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moonchildstyles · 7 months

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lily of the valley

oleander final part: y/n never pictured that her night would end like this.

wordcount: 16.2k+

cw: lots of talk ab blood and the consumption of blood! some descriptions of people who have passed away, but thats really it!

—————

(Y/N) stood behind the apothecary counter, chin resting in her palm with her eyes gazing out the window. The rain had returned last night, bringing with it a lingering fog and cloudy sky. Barely anyone was out and about, leaving (Y/N) feeling as if she were the only soul left in the village. The same way she had felt since leaving the castle and ghosting through the world without anyone the wiser to what she had learned that night.

The last week had been one of wandering thoughts and conflicting dreams. More than once, she had woken in a cold sweat, a flashing nightmare of Harry hovering over her, his mouth full of sharp teeth and blood. She would wake with her heart in her throat and lungs tight, but the only thing that could calm her was the thought of Harry himself comforting her. She would replay a fantasy of him coaxing her down from her fright, those concerned eyes and gentle touch helping draw her in.

Soon enough, as the days packed on, those nightmares were few and far between, leaving (Y/N) with only questions and intrigue replacing her initial fear. Distance and time from him allowed the memories of his care to rise to the surface; his promise of never bringing her any harm and the actions to back it up were at the forefront of her mind.

He had said they would see one another soon, after enough time had passed to allow her to wrap her head around it all. (Y/N) was beginning to itch for that time to come sooner rather than later.

As if someone had been listening into her thoughts, a familiar bone white horse emerged through the fog, looking more phantom than animal. The rider had long dark hair and pale features. It was Harry's footman—Mitchell.

He was the one that hadn't learned his self-control yet. (Y/N) stiffened at the thought.

The horse was guided right to the apothecary where Mitchell hopped off the stead and tied the reins to the latch outside of the shop. (Y/N) didn't know how to keep her eyes away now that she knew what he was.

The similarities to Harry only increased as she looked at him through a different lens. They were both impossibly graceful, lacking any flaw. Mitchell moved with a restrained strength, as if he were holding back with every movement causing him to look almost mechanical. She wondered if Harry was always holding back in the same way, but had mastered the art of blending in.

There was no hesitancy this time when he came in. Stepping over the floorboards, he still lacked any real show of presence as nothing creaked under him or rattled around his weight. His sharp eyes landed on her immediately.

"Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted with a nod, his voice low and clipped. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a familiar, opulent envelope. The last time she had seen one of these was when her father had thrown the piece into the furnace, effectively banning her from going to Harry's home. "From Harry," he murmured, passing off the piece. He took great care in ensuring their skin didn't brush.

"Thank you," she answered, a small smile on her lips, "Mitchell."

This time, she didn't wait for the footman to leave before she was breaking the wax seal and opening the flap to the letter. Inside was a simple letter, written out in curling letters on elaborate stationary.

My dearest, (Y/N),

I hope I am not asking for too much to see you again so soon. I know we had agreed on coming together so I may offer answers to any and all questions you have, but if you would prefer to no longer see one another, I understand. If that is the case, tell Mitchell as much and I will no longer contact you if that will make you the most comfortable.

If you are still open to seeing me again, I would like to invite you back to my home. I will arrange for the carriage to ferry you up here, and we will spend the evening discussing whatever you please. If you'll have me.

I hope to hear from you again soon.

Yours,

Harry xx

Just as she finished skimming her eyes over the text, she saw Mitchell out of the corner of her eye attempting to flee just as silently as he had before.

"Wait," she said, stopping him in his tracks before he could push open the door.

He moved stiffly to face her, his dark eyes clear. "Yes?"

"Hold on," she floundered, searching the counter for the steel pen and inkwell she had stored under the podium. "If I put my response on here, could you take it back to him, please?"

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement.

This letter had been exactly what she was hoping she would see today. The small correspondence sparked those dimming memories of Harry she had been treasuring every night before bed. She could hear the words in his voice, see his pinched features and worried brow.

The only problem she found within the lines was his choice of location. She didn't have the confidence to stage another sneak out in the middle of the night, not trusting herself to keep silent and away from prying eyes so soon after the last time. While she had done a well enough job, no one having approached her about anything they could have seen that night, she didn't trust that she could do it as well this next time when she had more nerves working against her.

He would have to come to her.

With her writing nowhere near as glamorous as his, she wrote out:

I would love to see you again. I can't go back to your home so soon, I'm sorry. Come to me this time.

I will leave my window open tonight and tomorrow. I will be on the lookout for you, and I will let you in through the shop door when I see you're here.

Her letters looked like sloppy black slashes against his own curling script, but (Y/N) couldn't think much about her handwriting before she was folding up the page and replacing it in the gilded envelope.

"Thank you," she said, handing the correspondence back to Mitchell.

She expected him to stay in line with his persona, silently taking the page before he would ghost through the shop and disappear in the night. However, when he lingered after removing the letter from her grasp, she flicked her gaze up to find him looking at her with intensity in his earnest eyes.

"Thank you," he insisted, unwavering in his eye contact.

(Y/N) didn't have to ask where his gratitude was coming from. He knew that she was now aware of his condition, but there hadn't been even a single whisper of such through the village.

"Of course," she offered, a quiet smile on her lips. "Hopefully, I will see you again sometime soon."

For the first time she had seen, the stoic mask Harry's footman always seemed to carry showed its first crack. The very corner of his lips turned upwards in a smile.

"I am sure we will."

With that, he took the now altered letter and placed it for safekeeping in his jacket pocket. He left the apothecary as if he were but a phantom passing through. The only trace of his presence was the bone white horse (Y/N) could barely spot disappearing through the fog.

—————

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) pulled in a resigning sigh.

Harry wasn't coming.

The sun had gone down hours ago, inducing both her father's bedtime and the rest of the village's. Even the pub wasn't garnering the kind of crowd that usually haunted those halls. This was the perfect night for him to visit. No one would even notice him and she could easily sneak him upstairs with the cover of the night and her father's heavy sleeping.

She had diligently waited just as her response said, with her window cracked open to allow any noise to filter through and her eyes periodically scanning the space. Nothing more than a few bugs fluttering through her herb garden and the bright eyes of a familiar cat could be seen in the dark.

If he was coming tonight, he would have already been here. (Y/N) sunk heavier into her thin mattress at the thought.

Another hour—that's what he had left. Then, she would close her window and go to bed. She will try again tomorrow.

Just as her plan came together, she could hear her name being whispered in the night. Much closer than that of a bug skittering through her garden and too vivid to be a dream.

Her eyes shot open only to see her window shadowed by Harry's broad form. He was lacking a jacket and waistcoat, only clad in fitted black trousers and a billowing top in a matching hue. This late at night, his eyes and hair seemed to be of a coordinating shade, leaving his skin especially pale in comparison.

"Harry?!" she gasped, startling on her bed, "Wh—How did you—"

He looked over his shoulder in a quick whip of his head before he turned to her once more.

"I will explain in a moment, but I think I see one of your neighbours," he murmured, gesturing to her window with a nod of his chin. "May I please come in?"

(Y/N) scrambled at the thought of one of her neighbours catching Harry perched on the sloping roof of her home, right where her window was open. "Yes, yes," she rushed out, keeping her voice low as she moved towards her window, "Just—Come in before anyone sees you."

Curling her fingers under the pane, (Y/N) slid it open just enough for him to slip through. Taking a step back, she watched as he fluidly climbed through her window, not even a hair out of place. He landed on her floor without a single sound, turning back to shut the window after him.

She hadn't realized just how heavy her heart was beating until the vacuum of her bedroom was restored. She settled some though she kept her eyes fixed on the broad of Harry's shoulders.

"How did you get up there?" she breathed out, trying to picture how he would have made it to the ledge so soundlessly despite her open window.

Harry's answer came in the form of a sly look shot over his shoulder.

Oh.

"Right," she sounded. Another part of his whole existence that she had no idea about. More questions were added to her ongoing mental list.

Harry looked out of place in her tiny bedroom. He was broad and space-filling. He had a presence here among the mishmash of stuff that made up her home, though it was far from suffocating. Standing with his back to her window, his form appearing that much longer with the help of the single flame of candle light casting shadows around him. He looked around her room, a tiny smile sitting on his lips.

"Do you mind if I look around?" His voice was so pleasant and unrushed, it almost made (Y/N) forget the gravity of their meetup.

Nonetheless, confined to her spot before the end of her bed, she nodded her head.

She watched as Harry took in her space the same way she had taken in his: with curious awe. All of her small trinkets, childhood journals, gardening momentos, and memories of her mother were plotted about her room for him to graze his eyes over. His hands were twined behind his back as he wordlessly stepped through the space, eyes lighting up as he looked over the small shelf her father had nailed into the wall when she had finally received her own bedroom. There was a twitch to Harry's lips when he saw the various lengths of twine she had laying over her rickety bedside table; she always forgot she had one waiting before she had pulled another to tie her hair back.

Her room was nothing at all like his castle. While he lived in rich color, exquisite luxury, and vast amounts of space, she had the opposite. Everything was muted in her room, leave for the dried flowers and tiny splashes here and there amongst her things. Harry could cross the width of her room in three strides with the length being met within four. It was far from the standards he likely had. Despite the obvious differences, (Y/N) could see the shatters of green appearing in his eyes the longer he made himself at home in her room, his features softening and bones relaxing.

She hoped that meant he liked what he found.

Just when she thought he was planning on spending all night dissecting any and everything he could find in her bedroom, Harry finally turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back, to face her with a gentle smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," he told her, voice a low rumble, "Have you had time to think?"

Sitting on the end of her bed, she gave him a small nod. Her bottom lip fit between the blunt ends of her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "I have a lot of questions."

"I figured you would. I am an open book, (Y/N)," he affirmed, coming to stand just before her, "Anything you want to know, I will answer to the best of my ability."

(Y/N) could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled back on her bed, folding her legs underneath her with her nightgown falling around her form. "You can sit with me if you'd like" she offered, eyeing the empty space on her mattress for him.

Her heart bubbled in her chest at the realization that she was asking a man to her bed. She had been so occupied on learning her answers and ensuring no one saw them together in the dead of night, that she had completely forgotten the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with Harry. When she had come up with this plan, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that she was supposed to be worried about her reputation (or her safety, if she was considering the non-human aspects of him). The racing of her heartbeat increased that much more when he cautiously took up her offer and crawled onto the bed in front of her. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how terribly her bed stacked up against the velvet covered monstrosities he had in his own home.

"Thank you," he said, settling himself amongst the folds of her quilt. His observing gaze settled on her with rounded corners to his eyes. "How are you?" he asked, sincerity in his voice, "Have you been well since the last time we met?"

"I am well, yes," she answered, dropping her eyes to her lap where her hands fumbled with one another, "Just thinking and trying to figure everything out. And yourself?"

"I've been okay," he answered earnestly, "But, much better now. I'm glad to hear you've been alright; I have been worried I frightened you or been too much that last night."

(Y/N) canted her head. "I wouldn't say frightened, no, but I've been overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Confused."

"I understand; I felt the same way once, too," he sympathized, his tone tender, "What has troubled you the most?"

Peeking at him through her lashes, she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat.

"The—um—the bodies," she whispered, a pinch appearing by her brows, "You said that you haven't been the one doing... that recently, but you had in the past. What did you mean?"

Just as troubling as it was for her to ask that question, it appeared Harry had the same issue answering it.

"I..." he started, cutting himself off before he could get very far with his mouth settling into a grim line. "There was a time right after I had... become what I am now, that I was not myself. I was confused, scared, and unable to think rationally. All I knew was that I was hungry. The food I could find made me terribly ill, and no amount of water, or wine, or anything could quench my thirst. I could only have that."

While (Y/N) felt as if she already had the answer she was asking for, she couldn't help but to pose her question anyway.

"What do you mean, that?"

Harry dropped his gaze from hers when he answered. "Blood."

Her fingers were a nervous bundle in her lap before her body stilled like the dead at his answer. The memory of the corpse she had found, bloodless and pale like snow, reentered her mind.

"Y-You drink it?"

"Yes."

Her heart hammered against her ribs, though the feeling made her think only of the blood rushing through her veins.

She must have sat there silent for too long, she realized when Harry piped up, feeling the need to mend the shock he had given her.

"It's not something I want to do, (Y/N)," he started, choosing his words carefully, "It is the only way I can continue living, but please believe me when I say that I have not committed those kinds of atrocities in almost one hundred years. The second I learned that I could survive off of animals, that's what I started doing. I haven't done anything like what has been happening since."

As uncomfortable as she felt, thinking about Harry drinking any kind of blood or taking any kind of life, she could live with the fact that he was choosing animals over those of her village. She had to eat too, and while she would have loved to keep every animal alive and frolicking around, she had to do what she had to do as well. She couldn't judge him too harshly.

"But, Mitchell. He doesn't know yet?" she asked, thinking back to the man with the long hair and ghostly demeanor.

Harry sighed, the same kind of sigh her father used to give when her sister was too stubborn for her own good. "He does know, but it is a hard transition. He wants to change, but he cannot always contain himself should an easy opportunity present itself. I am trying to teach him how to work past those urges, but it is taking longer than either of us would like." He dropped his head then. "I am sorry for what you have seen and what he has done when he is not able to think. I live with the guilt just as much as he does, but we are getting better everyday. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive both him and I."

(Y/N) pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but I can understand," she offered on a delicate breath. Truthfully, Mitchell sounded like a child: impulsive and taking steps forward before taking just the same amount back. "We all do things we are not proud of. I hope he can learn from this soon, and give these families peace."

"He will," Harry cemented, "I am going to make sure of it."

A beat of silence sat between them as she rifled through her head to decide on her next question. "Pardon me if this is inconsiderate to ask," she prefaced, "But, is your... condition the reason both you and Mitchell are so... pale?"

A genuine grin stretched across Harry's lips at her words. His laughter was a quiet huff from between his lips. "I would think so, yes," he told her, likely grateful for the easier line of questioning, "Every other vampyr I have met, we all tend to be on the paler side, lacking that life in our skin."

It was an odd thing, hearing him talk about all of the others he had met. She couldn't help but to wonder if Harry really was the first she had ever encountered without even realizing. "Is that why you are cold, as well?"

"Am I?" he asked, tipping his head to the side with a crease between his brows, "I suppose I've never really noticed. Though, the few times you have allowed me to touch you, you are so pleasantly warm I should have figured as much."

"You think I'm warm?" she asked, feeling a small sense of pride hit her chest. It was entirely silly to feel flattered over a comment about the temperature of her skin, but she couldn't help herself. She was a simple girl, at the end of the day.

"Very much so," Harry affirmed, dimples pressing into his cheeks as she smiled at her, "You are like the sun to me."

Now she definitely couldn't bite back her smile, dropping her head to watch her fumbling hands pluck at the seams of her nightgown. "The sun?"

"The very one," Harry teased, "Though I haven't felt the sun since I changed, I imagine the rays feeling like your touch."

"You haven't felt the sun?" (Y/N) blanched, a set of questions hitting her that she hadn't even considered, "But I've seen you outside?"

Harry gave her a pointed look, "Only on cloudy days. I learned the hard way a long time ago, but I now burn under the sunlight. It's a rather frightening experience, if I'm honest."

"You burn?" (Y/N) pressed, suddenly scanning her eyes down his form as if she could pick out any marks or scars upon his skin.

"As if I have touched fire," Harry grimly detailed, "But, I am lucky enough that because of what I am, my skin mends itself. I can't remember the last time I have had any kind of injury without an instant recovery or even fallen ill."

A new lens fell over (Y/N)'s gaze as she looked at him. Harry was always strong in her eyes, both physically and in the way carried himself so regally despite the swirling rumor mill. Now, though, the descriptor had an entirely new meaning. No wonder he was so flawless—there was nothing in this world that could even blemish him.

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

"You don't remember anything about the night you changed?" (Y/N) asked, mimicking the language he had been using himself.

He didn't even blink at her shift in conversation, instead furrowing his brow and canting his head as he threw his memory back.

"Not really," he mused, pursing his lips, "There are fuzzy bits and pieces I can recall, but nothing I can be sure of. Most of my life before is just as muddy, but I can remember a few things."

"So you don't know how you became this?" She couldn't imagine going to bed one way and waking up another, not a single idea as to what happened only knowing that she was not the same. No wonder Mitchell was struggling; how do you cope with something so overwhelmingly monumental?

"I don't know my story, but I do know how vampyrs can be made." He flicked his gaze to her as if to gauge her reaction, scanning for any minute change in expression. When he didn't see anything more than a curious blink, he cautiously continued. "There are three different things that can happen when we bite"—(Y/N) tried her best not to blanch at the blunt word—"someone. One is the kind that we use solely when we are eating, of course. That kind usually includes the end of a life." His own tone grew solemn at this example, that guilt he spoke of resurfacing, though (Y/N) appreciated his honesty. "We can make another vampyr in a similar way, though before the end, we have to have the control to stop. I do not know how it happens exactly, but there is something that changes humans and makes them like me. It can take time, but it can happen."

"Have you ever... made someone?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never considered making someone like that—it's too risky in my eyes."

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head, taking in all of the information she was learning. It was hard to think she was only in her bedroom, and not in some fantasy world that had violently merged with her own. "You said there's a third kind of... bite?"

"There is one more," he told her, sounding somewhat hesitant as he started, "It is called a Blood Bond. It is usually something that is shared between people that are intending to devote themselves to one another."

"How do they do that?" (Y/N) was intrigued now. This whole thing—being a vampyr—sounded so solitary, she didn't even think that there could be something like this within their culture. A union.

"They have to bite one another," Harry answered vaguely, "and share blood. Usually at the neck."

"And, it's like a marriage?" she pressed, trying to merge the concept with something familiar. Nonetheless, it was hard to picture her sister's wedding ending with she and her husband snapping at each other's throats.

"Something like that," Harry shrugged, "A bit more binding, though."

A troubling thought struck (Y/N) then. "Have you ever...?"

Harry all but blanched at her words. He shook his head immediately. "No, never. Mitchell is the only person I've ever kept in my life for longer than a month."

While she hated the thought of Harry being alone, solitary in his castle overlooking the village, there was a selfish part of her that keened at the thought that he had never devoted himself to anyone.

"How long have you known Mitchell?" (Y/N) rolled on. She wanted to get a picture of Harry's existence, even if she didn't completely understand the details yet.

A small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth then. "You really are quite curious, aren't you?"

Sheepishly dropping her gaze from his, she lifted her own shoulders in a small shrug. "It is alright if you'd rather not answer anymore, I know I can ask a lot at times. I do not wish to bother you or anything."

"No, no," Harry rushed, impulsively dropping his hand to land on her nightgown-covered knee, "Please, you are not bothering me. I love your curiosity. I told you: I am happy to answer anything you have for me. I want you to know me."

Matching her gaze to his, (Y/N) couldn't deny the genuine sincerity she found swimming in his irises. Refractions of crystal green had appeared in the pitch black, giving the look of a moonlit forest. There was a warmth to his expression, giving him the illusion of life with the dimples in his cheeks and the dazzling smile on his lips.

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?"

Harry directed his gaze towards the ceiling, searching the air for the rest of the story that lay in his head.

"Nothing too eventful, really," he mused, "I suppose that was when I started focusing on blending back in with the world. I felt comfortable in my control and wanted to stop hiding away so profusely—plus, I was beyond bored with my own company. Brooding can only fill so much time."

(Y/N) let out a tittering laugh at his words, leaning that much closer to Harry.

As he spoke about his life, telling her of all of the things he had seen, people he had met, and the details that made him up, the space between them had slowly dissipated until Harry was laying at her side. The longer they talked, the easier it was to grow closer and more comfortable sharing space. (Y/N) had even twisted until she was laying beside him, flat on her stomach with him on his back, hands folded over his stomach.

This close, she could practically count the lashes lining his eyes, the faint set of freckles that dusted his skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he had looked like when he was human. Did he have perpetually flushed cheeks? Were his eyes always green, or just as dark as they were now? When he was cold, did the chill show on the tip of his nose?

She didn't allow herself long to wonder over those questions. Harry as it he was in front of her was enough—more than enough, really.

"Was that hard?" she asked, her voice a low whisper as if she was conspiring with him in the dead of night, "Trying to be human again?"

"At times, yes," he mused, his eyes on the ceiling as he found his thoughts, "Humans, without realizing it, will pick up on the things that make me different and avoid me out of survival—even when I mean no harm. It is hard to feel normal when that happens."

Laying her cheek down on her pillow, admiring him as her head sunk into the down, a frown plucked at her lips. She could imagine him after trips down to the village, shopping and trying to socialize, though it was no secret the townspeople would rather him stay away. More and more she learned, the less Harry was a creature of the night with blood-stained teeth, and more a lonely soul adjusting to something he never asked for.

"I don't avoid you," she said, a quiet attempt to make him feel less alone.

She had the perfect view of the smile that stretched over his lips at her words, dimples and all. The bed dipped as he manueavered on her small bed, laying on his side to face her with his own cheek pressed to the same pillow. Her breath caught in her lungs. She'd only been this close to him once before, when he had traced his nose over the column of her throat just when she had seen his lack of reflection.

This time, she had nothing else to focus on. He was her everything right then, everything around him blurring out of focus.

"I know you don't," he responded to something she barely remembered saying, "And I feel so lucky every time I remember that. You are one of the few, (Y/N), that hasn't run the other way. But those other times were never like this."

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. She loved the sound of her name in his voice. "Like us?"

"Yes, like us," he said, a rewarding smile on his lips for her, "While it concerns me that you seem to lack any real survival instincts, I am grateful that you are not scared of me." His eyes glazed over her features, taking everything about her in as she held onto each word. "I have been drawn to you for longer than I have been able to admit to myself. Every minute we spend together means something that I cannot fully express."

"Drawn to me?" she peeped, her blood bubbling under her skin.

Harry looked sheepish now, the way he flicked his eyes to her before letting them fall. She wondered, if he was the same as her, if there would be a flush to his cheeks, and a pounding in his chest. "You've intrigued me for a very long time, before we even started speaking in passing. I have made excuses to come down to the village, shopping with you when I didn't really need anything. Even though you didn't mean it, you made me feel less alone."

Tentatively, (Y/N) reached out a hand, her fingers holding a small tremor before she placed her palm on his chest. The chill of his skin could be felt through his shirt, leaving goosebumps on her arm. The slight cold was worth it when she saw Harry all but melt at her touch. She really must feel that warm to him.

"I have always been very interested in you, too," she murmured, unable to meet his gaze should that give away the exact feelings she was trying to say, "I never understood why anyone would try to gossip or say anything about you. I guess they aren't too far off, though—those rumors."

Peeking through her lashes, (Y/N) held a smile on her lips as she hoped her tease would land. When Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his hand landing on her own on his chest, holding her fingers snug, her own grin grew three sizes.

"I suppose not," he smiled, pulsing his hand around hers.

Gazing at him, (Y/N) could nearly count the amount of green shatters floating to the surface of the pools of black. Everything about him was clear and steady, unwavering. "Thank you for coming tonight," she started, "My initial reaction was overwhelming, and I apologize for that. I would never want you to think that I felt the same way as the others or that you frightened me enough to never see you again."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, ducking his head until he was directly before her, the tip of his nose just barely missing her own, "I am sorry that I didn't assure you enough that you were safe with me and had nothing to worry about. I was planning on telling you myself, I was only waiting until I knew how to say it without using the wrong words."

"I think you've done alright," she smiled. If she blinked, would their lashes tangle together, or would she need to be just a bit closer for that?

"You have such a power over me, (Y/N)," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes swimming in devotion with his tone tinted in worship.

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) wondered if anyone had ever felt like she did in her bed right then. Did her mother ever feel this way for her father? Did her blood ever burn for him the way (Y/N)'s seemingly did for Harry? Did her sister ever feel her lungs squeeze and heart batter her ribs when looking at her husband? Did Mr. and Mrs. Wayfield feel their skin crawl with the need to join one another?

Or was (Y/N) the first?

Had everyone felt this way before, or had she invented the idea of falling in love right then?

It was impulsive, reputation-ruining, and entirely unladylike the way she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. If Harry had any inhibitions, he didn't show them with the way he reciprocated the contact in a heartbeat. Molding his lips to hers, he led her through the kiss. It was far from refined, (Y/N)'s lips clumsy and off centered but Harry didn't mind correcting her until his hand was holding her cheek steady and he was pushing and pulling with her moving in tandem.

Drawing away, (Y/N) pulled in a gasp. Her hand on his chest clenched the shirt covering his chest, nails raking along the planes of his muscles. Harry didn't offer her much of a reprieve before he was diving back in, the chill of his mouth feeling nonexistent with the heat that began coursing through her veins.

While she hadn't noticed it, Harry must have with the way he pulled away, allowing her suddenly aching lungs to take something in. He offered a smattering of kisses along her cheeks instead, affection pouring over every inch he could reach.

"I adore you, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping like the nectar from a flower deep into the marrow of her bones. "I will never get enough of you."

