#I FEEL LIKE THIS GAME IS SUPPOSED TO BE ANSWERED AS SHORTLY AS POSSIBLE AND THIS IS ONE OF THOSE QUESTIONS THAT PROMPTS A LONGER RESPONSE

[justporo]

The whisky neat and the strawberries sweet

“Then make me, my love,” Astarion answered, not missing a beat. “Come and get it,” he finished and slowly placed the last strawberry between his lips, grinning. His fangs were bared, contrasting against the deep red of the last piece of fruit.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Let's try again shall we? Tumblr ate this the first time. I listened to "Too Sweet" by Hozier too often and it caused this. What was only supposed to be a drabble turned into a whole thing... I hope you enjoy! With a wonderful gifted artwork by @nathaira-draws (please follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, porn with feelings, blood drinking, vaginal sex, creampie, foodplay, aftercare Wordcount: 4,7k Song: Too Sweet - Hozier

~~~

You didn't really know how you always ended up in positions like this one.

But by all the gods, you for sure didn't mind that you did.

Comfortable. You were comfortable in the way you sat on Astarion's lap, straddling him, clad in nothing but a sheer nightgown. The fabric huddled along your body, leaving very little to the imagination. From the clearly visible stiff peaks of your breasts it flowed down in soft lines to where it cascaded into a bunched up mess around your eagerly and widely spread legs.

Astarion in his usual camp outfit, albeit with his shirt possibly open wider than usual, was much more clothed still. But he surely seemed comfortable too.

And if his promising smirk and playfully raised eyebrow as he looked at you wasn't proof enough? Then maybe the way he was pleasantly, almost achingly hard and pressed directly against your heated, throbbing core between your legs was.

And yet you weren't even primarily engaging In anything overtly lewd, at least this far. The two of you were simply talking. Astarion was having a glass of neat whisky while you were indulging in a bowl of perfectly sweet strawberries.

You talked about every- and anything, whatever came to each of your minds. While Astarion kept sipping on the liquor out of his fancy crystal glass and you popped deliciously sweet fruit into your mouth.

Or, occasionally bucking your hips to get a little rise out of the other - a gasp, a groan, a telltale involuntary twitch - or a bottom lip caught on a fang with crimson eyes shortly rolling back into the skull and then a blissful smile.

The two of you played that little game. Trying to get the better of the other, all while trying to maintain a somewhat civil conversation.

As civil as any conversation could be when your slick cunt was pressed against your vampire’s dick. And you could barely keep yourself from rubbing yourself against him until you would either see stars explode before your eyes - or Astarion would remember he was a predator after all.

Either end was equally titillating in your eyes.

This little back and forth went on until you eventually proverbially poked the vampire a little too hard. You ground yourself against him as he was just answering a question you had asked him a moment ago, about what his favourite places around Baldur’s Gate were. The snap of your hips was so forceful, your by now obscenely slick core rubbed against Astarion’s hardened length in an almost painful way. You made yourself moan from the friction rolling through you, coiling in your stomach.

The vampire groaned loudly, almost a growl and mid-word, head falling back. He grabbed the wooden armrest with the hand not currently holding liquor filled crystal, until his knuckles showed white even through his already pale skin. It was almost a wonder the wood didn’t crack.

His length throbbed violently. Your clit eagerly echoed it.

You bit your lip as you focused on the feeling, a lewd, wishful sigh left you. The tension was oh so delicious.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Astarion almost hissed at you, a bit breathless. His head had snapped back, staring at you from deep under his drawn together brows.  “Because if you are, you are not being very subtle about it, love.”

His tone was slightly angry and a little high-pitched. He was immediately trying to walk it off but you had obviously irked him. But he was merely teasing you. You saw the way the corners of his mouth twitched unwillingly as he took another swig of whisky. And if his attempts at deflections wouldn’t have told you the truth, something else you clearly felt yearning for more of that friction, would have surely done the trick.

You grinned at him with fiendish delight as Astarion tried to somewhat awkwardly rearrange himself in his seat. But with you pressing yourself against him he hadn’t really any room to wriggle.

His ruby eyes narrowed at you as your grin grew broader. Oh, how you enjoyed being on top of things for once - quite literally so.

“Also it is very rude to interrupt someone like thi-” Astarion tried to utter in an offended tone. But interrupted himself once more with a groan when you rolled your hips against him once more. Even more forceful than before.

Astarion’s moan almost became a whimper this time. Long slender fingers darted over and now gripped onto your naked thigh. Not pulling you closer - for now - but also definitely not pushing you off. Astarion’s cock helplessly and desperately jerked from the friction where it was nestled between your legs.

It was a piece of work to keep yourself from huffing and moaning as you were continuously trying to push Astarion into the deep end without being dragged under as well.

The vampire’s head lolled back again for a moment. Then it rolled back around, his expression a challenge now. The vampire licked over his lips lasciviously: eyes glittering like garnets and fangs shining like ivory as he observed you. Precious in any kind of way.

Playtime was over now. Time to face the consequences.

“You vicious little vixen,” Astarion whispered, fingers digging into your flesh until the twinge of it had you throw your head back this time and gasp. The way your back thereby arched drew your vampire’s attention to the way your breasts were now perfectly presented to him. To either behold them like a connoisseur would an impactful piece of art or to devour them like a doomed man would his last meal.

The pale elf’s equally pale eyebrow twitched - as did your clit still drawing pleasure from his fingertips almost clawing into your thigh. If only… a little more…

Quick flicks of the vampire’s skilled tongue over the sensitive buds at the crest of your breasts made either of them perk up even more. Until your nightgown was dangling off them even more, creating soft lines draping down, surely drawing the observer’s eye to them and your now heaving breasts, heavy from lust.

Your hands immediately went to cup Astarion’s head, cradling it as his tongue swirled around the tip of your tits, not even bothered by the thin fabric between you and him. The way your hips started moving came naturally. Just like how you bowed your back even more for your lover. You closed your eyes, easily getting lost in the sensation.

Then, suddenly, sharp teeth dug into your breast, lips shortly closing down around the hardened nipple.

“Oww,” you yelped and immediately resorted to slapping Astarion’s arm in response, pushing him away. Your head snapped back to stare at him.

The vampire just laughed haughtily as he withdrew again, leaning back. He licked just a drop of blood of his lips as he did so.

When you looked down your own body you saw twin pricks that had pierced through the translucent fabric. And beneath it a tiny trickle of blood running down your chest.

In your moment of inattentiveness Astarion had shifted slightly in his seat: now sitting with his legs spread even further, the bulge between them so painfully obvious and palpable for either of you. He was leaning back, arms draped over the backrest. In one hand he was still holding the whisky glass and idly swirling it around while holding it by its rim.

By default your legs were also spread even further now, making it hard to move. And suddenly you were the one feeling a little caught. Good for you, you had found quite the pleasure in being caught by the vampire time and again.

Although that certainly didn’t stop you from leaning forward as much as possible and catching the pale elf’s chin between your fingers, trying to stare him down.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to bite someone without asking?”

Astarion pouted. “Can you really blame me for not being able to resist, darling? It was… low hanging fruit after all,” he mused with a grin.

Your eyes narrowed - considering if you should be insulted by that or not.

Astarion eyed the lonely drop of blood he left behind slowly rounding the curve of your boobs. He angled his head observing its journey. A single strand of white hair fell into the vampire’s face as he was entranced - by your tits and the trickle of your fine red alike. 

Lost in thought and the view he lifted the crystal to his lips again. As if unconsciously trying to substitute for what he obviously craved much more than liquor right this moment.

The whisky would have to do.

But before he could take a sip, your fingers wrapped around his and wrung the glass out of them. Inattentiveness really made either of you prone to be taken advantage of. But not to either of your damage.

Before Astarion could protest you took a generous swig of his liquor and slightly shuddered as it burned down your throat. You licked your lips with a grin as you felt the burn leave behind a delicious warmth.

The pale elf’s mouth fell open slightly, eyebrows jumping up. His eyes darkened and twinkled at you as if asking you how you even dared and simultaneously promising you he’d get you back for that one - in that kind of way that would leave you desperately begging for more.

It made your lower body clench as another kind of heat washed through your body. Adding to the throbbing sensation between your legs, lashing it on.

And yet the most you had done was sit there.

Closing your eyes, you tried to regain just a fraction of composure. You had been doing so good in your little game of teasing. How did this godsdamned vampire hold that much power over you that he almost broke you with barely more than a glance?

Astarion in the meantime smiled in content as he took note of how you had to consciously concentrate to keep your wits about you. And also he had located the rest of your strawberries still sitting in the bowl on a small table next to the chair you were both wrapped up on.

Your head snapped back as you felt the vampire’s weight slightly shift below you. With his roguishly quick reflexes you only just saw how your lover had started chewing something. Then he was popping another strawberry into his mouth. And another-

“Hey,” you wailed at him as your eyes darted to the little bowl that was now almost yawningly empty. “Hey stop, that’s the last one!” you continued, grabbing for Astarion’s wrist with your free hand as he was about to devour the last piece of your sweet treat.

“Then make me, my love,” Astarion answered, not missing a beat. “Come and get it,” he finished and slowly placed the last strawberry between his lips, grinning. His fangs were bared, contrasting against the deep red of the last piece of fruit.

His hands wandered to either of your thighs, pushing into them and pulling you closer to him at the same time, spreading your legs even more for him. With your hand not holding the crystal glass you grabbed for his shoulder to try and keep your balance.

Lightning jolts shot through your body at the sight of your lover. Finding their target in between your legs. Making you involuntarily rub yourself against Astarion’s hard dick again, still comfortably pressed there. Trying to keep the electric energy going. Hoping to turn it into a constant current.

Heat was pooling everywhere in your body now at the promise Astarion’s eyes made you.

He didn’t need to be able to speak to lure you to him. Astarion leaned in a little closer, the delicate lines around his mouth deepening when his smile grew predatory. And you leaned to him, your cheeks and whole body flushed, keen to accept what he offered: the lamb willingly falling for the wolf.

But then an idea flashed through you. Acting quickly, so you wouldn’t second guess yourself, you took a small sip of whisky, keeping it in your mouth.

The vampire’s eyes sparked at you, immediately catching onto your plan. A small strained gasp worked its way around the strawberry still in between his teeth to get past his lips. The fangs dug into the flesh of the fruit ever so slightly at the strained sound. And at your core you felt his dick twitch once more.

You were both in for a treat.

With a chuckle and the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one holding power you leaned in to kiss your vampire. You slowly wrapped your mouth around the strawberry, lips brushing Astarion’s like a feather in passing - all while your gaze burned into his.

The fruit was crushed between your mouths in an instance. Its red, wet juice ran over both your chins, leaving trails that almost looked like freshly spilled blood. The flesh of the sweet treat was quickly torn and devoured between pointy fangs and more sharp teeth as your mouths worked impatiently to get around it. To get to each other - to the real treat.

The whisky had immediately spilled over your lips, down your chin. Only a few drops had actually made it to Astarion’s lips. But it was enough. The rest he could easily taste directly on your lips and tongue, in your mouth. His tongue made sure to get every last bit of it as it slipped between your lips.

