 2 years passed, SJ still kept SY at the office, but SY had reached a nice balance on his online music work and performances on that club, and as his popularity grew, his performances at that one club had almost turned into a whole event for his most dedicated fans. So, enter Luo Binghe:

He was that comment that SY had read, and he did want to try music after being a fan of SY’s for almost three years now, but due to his financial situation he desperately needed some other source of income first. Now, at his last year of college, he managed to get an internship onto the Shen family’s company, which was a huge step forward towards his dreams, unfortunately he just had to go under SJ, which as we all know, was never kind to Binghe, instead acting as if the boy should just give up the internship entirely. And Binghe did think about it, but it seemed as if the stars had aligned for Binghe at least once, and SJ, after getting a sudden influx of work, delegated Binghe to SY.

They got on quite well, and Binghe even grew to have a little crush on SY, but it was all going fine and great until one fateful day. The office was as boring as ever, and after SY let Binghe know they wouldn’t have to entertain any clients for the day, Binghe decided to work on his part while listening to some music of his favorite artist.

Binghe has an awful habit of listening to music worryingly loud, so when SY went to get him to explain his new task, he ended up listening to what Binghe was hearing: his own music, in fact, his newest song. He pondered telling Binghe about the coincidence, but decided that maybe would be overstepping some professional boundary, and instead told Binghe about his one music club SY had heard about…

Binghe, excited to get to know more places around the area (and maybe understanding what SY did in his free time), decided to go to the club the next week after work, and did not even think about checking who would be performing in the day he would visit. Imagine his surprise when he gets to the door of the music club and hears some awfully famíliar music, and after rushing to be as close to the stage as possible, besides being blinded by his favorite artist’s greatness, also noticed that, hey, the artist looked an awful lot like a certain coworker of his….

Anyways, shenanigans ensue, Binghe starts his own investigation on SY possibly being the artist, SY juggling his office life, music career, and SJ perhaps coming to accept his brother’s career, and even maybe revealing a bit about his own past with music performances.

That’s all I had for today, just wanted to release this into the world! If anyone wants to expand on this, or try their on take on it, feel more than free to! Here are some more doodles of the usual day at the office :)

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Headcanons on what kind of dates the yandere TEC boys would have with the reader?

Let Me Be Your Fool

Summary: Yandere! TEC on their first date

TW/CW: Animal bones, but that’s really it

A/N: This can also work for non yandere Eltingville Club. I promise you, people, these boys are on their best behavior for this one

Reblogs are appreciated!

- First off….why would you do this to yourself???

- Bill’s an incel nerd who relies on his mom for money. Be worse if he was a yandere

- Accepting a date with him means he’s stealing every penny, quarter and dollar for this date. Absolutely got aggressive with his siblings for not helping him steal cash

- On the plus side, it means he’ll actually take a shower, aggressively brush his teeth for an hour and wear laundry clean clothing

- Your first date would be at an arcade. The loud noises + distractions means he doesn’t have to worry about feel creepy while he stares at you

- When he’s not staring at you, he’s mansplaining to you about the latest comic book issue or episode of B:TAS. You call by the way he’s getting red faced and actually stumbling on his words that being around you is making him flustered

- Pointing this out will result in him getting pissy and going off on an even bigger and more blatant rant.

- Despite this, it’s decent (as long as you can handle the staring and heavy breathing behind you)

- If you were start to date, expect movie nights at his place and going to any geeky event

- Movie nights are surprisingly nice. Even if he’s focusing on how long he’s going to stare at you, he’ll actually try to pick out a movie you’re both interested in. Of course, that offend means thinking you like the same thing as him, but he tries!

- He’ll set up the basement, make some popcorn, buy movie snacks, and if he’s feeling really romantic, would pull out the couch to be a bed

- Since these are private events to him, Bill can be a cuddle bug. He’s a clingy yandere (but only in private) plus it feels nice holding someone while watching “Batman and Robin Forever”

- For geeky events, think any local convention or something happening at Joe’s

- Will mansplain the crash course version to you while you two take public transportation/his mom driving you

- Once there, you’re not leaving his side. He burns daggers behind you anytime you think of going to do your own thing. You’re his partner now, and he wants to show you off!

- Will absolutely brag to any man child near the vicinity that he has a partner and will treat you more like a prized object

- On the plus side, he’ll drop the big bucks to get you anything you asked for (probably even steal little tchotchkes)

- First anniversary date is weirdly at a nice restaurant (thinking maybe Italian or a 50s diner). He got you matching Lois Lane and Superman keychains. It was so adorable that you ended up peppering him with kisses for the rest of the night

- Weirdly a good person to go on a date with (in the long term)

- Like I said before, Josh would be the most romantics yandere

- He popped a fuse when you agree on the first date with him. His mom spent all day washing his hair, face and body. Popped a couple of pimples and even cut his hair a little. It was the first you actually saw that he had curly hair

- Absolutely blew his budget on an upscale restaurant. The type that has live music playing and the appetizers cost more than some restaurant bills

- Josh was sweating up a storm while you ate the $80 spaghetti carbonara. Anytime he made conversation, it was quick, one word sentences about any topic you mention to him.

- This is all so new to him. Even the coaching his mom gave him went out the window. You were just so beautiful, that any amount of time and effort he practice in front of the mirror pales in comparison to the real thing

- Regular dates would be events to Josh. Calculating where you two should go next.

- I can weirdly seeing Josh doing a picnic date. Not only can he bring his own food, but it’s nice just being the two of you, looking up at the big blue sky

- Will ALWAYS bring a gift for you. Always. Doesn’t matter if he stole it from his mom or actually planned it out. His parents taught him a “young gentleman always bring the best for his date”, and he’s doing exactly that

- Would also take you to a museum. He wants to seem cultured and educated (Josh ends up passing out in the middle of said date because of museum exhaustion)

- If he has to do it at home, it’s him and his family having dinner together before taking you up to his room and showing off his massive collection of Sci Fi memorabilia

- First anniversary would be a dinner and movie. Probably at the Alamo and it’s a movie that he think you be interested in (has heard horror stories from his family of pissing off their dates during this time)

- Awkwardly tries to cuddle with you while the movie plays. WILL explode if you reciprocate

- Got you a Pandora bracelet and tried to deny how much he spent on it (Josh’s wallet is crying rn)

- Overall a sweetheart on dates…doesn’t change the fact that you can’t vent to him

- Haunted House.

- To Pete, dates are about him “exposing you to the wonders of horror”

- He makes sure he asks you just before the week of Halloween. He already has you and his costume’s ready (You’re his Frakenhooker to his Henry)

- Also double checks that said haunted house’ the scariest in New York State. That way, he can “hold you” (grope you) without any suspicion. It’s so cute how jumpy you get

- Since his family doesn’t have a lot of money, date nights are DIY projects

- Maybe you guys make each other matching Shark necklaces? Or perhaps mold clay into mini dioramas of your favorite movies? A simple card game would be enough for Pete

- If he really likes you (considering his obsession with you, this means immediately), he’ll even let you help with his VFX for the club!

- It’s weirdly sweet seeing him being passionate about something

- Unfortunately, these sweet moments are cut once you realized his comments. He flirts like a construction worker, so expect comments about your body, hips, butt, boobs (if you have them), waist, lips, moles. Anything he can see, he’ll make a comment about it

- Not to mention the constant drooling and side eyes he’ll give you. Your body always occupies his mind, and it won’t stop just because you’re sweaty from helping him move some props around

- First anniversary date will be at a modest Italian restaurant. It actually serves authentic Italian cuisine and even plays Italian music

- Pete tries so hard to be a gentleman, but it’s hard considering you’re you, and he loves seeing you all dolled up just for him

- He’s going to give you a “Bride of Chucky” Tiffany plush. Said it reminded him of you

- Will salivate watching your reactions. Die when you squeal and give him such large kisses

- Creepy but cute type of dates

- Jerry would be the most conventional of the yanderes

- He asks you via shoving a letter through your locker, along with some candy + a single rose

- Accepting means going to a MtG event, where he nervously asks you to play with him. Despite not knowing a single clue about the card game, you actually enjoy yourself, plus meet some fresh faces amongst the crowd

- Takes you to his favorite pizza shop and walks you home. You don’t even notice how red faced and a stumbling mess he became. Having his dream person right next to him certainly doesn’t help

- Researches and stalks your profile for any possible indicator on where the next date should be held. It would disturb you the amount of notes he’s taken for this occasion.

- Dates are often a mixture of his and your favorite places. Always waiting for you to start the conversation so he can say the right thing

- Takes pictures of each and every date. He does this for his shrine little collection he’s started. Seeing those times you two spent together always calms him down

- Complimented you any chance he gets. Definitely not to distract from the fact that he’s looking at something else, no what are you talking about

- First anniversary is a simply movie date. He brought the popcorn + movie candy and went to a screening of “Legend”

- He always saw himself as the Prince and you as the damsel in destress. He saved you from a time of loneliness and desolation

- Took you to the claw machine many of those theatres have and actually won you a small beat first try

- He felt so manly getting that for you

- Just a little stinker (a creepy one honestly, but nevertheless)

[sh4nksslvt]

Hot Springs, Hot Tempers

You and King accidentally end up in the same secluded hot spring. Cue awkward tension, steamy misunderstandings, and fluffy chaos.

King X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, king being bad at flirting(?), ooc king, post-battle

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You had no idea the hot spring was co-ed.

Okay, to be fair, the old innkeeper had mumbled something about the “blessed harmony of nature,” but you’d tuned her out while ogling the steaming bath behind her. After all, after days of dodging explosions, clashing with marines, and nearly getting cooked alive by Kaido’s fire breath (which—honestly—should be illegal), you were in desperate need of a hot soak.

So, in you went.

Alone. Glorious. Gloriously alone. Or so you thought.

You sunk into the mineral-rich waters with a satisfied moan, stretching out your limbs like a boiled noodle.

“Finally,” you sighed. “Peace.”

And that’s exactly when you heard it—the sound of something massive stepping through the entrance behind you.

You froze mid-soak. Slowly turned your head.

And there he was.

King.

All 20-foot-something of him, broad shoulders covered in black scales and steam, towering at the threshold with his helmet already off, wings folded behind him like a damn mythical creature who forgot how personal space works.

He stopped, towel hanging over his shoulder, completely stone-faced as your eyes met.

“Oh no,” you said flatly, water sloshing around you.

King blinked. “...This is the private spring, isn’t it?”

You shot up, half-submerged. “I thought this was the solo spring!”

“You thought wrong.”

“You’re the one barging in here like some half-naked goth dragon!”

“I’m wearing a towel.”

“Barely!”

An awkward silence settled like fog on the water.

Then you noticed it—King’s expression faltering ever so slightly, as though realizing he had, in fact, just crashed a very vulnerable soak session.

“I’ll leave,” he muttered, turning on his heel with all the grace of a man who never once had to care about bathing etiquette.

“No, wait—ugh. Don’t.” You sighed, flopping back against the smooth rock ledge. “It’s fine. Let’s just pretend we’re two strangers in an awkward commercial.”

King paused. “A what?”

“Never mind.”

He stepped forward, water rippling violently with every heavy-footed motion, and settled into the far end of the spring. The opposite end. The farthest possible distance between you and his very large, very shirtless self.

Great. Now you had to pretend you weren’t occasionally glancing at his shoulders.

To be fair, you tried not to. But he was right there. With skin that shimmered like obsidian under the moonlight and muscles that made Greek statues look like soggy breadsticks.

And then he caught you looking.

You quickly looked away.

“I wasn’t—uh—I mean, nice... wings?” you blurted out.

His eyebrow raised. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

You groaned and covered your face. “I’m under pressure, okay?! You’re like—intimidating hot.”

King blinked. His cheeks, you could swear, colored faintly at the edges.

“Don’t call me hot.”

“Well don’t show up shirtless, glistening with steam like some overworked fanfic trope.”

A beat.

“…What’s a fanfic?”

“Forget it.”

Another silence.

Then, out of nowhere, King spoke. “I didn’t know you used hot springs.”

You side-eyed him. “I didn’t know you bathed.”

“I’m not a savage.”

“Well, jury’s still out.”

King huffed, turning his face slightly. For someone who once split a marine ship in two with his boot, he looked incredibly put out by your teasing. Almost pouty.

You smirked.

“Well, since we’re stuck here together… might as well enjoy it,” you said, leaning back against the stone and letting the warm water lull your muscles.

King tilted his head. “You’re not going to try anything stupid?”

“What, like seducing you with my wrinkly prune fingers?” you held up your soaked hands.

“…Yes.”

You snorted. “Please, you’d combust before anything happened.”

He grunted. “Fair.”

A few more moments passed. You dared peek again.

He was leaning back, steam coiling around his broad frame like silk, wings shifting with every subtle motion. You noticed he had a faint scar running along his collarbone—jagged, healed-over, and oddly… human.

“You have a scar,” you said before you could stop yourself.

King opened one eye lazily. “Observation. Noted.”

“No, I mean… I didn’t think Lunarians could scar.”

He was quiet for a beat. “I got it before the flame. Before I could heal.”

“Oh,” you murmured, eyes softening.

The mood quieted.

But then you, unable to help yourself, added: “...So you were a clumsy kid.”

He side-eyed you. “I fell from a sky cliff. That’s not clumsy. That’s survival.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m sure you looked very majestic doing it.”

“I did.”

You both cracked a small laugh. A real laugh.

And then—

SPLOOSH!

A wild monkey cannonballed into the spring.

You screamed. King leapt halfway out of the water with his wings flared.

“WHAT IN—?!”

The monkey screeched, flopped onto a rock, and began casually bathing itself with a smug little expression.

“…Are you serious?” you muttered.

King glared at the monkey. “It’s staring at me.”

You nudged closer. “Probably impressed by your wingspan.”