(Y/N) could only smile, a dreamy expression as she dipped her head back. A pleasant chill crept up her spine when Harry distributed his kisses down the column and over her thrumming pulse.

She could stay here forever. Never moving, never changing. Right here with Harry was her home.

"I wish I could stay," Harry murmured, responding to words she hadn't realized she said aloud, "But the sun will rise soon, and I believe you still need to sleep."

Drawing away, Harry righted her head with his hand on her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it was just her eyes or if it was truly there, but she swore there was color to his cheeks, a flush to his lips.

"I don't need to sleep," she countered, ready to dive back in.

Harry barely sated her with a single kiss pressed to her pout. "Yes you do," he insisted, "You are caring for your garden tomorrow, right? You need rest for that or you will be exhausted before you can finish."

For a moment, she hated that he knew anything about her and her routine. She didn't care for the sage or the rosemary or whatever she was meant to be pruning in the morning. She cared for who was in her bed.

"Don't look like that," he said, unable to keep himself from laying another kiss on her lips, "We will see each other again soon, I promise. I don't think I can wait very long, either."

"You can't stay any longer?" she asked, slowly releasing her hold on his shirt. From where she could see out her window, the sun was still down with the sky dark, but she figured Harry would know his limits and timings much better than she.

Glancing out the glass himself, she could see the gears turning in his head. "I can stay a little while longer. Until you fall asleep, yes?"

That was more than she could have wished for, truly. To fall asleep in his arms was the stuff of dreams.

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you."

Harry responded only by bundling her to his chest. While there was no heartbeat to compare to her own, nothing to beat in rhythm against her ribs, (Y/N) had never felt more comforted.

Sleep didn't take long, even when she had fought her tired eyes.

—————

(Y/N) shyly peeked through her lashes as she descended the narrow aisle between the church pews. For the third service in a row, her eyes met that of a dark figure seated in the last row. Harry flicked his gaze to hers for a heartbeat before he looked away, a conspiratorial smile on his mouth. She felt her skin warm as she followed her father out the church doors, rolling her lips between her teeth.

Ever since he had climbed through her window the first time weeks prior, Harry had been more involved in the village than ever. He had told her between breathless kisses in the quiet of her bedroom that he wanted to see more, that he could barely keep himself away—she was on his mind constantly. With going to his estate in the night wasn't always a smart option for her and her bedroom wasn't exactly easy to hide away in, he was going to find another way to see her. Since then, whenever the sun was shaded enough, he was ghosting among the village with a tendency to haunt the apothecary or anywhere else (Y/N) might have been. (She could only imagine the stack of lavender and tobacco bundles he had laying around his home with the amount of times he came in to shop with her). He had even started showing up for Sunday morning service for another chance to see her, despite neither of them particularly caring for the sermons.

Their moments were made up of subtlety with stolen glances and conspiratorial smiles, near silent conversations when no one was listening or the quiet confirmation that they were thinking of one another. They shared more secrets than she was sure anyone would even know what to do with.

She was the only one who knew the real him amongst the chatter, and she was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to kiss her. And, no one had any idea.

No one had seen the way he slipped scraps of notes into her hand when she passed off his herbs. No one else noticed the way they gravitated towards one another during the after church gathering at the pub. No one knew that he slipped in through her window most nights or how a letter on exquisite stationery would appear when he couldn't.

No one knew (Y/N) was in love.

So caught up in her head, she didn't even register the chilly air filtering around her as she descended the church steps being her father. She had followed mindlessly even when he stopped to make conversation with another parishioner, not noticing his pause until she tripped right into his back.

Turning around, her father steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking over the bridge of her nose that had smacked right into his spine.

"Yes, sorry," she rushed out with a shake of her head, "I wasn't paying attention."

His worry seemingly settled in permanent lines across his face. "Are you sure? You're not growing ill, are you? You've been off in your head these last few days."

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed over his shoulder and towards the fringes of the group where Harry stood by himself. She could just barely see the amused curl to his lips. He had definitely seen her misstep.

"No, " she answered, blinking back into the conversation though now she had her own efforts focussing on keeping her features in line. "I'm just tired."

—————

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured against his mouth, "My father..."

Drawing away from her kiss-puffed mouth, Harry sighed. "I know. I am trying, but you have to understand my struggle, darling."

She couldn't help the plume of laughter that fanned from her lips at his words. He practically beamed at the sound, his deep green eyes glimmering in the low light of a single lamp.

(Y/N) loved the way he smiled when they were alone. It was a wonder thinking that there was time before she had even known he had dimples.

"I'm sorry," she told him, settling into the down pillow under her head. Harry hovered above her with a delicate hand roaming over her cheek, his other propping him up from where he laid at her side. She barely noticed the chill when they were like this, huddled under her quilt with the heat of their breath and curious hands. "I wish we didn't have to worry."

"Come to me tomorrow," he offered in an instant, a bit breathless as he dropped his hand to boldly skate down her side, "We can be alone then."

His palm settled over her waist with a pulse, fingers tightening just when he mentioned alone. Shifting in her bedding, he didn't hesitate to pull her closer to him.

From the heat in his refracted gaze and the exceptional curiosity of his hands tonight, (Y/N) had a blushing idea of what he wanted to be alone for. While it wasn't the first time in the last weeks that there had been the passing possibility of allowing him to push her nightgown up or pull apart her corset, this was the first time Harry had given such a hint to his own intentions.

For fear of assuming too much, (Y/N) slid her eyes down the slope of his neck. "I don't know."

Creases appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. "What are you unsure about, darling?"

Avoiding his eyes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. "I—We—" she stumbled, tongue lazing around her mouth while she searched for the right words, "I want to be alone with you too, but... We're not married."

She didn't match his eyes for fear that she had misread the situations and every other before this that she had sworn Harry was worked up on her account. For all she knew, he wanted nothing more than to speak at full volume and have more than a squeaky bed to sit upon.

Ducking his head into her line of sight, he forced her to meet his gaze. "I would never want to do something that you do not want as well, (Y/N). If you would prefer we do nothing more until we begin publicly courting and doing things in order, then that is what we will do." His hand on her side softened. "This is already more than enough for me—I can wait."

Despite his kind words, (Y/N) didn't feel any of her stress alleviate. She had already known Harry would never rush her into anything thatch was not ready for, just as much as she knew that she did not feel any real inclination to wait until they were betrothed. But, neither of those truths made her decision any easier, not when there was more than just her own wants and desires to take into account.

"I know, and I want to, really," she said, reaching out to play with the loose fabric of his top, "I just—It's... I don't want you to see or think of me any differently afterwards. I know it is not proper to want anything outside of marriage—I do not want anything to change if I were to... indulge."

She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him, specifically the kind of pressures that were placed on her for the simple fact that she was a woman in society. There were enough stories she had heard of women who had taken what they wanted, or fell in love with another and expressed that love, and were later shamed for doing exactly that—oftentimes by their own partners or people she trusted in her life. She didn't want to be cast aside in case he found that he no longer wanted her afterwards, after seeing how willing she was to be with someone that wasn't her husband.

Harry's features twisted with a frown touching his lips and his eyes saddening. "Have I ever made you feel as if my feelings would change should you spend the night with me? If I have, I want you to know—"

"No, it's not that," (Y/N) rushed out, already feeling guilty, "You've never made me feel anything like that. It's just that... I suppose I've made myself feel this way. I just don't want you to change your mind about me."

For all she knew, Harry would have sex with her and learn that he was only attracted to her for the fact that he wanted to be with someone after such a long time. It was not his fault she had these doubts, but they were ones that lived in her head.

Harry didn't shy away from her as she spoke. He only listened, patiently waiting for her to finish her thoughts.

"I will just have to prove it to you then, that I have no doubts about you or anything I feel for you." His words were solid, unyielding. There was no room for argument. "In the meantime," he contented, his tone decidedly softer as he shuffled closer to her, "Would it be enough to tell you that I adore you? That I care for you more than I have for anyone or anything before?"

(Y/N) suddenly felt shy under his attention. He had murmured as much to her in the heat of the moment before, but never so clearly and earnestly before.

"Harry," she started, settling her palm against his chest as if to contain him.

"It is true," he smiled, unwavering in the way he spoke ,"You are like no one I have ever known before, and I could spend my entire existence only wishing to learn you. I know we are not married, or even engaged, but I hope it is enough to know that I do love you."

Refractions of green sparkled in his eyes, brightening his gaze in a way she swore only happened when they were alone. Her heart bubbled and beat heavily in her chest. She could n longer contain the budding grin fighting to pluck at her lips.

"You truly mean that?" she whispered, selfishly asking if only to hear it again.

Dimples were thumbed into his cheeks. "Of course, I do. I've come to believe that the reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I might get to meet you."

Looking up at him with his words ringing in her ears, Harry was like the moon to her. Never had she heard devotion like that. Even in her most romantic of daydreams, she never could have imagined that harry would say something like that to her, his eyes fixed to hers and his touch an anchor. Her chest practically ached as she processed.

Her hand on his chest curled until she was fisting his top between her fingers. "I love you, too," she peeped out, the sound of her heartbeat sticking in her ears.

Harry didn't hesitate before he was sealing his lips to hers once more. It was a hurried, excited kiss, leaving their mouths just a bit off center and his nose mushed against her cheek, but (Y/N) couldn't help but to smile into the contact.

When he pulled away, (Y/N) could have sworn there was a flush of color to his skin. "If not for how badly I want to do this the right way, I would be proposing right now, (Y/N)."

"You don't have to," she murmured, surging forward and pressing another kiss to his lips, "This is enough for me." While there was still undue shame she was going to undoubtedly feel tied to any decision she made, she didn't want that to come before what she wanted when it came to Harry. "If you were still offering," she started, dropping her eyes to follow the line of his nose and the pillow of his lips, "I would like to see you tomorrow. At your home."

"Really?" he asked, his voice an octave deeper than she remembered.

She nodded, a soft smile on her features.

"Only if you are sure, my love," he murmured, "The door is always open for you."

(Y/N) could only answer him with a kiss.

—————

Pacing around her bedroom, (Y/N) counted, the numbers climbing in her head. Her simple white dress flourished around her ankles with every step, though she took care to avoid the creaky floorboards.

When she reached two hundred, she took in a deep breath and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the house. All she heard was the sound of her father's snoring, just as she had when she had started readying herself.

Releasing that breath, she took quiet steps to her slightly ajar window. She had run over this plan enough times in her head for her brain to go quiet as she finally put it all in place. Repeating her steps from the first time she had snuck out, (Y/N) made it out of her home in one piece before starting towards the long winding route leading to Harry's home.

It wasn't long before a familiar black carriage and bone white horses hit her line of sight. A broad grin took over her features as she pace doubled to reach the coach.

"Hello, Mitchell," she chirped, catching the familiar head of dark hair and pale features sitting in the coach box.

"Hello, Ms. (Y/N)," he smiled at her, formality still hitting his tone despite (Y/N) assuring him more than once that he didn't need to offer her any, "He's been eagerly waiting for you."

"I have been, too," she confessed through her grin, rounding the carriage with less grace than she figured she ought to have. Before she even had a chance to knock on the door or surprise him, Harry was practically jumping out of the box.

"(Y/N)," he practically sighed, wrapping her in his arms the second his feet landed on the solid ground.

Her own arms around his neck, she all but melted into his hold. Harry held her snug to his chest, his face buried in her hair. "I've missed you so, darling. I feel as if it has been years since I've held you."

"You were in my room just last night, Harry," (Y/N) laughed. As if she hadn't been feeling the same way today, though it was much more fun to tease him.

"Exactly," he countered, stiffening his hold on her to lift her feet from the ground. (Y/N) squealed a laugh in his ear as she clung to him. "It has been much too long since I've held you."

She could offer no argument to him as she wrapped her limbs around Harry, allowing him to carry her into the carriage effortlessly. (Y/N) felt breathless by the time he had her settled on the bench beside him, wrapped in velvet and warmth despite his chilled skin.

As she caught her breath, the horses started off in the direction of the castle, a rhythmic thumping starting with their hooves against the path. Harry looked down at her with amusement on his features.

"Have you truly not missed me, darling?" he asked, his voice a soft song filling the space between them. His hand was just as gentle as he removed hair from her face, giving him a full view of her eyes.

"I have," she smiled, shaking her head, "But, Mitchell..."

Harry waved her off. "He doesn't listen, believe me. He only wishes to see me happy."

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

Dipping his head down until he could press his lips to hers, (Y/N) received her answer in a murmur: "Undoubtedly, so."

—————

"If you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to show you."

Looking at Harry from over the rim of her wine glass, (Y/N) brightened. "What is it?" she asked after swallowing her gulp, the center of her lips tinted a berry red.

"Let me show you," Harry countered, standing from his place at the dining table before offering her a hand.

(Y/N) placed her palm in his without a second thought, fluidly following after him.

Her new gown flourished with every step she took with her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the white ensemble having been waiting for her when they arrived at the estate. Though it wasn't as grand as the red one that now hung delicately in the wardrobe, it was no less luxurious.

The fabric was a satiny cream, gliding over her fingertips when she first touched it. The neckline cut straight across her décolletage with the sleeves being nothing more than swathes of material that draped over her arms, leaving the boned corset to keep the bodice upright. The skirt wasn't full like her last garment, leaving the shape slim and sleek around her form. Harry had practically mooned at her when she descended the stairs after dressing, his eyes never leaving her for long.

With the way the fabric gleamed and shimmered, (Y/N) felt as if she fit in with the moonlight when Harry led her outside. At her side, he blended in with the dark night aside from his pale features, acting as the heavens around the bright moon.

The ground under their steps was dewy, appearing as if drops of starlight had landed on earth with the reflection of the sky on the droplets. Looking ahead, through the draping wisteria and dark purple blooms, was the greenhouse. The building was in much better shape than the last she had seen, now with a complete roof and frosted glass on every wall.

"You finished it!" she bubbled, eager to see if he'd had the chance to fill it with any exotic blooms just yet.

"I did," he smiled, his profile illuminated by the full moon, "I wanted to make sure I could take you here the next time you came."

Approaching the door, Harry pushed it open for her to enter first.

Inside, (Y/N) felt that same wondrous glee she did when he had shown her the ballroom for the first time. This small space put her entire apothecary to shame.

The space was warm and humid, condensation trapped along the windows. Strung along the roof were familiar bundles of all of the herbs Harry had come by to pick up over the last month or so whenever he wanted an excuse to see her, the air tinted with the matching lavender and tobacco fragrances. The greenhouse itself had shelf after shelf, stretching tables, and hanging pots full of different plants. There were still plenty of places to grow, more room to put more and more flowers and herbs, but there was already enough filling that space that (Y/N) couldn't help the joyous gasp she let out.

Harry allowed her to wander through, looking over every leaf and every shrub, fawning over the blooms, and finding things she had no name for. When she wasn't so lost in her daydreams, romanticizing everything, (Y/N)'s hobby was her plants. She doted on them like pets, and took care of them every chance she could. Being in a place like this, with Harry, in a gorgeous dress, was exactly what her dreams were made of.

Coming up to an unfamiliar plant, (Y/N) gazed at it with wide eyes. The open leaves resembled that of an open jaw, with spines on the very edge of the leaves acting as teeth. It was colored a bright, smooth green, not a single blemish altering the perfection. Curiosity took over as she reached out, attempting to touch the spines to see if they were as sharp as they looked. She jumped back with a yelp when the leaves snapped together upon contact, acting just like the gnashing jaw she had compared them to.

In an instant, Harry was at her side, cradling her back to him with her hand clasped in his.

"It didn't get you, did it?" he asked with a concerned furrow to his brow. He cradled her hand in his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing over her fingertips as if he could heal any wound with a touch.

"No, I am alright," she answered, canting her head as her eyes stayed locked on the biting plant, watching as it reopened its jaws for the next victim, "Does it always do that?"

Bundling her hand in his own, Harry followed her this time as she approached the trap once more. "Only when it is trying to eat," he shared, watching her with the same fascination she offered to the plant.

"It eats? What do you mean?"

"It is called a Venus Fly Trap," Harry explained, "Unlike the others, it eats meat—bugs and the like. When it thinks it's caught any prey, it'll snap closed and take its meal."

(Y/N) had never heard of a predator plant—had never even imagined something like this could exist. "You feed it?"

"It does rather well for itself, I choose not to interfere too much."

She tried to picture something that looked so flimsy, a pair of leaves that mechanically moved together, could trap a living being. "Has it ever bitten you before?"

"Once," Harry admitted, "It was more startling than anything. That is when Mitchell shared that we would most likely benefit from leaving it alone."

Without much thought, she reached out once more as if to test the theory that the trap was nothing more than a scare. Harry quickly had her hands bundled in his own, twirling her away from the exotic bloom. He shook his head when his eyes met hers, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"I have said it before, but it always surprises me how much you lack any sense of survival," he laughed, pulling her hands to his chilled chest, "Though I said it did not hurt, does not mean you should try it out yourself."

"Sorry," she answered, a sheepish smile on her lips, "I just wanted to try for myself."

"Don't," he teased, bringing her hands to his lips where he gave her a soft smattering of kisses along the fingertips.

A soft laugh plumed from (Y/N)'s lips as she watched him, wiggling her hands out of his to cradle his cheeks in her palms. "This place is wonderful, Harry. I had no idea you wanted to make something like this."

He leaned into the warmth of her touch. "I made it for you."

(Y/N) felt her features soften; her eyes rounded out, cheeks softened around the width of her smile, every muscle she hadn't even realized she was tensing now going lax. "Did you really?" she crooned, following the refractions of light that danced over his features from the moonlight streaming through.

"Of course, I did," he smiled, "I'd do anything for you."

It was a moment like this that she wondered if she could really handle being engaged for a whole two years the way her sister was. She had spent so many years dreaming up someone like Harry, she wasn't sure if she could wait that much longer to have him be hers in every real way. All she could do was hold him tighter.

Harry's smile widened as he gazed down at her. "I wish I knew what was going on in your head."

"Just you," (Y/N) answered, "Always you."

Turning his head in between her hands, Harry pressed his lips not puckered kisses against the palms of her hands. She could feel him smiling against her skin.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love, but I am forever grateful." He pulled her hands from his cheeks only to hold them against his chest once more. His features, though still swimming in adoration, settled into something more somber then. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something out here."

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded.

For the first time since they met, (Y/N) saw a small amount of uncertainty leak into his gaze. "I know we have talked some about our future," he started, gaze traveling over her features to capture any and every reaction, "And, I have been thinking about something that I wanted to share with you."

"Okay," she nodded, trying not to betray her own nerves on her face, "Something good, I hope."

A faint dimple was pushed into Harry's cheek as he stretched his smile that much more. "I hope so, as well." Within a breath, he was entirely serious once more. "You know that I wish to marry you, right? Outside of just our talks in your bedroom, I have meant every word I have said about sharing my life with you."

"I do," she smiled, hoping to lessen his worry, "And I feel the same. I wish we could be married tomorrow, even."

Small traces of relief had his features loosening up, the cut of his jaw rounding and his brows relaxing. "I do as well, but I want to do that the right way, with a real wedding and everything else you could want. Though, I feel that the both of us are rather impatient." (Y/N) let out a small fan of laughter at his truth. "Because of that, I have been thinking and found some old correspondence with a friend that gave me an idea." He paused before continued, as if gathering his words. "Do you remember the Blood Bond I told you about?"

(Y/N) gave a silent nod. She could recall the short details he had shared with her and the way her mind had traced back to the binding more than once in her daydreams.

"I know it is a lot to ask of you, as neither of us really understand what a Blood Bond truly entails outside of theory, but I have wondered if... If you might be willing to complete a Blood Bond with me." He rolled his lips between his teeth wrestling with both his nervousness at presenting the idea as well as his hope for her answer. "I found letters from an old friend, someone who knew someone else who had completed the bond with another, and it sounded promising. There weren't many details, but they sounded happy."

"Were they—" (Y/N) floundered over her question, unable to find the right terms, "Were they both like you? Or was one of them like me?"

His mouth formed a grim line. "Both were like me. I can't find anything on any couple like us, unfortunately. I suppose we might be the first," Harry posited, the very corner of his mouth turning upwards.

While (Y/N) was more than warm to the idea of bonding with Harry—marrying him in the way they could without having the follow the steps of courting and engagement while also easing her father into the idea—she was unsure. The lack of details that even Harry knew tickled a part of her mind she had trouble ignoring.

"Would it...If we did, would it make me like you?" While she loved Harry for who he was, and understood his story, there was little desire in her to completely forgo her own life in favor of a still heart (and the blood thing was still very much not something she had interest in).

"I do not think so, but, again, I can't be sure." It appeared as if it pained him to give her so little detail. "But, I would never offer this if I did not think it would be a good option for us, darling. Selfishly, even if we can't share this with anyone, I don't know if I can wait much longer before I know I am yours and you are mine."

He peeked at her through his lashes, reflections of green glimmering in the pale moonlight. (Y/N) understood what he meant. While this would be another secret between them, something she couldn't even share with her father, it was enough to look at him and know that Harry was hers and she was his. It was enough to know that there was a place they belonged: at each other's sides.

Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore than I can imagine a regular bite does," he offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders, "But, I can't be sure. I would do everything I could to make it as painless as possible, darling."

There was a part of (Y/N) that stayed wary, and urged her to do the same. It poked holes in the logic and filled everything with doubt. There was no easy way to be the first, there was no safe way. There was so much unknown about what could happen should she bare her neck for him and allow Harry to bind them together in whatever way the Blood Bond would do. There was even a chance that she could drop dead immediately after, leaving the rest of her life—including Harry—behind.

There was no way to be sure that nothing terrible would happen, but the rest of her wasn't certain if that really mattered. She had no way of knowing that Harry was telling the truth when he revealed his nature to her, or if she could be sure that she was truly safe around him. She had no way of knowing that she was doing the right thing by continuing to invite him to her and to fall in love with him on the way. But she did each of those things anyway, because she had felt in her bones that it was right. She had felt that she could trust Harry with everything—every fall down the rabbit hole of love, every time they were alone with her neck at his teeth, everything that her instincts told her was okay because she trusted him.

That trust in him piped up, flicking (Y/N)'s gaze to match his as he patiently waited for her answer. "Okay."

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?"

The beginnings of an ecstatic grin bubbled over her features. "I want to bond with you. We'll learn all of this together. I don't want to go another day without being yours."

In the middle of the greenhouse, Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest before lifting her off of her feet. (Y/N) giggled, looping her own arms around his neck and clinging to him as he spun her around. Her dress twirled around them, enclosing Harry in lily white fabric as if he were the center of a moonlit bloom.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over, his face burrowed in her neck with his nose skimming the column.

(Y/N) could only smile, her eyes shuttering closed. She buried her hands in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. This is the kind of joy she pictured when she finally found her one and she agreed to spend her life with him—another assurance that she was doing the right thing. Something so wrong or hasty wouldn't feel so good.

Positing her down on the edge of a sparsely populated table, Harry stood between her legs as he settled his hands on her thighs over her silken dress. He had a bubbling smile on his face as he looked up at her, his eyes almost entirely green with only his pupil and a few slivers of the familiar coal remaining.

"I will write to my friend, and see if he has any more answers. Then, when you're ready, we can—"

A furrow pinched (Y/N) brow as she spoke, "We're not doing it tonight?"

Harry paused to consider her question. "I thought... I don't want to push you or make you feel as if we have to do this tonight. I figured you would like more time."

While Harry was erring on the side of caution—once again being the more responsible of the two compared to her impulsiveness—she didn't want to do the same. She had no fear of the Venus Fly Trap despite almost being caught in its clutches, and she had no fear of Harry and the unknown.

"I don't need any more time," (Y/N) cemented, reaching to settle her hands on his shoulders with her fingertips digging into the luxe velvet, "I trust you, and I don't want to wait anymore. I waited my whole life to find someone like you—I practically dreamt you up. I don't need time to be sure."

As she spoke, Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching her mouth wrap around every word and the devotion of which she hoped he felt. His own lips had fallen open in a small gape, eyes glimmering as if he were looking at the sun. HIs hands on her thighs pulsed, tightening his grip as if he could drift away at any moment.

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he loved her. That he knew what it was like to wait and hope there was someone there at the end who understood.

Reaching to cradle her cheeks in his palms, he brought her in for a slow kiss, his lips slotted between hers with his nose brushing against her own. There was an urgency behind it that she had never felt from him before.

"I love you," he murmured.

The delicate curl of her lips had him pulling away just enough to drag his kisses over her cheek. "I love you, too."

"I'm not certain in what I'm doing, (Y/N), so I need you to tell me if I am hurting you. I do not want this to be ruined because of me, so please stop me if you feel the need." His lips never lifted from her skin as he spoke, his words being painted across in sweeps of his breath and skims of his nose.

"I trust you," she reiterated, dipping her head back as he descended lower towards her throat, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responded simply, before pulling away, "But you must promise me. If there's even a moment where you are no longer sure, do whatever you need to do to make me stop."

His jaw was set and eyes hard as he spoke, determination settling on his features. "I promise," she said, her hands still firm on his shoulders, "If anything changes, I will tell you."