The vampire tensed beneath you, his length somehow hardening more, as you melted into him while kissing him; moulding yourself to him as you slowly felt yourself get lost.

Tart sweetness mixed with smoky burning as did tongues and teeth. Remains of strawberry and whisky were already staining your faces and throats, even clothes.

One of Astarion’s hands moved from your legs to the nape of your neck as your mouths moved against each other. He pulled you closer, trying to taste more of you as you let it happen with a yearning moan.

His other hand moved to yours still clenching the crystal glass in its fingers and swiftly took it away, placing it down to free you from it. And when you were, your hands immediately grabbed the vampire’s face. You let your fingertips stroke along his pointy ears, wandering into his curls, deepening the kiss even more. Closing your eyes as Astarion’s rolled into the back of his head.

His other hand sneakily went to your ass and with a gentle push made you grind against him once more. And then again, until you took up the rhythm on your own. All while you kept kissing, now exchanging moans, gasps and other lewd sounds spilling from your lips. Passing them back and forth between you.

And when only traces of strawberry and whisky remained on your tongues, you broke away from each other. You were both panting and worked up to the point where it had become almost painful.

You stared into each other’s eyes that were void of anything playful now. The need in them was real.

Your hands cradled your lover’s face as his gaze was almost glassed over - from lust. Different from other times where his eyes had betrayed to you that he was a thousand planes of existence away.

But now he was here with you, almost violently so. The only thing Astarion was dreaming of was you and how your body seemed made to be squeezed against his. And the electricity between you was so strong you knew lightning would inevitably strike both of you.

The fruit had left Astarion messy, red stains smeared all around his chin and throat. You were used to the sight by now although it usually were less tame things than strawberry that left him in disarray. And as the yearning inside you reached a boiling point you felt the urgent desire to offer your vampire the real thing. Turning him into a whole mess in the process - in every kind of way possible.

You bowed down to him, seeing his eyes sharpen at you closing in. And nothing but a hair breadth away from his lips you stilled, reining in your boundless desire for Astarion.

“I need you, Astarion,” you whispered to him, your quivering lips brushing his as you spoke. Your breath caressed his face making his eyes lose focus as they rolled widly once more at your confession and your closeness alike. “And I want you.”

“Incidentally,” he murmured, voice raspy and promising, reminiscent of strawberries mixed with whisky, “I want you too, my heart.” His hands on your behind, fingers spread wide, squeezed hard. “And I need you even more.”

And so you let the reins slip from your hands. Your lips crushed with his again as four hands were busy to grab hold and get rid of what was still in the way.

Astarion fumbled with your already ruined nightgown. Trying to pull it up but getting distracted by how soft your skin felt along his fingertips or how your curves shifted lazily with the roll of your hips or how your fingers felt beneath the hem of his shirt.

After a few unsuccessful tries his already short tempered patience got the better of him. He just clawed at the damned fabric and tore it apart, tossed it away with a growl, breaking your passionate kiss shortly.

His short-circuit action shortly took your breath away as you felt the garment ripped off your body.

You stared at him, now fully bared before him. Crimson predator eyes took you in and couldn’t stay harsh at your softness. The moment drew out as he lovingly gazed upon you and you used it to let your hand flutter to the top of your breasts then along the curves of them, drawing a line with your fingertips. Astarion watched carefully, an almost unwilling gasp escaping him.

Then another roll of your hips, rubbing yourself against him with a moan. You threw your back into an arch, repeating the motion more vigorously, grinding yourself against Astarion’s still fully clothed but not less needy body. His pants were already a mess, you knew, caused by your slickness and his yearning cock alike.

Astarion kept eagerly staring at you as you worked yourself against him. His long fingers wandered over creamy soft thighs, wrapped almost fully around your delicate waist and then up your sides, sliding over your back as you threw yourself into them. You were melting for him while you felt the tension inside you grow. And your lover kept observing you, how your body moved like light waves hitting a sunbathed beach. His lips curled up further into a sinful grin as he felt you come closer to the peak: the shift of your hips becoming more ragged, your breaths heavy and raw.

Meanwhile your hands toyed with the hem of his already wide open shirt, tugging on the strings, wandering beneath the hem, caressing his chest as he had become almost a statue beneath you. But his stillness only betrayed that tension within him grew as well.

But then you wanted more. Without halting the movements of your body against his you urged him to draw his shirt over his head. And when he enthusiastically obliged you immediately thanked him by pressing your soft, warm tits against him.

Astarion couldn’t remain still anymore. Eyes glossed over again as he delighted in your body dragging against his naked, smooth skin now. Your hands were in his hair. And as if you weren’t already treating him enough you let your head loll back and dragged the vampire’s already parted lips to where they could immediately pick up the rhythm of your racing heart.

His fangs pressed cooly against your skin making you shudder from the sensation. Gasps filled the air. You felt Astarion’s lips press a kiss to your exposed throat. And a moment later the sharp pain of his fangs breaking your skin made left you breathless and made claw your hands into his curls.

He drank from you and you stilled. You needed to feel how with every swallow he took of you, his dick moved in unison.

And it made you both yearn to finally feel it in an even more intimate way.

Your fingers moved to unlace Astarion’s pants, making quick work of it. The sensation of his erection being freed and immediately being caressed by your deft hands made the vampire quiver. His focus was shortly broken and you felt some hot blood run down your throat. But who could blame him when you began stroking his aching cock like this. You saw how wetly his length was already glistening and felt how generous amounts of precum spread all over it beneath your hands. He really did need you.

Astarion groaned as he tried to pull himself together, licking up the spilled blood. But two different beasts were battling within him right this moment, each eager to get their fill. And both needed to be sated.

“Darling,” Astarion murmured against your throat, “you’re killing me for good.” His hands were on your ass now, squeezing it with spread fingers and urging you to move up on him.

You kept working his cock harder and you pressed yourself up on his lap slightly, obeying his silent plea.

“Good,” you replied, catching his eyes for a moment as his lips still remained lightly on your throat. “I hope it’s a pleasant way to go.”

And Astarion groaned, confirming it.

With your fingers still wrapped around his length you positioned him against your obscenely wet core. You moved your hips, making his head drag along your hot, slick folds, but not allowing him to enter you just yet.

You did it once, twice, feeling your clit and his cock in your hands throb each time. Then Astarion had enough of you teasing him. With his hands firmly holding onto your ass he pushed you down on him until he was buried inside of you to the hilt.

He began fucking you while you still tried to get used to the sensation.

Astarion started a relentless rhythm, aiding you riding him by dragging up your hips and letting them slam into him with his hands digging into your ass. All while he thrust up into you, hitting deep every single time. He praised you, whipping you on with words almost as sweet as strawberries. And the burning warmth inside you was even greater and more deliciously numbing than a sip of neat whisky.

Oh, this wouldn’t take long. The long, lascivious build-up had made sure of that.

You felt the waves grow higher while your moans grew increasingly unhinged. Already you were bracing yourself to be dragged under as you felt Astarion’s sweet nothings dissolve into senseless groans of pleasure.

But then suddenly, you felt Astarion’s hot mouth wrap around your hard nipple again - the one he had teased before. While your orgasm was already on the horizon and rushing towards you quickly, you felt another sting of pain as the vampire’s fangs broke the sensitive skin of your breast a second time.

In the meantime, a hand had wandered up your back and you felt how Astarion wrapped strands of your hair around his fingers before starting to tug on them.

He began eagerly sucking on your boob, striving to get more of the aphrodisiac that was your blood. Meanwhile his skilled tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, swirling around it.

He kept pulling on your hair, having you bow back while riding him and Astarion kept drinking from you.

The continuous jolts this sensation sent through your already helplessly writhing body pushed you even beyond what you had expected.

With Astarion’s mouth closed around your tit and his dick hitting you particularly hard and deep you dissipated fully in his hands. The vampire pushed you far further over the edge than you'd ever thought possible.

As if drifting out of your body for a while as your orgasm shook through you violently, your core clenched around the vampire buried as deep inside of you as anyone ever was.

With an obscenely wet sound he had to let go of your nipple as Astarion came just as forcefully, balls tightening before he spilled inside of you. Your bodies worked eagerly - clenching, jerking, giving, taking - to make the most out of it.

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths as you both rode out the waves of your orgasm.

After, you collapsed on Astarion's lap who held you so carefully as if suddenly he felt you'd shatter under his touch. Your arms felt weak now as you wrapped them around your vampire, your legs started to tremble from the almost impossible tension they had endured before.

Your lover only carefully moved you to withdraw from you as he softened. He kept showering you with small kisses and soft reassuring mumbles while he gave you all the time you needed to safely come down from your high.

It took a long while until you were sure you were fully inside yourself again.

“I love you, Astarion,” was the sole thing you trusted your voice to utter because Astarion kept uttering sweet nothings into your ear. His hands were rubbing a comforting rhythm over your back, your chests pressed together, sticky from sweat. Your forehead was leaning on his shoulders, eyes closed.

The vampire softly laughed and patted your back: “I love you too, Tav.”

“Come on, darling, let’s get you cleaned up and into something warm,” he whispered after a few more heartbeats of comfortable, exhausted silence into your ear.

You lifted your head slowly from his shoulder, took one look at how blood was practically smeared all over Astarion’s face and only snorted. But the vampire took it only with another chuckle and began to rise with you in his arms.

He carefully sat you down on the nearby bed, quickly grabbed a cloth and warm water and cleaned you softly. Astarion took special care of where he’d bitten you, spending extra time cleaning the small bite wounds - pressing a kiss on them after.

Slowly you began talking again while Astarion took care of you and you regained your wits but felt exhaustion and blood loss catch up with you.

Astarion continued to carefully pamper you, washing every part of your body with the cloth, almost massaging you. Then quickly cleaning himself up while you were taken over by a big yawn. You were ready to sink back onto the bed and be wrapped up in your lover’s arms as you would slip into your dreams.

“You owe me a new nightgown, Astarion,” you uttered between yawns trying to stay upright - at least until your vampire was finished with the aftermath of your little evening adventure.

The vampire pointedly lifted an eyebrow at you: “But why wear a nightgown if you could just sleep naked?”

You had no power anymore to argue. So you used your remaining energy to stare angrily at your vampire until he stood up with a smirk and returned with his discarded shirt in hand.

“Alright, my dear, I’ll get you a new one,” he promised with a wink. “But for now this will have to do, I fear. I hope you can overlook it was previously owned by me, darling,” Astarion mused and handed you the shirt which you quickly threw over your head. It smelled of his usual scent: rosemary, bergamot - and whisky. Your eyes darted to where the crystal glass with the rest of Astarion’s drink had been forgotten and smiled. Then you drew a deep breath in, closing your eyes. With this you could do.

You clambered further onto the bed then, making yourself cosy as Astarion undressed to climb into bed with you

“You also owe me some strawberries,” you continued as you stretched out your arms towards your lover who you felt was taking too long to join you.

Astarion snorted as he climbed towards you and wrapped you into his arms.

“You’re awfully demanding, darling, you know that? What about my wasted drink?” he replied with a smirk in his voice as you had already closed your eyes, feeling his comforting presence wrapped around you.