“Or your screaming.”

“Excuse me! That was a war cry of surprise.”

“I thought it was a kettle exploding.”

“You—!”

You were cut off by the monkey stealing your towel.

It yanked it from the side, chattered triumphantly, and bolted into the woods.

“HEY!!��

King, somehow, did not move to help. In fact, he looked… amused?

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned.

His lips twitched. “Consider it karma for calling me a ‘goth dragon’.”

You groaned and sank deeper into the water. “I’m gonna have to air dry now like a soggy noodle.”

“You’ll survive,” King said, voice warm with uncharacteristic amusement.

You both sat in steamy silence for a bit longer, the earlier tension melting with the mist.

After a few minutes, King shifted closer. Not much—just a foot or two. But it was enough to make your heart stutter.

“...You come here often?” he asked, in the most unintentionally awkward tone imaginable.

You blinked.

“…Are you hitting on me?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

You raised a brow. “That was absolutely a pickup line.”

“It was not.”

“You literally just asked, ‘do you come here often?’ in a secluded hot spring.”

“…Coincidence.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then—you burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe this. You’re terrible at flirting.”

King flushed. “I’m not trying to flirt.”

“Oh, no, of course not. That towel drop earlier was just an accident too, huh?”

“That was gravity’s fault.”

You giggled so hard you slipped slightly under the water, splashing like a drunk dolphin.

And then—you felt his hand.

Gentle. Large. Holding your elbow to steady you.

You froze.

He looked surprised at himself too, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to do that.

But he didn’t pull away.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, suddenly very aware of the fact that your face was burning hotter than the water.

King’s gaze softened. Just slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

You both stayed like that, too long, too close. Until—

“HEY!!” someone called in the distance. “Is the spring free yet?!”

It was Queen.

You and King jumped apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.

“I should go,” you said.

“Yes. Right.”

You stood up, realized you still didn’t have a towel, and groaned.

King turned his back with a surprising amount of respect. “Take mine.”

“…Wait, seriously?”

“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, ears slightly red.

You wrapped it around yourself, stunned silent for once.

As you left the spring, water dripping and heart racing, you dared glance back at King—still chest-deep in steam, gaze lowered, face unreadable.

But there was a faint curl to his lips. Almost like a smile.

You didn’t know what that meant. But you did know one thing:

You were definitely coming back to this spring.

And next time, you might just forget to bring a towel again.

[heartsforseo]

Straw hats with a member/ S/o who still sleeps with plushies.

A/n: so I’ve been gone for almost 2 months but shhh I got some motivation now😼😼. PLUS I got this inspo from reading something somewhere. SO TY FOR GIVING ME THE THINGY TO WRITE AGAIN. request=open requested: <yes> <no> wc:970 ft: the straw hats (excluding chopper) warning: ??

⭑Luffy honestly wouldn’t care. If he ever crashes into your room (girls' room) and sleeps on your bed, he’d even shove the stuff toys away.

⭑When he sees your pouting/sad face he’d be clueless and continue whining for you to hop on the bed with him.

⭑When you finally told him why you were mad, he just tilted his head and let out a LONG sigh

⭑Would use his gum-gum abilities and get all your stuffy back in the bed (while groaning. He does NOT want to share)

⭑Speaking of sharing, why coddle a plushie when you have Luffy? Would def get jealous and maybe even tear one of them.

⭑P.s. He did…

⭑Zoro, just like Luffy, couldn’t be bothered. He’d probably think of it as a design at first. I mean, a pirate sleeping with plushies??? That’s rare

⭑But as the creator said, everyone in the crew is a weird person. So, here you are—in your room. Shock and in awe.

⭑Believe it or not, Zoro was sleeping with one of your plushies (that looked like a reindeer…)

⭑He had always denied sleeping next/with them. (Only if you convinced him enough, he’d let out a groan but still follow)

⭑You’d have to tease him about it now. I mean, Zoro sleeping before you??? Shocking with that 3 hrs sleep schedule.

⭑And a certain chef might’ve heard what you’ve said and used it against a certain swordsman…

⭑Nami, would even tax the poor plushies:~((

⭑Jokes aside, she’ll think of it as cute and nice decorations. They’re cuddly, colorful, and good for distress.

⭑But sometimes there’s a limit. She couldn’t even sleep on her OWN bed cuz of how many you got.

⭑Would roll her eyes when she saw you pout and give you a 35% discount.

⭑To help you get “rid” (as she says) of plushies, she’ll take a mini tangerine and place it on her work desk.

⭑Now she talks to it after dinner, drawing the map of the world.

⭑Ussop I’d say would make a story about how he once traveled to a stuffed toy island.

⭑Everything there was colorful, soft, and cuddly! He’d even point at one of your plushies and say he met them on the island!

⭑Your plushie would just stare and stare and stare… Until Ussop had to let out a fake cough and do his other stuff.

⭑He’d ask for your permission to get one of your plushies for support. (You said yes ofc).

⭑Now, whenever he has to modify Nami’s weapon/ whenever he’s alone from the group—he’ll hold the small plushie tightly and hug it, waiting for ideas to pop up.

⭑Sanji the beigest of them all. I could see Sanji:

⭑1) getting jealous about it. You have a whole husband in front of you. And you’re picking the plushie to cuddle…THAN HIM?!

⭑Would give the plushie dirty stares (especially if it was given by someone not him/by his crew)

⭑When you’re doing something else, he’d wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your neck.

⭑He’d give the plushie a smirk and laugh a bit. (Nurse gising na po sya)

⭑OR

⭑2) Sanji would write that down in his “All about Y/n!” Notebook and put hearts all over it.

⭑He would give you plushies, and on every island you visit, he insists on getting you at least one stuffed animal.

⭑Would even sculpt one of his foods as your plushie.

⭑Plus he’d get all giddy iddy when he sees you coddling the plushie he bought. It’s really satisfying to see when the person you love appreciates what they give you.

⭑Robin would let out a smile and maybe even tease you (when she's feeling it)

⭑Might get jealous when you're spending more of your time with them. She's your crew member and s/o, you should focus on her!

⭑She once woke up with your back in front of her, and you were cuddling your plushie.

⭑Sad to say you couldn't find your stuffies for a week… :(

⭑But Robin was there for you!

⭑In the end, it was a win-win situation!

⭑FRANKY FOUND IT CUTE CUTE CUTE.

⭑While you were worrying about how he'll react (unknowingly to you, he already found out and named one of them cola jr.) Franky already made a small plushie (robot) that does the SUPEERRRRRRR with him.

⭑When he saw you sad that one of your plushies got teared up, he'd secretly take it and repatch it (w/h metal scraps)

⭑Would sweat when you confronted him about it, and even DENY IT.

⭑"Franky you're the only one I know that'd use metal scraps for repair…"

⭑"Oh."

⭑Brook is a cutie patootie.

⭑He already knows what you like, from the panties you wear to the plushies you like!

⭑Would make one of those and have some delightful little tea parties. If you're too occupied to join in, why not let your mini-version take part instead?

⭑Anyways, if you'd ever show him a soul king merch/plushie. HE'D FLY OVER THE MOONN.

⭑He didn't know they were selling those! Especially when the cane he has can be removed and shown as a knife.

⭑Our good boy Jinbe.

⭑While on his trip, he saw a lot of them. But of course wouldn't bother to buy one.

⭑I mean, you're on a business trip for sake. And a pirate should always be ready and need no time for aesthetics.

⭑Well, that's what he thought BEFORE he met you. When he saw your room he was SHOOK

⭑How did you have time for all of this? How were you gonna sleep? How will you keep them clean?

⭑Many thoughts were roaming in his head. But when he saw your adoring smile, he made up his mind and would do anything to make you happy.

⭑Even keeping your plushies clean.

A/n: I hope you all enjoyed it. nd sorry for the almost 2-month break.

[leeny-leens]

Act iii: Betrayal And Stunned Silence

Pairing: poly!Moonkiller x vamp!Reader

Summary: You never knew Barty's absence could be so frigid and hollow, yet you're left to pick up what he shattered after betraying your trust. Yet still, it seems that the culprit behind it all —Remus Lupin, as usual— still manages to worm his way into your defenses when he catches you off guard and vulnerable.

Warnings: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND MURDER!! (->The murder itself isn't too descriptive but the aftermath is so read with caution!! It starts at “He’s unrecognisable” and ends at “[…] like the poacher at the clearing.”), angst, sort of depressive episode, not proofread if you read this on the 25th

Content: so much angst, Reader crashes the fuck out, Remus being actually nice for once?? A lot of confusion on Readers end, big sister Lily ftw, weird tension between Reader and Remus

WC: 8.23k

AN: this chapter would've been soooo much longer if I didn't get sick of it and decide to keep the rest for the next one lmao ANYWAYS INTERACTION IS GREATLY APPRECIATED LOVES

Disclaimer: English is not my first language! All mistakes are my own!! I do not and never will use AI for my writing, this work is completely my own

Taglist: @starrystormwritings @whimsical-mistakes @hellokitty-girl666 @lettertovera @bubblegumcat229 @daydreamandforget @justyesbecauseyeswhynot

s.masterlist | Act i | Act ii | Act iii |Act iv | Act v

Barty’s betrayal isn't smooth and calculated, no. It doesn't creep up on you like the shadows after the sun sets, nor does it watch you hungrily like a predator waiting to sink its claws into prey.

It comes unexpectedly, sudden and harsh, like a bombshell dropped with no warning. In hindsight, you still don't know which one you would've preferred; slow and meticulous torture or sudden and sharp wounds?

You’ve only been a sixth year student for three weeks now, sitting cross-legged on his bed in his otherwise empty dorm when it all unravels.

You being in his empty dorm room –courtesy of his demand for privacy turned into obsessive magical research that expanded his original dorm into giving him and his three roommates separate rooms– is not as weird as it might sound on paper. Sure, you very much aren't allowed up in the Ravenclaw boys dormitory, but at a certain point the both of you did master the art of sneaking in out of each other's rooms without being caught.

You hadn't seen him much today, or all week really, only ever managing to steal glimpses of him when he rounded corners and sprinted down corridors. If you were a madder person, you might have thought he was avoiding you, but that can't be. Barty never avoided you, the thought so ridiculous you immediately discarded it. Besides, you didn't give him any reason to avoid you, as far you were concerned at least.

So, in a un-vampire fashion you decide to let yourself into his dorm without invitation, opting to browse through all the books he bought from the Muggle bookshop in your village but hasn't gotten to read yet.

You don't know where he is, but he has to come back at some point, especially with that looming Ancient Runes essay he complained about the first week of school.

While Barty is reckless and incredibly unconcerned with his academic career, grumbling and huffing about the point of all the assignments, he still hands in neatly polished essays that earn him an Outstanding every time.

You're lost between the pages of some horror novel he brought with him when your ears pick up the unmistakable rhythm of his steps down in the common room. Sometimes, you suppose, having enhanced senses isn't all too bad. By now you're somewhat an expert at blending out the jarring sensory landscape around you, yet you somehow fine tuned yourself to always pick out Barty wherever you go.

His steps are heavy, dragging on the floor in that way that foretells the story of heavy burdens the day left on his shoulders. Quickly, you put the book away, slipping a bookmark that has both of your thumbprints in the shape of a heart painted on it. A slight smile graces your features at the memory of making the bookmark a few summers ago, when the both of you were haunted by boredom and in dire need of something to do. Your mother had suggested arts and crafts, and because you'd gone to the bookstore just days prior, you decided to make bookmarks for your little haul. The matching bookmarks were a little trinket that stuck around, a momentum that captures the essence of your friendship; two unique prints intertwined in a heart.

You can hear him drag himself up the stairs and wait patiently for him to arrive, fumbling with his wand before he unlocks the door.

He doesn't see you at first, his gaze cast to the ground, so you clear your throat to catch his attention. His head snaps up, wand pointed up immediately as his entire body grows rigid with alarm.

The whole thing makes you giggle, but it does down as soon as you hear his heart rate picking up at the sight of you. He relaxes, just a fraction, but the tension in his muscles and face remains, even if he pretends otherwise.

Your eyebrows furrow, examining his expression closer as he tries –and very much fails– to plaster on a grin.

“Fangs! Fancy seein’ you ‘round here,” he calls out, but his voice is strained, betraying the casualness he tries to emit.

It's strange seeing Barty pretend around you, because it never happens, not when you both are alone at least.

Immediately, all alarms go off in your head as you revisit every single thing you know about him. Did something happen? Did he get a letter from his father and didn't tell you? Did you miss some sort of event? Was he mad?

A million questions pop in your mind, all at lightning speed, but you come up empty when you try to answer them.

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, eyes darting across the room in a clear effort to avoid your scrutinizing gaze.

“Where have you been?” You ask, leaning against the headboard of his bed with crossed arms. You ask the question lightly, no accusation in your tone at all, but he still flinches, like someone caught red handed committing a crime.

He paces around the room, loosening his tie and stripping the layers of clothing off his body. His movements are jerky, like he’s trying to remember how undressing works, and pointedly turns his back when he answers your question.

“Was with Evan,” he replies, “He’s been having those weird dreams again, more than ever lately so I’ve been tryin’ to help him figure out what they mean. You wouldn't believe how many divination and dream interpretation books we had to comb through!”

His voice fades into the background when a heavy and borderline ugly thought settles over you.

Barty is lying to you.

Barty, your best friend and other half, is lying to you.

It's not like he doesn't lie, because let's face it, Barty is no saint. He lies, he steals, he wrecks and manipulates like he might die if he doesn't.

That's not the point, it doesn't matter that he does those things because he's never done them to you. He lies to other people, he lies to his father, sometimes to his friends. He lies to the Professors all the time, occasionally to your parents when they ask how he feels.