A small curl lifted his lips as he took her vow, features softening. "I will tell you before I bite, is that okay?"

"Please," she responded, relaxing into his arms as he wrapped them around her middle with his hands spanning the planes of her back. As much as she did trust him, the fact that his teeth would be biting into her neck in a few moments was most likely going to be her least favorite part of their bonding.

When Harry dipped his head down, the chill of his touch grazing her throat, (Y/N) expected to feel the scrape of his teeth, the point of something predatory catching on her skin. Instead, she felt the soft press of his lips and the drag of his nose over the column. He worked slowly, familiarly, kissing his way along until he stopped. He paused on the side of her throat, just under where her pulse thrummed.

"I'm going to bite here, alright?" he murmured, "Just long enough to forge the bond, darling."

She clenched her hands on his shoulders. "Okay."

Against her throat, she could feel his lips moving though there was no sound. She wanted to ask what he was saying, but before she had a chance that searing slice she had been waiting for finally struck.

The feeling took her breath away, her hands tightening on his shoulders. It didn't hurt like a cut from a knife or a stab from a needle, no—Harry's bite burned. It was a bubbling burn, as if something inside her was melting all within the span of a second. The searing brought tears to her eyes, stealing her breath before she had a chance to understand.

Just as quickly as the burning started, it was gone. In its place was something pleasantly cool, like a breeze on a warm day. Her vision cleared with her breath restored. She was hyper aware of Harry's shoulders under her hands, the warmth of his velvet jacket and the welcome chill from his skin. She clung to him, conscious of every stretch of fabric on her skin and every anchoring touch he gave her. It was overwhelming, verging on euphoric, urging her to shutter her eyes and absorb every second.

The moment could have lasted anywhere from two hours long to two seconds, (Y/N) had no way of telling by the time Harry pulled away. He kept his grip on her firm, his arms barred around her back as she came back down to the greenhouse.

With a fluttering blink of her lashes, (Y/N) saw Harry for what he was, for the very first time.

He looked at her with eyes darker than she had ever seen before, no semblance of any green she was accustomed to. She could clearly see a flush on his cheeks, appearing more human than she had ever realized he wasn't. The most jarring part: the blood dripping down his chin. It was a stark rub against his skin, staining his lips and coating his teeth.

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

For the first time since meeting him, she felt that fear she had lacked. It was nothing more than a zip up her spine, but it was there. If he were any other person, any other version of him in the years past, this would be the last thing she saw before she would be laid to rest on the forest floor with her throat ripped out.

As much as she was startled at the sight, the feel of her blood dripping down her neck, she also saw the way he was looking at her. Within the depths of his dark eyes, he was seeing her and tasting her and knowing her for the first time. There was no way that she had been the only one to feel that overwhelming euphoria, not when he looked at her like that.

In a distracted movement, he wiped his sleeve over his chin, intending to clear some of the crimson though most of it only smeared over his skin.

He was breathless as he spoke, "Ar—You're... (Y/N)."

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her.

Though her hand shook, (Y/N) still reached to place her palm on his cheek. She couldn't avoid the blood on his skin, but she didn't have the mind to care as she attempted to comfort him.

"I'm here," she whispered, hooking her ankle around the back of his leg, "You did it."

His hands on her back curled until his fingertips were denting her shoulder blades by how tightly he held her. He shook his head as if to clear whatever was going on inside. "We—It's—Your turn."

In that second, she remembered the small detail she had willfully forgotten. For the Bond to go both ways, she would have to also take his own blood. The prospect of him biting into her didn't seem so bad anymore compared to this.

Her eyes dropped to his neck, floundering suddenly. "I—But, I can't... I'm not like you, I can't... bite."

The fact seemed to hit Harry as well, though his brain was still clearly flooded with whatever it was he was experiencing with his end of the bond forged. He blinked to clear his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her neck.

"I think—I can take care of it," he offered on a stilted tongue.

(Y/N) didn't have any time to question before he was bringing his arm around to his lips, pushing his sleeve out of the way until his pale wrist was on display. The same way he had sunk his teeth into her neck, he now did to his own arm, opening up a gash with decidedly darker and thicker blood than she had ever seen before.

She understood what he was doing for her—taking out the work so she could close her end of the bond by taking in his blood—but she still felt repulsed at the prospect of tasting any of the ichor oozing from his arm. She wasn't like him. She couldn't see any way she could enjoy the taste or the feeling of drinking his blood.

All it took was one glance into his shimmering eyes, the same ones that had pleaded to her to not be scared of him, that prosed over his devotion to her, that had her shakily taking his arm in her grasp.

"Wh-What do I do?"

"Jus' drink, darling," he swallowed, "Quickly. Before it heals."

For the sole fact that she wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Harry bite into himself once more, she closed her eyes and brought his wrist to her lips. The second the blood filled her mouth, she wanted nothing more than to retch over and spit it out. It was metallic and heavy, coating her mouth in a way she couldn't compare anything to.

The first gulp was the hardest—the most troubling. Just as soon as she swore her throat was closing, urging her to gag and be rid of everything she was taking down, something changed.

Similar in the way that there was an overwhelming stillness when Harry had bitten her, she was now left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. Before she had been contently in her skin, aware of every motion and touch. This time, she was conscious of everything that wasn't entirely her.

She swore she could feel her own wrist warming, her own thoughts picturing her bent over Harry's arm, the feel of her dress under her palm.

These were Harry's thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She was no longer just her in that moment.

The Bond was there, allowing her a peek into who it was that was at her side.

Including the immense amount of love he was feeling just then.

She had never been aware of a missing piece in her, never been aware that there could be more of her somewhere, until then. This is what Harry had been feeling when he bit her, when he looked at her with tears in his eyes and clung to her as if she were the only one to give him breath, to make him whole.

Pulling his arm from her mouth, she didn't think twice of the blood staining her lips or coating her chin before she was throwing herself at him. Looping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with tears leaking down her eyes.

That was the Bond she could feel pulsing through her system. Harry was now a part of her just as much as she was his.

There was no doubt their clothing was ruined, blood staining the material that they had no chance of removing, with the ends of (Y/N)'s hair caught in the crossfire, but she couldn't find it in herself to care for more than anything but Harry.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice brittle under the lump in her throat and the tears glazing her eyes. "We did it."

"We did," Harry sighed, the smile on his face apparent in his tone, "I love you so much, darling."

(Y/N) could only close her eyes, melting into his hold with the greenhouse falling away around them. She clung to him tighter.

"I've got you, darling," he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm to her wired nerve endings.

Relaxing into the moment, a quiet smile etched its way onto her lips.

This was going to be the rest of her life.

—————

"Harry, be quiet," (Y/N) giggled into his mouth.

"Why?" he countered, only pulling away just far enough to speak, "It's just us here, remember?"

Drawing him back to her lips with her hands on his cheeks, (Y/N) could barely keep the smile off of her face long enough to kiss him back. She sunk further into the luxe mattress under her back with every earnest press of his lips to hers, the first swipe of his tongue darting out to run along the seam of her lips.

After stumbling their way out of the greenhouse and through the gardens, Harry had led her to his bedroom with a kind of giddiness she had never seen in him before. Despite the blood on his face, he was almost child-like in his wonder with the way he looked at her.

His bedroom was just as laden in luxury as the rest of the castle, though it was clear that there was someone actually inhabiting the space. She could see stamps of his presence everywhere; in the stationery on his desk to the unkempt bedding as if he couldn't be bothered to remake his bed everyday despite having nothing but time to fill. A pile of lavender bundles and chamomile blooms were stacked on his bedside, familiar twine holding the herbs together.

When he offered her the bathroom to clean off, (Y/N) didn't hesitate, wanting to clean herself from the crust that was forming on her chin and the bits of blood that had dried in her hair. By the time she finished, there was a nightgown waiting for her and an invitation on familiar stationery to join Harry in his room when she was ready.

Under different circumstances, she would have taken her time, luxuriated in the thick towels and scented lotion. There were different creams and oils that she didn't recognize, the kind she would have loved to take her time and learn. But there was someone waiting for her—someone that was as close to her husband as he could be without sending her down the aisle in a white dress.

She didn't want to leave him waiting.

(Though, she did notice that the bite he had given to her neck was healed almost completely. The wound that had bled enough to fill his mouth was now reduced to a pair of pin pricks on the side of her neck, just barely visible if someone was looking. She was going to have to ask at some point if that was the effect of the bond mending her skin).

That was how she found herself with Harry hovering above her, damp hair tossed across his pillow and her hands cradling his cheeks.

"I can feel you right here," he murmured to her in wonder, his hand on his chest where his unbeating heart sat.

Sprinkling her own kisses along his cheek, she smiled against his skin. "I can feel you in my heart, too," she whispered against his skin.

Drawing away, (Y/N) tried to chase him for another kiss before failing and sinking back into her pillow with a breathy laugh. Harry's smile widened at the sound. His gaze slipped over her with enough depth that she could have sworn his hands followed the trail, goosebumps erupting on her skin.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," (Y/N) said, stealing the same line he said to her more than once.

Matching her gaze once more, he looked at her with gleaming green shards in his eyes. "Just you. Always you."

Creases appeared by her eyes from just how far her smile stretched. She knew that line just as well. "Of course it is," she teased, petting the pad of her thumb along the height of his cheek bone,

"I mean it, my love" he smiled, sweeping a hand across her forehead to pull any stray hairs out of the way, "I have never felt before the way I do right now. Because of you."

(Y/N)'s heart surged at his words. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Through something she was beginning to understand as their bond, she felt the ardent truth in Harry's words as much as she could hear it. There wasn't enough vocabulary available to tell him what it meant to her to feel and hear his love.

Selfishly, she resorted to tugging him down for a kiss instead, hoping he understood just as well.

He smiled into the kiss, a good sign, just before he settled in with her.

With her legs spread wide for his hips to sit between, she couldn't help but to cling to him. There was no other way she could tell him how much she loved him, how deeply excited she was to spend the rest of the unknown with him. The feeling brought her back to the night before, when he had invited her here in the first place—when he had told her he loved her.

Despite the chill of his touch, she had never felt so warm when recalling the memory.

Her hands on his cheeks slid down from his face, following the line of his neck to his shoulders. The neck of his loosely buttoned shirt gave way under her touch, allowing more of his cold skin to sit on display for her to graze her fingers over.

With their mouths slotted together, (Y/N) grazed one hand up the column of his throat unsure of if it was her own warmth being reflected back or if he was feeling the same way as she and something had awoken in his body. Without thinking, she dragged her nails lightly down his skin, entranced by the new skin she had never touched and barely seen before.

Harry let out a low moan into her mouth, the sound rumbling against her own chest. Through the bond, she felt that touch of euphoria she was only familiar with through the bite in the greenhouse. Her stomach tightened at the thought.

Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his kisses down the line of her jaw. "What was that for, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble compared to the dulcet tones he typically served her.

"Did you like it?" she countered, a sheepish tone to her voice. She hadn't meant anything by it, really.

It was the smile she felt against her skin that had her relaxing. "I did," he answered, dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, "Is that what you wanted?"

"I always want to make you happy," she simply chirped back.

Drawing away, Harry hovered over her with a slight curl to his lips and only a sliver of green showing around his dark pupils. "Your job is terribly easy then," he smiled, "As I can't help but feel anything but completely ecstatic around you."

(Y/N) could only shake her head, suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her with her face buried in his neck. She could feel the plume of laughter he let out as much as she could hear it.

Pressing his weight into her as he reciprocated her hold, he wrapped his arms around her middle in a snug hug. The length of his body was pressed against hers, including the hard to ignore ridge nudging between her legs. While it wasn't the first time she had felt as much between the sheets in her bedroom, it still took her breath away.

Harry undoubtedly felt her reaction, causing him to pull away just enough to look down at her. "What's wrong, love?"

She floundered over her words, unsure of how exactly to phrase what she had caused her gasp and the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You—I mean... You're—"

Pursing his lips, Harry held back his smile. "I know, darling," he smiled, "Don't worry, alright? We've done enough tonight, I don't think we need to add anymore new experiences like we had planned."

"But—" She unceremoniously dropped her gaze between them as if she could get a peek at what was prodding at her core. "I don't want to... You're not hurting, are you?"

He couldn't help the laugh that fell from his mouth then. "No, I am not hurting," he smiled, squeezing her to him one last time before relinquishing his hold.

Meandering out from between her legs, he moved to lay beside her. (Y/N) rolled with him, unwilling to let him go very far before he settled at her side, sharing the same pillow despite the vast amount of negative space available.

"You don't want me to...?" (Y/N) trailed off, unsure of what exactly she was asking. She knew Harry had asked her over, hoping to take advantage of the time alone without having to worry about the creaks of her own home. Despite the turns that night had taken, she didn't want him to believe she was no longer willing, even if she was a bit exhausted.

Harry's smile was tender on his lips, adoring just as his eyes were. He took one of her hands that had been clasped behind his neck and brought her palm to his mouth. Pressing his lips to the back in a smattering of kisses, he trailed that line up to her wrist and along her arm until she could no longer contain her giggling. The bright smile he gave in response had to match that of her own.

"Not tonight, my love," he crooned, "I know we had talked about how we wanted to spend this night by ourselves, but I know my outlook on the night has changed some." His gaze dropped to the pinprick marks on her neck, his features brightening that much more at the sight. "I don't feel any rush to do more. We have all the time in the world to learn each other in that way. I'd rather tonight be about you and I and learning the bond we now have."

Through that bond, she could feel his sincerity. There was no rush in him, nothing clamoring to take her virginity just to have it. It was more important to him to know his wife—his beloved, his bonded. Through his eyes, she saw the stretch of time they had together and the many nights they could fill between the sheets. There was no rush to be had when he had her for the rest of their lives.

"You're sure?" she asked, shuffling closer to him over the velvet duvet, "I don't want to disappoint you."

"How could you disappoint me, my love?" he asked through a dazzling smile, dimples denting his cheeks and perfect teeth on display. He brushed his hand over her cheek, fingertips grazing the fan of her lashes and the height of her cheekbone as if she were the most delicate of flowers in his garden. "You're here," he said in awe, "In my bed, brave enough to bond with me, and looking at me with stars in your eyes. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"

Heart thumping in her chest, (Y/N) looked at him and saw the life he had envisioned.

There were so many nights they were going to spend just like this, laden in velvet and kisses, chilling touches and warm gazes. They had all the time in the world, there was no reason not to savor these quiet moments with him.

All she could do was pull him in for a kiss.

—————

The following morning, (Y/N) was exhausted as she traipsed around the apothecary, though she felt as if she were floating off her feet. She took care to restock each and every cubby, straightening the displays and ensuring only the best of the best were placed out for customers. Her father was manning the register as she did so, leaving her to sit in her rose petal thoughts and appreciate the stiff muscles of her neck and bruises from her early morning climb back into her bedroom.

It was all reminders of the best night of her life, she decided. Her wedding night—even if it wasn't in the traditional sense.

There was a new piece that now lived inside her, a remnant of Harry's soul that now replaced the piece she had given him last night. It felt easier to breathe, now knowing that he was on the other side.

More than once since starting her day, her father had asked what had made her so chipper. She had only replied that she had slept well, or simply woke up in a good mood. She couldn't wait for the day that she could tell him that it was Harry that had her heart so full and eyes so bright.

The bell above the door jingled, alerting that a customer was coming in, though that wasn't what had (Y/N) perking up in her spot. There was a fumbling in her chest, as if her heart knew something she didn't.

Looking over her shoulder, her lungs squeezed when she saw who had walked through the door.

Armed with a draping bouquet of wisteria and the tiny bell-shaped blooms of lily of the valley, was Harry. He was dressed immaculately as ever, though she could see a color in his cheeks and his eyes almost glimmering with the amount of green shards that had surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stiffen at his presence, though Harry gave her a passing glance with a lopsided smile before even acknowledging his presence.

"Mr. Styles," her father gruffly greeted him, "How can we help you today?"

"Actually, sir," Harry started, a pleasant voice to match his expression though (Y/N) could see amusement swimming in the depths, "I was hoping I could have a chance to speak with your daughter."

"She's busy at the moment, but I can help you with anything you need." Her father's voice now held an edge to it.

"Unfortunately," Harry said, skipping his gaze back to her where she stood with her hands knotted behind her back, "I don't think you can help me with this, sir. I was looking to ask for her permission to officially begin courting her—if she is interested, anyway"

(Y/N) had no hope of wiping the smile from her face, but she did everything she could to keep herself from launching into her husband. Instead, before her father could make any objection of any kind, she piped up with, "I am definitely interested, Mr. Styles. You have all the permission in the world."

Though she was sure that if she spared her father a glance he would be just as angry as the night he had thrown her invitation into the furnace, but she couldn't draw her eyes from Harry.

She couldn't wait to marry him. For the second time, technically.

—————

lily of the valley, though delicate, can stop the heart when consumed

ahhhhh that is the end of my little Halloween/fall story! now my break will be starting and ill be back with more writing after the new year!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas for anythign at all!

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rowsdelusions · 8 months

Text

Flatline (Luke Hemmings/reader)

Flatline (Luke Hemmings Imagines)

Title: Flatline

Rating: None

Pairing: Luke Hemmings/Reader

Word Count: 2116

Warning: Language

Summary: You're the guy's tour manager for their new tour

Author's Note: I am entirely grateful for all the love and support my last story got!! >_< It means the world to me that people like my stories! I hope this one is to your liking as well. I've got a few ideas for the other guys so don't worry!! I'm in the making of a few but wanted to ask if anyone is up for a series of imagines based off of their songs?! I did my Older one and this of course is Flatline, but just wanted to ask if people would like that?! Again, thank you so much for the support!!!

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“You guys are on in 5 minutes. So do any last minute touch ups and rituals; and if you need me for anything I’m always here you just have to get me.” I say smiling at the group of 4 men who I have grown to love over the short period of time I've been their tour manager. Their personalities and them as people just make it so easy to fall in love with them. Except for one; Luke. Anytime I would try to be close and nice to him like the rest of the boys I am not even given the cold shoulder I just get a blank stare or just a nod yes or no. It’s like he’s numb. If he had given me the cold shoulder I would at least know he just doesn’t like me, but I just get a blank stare.

I’ve asked the guys if I did something that offended him and why he didn’t like me, and they would just look at each other with the same look they are having right now when they see I’m waiting for a confirmation from Luke after I announced they had 5 minutes left and I got nothing back not eve a blank stare this time just nothing. He doesn’t look at me at all. Not looking up from putting his makeup away into his makeup bag even with the uncomfortable silence that wafted over the dressing room once everyone knew he wasn’t going to respond back.

It was like he was in an entirely different world that no one else was privy to except for him. But his face didn’t show the bliss that you get when you're daydreaming. It held nothing but concentration. Not knowing what had him so concentrated that made him look like he was about to explode into a million pieces, I walked over to him to see if there was anything I could do to help him. He might not like me, but I'm still his tour manager and bottom line I will do anything to make this tour more magical than the last even if talking to him has me on an edge of a cliff from nerves.

“Luke, is there anything I can do for you? You guys are on in a little less than 5 minutes.” I said to him softly, barely over a whisper looking at him with so much sincerity that a tour manager probably shouldn’t have for the lead singer of the band she is managing, but I couldn’t help it. Even with all the blank stares and nods. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him, going beyond the platonic love that I have for the other guys. He was just perfect with all his flaws, although I don’t think he has any he might be standoff-ish with me, but I can’t help but see how he interacts with the other guys, the crew, the fans during a show or in general, and his family when they come to some of the shows.

He always gives anyone he’s talking to his full attention sometimes looking like a puppy while doing so but it’s endearing. It shows he cares even if what you're talking about isn’t all that important. I can’t help that when he does his makeup how beautiful he looks and the look of being alive and doing what he loves while he's on stage makes me feel like I’m in the presence of an angel. Suddenly getting caught off guard from my thoughts by the man himself. When he abruptly stands up pushing the chair he was generally sitting on while cleaning up his makeup. I back up not out of fright but more out of shock looking around for a moment noticing all the guys are not in the room anymore.

The look of confusion crossed my faces wondering when they left, but before I could get too far in my wondering, Luke asked, “Are you going to be on the side of the stage for this show?” Even more confused, I answer in an unsure tone.” umm… I guess?” It sounded like more of a question than I intended. I tried to recover from it.” I was going to get the schedule for our next stop situated during this show so I wasn’t planning on it but if you want, I can just do it after the show.” Not even a second passed before he answered me,” Can you do it after the show? It will be easier if you were by the stage tonight.” I stare at him for a moment, questions in my head that I’ll never asks run through it before I ponder any longer on them though I see that he’s waiting for an answer looking almost nervous but I see on the wall clock that he has to be on stage in 2 minutes so leaving my questions in my head I answer him,” Yeah I'll be there on Cals side.” Without anything more said between us he leaves the dressing room leaving me with nothing but his presence and the questions in my head left unanswered.

By the time I composed myself in the dressing room and went to my designated spot on the side of the stage on Cal's side, the boys were already on their third song. When I got there, I was handed an earwig from one of the workers on tour so I can hear the tech crew and everyone else if there's a problem that needs to be fixed. Getting a weird look from the crew around me made me self-conscious, questioning why everyone was giving me that look on top of the questions I have from my discussion with Luke.

Putting all my focus back onto the show, I see that instead of Luke having his talking part first like usual it’s Michael who is doing his. Confused, I turned to the closest person on the crew besides me and asked,” Why is Michael doing his talking portion at this moment and why was I not informed by this?” The crewmate looked nervous when I asked, not knowing if it’s because there scared on losing their job or something else, I try to clarify more for them trying to ease their nervousness," I’m just asking because any new changes need to be made through me, you're not losing your job and I’m not mad I’m just wondering why this decision was made without at least talking to me.”

Seeing their nerves not lessening, but answering anyway in a rushed stutter manner,” The guys asked for this request and said not to tell you.” Turning towards them like they had a second head I see the crewmate walking briskly away stopping where a bunch of the other people apart from the crew where and talking heavily with them before they all stopped once they saw I was looking over them. Why is everyone being secretive about something and why did no one tell me about the last-minute change on the show.

I questioned myself, getting madder by the second once I saw that even more people were looking at me. Staring ahead after I get tired of the stares that are burning holes into my head every passing second, I try to focus on the show making sure it goes off without a hitch. Even though I see that each of the guys are going in a different order for their talking portions than what we’ve planned in the start of the tour, I see that after Michaels talking portion and a few songs, Ashton went next for his talking portion.

Why are they going in a different order than the one we picked even when there's a different order Luke always goes first so it’s easier on the guys and the crew to switch out guitars. Why did the guys not tell me about this or Luke when we were talking in the dressing room earlier. They clearly knew it was happening from what I’m seeing on stage and what the crewmate told me when I asked about it. Worrying even more, questions ran through my head that I was going to ask the boys once the shows were done. I didn't realize how much time went by with all of my worrying.

Until I heard Luke doing his talking portion missing all of Cal’s one, I tried to pay attention pushing the worry and questions till after the show. I hear Luke make a nervous laugh continuing the nervous streak while talking like he did with me earlier in the dressing room,” I know that you all have realized that we're doing things in a different order on this show and that is because… I have something special I'm going to do for this show.” he laughs at the end when he hears the fans screaming at the top of their lungs. “As I know how exciting this is. I need you guys to do me a favor. Can you do that?”

He questions the fans in an exciting tone, the nerves still blatantly present though how much he’s trying to hide it from the fans covering some of it up. I've spent enough time with these guys to see all of their tell-tell signs. Coming back from the fans screaming yes. Luke laughs again, "okay, good so for our last and final song I would like you all to please be courteous because I'm going to be bringing someone out for this song and I would love it if you all sing along with me.”

Drowning out all the exciting screams from the fans I grab the closest crewmate to me,” What is he talking about bringing someone on stage?” I asked hurriedly. When I don’t get an answer from them, I hear Luke start to talk again this time with an almost desperate tone that you wouldn’t have catched if you didn’t know him well.” Now can I please get are ever so brilliant tour manager on stage please.”

Looking confused I see Cal walking towards where I am on the side of the stage walking towards him in an almost run. When I reached him, I asked in a hurried manner,” What the hell is going on?” looking down at me he says in a calm tone,” Everything is going to be explained but you just have to trust me and go on stage please.” Looking into his eyes, seeing them have a pleading look, I slowly nod my head.

Walking with Cal on stage was the most nerve-wracking thing I’ve ever done. My admiration for the boys is growing. When we met Luke in the middle of the stage all the fans were screaming. Blocking them out I turned to Luke asking what I’ve been dying to ask him this whole evening. "What the hell are you doing and what the hell am I supposed to do up here?” Giving Luke my must baffled look and all I get in return is him saying, "Just please listen to the lyrics it will explain everything I promise and all you have to do is stand here looking beautiful.”

Before I can question him anymore, I see him giving a nod to the other boys, and next thing I know I’m hearing the strums of Cal's bass and Lukes's voice combining into their song Flatline. Hearing it before and loving it like any other song they release. I still don’t understand why I'm out here in front of 10,000 fans until Luke turns towards me walking, chest to chest singing the chorus of the song looking nowhere but my eyes, and all I can do is be hypnotized.