“Hm yes, you can get yourself new whisky too,” you mumbled and were already drifting off to sleep.

“Alright then, my sweet,” Astarion answered as he heard your breath deepen already. “A nightgown, whisky, strawberries and whatever else your heart desires, my darling Tav.”

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[rishiguro]

GAME OVER - K. KENMA

warnings: hurt/no comfort. 3.7k of angst. break up. yelling. talking about abandonment. heartbreak. no beta, we die like ao3.

zipping the suitcase shut, you closed your eyes. this was your second and last one. you were practically done, your best friend has confirmed that they were already on the way and soon you would be out of here the rest of your stuff was already at their place, you had made sure that today, the day you were finally leaving, everything you had would leave this place.

you had planned this. you knew you wanted this. and it’s not like your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend ever mentioned something about your belongings slowly disappearing, if he even noticed it – which he probably didn’t.

after all, he didn’t even notice you growing distant over the last couple of weeks. 

quickly you lifted the luggage from the bed and pushed it into the hallway. you wanted to leave as soon as possible, hell, you wouldn’t even mind waiting outside, even though it was freezing and snowing without an end in sight. but for now you decided to stay inside, after all you knew that kenma had plans. not that he would’ve told you personally, but you overheard him talking to his best friend on the phone last night.

as it turned out however, this didn’t seem to be the case.

you were currently walking around the apartment one last time, checking if you had taken everything with you before finally leaving, when something made you stop in your tracks, your hand tightening around one of the straps of your backpack.

you could practically feel your heart stop as you heard the door unlock and fall shot shortly after, followed by keys being tossed into the bowl right next to it.

why was he home? he wasn’t supposed to be home. 

“(y/n)?” you heard him call out for you and instantly your heartbeat sped up rapidly. he sounded puzzled and slightly irritated, which affirmed your belief that he saw the luggage in the hallway. “what’s going on?”

with a clenched jaw you forced yourself to calm down, your feet taking you to come face to face with him. “why are you home? i thought you wanted to go over to tetsurou’s place,” you stated calmly, forcing your voice to sound as bored as possible. you didn’t want him to know of the turmoil you felt inside of you.

kenma narrowed his eyes at you. “you didn’t answer my question”

shrugging, you pointed roughly into the direction of your suitcases. “well what does it look like? i’m leaving”

you don’t know how you were expecting him to react. shock? sadness? or even relief?

what you didn’t expect was to look at his ever so apathetic face as he only raised his eyebrows slightly at you. “haha, very funny” 

you could only blink at him for a few moments before you shook your head, muttering something to yourself. you shouldn’t be so surprised that he didn’t take you seriously. it’s not like he respected or even reacted to anything you told him before anyways.

good. maybe that would make it easier for you to leave.

“sure,” you whispered, not being able to mask the hurt and anger in your voice completely. 

you should have left earlier. you should have just gone outside despite the thick snow and cold wind instead of waiting for your friend to text you.

“come on, i know you’re joking,” kenma rolled his eyes at you as he spoke. “you wouldn’t just leave like that. did someone put you up to this stupid prank?”

scoffing, you let your backpack fall to the ground, clenching your first on your side.

a couple of months ago you would have tried to excuse the apathy in his voice and even excuse his way of dismissing you and whatever you were doing, telling yourself that he was tired or just busy but once this period was over he would again be the loving and attentive young man you fell in love with.

but he wasn’t anymore. and he hasn’t been for a long while.

furrowing your eyebrows you looked down to your backpack, rusting in it for a couple of seconds before pulling out a white, slightly wrinkled envelope. you took a deep breath to gather yourself before looking back up at him. “i wanted to leave this on the table, but since you’re here already” you held it out in front of you, looking at him expectantly.

with a confused look on his face, kenma reached out, taking the paper from you with slow hands, his bewildered eyes never leaving your stone-cold expression.

he looked down at it, seeing that it was addressed to him, his name handwritten in big, cursive letters. “what’s that supposed to be?”

“i told you, i’m leaving,” you repeated coldly.

with skeptic eyes he looked at the white paper for a second before meeting your eyes again. “why would you?” he sounded confused, more bewildered than actually emotional.

of course he still didn’t believe you. 

you were here in front of him, your suitcases packed and a backpack on your shoulders and he still didn’t take you seriously. what would you have to do for him to just listen to you for one time?

you couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at him, fingers tightening around the straps of your backpack before you swung it back onto yourself again, at the same time putting your shoes on. “read it and find out”

you jumped slightly as kenma spoke again, his voice now significantly louder than before, uncharacteristic for a quiet and rather apathetic person. “seriously? you say you’re leaving but can’t even tell me to my face why? really?” he sneered, taking a step closer to you.

in return you backed away, trying to keep your voice as low and steady as you could. “you have no reason to raise your voice at me right now”

after his hands had balled up the letter, kenma threw the paper on the ground. 

that’s what he was doing to what you were telling him. this is how much your words meant to him.

not even worth a listen, only worth to be thrown away.

“of course i have! i have every reason to! my partner wants to pack up and leave and doesn’t even have the heart to talk to me!” he continued yelling, pointing at you accusingly. 

of course everything was your fault. of course he didn’t listen. of course he didn’t entertain the possibility for even one second that everything you wanted to talk about and everything you argued about was serious.

you shook your head in disbelief, a shocked laugh escaping you. “suddenly you want to talk?”

“what the hell are you talking about”

every single word that left his mouth managed to drive the knife in your heart even deeper inside. did he ever even care? did the past years mean absolutely nothing to him? why was he so confused? did your concerns over all these months and years really mean nothing to him?

why did he care so little?

“if you want me to talk, sure, i’ll talk” you clenched your teeth, balling your hands to fists at your sides.

you looked back at him, letting out a deep breath before you summarized all your thoughts in just a few words, mentally begging that you could simply get out as fast as possible. “you don’t give a shit anymore. not about this relationship or about me”

you didn’t want to talk to him about it, afraid of what you might say or not say and afraid of what he might say. you didn’t want to see him stare at you as you poured your heart out, slap him in the face with every issue that‘s been laying heavy on your heart for way too long. you were afraid of breaking down crying in front of him, showing him just how much you hurt.

you simply couldn’t. you wouldn’t allow yourself to be so vulnerable in front of him, not in front of the person that made you feel so worthless and broken.

“i care about you!” kenma shouted back at you, taken aback by what you had just told him, “how could you say that i don’t?“

was that how he showed that he cared? ignoring you, arguing with you and constantly dismissing you? was that really how a person would show their love and care?

you scoffed. “no, you don’t, kenma! you stopped caring about us a long time ago,” you yelled, wanting nothing more than stomping your feet in frustration. why did he suddenly care so much? “you never talked to me unless it was to ask me to get you something because you were too lazy to get up and pause your game or wait before entering the next round. you never even thanked me when i brought you whatever it was you were asking for. you completely neglected your half of your chores and even had the audacity to get mad at me when i didn’t do them for you. and if that wasn’t enough, if i just as much as delayed mine for just a couple of hours because i came home from work exhausted as fuck, you found it in yourself to be angry at me too”

with every word you spoke you could see the anger in kenma‘s face disappear, instead shock and guilt taking it’s place. his entire stance loosened up, almost like he was about to lose balance on his feet. “(y/n), i-”

“i’m not done“ you continued to stare him down, a part of you taking pleasure in seeing his resolve crumble and see him look like a kicked dog. you know you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help yourself. you suffered for so long, you were in pain for so long — he should know how he had made you feel all this time. “you never listened to me anymore, because whatever was on any of your screens was more important. i don’t know if it was a game, or a friend, at this point i wouldn’t even care if you had a side piece. because it’s not like this would matter anymore. whoever or whatever it was, is clearly more important to you”

kenma stepped back, looking away from you as he pressed his fingernails deeply into his palm. he opened and closed his mouth multiple times, unsure of what to say. that was until he finally settled on something. “you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he whispered.

you let out a breathy laugh. was he serious? blowing things out of proportion?

would he still say this if he knew just how many tears you shed because of this? if he knew how often you made excuses for him to not just yourself but your friends too, who desperately tried to help you realize that the relationship wasn’t healthy or good for you? how you were constantly doubting yourself, not knowing if you were the one expecting too much? would he finally realize everything if he knew how broken you felt?

turning away from him, you pressed your lips into a thin line, quickly flexing and relaxing your hands as you tried to ground yourself. with a sad smile you looked back at him again. “it was our anniversary a week ago. do you remember that?”

you could see how kenma‘s face fell, as he became even more overcome with guilt. so he really didn’t care anymore. “thought so. you didn’t even come home that night,“ you continued, melancholy overtaking you as you recounted the day mentally. the excitement and hope you felt when you first woke up and started your day, which slowly turned into sadness and hurt with every passing hour until you completely shut down the moment the new day began. “do you know how shitty it felt to sit at home and just wait for you to show up, only to realize that you actually forgot?”

you shook your head again, swallowing rapidly to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. “you. the guy that remembers every easter egg, every cheat code and every shortcut from practically every game he played over the last year. that guy forgot his anniversary. and his partner’s birthday too while we’re at it”

it seemed that now the harsh reality finally hit kenma. he nodded, looking down in shame as he fiddled with his fingers. he opened his mouth, only to close it again. and again. and again. you could see the gears turning in his head.

in the meanwhile, you felt relief. while you still didn’t like that you were standing in front of him and couldn’t just disappear as planned, never seeing him again, you got a sense of comforting retaliation with every passing second. maybe, just maybe, he could feel even just an ounce of what you felt. 

“(y/n), i can make it up to you, i promise, i’ll do anything. i didn’t mean to, i just got so caught up in everything,“ he tried to reason, miserably failing in his attempt to admit his faults without taking an ounce of accountability.

maybe he didn’t get it after all.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you’re incredibly stupid if you actually believe that,” you stated with a shockingly monotone voice, shutting your eyes in defeat. “just face it, kenma. you didn’t care and don’t pretend to care now”

“but i did! i do!” he immediately claimed, stepping closer to you again, trying to take your hand, only for you to pull yours away as soon as his fingers touched your skin.

you sighed, holding your hands up in front of you in an attempt to protect yourself from every word that was leaving his mouth. he had already proved over and over again that he didn’t care about you — that he didn’t love you. so why couldn’t he allow you to finally leave and rid yourself from all this pain?

“stop. i can’t hear any of your lies before, really. i’m done with this too now, just like you are. shouldn’t you be happy now?” and yet again you felt your throat tighten. did kenma actually enjoy this? did he get some sick sense of pleasure from seeing you so hurt, so broken? why couldn’t he just let you go when this was what he made you believe he wanted?

“no one here that will annoy you when you’re gaming, no one that will force you to actually eat and no one that will drag you away from your pc so you can see the sun for at least five minutes. sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“no,“ he denied, reaching out for you, only to see you back away even more.

“no? but that’s what you wanted” you refused to look at him, instead carefully and slowly making your way over to your suitcases.

kenma however didn’t want to see you go, his hand grabbing your arm in a desperate attempt to keep you here, by his side. “no it’s not”

you used your free hand to peel his from your arm, shaking your head again in defeat. “well, that’s what you got now at least”

he stood there frozen as he watched you grab the handles of your suitcases, taking a deep breath before you spoke again, this time with your back to him.