But lying to you? He's never done that, ever.

Maybe that's why he's so out of his element; it's unnatural for him to try and lie to the one person he spills.his every thought to.

“Stop,” your voice sounds distant, like it's not fully yours and he freezes. Slowly, he turns around, and even without heightened senses you could've heard the way he gulps loudly.

“I asked Evan where you are today,” you state plainly, voice and expression void of emotion. You can see the panic slowly seizing him, creeping up in his pretty hazel eyes that are blown wide like frenzied animal’s.

“He said he has no clue where you've been hiding out.”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with tension so thick you could've pierced it with your fangs. You continue watching him, he continues to avoid your eyes like they'll set him on fire any second.

Then, all of a sudden, his entire body goes slack with defeat. He pulls the shirt he's been holding in his hand this entire time over his head, trudges to the bed and settles beside you. The mattress dips underneath his weight, the wooden frame squeaks and fills the silence momentarily.

You want to reach out, hold his hand and coax him into telling you what's going on, but you can't. It's almost like there's something holding you back, instinct perhaps that warns you of what's about to transpire.

Naturally, you ignore it.

You've never held back from comforting Barty, so why wouldn't you go against your very own survival base to hold him? You would break and bend any rule as long as it meant he'll be okay. He accepts the hand you stretch out to caress his face, leaning into the touch like it might be the only thing keeping him grounded.

“There’s somethin’ I haven’t told ya, Fangs,” he mumbles, his voice tense and quiet.

You wait, racking your brain for what he might have hidden. His behaviour has been going on for about a week now; avoiding you everywhere, making excuses to not see you, running off as soon as you approach.

Then, it hits you square in the face; the welcome party he attended last week Friday.

It is tradition, a bit of good fun to welcome back everyone into a new school year. Usually, the attendees are fifth to seventh years, and after going last year and experiencing just how packed inter-house parties could get, you made the decision to not attend again. Too many people, too much going on for your brain to handle, and so much temptation that might cause an unwanted slip up.

Barty on the other hand was more than eager to go, the promise of abundant alcohol and entertainment pulling him like a moth to the flames. He disappeared that night, bidding you goodbye with the promise to tell you all about it the next day at breakfast, provided he didn’t skip it in favour of sleeping in and nursing the impending hangover.

That however, never happened, now that you think about it. The next day, he was nowhere to be found, no matter where you searched for him. And after that? He avoided you religiously, like being in the same room as you might set him ablaze. Something must have happened there, you conclude belatedly, and press your hand closer to his face, slowly coaxing him into spilling whatever weighs on his consciousness. He draws a shuddering breath, and without as much as looking up, he speaks three words that tilt your world upside down.

“Lupin kissed me.”

The silence is deafening, pressing heavily on your lungs like it’s trying to squeeze every last bit of air out of them. Maybe you heard him wrong, maybe he doesn’t mean Remus Lupin but someone else with the same last name.

You blink, rapidly like maybe that’ll change the scenery and you’ll find yourself somewhere completely different.

“What?” Your voice is strained, barely a whisper and it finally moves him to look at you. All your hopes of this being a misunderstanding are thwarted by the sheer guilt on his face, clearly proving your fears.

”Remus,” he croaks, the name sounding so foreign ins his mouth, “We were tipsy, fought at the party, then we just kept goin’ back and forth with insults and banter and- Fangs I swear to Merlin I don't know what happened, he was suddenly so close, all I could smell and hear and feel and when he kissed me-“ he chokes, the last part stuck in his throat. He looks to the side, like the sight of you alone might bring the unshod tears to flow. “When he kissed me, I didn’t push back, I just kissed him back because it was so good.”

It must be a joke, you think. A very elaborate, very shitty joke he made up to mess with you. That’s the only explanation you have for your best friend kissing the guy that has been actively and relentlessly making your life hell for the past five, going on six, years.

The laugh that bubbles up in your chest escapes your mouth, and it shakes your entire body until you're clutching your stomach, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

Finally, the laughter dies down and you wipe your tears, the thought of him actually kissing Remus Lupin oh so ridiculous. “Man, you almost had me there B,” you giggle, leaning against the headboard as you stare at him with amusement.

“What’s actually going on? And don’t make jokes again, that was not funny,” you muse, the smile on your face faltering when he turns to look at you, shaking his head gently.

He says your name, gentle yet firm, and it sounds almost as foreign as Lupin’s first name coming from his lips. “It’s not a joke,” he whispers, his voice fragile and quiet. You search his face for any of the signs that scream he’s lying, but there's no twitch in the corners of his lips, no quivering ears and only guilt and sincerity in his eyes.

He tries to reach out, but you recoil, violent and unexpected. Hurt flashes across his face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when the betrayal sits deep in your bones.

”No,” you mutter, over and over again like it might change the fact that the closest person to you just took your heart and gutted you from the inside out. The entire room spins, and suddenly everything is too hot, the walls closing in like they might cave in any second. Barty looks like he might actually start crying, and when you look at the mirror hanging across his bed, you catch a glimpse of your expression. Hurt, disgust, betrayal and anger coat your features, emotions Barty knows too well, but not from you, No, never you, until now.

You jump up, your eyes darting to the door and storm to it, ignoring his shouts and pleas for you to wait. There’s no point in running after someone with supernatural speed and strength, because by the time Barty stumbles out of the Ravenclaw tower to chase you, you’re already halfway across the castle.

The tears burn hot in your eyes, but you refuse to cry, not now at least. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you know you can’t return to your own dorm because that’s the first place he’ll go looking for you. Quite frankly, you aren’t sure if you can handle seeing him right now, the burn of what he has done and kept hidden for an entire week much too great for you to think about hearing him out.

”He kissed me”

“I just kissed him back”

“It was so good”

His words haunt you,halling off the walls as you run across the dark and abandoned corridors. They cling to you, like soot after a fire, and it makes you want to turn back to seek him and keep running all the same time. Where do you go now, when the one person you seek comfort from is the perpetrator of your pain?

Like a lost animal, you keep roaming the castle, running in circles until you crash into someone. For a moment, you think Barty might have found you, but you’re mistaken.

”Oh goodness, what’s going on?” Streaks of red fill your vision, and the smell of magnolia and jasmine surrounds you like a soothing balm. Lily grabs your shoulders, her voice filled with worry and concern for you as she stares at your tear streaked eyes. You realized you must’ve ended up on the patrol route of the Head Girl and Head Boy, yet your senses were too numbed and overtaken by emotions to register their approach. James Potter stands off to the side, expression torn between concern and caution as he observes the situation.

You try to answer, try to muster up some explanation as to why you’re out so far past curfew, but all that comes out are hiccups and silent sobs.

Lily doesn’t ask, only embraces you tightly and offers warmth and comfort that barely holds your crumbling walls together.

That night, you don’t sleep in your own dorm, and not in that of your Slytherins friends. Instead, Lily takes you back to her dorm, the girls welcoming you with open arms and sisterly concern. They don’t push you to talk, merely allow you to rest and give you space to breathe. Mary suggests pushing all four beds together, and somehow the entire ordeal turns into some sort of sleepover party that you barely take note of. Your mind is blank, void of any and all thoughts, only filled with the ugly feeling of having your trust shattered by the one you love the most.

Sleep doesn’t come to you that night, instead you replay every single moment of your conversation, of the last week he avoided you. It won’t stop plaguing you, and by the time you get ready for breakfast, the bags under your eyes tell a story of their own. Like your body is on autopilot, you make your way to the Slytherin table, greeting the small group of your friends with a curt nod. Regulus sips on a mug of dark coffee, constantly fiddling with a bracelet you don’t remember seeing on him before, but at least he acknowledges your presence unlike Evan. The other boy is completely distracted, eyes wandering across the hall as if in search of someone specific. He startles when you sit beside him, briefly acknowledging you with a nod before he goes back to surveying the entire room. Dorcas and Pandora join your group a little later, the both of them intently staring with questions written across their faces, ones you don’t bother answering.

You feel him the moment he walks into the Great Hall, your heart speeding up when his gaze settles on you. Barty is quick to stride to the table, your name on his lips before he even reaches you. You can’t take it, grabbing your bags and fleeing in a flash, not giving him or anyone else the chance to ask, much less comment on your behaviour.

It’s the same routine for the next two weeks, where you barely get through the motions of the day, avoiding Barty to the best of your abilities, sticking close to your girls. There’s no lack of trying on his end, finding any and all opportunities to talk to you, but you shut him down every single time. It takes one hurt look, and the words are suck in his throat, and he’s left looking at you as you turn on your heel and leave him.

It’s strange, not having Barty close anymore. You never noticed how cold the world feels without him, so quiet and muted. He was the burst of color and noise that made everything brighter, more fun, more bearable. But in his absence, you’re left with ashes and gray nothing to soothe yourself with.

You barely eat, speak or move, a ghost of your former boisterous and mischievous self. If it were not for the efforts of Lily and the other girls, you might have gone under the pressure of carrying the weight of the loss all on your own.

The whole thing makes rounds at Hogwarts of course, because why would people not gossip about you? Rita Skeeter in particular seems to chase the gossip like a bloodhound, cornering you in the library or in empty classrooms to get the scoop on your fallout. You try to ignore her, push her away or flat out insult her in hopes of having her leaving you alone, but it’s all for naught. Day after day, she publishes outrageous articles and comments in the Hogwarts Daily, filled with such absurd claims, it takes your entire strength to keep Marlene and Mary from ambushing her at breakfast.

You ignore the whispers and looks that follow you, choosing to keep to yourself especially as the full moon draws near. What little strength you already had slowly vanishes, replaced by sluggish lethargy and a gnawing hunger that turns logic and reason into primal force. You nurse packets of blood throughout the day, ones your parents packed for emergencies, but they don’t quell the thirst for violence, for hurt and rebuttal.

Each time your eyes stray from the ground, finding one of the gossipy students in the crowds, all you can think about is sinking your teeth into their neck, tipping them apart like a rag doll, hearing the bones crack under the sheer force of your strength.

It scares you, the kind of monster you seem to be turning into without Barty to keep your humanity tethered, but it’s not like you can go looking for him now, can you? By the end of the first week, he had given up on invading your surroundings, instead pulling away to give you the space to make peace with the distance.

The full moon comes and goes, and for once you’re grateful your parents are too busy to accompany you on your hunt. There’s no doubt they would have picked up on the change in your disposition. They would have probed and asked until you broke, and how on earth were you supposed to explain what happened to them? They barely knew about the feud with Lupin, because if your father, or god forbid your mother, ever caught wind of all the things he said and did to you, there’s no doubt he would not return to Hogwarts alive.

Even after you return, the scent of iron still clinging to your clothes, the restlessness does not leave. It’s almost like a second puberty, all you can think about is letting your strength run free, to bask in the look of fear your prey have in their eyes when you crush their necks and bones.

It comes to a breaking point one night, when you sneak out from the Valkyries dorm and follow the instincts that draw you into the Forbidden Forest. It’s not often that you go there, but tonight there’s something inexplicably alluring about the mystique that calls for you, like a siren that sings sailors to their doom at sea.

You wander around, expertly avoiding prying eyes as you go from wandering on foot to flying in your bat form. There’s something freeing about flying under the moonlight, soaring without the weight of pain that shackles you in your human form.

You lose all sense of time when you finally settle down on some patchy moss covered rocks by the shore of a small lake. It’s in the middle of some clearing, hidden away by the trees and bushes surrounding it, yet the moonlight filters beautifully through the leaves, casting glowing shadows and lights on the ripples of water. More than once, you can make out glowing eyes that watch you from underneath the water, some marine creatures drawn to your supernatural scent. You pay them no mind, instead dipping your legs into the water and letting the forest work its magic on your worn down nerves. There’s a sense of serenity in the air that almost fools you into forgetting about all that awaits back at the castle, about your true nature that gnaws on your insides and tries to come out each passing day.

You can almost believe you’re a normal human girl taking a stroll in the forest at night, not burdened by the weight of friendship or predatory instincts.

Almost.

The magic breaks when you hear a twig breaking, followed by a string of curses from a gruff and low voice you cannot recognise. Immediately, you get up, eyes roaming the clearing for any hiding spots or escape routes. A man emerges from the shadows, clearly a stranger from the heavy gear he has on his person. His face is covered in a mask made of bones, belts slung across his waist and legs filled with gadgets and vials you’ve never seen. He smells of blood and sweat, the blood tinged with the familiar sense of magic and it finally dawns on you as you recall the lessons of Magical History and Care For Magical Creatures.

He must be a poacher, one of the people that hunt magical creatures for their skin, bones or other features that sell for good money on the black market. You remember hazily how Professor Hedgings said they occasionally sneak into the Forbidden Forest, the most skilled meme ears of these groups bypassing and disabling the wards and safety measures for a limited amount of time while they hunt for creatures.

You calculate your chances of facing someone thrice your size, even if you had the advantages of being a vampire on your side. The msn radiated bloodlust and madness from his eyes alone, and you did not want to start a fight here, still on school grounds. You take a step back, cautious and careful so you can disappear into the bushes and transform, but the universe really has it out for you. You slip on some of the moss, the sound of your fall immediately catching the attention of the poacher. His face pulls into a grimace at the sight of you, his hand instantly on his wand as he casts a spell that immobilises you.

For the first time in your life, deathly fear grips your heart as you watch the man step closer, his stride calculated and light, almost like a wild cat ready to pounce. Your brain blanks, trying to think of a counter spell is impossible under his sharp gaze.

”What do we have here?” He drawls, his voice grating like metal on a chalkboard. He circles you, eyes taking your helpless form from every angle until he stands above you, towering and dark.

Almost in slow motion, he reaches for a knife on his belt, toying with it as the blade glints dangerously under the moonlight. He’s smirking, all teeth and danger, clearly having the upper hand and no thought of letting you leave this clearing in one piece.