Not once looking away from him even when everything clicked into place. He likes me, that's why he has been acting the way he has. The man who made me hypnotized in every sense likes me, and I've never noticed. Without thinking I lean up to his face, wrapping both of my arms around his neck, my hands reaching into his beautiful blonde hair, curling my fingertips into the curly pieces I move his head down to my own. Looking into his eyes for permission but instead of him giving me one he grabs my hips and crashes his lips against mine. The kiss felt nothing like I’ve ever had before, like everything was aligned. Breaking apart when the fans' screams reached a new level, I looked into his eyes with the brightest smile on my face, “I fell the first day I met you.”

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AHHH, I hope y'all like this one because I do!!! and if you guys want to see the song series pleaseee let me know!!! thank you for the love and support!!!! >_<

#5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagines #5sos imagine #luke hemmings imagines #michael clifford x reader #ashton irwin x reader #luke hemmings fluff #5sos #ashton irwin #michael clifford #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #calum hood #calum hood x reader #5sos fluff

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picturejasper20 · 3 months

Note

As a character, what are your thoughts on Sam Manson?

It's... complicated.

It isn't that i dislike her character, in fact i do like her but the way she is written in the show can be a mixed bag.

There are scenes she can be pretty fun like her interactions with Tucker in some episodes (Life Lessons for example). Their characters clash well with each other and they are funny.

Or when she says that she doesn't want to go to the school dance but later changes her mind once Danny (as Tucker) invites her to go in ¨Parental Bonding¨. Or when she helps Danny with fighting against Fright Knight.

She tends to have some funny delivery lines that usually come from her own sarcasm and she can be the voice of reason, more often than not the one that has common sense in the group.

The problem is when the show tries pushing this idea that she is this subversive ¨i'm not like the other girls¨ feminist icon that ends up being super weird in the way it is executed in episodes that explore this and her character arc as whole.

You have episodes like "Teacher of the Year" and "Beauty Marked" where Danny and Tucker act sexist towards her and other girls for some reason, something that we don't see in other episodes. With Tucker it does make more sense but with Danny it just feels out of place since it isn't exactly a flaw he presents in instances outside those plots.

And for someone who is intended to be this ¨feminist icon¨ Sam doesn't really get that much development nor evolution of character in spite of being a protagonist in the series. The closest we get to that is "Control Freaks" that explores her family and "Girls' Night Out" that develops her relationship with Jazz. In fact, other female characters have more development than she does like Jazz and Valerie- and they aren't treated as this subversive girl like Sam is. Jazz herself is pretty feminine and yet she has a lot of growth in the series.

Sam is usually more defined for her role of being ¨Danny's love interest¨ than anything else that gets worse in Season 3, when the series starts pushing this pair a lot more and Sam loses traits that made her interesting.

It is a contradiction on it itself. The show wants to make you believe that Sam is this great ¨feminist icon¨ but she doesn't get proper evolution as character, her flaws don't get addressed properly and she gets treated as Danny's love interest on the long run. It is a superficial attempt to be ¨woke¨ in a time other animated shows handled these topics better.

#danny phantom #sam manson

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shelbgrey · 2 years

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Gabriel As Your Garudian Angel

~ first of all its the first and almost only thing he has ever tooken seriously

~when he found out he didn't really care. Michael and Lucifer were desened to inhabit the Winchesters bodies and he got the boring job of being Bobby Singer's Nieces.

~when he first met you he immediately took the roll. He Loved your personality and stuck around.

~you were a kid when you first met so you just thought he was an imaginary friend.

~he hung around in your toddler years but slowly stopped showing up when you befriend Sam and dean

~he felt like you didn't need him anymore so he protected you from a far

~after awhile you forget the angel and figured the boy with golden wings was an imaginary friend.

~you didn't have encounter intill years. You were an adult and a hunter.

~your first case involving him he was just know as the trickster. He left you untouched but screwed with Sam and Dean.

~that pattern continued when with the mystery spot Fiasco. Gabe knew how much you cared for Dean so he didn't put you in the time loop with Sam.

~that same time period he didn't bring Dean back till you asked.

~during his TV land joke he purposely put you and the boys in shows you liked. Like Dr. Sex MD was based off Greys anatomy(a show you liked)

~after that you confronted him while he was in the holy fire.

~ “I'm always left untoched during your practical jokes, why is that?”

~“you don't remember me? I'm hurt Sugar”

~for some reason you showed murcy on him and convinced the boys to let him go.

~“I always thought you were my imaginary friend”

~“I stopped hanging around because you had the boys... I guess I thought you didn't need me anymore so I protected you from a far”

~after that he wouldn't leave you alone. It annoyed the hell out of the boys but you brushed it off.

~he'd always wake you up with his favorite song heat of the moment. Or he'd wake you up like an alarm that was set on radio mode.

~“Gooooodd Morning miss. Y/n Singer. It's a beautiful day in Lawrence Kansas. The weather is gonna be sunny and dry. But better get ready because the forecast predicts a pesky Windego on the loose. I'm your host Gabriel the Trickster”

~you guys grew close and your friendship kinda turned romantic to both of your fright.

~guardian angels aren't supposed to fall in love with their person. It was just the rules.

~then again when did gabe ever follow the rules.

~after yours and Dean's failed atempt to a relationship gabe flew in.

~it started off casual. You slept together once or twice but Never confermed anything.

~not wanting that in a relationship you told him how you felt.

~“everyday I'd wake up to your stupid music and your stupid voice. I feel in love deeper and deeper with you”

~you kept it on the down low afraid of how the boys would react. But after one of his tricks it came out, but it also caused Sam to break his arm.

~that was the biggest flaw in your relationship. His ability to not care that he screws with your Family.

~“I'm tired of you hurting them all the time. We're a team. If you hurt them, you hurt me...some guardian angel you are”

~that hurt the both of you but it proved you two were ment to stay friends. It also made you realize the whole relationship was something you guys wanted to do because it was going against the rules.

~he reminded faithful to his Job and his friendship to you. He even helped you fix your relationship with Dean(which is who you belong with).

~the first time you watched him died hurt worse than any wound you got on the job. He lied there lifeless after saving you from Lucifer.

~the boys didn't know how to comfort you. It felt like part of you was missing.

~after you found out Asmodeus had captured and torchored gabe you were beyond furious.

~gabe was beyond scared when he was in the bunker but he trusted you. It was your turn to protect him.

~you where the one to convince him to take his grace and heal himself.

~“I need you gabe, I can't lose you again”

~ he stayed around again and even helped you look after Jack who you took under your wing. He took the role of an uncle oddly seriously.

~then came your time in purgatory. You were determined to get jack back and gabe wasn't gonna let you go alone. Even if you had your boyfriend Dean. And by the laws of heaven he had no choice.

~that wasn't his mind set. You were and always be his best friend. There ain't no him with out you.

~he never left your side during your time in purgatory. It angered Dean but gabe could care less. It was unnatural for him because you'd think he'd take it to his advantage but he didn't.

~during that time Lucifer teased the both of you. It infuriated gabe and he did his best to keep distance between the both of you.

~“lay one hand on her it'll be the last thing you ever do”

~during the cold nights you lied awake next to gabe wrapped in his leather jacket.

~when it was time for you to leave gabe didn't make it back. And he was gone for real this time.

~it took all Sam's power to pull you back as you screamed and cried his name.

~while everyone celebrated there return home you stayed in your room in the bunker crying in his leather jacket he left with you.

~the pockets of the jacket were filled with candy wrappers(you never took them out).

~What hurt the worst was there was a gold feather in the pocket as well. His feather.

~you wore it on a necklace and psychologically it made you feel safer.

~after he died your post hunt injuries hurt worse and they were more often. That proved gabe did his job well.

~Dean didn't know how to help you. He comforted you when you cried but Castile was the only one that willingly talked to you about it.

~“he really did care about you... In fact him being your guardian angel was the only thing he ever took seriously.”

~Cas later tried to take the job because he thought gabe would want that but her couldn't.

~you only get one gaurdian angel and gabe was the best and only one.

#Gabriel headcanons #gabriel x reader #Gabriel imagines #Supernatural #Bobby Singer x reader #Sam Winchester x reader #Dean winchester x reader #Spn #Trickster #Richard speight Jr #team free will #Carry on my wayward son #Castiel x reader #Castiel #Castiel imagunes #Supernatural headcanons #Supernatural prefrences #Gabriel prefrences

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devil-doll13 · 1 year

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Wild Imagination

(Brahms x Nanny!Reader)

Tw: G/N reader, I just use ‘nanny’ as a catchall term, Angst, Typical Jealousy/Possessiveness, Stalking, a.k.a Brahms being Brahms, Alcohol Mention, also sort of a character study? Idk

So I remember I said something about writing for Brahms and this is sort of a warmup/experiment for him! This is fairly short too, so I may or may not make a followup but for now have this.

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

Brahms is fascinated by you.

This is understandable; you are a kind, attractive person, and he has rarely seen those not only as fantasy manifested in the pages of a novel.

But it is also simply because you are you, and uniquely so. All of your preferences, habits, interests; every minute detail he commits to heart.

Brahms likes routine. Brahms likes structure. He watches closely and memorises you as if you are his favourite story; playing those special little moments over and over again in his head.

Only, in his make-believe world, he is right there with you. In spirit, he always is; the doll is by your side, therefore he is as well. He cherishes your presence within his home, he loves your cooking if only because it is made with genuine care, he enjoys your piano playing, whether masterful or amateurish. He falls asleep - however awkward his position behind the walls might be - to your soothing voice reciting poetry to the doll, as if those porcelain eyelids might be closed.

But that isn’t the same as being with you truly, really, physically. That doll; his child persona, is a barrier separating you from him, perhaps even more than his place between his walls. All his little games he likes to play, you assume to be nothing more than a figment of your wild imagination. He has become so attached to you, but you don’t even know he exists.

Sometimes Brahms wonders what it would be like to be with you as the man. To welcome you into his home, as he should have when you were hired. To play the violin or cello or piano for you and impress you with his musical virtuosity. To hold you in his arms - a real human being, not only a sub-par effigy of your likeness - and softly read along with you. To conceal a laugh at your momentary fright as his cold hands run goosebumps down your spine. To be your Darcy or Rochester or Heathcliff.

But… No. He must be good. He must stay hidden.

He reminds himself of this every passing day, but by every passing day his desire to have you see him, as Brahms, in the flesh and blood and sweat, grows stronger and stronger.

His need for this surges, rather violently, when he sees you smiling and laughing with that damn Malcolm - only at the door, because you are a good nanny and follow the rules as you should - for he is reminded so unpleasantly that you will never smile or laugh for him. Not for him, not for Brahms the man, flesh and blood and sweat.

Brahms’ resentment for this fact soon bubbles over, soon he feels a sort of hateful jealousy directed at that doll and how beloved it is; for he is not scarred or ‘odd’ or wrong, not a failure of a son or a disappointment. He is ‘Brahms,’ without flaws, without blemishes, without room to embarrass or bring shame. Silent and perfect forever.

Now he cocoons you in his wool knit cardigan, safe from the outside world. Although you might struggle, he knows you need him as much as he needs you; you must, for all the nights you have imbibed wine and spilled your deepest secrets to him. To the doll, to a figment of your imagination. But it was him the whole time, and now he has revealed himself to you for you to love as deeply as you did that broken bundle of porcelain.

He loves you. You do too, right?

I didn’t tag any of my usuals bc I didn’t know who would want it but lmk if you want to be on my slasher x list!

#I was just working on my HoW fic and this manifested itself on the page #I love him 🥺#my skrunkly sweaty wall man #if I do a followup #it might be from readers pov idk #Brahms Heelshire #The Boy #The Boy (2016)#Brahms x reader #Brahms x y/n #Brahms x you #fanfic #my writing

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five-rivers · 2 months

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What Was Bound What Was Loosed Chapter 7

For Dannymay 2024 Day 2: Wish

AO3

Ellie gazed at the island skeptically.

“You’re sure it’s this one?” she asked.

Fright Knight grumbled.

“What was that? You don’t know, because the last five islands you brought us to were wrong?”

“I do not stalk this woman,” said Fright Knight. “Do you think I have a running tally of every place she has been, every home she has had, every whim she has pointlessly chased?”

“I mean, what else do you have to do? Be stuck in a pumpkin?”

“I have a vast variety of duties, your highness,” said Frostbite, stiffly.

“Uh huh,” said Ellie. “Sure. Whatever.” She started flying towards the island. Frostbite followed close behind her.

The island was arid, with few trees or other features. A circular building with an onion-shaped dome sat in the center.

“Are those glass bottles?” asked Ellie. “In the walls? Are they supposed to be windows?”

“I believe so,” said Fright Knight.

“A bit on point for a genie, isn’t it?”

“She does not like being called that,” said Fright Knight.

Really?”

“Really,” said Desiree, looming behind the pair.

“Oh, jeez, how do you do that? I thought I was sneaky.”

The corner of Desiree’s mouth twitched up. “I am what I must be. There are words you wouldn’t utter in my presence, and yet those same words are necessary to me.”

“Like, necessary necessary, or you just need them to do stuff?”

“Yes,” said Desiree, tail lashing back and forth, like a cat who had spotted a mouse. “But I assume you need something? No one seeks me out without a need.”

“Your king has a need,” said Frostbite.

Desiree stilled from the tip of her tail to the top of her head. “It’s true, then. It’s him.”

“If by him you mean Danny, then, yeah. They crowned him a while back.”

“And what makes him think that I’ll be any kinder with his wishes now than I was before?”

“Actually, I don’t think he knows we’re here,” said Ellie. “We kinda left without telling him.”

“Is that so?” asked Desiree. “What is it, then, that you two think I’ll help with? Money? Armies? Doesn’t he already have all of those things and more?”

“He’s having trouble sleeping,” said Ellie.

Desiree raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that it’s usually the other way around for new kings.”

“It was, for a while,” said Ellie with a shrug.

“And you want me to fix this?”

“We need some guarantees before you go all monkey’s paw on us, but yeah.”

The two older ghosts stared at her blankly.

“Wow, we’ve got to get you guys up to date on literature. I took lessons from Vlad for, like, a month, and I know that one.”

“Later,” said Fright Knight. “You would be handsomely rewarded if you could fix the king’s problem without… mischief.”

“Handsomely how?”

Ellie shrugged.

“I understand you have pretensions to a kingdom of your own,” said Fright Knight. “Our king is generous. You could have one, and be beholden only to him, no other.”

“Could,” said Desiree. “You have no guarantee of that. He doesn’t even know you’re here.”

“Then come with us to talk to him,” said Ellie.

“Talk to a new king? One so recently bound that he hasn’t even unmade anyone yet? One full of resentment and pain? My afterlife has flaws, but I enjoy it. Come back with an offer and a diplomat. Then we’ll talk.”

She turned away and disappeared into her house.

“Well,” said Ellie, “that could’ve gone better. Do we even have a diplomat?”

Fright Knight’s shoulders sloped ever so slightly. “No. Not yet.”

“You want me to what?” asked Vlad, peering at them over the cover of a large book. After being prevented from drinking himself to a second death, he had taken over a large set of rooms in the lower reaches of the palace, turning it into a sort of sad man cave.

“Be a diplomat.”

“On behalf of Daniel, I presume?”

“Who else?” asked Ellie with a shrug.

“And to whom?”

“Desiree.”

Vlad stared at her. “I'm too sober for this,” he said, finally. “Why would you even want me to do that?”

“Come on, don't be like that,” said Ellie. “You're the only person I know who is any good at negotiating and contracts and stuff.”

“Have you at least spoken to Daniel about it?”

“Is that really necessary? He's exhausted.”

“A state you are presumably trying to fix. You do realize, however, that my powers as a diplomat would derive directly from Daniel, and I would require his permission to act in his name.” He looked behind Ellie, where Fright Knight was standing. “Shouldn't you know about this?”

“It is good for the princess to learn it,” said Fright Knight.

Ellie stuck out her tongue at him.

“Come on, Vlad, you know this'll be easier to sell to Danny if we can show him an actual plan. And I know that figuring out what to give to Desiree will take a while. You know how badly Danny is sleeping. Help him out.”

Vlad sighed. “Very well. But both of you will be helping me with the research “

“Great,” said Ellie. “What first?”

“Organize my portal notes. They're in that cabinet, right there.

Ellie eyed the slightly moldy and water stained notes. “How… How do you even have these? Weren't they in your lab in your mansion?”

“I kept copies here in the Zone,” said Vlad. “I haven’t just sat around while you’ve been gone.”

“Really,” said Ellie.

“Don’t be so skeptical.”

Ellie squinted at the notes. “Are these in code?”

“Of course,” said Vlad. “I’m not careless enough to leave instructions for portals lying around where anyone could get them.”

“Uh huh. And how am I supposed to organize this if I can’t read it?”

“It’s a cipher I taught you,” said Vlad, waving her off. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Ellie sighed heavily and sat down next to Vlad. “This isn’t you trying to get back again, is it? Because I’m pretty sure that isn’t healthy.”

Vlad shot her a glare. “I haven’t been healthy since college, but, no. I am not chasing impossibilities. Am I not allowed to take pride in my own work? Am I not allowed to want to preserve it against future need?”

“Okay, okay. You don’t need to snap at me. How do you want me to sort these, anyway?”

“By topic, topics in alphabetical order,” said Vlad, already losing interest in her and returning to his book. Typical.

She huffed and looked up to rope Fright Knight in, but he was done. Wimp.

Clockwork had taken to carrying around a quilt.

Danny knew why. Now that he’d recovered somewhat from his coronation, he’d gone from borderline narcolepsy to insomnia, which, in turn, led to falling asleep when he was finally too exhausted to stay awake.

He didn’t like living like this, in a haze of permanent fatigue, his emotions raw from more than pain, more than the trauma of being bound as king, and he understood that Clockwork didn’t want him to act like this, either. The blanket was the closest he’d come to making a pointed remark about it. Well, maybe he should have thought about that before making Danny king.

And separating him from his home.

His friends.

Most of his family.

Most, because Ellie was here. In the Zone. Not in the palace. She and Fright Knight had disappeared somewhere the last couple of days, and since those days included Spectra coming to visit… Well, Danny couldn’t fault them for wanting to avoid him. He was awful company. But he was still unhappy about it. Especially the part where they left without telling him. At least, he couldn’t remember them telling him.

Danny’s current sleep habits were not conducive to memory retention.

So, he was unhappy. Layers of unhappy.

(And he also had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t just sent Spectra away, no matter what Clockwork said, and no matter that Clockwork had promised to be honest with him.)

A thrall approached and leaned close to Danny’s ear. Her highness has returned. Fright Knight has returned.

“Ellie’s back?” asked Danny. “And Fright Knight?” he added, as an afterthought.

There was a rattle of armor around one of the corners of the garden hedge and Danny looked up to see Fright Knight enter the small clearing around the fountain he was resting at.

“My liege,” said Fright Knight, by way of greeting. “I believe that I and the princess have found a solution to your sleeping problem.”

Oh, well, now Danny felt bad about being mad at them.

“What’s the solution?” asked Danny. He absently rubbed at the spot where the crown curled into his eye socket. He vaguely remembered Fright Knight saying something about Nocturne, and he desperately hoped that Fright Knight hadn’t dragged Nocturne here. He just… he couldn’t deal with Nocturne being here. He could barely deal with Clockwork and Fright Knight being here.

“The woman, Desiree,” said Fright Knight.

“Oh, wow,” said Danny. “That is… That sounds like a terrible idea.” Not to mention, Danny had no intention of letting anyone magic him to sleep, not after what had happened before.

“We could negotiate with her,” said Fright Knight. “She has desires as well.”

Danny opened his mouth to refuse, but hesitated. “What does she want?”

“A kingdom of her own.”

“I– Can I do that?” asked Danny.

“Yes,” said Clockwork. “Although finding such a kingdom residents is often difficult.”

“I… Is she here, too?”

“She wanted a diplomat,” said Fright Knight. “She forgets her place, but she could be useful.”

“Uh huh,” said Danny. He tried to lean back for a moment, forgetting that he was sitting on the edge of a fountain, and there was nothing behind him. Clockwork steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “You… Maybe we could invite her, or hire her, or whatever, but… not for sleep.”

“Then what, my liege?”

Danny shrugged. This was probably an even worse idea than asking her to help him sleep, but… He wanted to know what he had done to Spectra. And… if he had done something terrible, well.

Well.It couldn’t have happened to a better person for it, but… if he had… he wanted to fix it.

#dannymay #dannymay 2024 #danny phantom #phic #what was bound what was loosed #the chains of kings

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the5n00k · 1 year

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Character analysis essay: (kind of, it's mostly me just rambling)

The Ghost and Molly McGee and the concept of unconditional love and acceptance

‼️Spoilers ahead for both seasons 1 and 2!‼️

The Ghost and Molly McGee is one of the most special animated tv shows I've ever seen for several reasons but none quite as special to me as this. A ton of shows, especially on Disney channel, boast of their friendships between the main characters and their hijinks they get into but none have quite impacted me like the friendship between the two titular characters Molly and Scratch. I mean when I first watched this series in July after the season 1 finale, I expected to have a brief period of obsession, a few drawings, and then I'd move on. As you can tell by my blog, that did not happen. (For better and for worse)

People dismiss this show because of the more grounded slice of life episodic approach it takes but honestly I feel like that's it's strongest aspect. It allows the characters to have more moments where they can just slow down and connect. There's no urgent threat (save for a few episodes) that needs to be addressed or the world will end. The characters get to talk, react, and grow because of its slower pace. I say slower loosely because this show will also throw jokes at you harder and faster than an automatic tennis ball server but it knows when to take a moment seriously when it needs to. (This is also why season 1 Amphibia is my favorite and y'all can fight me for it.)

Now onto my main point; Molly and Scratch's relationship.

They start out rough. REALLY rough. They're not good for each other in the slightest. Scratch is mean and constantly trying to sabotage Molly and Molly is controlling, dragging Scratch along on her daily tasks even if he expresses how much he does not want to come along. But no matter how terrible they treat each other, there's still a level of care.

Take First Day Frights or The Unnatural for example. Scratch is more than willing to watch Molly fail until he sees her getting picked on, something he's experienced almost every day of his afterlife, possibly his living one too. He has this connection to her early on, he has this empathy. He'd never expressly admit it and he still tries his hardest to make her give up MANY times throughout season 1 either for his own amusement, thinking the effort isn't worth both of their time, or simply because he has to keep Brighton miserable. But seeing her upset always sets something off in him. And while he doesn't verbally admit he cares about her until the season finale, he does eventually acknowledge her as his best friend (although in that instance it was more to spite Libby) and acknowledge himself as part of her family. The most notable episodes that highlight their more stable relationship are season 1, 18-20 (for those unaware, that would be Out of House and Home/Home is Where the Haunt is, Scaring is Caring/All Night Plight, and The Jig is Up/Molly Vs the Ghost World)

Moving onto season 1 Molly now, she was controlling and seemed to enjoy annoying Scratch in almost a sibling-like behavior, poking him, teasing him, playing with his "hair" but the further you get into the series, the less annoying these feel and the more endearing they become. She also begins to respect his boundaries more, summoning him less and kind of letting him do his own thing in the general area while she has her own plot going on. (Goat Your Own Way and gags ... The Internship) And even after the curse is broken, she seems willing to let him move on away from her if that's what he really wants. She's more interested in his happiness now than her own. Letting go of that control is HUGE for her considering how much emphasis she put on him being her first forever friend. She didn't even expose him to Libby until she got his permission. I brought it up once and I'm bringing it up again dammit.

These two broken, mistreated, flawed people who found each other by complete coincidence would do anything and go to the ends of the earth for each other. And they did.

Moving onto season 2 I was terrified they would regress in some way from this. It was such a high note and a perfect end to their arc all throughout season 1, but now there was this new status quo. They were used to each other now. They could feel like completely different characters at this point. But they weren't, in fact they're even better.

They fight, they argue, they disagree on A LOT of things, but at the end of the day they're even more supportive and loving of each other than ever before.

They're not tearing each other down anymore, they're actively building each other up. Making the other a better person. Cheering them on. This even extends to the B characters like Libby and Darryl, they feel like a close-knit family. Even when they argue, the first thing they see when they say each other again is "I'm sorry" which is HUGE for Scratch, acknowledging fault was (and still is to some degree) really hard for him. They love each other no matter what. They've still got their issues, Molly still feels like she needs to burn herself out to make others happy and Scratch is still calloused and mean towards new additions to his social circle but that just makes them feel more authentic. I don't want them to be perfect. Watching them improve yet still struggle with the same issues they had at the start of the series makes them feel so real. For being a show that's mostly episodic with loose continuity, the development its characters go through is so slow burn sometimes you don't even notice it just binging the series. But if you jump back and forth between an early season 1 episode to a late/season 2 episode, it is STAGGERING.