“you know, i really wanted us to last, kenma. i really did. i tried to talk to you about this, i wanted to work this out together. but you never listened” you sighed, not being able to stop a sad smile appearing on your lips. “kind of ironic that you do now”

you could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. you could feel the hope rising in your chest, feeling relief at the thought of leaving this place. as you were about to step out, you stopped in your tracks, but refused to turn around. instead you glanced over to the window, seeing just how heavy the snow has gotten over the last hour. you clenched your jaw. “i asked tetsurou to come over later. i know you don’t like being alone at home when there’s supposed to be a snowstorm”

when you stepped even further away from him, finally reaching the door, kenma was ripped out of his frozen state, jumping forward and grabbing your arm once again. “(y/n), no!” he yelled out. 

your jaw clenched as soon as he touched you again, your mind falling into a loop of yelling at you to simply rip yourself away from him and leave without any other word and the other part simply begging him to finally let you go. you took a deep breath. “you’re going to close your eyes and let go of me. you’re going to count to ten. and when you open your eyes again, i’ll be gone”

it seemed so easy for him to hurt you over and over again, and yet he couldn’t seem to let you go. did he love to see you in such pain and misery? did he really just want to hurt you? 

“please don’t do this to me,“ kenma begged, his voice significantly more hoarse than before.

you scoffed. it’s not like you were doing this all just to hurt him — you simply wanted to be better, more than just feel blue day in and day out. you wanted to live again, not rot with a boyfriend that didn’t give a damn about you. “let go of me”

he grew more and more desperate, pulling on your sleeves like a child. “please don’t do this to us!”

“there is no ‘us’, kenma!” you finally yelled at him, confirming not just to him, but really to yourself that you actually meant what you said and wrote down. you were over and there was nothing he could do to change it. “didn’t you hear me? it’s gone”

“i love you!” he yelled back, his voice breaking. “i love you, i love you so much, please” 

and even though you were so relieved to finally leave, in this moment, you halted. 

love.

oh, how much you had loved him. 

after a deep, almost silent sigh, you looked back at him, seeing kenma with his head hanging low. “i would’ve given you everything to hear that just a few weeks ago. i gave you everything i had. and i would’ve been so incredibly happy” a smile spread over your face and you allowed yourself to fall for the illusion that his confession gave you. in some other universe you would hear these words daily, spoken with so much care and adoration, more than you could ever imagine. you would fall into his arms and kiss him sweetly and passionately and at the end of the day fall asleep in your shared bed, your bodies intertwined. you would be happy. “but now?”

“(y/n), please,“ he whispered.

“no. you’re too late”

and with that you shook him off off you again, finally opening the door, the cold air in the hallway hitting your face. 

behind you, kenma fell down to his knees, a lump in his throat, as he reached out for you, only to pull back immediately after. “please, i’m sorry! i’ll be better, i’ll change, i promise!”

you didn’t look at him, not wanting to see him in such a state. “i’m so sorry” 

pathetic — that was what he was right now. carelessly toying with your feelings and now that you just couldn’t take it anymore and left him, he suddenly seemed to have an epiphany. like a child that always ignored a toy, only to throw a fit as soon as another one wanted to play with it.

“i don’t want to hear your apologies. they don’t mean anything, kenma. they’re worthless” you spat at him, still staring at the grey wall ahead. “you can’t just keep apologizing and not change anything. i’m so sick of it, i can’t take it anymore” you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes to prevent just a single tear from falling. “i can’t get my hopes up only for you to crush them every time”

“i never wanted us to end,” he whispered, hands falling into his lap. “especially not like this. you have to believe me. please, let me fix it”

you shook your head.

“it doesn’t matter what you wanted. what matters is what you did. and what you did was hurt me. over and over, again and again” you huffed, looking down and a sad smile on your lips. “there’s only so much i can take,” your voice broke, leaving you with no choice but to clear your throat and shake your head. you promised yourself that you wouldn’t start crying here. you had cried enough already in this apartment.

“and there’s nothing you can do to fix it. you can’t reset”

you turned your back to him, only to face him again a couple of seconds later, clenching your fists at your side. after taking a deep breath, you spoke again. “it’s over, kenma” 

without waiting any longer you grabbed your two suitcases standing next to the door and walked out, careful not to slam the door behind you. while you dragged your luggage down, careful not to trip as your eyes filled with tears and constantly swallowing the lump in your throat, kenma still stood in the hallway, staring at the spot in which you stood just a few minutes ago, completely dazed. 

it was only when you were long gone, after your friend had picked you up and allowed you to cry your heart out on their shoulder, did kenma feel like he could finally move. he was about to turn around and leave when he noticed a white ball laying on the floor. with a shaky hand he went and picked it up, only to realize that it was your letter, the only thing you had left behind for him.

clutching it into his chest he sank down on his knees, hunching over as he felt the tears pooling out of his eyes.

finally kenma realized that what you said was true. there was nothing he could do to fix this and get you back, there were no save points to return, no data to delete to start over and no cheat codes to enter.

it was game over.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Under a Star-Flecked Sky

Author's Note: This was supposed to be some Rhysand x Reader fluff, but the depression brain-rot got the better of me and I wrote some angsty, post-UtM Rhys moments instead (don't worry there is some fluff at the end). My baby just needs a hug, and honestly I think SJM did him dirty by brushing his trauma Under the Mountain under the rug.

Warnings: Mentions of Amarantha, Rhys' Post-UtM Trauma

Summary: You're Rhys' mate, having already been with him before the Mountain, and are navigating Rhys' healing journey as best you can.

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The bed was cold; the realization jarring you from the deep clutches of sleep. Your bed was never cold, not when your mate was in it. Rhysand ran warm, your own personal heater, usually spending the night curled around you, cocooned inside the safety of his wings, but those great wings and the male attached to them were nowhere to be seen. His side of the bed empty, the sheets rumpled, blanket haphazardly clinging to the side of the mattress like he'd flung it off in a hurry, even though you hadn't heard him get up.

You sat up, shivering in the chill coming through the open windows, the satin curtains billowing in the autumn breeze. It would be too cold to leave them open soon, a fact you knew often put your mate on edge, especially after...

You called for him down the bond you shared with your mate, worried. It had been a couple months since Rhys had returned home to Velaris after Amarantha; the nightmares had been constant the first couple of weeks, at one point they had gotten so bad he'd started spending the night at the Moonstone Palace, claiming he had work to do to avoid you and the rest of the Inner Circle from seeing him like that, but with some help from Madja and some other healers in the city he'd been able to get a handle on it. Usually. Some nights were worse than others. You'd tried to be as supportive as possible, even going down to the Library to read up on ways to help. There were calming teas you'd started making for him before bed, the recipe tucked in one of those old books, but you suspected Rhys drank it just to make you feel like you were helping, the cup still half full on the bedside table. You'd drifted off shortly after handing it to him last night.

When there was no answer down the bond, you crawled out of the bed, dragging the blanket with you. The black silk slip you wore did nothing to stave off the cold, you'd worn the birthday gift from Rhys down to its threads over the years he was gone. He'd offered to buy you a new one--multiple in more colors--but you'd refused. It was your favorite, you'd find some magic to keep it held together if you had to. Still, it was the wrong time of the year for it, and you opted to stay warm under the blanket instead of pausing to change into something else as you left the room in search of your mate, still calling for him down the bond.

He gave no answer, his end silent. As silent as it had been for the last 50 years, that great, formidable wall of adamant shielding him from you.

You bit your lip as you checked each room in the house, all empty, save for the one Cassian was snoring in at the end of the Hall. They'd started taking turns sleeping over, keeping an eye on their brother. Azriel had stayed the night before, Mor the night before that. They stole your wine and played old board games until the early hours of the morning, trying to get Rhys' to laugh, or smile at the least. He didn't do a lot of that these days.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. He'd been through so much and half the time he'd just shut down and shut you out, unable to explain what had happened. What she had done to him. Most nights you wondered if there was a way to let you into Hell, just so you could kill her a second time. You'd had a long time to think about what you'd do if you ever had the chance to get your hands on her. Not that it mattered in the end, you'd never been able to get into the Mountain. You'd failed him then and it was starting to feel like you were failing him again now as you all but sprinted through the house.

It took longer than you would like to admit to notice that the balcony doors in the living room were open. Rhys left the windows open, never the doors, even if Velaris was the safest place in Prythian, he'd never leave you vulnerable like that, not unless he was nearby.

Tears pricked your eyes, your lower lip bleeding from how hard you'd been biting down on it as you stepped out into the frigid night air. The lounge chairs and tables along the edge were all empty, no glass of Rhys' favorite whiskey in sight.

Your heart thundered in your ears, thoughts racing. Where the hell was he? Had something happened? Was he in danger?

You were about to start calling his name in desperation before a shifting tile on the roof caught your attention. One of the pieces had been knocked loose--a new occurrence because you'd had to replace them after a drunk Cassian had tried to do a back flip off it last week.

Clutching the blanket around your shoulders with one hand, you used the other to pull a chair over to where the corner of the roof hung over the balcony, and carefully climbed up. The townhouse roof was not as steep as the Palace roof, or even the cabin in Illyria, where you and your mate used to sit and talk about all his plans for his city and his people.

That ache in your chest returned tenfold as you spotted your mate, sitting at the highest point of the roof, knees to his chest, wings wrapped around himself to fight against the cold. His head was tucked against his knees, ebony hair covering his eyes. This was not his spot to stargaze. This was not like all those times you'd sat together, whispering your dreams to the stars, so hopeful and eager for the future. This was not the ambitious and hopeful High Lord who had swept you into the glittering world of the Night Court and mapped out a future among the stars with you all those years ago. You had gone to the cabin in Illyria only once while he was away, and the loss of him, the bond so quite and empty and cold in the place you had formed it had been so devastating you'd almost ripped the place apart one wood plank at a time. At the time you had been so sure you had lost him forever that you'd nearly ripped everything you had built together apart in your grief. You had left all those dreams you shared in those woods and vowed that you would never whisper any prayers to the stars ever again. Not if their heir was gone and their reflection in his violet eyes would never look your way again. You had stopped dreaming in his absence. Nights like this you wondered if he had too. Perhaps the Mountain had taken more from both of you then you dared to admit, even to each other. What good were dreams if the stars no longer listened, if they would no longer answer you?

It was an easy climb to him compared to all the other roofs you had climbed to sit with him in the past, even with the blanket still clutched around your shoulders.

Rhys didn't look up. You weren't even sure he'd heard you. Still, you lowered yourself to sit next to him, the worry swirling in the pit of your stomach only beginning to settle as you took in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. This was the part where you said something witty, threw the blanket around him and chastised him for leaving you alone, but maybe those were games for the people you were before. The last time he hadn't heard you coming, too caught up in his own head to hear you, he'd flinched so hard his powers had knocked a bookshelf over, panic flooding the bond. He accidentally showed you a flash of red hair and pointed nails, scratching at his back before he'd ripped the memory away and locked himself in the bathroom. You'd been trying to find ways to avoid doing it ever again.