Then, it happens.

It’s a small mistake on his end, just a tiny cut on his hand as he twirls the blade around, but it’s fatale enough when one faces a vampire fuelled by the will to survive.

You black out as soon as the scent of warm fresh human blood fills your nostrils, the monster inside of you that has been caged for far too long finally breaking out of its prison.

When you return to your senses again, you find yourself in the very same clearing, hands and clothes drenched in blood that is not your own. With shaking legs, you walk over to the little lake, staring at the reflection of someone you do not recognise. Your eyes are red, glowing and dark, still filled with primal rage. Blood coats your face, your head and every inch of you. The taste lingers in your mouth, the taste of your first human prey. You turn around, a scream stuck in your throat at the sight of what must be the poacher.

He’s unrecognisable, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, clothes slashes to pieces and flesh hanging off in clots. His face is frozen in an expression filled with fear, eyes empty and corpse drained.

It hits you then, that this must be your doing. Your first kill, the first human to die at your hands. You stare, from your hands to the macabre sight of his cooling corpse, and you fall backwards when you back away.

It’s all over now, you think. As soon as they find him, they will come for you and you will end up in Azkaban for murder, or worse yet, chained in the dungeons of the ministry as they keep you for experimental purposes. It’s what happens to rogue vampires, your father had once explained bitterly.

You scramble to your feet, running and leaving the clearing behind as the forest slowly closes in on you. It’s dark and loud, there are eyes watching you and every step you take, distant whispers that remind you of what you just did. Your head is loud, too loud, and your heart is beating out of your chest like it wants to escape and leave you to bleed out on the forest floor like the poacher in the clearing.

Your clothes are caught on a stray branch that pulls you back, sending you flying down a hill that you didn’t notice in the dark. You roll down, gravel and sharp branches cutting through your bloodied skin and by the time you land at the foot of the hill, your body aches all over with adrenaline and incoming pain. Your ankle throbs, sharp pain shooting through your entire body when you try to stand up, so you give up and stay seated on the floor, out of breath and out of will to move. The sound of wolves howling in the distance carries through the wind, and you’re sure you won’t leave the forest tonight, not alive at least.

An eerie sense of peace fills you, now that you finally fed the monster and gave in to its demands for violence. There is no more fear, no more resentment or hate, just peace that numbs your entire body. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of the forest and feeling a presence at the edge of your subconscious close in on you, one that alarms you. You have no strength left to pay it any mind though, only opening your eyes for a fraction when someone breaks through the thick bushes, panting and huffing.

In the darkness, you could not have possibly seen his face, or made out his figure, yet his smell gives him away. Dazed and confused, you prop yourself on your aching and bleeding arms, eyes staring up at the second towering figure of the night.

”Lupin?” You call out, voice hoarse and almost too quiet for him to hear. He does though, eyes snapping to yours as soon as it reaches his ears and his amber eyes go wide. He’s tripping over himself to get to you, crouching beside you and cursing as his hands hover near your arms.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asks incredulously, surveying the extent of your injuries. The entire sequence of events is strange, something out of a bad dream perhaps, and you begin to giggle at how surreal this all feels.

“It’s okay,” you beam, clearly high on whatever adrenaline is left in your body, “the blood is mostly not mine, no biggie!”

To his credit, Remus doesn’t falter, only narrows his eyes and stares off into the distance before shaking his head, muttering something about taking care of it later, instant scooping you up in his arms with a small puff. You’re confused, to say the least, arms automatically wrapping around his neck as he adjusts your position.

He doesn’t say anything, only tightens his hold and quickly exits the forest, eyes glancing at your face every so often to make sure you’re awake. As soon as you’re in his arms, all strength leaves your body, not even able to protest or tell him to put you down.

He carries you all the way back to the castle, rushing through the winding halls until you arrive at the hospital wing where he kicks the door open, shouting for the matron of the ward with urgency and familiarity that tells the tale of years of care and closure.

Madame Pomfrey grumbles when she first emerges from her office, clearly preoccupied with something that is interrupted by Remus’ frantic yelling. Her entire demeanour changes the moment she sees you in his arms, all scratched up and bloodied. She’s in work mode in just a few seconds, dishing out commands and muttering to herself as Remus sets you down on one of the beds closest to the entrance. With steady and warm hands, she begins to inspect every injury and cut on you, her wand working tirelessly to clean you up and to bring all the different potions and balms she needs to her.

The treatment might have lasted a few minutes or hours, your sense of time completely shut down during the process. By the end of it, she rid you of your torn clothes and gave you some of the spare, ill fitting clothing in the infirmary. Your cuts are all nicely bandaged and treated, and when she makes you swallow five different potions, you don’t have the heart to remind her that as a vampire, you heal much faster than a regular human, and all you need is probably some blood.

Still, you allow the quiet thrumming of the potions to fill your body, slowly but surely breathing life back into you. The haze settles, and now that you can think clearer, you realize the sheer impact of what happened tonight. You can barely bring yourself to think about the man in the forest, but still, you have to tell someone about it.

So, when Poppy quietly asks what happened, you confess everything to her, from start to finish, your eyes avoiding her face. The situation feels familiar, the dynamic of someone admitting a harrowing truth to another and unable to look them in the face haunting you with such aching pain, but still. You push through, and by the end of your report, she’s grown still. When you dare to steal a glance at her, you’re surprised to see an expression filled with understanding and worry. She gives you a tight lipped smile, bends forward and pats your head similar to the way your mother always does when you tell her about your problems.

“Don’t worry dear,” she says warmly, but the determination in her eyes is everything but gentle, “I’ll make sure you won’t get in trouble, so just focus on getting better, yes?”

You nod, a little dopey from the medicine and watch as she disappears through the doors of the ward, leaving you all alone. The only noise that fills the silence is your breathing, and somehow, in the absence of all sensations, you miss Barty more than ever. You miss his stupid jokes, his warm hands, his steady arms, his engulfing hugs, and more than ever you miss his voice and presence. If he were here, you’re sure he would’ve given you a lecture about self preservation and not taking him on your adventures outside the castle before pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you furiously wipe them away, refusing to cry about him more than you already have. You want to blame someone for this whole thing, and the best possible choice for that is of course —as per usual— Remus Lupin. If he wasn’t out to get you, so intent on ruining your life for no reason at all, things would be far more different.

The universe, still on a trip to drive you into more ruin than you were already suffering, decides that this is the perfect time for Lupin to come into the infirmary, his steps gentle as he approaches your bed. He looks around, presumably to look for Poppy but she’s not around. You watch him closely, observing his disheveled appearance, like he just ran across the castle and back. He pulls out something from his pocket, some sort of paper that you can’t really decipher and curses when he sees the content —or at least you assume it’s the content that makes him curse, maybe he’s just gone mad— before stowing it away.

There’s awkward silence stretching between the both of you, and for once you don’t know what to say to him. It’s not like you can insult him as you usually do, not when he practically saved your life tonight. You clear your throat, writhing under his watchful eyes and attempt some sort of small talk. “Poppy isn’t here, by the way,” you note lamely, as if he hadn’t noticed himself. Still, he coughs and makes a sound of understanding, fiddling with the bag you just notice in his hand before he sighs.

He steps closer to your bed, and you almost expect him to start yet another fight with you, but he merely sets the bag down, rummaging through it before pulling out articles of clothing you recognise as your own.

Your eyebrows shoot up, suspicion clear on your face when he awkwardly tries to explain why he has a bag filled with your clothes.

“I asked Lily,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck as you examine what he’d brought for you. “Figured there’s nothing comfortable for you to wear here, and since you’re basically moved in with the girls I thought they might have some of your clothes.”

The gesture leaves you stunned, to say the least. It’s incredibly thoughtful, and a complete 180 from the Lupin you usually interact with. Hell, you didn’t even think him capable of extending such kindness to you. It warms your heart, but you quickly remember that this was still the guy who’s actively tried to ruin your life on multiple occasions.

“Thank you,” you mutter, grasping the fabric of the blue ravenclaw sweater he brought. The sweater is one you stole from Barty, his scent still faintly clinging to it, and the comfort it brings is almost instant. You’re about to pull the shirt Poppy gave you over your head when your arms protest with an instant ache, causing you to hisss and drop them. The potions haven’t fully set in yet, and you give up on the notion of changing, despite how much you crave it.

Lupin, smarter than you give him credit for, deciphers the situation and clears his throat, voice low as he reaches out gently. “I can help you,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt. When you make no effort to move away from his touch, he takes it as a sign to go on. Tentatively, softer than you ever thought is possible for someone like him, he pulls your shirt over your head, making sure to not accidentally graze the cuts on your arms that are slowly healing. It feels awkward, and maybe a little bit wrong for you to be half naked in front of the guy who readily slammed you into a wall two or so years ago.

With unexpected gentleness, he guides your limbs into the holes of the sweater, carefully putting it on and helping you tug it into place until the fabric is warm and snug against your body. You want to thank him, almost, but the words don’t come so easily over your lips. Instead, you stare pointedly at your blanket, unable to really look into his face. You fear that if you do, he might begin to read you like an open book, the way you’ve watched him read every room and situation like a polyglot proficient in ancient tongues long forgotten.

You do, however, call out to him when he retreats, mumbling something under his breath that is impossible to decipher, even for you.

”Wait!” You blurt out, unsure what you even want him to wait for. “Sit down?” You murmure, quieter this time and with less momentum, a little fragile, a little unsure, but still inviting nonetheless.

He turns around, eyes wide for a split second, like maybe he’s questioning if your injuries messed with your head, before he relents and makes himself comfortable on the bed. He sits cross legged, knees close enough to your own that they might brush if one of you moves just a fraction, and the proximity nearly steals your breath in one swift gust.

You force yourself to not think too hard about how close he’s sitting, or how he smells like chocolate, library, and some sort of musky cologne that you swear you smelled on Sirius Black before. If you allow yourself to think about it, you’ll be left with the realisation that this is the first time the both of you have spent in a room, alone, so close without a fight. You don’t know what to do with this information, or the tingle in your hands, or his warmth that seeps into your skin through the thin material of the blanket, so you squash it down into the darkest corners of your mind.

Lupin, to his credit, tries to act indifferent to the whole situation, but clearly fails. His hands are twitching awkwardly beside him in an attempt to find the best place to put them without touching you directly. Finally, he settles on propping his chain against one of them, which in retrospect really isn’t good for your heart, because now he’s staring at you, directly and with quiet focus, like you’re the most interesting thing in the whole room.

He’s never looked at you this way, with curiously and a little bit of awe swirling in the golden pools of amber, and it’s enough to drive you a tiny bit mad. You want to say something clever, maybe a witty remark to bring back the comforting back and forth the both of you share, but nothing leaves your lips.

Instead, he makes the first move, leaning forward like he might share his biggest secret with you, but instead he stares pointedly at the ravenclaw emblem sewn into the dark blue sweater.

”That Crouch’s sweater?” He asks, like the answer isn’t already clear. Half the school knows you wear Barty’s clothes, proudly displaying your bond, just like he walks around wearing items of yours.

You haven’t been wearing his clothes lately though, and he hasn’t worn anything of yours in the weeks you spent apart. His question is like a spear piercing through your heart, reminding you why you ended up here in the first place.

If it weren’t for him making your life hell, if it weren’t for him kissing Barty, if it weren’t for the distance clouding your judgment, then maybe you would be curled up in Barty’s bed now, low conversation flowing under the dim light of the candles you always get him for his birthday.

Still, you nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you were to answer him verbally. He seems to understand, and the sod smirks. Like, actually smirks, lips curling sharply and features turning all sharp and predatory underneath the the glow of the moonlight that filters through the windows.

“It suits you well,” he drawls, eyes racking over your form with amusement and something you can’t really name. “Would suit you better if the two of you weren’t tragically moping apart,” he adds afterwards, casually like it’s an afterthought, but you’ve had so many verbal sparring sessions with him you can smell the coaxing strategy a mile away. “What’s up with that anyway? Aren’t you usually bound at the hip or something?” He cocks his head, messy hair falling over his eyes like a confused puppy, and something stutters in your chest. Maybe you’re getting sick, or maybe the overdoses on human blood is finally driving you to the edge, because Remus Lupin looks nearly cute like that.

You huff indigently and cross your arms in protest, like it might be a physical and emotional barrier to whatever witchcraft he;s performing on you right now.

“And what, pray tell, is it to you,?”, you throw back, with far less venom than you would usually use. He chuckles at that, sound smooth and honeyed, a little bit like he keeps it for special occasions, and nods at the underlying question you pose.

Are you being nosy right now, Lupin?

“Hard to not be curious when it’s all anyone can talk about,” he remarks, “Plus, you haven’t picked a fight in like three weeks, figured that must be why.”

It’s hard to refute the argument because, well, it is true. You can’t quite find it in yourself to argue with him or think about murder plots without Barty at your side, and without energy to even get through the day, getting even with Lupin is the last thing on your mind.

”Who’s fucking fault do you think that is, you twat?” You mumble, propping yourself more upright against the pillows despite the aching in your back. Lupin notices, because of course he notices everything with those sharp eyes that never leave you out of sight, and he quietly accios two pillows from the cot next to yours, scooting closer until he can put them behind your back for you.

He returns to his original place, like the whole ordeal is no big deal at all, but the quickened pace of his heartbeat tells you that he is not as unaffected by your presence as he likes to pretend. It’s a small victory, but one you take in stride anyway.

”It hardly can be my fault,” he quips back, “I don’t even talk to you two, let alone that mad dog of yours.”

”Oh you don’t talk alright, you just push your tongue down his throat.”