Molly doesn't love Scratch because he stopped being mean. Scratch doesn't love Molly because she stopped being an overbearing ball of energy. They've loved each other in spite of that. They see past these flaws to their source and relate to the feelings they stem from. At their core, Molly and Scratch are exactly the same; social outcasts seemingly doomed to never having lasting connections. They just responded differently to what they had to go through, their two extremes are even similar in some ways with over possessiveness and insecurity. When Scratch was defending himself to Libby, he couldn't even name any of his redeeming qualities. And Molly still thought Scratch wanted to leave her in spite of everything. They're so torn from their experiences and that drives them closer together. I'm tearing up writing this.

They're broken but they're healing. They're best friends forever. One without the other would not be the same person. Although they aren't codependent, they've gotten along fine on solo adventures without the other needing to step in and solve their problem. They're healthy in their toxic behaviors because they call each other out. I don't consider a relationship toxic if there's noticeable improvement and growth. They're mature in their immaturity, their friendship is so simple and sincere. They enjoy each other's company and don't care who knows it. They're weirdos and so is everyone else they're friends with. Save for maybe Geoff. I don't think a single soul hates Geoff. I'm getting off topic but their friendship is something I always wanted.

They know they're broken, they know they're flawed and selfish at times. But they're trying. And that effort is sometimes all that one can ask for. The dream team for all eternity.

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm spoilers #character analysis #i cried writing this #legitimately i almost started violently sobbing over these cartoon characters #that's what thinking about their relationship does to me #they're such besties #i hope they never change but also change for the better #if that makes any sense #my poor broken meow meows #i want to hug them so hard all their trauma goes away

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sepublic · 16 days

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From Pilot to Canon, Luz and Eda

With my belief that No Tree Left Behind was boarded as part of the pilot continuity (hence Lilith's depiction), I want to bring up that I think there's kind of a subtle difference between Luz in that episode, or 'Pilot Luz', and Canon Luz as we got in the actual animated show.

With Canon Luz, she's a more brash, confident individual, who can get in over her head; King mentions that she smells of overconfidence, plus there's Luz recklessly getting into stuff like in Covention or Enchanting Grom Fright in the heat of the moment. She has this overwhelming energy and enthusiasm that's unstoppable, but as a result she can sometimes forget about the people around her, hence Wing it like Witches.

And a lot of that has to do with Luz's relationship with The Good Witch Azura in canon, because it means that the Boiling Isles is her fantasy!!! It's her chance, it's her adventure, it's what Manny would push her to go for! So she gives it her all. And in the latter half of the show, Luz's willingness to go at any cost, even to her own detriment, borders on self-sacrifice. In a way she's secretly atoning for her own existence, it's like... 'Socially acceptable' self-harm by risking herself.

So there's a difference in Pilot Luz during NTLB, who is much more averse to the martyr idea; She's a lot more scared and reluctant to fight for Arborgeist, and in a moment of crisis admits she doesn't quite get what Eda is so worked up about. And this makes me think of how the in the pilot continuity, there isn't that same relationship with Azura; The pitch bible reveals we would've had an episode where it's revealed to be written by an ex of Eda's about her, so you can guess that Luz drops it afterwards.

And as the pilot even shows us, Luz didn't choose to be in the Boiling Isles! And in lieu of my latest reblog, that feels relevant because Dana mentioned how in the final show, Luz choosing that was so incredibly important; It was a foundational change to the character's storyline. Luz wants to be here, she wants to risk it, this is the adventure and if she gets bruised up, it's okay. Us weirdoes have to stick together, she declares passionately as she rallies a bunch of strangers against Warden Wrath in the first episode. She becomes in canon the kind of passionate, righteous person who will talk your ear off about a thing and she's right about it.

So looking at the difference between first episodes, it tracks that Pilot Luz is much more reluctant and just trying to survive, hence her not 'getting' Arborgeist, in the sense that she doesn't see what's worth potentially dying over. Whereas with Canon Luz, I think she'd be more than willing to deep dive into this culture and play the hero, she's a social activist.

This isn't to trash on Pilot Luz btw, nor canon Luz; I just find it fascinating to consider how her character has changed and developed, how the story has, and how the difference in first episodes alludes to this. First episodes are very important, they can establish a lot of the core themes and ideas and Dana herself confirmed the significance of certain differences from the initial pilot. So it's fascinating seeing that difference in action, shown to us, rather than having to be told, since normally we couldn't watch the pilot storyboards to see for ourselves. Pilot Luz and Canon Luz are different characters with different flaws and circumstances, and they're both beautiful in their own ways for it.

I'd even argue that in a canon episode like WilW, Luz ends up playing the role Eda has in NTLB! And her stepping down after realizing she (might) hurt a loved one who was dragged into this, only for them to understand how much they care and come back to help for that reason... The story beats live on. Canon Luz would probably be thrilled to see Pilot Eda show so much care about something when she normally doesn't; Whereas Canon Eda becomes more of a practical guardian who's reining her kid in out of experience, because she's been hurt herself and is worried, and a tad pessimistic.

It's like the dynamics between Luz and Eda reversed from pilot to canon, with a scared and reluctant kid and her mentor who can push her too much sometimes; And now it's this overconfident, excited kid who wants to try everything and thinks she's invincible, with her jaded mentor who's a realist but also she cares more than you realize and wants to provide a safety net, being surprisingly thoughtful at times.

It makes sense, because again going back to my last reblog, Luz being more enthusiastic about the isles was to also help her foil other characters better, including Eda, and vice-versa. So it's possible Eda was changed to lean more into her pragmatic mentor role -Not that she doesn't still have her irresponsible, reckless moments- while bouncing off of Luz's new enthusiasm, which can lead to conflict like Luz wanting to try the newest magic and Eda not being in the mood, which leads to Luz being a bit reckless (take for example The Intruder).

Eda being more tired and jaded could also tie to the development of her curse as a disability that exhausts her, since in the pilot continuity the curse only made her age more; In canon, it does that AND messes with her magic stores, which leads to more exhaustion! In addition to becoming a beast. And with Eda becoming disillusioned with the isles due to her traumatic experiences, Luz acts as the light in her life to reignite her passion, which leads to Eda taking a more proactive role against Belos in S2!

She believes in her efficacy more because of how Luz changes the isles because of Eda, which makes Eda become more of an agent for social change as she starts to believe she can make a difference again, just as she did as a teen in IFWOT. Maybe Eda's curse isn't something to feel shame over anymore, maybe she shouldn't let it stop her from rallying everyone...!

Thus, there's not just a difference between Pilot and Canon Luz, but also Pilot and Canon Eda in NWLB. Though I imagine Canon Eda would still help to defend the Arborgeist tree, I'm not as sure about her confidence in attempting to rally others to do the same; She's got that loner vibe who assumes she has to do everything on her own because her own family and lover wouldn't support Eda in her defiance to the coven... But now she does have support in Luz. And King. And some of those loved ones are turning around too, no thanks to Luz's arrival inspiring some!

All this helps culminate in the S1 finale with Eda being used as a rallying cry against Belos, signaling the beginning of the end for his regime as she inspires not just a kid like Luz but other youths like Gus and Willow, and even helps chaperone Grom after avoiding Hexside for years; Eda’s really starting to believe again and she admits that Luz has gotten into her head as the cause.

#the owl house #the owl house pilot #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #edalyn clawthorne #meta #analysis #character analysis

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forever-rogue · 1 year

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Okay you said you wanted angst and I have an idea (although it ends well because the world is already a cruel place, let’s not make it worse)

Anywhooooo: reader and Joel (and Ellie—doesn’t change much if she’s here or not) walked all day in the forest, it’s getting dark so they stop for the night once they find a place. Problem: Joel realizes he lost his watch. He completely loses it and Reader doesn’t understand why the fuck he’s getting so upset over a watch that doesn’t even work anymore. He snaps at her and they go to sleep both upset—him because he lost the last tangible thing of Sarah, the last thing that meant she actually existed and lived and isn’t just a memory; her because her partner can be a real jerk sometimes. Obviously, neither of them can sleep and after hearing Joel move, reader decides to join him; she’s aware that his outburst probably comes from something deeper and he explains to her why the watch matters so much. She vaguely knew about the family he lost (they all lost someone so she kinda guessed it) but she had no idea of the how and who he lost. anyway Joel realizes it’s over, his daughter is really gone. He knows his daughter is slowly slipping from his memory, everything is getting more and more blurry by the day and the watch was all he could hold onto. Reader has never seen him so vulnerable and her heart truly aches for the man. He has a lot of flaws and a baffling ability to keep a frown all day long but she knows he’s a good man deep (deep deep) down and he’s been through a lot. Anyways they go back to their sleeping bags but reader doesn’t sleep, she waits and slips out of her bag, takes a small lamp and starts walking backwards. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, she knows. Joel is probably going to realize she’s gone and freak out, she knows. But she will find that damned watch. Finally when she comes back, Joel is pissed and when I say pissed, I mean pissed. He’s so angry that he’s just giving reader an earful, telling her how she’s reckless and stupid and really, all very logical things after the fright he had. Reader just moves closer, takes the watch and tightly wraps it around Joel’s wrist “don’t lose it this time.” You can add to this or maybe change the ending a bit but yeah, have fun 😅

i've been sitting on this for a while but it's so good i don't have much to add 😭 this is just 🤌🏻 but i will add:

joel's left speechless, still angry about how impulsive you were and how easily something could have happened; he had no clue what he would do if something ever happened to you - he did, he would hunt down and kill anyone that did anything to you.

and then, you know, after he's gotten over himself, he'll apologize to you and you'd be hard pressed not to forgive him. it does take a lot of groveling - and kisses - but you could never stay mad at your lover.

#･:*:･♡･:*:･♡ message received #nonnie this was so good #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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heytherehowdyworld · 8 months

Text

Saturday Night Frights

Summary: Eddie's an angel. Your boyfriend kind of really sucks.

Disclaimer: Y'all I haven't written anything narrative in months and this popped out. The pacing is weird, there's more show than tell, and I do not have time to edit it properly. Bear with me, man. This content is like totally relatable to other people, right? Right?

WC: ~13k

Warnings: language; obviously MDNI bc this is NOT a blog for kids; poor characterisation and general story flaws; way too many commas. Enjoy.

“And that’s what I said!” You say emphatically into the phone, the grimace lining your face bleeding into the theatricality of your tone.

“But he still said no?” One floppy-haired Munson replies, pure derision lining his voice. “You went over the importance of Tolkien’s amendments in The Hobbit as they relate to the Lord of the Rings and he still ‘doesn’t get why you need two copies of the book’? What a loser.”

You snort, ever-amused at how intensely Eddie reacted to fantastical media matters. It was nice to have someone with common interests, especially since your boyfriend of six months felt no need to learn anything more about you than your shift start and end times.

The door to the bar smacks lightly against the opposite wall as you open it. “Right? But I’m supposed to remember the names of every World of Warfare character?” “What a dick.” The phone echoes weirdly as you reach the backroom, Eddie’s voice ringing through both in person and on the mobile. You end the call with a smile. “Tell me about it.”

Eddie startles, grinning when he sees you. He slips his phone into one pocket of the Tardis-like denim jacket he always wears, tilting his head at you.

“Why do you still hang around this guy, then?” The smile on his face tells you he’s not entirely serious asking the question, but with all the other flaws in your romantic relationship — which you’ve spent time telling Eddie about — it feels abrasive.

You sigh. “He’s nice to me, Eds. We get along.”

“We get along too,” he shrugs, “so?”

“It’s different between you and me, you know that. Matt and I are dating so it’s good to have our own things, right?”

“There’s a difference between ‘having your own thing’ and ‘ditching your girlfriend on date night because the boys asked you to play another round with them’,” Eddie gives you a pointed look, shucking off his jacket and hanging it up on a stray hook. He busies himself by tying the customary apron around his narrow hips, unaware of the way your eyes linger on the flex of his fingers as he does so.

“That only happened twice,” you rebut, shrugging off your own coat and hanging it neatly by his, “and he apologised for it.” Without saying more, you offer Eddie your apron by habit. He takes it from you gently, brows furrowed in thought.

“You could ask Ted to get you an apron with longer straps,” he deflects, his careful fingers wrapping the material around you, tying it with practiced precision. This action had become commonplace since a few weeks after you’d started working here, when Eddie had noticed your trouble with tying the narrow threads behind your back. And while yes, it was true you had a problem with securing the apron on you before your shifts, it was specifically Eddie you went to for help because there was something far too comforting about the way his large hands circled your waist whenever he did.

“Longer straps won’t stop my fingers from getting caught in the knot when I try to tie them, Eds.” You nod your head in thanks, stepping away from him to put your hair up in a comfortable bun.

Eddie hums, still deep in distracted thought.

“We’re good, Matt and I.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the ice machine in the serving area of the bar. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Eddie makes a slight sound of disagreement, but before anything more can be said of the matter, your co-worker Nicola walks in.

“Hi guys,” she waves, pierced lips parted in a grin. Her leather jacket creaks as she hangs it up, tinny metal music still playing through the headphones balancing around her neck.

“How was your weekend?” Eddie asks as you watch Nicola check her eyeliner in the mirror hanging above the oddly-placed backroom sink. As per usual, she’s used a graphic liner to test out a new pattern — spiders hanging from the outer corners of her eyes to tide in the hallowe’en season today.

She groans, eyes rolling up in annoyance. “My fuckin’ landlord decided to play music all night Friday,” Friday being the one day off Nicola had for the week, the others filled with classes and odd shifts at the bar, “which was terrible. Then, when I asked him to not do that again on Saturday, he threatened to evict me. And then he did it again! Saturday and Sunday!”

A sympathetic ‘humph’ leaves your throat, and you make an attempt at humour by outlining a plot to exact revenge on her landlord. Nicola laughs kindly, focussing behind you at Eddie once more.

“And yours?” Nicola braces herself on the edge of the sink, one brow arched in artful inquisition as a finger plays with a few loose strands of hair.

Flirting with him.

You suddenly feel a little out of place, existent, but no longer necessary to the conversation.

Eddie shrugs at her, signature grin igniting the dimple in his cheek. “Worked closing on Saturday, slept all day Sunday. The usual.”

You slip away, into the bar, and begin arranging liquors for tonight. The sounds of Nicola and Eddie engaged in happy discussion are quieter here, easier to ignore.

It feels wrong, bad, to be in a relationship and still yearn for your coworker and friend. There’s no reason for jealousy to pool in your stomach at the thought of Eddie and Nicola in a relationship, but it does anyway, and it makes you ill.

Really, if you hadn’t been dating Matt before you’d started working here you’d also try flirting with the man in question. And that fact disgusts you.

“Where’d you disappear to, sweets?” Eddie slides in next to you, the narrow space between each side of the bar resulting in the heat of his body warming you as he passes. The tip of his thumb brushes against you as he moves, trailing a hot line across the small of your back.

You cough, trying to dispel the want for his warmth blooming in you. “Just wanted to get ready for opening. It’s almost five.”

Eddie nods, glancing behind you as Nicola enters the small bar. Together, the three of you ready the space in preparation for its opening time. Chairs are taken off tables, odd dust is wiped away, and glasses are dried in advance.

The night itself passes steadily enough, and gossip is passed around between serving tables and shaking up cocktails.

It’s the next evening that Matt comes to visit you, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes as he greets you where you stand behind the bar. He’s brought you a treat, as a surprise, a small coconut-flavoured cupcake. You thank him, grinning, all the while mentally planning to pass it off to Nicola. She likes coconut, you never have.

It’s fine though, an easy thing to forget, and you take the kind gesture for what it is: thoughtful.

“Do I get a kiss, baby?”

“Matt, I’m at work, you know I can’t.”

“No one’s watching us.”

He’s right, a glance to either side of you will prove as much — Eddie is busy chatting up one of the groups of older women that frequent the bar, valued regulars who you’re convinced only come because they have a crush on him; Nicola and Robin are working alongside you but on the far side of the bar, busy prepping some complicated-looking cocktails and chatting up the patrons.

“Matt,” you implore, voice almost a whine.

“Just one kiss.” Matt leans over the bartop and into your personal space, drawing the attention of some regular who comes around often enough that you’d consider him a friend.

“You alrigh’?” The man asks, tone gruff.

A soft smile mollifies him enough to return to his drink and stare once again off into the middle-distance. Matt garners your attention again, and you nod in the hopes that it will pacify him.

“Just the one?” You double-check.

Matt smirks, “mhm.”

You bend at the hip, almost on your tiptoes to reach Matt over the high bartop. He leans the rest of the way over, thankfully, and you grant him a chaste peck. Before you can pull away, however, his hand wraps around the back of your neck and draws you back towards him.

The kiss deepens, turning into something that’s half tongue and all messy, and a sound of disgruntlement leaves your throat.

You finally manage to push Matt away, hands braced against his firm chest. “You said one, Matt,” your voice is chastising, but there’s no malice in it.

“Couldn’t help myself, baby.”

Your brows furrow, and you can’t help but remember the last time something similar happened. He’d aid the same then, too, pacifying apologies and sugar-sweet smiles to win your forgiveness. “Matt, I’m at work. Please help yourself next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll try to, baby. It’s hard to around you.”

“You said the same thing last time.”

Matt scowls, the action sprouting wrinkles across his nose, up his forehead. “Baby, why are you getting so stuck on this? It’s not even a big deal. Just a kiss. I don’t know why you’re getting all mad at me for it.”

He stands up, and you panic.

“I’m not,” you reach over the bar to catch his hand as he begins to stand, worried that you’ve said something wrong. “I’m not mad, honey. Just don’t want to get fired, y’know? Company policy that we can’t french the customers, and all.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, scowling. At least he’s sitting again.

“Are you mad at me?” Your voice is wan, scared.

Matt crosses his arms, shrugging. “No.”

“It’s just, you sound mad…”

“Jesus fucking christ, I’m not mad, okay? You wanted me to leave you alone so I’m leaving you alone.”

“Right.” Somehow, you don’t believe him, that aching in your chest that you’ve screwed up blossoming into something near-lethal. The urge to apologise consumes you. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Whatever.”

The rest of the night goes in much the same way, with you checking in on a moping Matt every fifteen minutes to make sure you haven’t irreparably damaged your relationship. You offhandedly notice him watching Nicola and Robin, calling them over to order drinks instead of you, and it hurts.

Even more so, you’re slightly offended when Robin comes up to you with sorry eyes and apologises for it, as though it’s her fault he’d been giving her attention. You’re not mad at her, you don’t think you could ever be, but you do find your mind drifting to comparisons between your appearances.

And that’s the state of mind Eddie finds you in minutes later, still stuck in a rut where you’re listing all the ways Robin and Nicola are better than you. Shorter, because guys like that, right? Skinnier, maybe he thinks clothes lay better on her? Hotter, because of the tattoos? Funnier, because-

“Y’alright, pretty girl?” Eddie braces his elbows against the bartop, clearly taking a break from his club of adoring fangirls.

“All good,” you smile at him, eyes uncontrollably woebegone.

Eddie hums, leaning down to get closer to you. “Do you want me to believe that?” He asks, somehow reading you to dirt despite your best efforts to mask the insecurity biting at you.

“Most people believe the truth, Eds. So, yes.”

The sound he makes in reply is less than agreeable, but he nonetheless backs off. “How’s Matt?”

“Eds,” you say, a degree of warning lacing the word.

“What? If you’re all good then why shouldn’t I ask about Mr Skulk over there. Especially since he’s staring right at us.”

Hands busy cleaning off a glass, you glance slightly to the side to find that Matt is indeed glaring at you.

“Bad day at work, probably. Nothing you’ve to worry about.”

Eddie shrugs, silent for the moment, and leaves you be with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder.

“What the fuck was that?” Matt asks the moment you’re seated in his car.

“What do you mean?” You’re tired, your cheeks hurt from smiling all shift, and your head is starting to hurt with the terrible thoughts you had circling your mind the entire time you worked.

“Don’t play dumb, okay? I know that guy was flirting with you.”

You press your fingers against your temples, the action helping none. “Eddie wan’t flirting with me, Matt. He just wanted to know if everything was okay. Just checking in on me.”

“Oh, so you’re saying he didn’t touch you, then?” Matt starts the car, movements abrupt and aggressive.

“He touched my shoulder, Matt. It was just a friendly touch.”

“You’ve got to be all sorts of dumb if you don’t think he’s into you. I don’t want you being friends anymore, okay?”

“Matt…" “Me or him, babe. Take your pick. I don’t want you being around men who want you in their beds, and I don’t think that’s a big thing to ask of my fucking girlfriend. Unless you’d rather be his girl?”

“Matt, you know I love you.” Matt speeds through a red light, and your hands grip either side of your seat. “Matt… Matt, please slow down, I love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d stop being friends, or whatever you call it, with that freak.”

“We work together, Matt. It’s not that easy.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make it up to me some other way,” he says, looking at you with a kind of feral gleam in his eye that causes goosebumps to rise along your skin.

You know what he wants, it’s what he always wants, and for all the love you hold for him you really don’t think you’re ready for that step.

And his reaction is the same as always when you tell him so.

He drops you off at your place, speeding off before you can say much more, and remains radio silent for the next week.

He texts you on Wednesday, eight days after the “argument”, asking you to meet on Monday before work. You agree, thrilled that he still cares about you, hoping you can make your inadequacies up to him.

Sunday is a difficult day, the first weekend shift you’ve had to work in a while. There’s customers filling the small bar from opening until closing, and because you offered to take over Robin’s shift so that she could flirt some more with a girl at her other job — in a bookstore, no less — you’re utterly exhausted. The thought of seeing Matt the next day truly does smooth things over, though, makes it easier to smile for the men who insist that they’d treat you right, if you just gave them a chance.

So, when you wake the next morning with your legs throbbing and tired as they always are after a long shift, it’s with a grin.

You’re excited to see him. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to spend time just one-on-one with each other, without the addition of either his friends or his roommate or your coworkers to lessen the intimacy of your shared moments.

This will be good, it’ll quell the worries flurrying within you, the thought that maybe Matt doesn’t feel for you what you do for him, the thoughts that maybe Eddie would be better.

Your phone, buried somewhere beneath yesterday’s clothes, rings. “Robin?” You say by way of greeting, mind still sleep-addled and groggy.

“Ok, so you know that girl I was telling you about?”

Yawning, you hazard a guess, “Lisa?”

“Aimee. Well, I asked her out and she said yes!” Robin’s voice turns almost shrill as the phone struggles to translate her excitement, a squeaky glitching that makes your ear hurt. “So I need you to help me pick out something to wear. Something that says I’m a lesbian, but my soulmate is a guy, but I like, really really love women.”

“That might be hard to do, Robbie. Why don’t I just get you a shirt that says all of that instead?”

“Come on, please? You’re my last hope.”

“Why can’t you ask Steve for help?” The duvet rustles beneath you as you stand, finally ready to prepare for the day ahead. “Since he’s your soulmate and all.”

“‘Cause he’s a dude. He’s gonna tell me to wear a low-cut shirt and a short skirt and like, that is hot, but does it really look gay?”

You chuckle, heading to the small kitchen of your apartment. “Sounds like you’re stereotyping here, Robs. Tsk tsk.”

“You know what I mean,” she whines, “if I take advice from a straight dude on what to wear, I’ll end up being appealing to other straight dudes. I need your feminine sensibilities. Make me look like I’m a pussy-eating champion.”

“Robin,” you laugh, feminine sensibilities shocked by her brashness. “Fine. What time is your date?”

“Six.”

“Alright,” with your phone knocking on death’s door, you manage to send a quick text to Matt alerting him of this new appointment — ‘Is it okay if I meet Robin later today?’. “I’m meeting Matt for breakie in a bit, and afterwards I’ll head over to yours?”

“Text me when you’re on your way.” The phone call ends with the customary ‘love you, love you too’ alongside best wishes on your breakfast date. You look at the clock, surprised you’d managed to wake up with so much time in the day to spare.

Matt had asked you to meet him for eleven, so you have two hours to shower and dress. You decide to pull out all the stops in an effort to impress him.

After a thorough shower — body hairless as one of those raw-chicken-looking cats and shining with some shimmer body lotion you’d been gifted a birthday or two ago — you look over your closet. It’s warm today, but cloudy on the horizon, so you opt for a comfortable sweater and dark-coloured skirt.

By the time you’ve done your makeup to a degree that suits you and twisted your hair into something comfortable, it’s ten forty-five. You decide, then, that it’s time to head over to Matt’s place. He always had valued punctuality.

Matt’s apartment is on the third storey, and you feel a cosmic gratitude at that fact because the lift is still out and you don’t think you’d manage to climb more flights of stairs than you already have to. Finding his flat when you’ve passed this obstacle is easy enough, front door marked by evidently college-boy humour.

The “babes this way” doormat stares at you as you knock on the door, afraid to ring the doorbell because last time you had it Matt had gotten so startled he’d hit his head against his bedroom door. The impact had been so hard that it had cracked almost in two, logwood splintering with every touch. It had taken you a few hours and a lot of grovelling to make sure that his landlord didn’t blame Matt for the accident — after all, it had been your action that had caused his reaction.

Needless to say, you were now wary about using the bell unnecessarily.