It was a long, tense few minutes before Rhys lifted his head off his knees just enough to look at you. "Did I wake you?" His voice was raw, like he'd been screaming.

You wanted to touch him, to hold him in your arms and stroke his hair and make it all better, as his touch had always done for you, but everything was so different. Sometimes you were sure he let you hold his hands because he knew you wanted to, not because he wanted to.

It had been a long couple months, you'd been weighing and measuring every word, trying not to startle him, trying not to make him feel any guilt or shame. He had saved you, and your family, had given everything he'd had to ensure that she didn't taint any bit of your home, you owed him a solid front, a shoulder to lean on. You had not spoken of how scared you had been, how cold and empty and wretched you had felt for every moment of the last fifty years. You'd crafted a nice mask for the court to see, holding steady in his absence, not taking it off, even after his return in hopes that it would ease his burden. But the words came tumbling out of you, the tidal wave of emotions bubbling up and bursting out in a rush, "You scared me."

He sat up a little straighter, pain flashing across his star flecked eyes.

"The bond was quite," tears pricked your eyes. "Cold. You wouldn't answer me. You'd shut me out." It was that last bit more than anything. You could handle the nightmares. You could handle this new version of your mate, because truth be told there had been times you weren't sure he was ever coming back, whatever shape he was in was irrelevant in the long run as long as he was alive. All the newness, the unease and uncertainty, the new quite version of him was easy to handle. But the quiet, knowing he'd shut you out again...

"I know that you need time, and space, and I'm trying to give that to you, Rhys, but..."

He unfurled his wings enough to wrap one around you, an arm sliding around your waist to pull you against his side. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered against your temple, planting gentle, feather light kisses against your skin as you buried your face in he crook of his neck.

He was here. He was safe. This was real. All things you often had to remind yourself of.

"Please don't shut me out like that," you whispered, the tears falling freely down your cheeks. "Not again. I can bear a lot, Rhys, but not any more of that."

His wings came back around to cover both of you as he stroked a hand through your hair. Still, aside from a few more whispered apologies, he didn't speak, didn't attempt to explain himself. You tried to tell yourself it was fine, he didn't have to explain, he'd earned the right to keep whatever he needed to to himself, if he wanted to tell you he would. But he still had not lowered his shields, did not project anything down the bond. A part of you wanted to scream, grab onto that tether that linked your souls together and shake it like you could somehow force life back into it. Maybe things would be better if you could. Maybe they'd be worse. You tried to tell yourself this was enough.

"There are things," he said finally, his voice pained like he was having trouble putting it together, no sign of that silver tongue of his. "Things I can't... can't talk about."

You laid your hand over his heart, feeling the uneven beat. It was rare for Rhys to be so obviously anxious.

"Things I won't talk about."

"It's not healthy-"

"No," he growled, tightening his grip on your waist to keep you from pulling back to look him in the eyes. By the uneasiness of his breathing you thought he might be crying himself. "You do not need to know. You will hear enough of my sins from everyone else."

Sins, as if he had done any of it willingly, as if he'd had any choice in it.

"You didn't have a choice," you began.

"It doesn't matter," Rhys countered. "That is not the story they will tell."

He would be the villain, the little lackey that did her dirty work, the monster that ripped people's minds apart for his evil queen. You'd heard the story in the High Lord's meetings over and over again--and worse, especially from Beron and Tamlin. "I don't believe anyone else's stories. I don't care what they think you've done, or why you'd done it. I don't care, Rhys, because it's not true."

He buried his head in the top of you hair, a shuttering breath ripping out his chest.

You shot as much understanding and love down the bond as you could, hoping some of it would eventually break through that wall between you. "I love you, I'll always love you, Rhys, nothing will change that."

His wings tightened around you, soft moonlight shining through the soft membrane, highlighting centuries worth of nicks and battle scars. You longed to run your fingers over them, familiarize yourself once again with the patterns and feelings you had forgotten in the last fifty years.

"But how are we supposed to move forward if we don't talk to each other?" You whispered. "I miss you. I miss talking to you. You're my best friend, my mate, we promised to always be honest and open with each other."

You twisted to be able to look at him, pulling away just enough to catch the glimmer of tears in his eyes. You reached out gently to wipe one off his cheek and he shuttered at the contact.

"It doesn't have to be tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. I know that you need time, and I am not asking you to give me details you don't want to, but there's gotta be some way for us to talk to each other again, isn't there?"

He tilted his head to kiss your fingertips. "I'm sorry, I know I've hurt you," he murmured against your fingertips, his lips soft and warm against your chilled skin. "I'm trying." He moved his lips to your palm, placing featherlight kisses on the way down, his offering of another apology, as if to tell you he was sorry you had to be there to wipe away any tears. He'd been like that before, but not this bad.

"I know," you said, "but in the mean time, can I at least have a thought for a thought?"

He hummed against your palm. "You first."

"I'm thinking we really should have put in more comfortable roof tiles," you said, twisting against the tile that was biting into the underside of your thighs.

He shifted and pulled you to sit in his lap with a huff of what was almost a laugh. The shift in conversation was good, kept you both from spiraling further into all the uncertainty the future still held. If you couldn't talk about the past, at least there were things in the present to talk about.

"And I'm thinking," you added as you settled against his strong chest, his heartbeat a bit more steady against you now. "That you make a very comfortable seat."

"That's two."

"First one was free," you say, resting your head against his shoulder.

He was quiet for a long moment, just the two of you wrapped in each other under the stars.

"I'm thinking..." his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands finding yours so you could intertwine them. "That I clearly need to get you some new socks, your feet are freezing!"

He was clad in nothing but his underwear, you only now realized, and you had instinctively wrapped your legs around his, seeking any kind of warmth you could find. There wasn't a full sleep set between the two of you.

You couldn't help but laugh, even if this wasn't how you'd hoped the conversation would go, at least it was a conversation. "You know I hate sleeping with socks on, that's not fair."

"Slippers than," he conceded.

You intentionally brushed your cold feet up the side of his leg. "Fuzzy ones. And only if they're bright pink."

"Ridiculous," he huffed, "but if you insist."

"I want them to look like cats too."

"Pink cats?"

"Pink cats."

"Pink cats it is then."

You grinned at that. "We can go to the Rainbow tomorrow for them?"

"First thing in the morning," he promised as he settled his chin on your shoulder.

"We should go for breakfast. There's a new bakery on the Sidra. Well, new as in neither of us have been there, it's technically been open for awhile."

"You didn't go?"

You two had met in a bakery in Illyria, had fought over the last chocolate croissant until the shop owner had kicked both you out for scarring the other customers, it had become something of a weekly tradition to find which shop in Velaris had the best ones since. "I was waiting for you."

The arms around your middle squeezed a little tighter.

"I have a list of things for us to do, actually. A lot changed and I thought if, maybe I kept making a list it gave the Mother a reason to bring you back to me." It felt stupid, now that you'd said it aloud that you had hoped depriving yourself of a chocolate croissant would somehow force the Mother to bring your mate home, but you had been desperate, you weren't always thinking clearly.

Rhys nuzzled into the side of your neck. "Thank you, for waiting." You knew him well enough to know he wasn't talking about the bakery or the croissants.

"I would have waited a thousand years for you," you whispered.

"That's a long time without chocolate croissants," he teased.

"They're worth the wait," you replied, hoping he knew you well enough to know you weren't talking about croissants either.

He merely hummed understandingly as he settled against your shoulder, his breathing evening out against your back. You relished in the rise and fall of his chest, of his warm breath against your throat. He was alive, he was here, he'd made it home.

"What else is on this list of yours?"

"There's a new dinner cruise around the Sidra, an art exhibit in the Rainbow, three new plays," you counted them off on your fingers, trying to remember all of them now. Sleep was beginning to beckon again, your eyes heavy, speech slowing. "The Night Orchestra is coming back into town, you missed them twice. There's a new ice cream shop to try..." there was something else, but your mind was growing hazy. A yawn escaped you.

Rhys tried to stand, but you grabbed frantically at his wrists. "I'm ok. Wanna stay here with you."

He settled back against the roof, laying back now with you tucked into his side. The blanket had gotten twisted between the two of you, doing little to keep out the bite of the roof tiles. You didn't care.

"Oh! There's a new place that sells some lacy things I think you'd like," you mumbled as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in deep.

"For you or me?" He teased.

"For you to rip off of me," you said.

He kissed your temple, "We'll definitely have to stop there then."

You were trying your hardest to keep your eyes open, really you were, but they were growing heavier and heavier, the stars over head blurring in your vision. Maybe you had been wrong to stop wishing on them, despite all your pain, your mate had still returned to you, that dream had still been answered.

"We're gonna be ok, you know," You murmured into his neck.

"You think so?" He whispered.

"I'll wish it onto every star I see until it's answered," you vowed.

Rhys gripped you a little tighter, you gripped him back, eyes drifting shut fully now.

"Maybe I'll start making wishes again too," he said in your ear. You hoped, as you drifted off, that the stars heard him and would answer this wish too.

[satureja13]

Vlad returned early next morning to charge the Bond. Reluctantly - he's still embarrassed Ji Ho cought him in that silly mud fight with Jack... Vlad doesn't want Ji Ho to think he's childish. He knows how hard it is for Ji Ho to get over his anxiety and he so tries to act dependable and 'grown up' for him...

And shortly after Vlad arrived, the sun began to shine and Jack made pancakes for breakfast! He's so glad Vlad can finally eat real food, that he eventually learned how to cook! (That was about time ^^')

Ji Ho and Jack would love to go swimming but they have to care for Saiwa. No way they let him alone after his breakdown.

Vlad: "Go. I'll stay here for a bit longer." Jeb and Kiyoshi are in a bad state too and they need Vlad, but he would do anything to see Ji Ho happy. And Ji Ho is the happiest when he swims.

And while the two youngest went to the beach, Sai got up. Saiwa: "I should get myself together. I'm a burden for everyone around me." Vlad: "So Jack is a burden for everyone around him too?" Saiwa: "Of course not!"

Vlad: "See? We are there for each other. That's what friends are for, hm? None of us is a burden. Take your time. We will be fine. Look how happy they are."

Vlad can feel through the Bond how happy Ji Ho is.

And the Bond tells Ji Ho how happy Vlad is because he's happy. That's so odd. Ji Ho: "Jack, Morgan said I put a Siren's Spell on Vlad to beguile him. Do you think that's possible without me knowing? That the Council maybe used my grandfather to make me do this to gain access to his powers? Vlad is so so happy just because I'm happy right now. This isn't normal, don't you think? That he's so obsessed with me. I know now it's also the Bond - but he had been like this long before. He died for me - without hesistance." Jack: "Don't you forget about Val and Jino! Your souls travelled through time and space just to be reborn in you two. Your love is epic!" Ji Ho: "But if it's real - why can't I love him?" Jack sighed. He has no answer to that either. He is still struggling to wrap his head around Kiyoshi. That he's a diety now and that he did not torture them at the Lab and saved them instead. And almost got executed for this. And on top of it all, Jack tried to kill him... How is he supposed to deal with all this? On top of with all his other disorders?