He blinks, slowly, too slowly actually, his face mirroring your own disbelief at what you just said. You didn’t mean to say that out loud, or to sound so bitter about it, it just happened. His face slowly pulls into a smirk, like a light bulb just went off and he laughs, actually laughs, full on doubled over, voice echoing back from the walls. You sit there, stewing in indignation until he calms down, fixing you with an overly amused smile you oh so desperately want to wipe off his face.

For a moment, your eyes flicker down to his lips and you suddenly understand why Barty had let Remus kiss him at that party. They look, truth to be told, soft and inviting, especially under the silver moonlight.

It’s just a moment of weakness, but when your eyes snap up, he looks as startled as you feel, like he’d been caught staring at something he shouldn’t covet. A strange sort of anticipation settles between the both of you, unnamed and inherently terrifying when it’s with the person you spent so much time hating.

This time, it’s you who tries to make the first move in clearing the air, not one to let him overshadow you even in something as petty as that. “Did you do it to get back at me?” You demand to know, like his affairs are your god given right to inquire about. You suppose they are, when they involve the person you love.

He’s taken aback by the brazen question, mulling it over more carefully than you thought he would. When he answers, you half expect a snarky response, but are left surprised by the vulnerability in his words.

“No,” he says, slow and careful, like the words might break him if he says them too loud. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, not like that, and most definitely not by taking advantage of him too.”

Another question lingers on your lips, ready to be fired, but he answers it before you can even voice it out loud.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he cuts off, voice firm and so deliberate, it’s hard to think he’s lying. After a few beats of silence, he adds on, a little quieter this time.

“I enjoyed it, and I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt him, I simply wanted to kiss him in that moment with no strings attached.”

The rawness and honesty dripping from his voice, evident in his expression and body language, almost make you breathless. It truly is marvellous, how he shuts down every worry and doubt you had over this ordea, for your best friend's well being, without as much as a stutter.

There is nothing left for you to ask or say, and for once, you allow Remus Lupin the pleasure of shocking you into positive silence. The fit enjoys it too, a small smile on his lips that stretches the scar across his lip a little, the skin nearly glowing in the dark. His eyes dart down, just for a second, gleaming with something that reminds you of the way Barty looks at you when the lights are low. You wonder if that’s how he looked at Barty before he kissed him, wonder if he might be thinking about kissing you too just to see if best friends kiss the same.

When he looks up, he's clearly mortified, and so are you when your thoughts finally, actually set in. What in the world were you thinking, about Lupin no less?

He eyes the door, pushing himself off the bed with a little too much force and grabs the bag he brought your clothes in, shouldering the strap without as much as looking into your direction. For a moment, he reminds you of a clumsy baby deer trying to escape a hunter, and again, the thought of him being almost adorable crosses your mind.

When he stretches up to his full height, nervously patting down his clothes, he still avoids your gaze, but stills in his movements and looks at your sweater instead.

“You should talk to him,” he comments softly, “You both are miserable in the distance, at least hear each other out, yeah?”

If tonight wasn’t strange already, then Remus Lupin giving you friendship advice most definitely would’ve taken the crown. Alas, far weirder things have transpired, so you simply nod and watch as he makes his way to the door.

“I still don’t like you,” you call out after him, the need to clarify intense as the magic of your shared moment slowly withers.

He stops in his tracks, turning around to cast a lingering glance to you, something between amusement and understanding.

“Still don’t like you either, Bat.”

You’re stunned into silence by this guy for what feels like the millionth time tonight, but somehow, you don't mind it as much as you think you should.

[ghostyuri]

the cut that always bleeds

pairing…rain carradine x fem!reader x ellie williams

in which…ellie doesn’t seem to have time for you anymore; rain does.

before you read…angst + fluff. full transparency this comes forward very rain x reader! don’t count how many times you see the word ‘moon.’ pretend theres no errors challenge. also pls no one get mad at this it’s just a little (4k count) gay story. . .

you’re cold.

the bonfire is blazing before you, and you’re cold. rain is sitting by your side, just barely providing you the warmth you crave— but ellie is a deep void that’s sucking it from you, sucking the joy from you that your other friends have. 

she’s occasionally sparing you glances over the flickering fire, and every time your eyes meet, there’s something behind them. but she pulls away, devoting her attention to the girl beside her, forgetting you’re there. 

you’re not sure what you’ve done— why she got bored of your friendship and seemingly dropped it for another. not that she couldn’t have other friends, you just take notice when someone else is prioritized over you. and it's not a nice feeling.

she doesn’t hang out with you anymore, endless excuses that are so fucking lame that you don’t even bother arguing against them. your patrols are awkward, always quiet like you’re waiting for the other to start a conversation, but neither of you do.

what could you talk about? you selfishly don’t want to hear about the details of her life without you present in it. you miss that— her, more than anything.

but you know she’s happy, her face flushes hues of pink with each interaction with the brunette. she looks nervous around her, picking at the right things to say before they roll off her tongue. that’s how you know it’s a crush— you were once the same. not now.

you feel a weird resentment. it’s not anger, but annoyance, wondering when or if she would notice you’re no longer her shadow, and if it would bother her.

rain notices the inability you have to show a smile, her sister's singing slowly comes to a bittersweet end.

she leans closer to you while your friends whistle at ellie, her head lowering in embarrassment, a habit you found cute.

“you good?”

you turn your head, meeting her blue eyes, swallowed by concern and her hand finding your knee out of habit when things are wrong. it’s not even a question that you had to answer because she knew. you tell her an easy lie, “yeah…just tired.”

she believes it, you think, nodding in return.

“do you…want me to bring you home?” she shyly offers, neither of you paying attention to the green irises locked in on you. ellie didn’t care for whatever relationship you and rain shared— she loves you both and that’s that. but, you were her friend first. 

you were the new kid that enjoyed sitting quietly with ellie in the comfort of her garage, rain was more sociable and almost too kind for you, at the time. now, of course you adore it. you love that rain spends her company with you, caring for you, admiring you. she had a way of making you forget everything else, and more importantly, ellie.

so, ellie can’t help but feel the tugging of her heart, while you’re tugged away from her. and she doesn’t even care to realize, she had placed the first brick, and built the wall between you. 

she’s not a perfect person. but that’s not what you wanted from her or expected. you just wanted her there, with you, not near you as someone you used to know.

rain catches you in your head again.

“hm?” she hums, a gentle squeeze on your knee realizing you let her question linger with no response. you nod, wanting nothing more than the fresh air from the forest than the heavy smoke surrounding you, suffocating you the same way ellie did.

rain gets up, and you copy, now capturing the eyes of your friends. “we’re ready to crash,” she announces, an exchanged look with ellie that you don’t read into, “don’t stay out too late, kids.”

you two ignore the groans, rain rolling her eyes with a ‘yeah, yeah,’ as you walk away together. 

the dirt path darkens the farther you get away from the fire, only the moon providing light for you. it casts an eerie yet lovely shadow over the tall trees, dead with orange leaves clinging to their branches. they crunch and crumble beneath your feet, both of you finding peace at the noise. 

when you turn to rain, she’s watching the moon— intently, as it could disappear at any given moment. 

it’s sweet, her fixation, you wish you could take her camera and snap a photo of her for yourself. to hang above your bed the way she does with her favorite pictures…quite a few of you. then her head turns to you, and yours turns away, to your dirt-covered shoes. 

“what?” 

“hm?”

“you’re staring, y/n.” 

“am not.”

rain laughs quietly, your face burning with heat at getting caught. it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time she’s dared to point it out. you can’t help that her features are really fucking pretty, mirroring ellie in that sense. and that when she’s super focused, her lips part an inch and her eyes narrow in, and she looks adorable. 

rain changes the topic, her tone now serious, “sooo…wanna tell me what’s up?”

you bite your tongue, literally and figuratively, not having the courage to confess that her sister is the storm cloud above your head and the boulder weighing you down. again, she notices, because of course she does, and quickly talks again, “im sorry—i didn’t—you just seem off.”

rain is mentally cursing herself for how far from smooth her words come out, not sure how to help you in the way she desperately wants to. she wouldn’t push for you to tell her anything you weren’t comfortable with, and that’s often what made communicating to rain so easy.

just, not with this, not this time.

“gotta headache,” you give yet another short lie, hoping it goes over her head. it doesn’t, not completely, but she accepts it. rain nods, the silence between you two only lasting for a few seconds before she speaks again, “ellie’s singing that bad, huh?” 

the joke finally gets a soft laugh from you, rain feeling satisfied she earned it from you, that it causes her lips to tug upward. now it’s her turn to stare, to observe the beauty in you that she finds in the moon, how despite the internal turmoil you’re enduring, you still manage to radiate such light. 

she doesn’t blink. not until she steps on a twig, and swallows the air, redirecting her gaze forward again. it’s a weird feeling…in a daze from you. it’s forbidden, you have only ever been friends, ellie had basically built your friendship over a series of game nights as a trio.

how could she cross a line that has been firmly in place for years? would you cross it?

she goes quiet the rest of the way home, and you don’t have the energy to make a conversation, so it’s just the chirping from the insects and the occasional blowing of the wind. you don’t mind it.

when you successfully sneak back into the walls of jackson, rain continues to walk you back to your place, all the way up the steps to your porch and standing idly in front of the door. 

“well…” rain starts, looking up from her white and red sneakers to your face, “i hope you feel better—your head, i mean—if not you should head to the infirmary, just in case, you know.”

she’s so doting you almost consider her words, the lie you created falsely slipping into a short reality, and you nod. “yeah, yeah, will do that.”

“cool, yeah, okay,” rain’s voice is above a whisper, almost forgetting this is the part where she walks away. that’s until you pull away from the moment first, something of a tight-lipped smile on your face that was practically saying goodbye to her, opening your door. 

when it shuts, rain lets out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, lingering on your doorstep for a few passing seconds, before forcing herself to leave.

and as if you jinxed it, there’s a subtle pounding on your temple when you strip from your outdoor clothes, but you couldn’t blame that on the wires in your brain. 

it was the heavy, so fucking loud, and obnoxious thoughts of ellie. how dina is probably cuddled into her side while you’re going to sleep in your lonely bed. you don’t like feeling alone like this, just moments prior you were fine— you had rain at your side. 

you wish you invited her in; and that she’d lay by you with enough space in your platonic comfort zones. she would happily do so, and she wouldn’t leave you until you fell into a slumber when she knew you were at ease. 

you fall asleep picturing that, picturing her.

the next few days are surprisingly, easy.

it’s easy to numb the hurt from ellie with the presence of rain, and she was making herself your shadow. lunch at the tipsy bison, leading you to the back where you’re tucked away from everyone else. it was nice, it was intimate. other evenings when the sun is setting and she’s at your door, the sky casting an orangish glow on a certain angle of her face that makes her look like she descended from heaven itself. 

she'd come with goodies from the greenhouse she spent most of her time in, taking the uglier veggies and fruits that she had grown and making a meal out of them with you, for you. she was taking care of you in every sense of the word, not allowing a frown to fall upon your face.

today was different, though.

you didn’t attend the bar and she didn’t show up on your doorstep. instead, you’re in her bedroom— the smell of wood filling your senses from her rustic furniture, making the room feel cozier. a bubble from the outside world you never wanted to pop.

you're sifting through her latest collection of polaroids, mostly— no, entirely —of the moon in its different stages. you don't point that out, though, you don’t find it repetitive. you smile lightly, your fingertips tracing the edges of the glossy photographs. rain observing your face as she mirrors you, sitting crisscrossed parallel to you on her bed.

“i know it’s not super exciting—“ she says, almost apologetic, downplaying the actual excitement she had when she pulled the stack from out of her nightstand to show you. “i just think she’s pretty.”

you’re eyeing one of the blurry ones, making an illusion that there were two moons; two bright, almost ethereal orbs hanging in the sky, like they're celestial twins. you hum, taking it in, then glancing up at her, her expression soft but expectant, she's been watching you closely this whole time. curious, you ask, “she?”

“oh,” her lips curl slightly, a tenderness, maybe shyness, to her voice when she swallows then speaks again, “people in the old world used to think the moon was—well, is, a feminine symbol—sorta like a connection, i guess. and…just look at her…she’s…”

rain trails off, and you don’t seem to notice how her dark pupils are deeply set on your face, like she was trying to remember each outline, catching herself fading from the conversation and into you.

“she's just...always there...and always different—but always beautiful," she gulps, shrugging, afraid you're losing interest, “i don't know...i guess i just like that idea.”

you feel crazy for thinking there's something else to her words, something that makes your skin flush, but you blame it on the intimate atmosphere. you hum again, letting the silence settle between you two, but the air just seems to grow thick, a subtle tension building in that moment. not bad, just...different.

when you're done admiring the photographs, your gaze drifts to hers. she clears her throat, and your heart pounds in your chest. she talks first after building the courage.

“do you...” rain begins, her voice wavering slightly, but she manages to push through it. “do you wanna go to the bonfire tomorrow?”

“tomorrow? i didn’t know they planned that,” you say, wondering why her simple words and question have a weight behind them, a half inviting and half uncertain look on her face. like she's desperate for you to say yes.

but, you're already trying to come up with a reason to why you’re about to decline. things have been okay. you don’t need to be there, around ellie, and slip away again.

rain shakes her head, “they didn’t. i just thought, maybe you and i…”

your breath gets caught in your throat. it's not a typical gathering, it's rain wanting to be with you, and just you. she can tell you're caught off guard, her mouth opening, “it’s totally cool if you don’t—”

“no, yeah, we can,” you agree in the most nonchalant way you can, like the warmth isn't spreading through your chest by the mere idea. rain is not a rebel, not in the same sense that ellie was, and already took hesitation to your group sneaking out; she is making an exception for you.

she doesn’t reply, chewing her cheek to prevent the grin ready to flash, and to distract herself from overthinking it.

and then, she ruins the moment.

“by the way…ellie has been asking about you.”

damn it.