You knock again, rolling from the balls of your feet to your heels as you wait for an answer. When still you hear no sign of life, and the clock on your phone says it’s eleven-ten already, you try the doorknob.

It opens under your hand, pushing in to reveal the apartment expanse to you. While normally you’d have no qualms with entering Matt’s house, the idea of doing so without him stalls you some. Would he consider it invasive? But you had plans today, for this time, so maybe he lost track of time while getting ready and left the door open for you to enter when you got here?

The latter option does seem likely, although you can barely count on one hand the times he’s done something similar. Still, by Occam’s Razor, it makes sense.

You step into the short hallway and toe off your shoes, calling out for Matt. No one answers, but somewhere within the flat you think you hear muffled conversation.

You make it to the door to his bedroom before realising the sounds for what they really are — hushed moans and laboured grunts that make you nervous. Maybe he’s working out?

“Matt?” The door opens quietly as you step into his room.

The first thing you notice is its general disarray. Clothes are thrown about everywhere, feminine and masculine alike. You spy a pair of panties tossed over Matt’s study desk in the corner of the room. On the carpet, a heel eyes you mockingly.

Next, your eyes focus on the small pack of condoms on the nightstand that has been completely torn open. Little metal packets glint in the mid-morning light, spread about the small table and around the floor beneath it.

And of course, the most notable thing you see is the woman balanced on your boyfriend’s hips, riding him into oblivion. Her motions don’t stop as you enter, don’t stop as you take the whole scene in, don’t stop as you finally realise what this is and scream because how else should you react?

The girl screams too, shocked utterly. She hides beneath the blankets, and you can’t fault her for being surprised at the invasion. Hell, if it were the other way around, you’d be hiding too.

But Matt looks at you in a way that makes you think he’s not fully present, mentally. Generous as you are, you decide to bring him back into his body by tossing some odd socks lying on the floor at him.

You turn and leave, quickly, as he begins shouting. His bedroom door slams against its frame, the thin wood even less of a barrier than you thought it would be because now that you know what’s going on behind it, it’s difficult to mistake the sounds for anything else.

Matt lets loose some strangled cries, somewhere between pleasure and panic. You don’t care to figure out what he’s trying to say through them, pulling on your shoes with blurry eyes and throwing open the front door.

You make it halfway down exterior hallway before he catches up to you, swinging out his front door to yell “stop!” in your direction.

“Save it, Matt.”

“Please, baby, it’s-“

You round on him, pissed beyond belief at yourself for not seeing the signs, at the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and most of all at him for doing this to you. “It’s what, Matt? ‘Not what it looks like’? ‘Not real’?”

“God, what is fucking wrong with you? You barge into my apartment and then get mad at me when you see something you didn’t want to? Are you fucking insane or something, thinking you can invade my privacy like that?”

“Invading your privacy, Matt? We had a date today, one that you clearly forgot about, and I thought you’d left the door open for me. Must’ve been stupid to think you’d ever even imagine doing something like that for little old me.”

“It’s all your fault anyway, you know? ‘Cause you’re such a prude, frigid, bitch I had to find entertainment somewhere else.”

Your throat closes around any words that you might’ve begun saying, hurt taking over where anger had burned.

“What?” The word comes out more broken than you would have liked, and you make up for its weakness by running through the stairway door. You don’t want to hear the answer to your question. You don’t want to break down in the middle of the hallway, in front of Matt.

He walks after you, leaning over the third storey railing to call you a “bitch” a few more times. “Wouldn’t have to fuck other women if you just did your job right.”

In your car, you beeline for Robin’s place. You know that it’s probably not right, helping her prepare for the flush of new love when your relationship is falling to pieces, but you also can’t let her down. You said you’d show up, so you will.

You’ll bury the hurt because Robin deserves for this date to go well.

“Hi!” Robin is smiling more widely than you think you’ve ever seen, practically glowing with excitement.

“You seem excited,” you let her joy be contagious, revelling in the purity of it.

She blushes, inviting you in by way of walking further into the house and assuming you’ll follow. “Me? What reason could I possibly have to be excited?”

“None, I suppose.” You pull off your shoes, placing them neatly beside each other in the doorway. “Have you thought any more about what you’ll wear? Maybe had some breakthroughs?”

Robin shakes her head, bobbed hair twirling around her with the force of the movement. Her room, when you enter it on her tail, is in utter disarray. Skirts, shirts, dresses, pants, and all sorts of hard-to-discern items of clothing lay about the place in a way that makes you question just how she managed to make such a mess by herself.

“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be,” she says, pointing to a pile of clothes in a way that you presume means they’re contenders in the race for tonight’s outfit. “It’s only twelve thirty.”

“We, uh… ended up cutting it short. Matt had some things to take care of. No biggie.”

“Oh, babe, I’m sorry.”

You shrug, putting on a sweet smile for her, “it happens. So, tell me more about this Aimee?”

And Robin does, the adorable nervousness of going on a first date shining through in her words. This Aimee character, though you’ve never met her, seems absolutely wonderful.

Robin manages to spend almost an hour listing her attributes, and another hour just gushing over her. In that time, you manage to piece together a few potential date outfits, weed out some items of clothing that Robin had long since forgotten she owned, and found a few things to borrow from her.

“Ok, I’m thinking this is good?” Robin twirls, flare-leg pants following the movement. The outfit itself is simple enough, and considering they’d decided on a casual movie date, it seems fitting: jeans, a tight-fitting button-up vest, and a turtle-neck underneath that. She looks good, and you have the impression that she feels good too.

“I’m thinking hell yeah, Robs. You look great. I’ll be surprised if Aimee doesn’t jump your bones the second you meet her.”

“You know I never put out on a first date.”

You laugh, and it doesn’t feel as forced as you thought it would.

Spending these few hours with Robin has been lovely. It’s been refreshing, and the weight on your shoulders is lessened some as you say goodbye to her, heading to work.

Everything is good — greyscale, still melancholy, but good — until you walk into the backroom and Matt is standing there and you gasp and Eddie immediately just knows everything. His face falls as he looks between you and Matt, grin disappearing, and no amount of prompting from Nicola drags his attention back to her and the conversation they’d clearly been having before.

With a quick apology in her vague direction, he steps over to you.

You can’t control it, can’t stop it, and luckily Eddie envelops you in a hug before the first tears fall. He manages to manoeuvre you into the small bathroom across from the bar, the resounding click of the lock working as almost a trigger to the sobs fighting free of your throat.

“What’s going on?” Eddie whispers against your head, running a soothing hand through your hair. “Tell me what’s happening, darling?”

“Matt and I…” You don’t manage to finish the sentence, the burning “I walked in on him with another woman” sour in your throat. You don’t have to, though, because Eddie always knows.

Eddie wraps his arms tighter around you, if such a feat were possible with the way he’s already positively squeezing you. “I figured it was something like that when he showed up here, askin’ about you. Sorry I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“S’not your fault, Eds.”

“Maybe, but you’re still my responsibility.”

Your heart soars. “You’re too nice to me,” you say, warmed by his concern as always.

“As nice as you deserve,” he presses his lips to your forehead, “wanna tell me what happened?”

You did, you did, because you wanted the support of your friends and you couldn’t ruin Robin’s date, but now Eddie was here and asking you and it was nice. Your chest bloomed with warmth.

And then bloomed with embarrassment, fear, mortification.

“Just, uh…”

“No judgement,” he said, hands tracing a comforting line up and down your back. And you knew there wouldn’t be, this was Eddie.

You inhaled and exhaled a few times, hoping the action would soothe you, steady you. “Matt, he, uh… we had plans for breakfast, and I got to his this morning… I guess he forgot, or something, and there was this girl there and I…”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. What a dick, I should’ve known you shouldn’t trust him based on his choice of DnD class. I mean, who picks a bard and then plays it straight?”

You giggle, wiping away tears with the palm of your hand with a sniffle. Eddie’s eyes flicker across your face, small grin dimpling his cheek in reflection of your expression. Shame still squeezes your throat, though, choking you up.

Eddie, ever aware of your emotional state, notices. “Is there something else, sweets?”

Before you can answer, Matt’s voice rings through the door, angered. The door creaks as he knocks on it, and Eddie gently moves you behind him.

“The fuck do you want, man?” He yells over the noise, one hand wrapped around your bicep and other spread out in front of him.

Matt’s voice is loud in the silence from the cessation of his action. You shiver, not necessarily scared that he’ll hurt you but worried nonetheless. You don’t want him to shout at you, don’t want to see him mad in your space. Don’t want Eddie to see your reaction at Matt being cross with you.

“Is she in there with you?” Eddie looks down at you, silently asking for the next move.

“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m here.” The three steps to the door feel like a mile, but you manage to reach it and click open the lock. Matt stands there, Nicola behind him, and if you hadn’t spent six months getting to know his habits you’d think the slouched stance he sports is casual. Instead, your eyes focus on his flaring nostrils and clenched fists.

You step away from the door, waving him in. He declines.

Matt is abrasive as he asks, “can he leave?” chin jutting in Eddie’s direction.

It’s impossible to look away from Matt, but you can picture Eddie’s face at this moment — concerned, caring. “I’d rather he not.” When Eddie, behind you, makes a noise as though to disagree, you reiterate the sentiment.

“I’d like him to stay, please."

Matt rolls his eyes, entering the small bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Nicola’s prying eyes look through the crack as it closes, and you don’t blame her for the interest. You just hope the door is thick enough that she can’t hear the conversation to come.

You start, worried that if you wait Matt will explode. “I’m sorry for running away from you today.”

“Not going to apologise for barging into my apartment, no?”

The pebble in your chest grows into a boulder, air leaving your lungs. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

“Dude,” Eddie cuts in, “doesn’t matter what she did, you cheated on her.”

Matt’s brows pull together, stress lines marking his forehead. He steps forward once more, hand reaching for yours, and his mouth shapes a grimace when he feels the tremor in your fingers. It looks real, genuine, but his eyes are sharp and dangerous.

“Baby,” Matt implores, “I’m so sorry. It didn’t mean anything to me, she doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just hard, y’know?”

You nod, a slight movement that brings a frightening sparkle to Matt’s eye. He trails a hand up your arm, embracing you closely, and you let him pull you into the hard planes of his chest.

It feels awkward, sure, Matt’s hugs always do, but it’s the sentiment in the hug that counts.

“Just been hard to not get that kind of attention, baby. You’ve been holding out on me, right? Needed to go to someone else to take care of me, didn’t I?”

Eddie grunts somewhere behind you.

Matt’s words hurt, but on the best of days he makes you feel wanted. Makes you feel desirable, even if you’re not ready for that step. He’s been patient, you think, kind with the way you’re uncomfortable with intimacy.

“Yeah,” you agree, halfheartedly.

“Yeah.” Matt’s arms tighten around you, breath catching in your chest. “You forgive me, right?”

You nod, then vocalise again, “yeah.”

Eddie coughs, and it’s fake in a way that you know is meant to make a point.

Matt lets you go, slightly, just to look over your shoulder at Eddie. From your vantage point pressed against his ribcage, you can only feel as Matt’s muscles prick with the movements of what you’re sure is a silent conversation with him.

Eddie leaves the room, the clunk of his boots only ceasing for a second as he reaches the space where Matt is holding you close. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice pitched low not for the purpose of privacy, but to make it apparent that his words are only for you to respond to.

“‘M okay, Eds. Thank you.”

And Eddie leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

Things were good for two weeks.

Almost as though he were crushed by guilt, Matt played the part of the doting boyfriend with all the vigour of an actor shooting for an Oscar.

Flowers showed up in the backroom every day you had a shift, red roses and lilies, and you’d come back to your flat with him having cooked a meal often enough that you worried for the state of your pans — though, of course, it was the thought that counted, you were tired of spending hours scrubbing the burnt-on food off of them after dinner, as Matt relaxed with a movie.

Still, things were good.

Eddie still checked on you every once in a while, kind touches on the small of your back as you read the little notecard supplied with the flower bouquets; versions of “love you baby”, “would wait forever for you”, “whenever you’re ready”. You’d smile up at him, make an off comment about how kind Matt is, how considerate and thoughtful, and go on with your day.

If only the flowers made you feel as confident in your relationship as Matt seemed to be. He’d show up at least once a day when you were on shift and shower you with praise, go for kisses and hugs even though you were working.

Things were good.

They had to be. Matt was putting in so much effort, trying his absolute best, and yet there was this niggling feeling that something was wrong. Shit, you felt guilty at the thought.

“Baby!” Matt leans over the bartop, lips pursed for a kiss. With a quick look around the limited clientele here at five in the evening, you give him a quick peck and dodge his hand before he can deepen the kiss.

“How was you day, love?”

“Good,” he answers, voice light.

“Good,” you echo, painted smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Things were good for two weeks, and it’s the next day when that fortnight ends.

It’s a Saturday. You don’t usually work Saturdays.

You’re only working today because Robin and Aimee are having their sixth date in as many days, swept up in the excitement and nerves of new love. From their first date on that fateful days two weeks ago, they’ve spent nearly every moment possible together.

As a joke, you’d bought Robin a little Hallowe’en present of a tiny U-Haul truck key charm, which both her and Aimee had loved. The keychain became a staple decoration of the checkout counter at the bookstore they both worked in, hanging on a little hook for all to see.

Working closing isn’t particularly familiar to you, having only taken late shifts once or twice in the months spent under Ted’s employment. The basics are obvious: clean the bar, the bar floor, and the backroom; kick out the stragglers. Still, you call up Eddie to chat with him and maybe double check some of the standards.

Normally you’d just ask the other people on shift — Wren and Mindy — but neither of them seemed particularly poised for helping today.

Wren, you’d interacted with before, so you knew they preferred to just stand threateningly in the corner until closing as opposed to interacting with either staff or patrons. You didn’t mind that much, introversion was a trait you managed to share with them most of the time.

Mindy was nice too, and you chalked her lack of willingness to talk to you to the rush of people. It was difficult to get to know someone, after all, when there were rowdy folks yelling after a pint over one another.

And on another level, you’d felt as though you’d seen her before, but it was difficult to place when. Maybe she’d visited the bar once during your shift?

“So, are the toilets usually this bad?” You grit out, utterly disgusted at the toilet paper that has somehow wound up wrapped around each leg of the bathroom stall.

Eddie laughs on the line, “pretty much. Has everyone left?”

“Yeah.” You check the time on your phone quickly, nothing humourlessly that the sun would be rising soon. “Sorry to have woken you up so early.”

Eddie barely lets you finish the apology before interrupting with a fierce, “I was already awake. And anyway, I would’ve woken up just to talk to you.”

You thank any stars still in the early-morning sky that you’re alone in the bathroom, flushed at Eddie’s kindness.

“Insomniac.” You say.

“Slave to the Man,” he rebuts.

“Are you going to have an early night today, then?” You’re asking off-handedly, mostly concerned with cleaning your hands after having to touch — even through gloves — that disgusting mess.

Eddie laughs. “At least pretend that you know me, sweets.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, feeling light despite how bone-tired you are. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning with your three-sugars, half-full of cream, oat milk latte, Eds, to settle this.”

Finished washing up, you tidy away the cleaning supplies and lock down the bathroom. Odd lights are shut off as you scoot around the outer corridor of the bar, the hallway leading to the main serving area.

You hear voices, one you recognise as that of Wren saying their goodbyes and the others as Mindy and, well, someone.

“Are you going straight home after this?” Eddie asks, stealing your attention away from much more consideration of the voices.

“I should.” The heavy wooden door creaks open as you step out of the side hallway.

You gasp.

Eddie’s voice rings out from your phone speaker, but it sounds distorted and fuzzy and wrong.

The breath leaves your lungs in one exhale, one pitiful whimper.

He turns.

Mindy is balanced on his lap, one hand wandering under the hem of his shirt and the other disappearing into his pants. Matt is in no less a compromising position, clearly having been in the process of pulling down her jeans as you had walked in.

Mindy breaks the silence, voice rubbing against some feral, angry part of your brain. “Oh,” she says, “I thought you left.”

I thought you’d left.

“Still here,” you trill, already feeling the prick of fresh tears on your waterline.

You look at Mindy, who looks at Matt, who looks at you. He turns around, faces Mindy, and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“Is this a friend of yours?” he asks her, and you feel chest crack, your heart break. Again.

“I was just leaving,” you direct your words directly at Mindy, “sorry to bother you.”

Things were really good for two weeks.

Matt starts ringing you at midday, and continues to do so until you answer his call.

It’s dinnertime, and you’d managed to rustle up a hearty meal of some grapes, two grilled cheese sandwiches, and a handful of odd cereal you’d found laying about in your cupboard.

“Why haven’t you been answering me?”

You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t. You can hear Eddie’s voice in every corner of your skull saying “no! Don’t do this!”. Robin is chiming in with her two-pence, too, ever and annoyingly right: “this is a bad idea!”

You suppose you don’t owe him this, closure, after he’d managed to betray your trust twice — that you knew of. But you wanted it for yourself. You wanted to be able to talk about Matt as a silly little mistake you’d made in the past and learnt from.

“What do you want, Matt?”

“So sorry, baby.” He sounds tearful, you think, but maybe you’re projecting. You had spent the better half of the morning after returning home curled up in a little ball, overstimulated from equal parts exhaustion and anger at yourself.

You allow his ramble, allow him talk about how shocked he was seeing you there this morning, confused because he didn’t know you were on shift and why didn’t you tell him you were on shift? You should have told him you were working, it’s really an asshole move that you didn’t, so really it’s your fault, anyway.

It’s difficult to interrupt him, but you manage. “Matt, we’re over.”

There’s silence on the line.

“Matt?”

“You can’t do this to me. I’ve been so patient with you, been waiting months and months for you to put out, done everything a good boyfriend is supposed to do. I listen to you whine and mope about mean guys at the bar, don’t say a damn thing when you ask to just cuddle, and when I go see other girls to make up for what you don’t wanna give me you break up with me?”

You’d cry, if you could, but you feel dreadfully empty inside. In lieu of making any more of a fool of yourself than you already have you offer him a quiet “goodbye,” and hang up.

The phone feels heavy in your hand.

The food on your plate is unappetising.

The kitchen light above you is too bright.

You call Eddie.

Eddie shows up as quickly as he always does, heady wafts of cigarette smoke floating under your doorframe far before he knocks on it.

He’s rushing to embrace you when he steps in the room, warm touch so comforting you could die.

“Are y’alright sweets?”

“I think so…” You’re not. “Just kinda sad.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, he didn’t deserve you.”

You can only laugh, self-deprecating, still mad that you’d let yourself get fooled by him, that you believed him when he said it was only a mistake he’d made.

If you were being truly honest, when hurt most was the fact that this all came about as an issue of sex.

More specifically, that you weren’t in any place to have any sort of relations with him. Was there something wrong with you, that you couldn’t find it in you to be sexually attracted to your boyfriend when it was so easy to find comfort in the hands of the man currently squishing you to his chest?

Fucking hell.

“That’s nice of you to say.”

Eddie makes a very noise of disagreement, the sound reverberating in his chest and into your eardrums. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m not sure that’s right, Eds. But I appreciate it.”

He pulls away from you just enough to even a mock-glare your way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Just, y’know, no one’s a saint.”

“‘M pretty sure you are, sweets. Saint to put up with me.”

At that, you do cry.

A few weeks pass. You’re dealing as well as you can, which is surprisingly well considering Ted has signed you on for a few more closing shifts — closing shifts with Mindy — so you’d had to watch her and Matt exchange spit often enough.

There had been a point right after the breakup when you’d tried to tell her about you and Matt, but she’d brushed you off with a “you don’t think I knew?” Which, needless to say, had not really improved your working relationship.

Matt hadn't approached you at all during that time, seemingly happy to just let your relationship end with the knowledge that you had nothing more to say to him. Or, maybe he was just happy that he had a girlfriend who was happy to engage in relations with him whenever he wanted it. Whatever.

It was fine though, really. Fine that Matt had been going behind your back for months longer than you’d known, fine that you still had to see him, fine that Mindy didn’t seem to care that he was a rotten old prick.

And fine, most of all, that it was sex that was the final factor in him cheating on you. Not, say, the way you chewed your salads, or the way you insisted upon setting three alarms just to get up in the morning.

Whatever, and just fine and fucking dandy.

“And then she invited me over, and well, I had forgotten that vibe I like-“

“Robin,” you snap back into reality. “I don’t want to hear about your vibrators in the middle of work.”

“But you haven’t been free for coffee lately,” she whines, “when else are we gonna gossip?”

“Just been a little caught up with stuff, y’know?”

Robin’s face falls, hands clasping at her gasping mouth. “Oh my god! I didn’t mean… I know it’s been hard and you take all the time you need to to heal, obviously. I’m not-“

You place a kind hand on her shoulder, interrupting her “you’re okay, honey. I know what you meant. How about you come over Saturday night? We can do a movie, wine, gossip, stay up painting our nails and stuff. Yeah?”

Robin still looks apologetic as she nodes, and you suddenly feel so grateful to have someone missing your appearance in their life this desperately. “Yeah. I feel like we haven’t had a nice shit-talking session for the town bike, either, so this should be super-healing for you.”

You laugh, hugging Robin to you as well as you can over the bartop. “I think I need one of those.”

And it’s Saturday night that you realise you might be attracted to one scraggly-haired Edward Munson.

Robin is sitting across from you, seventh glass of wine clutched loosely between her fingers as she recounts the night of wonderment that was Aimee’s proposal to be official. If you’re being honest, you had thought they were official ages ago, but you also weren’t the kind to turn down a good story.

You hadn’t quite zoned out, still listening in on her excitement, but somehow something she says manages to trigger a memory of that one time Eddie had told you a similar story, and you were spiralling.

You loved Eddie, that much had always been certain. Loved the way he always cheered you up, always called you first to share a funny story he’d just heard some strangers trade on the bus. Loved how kind he was to everyone, loved his sense of humour.

Loved the way he always felt warm and solid and comforting against you, grounding and caring all at once. Loved the way he remembered the little things, like that you always had to tie your shoes a certain way or you feet would go numb, or that you hated gloves and preferred mittens.

Loved him utterly and deeply.

Platonically, of course.

So just maybe you were attracted to him.

Shit.

But…

Maybe you could use this. If you loved him, platonically, of course, and trusted him, and were attracted to him, perhaps you could get over some dam in your brain that hadn’t let you take that last step with Matt.

It was a good idea, right?

Right?

Monday morning you were starting to think differently, but you’d resolved to at least ask him. Eddie got around, you knew that. He’d told you plenty about the many girls he took home by virtue of being a bartender in a band.

This would be just like that, except he’d also be doing you a favour. Right?

Right.

So, you’d cornered him at the start of your shift and asked him to take a smoke break with you — he’d looked at you funny, as you didn’t smoke, but followed you out nonetheless.

“So?” He probed, the second the door pressed closed behind you.

You take a steadying breath. “Wanted to talk with you about something.”

Eddie “mhm’s” at you, lighting a smoke and sticking it between his lips.

“Eds, I…” you start, fear drying your throat and making your words all sticky. “I want to ask you something.”

Eddie makes a small noise of assent, urging you to carry on with a movement of his head down to catch your eye. You turn away, too embarrassed to look directly at him, and clear your throat.

“Could you… so, you know how I’ve been with Matt? He, uh… he wanted to,” you make a nonsensical gesture with your hands, self-soothing and meaningless, “y’know and I just never could and I was thinking if I did do it with someone it would be easier to do it in a relationship next time and I really trust you so I was hoping…” you trail off at the incredulous look on Eddie’s face.

A few seconds pass, neither you nor him saying anything, and you begin stuttering out an apology when he grasps your hands. His voice is muffled slightly by the cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth.

“Are you asking me to… to have sex with you?”

Your face warms, humiliation running through your veins. “Sort of? I’m asking you to take my virginity, Eds. I think that might be the problem.”

“Oh.” As mortifying as it is, you manage to glance up at him. You find him already watching your face, eyes flickering across its span to read your expression. Instead of disgust, or anger, however, he replies with “are you sure?”

“I trust you,” is your immediate response. It takes no thought, that had all been expended these past few weeks after your breakup with Matt, after your assessment of who Matt — who Eddie — was to you. Even if Eddie didn’t care for you in the way you did him, you wanted it to be him to do this. You wanted to have this memory with him.

“If this is just because of Matt…”

“It’s not. It’s not.”

“Okay.”

“You’re sure?”

Eddie exhales sharply, extinguishing his cig on the wall beside you before crushing it under his boot. “Sure I’m sure, sweets.”

And that’s the last thing said on the subject for the next three days.

It’s a slow night, tonight. Small crowd, just the regulars who liked to show their support for a small local business, or something like that. Maybe it was just the draw of liquor after a week of working, but you preferred to believe that the number of regulars recently had to do with your dazzling personality.

Eddie slips in next to you, hand finding a loop in your apron to brace his thumb on. “I wanna take you out,” he says, and the surprise at his words almost makes you drop the cocktail you’ve been shaking. For a split second, you truly do believe that he’s asking you out, before remembering your conversation from earlier this week.