The chirping of the birds is driving Saiwa crazy. It reminds him of his unutterable fake relationship with Kiyoshi... And now it's getting even louder! Is there a bird in the house?

Saiwa: "Oh I know this noise!" Vlad: "Saiwa! Wait!"

Saiwa: "What is he doing here!? There's no way I will let him mess with our brains! We know nothing about Arturo and why he gave us this board! What if the Council sent him!" Vlad: "Tiny Can followed them here because he missed Jack. They hid him because they were afraid it would upset you. But they need help, Saiwa. Professional help. We do what we can for them but we can't do everything, hm? Look, there is no internet or other remote connection to anything here. Just the PACKs device you've built. And you could set up the AI so, that it does not send our data anywhere, right?" Tiny Can looked sideways sheepishly and let out a sad chirp.

Vlad left. Kiyoshi and Jeb need him. Saiwa sighed.

But then he started to ponder about how to make the AI safe to use. For Jack and Ji Ho. And maybe also for himself. Maybe the tin can can point him a way back to Jeb...

Meanwhile Jack found a TukTuk at the beach and he's disappointed. Why couldn't it be a spaceship instead? (Opposed to Vlad, Jack has no problems acting childish ^^')

Outtakes

They have a hunch they are in a simulation! Or - maybe... we are? o.o'

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest ��️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 2 Watanagashi pt. Final

Guess this is all tied up in a neat little package.

Ah man, so much for everything being tied up nice and neat.

I miss the simple days of when murder victims, and the dead killers stayed dead. It's like a bad horror series where they have to contrive reasons for why and how Michael Myers survived being locked in a burning building with no avenue for escape. "He survived because he hid where the guns are hidden." Bullshit, I don't think hiding in an impromptu oven will stop you from being cooked to death. Maybe the dead Mion and dead Takano are also friends with the writer and convinced him to spare their lives for a smidge.

There's a quote from an old crime writer named Mickey Spillane. "Nobody reads a mystery to get to the middle. They read it to get to the end. If it's a letdown, they won't buy any more. The first page sells that book. The last page sells your next book." You might think this is a jab at Ryukishi07, but I like to think that he's heard this quote and has ingrained it in his soul. Come to think of it I'm pretty sure a lot of writers use this trick, even if they don't like to admit it. The mystery of how people who were apparently dead days before their corpses were found is an intriguing mystery. Now, of course this isn't the end of the chapter, but it's close enough.

It is a pretty good joke, shame Mion didn't see the comedy in it. Also it's tragic that the two were attacked and lost their faces. So how much of this was actually real do you think? I'm going to guess everything after the stabbing is all in Keiichi's mind and he did die of his stab wound. You don't twist the knife if you don't mean to make sure your victim is absolutely dead. I'm not a huge fan of the "everything was just the main character's dying dream" trope because I generally feel that's just people interacting with the book/game/VN/whatever at the absolute laziest possible level.

But this can't be real, up until this point ghosts haven't existed in the narrative at all. Not even as a one-off casual mention. I suppose you could argue that spirits exist because of the notion the god Oyashiro exists, and demons, but that could just as easily be counter-argued with the explanation these are just fairy tales.

I have a backup theory. My main bet is everything post stabbing is entirely in Keiichi's head, and he died from the wound. But the alternate theory I have is that everything up until Ooishi left happened, and that's when Keiichi died. His wounded body couldn't handle the mental strain of being told Mion, Shion, and everyone else had died, and as such it simply gave up. Which is extremely bad luck for Ooishi, that the last witness of the entire Sonozaki/Watanagashi Incident died shortly after he saw him. Which I guess would kind of make Ooishi the grim reaper.

I enjoyed it a lot better than Onikakushi. It was much more intriguing of a read.

Rika, just vibrating with fury.

Sorry Satoko, I'm pretty sure everyone's gonna be put through the wringer before all's said and done.

Ah, they have fun.

No.

Anyway, I do have a question, please feel free to answer it, but be mindful not to spoil please. Should I bother reading these All Cast Review Sessions? Do they actually contribute to the overall narrative? Or is it just a decompressing lighthearted discussion about the chapter? Would I lose anything if I just jumped directly from the end of say Chapter 3: Tatarigoroshi and went in immediately to Chapter 4: Himatsubushi? Basically, I'm wondering if these Review Sessions are like the Tea Party segments from Umineko, and will add large amounts of plot details to the overall narrative.

I ask this like it'll make a difference, I know myself well enough that I'm just going to read them regardless. Still, I'm curious.

[sariahsue]

Marinette’s Three Rules for Preventing the Apocalypse

Set shortly after the events of Chat Blanc, Marinette uses her knowledge of what happened that day to create three rules to prevent disaster. What happens when she can't keep them all?

Chapter One - Six Months Later

(Oops. This is the real ch one. The last “ch 1″ I posted was intended to be the prologue!)

"Marinette," Adrien's voice sang. Or wait, was he in costume right now? She yawned and stretched, giving herself time to remember what was happening before responding. Her arm pushed against something warm and she looked up. A masked face smiled down at her.

Marinette bolted up from where she'd had her head in his lap. The sunlight coming through her windows was at a completely different angle than it had been when she'd closed her eyes. Overdue homework mixed with the fabric and thread from two half-unfinished commissions she was supposed to be done with by the end of the week. Why hadn't he woken her up?

"What time is it?" She swept an arm to collect as much of her things off the floor as possible.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked.

"No." She stuffed three pencils in her mouth, threw the fabric over her shoulder and tried to stack her papers with one hand and the pins she'd knocked over with the other. It wasn't working well.

"It looks like you are." He leaned over and brushed the pins into a pile so she could walk safely to her desk.

"I'm not mad," she said after dropping the pencils back onto her desk. "At you. I just don't know if you're lying to me again."

"Hm." He walked over, and she handed him a pincushion shaped like a tomato. "So you are mad at me."

It had been a difficult game she'd been playing, but one she knew the rules to by now. Chat Noir couldn't confide in her about his personal problems, and she wasn't allowed to ask. But Adrien wouldn't confide in her at school, and she had no way to help him if she wasn't supposed to know that he'd been coming to her house for comfort. He looked perfectly calm in class, never getting lower than an A, keeping a smile and an answer whenever the teacher called on him. It would seem odd if she said he looked upset and asked if he wanted to talk. She felt stuck.

"I'm really fine," he said once all the pins were put away. "I'm not lying."

Another rule of the game was that she had to pretend she wasn't Ladybug, and so she couldn't tell him he wasn't allowed to use the miraculous for friendly visits. But that one didn't grate on her as much. It was better that he felt he could come over whenever he wanted and not like he was imposing on her, for his own sake.

And he had taken advantage of the hospitality. What had started as an occasional hello when he was feeling down had turned into regular hangouts. Sometimes they sat on her balcony for five minutes to catch up on their uneventful days. Other times they stayed up for hours, swapping secrets, watching movies, or doing homework together.

Having him so close and still not being able to be with him wasn't the best for Marinette's heart, and trying to keep track of what he'd told her as which persona was confusing, but he was always happier when he left. That was worth any sacrifice she had to make.

Marinette took her time putting the pin cushion away, carefully rearranging the contents of her sewing basket while she collected her thoughts. She could feel Chat Noir standing right behind her. If she took a step back, she would lean into his chest. For a second she let herself pretend that if she did, he would wrap his arms around her and hold her.

But Chat Noir and Marinette were not like that. He wasn't like that with Ladybug either, not since she'd asked him to move on.

Marinette leaned forward, away from the temptation, and turned around.

"I'm glad you're okay," she finally said. "I didn't want to beat anyone up on your behalf today."

His cat ears perked up, and his lips twisted into her favorite grin. "How about tomorrow?"

She made a pretense of glancing at the calendar on her wall to distract herself from his mouth. "Sorry. I have to study for a math quiz tomorrow night. Can you save your personal problems for Saturday? I should have more time then."

"I'll pencil a crisis in for you."

Marinette swallowed an "it's a date" comment. It wasn't a date. They weren't dating. They would never date. They were never going to be together.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

She snapped her attention back to him. Chat Noir crouched down ever so slightly to get a better look at her face, and Marinette realized that she'd reached behind her to grab the edge of her desk in a death grip. Her nails pressed into the underside painfully.

"Fine," she said, forcing her fingers open and shaking her hands. Her weak heart beat painfully for him.

And he just had to smile at her anyway. "Now who's lying? What was that about?" Carefully, he reached to push a strand of hair out of her face, using his knuckle so he wouldn't risk getting a claw near her eye.

His fingers lingered. And Marinette willed herself to breathe. It wasn't fair that he could do something so normal and send her leaning onto her desk for support. He didn't see her like that, and they weren't ever going to be together.

"Nothing," she said. "Just swallowed wrong." She cleared her throat to try to help sell it. He didn't look convinced, just mildly amused.

"Well, if you're sure you're okay," Chat Noir breathed. His hand still hovered next to her face. It would be easy for her to lean toward it, cup it against her cheek, kiss his palm. "I should let you finish your commissions."

Marinette groaned. Work was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about. "You said you don't have patrol tonight. Couldn't you stay?" Her eyes flicked to the red box of fabric on top of her dresser. Tikki was in there, probably preparing a speech for later.

"Sorry, Marinette. I have to be up early tomorrow."

Her shoulders drooped. Right, Adrien had a photoshoot. "Who's going to save me from my work now?"

"Stop it. You love sewing." He reached past her to pick up her sketchbook, flipping back a page to the vest she'd been working on and waved it at her. "And you'll love the sense of accomplishment when you see how amazing they look when they're done."

Marinette finally pushed herself off the desk and picked up the pincushion. It was the perfect size to fit into her hand, and the heads of the pins were cool against her palm.

"Ugh. Maybe you're right."

"Good. I'm glad that you sound so convinced." He pushed the notebook into her hands and reached around for his baton.

"You could always bribe me," she said as he climbed up her ladder and headed toward the skylight above her bed.

"Huh?" He turned, knees on her mattress, always careful not to get her covers dirty even though she'd never thought to ask him.

"How about you promise to check on my progress tomorrow?"

He smiled and gave her a thumbs up at the unexpected invitation. She'd never done that before. It was always "come over if you need to." It was never a request on her part.

As Chat Noir's tail disappeared through the skylight, Tikki came out of hiding.

"You're doing enough to help him by letting him come," she said, tiny arms crossed and hovering inches from Marinette's face. "You don't need to invite him to come more often. He shouldn't be–"

"Using his miraculous for personal reasons. I know." She'd honestly forgotten about that in the moment, but she couldn't bring herself to regret the invitation. "It's fine. Plagg is lazy. He'll probably tell him no anyway."

"What are you going to do when he falls in love with you again? Have you thought about that?"

"When," not "if." Marinette had to hold back a smile, right until the logic set it. Chat Noir might visit her in his spare time, but Adrien didn't treat her any differently at school, which he would if he wanted to pursue a relationship with her.

"Don't worry, Tikki. He only sees me as a friend." Marinette pulled open her trapdoor to go downstairs, letting it fall with a slam behind her.