“she has?” your stomach flips, rain catching the glimpse of hope in your eyes, but it doesn’t last, not when you continue to speak again. “we haven’t been…”

“i know,” rain says softly, “that’s why she—”

“she’s busy these days,” you cut rain off, the feeling of comfort that ellie still cares, not able to overpower the bitterness you hold. going through her sister, to reach you? pathetic. she could spare five minutes from her dina-centered days to simply check in on you.

you add, “and i’ve been busy, too.”

with rain. she nods, letting it end there.

rain loves her sister, obviously, but she’s aware of her screw-ups that sometimes involve the ones she cares about. and as much as rain had a habit of figuring out her family and friend's problems, she couldn’t, not with this, not with whatever was going on between you. 

ellie will cross that bridge when she comes to it. and so will you. the best she could do was simply be there when you two needed her. 

and you need her.

the next night, rain had shown up at your doorstep the very moment jackson had gone dark. hair neatly tucked half up, adorned in that crimson jacket of hers, smelling like a mix of the clementines she grows in the greenhouse and the generic soap she slathered on her body. a scent that reminds you you’re okay.

rain was making simple conversation on the trail there, still on alert for any possible unwelcome eyes or visitors in the surrounding woods, whenever her eyes weren’t on you. the moon is full, and you look beautiful. she almost said that, but decided against it.

when you approach the clearing, it is an odd feeling to be there without hearing ellie’s honey voice sing a familiar song, the crack at a smile on her face if her eyes would land on you…that was a while ago, though. 

you barely sigh, watching rain tug off her backpack and bend over, getting the fire started while you sit on an empty log. you wait, bouncing your knee before you interrupt the silence. “it’s quiet.”

fantastic observation, y/n. rain spares you a glance, “that’s a good thing— means it’s just us.”

though she had meant it in the sense you’re safe, there’s an edge to her voice that makes your skin flush, and your heart thuds a little harder than you care to admit.

it is the most intimate setting when rain successfully gets the fire to spark, poking at it until it grows into a steady flame, then joining you. sitting directly next to you, thighs mere inches from touching. “i brought a blanket,” she mentions, “just in case you’re cold— get cold.”

“i’m fine, rain.”

“okay—i just don’t want you getting sick or anything,” rain finds it necessary to explain, a smile flashing on your face at her taking you into consideration. you chew at your bottom lip, and rain shoves her hands in her pockets.

for some reason, the energy feels charged, somehow electrifying despite the calmness of it all, the crackling of the fire and the occasional brushing of her leg against yours.

you're both quiet for a while, not sure what to say, to address whatever was hanging in the air like the mist in the surrounding forest, acting like barrier between you two and the rest of the world. that's when you feel her shift beside you.

rain is hesitant, but she nervously questions you, “was it…really your head that night? i mean—when i walked you home.”

you weren't ready for that. it feels too loaded, and your throat tightens.

but, you glance from the fire to her anyways, ember flames dancing on her delicate features, contorted in slight worry. she looks as ethereal as the moon, and maybe it's the setting, the trust you feel in this moment; that you show her some honesty.

“no,” it comes out lowly, and you shrug, trying to pass it off like it was truly not a big deal, “just didn’t want to be there.”

she still wears that face, a gentle intensity. her brows knit together, trying to push for more without making you uncomfortable, “…how come?” 

your sister. for a moment, you debate those words, considering telling her the truth, the full truth. about how you have felt about ellie, and how ellie has made you feel. like shit. chewed up stale gum at the bottom of her dirty black and white converse. it doesn't leave your mouth.

you awkwardly chuckle and fiddle with your fingers, “i dunno— i guess i just…”

you hesitate, her stare so intense you have to look back into the fire. you search for something simpler, but still raw, no longer wanting to hide all of your feelings from rain. especially when shes staring at you the way that she is.

“didn’t feel wanted?”

you hate the words as soon as they leave your lips, it sounds flat out pathetic as if you had only said them for pity. but it's true. you felt like a burden that night, there for no reason at all, dimming the mood with your disconnect from the group. it’s the nerves that make you continue to add to it.

“like…everybody had somebody,” you begin, managing to talk about ellie without explicitly saying her name, “and i was just there? i don’t know.”

you chuckle lightly at the end, but rain sees through it, through you, covering your hurt. her expression softens instantly.

“that’s not true…you have me.”

you blink at rain, her voice ever so gentle, and she reaches out, placing her hand on your knee. you like her tentative touch, so simple, yet it acts like an anchor keeping you at bay from the unfriendly thoughts in your head. it causes that internal warmth she's made you familiar with, to course through your body. from your toes, to where her hand rests, to your shoulders.

rain squeezes your knee gently, like a reassurance. a promise to her words, and the air tightens.

your gaze meets hers, the softness and sincerity behind her blue eyes, your cheeks warmer than the fire in front of you. it is just the crackling of the fire, and a howling of the wind through the trees, and you shiver. but, that's not thanks to the sudden coolness.

it's her stare. the goosebumps rise on your skin, and it happens, like that.

a mutual decision made by your eyes, a flickering between them and your lips. you lean in slightly, breath catching as your nerves grow, but she eases them when she does the same, assuring you that she wants this.

both of your hearts beat like rabbits, and your lips connect.

and then there was nothing else, no thinking, no brooding, no ellie.

just rain.

she takes it slow, cautious at first, once again squeezing your knee, but this time it’s to reassure herself— that you’re actually kissing her, that this is real, not in her head. it's not your first kiss ever, not at all, but it's the first that felt like it had meaning. like all of the love she has grown for you is on full display, wanting, needing, you to feel it.

you need to grab her, your hand slides to the back of her neck to somehow pull her closer, yet she’s the one deepening the kiss. not in a messy way, not in a rough way. she doesn’t want that from you, not yet, at least. it’s still just as tender as it is passionate, it’s like a dream.

and for a moment you had pictured with someone else, maybe even in this exact place on this exact log, this feels…right. 

when time is no longer paused, and you finally pull away, your mouth is still parted collecting your breath. “fuck…” rain mumbles, and then she laughs, “holy fuck.”

the smile she wore quickly falters from her face, the euphoria switching to concern, “that was okay— right?”

“yeah—yeah,” you whisper, the little smile returning to both of your faces, ignoring the sudden sense of unease you had felt. it was okay, fucking better than okay and you think you want more. but when you look forward again, it’s to the fire, to the log across that ellie would occupy with her pretty voice and guitar.

and then there’s rain, shyly looking at her red and white sneakers.

a minute doesn’t even pass. you swallow thickly, leaning forward, and kissing her again.

it’s an hour later when the flames had died, a quiet walk back home with stolen glances. you’re both in a haze, minds foggy with the thought of the other. though, yours wavers, a certain pair of green eyes flashing in your head. it was supposed to be her— that’s what you had used to think. 

ellie and you, not you and rain. so naive, you were. and so wrong, because rain felt right. she felt perfect.

and your schedule is quickly prioritized around rain over the following week. her free time was yours, and yours hers. 

walks around jackson taking photos of the things she found beauty in— the light in a dark world. which included you, often off guard, or stupid faces in her bedroom. 

the sleepovers sharing her bed, rain always meeting your hands beneath the blanket, a sense of relief she craved. the chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, making sure your days started nicely, and that you were happy. all rain did was make you happy. 

and ellie, on the sidelines, took notice.

she wasn’t losing her friend— she lost her friend. to her fucking sister. not that she was upset with rain in any way, or you for that matter, it just was how it was. something she could’ve prevented. 

it’s another night you’re getting ready to go meet rain, slipping on a hoodie when you hear the knocking at your door. you already know who it is, she was still using her signature rhymed knock. two beats off from rain.

you cross your living room, twisting the knob and opening the door. ellie stands before you, in a common dark flannel and her mullet seemingly freshly trimmed, neater than usual. probably the work of someone else’s loving hands.

“hey…can i come in?” she scratches the back of her neck, and you scoot out of the way as an answer. she enters, taking in the comforting aroma of your home she hadn’t realized she missed so much. it somewhat eases the tension in her shoulders, her nerves calming. 

you slowly trail behind her, the woman sitting on your couch hunched over, elbows propped on her spread legs. this was serious, and you really don’t want this right now. 

her mouth opens before yours does, though.

“how are you?”

oh. her question catches you off guard, but it’s genuine, not surprising since she’s just a distant echo in your life these days. “i’m good,” you give her a short real answer, and she doesn’t give you time to elaborate or even ask her back.

“yeah? and—you and rain?”

you blink at her. her tone is so accusatory like any possible response will just be flat-out wrong. 

even if it’s the truth, especially if it’s the truth.

the unfortunate part is that ellie did have some right to know what your relations were with her sister; but there is nothing to tell her, because just like her and dina, you’re not calling yourselves girlfriends.

you’re friends, technically. friends that have gotten closer and closer, spending more time with each other than anyone else. letting the spark between you two grow into a flame, and into a fire. 

maybe that is the very reason why the question had left ellie’s lips, seeing a mirrored version of her and dina in you and rain. and if that is the case, why is her voice laced with venom, not obvious, yet clearly there? 

she knows you’d never hurt rain, and rain would never hurt you. there is no valid reason for her to take issue with the idea you two had something. not in your opinion, at least.

your silence is an unspoken or undecided answer, and ellie leans back, tongue-swiping her teeth. 

“right, okay,” it comes out as a rasp, with a short nod. she begins again, “you could’ve told me.”

you can’t help it— you rebuttal her. “kinda hard when you’re not around.”

“wha—” ellie’s brows furrow, suddenly standing up, eyes darkened and narrow, “every fucking time i come here, you’re gone, you know that?”

you feel a nonexistent spotlight on you that you don’t want to be under, and ellie isn’t even done speaking. “there are nights neither of you are home—so what, you’re fucking sneaking out too? it’s one thing to hide it, but to be stupid?”

“so you suddenly care about me?” you mutter, and her jaw just barely drops, taking offense at your words, pausing before she even can respond.

“how…could you even say that?”

there is no irritation in her voice this time. it’s flat, even somber, matching the energy shift in the room. you’re quiet, unable to make another snarky comment. you stare at her shoes, them approaching you, staying in place when she was just a few feet from you.

then, you look back up at her. 

“you know i love you,” ellie tells you blankly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, something she has said a million times over. 

it’s different when you haven’t felt her love, or any sort of affection from her in weeks, and the three words seem like more of a chore. nearly meaningless to you. the only person that made you feel like you had a purpose, was now rain, and that realization fucking stings. 

“i have to go,” you disregard the current conversation, ignoring the dry humorless chuckle that escapes ellie’s lips, “can you leave? please?”

she remains still for a moment, staring at you, and you dread it. the silent observing, waiting for you to crack, drop this curtain you’re holding up to prevent her from seeing how you truly feel. 

how you’re coming to terms with your heartbreak, before the woman that broke your heart, that was never in her possession in the first place— not that she was ever aware of. 

she nods. 

ellie forces herself to move, walking past, shoulders nearly brushing when she walks past you. you wait to hear the door open, but her palm is resting on the knob.

“i…know i messed up…” she admits, “but…you could’ve come to me.”

she’s making this harder. making your mind envision a reality where you were the one that fought harder, not her. that you didn’t slowly watch the gap between you two widen, and just expressed to her how poorly she had made you feel.

that would be easier than this. she would still be your closest friend…and rain wouldn’t. 

rain, who is currently waiting for you. her bed most certainly made neatly, reserved for you to fall asleep in, her arm bound to snake its way around you and stay in place until you woke up.

ellie debates her next choice of words, but nothing comes from her. with dread, she leaves you, alone, frozen in place trying to unpack everything. it feels impossible, and you no longer have the desire to see rain, as much as she could numb this. 

you lay down in your own, and much colder bed, but your curtains are drawn wide open and the moon is shining through your window— and she looks beautiful tonight. rain is probably admiring her, wishing she had you next to her to do so.

maybe ellie is doing the same. and maybe tonight, you’re still on her mind, even if she’s gazing at it with someone else.

[ablobwhowrites]

HEAR ME OUT PLEASE

MURDER DRONE READER X YAN TRANSFORMERS (ANY VERSION COUNTS BUT SPECIALLY TFP AND TFA)

(YOUR COOKING. Also as for this yap session, I'll try to do every yandere transformers I can think of so sorry if I miss one. And I made this one into a dissembly drone so hopefully you guys like it and also all knowledge for this is from the murder drone shows lore and had to look up the abilities for disassembly drones in the show for this and if you guys like it, I'll totally do more with yandere transformers with murder drone y/n. Might make one that's the worker drone y/n, If you guys want.)

Yandere TFA: for this one I imagine that Dr sumdac found murder drone y/n in a damaged ship that they crash landed in and was temporarily offline. But after waking up, Dr sumdac kinda kept y/n at his lab because like the ship was a mess and y/n tries to find stuff around this city and when scavenging for parts, accidentally was found by prowl as y/n tried to sneak into the autobot base for supplies to repair their ship. Y/n is friends with the autobots now and y/n thinks its nice as they do like prowl for being quiet and letting them charge and hang upsidedown on the tree he has in his room that is a nice rest place but then gets interrupted when bumblebee or sari come in to get y/n (I like the idea of dissembly drones bascially being like a bat and hanging upside down to sleep.) plus once y/n had bumblebee and sari panic because y/n hadn't had any oil and was overheating so bad (I like the fact that dissembly drones have to periodically drink oil because they over heat.) But luckily the base had some oil on hand and now ratchet or any of the autobots ask if y/n had some oil before and sari also makes sure of this because she doesn't want that to happen again as y/n is kinda like a sibling to her. But also it's worse with the decepticons as blitzwing with his three personalities, random scares y/n a lot cause once random says a lot.