And, okay. Maybe since you’d had that chat you’d come to the realisation that you might have the smallest, tiniest, minusculest crush on him. But that wouldn’t change anything, because Eddie didn’t like you like that. So he’d do you this favour and you’d find someone else and you’d be able to go back to being friends.

Still, your response is less-that-intelligent. “What?”

“If I’m going to be the one to take care of you for the first time, I wanna do it right, y’know?”

“You don’t have to do that, Eds. This isn’t like a,” you search for the words, mind and body betraying logic with the way they absolutely preen at the thought of him taking you out. “This isn’t like a,” you start again, swallowing around a lump happily lodging itself in your throat, “dating thing. It’s really not necessary.”

Eddie makes a sound of disapproval, but you can’t imagine what he’d have to argue with. It’s a sound thought, as this was an unemotional matter for the both of you. Mostly.

You manage to finish the cocktail, garnish it, run it over to the forty-something pretty woman in the corner who was clearly going through something dour, and return to start on another drink before Eddie says anything more.

“Please?” He asks, brown eyes large and pleading.

There’s not a bone in your body that can resist him at his most annoying, and the doe-like quality of his features right now is rendering you to barely-functional goop.

“Okay,” you finally nod, trying to quell the beating of your heart. Even though you know this is just Eddie helping you to the best of his abilities, it does nothing to stifle the want blossoming inside your chest.

It’s Saturday night again. You could almost laugh at the coincidence; it’s been a week since grand revelations, and here you are getting ready for a sort-of date.

It’s getting dark already, and somehow you feel more stressed than you have done since you met Eddie for the first time. Not even your first date with Matt rendered you such a mess, and that in and of itself was scary enough as your first venture into the dating world.

You dust off your dress again, the polyester-blend as clean of lint as it had been the last five times you had done so. The selection at your local shops had been slim on clothing in your style, so you had ended up wearing an old dress you’d bought once for a college party.

It's nice, overall, if unimpressive. A dark red, the neckline dipped low enough that you’d had to buy new undergarments specifically for it and its bodycon silhouette. You’d decided to just go all out and buy nice lingerie too. Go big or go home, right?

It would be untrue to say you were regretting the choice now, because the lace bralette and underwear lay nicely on your body and were soft to the touch, but it could definitely be said that you were rethinking it. Would Eddie find it too presumptuous? Too forward? Would he think that you were implying this was something more?

Well, you supposed it would be, to you, but he didn’t need to know that.

You could dwell in the thoughts circling your mind, endless and restless and quite frankly annoying, but a knock at your door struck you from your train of thought.

Eddie stood behind it, grinning as widely as ever. His dimples stood out against his cheeks, and he was beautiful. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to focus on just one thing to admire.

He had made even more of an effort today than you had, band tee replaced by a deep red dress shirt, ripped jeans traded for straight-leg dress pants. His chain-linked wallet sticks oddly out of his pocket, hanging on to a belt loop. Through all this, though, he still wears a well-loved leather jacket.

It’s impossible for you to look him in the eyes, mind too invested in the sinful stretch of material across the meat of his thighs. The fact that him wearing fancy clothing marginally less tight than normal has you more pent up that seeing him in his customary skinnies is somewhat curious to you, but it’s something to assess when you’re alone in your room some other night.

“And to think I was going to go with the black one,” Eddie says, striking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

“Black shirt. Good thing I wore the red one instead,” he gestures at your dress, then back at his shirt, and dips his head to meet your eyes. You blink at him blankly, images of his lean muscles showing through tight fabric still pervading your thoughts.

You watch his eyebrows draw together, worry lining his features. “Are you still sure about this?”

Unable to vocalise a response for fear of telling him just how sure you are, you nod.

“Gonna need you to tell me, sweets.”

With a shaky voice, you manage a slight “yeah.”

Eddie quirks a brow, clearly looking for more of an answer.

“Yes, yes I’m still sure.” You take a steadying breath, smiling at him for the first time this evening.

He nods, reaching out a hand to you. Its rough callouses feel warm against your skin, inviting. His kind eyes look down into yours, and any anxiety you’d felt before leaves at the care in them. He pulls you out the door towards him.

“You’re right,” you say, mind finally caught up to what Eddie had said before. “It is funny you picked a shirt the same colour as my dress.”

Eddie gives you an amused smile, not quite laughing at you but not quite just laughing either. “Some would call it fate.”

“I call it similar taste in fashion,” you joke, then remember that your hand is still holding tight to his. Using the excuse of locking your door behind you, you let it drop back to his side and turn away. “So, where are we going tonight?”

“Can’t tell you that, sweets.”

“This feels very much like the start to a Forensic Files episode, Eds.”

He chuckles, slinging an arm around your waist as you face him once more. Using the grip on you, he pulls you down your flat hallway, to the lift, and into the front car park.

A motorcycle is waiting for you there, the only vehicle you don’t recognise.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Eddie asks as you walk up to it.

“Very nice,” you nod, eyes roving the metal appraisingly.

Eddie takes a helmet out from some compartment in the bike, handing it to you. When you look at it dumbly, he makes a motion of question and at your permission secures it on your head.

His fingers are gentle as he closes the clasps under your chin. “Wasn’t asking you.”

Before you can say anything at all, he closes the visor of your helmet. The motion shocks you into silence, not least because of his words prior to it.

And before you can manoeuvre the visor up, Eddie’s already got his helmet on and is sitting comfortably against the bike, hands spread as though to tell you he’s waiting. You suddenly feel very grateful that you decided on boots for this occasion instead of heels.

It’s somewhat hard to get up behind him, your balance always having been askew. Eddie helps you, hand placed firmly on your arm and waist to lift you upwards. When you’ve made it up, you’re not sure what to do with your hands. There’s no seatbelts here, no handles to grasp. Thankfully, Eddie, ever aware of your moods, takes your hands in his and settles them securely around his lithe waist.

Your face warms. For all the times you’ve heard about riding with someone on a bike (once… you’d heard of it once, and it had been from Robin, who had gone on a date with a biker chick in her experimental phase) you’d never expected this to be so intimate.

Your heart pounds at the proximity to him, fingers itching with the need to trace along the clasps and contours of his leather jacket, consumed by the hope they might feel what lays underneath it.

How were you supposed to breathe under these conditions?

“Ready?” Eddie says, and it takes him squeezing your hand to realise he’s asking you.

You make a “mhm” of agreement, then remember his words from earlier. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

And he revs the engine, the harsh motor sounds louder than you had anticipated them to be. Everything lurches forward and you fall flush against him, arms tightening around his waist with the fear that you’ll fall.

Eddie chuckles, and as sad as you are that you can’t hear it, can’t see the way the action lights up his face, you do have to admit that it’s an entirely different experience to feel the reverberations in his chest.

“How far away is this place?” You ask, and it takes you five tries, as you zoom through chock-blocked streets and near-empty alleys, to realise that Eddie can’t really hear you over the rushing wind.

The drive to… wherever… is short, barely five minutes. You’re not sure where you are, and you’re also not sure you can let go of Eddie. Your arms feel stuck to him with glue, and you distantly wonder if he will be able to scrape you off him.

“We’re here,” Eddie says, voice a husk from the frost lacing the air.

When Eddie steps closer to you, the streetlights bouncing off his helmet in a way that haloes him and creates the silhouette of an alien. Almost as though he can sense the thought, Eddie flips up both of your visors and grins at you.

His fingers, gloved and leathery, trail up your neck in a touch reminiscent of a kiss. You lean into it, into his careful touches moving towards the clasp secured under your chin. He’s much slower undoing it than he had been closing it, and you’re almost tipsy with the contact.

The helmer finally comes free, sliding up and over your head. Eddie chuckles, helps you fix some fly away hair strands, and takes his own off.

“Where’s here?” You ask as a way to distract from the heat blossoming in your chest. Maybe to also distract from the flaring burn rushing your veins at the leftover sensation of his touch.

Eddie shrugs, “somewhere.”

There’s a few shops on the street he’s decided to park on, a few restaurants that look relatively inviting. Music streams out from a few of them, interior lights spilling onto the pathways and road that paints this part of the town in shadow.

“C’mon, Eds,” you beg, “tell me?”

He sighs theatrically, and it’s with his entire body. “There’s this nice Mexican spot here. Thought you’d like it.”

“That sounds lovely. Which way?”

He lights up with a giant grin, dimples stark against his cheeks, and offers you his elbow with gentlemanly courtesy. You take it, giggling, and feel that rush of excitement in your throat that’s nothing less than juvenile and pure.

The small restaurant is nice, and the smells wafting from it are nothing less than inviting. There’s music spilling from the open door, too, light and joyous.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to secure you a table, and your waiter comes over promptly to introduce himself. He seems happy to see Eddie, who seems less happy to see him.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” Eddie says, fingers tapping the table.

“I’m Steve,” the waiter tells you, hair quaff bouncing as he turns away from whatever eye-contact battle him and Eddie had been having.

Steve leans again smiles kindly when you tell him your name, and then connect the dots.

“Steve? Like, Robin’s Steve? Like, Platonic Love of Robin’s Life, Steve?”

He laughs, “yeah, I mean. I think so. How can I get you two started?”

You turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, and ask him his opinion; you figure he has at least an idea of what’s good given he knows Steve.

And he does, ordering several small dishes that he praises highly. Neither of you drink, Eddie because he’s driving and you because you’re dead stressed about getting back on his bike — worried that if you drink you’ll lose your balance or something and fall off it as he drives.

Dinner passes so wonderfully, brilliantly, amazingly well that you almost forget this is just a plot to get laid by someone you trust. Steve comes by a few more times, complimenting you on your outfit and sharing a few stories you’re sure you can use to blackmail Robin.

Before you know it, Eddie is pulling you with a tight — but gentle — grip on your hand and leading you out the door.

You assume this means the end of the date.

You’re wrong.

Eddie, still holding you by the hand, pulls you down the main street to a little shop filtering warm light onto the pavement. It’s beautiful, if somewhat run-down looking, the paint peeling and flaking off the open door knocking lightly against the opposite wall with the breeze.

“What is this place?” The words aren’t quite breathless, but something close, suddenly very aware that this street is fairly empty and as attracted as you are to Eddie, you have no proof he’s not a murderer.

He smiles at you, winks. “Saw you reading a tattered copy of The Colour of Magic one day, so I figured I’d get you a new copy. Where better than the best bookshop on this side of the ocean?”

Oh wow.

Actually, that’s not intense enough to cover the pounding of your heart and the weakness you’re feeling in your knees.

Oh fuck me, is decidedly better.

“You didn’t have to…”

“It’s family owned, which I thought you’d like. Samara is at home today but if you like it here I can bring you back sometime. To meet her, that is.”

Never mind, actually, because even “fuck” isn’t strong enough to cover the whirlwind of emotions spitting through your head.

Eddie’s looking at you, so kindly, and you need to answer him somehow but you really can’t. This might just be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you, definitely the nicest thing a man has ever done for you, and the words just won’t work in your mouth.

Eddie, angel he is, asks if everything is alright and you can only nod for fear that if you do try to say something you’ll start crying right in front of him.

“That’s really kind of you, Eddie.”

He grins, says “only the best for you,” and beckons you into the bookstore with him.

It’s as beautiful within as it was externally, dark oak shelves lining every wall of the small building. There’s a smell of old tomes in the air, floral, woody, and it feels like a promise of home.

“I know I said I brought you here for good old Pratchett, but you can go wild if you want.” He’s causal when he says it, and you’re surprised at it.

You eyes go wide. “Eds, I can’t ask you to buy books for me,” you lower your tone, eyes examining your surroundings in case of an eavesdropper. “They’re expensive.”

Eddie laughs.

“To ease your mind, let’s say I get a family discount.”

“Eddie…”

“Come on, let me treat you.”

He buys you The Colour of Magic, and one more book that he’d been adamant you’d enjoy. He almost looks disappointed when you refuse to let him pay for more, treat you more, but you’re stubborn and he’s too engrossed in the look in your eyes to argue back.

You’re floating on pure joy all the way back to his apartment. Everything feels light, even the lengthy books stuffed in your bag.

There’s some level of dread that scratches at the back of your throat when Eddie parks, but you logic it out of your mind with the knowledge that you trust and love him so deeply. And nothing that happens tonight — or any other night — could change that.

You make it inside lightening-quick, worried to seem too eager, but encouraged on by Eddie’s wide smile.

He fumbles with the keys to his front door, fingers shaking with what you hope is nervous anticipation. It doesn’t really make a difference, when your own muscles are quaking in excitement.

You make it inside, and Eddie helps you shuck off your boots before latching onto you in a searing press of his lips against yours.

It’s explosive kissing him, gentle and kind and passionate all at once.

It’s suddenly very difficult to remember that he’s doing this by request, that this evening had not just occurred naturally.

Somehow, amidst the kissing, you make it back to his room. You’ve been here before, hanging out before concerts at one pub or another, but its atmosphere is so different this time.

Eddie’s arm slides around your waist, hand splaying against your back as you lie on his plush bed. His mouth travels down, down, over your neck and to the dip in your dress.

You lean up, hands winding into his hair, pushing him back towards your mouth. He groans against you, restless hands trailing your body and catching on your invisible zipper.

Your hands push his away, pulling it down and welcoming him between your legs. The dress catches on your elbow as you pull it over your head, and Eddie giggles. The sound draws heat to your cheeks, temporary embarrassment flushing you.

“Need some help with that, sweets?”

You nod, then realise he probably can’t see you, and whisper “yes.”

He laughs agains, peeling the finicky dress up and off you. “Hi,” he smiles, eyes flickering between yours as the fabric finally falls away from your face.

“Hi,” you giggle back, giddy and excited despite yourself.

Eddie kisses you again, hand wrapped around the back of your neck. He leads you to lie back on the bed, hair spread across his pillow and thighs caging his narrow hips in.

Sitting back, he looks down at you and sighs. His eyes are heated as they flicker across your form, especially appreciative of the assets pointedly left on display by the lacy lingerie just barely covering your modesty.

You stare up at him, waiting for his next move, unsure of what you’re supposed to be doing.

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he rolls away to lie beside you on the bed. Everything collapses around you.

“I can’t do this. I… I’m really sorry, sweets. But I can’t.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you still manage to reach a comforting hand towards his form. You rub circles into the flesh there, “it’s okay, Eds. It’s a lot to ask of you.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” You gather your dress, the shoes you had dropped somewhere along the way, and leave.

You manage to make it to the lobby of his apartment before the waterworks start, painful sobs wracking your chest and squeezing your lungs. Half the pain comes from holding back the mournful sounds rising in your throat like bile — careful not to worry the kindly older woman walking towards to lift with your emotional state.

The other half of the pain comes from the pang of rejection that echos in your heart, crushing and somehow expected all at once. You can’t blame Eddie for it, can’t get mad at him, can’t fault him for the massive bruise on your ego. This was a favour between friends, and the consent of both parties was important above all.

Still, though, it hurts to be here in this moment. It hurts to know that tomorrow night you’ll have to see him again in work after the evening you’d shared. For all the tears running spilling over your cheeks and running down your neck, your heart still yearns for a few hours ago when Eddie had been holding you to him, looking at you as though you meant the world and the stars.

So, needless to say, you enjoyed a large bowl of ice cream and some wine when you finally arrived home.

And you enjoyed a nice sleep-in the next day, as well as a nice scroll through various social medias. When that got boring, you napped, then read some good, old, supportive fanfiction. Then napped again. Then dodged a call from a friend, and ate an exquisite meal of grilled cheese before your television while rewatching that comfort show for the fifth time.

The next day passed much the same, though with an inclusion of several miscalls from Eddie. It’s slightly harder to fall back into a groove of not thinking about him after you see the notifications, but you still manage well enough to put him out of your mind for the rest of the day. Even your sleep remains dreamless, thankfully.

All things considered, the weekend passes well enough. You spend less than five hours thinking about Eddie, and less than three crying about the sting of his dismissal. The confidence, then, that you’re fine now, over it, keeps you warm as you walk to work on Monday.

Any faked pep in your step tides you through the front door, through the bar space, and truly does last until you enter the backroom and see Eddie. His smile, as per usual, greets you, and you’re keenly aware that it’s only you two standing within the room at the moment.

You test a smile, even if your ribcage feels as though it’s collapsing in on you. It feels wrong. Too wide, too sharp, too tense.

Eddie notices, of course he does. He winces, makes a move as though to step closer to you, and stands still. Well, as still as Eddie can manage, because even with muscles rigid he’s in motion; arms swinging by his sides in what could be read as careless, but you know is just from nerves.

Neither of you speaks.

Ted, your never-present boss, walks in.

Ted does the talking for both of you, plenty of it, about his wife and kids and the fourteenth birthday party his son is asking for — no theme, dad, if you’d believe it, as though he didn’t beg for a superhero party just last year — and he makes a point to mention how tired you look today. You tell him it’s just schoolwork that’s got you staying up late, recently, that it’ll pass. You promise that you’ll get some sleep tonight, and leave the backroom.

Eddie tries to catch your eye as you pass, and fails.

A while week goes by like this, the only change being that you’ve elected to come to work later so as to avoid Eddie. You did try to beg Ted to give you more closing shifts, but it had turned out that his nephew needed a job to save up for “his first Valentine’s with a girl” — or something — and that took precedence over your unsure excuses. When Ted had begun prying — was something wrong between you and Eddie? — you’d quickly shut him down and shrugged the entire ordeal off.

Whatever.

It’s not like it could get worse between you and Eddie. He was practically hanging off Nicola at this point which, well, was good. Maybe if he and Nicola got together you could get over your silly little crush on him, and the cut of rejection that it had made feel so much deeper.

You doubted it, though. Truly and genuinely.

Because even with staying away from him, being barely civil, there was only an insurmountable love running through your veins. It hurt to be away from him, but it hurt, too, to be around him.

And because you were a grown-ass woman with a grown-ass sense of emotional intelligence, you took the smart path and avoided him.

Mostly.

“Can I talk to you?” Eddie slips in next to you by the bartop, leaning so he can look you in the eye.

You try to look anywhere else but at him, you do, but somehow he manages to get close enough that his face fills up your entire view, his puppy-dog-eyes front and centre. And fuck, man, stronger people than you wouldn’t able to hold out against him.

You nod.

Eddie beckons you to the back alleyway, patrons filling the bar in a way that presumes the toilet isn’t the best place for privacy right now.

You follow him. He lights a cigarette, leans back on the wall. His fingers are jittery, tapping, tapping, tapping against any surface they can. His rings clink as they rub against each other, catching sunset-light and shining it across the bricks of the alley walls.

He speaks, and his voice is broken. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” is your instant response, because even if you are, you’re not doing it for the fun of things.

He gives you an incredulous look, eyebrows raised so far they disappear into his fringe. Some smoke blows out of his mouth, just the corner, because his fingers are too busy moving incessantly to remove the cigarette.

You’ll compromise, “maybe a little.”

“Maybe a lot-le.”

“Just, uh…” words are disappearing from your mind at an alarming rate, and really you’d be worried about why if you were anywhere else but here, with anyone else but him. “Just wanted to give you some space. Figured you’d want that after…” it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how you can’t even string enough words together to finish the sentence. Bile rises in your mouth, bitter and acidic and anxious. “After what happened.”

Eddie’s speechless, you think. His fingers stop their dancing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, just like he did that night, and you don’t think you can stomach him saying it again.

“Please stop apologising.”

“I-” He starts, then stops. He’s back in motion, suddenly, toe of his boot scuffing the dusty ground in front of him.

“I asked a lot of you, Eds. It’s fine. It’s not your fault it got to be…” your stomach is doing cartwheels, “too much for you.”

Eddie drops the cigarette, squishes it with his boot, and runs a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t… I wasn’t.”

“It’s really okay, Eddie. I forgive you, if that’s what you need.” And suddenly you feel like crying again, and it sucks, because you thought you’d done that enough these past few days. Whatever’s going on in your stomach spreads upwards, towards your chest, and it’s like a crippling punch. You barely manage not to double over with the way the pain spreads throughout your muscles, flares against your skull.

“I-”

“Please, Eds. Leave me be.” As you turn to re-enter the bar, strands of your hair stick to the wetness coating your cheeks.

Eddie mumbles a soft “fuck” behind you, and you hear his movements before you can feel his presence step closer. He stops just short of you, not touching you but reaching a hand around to close the door before you can open it.

“I couldn’t fuck you because I’m in love with you.” You imagine he whispers the words due to your proximity, but it sounds like yelling. Blood thrums in your ears. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You don’t turn around, you can’t, because you don’t want to see if this is just some huge ill-timed Eddie-typical joke.

“I just… I couldn’t have you, and then lose you, y’know? Which sounds so shitty and misogynistic and fuck, I know that, but I’ve just been thinking about it for so long and then I saw you and you were looking up at me and I-”

The word vomit stops, and it takes you a second to realise why. You come to your senses when you feel Eddie’s lips against yours, soft and gentle as you remember.

Finally, your brain manages to reason that you must’ve turned around and kissed him.

You step back from him, and the tears keep coming. Eddie’s hand reaches up, fingers hesitant as they reach towards your cheeks.

“That was really shitty of you,” you say, and as happy as you are that Eddie likes you, loves you, even, you can’t forget the blow your ego took when Eddie had you vulnerable before him and rejected you. “It really hurt, Eddie. Like, a lot. I trusted — I mean, I still do trust — you, and I opened myself up to you, and you just…” destroyed me, devastated me, made me feel unworthy, “it hurt.”

“I can only imagine, lovely. I’m so-”

“Don’t apologise again. Please.” You meet Eddie’s eyes, and everything hurts. You’re so, so, happy, and so, so sad.

Eddie nods, then moves again. His motions are slow, questioning, and careful as he wraps his arms around you. He’s comforting against you, solid and caring and so much your Eddie that your heart skips a beat.

He’s whispering against your hair, uncaring of the tear-stains drenching his shirt. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, sweets. I don’t want you to. Gotta earn back your trust. Gotta show you I deserve you first.”

A/N: Thank you for reading this mess! I will let this fade into obscurity if it comes to that bc I couldn't sleep without getting it down in a doc, and I suggest you do the same. Or don't, I don't control you (or do I?). The amount of brainrot I still have for this man is actually embarrassing.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson my beloved #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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chezzywezzy · 2 years

Text

Yandere Love Drabble (1st Place Prize)

Word count ; 6.1k

*Edited.

*Dedicated to @neverano! This one is pretty angsty. I hope you enjoy!

“…What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?”

Y/n abashed her gaze from the woman in front of her. She clutched her purse to her chest, not able to maintain eye contact. If she did, she knew she’d call it a joke or that it was nothing and she said it accidentally.

Love was a good person. But sometimes - no, oftentimes - her flaws shone through. She was incredibly possessive and clingy. She met every friend of mine with a scrutinizing glare. She often fantasized about our future as though it were set in stone, even though we’d only been together a few months. She made me so stressed. Whenever Y/n was around her, she was either tolerating her presence or dreading it.

The relationship was unhealthy. But she was also scared of Love. Each time she brought up their relationship problems or said she was leaving, Love would cry and beg and yell and do anything humanly possible to prevent her from going through with the break up and criticism.

But, as Y/n finally met her angry, desperate glare, she knew the answer. She gulped as Love took a step closer, backing the woman up to her small kitchen counter within her L.A. apartment.

“I mean it, Love. You’re a wonderful person, b - but —“

“But what?” Love suddenly wailed, her entire composure different. Y/n had set off the ticking time bomb, but this time, she couldn’t falter. “I love you, Y/n. Whatever your friends are telling you is wrong. We’re in love!”

“That’s just the problem, Love!” Y/n shouted back, her voice croaking in fright. “My friends haven’t said anything. Y - you’re too jealous and clingy. You’ve driven me away. You scare everyone around you, including me! You… you’re too erratic.”

She froze, having caged her against the counter. Love’s eyes were blank. It always scared Y/n how quickly her mood could change. Sometimes, she was so very sweet and her sobs seemed genuine. Other times, she was angry. A complete fireball. But whenever emotion was vacant from her passionate age, I knew I was screwed.

Love’s nails dug into the wood, scratching. Her nose twitched and a sneer threatened to appear. Y/n pressed herself against the counter as much as humanly possible, a few tears escaping. She truly tried not to yell at her. She knew how she hated being yelled at. But when she was such a stubborn person, it was hard.

“Too… erratic,” she parroted, her voice deadly calm and collected. “Too erratic. Too jealous, too clingy, too scary… Y/n, I wanted you to be different from everyone else. I thought you were. I thought you loved me the way I was. So why are you leaving… me?”

Her voice croaked, betraying her true feelings. All at once, her eyes clouded over with tears. Y/n felt so numb to it, though. She often cried and broke down in front of her. But Peach, Y/n’s online best friend, told her how it was manipulative. That she was too good for her. Too self-sacrificing.

And, as badly as she wanted to hug her close and comfort her, she couldn’t. Love would just take the inch and go a mile, and whenever that happened, Y/n didn’t end up leaving. She ended up in the bed. Because, no matter how difficult Love’s passion and erratic behavior could be, it could also be just that convincing and sweet in the bedroom.