---

It had taken much longer than Ladybug had anticipated, but patrols had finally gotten back to normal. After the reveal, and her rejection, the duo had been understandably distant from each other, and their first few meetings were sterile and devoid of fun while he was nursing a broken heart. But their partnership had been strong enough that they quickly found a new rhythm. It was friendly and fun. It worked. But some of the warmth was missing.

And as much as she wanted to pretend that his time with Marinette was the only reason for his recovery, she could tell he was slowly getting over her. Knowing it was for the best, that everyone was safer that way and it was the right choice, didn't stop her wound from aching.

There were two solaces in the whole thing. One was that he was able to share details with Ladybug that he couldn't share with Marinette. He would talk about tests at school that he was worried about or the disappointments his father dished out almost daily.

Second, he talked about his friend Marinette frequently, how great he thought she was, and how much he loved spending time with her. Ladybug would try not to blush and often had to turn away to hide the tinge in her cheeks when she failed.

Today they were patrolling across the river in the first arrondissement, and Chat seemed particularly distracted. Three times he didn't hear her when she asked him questions, and twice she lost track of him because he was following behind and hadn't noticed she'd taken a turn.

"Are you okay?" she asked when they had finished their loop and were heading back home. "You aren't getting sick or something are you?"

"I'm going to ask her out."

A car below them kicked up pebbles onto the sidewalk. They hit something metallic.

Ladybug blinked, opened her mouth, and said, "Oh."

Chat Noir wasn't happier because he was getting over her. He'd completely gotten over and moved onto someone else already. She felt completely blindsided. A masochistic piece of her wanted to know who it was, but she pushed the question away.

"Sorry if I've been distracted today. I was just–"

"Thinking about her?"

"Worrying about it," he said.

For the past few months, she'd gotten very practiced in the art of pretending she didn't feel anything for him. It was far easier than it should have been to plaster on a concerned smile and say, "What for? That's great!"

Chat Noir hesitated. He nudged a loose corner of shingle with his boot. "Nothing, I guess."

"You have nothing to be worried about." Ladybug clasped her hands in front of herself, not sure if she wasn't selling it enough or putting in too much energy. He looked up from the shingle and smiled at her, so maybe it was the right amount.

It was good that he wasn't hurting anymore. She did want him to be happy.

But tonight she learned something about herself. She hadn't realized she'd been hoping that Adrien loved her too much to be able to move on. That was selfish, and she hated the jealousy that was spreading through her veins like poison, so she grabbed his hands and squeezed, pushing down the ugliness with a reminder that he was happy, and he wasn't hurting, and this was best for everyone.

They'd been only best friends for ages. She could do that again. "So when are you going to ask her?" she said, trying to channel her inner Alya.

He shrugged, looking away. "Soon, I think."

"You'll have to tell me how it goes. Our next joint patrol is Friday night, so you can give me all the deets." (Maybe too much inner Alya. That sounded forced.)

"Sure," he said, oblivious to how her smile was too wide and how her eyes prickled. "Before Friday."

"Okay, well, I'll see you then!"

She left without saying goodbye.

---

A/N: So... how are you? (I have nothing to say this time.)

@tbehartoo

[senditcolton]

Prompt #7 with PLD?

ah PLD, the man i can never let go of. this prompt might be a little cliche but do you know why cliches become cliches? because they work!

Love doesn't have to be something that we hide behind the scenes.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your voice quiet but assured. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised we managed to keep it a secret for this long.”

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t really plan for this to happen.”

“I know, Luc. I was there when it started,” you tease and your heart trills at the sound of Pierre’s laughter coming from the adjoining bathroom of the hotel suite you found yourself in.

How did you get here? Well, it was a long story.

How you came to be staying in the same hotel as the Winnipeg Jets was an easy answer. Right before the season started, you got a job as a part of the Jets the athletic training staff and soon, you found yourself as part of the travelling team, an honor that you hadn’t expected to receive in your first year. So, technically speaking, you were supposed to be in this hotel with the rest of the players and staff. However, your assigned room was actually a floor below.

That lead to the story how you came to find yourself nestled in the bed sheets behind the hotel room belonging to one Pierre-Luc Dubois.

As previously mentioned, you didn’t plan on this happening. At first, Pierre was just another co-worker. An insanely attractive co-worker who maybe sometimes flirted with you in the hallways to be sure but that was all. You certainly weren’t expecting him to become something more than that, a brief infatuation that you would get over eventually and things would return to business as usual. The rational part of your brain also told you that it was impossible for you and him to become something more. You’ll be the first to admit that you had only skimmed the employee code of conduct but you were pretty sure there was a section that said no fraternizing with the players.

And you never planned to.

Not until one night in Tampa when Victor Hedman laid a particularly messy hit on Pierre, a hit that caused his legs to tangle underneath him and had him ushered off the ice to the training room where he sat as you checked to see what the damage was. And when you and Rob confirmed that it was serious enough for Pierre to not return to the game, you stayed with him in the recovery room, icing and taping his knee to make him feel as best he could.

You could confidently say those 30 minutes or so of you and him just sitting together talking was the turning point in your relationship. And shortly after, you found yourself falling into an easy romance that you now couldn’t imagine your life without.

The two of you knew that being together wasn’t the smartest plan, that it could easily cost you your job. But you managed to keep it under wraps for almost four months and no one was the wiser.

However, you knew you had to come clean at some point. And that’s what lead to this conversation in a hotel room.

Pierre emerges from the bathroom, his pullover and sweatpants covering his frame as he walks back over to you still in bed.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“I wouldn’t say I want to. I like what we have right now, I like being in this nice little bubble of just you and me. But I think it would just make things easier, less complicated.”

“I could kiss you in hallways instead of having to wait until we were alone,” Pierre adds and you laugh at his light teasing.

“If I keep my job,” you say, trying to keep your voice light but having to voice the harsh possibility.

“Oh, right,” Luc sighs, his eyes ducking down. You reach out for his hand, taking in his palm in yours as you intertwine your fingers.

“Hey, that’s the worst-case possibility,” you rationalize, trying to dissuade your fears as much as his own. “I could also stay in my current position, or I can’t travel with you guys, or I get fired at the end of the season instead of immediately so we’d still get about another month of this. We really know until we reveal… this.”

Luc chuckles at your stuttered sentences, his hand tightening around yours.

“If it does go badly, which I hope it won’t considering the fact that this has been going on for months and I’d like to think I’ve remained professional, I’ll just be like a normal hockey partner. Like everyone else,” you laugh and Pierre smiles at you.

“You could never be like everyone else,” Pierre says with a soft smile and you can’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks. “But I think you’re right. I think it’s time we tell everyone.”

“Maybe not everyone,” you laugh. “Maybe, let’s start with my boss. I can talk to Rob on the plane today and we’ll go from there.”

“So, I still can’t tell the boys?”

“Not yet. Depending on what Rob and the rest of my bosses say slash decide, we can talk about telling the boys.”

“That works for me,” Pierre accepts, lifting himself up off the mattress and using the hand clasped in yours to pull you up from the sheets. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips and you and Luc fall back into the easy intimacy that had defined your relationship. The two of you finish getting dressed, Pierre’s bag packed and the two of you are causally talking as you step out of the hotel room, so caught up in the conversation that you don’t notice Mark Scheifele stepping out of his own hotel room directly across the hall at the same time.

You notice Mark first, your words pausing and eyes widening as you watch him take the scene before him; you and Pierre stepping out of the room, one of Luc’s shirts falling from your shoulders.

“Oh my god,” he says and the pleading look that you plaster onto your face is a millisecond too slow because before you knew it, Mark’s voice was carrying down the hallway, followed shortly by the sound of other doors being opened and more hoots and hollers joining in the noise.

“This is who you’ve been seeing, Luc?”

“Yo, Lowry you owe me 20 bucks.”

“I knew it the whole time. You two weren’t being subtle at all.”

These sentences and more surrounded you as you felt the entire teams’ eyes on the two of you, the heat that you felt in your cheeks earlier now multiplied by a hundred. But soon the embarrassment turned into contentment as the boys came up to you, hugging you and you felt like you were being welcomed to the team once again. And somehow, having the boys know before anyone else made you feel better about the prospect of telling your bosses. Because now you had an entire team backing you; a family that you would now always be a part of regardless of what happened.

Eventually, you feel Pierre’s hands on your waist, pulling your attention from the few bodies still lingering in the hallway to him. And when you connect your eyes to his, you see a matching smile stretched across his face.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

[mightypocketcow]

saw the smosh ask game but I think I would rather ask. uh. what is the appeal of smosh to you? what makes it special?

oh heck that's a real good question! Long answer ahead.

for me... I started watching Smosh about 11 years ago (possibly 12? for some reason I thought it was like 9 or 10 but it was longer than that), in middle school. A friend of mine was having a sleepover, and one of the other girls was like "oh this is really funny, you gotta watch this YouTube video" ... and I cannot for the life of me remember what video it was. It might have been "Firetruck", or one of the "If [Blank] Were Real" videos. But I thought it was absolutely the funniest thing ever, and we watched several Smosh videos (including Charlie the Drunk Guinea Pig), as well as a couple of other YouTubers who I first got introduced to at that sleepover... like Joey Graceffa, Daniel Howell, Phil Lester, Connor Franta, Troye Sivan, and Tyler Oakley (all of whom I still follow). I went home and, for the very first time, made myself my own YouTube account so I could subscribe to them.

Now, in sixth grade - before all of this - I had my very first major depressive episode. So by the time I started watching these YouTubers, I had already had several depressive episodes. I also had my first major (singular, not ongoing/complex) traumatic event that I could vividly understand in eighth grade. So I was having a real rough time.

I watched a lot of YouTube videos on my own just to distract myself from my own brain and from everything else going on, starting in seventh grade when I had saved up for my very own iPod touch. I watched a lot of stand-up comedy - most of which was not actually appropriate for a 13-year-old - but I also watched a shitton of YouTubers like Smosh, particularly stuff on the second channel, back when it was just "IanH" and a bunch of "Ian is Bored" or "Lunchtime with Smosh" videos (I was replied to on Twitter a couple times during this period and I absolutely lost my mind lol).

Once I hit high school, most of my friends were not into Smosh - they were more into Dan and Phil, Tyler, Joey, etc - but I was still real into them... in high school, I sent them fan art and a letter, and Sohinki opened it ON CAMERA in one of his Mailtime with Sohinki videos (#2, around the 11:40 mark, I was at school when I saw it and literally screeched in the English hallway and started crying, my friends were like "WTF??"). I never got a response to the questions in my letter but I ain't even mad.

So now that I have established how long and how deep my love for Smosh runs... it's time to establish the current vibe.

I never really stopped watching Smosh. I never unsubscribed or stopped following them or anything like that. But Anthony left the same month I graduated high school, and I had already been kinda rizzed by my "friends" (at the time) for still liking Smosh, because they viewed Smosh as being something that kids were into or something like that. So I had kinda been falling out of watching them very much. And it genuinely made me feel sad and left out that I stopped doing something that brought me so much joy, but I kinda just wanted to fit in I suppose. But when Anthony left, I cried. I didn't know what to do. I felt like I had been already losing something that made me happy, and then it was breaking apart and becoming something I didn't remember it being. I don't feel that way about that era anymore, but I remember thinking that at the time.