Tfp: y/n was basically found by the decepticons first and y/n thought they were alright but a bit scary but still they were nice and all but y/n wondered why they never let y/n leave the ship even when going to earth or just say that it's taking them a while to find y/n's crew and return y/n to them. But escaping from the nemesis, they basically wandered into the small town and met miko first and miko was only able to take a picture of y/n but it was more like a silhouette of them as they got spooked a bit and tried to scare miko away thinking she was a threat before running away and of course miko showed the autobots, jack and raph but this raised a lot of concerns because what if this thing in Miko's picture is a threat so they go to capture y/n and bring them back to base but now y/n stays at the base after being now proven not to be a threat to humans or anything really but will kill if they wanted to but don't really. With the oil situation I do imagine that it's similar to tfa situation where y/n hadn't had any in a long time so began to over heat cause of it but tfp ratchet noticed it quickly and now ratchet and everyone makes sure they had their oil for today because they don't wanna be freaking out over y/n basically overheating again. The autobots, kids and decepticons like y/n as they basically are a walking death machine but choose not to be sometimes because like earth got cool shit here for them to mess around with as for the autobots it's a bit of fresh air having someone like y/n around them who doesn't know about this cybertronian war and the kids like y/n especially miko who thinks they are so cool with all their gadgets, wings and tail. The decepticons are also actively looking for y/n so yeah.

Yandere Rescue bots: Y/n again crushed on earth but didn't know that they'd accidentally crash into a road and a few buildings on their way down but no one got hurt. Y/n escaped out of the small ship they were in and oddly alone but here to rescue bots come to help the situation and y/n a bit injured because it was a rough land, y/n tried to be hidden but was found by a human and was caught by chase who had no idea what y/n was but thought it was a rogue robot or something like that until y/n basically began to panic and tried to freeze themselves kinda like how a cat tried to squeeze through a small crack in a door or something and chief burns was the one who kinda saved y/n from being thrown out or put some somewhere and let them into the burns family as y/n needed a place to stay after telling them what happened to them. The rescue bots and bruns family has taken a liking to y/n but blades absolutely gets terrified when seeing y/n at night with their glowing eyes and all but in the day he's alright, Codey finds y/n cool that they can make any tools or basically anything with their switchable hands thing to make a gun, the little knife fingers or something else like that and they can fly too. Boulder likes having y/n on his shoulders just to keep them near him plus it gives y/n a good place to land or rest at because boulders shoulders are a big enough landing spot, chase teaches all the basic information about regulations on flying and weapons safety to y/n who is mostly confused by this cause they aren't a plane and aren't planning to fly over restricted areas at all nor use their weapons for anything but y/n goes have to wear this cap on their tail because of the acid in it and it's a sharp needle that could accidentally poke someone or something. Heatwave didn't like y/n at first and saw them as a walking safety hazard but grew on them as they always talked to him like they knew eachother for forever and other things that I couldn't list because we'd be here forever, heatwave likes to have y/n on his shoulders sometimes like how boulder does but always looked over to check in y/n is still on or flew off but heatwave in short likes having y/n around him and taking his audio receptors off as its become kinda like comforting white noise to him.

(Sorry for the kinda long wait on this request but I didn't wanna make it to long plus I will do a part two for it if you'd ask me to! But if you guys want more of this please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[yandere-fetish]

Yandere Patient X Female Reader

Part One

warnings: disrespect, rude, slow burn

Yandere Patient is a highly dignified CEO on his way to one of his many companies from the vast countryside. He's reading the newspaper and catching up on the latest magazines, detailing the latest hot topics and debates. The indifferent expression paired with wire framed glasses only made his handsome face more attractive.

The driver comes to a stop at a stop sign while looking both ways. There's no one around. He turns right to drive towards the city.

Yandere Patient reaches for a small drink out of the mini fridge, then the car jerks.

*SKIIIRRRTT*

*CRASH*

Yandere Patient is knocked out as his legs are disfigured in a gory way. The pain was unbearable, but Yandere Patient was in no condition to feel the pain due to the concussion. His eyes flutter shut as the driver is crawling out the front seat, attempting to check on his master.

Yandere Patient scowls at his uncle's suggestion. He doesn't need anyone to take care of him. He doesn't need an extra person supervising the way he moves or watching his every breath.

Yandere Patient didn't need a babysitter. He's a damn grown man, for God's sake!

"They're not a babysitter. They would live in the servants quarters and tend to your needs. Just treat them like a maid. They would only aid you when you need them to—"

"*scowls* And I won't need them!"

"*sigh* Nephew, there's just some things you need to understand in life, mainly that there's no 'I' in 'team'. You cannot do everything by yourself."

"Tch. Watch me! *wheels away in his new wheelchair*"

"Jenna, *sighs and stares at a picture of his sister* what am I going to do with this kid?"

This is where you come in.

You show up at noon, ready to meet your newly appointed patient after hearing so many coworkers complain about how aggressive and snarky this patient has been since joining their agency as a client.

You really hadn't wanted to take this patient under your wing but since the agency was willing to fire anyone who didn't at least try, so you had to.

The sooner you come, the sooner you can leave.

So, here you are, standing on the doorstep of a luxurious mansion with a thirty-foot driveway. You'd never dream of living in a place such as this, let alone working in one.

Funny how you'd be doing both for a while.

When the door opens, you're greeted by a tall and broad-shouldered with a friendly smile. He welcomes you in while telling you, in detail, about his nephew's accident and his.. preferences.

At first, you're shocked and confused, but nonetheless you agree.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N) from True Home Care. It's nice to meet you, Mister—"

"*scowls and ignores you* I thought they sent the last one?"

"Now, now, nephew. She's come all the way here. The least you can do is try her out for a day."

"I told you and that cheap company that I don't need anyone's help! I'll be fine on my own!"

"Just give her a chance. I'm certain it'll work out this time—"

*glares at his uncle and wheels away*

"*sighs* I apologize, Mrs. (L/N). He's moody, as you can tell. He should come around with some coaxing."

"I.. I'm sure he's not very open to strangers. I'd feel uncomfortable opening my home to one, especially several. And it's Miss— I'm not married. *smiles*"

"You're not? *clicks his tongue at the thought of an idea* I apologize again. Let me show you to your room for the time being."

It's been a a week since you first arrived at Yandere Patient's home. You've quickly become used to your room that's the size of a living room with a comfy as fuck bed to go with it. The 65" TV was definitely a nice addition, and let's not get started on the en suite bathroom and the walk-in closet.

To say you were happy was an understatement.

Now, though, you had wished you were still in your comfy bed instead of in the kitchen, gathering Yandere Patient's favorite tea.

In the sitting room was Yandere Patient and his uncle. They were once again discussing your presence in the mansion, as if you weren't in the other room. The loud noises made you flinch from time to time, but you just reminded yourself that whatever happens will happen. You've done your job well and that's all that matters.

When you're finished with the tea, you serve Yandere Patient, silently keeping yourself to the side while the two argue again.

After the uncle strikes a nerve into Yandere Patient, he walks out of the house. Yandere Patient is so pissed that he slams his hands on the table, making the teacup jump. You flinch as Yandere Patient fists his hands, his muscular arms flexing in anger as he suddenly begins to try to stand.

You're too late; Yandere Patient is all ready on the floor. He slams his fists into the hardwood, bruising them severely.

You're careful to go to his side, helping him up. Yet, the moment you touch his arm, Yandere Patient automatically shoves you away from him with a scowl.

You end up running into a sharp, marble vase table with nothing on it, luckily.

"Get the hell out of here! You're not wanted, nor needed here!"

"*on the verge of tears* You know what? Fuck you!"

"*bewildered at your sudden back talk* What..?"

"You think I want to take care of some selfish, inconsiderate twenty-some year old brat who only calls his uncle when he has a problem? I'd rather lay on my back and give birth to a child to take care of instead of someone like you! If it wasn't for the high pay, I wouldn't even be here taking this damn abuse! I work damn hard everyday to make sure your needs are met, and what do I get in return? Verbally ridiculed and now physically abused! I don't give a mother fuck if you're rich, handsome, or have power; my job is to take care of you and to only take care of you! If I wanted to care for a whiny and stubborn man, I'd go online and get myself a boyfriend!"

*stares wide eyed at you as you're huffing from anger and pain*

"Now, let me help you get up and to the bath so that I can take a fucking break, Sir."

After wheeling him into the bathroom and helping him undress, Yandere Patient is extremely docile and quiet. There's no protest or stubbornness coming from him, much to your relief.

Yandere Patient, on the other hand, notices how you skim over his body but you don't linger anywhere at all. He frowns, not really understanding why. Looking away as both of you help Yandere Patient into his wide garden tub, you silently tend to his needs.

Yandere Patient apologizes, to which you scoff at but accept his apology.

It's silent while you're helping him dry off and get dressed. Even while you're wheeling him to his bed.

But when you begin to aid him into bed, Yandere Patient notices the bruise from earlier forming into a nasty one.

Since your scrubs were moving to reveal your skin when you bend at an angle, he could see how clearly he had hurt you. Something churns in his heart at the memory of pushing you out of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

Yandere Patient doesn't realize what he's doing until he's gently touching the bruise on your side.

"*flinches while standing up* What are you doing?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you.."

"It's.. it's all right. I'm not bleeding so there's nothing to worry about."

"*furrows his brows* It's not okay. I went too far. Let me make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it, Sir. There's nothing you need to make up for."

"I insist. I'll treat you to a meal, or a day at the spa? Girls care about their skin, right?"

"*smiles* It's not necessary, Sir. Have a good night. I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

*after you've left*

"I'll make it up to you, somehow.. someway."

Part Two?

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

How about jealous Ginny for a prompt? I mean there are plenty of jealous Harry stories but for once I want to need to see a jealous Ginny! Loved the overprotective Harry btw❤️🩷

They - quite literally - run into her at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Ginny was walking backward, grinning wickedly at Harry as she tried to surmise just how many photographers would swarm Diagon Alley once word had spread that he was there, while Harry continued to argue he should at least be allowed to don the Invisibility Cloak. 

“No, no, I’ll look insane talking to myself all day. You’ve got to face society, sometime, Potter,” Ginny was saying. “Some would say it’s your responsibility, no your duty to–”

“--my duty?”

“--to spend the day dodging photographers for your girlfriend. Isn’t that your whole deal? Self-sacrificing, hero–”

“Rita Skeeter is worse than Voldemort.”

It was precisely the moment when Ginny let out a loud, unattractive Ha! that her back came into contact with a person turning away from the bar. It’s all a bit of a flurry for a few moments - a folder of papers flutters to the floor, Ginny stumbles and corrects herself with an “Oh Merlin I’m so sorry,” Harry jolts forward helplessly as though to catch… something. 

Ginny turns to apologize more earnestly, when she realizes that she knows the person she’s just crashed into. 

“--I’m such an idiot, are you– Oh! Cho!”

“Er, hi,” Cho Chang says, a bit ruefully. “It’s good to – oh, no, don’t worry, I can–”

Cho flaps her hands uselessly, for Harry has bent over to pick up the papers Ginny had knocked to the floor. 

“Here,” Harry says, stuffing the papers haphazardly back into the folder and thrusting it out toward Cho. 

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then a horribly awkward silence swallows them all. 

Ginny struggles for anything to say. The only idiotic thing she can think to say is - You look pretty - because Cho does. Her silky black hair is swept up into some elegant looking chignon, and it’s clear she’s done up her makeup a bit more than usual. She’s wearing smart robes that are fitted elegantly, and her soft-pink nails are perfectly shaped. 

“Are you two off to Diagon Alley?” Cho says, with an air of desperation to fill the silence. 

“Yes,” Ginny says, latching on to the subject like a life raft. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Picking up school things for Ginny.”

“Oh!” Cho says, turning to Ginny in surprise. “Do you have another year of school left, then?”

The question, in conjunction with Cho’s very grown-up elegance, leaves Ginny feeling particularly infantile and irritable; their two-year age-gap seems suddenly to span decades. “Yep,” Ginny says, a note of petulance creeping into her tone. “Finishing up my NEWTs.”

“Good for you!” Cho says, in a way that manages not to sound patronizing, even though Ginny's certain it is. “I don’t know if I could go back to school, after every–”

Harry, shooting an alarmed glance at Ginny’s expression, interjects. “Did you do some shopping today, as well?”

“Oh! Er, no. No I… I just finished up a job interview, actually, in one of the back rooms here.”

“Did you?” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. “Nice. Hope it went well.”

“Me too,” Cho says, looking at Harry a bit shyly, now. Ginny narrows her eyes. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. The job - it’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Really?” Harry says, and he sounds genuinely interested now. “What role?”

“Oh, something administrative. I’m not very interested in field work, I’d much rather be working on the policy side of things, but – well, I’d actually wanted to thank you. Everything was so in flux after—well, in May, and I never got a chance to–”

“Thank me?” Harry says, sounding baffled. “You don’t–”

“I do,” Cho insists prettily, wringing her hands prettily, sounding pretty. “You were so brave, what you did. Facing him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you– And honestly, I wouldn’t even have had a chance at this job if it weren’t for the DA. I think they only interviewed me because I mentioned I’d been a part of it–”

“Really,” Harry says awkwardly, “it’s nothing, you don’t need to–”

“It’s isn’t nothing, at all!” Cho says emphatically, tucking a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’ve made such a difference for everyone and I’ve been wanting to tell you but I–”

“Don’t be modest, Harry,” Ginny interjects hotly. Cho’s gushing so much they all might drown in it. In fact, Ginny wouldn’t mind all that much if Cho did. 

Harry shoots her a wary look, and then turns back to Cho. “That’s, er, really nice of you to say.”

“I mean it,” Cho says. “I heard you’ve joined the Aurors, is that true?”