“We’re not good for each other, Love,” she spoke gently. “This is a toxic relationship. Normal people aren’t this way —“

“What if we’re not normal people, Y/n? What about then? Because I’m in love with you and if ou truly didn’t love me, you would’ve left a long time ago —“

“No, Love! I don’t love you. I’m scared of you —“

“Why are you scared of me?” she suddenly shrieked at the top of her lungs. Tears slid down her cheeks and she stumbled away, as though completely disoriented. She pressed herself up against the sink, hyperventilating. “Y - you’re not supposed to be scared of me, Y/n. I love you! And I’m not letting you go. We can work on this —“

“I’m moving, Love.”

Y/n had spoken quietly, slowly shaking her head. Tears shimmered but didn’t break free. She couldn’t meet her intense stare. Everything fell silent and neither of them moved. She had heard the woman. That much was obvious. And yet, when she glanced up, concerned about how heavy her breathing was, Y/n realized she interpreted her words incorrectly.

Instead of anger or sadness or hatred, hope glinted in her eyes. A smile spread to her cheeks. She was beaming and all of the tenseness rolled off of her. She started giggling, but that was even more terrifying. And then, she was looking directly at her.

“You should’ve said so sooner, Y/n!” she chirped happily. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Don’t worry. We don’t have to break up just because you’re moving. But I will need some time to… to prepare for the move. Oh! And I’ll have to take a loan out to start a business a new bakery. And Forty will probably come —“

“No, Love,” Y/n croaked sadly. “You’re not hearing me. I’m leaving because of you. This… thing we have going on… I can’t take it anymore. You’re dangerous, Love. I’m leaving you.”

Her face fell. She was so terribly angry, expression darkened with venom and fury. Shivers rolled down her spine. And yet, Love didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She glared at the woman, a frown burned into her lips. She was waiting for her to move even slightly.

And then, she did. Y/n snatched her purse up from the counter beside her, heart thumping loudly in her chest. A seething screech escaped her lips and she swerved toward the counter behind her. She reached desperately toward the knife block, and fear dawned on Y/n. Never had Love been violent. And it seemed the dam had finally burst.

A scream escaped Y/n’s lips. She swerved into the corner, away from the counter, just as Love turned back to her. Her knife descended into the spot she once was, hatred burning in her retinas. She was out of control, pulling at the knife. It was lodged in the wood.

Another screech escaped Y/n as she dashed across the small living room. Love was still trying at the knife, nothing but fury in her expression. Y/n went to the front door and tried at it, but it was shut. Both the chain and the twisting lock was secured, and she gasped.

She peered over her shoulder as her other hand went to the chain and bolt. Her vision was blurry from the tears and panic, but she quickly recognized that Love was no longer focusing on the knife, eyes boring into her. She reached above her, where her pots and pans were hanging.

And, her eyes not leaving Y/n’s, she lifted it off the hook. It was a thick iron-steel pan, bumpy with wear. And yet, if she reached her, Y/n knew with certainty she would die. Love had enough of Y/n just as much as she had enough of her. And she was going to kill her.

As hard as it was to turn away from the raging woman, Y/n felt the chain fall free. She focused my attention on the lock, turning it until she heard a satisfying click. She heard Love’s footsteps thundering toward her, so very close behind. Love was muttering incoherently under her breath.

On instinct, Y/n ducked. Her knees buckled, and it was right that she did that. Because, just then, the pot slammed into the door above where Y/n’s head once was. Love lowered it in realization, aiming to - at the bare minimum - knock the woman out.

However, Y/n knew better. She threw her body to the side. Love accidentally released the pan, dropping it on the ground. She’d expected it to hit the woman, but, instead, it dropped onto her ankle.

Another scream escaped Y/n, but this tie, it was of pure pain. She was certain it had been twisted at the bare minimum. Tears poked from her sockets and dribbled down her cheeks, but she pulled her legs free. Love’s gaze remained glued to her ex-girlfriend, seething.

“How dare you!” Love howled, frozen in place. “I love you, Y/n! Please…”

Y/n also paused. Both of the women were panting profusely. Her belongings from her purse was scattered around the room, and she wished so desperately to grasp her phone, to run, to do literally anything. And yet, she was stuck in place, knowing that if she moved even an inch, Love would kill her.

All of the anger dissipated. Suddenly, Love crumbled to her knees. Her back almost gave out, too, but she used her arms to prop herself up. Y/n watched warily, balling her fists up. She even tried to mute her breaths, thinking that maybe Love was insane enough to forget she was even there if she didn’t move.

Love’s hair fell in her face. She broke out into sobs, one hand reaching out to her calf. She grasped it desperately. Y/n knew that Love needed help. She was batshit crazy and was a danger to those around her. And yet, it wasn’t her damn business. Y/n just needed to escape with her life and she’d be safe.

Peach had already packed up the moving truck. She’d flown down to help, unbeknownst to Love. Y/n had distracted her to the best of her abilities and Love fell for it. Perhaps it was why the umpteenth break-up came to her as a surprise. And, the moment Y/n left, she’d call a taxi to her house, and her and Peach would go on a road trip.

Peach was nice. She was a gossip girl and had her depressive moments, but Y/n never would’ve had to strength or ability to leave Love without something to fall back to.

Peach was kind. “Seriously, you don’t have to get a job. You can live with me in New York for a while until you get back on your feet.”

Peach was attentive and calm. “Love isn’t treating you right. Can’t you see that? She treats your friends poorly. Why else would your friend have left that party?”

Peach was the reason Y/n was breaking up with Love. “I know you’re in a committed relationship. But I could treat you so much better. I’m not toxic or manipulative like she is, Y/n. I’m all that you would need. Not Love.”

It made Y/n feel bad. Because, in their current standing, she tried to convince herself that it was justified to be all over Peach the moment she flew in a few days ago. In technical definitions, it was cheating. And Y/n knew that. But, to her, Love and her never should’ve been together in the first place. She’d tried far too often to break up, and yet, even now, Love was scaring her into possibly taking her back.

Y/n didn’t want to die.

“Y/n, please, if you love me, even a little bit… I will treat you perfectly.”

She opened her mouth, so very tempted to accept just to put the present torture to an end. And yet, as her phone buzzed with a text message, she shook her head. Love couldn’t see it, just like she couldn’t see that she had slowly been packing up her purse.

Y/n knew she should’ve broken up over text. And yet, the guilt of her cheating made her believe Love deserved more than being ghosted. Because it was a toxic relationship, and not just because of Love. Y/n felt terrible. How had things gone so terribly wrong?

“I… I’ll think about it, Love. But… I just need some space,” she managed.

Love looked up, eyes brimming with hope. She gasped quietly, her grip on her leg tightening in excitement. She looked so innocent and pure, as though she hadn’t just attempted to kill the woman she claimed to love. Tears still fell, but she was clearly grasping at straws for any variation of yes.

“Space? I - I can do that,” she tittered. “If only for you, Y/n… Just… please don’t leave me, okay? And I’m sorry for attacking you and scaring you… I didn’t mean it! What w - we have going on is good. Perfect. A - and I’ll work on my flaws. I’ll be the perfect woman for you.”

Y/n couldn’t make her suspicious. Love was delusional, but she wasn’t stupid. She was cunning and manipulative and observant. She was sure that Love hired someone from her rich family connections to follow her around and monitor her. But she’d never mentioned anything.

And she would never need to because she was going to escape.

“D - do you promise, Love?”

The woman nodded eagerly, grinning energetically. “Y - yes! Anything for you, Y/n. Just please, don’t leave me! We’re in love aren’t we, Y/n?”

“…Yeah, Love. We are.”

Y/n slid her leg out of Love’s grasp, going to stand. However, it was as she dreaded. Her leg gave out. The pan had did a number on her. And, as quickly as Y/n wanted to see Peach, to cry and hold the woman in her arms, to be comforted, she knew she had be calm and collected. She used the wall for support.

In concern, while apologizing profusely, Love helped her, grasping at her arm and back. She noticed how Y/n’s phone buzzed, but she couldn’t fuck everything up again. Y/n was an angel from the heavens above, giving her another chance. She couldn’t ruin it.

“A - are you sure you need to leave?” Love inquired carefully, hand lingering against the small of her back.

Y/n strained a smile wiping at her right eye. “The boss wants to give me one last night shift since tomorrow is the end of my two-week’s notice. I need to… hop on that. I’m sorry.”

Love’s eyes widened and she waved her hands dismissively. “N - no! It’s okay, it’s fine! Just… promise me that when you get home, you’ll text me where you’re moving to? I - I know you need space, but… even a city away is just too much.”

I nodded curtly. Love opened the door, the pan sliding against the carpet along with it. Love moved it further with her foot, opening the door just enough for Y/n to limp through. Love felt horrible about what happened. She knew her emotions were out of control, but to think that Y/n wanted to leave her…

She could never allow it. Not after what happened to her husband.

Only with the woman now gone, did Love notice how her phone buzzed profusely on the counter. She walked over in curiosity, and as she lifted it up, any remorse she felt turned into a burning, fiery anger.

Because, on her phone screen, was a folder of photos with Y/n’s body splayed out on the bed with a complete stranger beside her.

~~~

“Wow,” Y/n gasped in awe as the moving truck finally pulled up to a large wooden mansion in the middle of the Connecticut woods.

It was so secluded and beautiful. And yet, when Y/n checked her phone - which was now void of any texts from her blocked ex-girlfriend -, the service was of impeccable quality. She almost felt as though she was taking advantage of her friend and soon-to-be-lover, because Peach was so dead-set on spoiling her with gifts and delectables and treats that was truly undeserved.

“This is it. It’s my parents’ summer vacation house, so we have it all to ourselves,” Peach announced proudly. “Just take in what you need for now. You’re probably, like, super tired.”

Y/n nodded. She took her small suitcase and backpack from the backseat of the moving van. She was in awe as Peach began explaining the history of the house and that it had always been in the Salinger family. She unlocked the front door quickly and held it open for Y/n.

The inside was even more grandiose as the outside. There was a large greeting hall with two opposing winding steps up to the second floor. To the right was a game room, and deeper inside was a living room with several instruments as decoration. Next to that was a hallway that led into the more private are of the household.

“Let me take your suitcase up to our room,” Peach giggled.

Y/n’s cheeks reddened in surprise. “Our room?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

She shook her head instantly, trying to ignore the almost accusatory tone Peach held. “Not at all. It just caught me off guard.”

“It really shouldn’t. Why wouldn’t I want to sleep in the same bed as my partner?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Peach.”

“Whatever. Come on. I want to get started on the drinks. You can decompress in the tub if you want.”

And, a few minutes later, that was exactly what Y/n was doing. Peach had left the bathroom door open, and across from that, the bedroom door was, too. It was just as richly decorated as the rest of the house, seeing as it was the master bedroom. Peach hadn’t lingered. She seemed rather stressed from the drive and Y/n knew how much alcohol helped her relax.

Y/n dropped the towel to the ground. The tub was finally full. On the bathtub shelf was an expensive glass of Chardonnay. Accompanying it was many bath bubbles, soaps, and high-quality shampoos. The warm water burned and nipped at her skin, and she released a content sigh.

She immediately sunk into the water, taking a sip from the wine glass before letting her head use the back of the tub as a pillow. Along the sides was a very fluffy rim, clearly made for what Y/n was using it for. The woman was dead tired and set on getting some shut-eye. She’d been up all day and all night for the three-day move because she was just that terrified of Love. Peach had insisted, almost irritatedly so, that Love was out of the picture and on the other side of the country.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel shivers roll up the back of her spine, though as her shut and her body became still. She was still so very on edge, as though there were eyes glued to her every move. But she was just being paranoid. That was all.

Unknowingly to her, though, she wasn’t. Hidden underneath the bed, eyes glued in anger and amazement, was Love. She’d followed Y/n. No, she arrived ahead of time thanks to her family’s private jet and a private detective who anticipated Y/n’s next move.

Love was seething. Furious. Y/n had been lying. She never loved her, even though they were perfect to each other. And yet, as she looked through hacked screenshots between the two, Love realized.

She’d never done anything wrong. Peach Salinger was the root of the problem. Love was great the way she was, and yet, Y/n fell for the woman’s keep manipulation.

Sure, it stung to think that Y/n cheated. But Love knew that without a doubt she was coerced into it, just like with everything else. Y/n never wanted to break up with Love. Peach told her to. Y/n never stopped loving Love. Peach told her to. Y/n never wanted to cheat and lie and leave her.

Peach told her to.

And Peach was going to pay.

But, as Love’s gaze was glued to the woman’s sleeping body, her heart skipped a beat. It hurt to know that Love wasn’t the only one to see her perfect body so casually, but Y/n still belonged to her and vice versa. Y/n ha been on edge the entire time, not because she fear Love, but because she knew what she was doing was wrong.

Love was convinced that Y/n missed her.

Y/n emitted a content sigh. She was so very close to being lulled into a deep sleep. But then, she heard something. It sounded like a mixture of a creak and a quiet breath. Her eyes shot open, going around the bathroom and what she could see of the bedroom. She wondered if there was free space underneath the bed.

No. She was just being paranoid.

Y/n sunk back into the water, trying once again to get some shut-eye. But then, in the distance, she heard Peach’s soft footsteps. It was easy to identify because nobody else was in the house.

Peach came into sight, having already downed half of her alcoholic beverage. A smirk stretched across her gorgeous face. They smiled at one another, and Y/n took the glass that was offered. Y/n felt abashed from how Peach’s gaze trailed over her form, cascaded by the layer bubbles.

“You look so beautiful,” Peach mused.

Y/n’s eyes, consumed with a sultry glint, eyed Peach up and down. Peach grinned even further when she noticed. Both woman took a sip of their drinks. However, Y/n was quick to set it next to the wine. She hoisted herself out of the tub, doing so with a slight struggle because of her ankle wound. However, Peach handed her a large fluffy towel, drinking in her appearance.

Y/n wrapped it around her chest before stepping out. She was dripping with water and Peach weaved around to drain the tub slowly. Y/n wrapped her arms around Peach’s midsection, giggling as her shirt rode up her waist. Peach turned to her, and greedily they met in a passionate kiss.

From underneath the bed, Love was fuming. It was so hard to excuse Y/n’s behavior. She was totally and utterly brainwashed. It took so much effort not to shoot that damned woman who was pawing at her girlfriend in that moment, a gun clutched in her right hand. Love’s knuckles grew pale with seething hatred, her form hardly noticeable to the two women.

“I want you,” Y/n mewled, departing from the kiss for but a moment.

She was cut off by Peach’s lips once more. The woman began pulling Y/n to the bed. Giggles and moans erupted in the kiss. They grasped at each other desperately, and amidst the heat, Y/n’s towel slid right off her body.

Peach pushed her onto the mattress. Y/n gasped, falling flat on her back. Love was trembling with rage underneath, trying so very hard to control herself. It wasn’t time yet. It wasn’t time yet. She had to keep reminding herself, even if she was on her final straw.

Y/n drank in Peach’s appearance, perching herself up on her elbows. Peach was taking her sweet time, shaking herself out of her light blue denim jeans. Y/n couldn’t help but breathlessly comment,” Beautiful.”

Peach fell on top of her. Their lips connected once more. Underneath the bed, Love’s heart shattered. It was so very hard to excuse Y/n’s behavior when she made it seem like she truly didn’t love her. Love knew it was true, though. Y/n loved her. Y/n missed her. Y/n only thought she was beautiful.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Y/n spoke gently, pressing a kiss to Love’s lips. “It’s okay if you aren’t. You’re worth the wait.”

Love swooned, so glad to be in such a loving, gentle relationship. She trusted Y/n with her life. She wanted Y/n with every fibre of her being. So, Love nodded, a lovesick smile tugging to her lips. She felt so cared for. So understood. She wanted nothing other than the woman before her.

Y/n had a few extra notches on her belt. But Love knew that what they had was real. They were endgame. Soulmates. Madly in love with one another.

“Okay. Just tell me if there’s nothing that you like. I’ll make you feel good, okay?” Y/n purred, stroking her cheek.

“You are the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen,” Love cooed, melting from the woman’s hold.

“You’re beautiful, Love. Absolutely stunning.”

Love was awoken from her trance from the sound of a quiet gasp from atop the mattress. All of the soft care she held for Y/n dissipated, and the anger she felt consumed her. She grit her teeth. She had to at now, because otherwise, that damned she-devil would trap Y/n in her grasp forever.

Y/n wasn’t going to leave Love.

Love flicked off the safety for the gun. Slowly, she slunk to the side. It would be awkward and she’d have to move fast so that they didn’t escape. Peach and left the bedroom door open. Love had tried to understand the layout of the house to the best of her abilities, but it was too large and there was too little time.

She slid free. Just then, the floorboards creaked, and both women fell silent in confusion. It was a sturdy house, and only a human being could cause such a loud sound.

Peach was sure it was nothing, wanting only to continue what they were doing. But Y/n pushed at her, perching up on her elbows. She peered off the side of the bed, eyes wide in confusion.

“Jesus, Y/n, everything is fine —“

A scream interrupted her. Y/n cried out in terror, startling Peach. Both women realized that, having slid out from underneath the bed, was Love. Her expression was wrought with anger and sorrow and loathing. She grasped at the bedsheets, attempting to stand up straight.

However, Peach clawed at her hand. Love yelped and fell back to the floor. A gunshot echoed in the air, leaving the couple paralyzed for a moment. The bullet had lodged into the wall above them. Y/n pushed Peach off of her and rolled onto the floor, grasping desperately for the phone on the bedside table. She tried so very hard to focus, but she was absolutely terrified.

Peach stumbled to her feet. She used Y/n for a shield trying to pull her toward the door. And yet, Love stumbled to her feet, red in the face and a small bruise developing on her chin from miscellaneous causes. She was panting, raising the gun toward Y/n. She was about to shoot, but then she registered the scene.

Peach was hiding behind Y/n like a coward. Peach didn’t love Y/n like she did. Peach wouldn’t protect Y/n with every fibre of her being like she would.

“Move, Y/n,” Love seethed, clenching her fist until her knuckles grew pale in comparison to the rest of her. “Move. Now.”

Y/n was sobbing and Peach was somehow more composed than the woman would ever be. She hid behind Y/n, gripping her shoulders tightly. “You’re L - Love. Listen, you’re not mentally stable —“

“How dare you!” Love shrieked. “You stole Y/n away from me. You’re the reason she broke up with me. I’m going to kill you for taking her from me! Move, Y/n, before I make you!”

Y/n, trying to compose her trembling body the best she could, tilted her head. Eyes still glued to Love’s erratic, violent form, she whispered to Peach,” Run.”

The woman needed nothing else to be said. Peach, making use of the human shield, backed up a few steps before running to the bedroom door. Love shrieked at the top of her lungs once more, attempting to shoot. She shot. Again, and again, and again. All she could see was red.

But then, as she aimed to pursue the vile she-devil, she zoned back in. She gasped, all anger dissipating into pure regret. Collapsing onto the floor, one hand gripping onto the bedside table, was Y/n. She was groaning in pain, resting her head against the rim. Blood spewed from her right arm, and as Love’s gaze trailed lower, there was also maroon dripping from her hip.

“Y/n…!” Love gasped, in total disbelief that she missed. “Oh my god - we need to call a hospital —“

Y/n’s fingers twitched as she latched onto her cell phone. She was sobbing profusely, barely conscious at all from the pain. Peach had completely abandoned her, and Y/n wasn’t sure whether to be glad she listened or sad she did it so easily. She pawed at the phone, her entire body twitching.

“Siri, call nine-one-one.”

Love’s mind blanked. She rounded the bed and realized that Y/n was scared, and in her delirium, made Love out to be the bad guy. She collapsed on her knees beside her, still holding the gun tightly. She pulled Y/n away, even though the woman cried and wished to paw at the phone.

Love reached past her. She hung up, even when the police immediately picked up, asked what was wrong. The police would track the call. Love didn’t have much time. And it was because of Peach. Love wanted to chase after her, but she had to prioritize her injured soulmate.

She cooed lovingly, swiping the gun across her hair. At the same time, she crushed the cell phone in her hand, giggling lovingly. The bits and pieces crumpled to the floor, and Y/n dreaded what was to come. Love was muttering so quietly and incoherently that Y/n didn’t even try to make sense of it. She wanted to fight herself free, but she was losing blood quickly and wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be awake.

Or even alive.

Reflecting then and there, Y/n wondered if things would be different if she’d just subject herself to Love’s obsessiveness. If she’d been a sheep who listened to every word. If she never fell out of love with Love and in love with Peach.

If she had subjected herself to a lifetime of unhappiness in hell than paradise for but a brief moment of her quick life.

Love shook her, suddenly realizing the circumstances. Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut and Love burst into tears. “Y/n? Y/n, wake up! It’s just a little blood. I - I didn’t mean to. I never wanted to hurt you, just that bitch. Why did you have to get in the way? Wake up, Y/n, wake up!”

Her shrieks echoed in the room. Y/n was still breathing, but it was labored. The guilt came crashing down on her as she stared at the cell phone’s remains. She should’ve let Y/n called the police. Love could’ve escaped and come back for her. But, instead, Love was selfish. And Y/n might have to pay the price.

No. None of this was Love’s fault. It was Peach’s. Peach was the perpetrator, not the victim. She deserved to die, not her lover. She dropped the gun and lifted Y/n off the ground with surprising ease, the adrenaline gifting her with strength. She then used the blankets to cover up Y/n’s wounds to the best of her ability. But then, glancing over her one last time, she grabbed the gun and turned to the doorway.

She exited to the hall. She paused, trying to hear for any sounds. But it was deadly silent. Love could barely focus. She wanted Peach to die so badly, to feel the blood of her mortal enemy on her hands. Peach was to blame for everything. She was the devil reincarnate, and Love knew this with certainty.

She dashed down the staircase. The front door was untouched. Love hardly made it a mission to be stealthy and silent, instead vying to find the woman as quickly as possible. She passed a home phone on the table, only glancing at it in regret as she passed it by and entered into the living room.

The living room was empty, too. And then, she arrived at the kitchen.

Love noticed that Peach’s purse was on the floor. Love paused momentarily to click in open, realizing that, at the bare minimum, a cell phone was missing. Love couldn’t care less if Peach called the police. All she wanted was to end the woman’s life.

And Love was the one with a gun in hand.

She explored further into the storage and cleaning area. It grew darker, but Love’s eyes quickly adjusted to her surroundings. She was biting her lips so harshly. That blood dripped and there was a numbing pain against her bottom lip, but she didn’t care.

She suddenly heard a door slam. And Love knew that it couldn’t have been Y/n, because it sounded from right down the hallway. She stormed that way, loathing being the only emotion swirling in her orbs. Her entire outfit was array, and her hair was a mess. Her clothes were stained in her lover’s blood.

She then came across a door to the backyard. She threw it open, a screech escaping her lips. Of course Peach was a coward. Of course she had ran instead of helping Y/n Of course —

A gunshot rang out. Everything fell still for a moment, and Love was frozen in place. Pain was slowly developing in her back. All of a sudden, there was another one. But this time, it was aimed at her knee. Love’s legs buckled beneath her and she fell. She fell against the wall, dropping the gun to her side.

It was difficult to breathe because it was like her lungs had stopped functioning. It was hard to hear because blood was rushing through her ears. It was hard to speak because liquid bubbled and foamed, dripping from all open wounds and her mouth. She clutched at her chest, and although the wound was in her back, she could feel her heart slowing.

Love’s eyes flitted around desperately. Emerging from a corner, breaths labored and terrified, was Peach. She had a gun too. And Love realized she’d greatly underestimated the petite woman. And, in her enlightened state Love realized.

Love was as awful as Peach was.

She grit her teeth, free hand pawing at the gun that had skidded across the ground. Peach was gritting her teeth angrily, seething,” How dare you impose on us. You’re so pitiful, really, sauntering in to kill me like you own the place. Like you own her.”

She crouched down in front of the woman in amusement. A smirk grew on her lips. Love had lost feeling from the waist down. She still tried to reach for the gun, but her fingers were twitching. Love blinked, fighting the oncoming drowsiness. If she died, she was glad Y/n would be brought with her. Because, at least then, Peach wouldn’t have won. She never could have won.

“You know,” Peach hummed sadistically,” I almost feel bad for you. You honestly believed Y/n loved you. But she didn’t. We’ve been friends for a long time, you know. And even when she started telling me about you, I knew things wouldn’t work. So, I told her about how attracted I was, and in a heartbeat, she was more than happy to reciprocate. You fell in love with a cheater. You could’ve never satiated her. Not like I can.”

Love’s heart shattered. And, even with how deeply she hated Peach, she’d always known it to be true. How Y/n took day trips to inner Los Angelos to pick up a friend - Peach - from the airport. How she had receipts from the most expensive of hotels. How she… cheated.

And even then, Love wanted nothing but her. Because Love was addicted to everything about her.

She felt the gun in her fingers. Peach was so concentrated on watching the girl bleed out. She raised the gun just enough, tilting it to her head.

And Love shot, even though hall that followed was darkness.

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