“Er, yeah–” Harry says, ruffling his hair anxiously. It strikes Ginny then, as it so often does, that Harry is quite good-looking, now. Not that he hadn’t been, before, but months of regular eating and living out from under the thumb of the threat of constant death has been good to him - go figure. He’s filled out and bought clothes that fit and Ginny’s very much enjoyed it all until this moment, when it strikes her that he could stand to be a bit less handsome, all piercing eyes and messy hair and wry smirks directed at Cho bloody Chang. “I have.”

“I knew you would,” Cho says, like she’s some insider expert on Harry’s tendencies. “We’ll be in the same office, then, if I get this job!”

“Oh!” Harry says, coming up short. “That’s—” he shoots a glance at Ginny. “That’s great.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ginny says in a passable impression of earnestness that she’s positive does not fool Harry. “Really, really, wonderful.”

Cho looks at Ginny as though she’s only just remembered that she’s there. “Yes, well. Are you still interested in doing the Quidditch thing, Ginny?” Cho asks. 

“Oh, who knows?” Ginny says brightly. “Maybe I’ll do the Quidditch thing, or maybe I’ll go be an Auror too. It’ll be a regular party, the three of us.”

Cho’s smile falters a bit. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. “Just lovely.”

Harry coughs, and then they’re plunged into a miserable silence once more. 

“Well,” Ginny says heartily. “We’ve got to get a move on. Those photographers won’t dodge themselves, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Cho says. “Well, it was lovely to see you both.”

“Lovely,” Ginny agrees. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. 

“Best of luck at school, Ginny,” Cho says, and Ginny hates that she sounds like she means it. “And maybe I’ll be seeing you in the office, Harry.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry chuckles, “Maybe! Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Cho says, and then she gives them an awkward wave and departs. 

Once the door has closed with a jingle of the bell above it, Ginny turns to Harry, her eyebrows raised.

“Ginny…” Harry says with trepidation. 

“Looks like you’ve got a new office best mate!” Ginny says with supreme sarcasm. “I’ll tell Ron he’s been usurped, he’ll cry for a bit but I’m sure he’ll manage–”

“She might not even get the job–”

“Oh, no. She will. I mean, she name-dropped you and the DA, that’s sure to give her a leg up, never mind that she wasn’t even at school last year with the worst of it, never mind the whole thing disbanded because of her stupid friend–”

“I don’t think that’s what she–”

“I’m just so glad that while I go months without seeing you, you’ll get to pal around with Cho Chang, I was so worried that you’d get lonely without me, but now–”

“Ginny,” Harry says with an awkward laugh. “Come on, you know that’s not how it is.”

“She can go on thanking you for what a bloody hero you are,” Ginny continues. “I don’t think anyone’s told you that in about five minutes, so it’ll be good to get a nice top up from her when you’re feeling down.”

“Well, sure,” Harry joins in. “You know I can’t go more than six without being reminded.”

Ginny pats his chest. “So brave. There. Do you think that’ll last you until we get to the book shop?”

“I might need a quick round of applause in the apothecary.”

Ginny snorts. “Oh, come on, then,” Ginny says. “Maybe we’ll run into Fleur’s little sister, too, if we’re really lucky.”

They make their way through the brick entrance to Diagon Alley - a far cry from the days of the war, the street is bustling and busy once more. They take a circuitous route to Flourish and Blotts, taking care to walk quickly so that not too many people take notice that Harry Potter is in their midst, and because Ginny cannot bear the sight of her brothers’ joke shop, once alive and bustling and colorful and loud, boarded up and quiet. It’s a bit too on the nose. 

They make it nearly to the front door of the book shop before Ginny can’t take it anymore. “Did you hear the way she asked if I was doing ‘the Quidditch thing’?” she snarls, halting them just outside the door. “Like it was some cute little hobby, never mind that she was a Seeker too. Not a very good one, mind, but still!”

Harry has the gall to look faintly amused as he pulls her off to the small alleyway next to the shop. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Professional Quidditch is really difficult, she knows–”

“Oh you’re sure, are you?” Ginny spits, rolling her eyes. “Just like she just knew you’d become an Auror? Someone alert Professor Trelawney, we’ve got another Seer on our hands. No one without a powerful Inner Eye could’ve possibly predicted that–”

Harry grins and shakes his head. “You do know I’m not thrilled about this either, don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ginny rants. “It’s perfect, your girlfriend will pop off to Scotland and you can hang round with your ex instead!”

“My ex?” Harry says, an eyebrow raised. “We went on one date when I was fifteen and it was terrible.”

“Oh that’s only because you were both traumatized,” Ginny says airily. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled at the chance to reconnect now that you’re both older–”

“Ginny,” Harry says, the amusement replaced with something firm. “You’re not really worried about this, are you?”

Ginny can’t look him in the eye. She’s so irritated, so bothered, that it takes her a moment - she wants to say yes of course I’m worried, did you see how annoyingly pretty she was and the way she looked at you - but she doesn’t. Because it’s not true, not really. As she’s tried to rebuild in the rubble after the war, Harry’s been the one thing she’s sure of through all of it, and she reckons he feels the same. No, she knows he does. She knows he’s not interested in doing anything with Cho Chang.

Ginny takes a deep, calming breath, and meets his eyes. “I just really fucking hate that she might get to see you every day and I–” her voice catches. 

Harry pulls her in and gives her one of those hugs that seems to calm every cell in her body, like he might be able to shield her from everything bad in the world. She can’t believe that in two weeks, this is a comfort she won’t have, anymore, reduced instead to stolen moments at Hogsmeade weekends and words scribbled in letters.

“I really fucking hate it, too.”

Ginny burrows her head deeper into his chest, and breathes in the woody smell of him. Finally, she says. “You were right, you know. I can admit it.”

“What?”

She pulls back and looks at him. “I really should’ve let you wear that damn Invisibility Cloak.”

[pholla-jm]

Addicted

IMAGINE: ADDICTED ~ LUFFY X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: slight mention of blood. *********************

Luffy was addicted to all sorts of things. However, he has never been addicted to an actual person. Of course, he has his nakima and he loves them. He would do anything to protect them. 

However, when you joined the crew it was a different feeling that bloomed in his chest. He started to feel the need to be around you all the time. He needed you like humans needed air. Or rather how he needed meat. 

Luffy spent most of his time with you. The only time you had time with yourself if you were using the bathroom or sleeping. You’ve grown used to his presence but a little free time would be nice every once in a while. 

So you did the only thing that you could think of. Go be with Nami and tell her you wanted some girl time. Which meant, no Luffy was allowed. 

It was relaxing for you, but Luffy was just itching to be in your present. But he knew that he would get a beating from Nami if he bothered you. 

An idea popped into his mind and he was soon playing around with Usopp and Chopper… rather recklessly. More reckless than usual. It wasn’t long until there was a loud crash and a shout. 

You, of course, heard it. It didn’t bother you though. You were rather used to the noise. However, after the long silence there was a shout causing you to flinch. 

“What in the world?” Nami mutters, leaning up a bit. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” You quietly say while grabbing the drink next to you. “You’re right.” Nami lays back down and a silence falls again. 

That silence was short lived. 

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” 

The continuous painful shouts grew louder and louder. You didn’t need to look in the direction to know who it was. Well your time of peace was short lived, but you were grateful for every second of it. 

Placing the drink down, you sit up and turn towards your Captain. He was rushing towards you with his hand on cheek. A pout was placed on his lips and it looked like he was genuinely hurt. 

“What’s wrong, Luffy?” You ask when he’s finally in front of you. 

“I got hurt.” “Go to Chopper then.” “But I want you!” 

You fight the urge to smile. Instead you let out a sigh, “okay, let’s go.” 

You grab Luffy by the arm and start to drag him to the infirmary. Nami just rolls her eyes at her Captain’s antics. 

“Alright, let me see it.” You demanded and Luffy removed his hand from his cheek.

His cheek was bright red with traces of blood, like it was scraped up. You just shake your head and move around him to grab the things to clean him up. 

Since the scrape wasn’t that big, it didn’t take too long. All the while, Luffy’s eyes were trained on you. He couldn’t look away from you. He admired how concentrated you were. The way your fingers brushed against his skin… and suddenly he wanted more. He suddenly remembers something he heard quite a while ago. 

“It still hurts.” He mutters. “Oh,” you tilt your head, “maybe I can grab an ice pack?” “Mm, no. That won’t work.” 

You release something that was a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle, “oh yeah? What will?” “ A kiss!” “Ha!” You laugh, not thinking he was serious. But when you look back at your Captain you could tell that he was indeed serious. “Wait, you’re serious?” He excitedly nods his head, “Yeah! A kiss always makes things feel better.” 

You smile at his childish reasoning. “Okay.” 

You lean forward and place your lips right next to the bandaid. 

The kiss was short lived but it was just enough for Luffy’s heart to skip a beat and gain a new addiction. The feelings of your lips on his skin warmed him up and he couldn't help but smile and ask for more. “I think I got hurt right here,” He says while pointing at his forehead. You lean forward again, and place another kiss on his forehead. “And right here,” he says pointing at his nose next time. 

You roll your eyes, but lean forward to place a kiss on his nose. However, before your lips could land on his nose, he tilted his head up so he could catch your lips with his. 

Your lips were on his for a second and you pulled away with a gasp. Your cheeks were bright red as you looked at him with shock. You couldn’t believe Luffy could pull something off like that. The look on your face was quite amusing to him. 

“Shhii shhiishii! Thank’s (y/n)! I feel all better now.” He jumps off the infirmary table and leaves the room, leaving you stunned. 

Now Luffy had two new addictions. The feeling of your lips and seeing your face turn a bright red color.

[multiheadcanons]

WE COULD ALL USE A HUG AFTER YESTERDAY. LETS GET ONE FROM THE MERCS.

scout: tight hug. prime time to use each other as stress balls and contract every muscle so tight you might actually pass out from the strain you put on each other. the kind that leave you dizzy for a moment, so you don’t let go. you just try to get your feet underneath you and steady. the kind that feels like a full body wiggle. you almost rotate around each other. all four legs are constantly shifting and moving and taking on more weight then less weight, it’s just a full body, stimulating hug. might pat you on the back.

soldier: his hugs are breathtaking in the sense that they will actually take your breath away. and almost normally a surprise attack. strong hugs from behind, the kind that crack your back without warning and leave you gasping on your knees. you’ll never have to catch your breath on your knees. soldier will steady you until you’ve got it in you to move again. generally roughs you up during the hug as well. harsh pats, noogies, squishing your faces cheek to cheek until he can feel your jaw move from the force. nice, firm, strong hugs.

pyro: pyro will try to pick you up. they may not succeed, but that is the amount of strength they have whenever they are holding you. it’s a little awkward, pressing up against the flame retardant suit. feels like a balloon, almost, until the balloon starts squeezing back. pyro gives lovely hugs. the kinds you take for granted when they first start but if they pull away you pull them right back. they’re almost a security blanket. pyro doesn’t mind if you get clingy! most people don’t want to hug pyro, so they’re always grateful for a hug or two.

demo: depends on his level of intoxication. when he’s really drunk, he’s not hugging you as much as he is crashing into you while you’re also, most likely, off your ass and just hoping to tense long enough to catch him. otherwise, his hugs are very characteristic of him; hearty and vibrant! he’s almost soft. there’s some give to demo, but not much. keeps you locked in by your shoulders. demo will pin your arms against your sides while he holds you. it’s thorough and warm, and it either gives you an extra pep in the step, or coaxes you to bed. either works for him!

heavy: human hydraulic press. he always starts very gently, your bodies always start off as just touching, and it doesn’t seem any different from just touching each other. and as you ask for more pressure, he obliges and applies more pressure. with heavy, you can get a nice, full, stimulating hug. the only issue is that heavy has enough weight and strength behind his arms that he will break you. so once he’s decided he’s squeezing you hard enough, he won’t apply any more pressure. you may just ask him to kill you instead if you need that kind of pressure.

engineer: also depends on his intoxication levels. engie is a side hugger in sobriety. there’s no need for him to try to get in your personal space any more than he actually is. quick, and satisfactory. some would use the term “professional”. when he’s drunk, however… he’s clingy. he will still approach you from your side, but you feel as he starts to rest against you that he’s putting all of his weight on you. you’ve gained about 180 pounds and some extra ligaments and none of them work well. and while you’re both stumbling, getting all four feet underneath you, he laughs and hums and rests his head against your shoulder, a stupid grin spreading on his face.

medic: it’s almost… gentle. if you lie to yourself. firm, his arms almost snake around you and then lock in place. you are now trapped against him as he just… holds you. and it’s hard to give him the trust to relax. you genuinely wouldn’t know if he’s actually hugging you, it’s almost foolish to assume, but he won’t let go. a slow crescendo into a pile of mush together, crumpled on the floor, and a lazy recollection of the pieces.

sniper: awkward, and borderline shy. it’s a more viable option to lean on sniper than it is to get a hug from him. actually a man with a soft touch, he is almost gently wrangling you into his arms, and then keeping you there with the same gentility. he is so tall, you can almost get lost in him if you’re not careful. but even if you aren’t, he will always be careful. he will part with a pat on the shoulder, and maybe an additional squeeze. those moments are also when he gives his Sniper Quotes. you know, the ones where he attempts to impart some form of wisdom on you but sounds awkward, then tells you to forget it; or makes an off handed remark while he stares you down that resonates with your soul in a way he doesn’t quite register. you know. Sniper Quotes.

spy: spy gets a little frightened at hugs. they’re not his favorite thing in the world. you can tell when you cling to him and he’s tensed up, gently patting your back while he attempts to disengage. but if you seem like you are in desperate need of a hug, and he’s the only man who can do the job, he’s a little nicer with it. he’ll lean against you, his arms around your waist as he buries his face in your neck. he’s got good emergency hugs. they’ll bring you back to reality. it’s enough to reground you.