I got back into Smosh for the most part shortly before Defy shutdown, and then I vividly remember being excited about the tour video of the new office and excited about Rhett and Link buying Smosh. I was part of a Smosh fan Discord group (the SmoshCord, as it is dubbed), and I wrote fanfiction in 2019 (that's still up on my AO3), and I was very into it again. And I felt happy about it.

And then I found out that my now-ex partner liked Smosh, and we watched videos together sometimes, but they are really pessimistic and nitpicky and stuff much of the time, and they don't like certain cast members, and blah blah blah... so sometimes it was really hard to watch the videos with them, and some videos they just refused to watch... they would even criticize the old videos, when I would go back and watch old Game Bang videos or something. I got anxious about it, and I was kinda pulling back for a while, and I left the SmoshCord. I said it was because Discord chats were really overwhelming me for a while and I got anxious, and while that's partly true, it was partially because watching Smosh was making me feel guilty and anxious. I can be a very vulnerable and impressionable person sometimes, and my ex's opinions on certain things were starting to wear me out and weigh me down, but I didn't know how to get them to stop, and I didn't want to talk to people in the SmoshCord about it because I didn't know how to do that either. So I just left. And I didn't watch a lot of Smosh. Or Daniel Howell and Phil Lester. Or really any of the ones that used to bring me joy.

A little while ago, I started getting back into them again. I started by just rewatching old videos by myself again, and then I sometimes watched new videos, but often about a week after they came out. And this became true for many of the YouTubers I used to enjoy, but particularly for Smosh. I kinda missed the start of Angela and Amanda and Arasha and Chase and the other new folks, for the most part, and even Jackie and Tommy, and didn't really know who they were for a while (they did all grow on me rather quickly!)... and then I remember vividly watching that one Arasha deception video a little while ago and it was absolutely one of the funniest new videos I'd ever seen, and that's when I realized I still really loved Smosh, and it still meant a lot to me. Sure, there can definitely be some missed jokes or even entire videos that miss the mark. And I won't ever pretend to be a superfan or anything, and some of the videos or even entire series are not really my cup of tea (potentially unpopular opinion but I don't particularly like Let's Do This lol), but I am really getting back into it, and I am so psyched for all of this to become as important to me now as it used to be, but in a different way. My partner and I split near the end of May, which marked a new chapter for me, and the return of Anthony coming in June meant a new chapter for Smosh too.

...sorry for the rambly answer. Probably way longer than what you intended to get. TL;DR it's a nostalgia thing that has evolved into a genuine, more mature (not mature as in stuck-up and stuffy, obviously) enjoyment of a fun thing that has been fun for a long time in different stages of my life.

[spatio-rift]

6,7,13,16 for the ask game U CAN ANSWER PRIVATELY I JUST WANNA KNKW

THANK YOU LAB i think i can answer these publicly

6 (which ship fans are the most annoying?): i mean considering ive had the first image saved on my phone for years and i made the second one based on it months ago i feel like i couldnt possibly answer anything else

i dont even dislike sns itself but the way the fans act about hinata in particular makes me so genuinely angry.LOL like theyre so pissed naruto didnt marry sasuke that they invent a whole new narrative where hinata was always fully in control of the hyuuga clan and saw & treated neji like a slave and would happily brand one of her children with the caged bird seal. nevermind the fact that she was practically disowned and her own father told her teacher that she could die for all he cared, that she worked with neji to change the hyuuga clan all throughout the timeskip despite him almost killing her shortly before, and that they have canonically succeeded in making the branch family equals to the main one and that they do not use the seal anymore. like can you shut up about hinata if you dont even know that the only way to break the seal is by dying so shes not simply refusing to undo it and that they dont brand people who dont have the byakugan because the whole point of it is to protect the secrets of the byakugan so its not like boruto or himawari would ever be at risk of getting the seal since boruto doesnt have the byakugan. which btw doesnt make sense w the established hyuuga lore and neither does himawari awakening it since theyre supposed to be born with it and its the sharingan that people have to awaken but whatever. this is unrelated to sns fans im just annoyed that kishimoto forgot. ALSOOOO sns fans making post after post about how hinata forced this marriage on naruto, and that he is sooo unhappy in it that he GOTTA cheat on her with sasuke. WHY DO YOU ALL WANT HIM TO BE A CHEATER SO BAD go outside and mind your own business!!!!! ohhhh it annoys me !!!!!! sorry.

honestly the second one is more that theres a specific clique of fdkd fans that ive passionately hated since 2018 but like... if theyre the only fdkd fans i see then i can say i hate fdkd fans. but unlike sns i also happen to fucking hate the ship. LOL

7 (what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?): i think this one is a little hard to answer because im too stubborn to ever really let fandom make me hate a character for real? but people have definitely made me care WAYYY less about sasuke. sorry this is about naruto again and definitely related to the people from the question above but also as a taka fan i just kind of hate that most people talking about taka are sasuke fans and they tend to do it in a way where like. they dont like team7 so taka are their replacement and they dont acknowledge at all everything shitty sasuke did to them or even the circumstances of their getting together. like theyre not a team because sasuke likes them as opposed to team 7 they were just the most useful to him for his revenge against itachi... like it all just feels a little like sasuke fans only think of taka as sasukes accessories and dont really care abt them as characters really which has def lowered sasukes likeability ratings for me. LOLLLL but honestly when i read naruto i dont dislike him at all i quite enjoy everything abt him but when i log into tumblr and see a post hoo mama 💢💢💢

also i similarly quite enjoy reading kusuo in the saipsi manga but the way people talk about him on here makes me roll my eyes so hard sometimes. i like to be a hater w my friend privately sometimes cuz its funny LOL but its whatever idrc about him anyway

13 (worst blorboification): oh my god i dont think i can answer this one because i literally dont think i know what blorboification specifically means. i vaguely get it but i dont think i can confidently say anything unless someone gives me a clear definition 😭😭 sorry

16 (you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)): MAKING SAIPSI ANGST I DONT GET ITTTTTTT WHY ARE YOU READING A GAG MANGA TO GET SAD AND DEPRESSED I DONT GET ITTTTTTTTT

girlboss karin SHES A FAILGIRL evil imayoshi HES LITERALLY JUST A GOOFY LITTLE GUY AND GAY taka settling down in a village (especially konoha??) WHY??????? THEYRE WANTED CRIMINALS AND NONE OF THEM EVEN ARE FROM KONOHA THE 2ND VILLAGE WITH THE MOST REASONS TO WANT THEM DEAD poor little meow meow hanamiya ARE WE READING THE SAME MANGA sakura karin shipping ITS UNINTERESTING AND ENTIRELY BASED ON SASUKE EVEN WHEN YOU KICK HIM OUT OF THE LOVE TRIANGLE stripper aus ON SOME LEVEL I GET WHY (THE PORN I GUESS) BUT IM ALWAYS BAFFLED THAT THEYRE EVERYWHERE im out of breath

[desolateice]

 Headcannon time:

When writing Root Beer Floats and Green Tea I had this genre I wanted to take a crack at which was, dating games. I wanted to have hints at all these other possible routes laid out that I would eventually get to. Which with the cobras was easy but when I got to the second film I tried to figure out how I was going to deal with Chozen. And as I watched the second film very very very slowly I realized how short the timeline was and to my amusement how many costume changes happened in essentially a few days time that made time wonky the way it always is in The Karate Kid universe I tried to figure out why. Why would Chozen, who wears Okinawan formal wear all the time and is upset about Daniel, an outsider being there, be trashing a dojo where his uncle learned karate? Would would he be digging up vegetables and destroying bonsai so readily for his uncle? And the answer I came up with was grief. One of the threads that continues to pull through all the films is grief and how we deal with it. It really cemented as a head cannon when I watched the fourth film, which I did want to include and originally planned to include in Root Beer Floats and Green Tea, however at that point the story was already massive and I was grieving myself and so what ended up happening was hints.

But in the Next Karate Kid, for those who haven’t seen it, Julie Pierce is being raised by her grandmother and she’s angry all the time. Snapping and rude and her grandmother keeps mistaking her for her dead daughter. And I realized while I was watching it again for the first time since I was little, that Julie is grieving. But it’s not a quiet sob in a corner type of grief, it’s an explosive angry grief where sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s lost. And I looked at Chozen, living in a small village on Okinawa whose uncle taught karate, without any parents seemingly being raised by a somewhat distant unhappy uncle (at the time the new season hadn’t come out to confirm that). And the guy who left the village and upset his uncle returns right when the man who taught his uncle is sick and shortly after passes. And I thought oh, there’s no way Chozen doesn’t know Miyagi Sensei. And if you’ve ever lived in a small community and a person dies it tends to effect people. But Chozen isn’t just some village kid. His uncle was supposed to marry Yukie, the person taking care of Miyagi sensei. His uncle was taught by Miyagi sensei, was best friends with Miyagi sensei’s son once upon a time. There’s no way Chozen didn’t know Miyagi sensei better than just the average person in the village. So maybe he’s angry on behalf of his uncle. But what if he’s also angry on behalf of Miyagi sensei, whose son didn’t come home until he was on his death bed? That, to a kid who knew Miyagi sensei and respected him would feel extra cowardly. A level of cowardly that just confirmed and sealed everything his uncle believed. I mean okay the uncle jumps straight to fight to the death, but I mean people used to fight to the death over honor all the time and for dumb reasons. (See Hamilton, The Count of Monte Cristo, countless times throughout history, ect.) But the for all of those is that you usually had an out. A second or someone who could go talk to the other party and try and figure out a solution that didn’t end up in bloodshed. And I truly like to think that the original fall out could’ve been avoided. But Mr. Miyagi was a kid. He was what? 18? The love of his life was going to be married off to his best friend and he panicked? A duel of sorts is kind of a...normal thing for embarrassment of that level. But surely someone could’ve talked it out, come to an agreement of sorts. But from how Mr. Miyagi talks about it, he just ran off. Which I totally get. You don’t want to kill your best friend, you don’t want to even fight your best friend and you don’t want your death to be on his hands either so your best option is to flee. I mean he was 18. (ish) He hadn’t gained all that Miyagi wisdom. But to never contact your family? To never write your dad again? To not say hey pops I fell in love, we’re getting married, we have a kid. Well he probably couldn’t have actually because during the war I’m sure there was a lot of scrutiny on him for being Okinawan and if he wrote home who knows what would’ve happened? And it sucks. But to have never contacted his father again later? After the war? To never even sort of wonder, did my village survive the war? Did my father? Heck, what happened to his mother? Did he miss saying goodbye to her? Did she pass before he left? Anyway, I went on a tangent, let’s go back to Chozen and I’ll set my Mr. Miyagi and Sato and Yukie feelings aside for the moment. (There are so many!) Chozen is close(ish) to Miyagi Sensei. Just through his connections. It’s one degree separation at most. Not just some dude in the village, a small village, that everyone knows. But someone from stories he’s grown up his entire life with. And then he dies. Chozen already isn’t particularly popular right? Because of his uncle? I assume he’s already a grumpy kid. And then Mr. Miyagi has the gall to return and bring some American kid with him? Mind you, America and Okinawa have a rough history, heck the USA occupies a ridiculous amount of the island still. I know, Sato teaches American soldiers, but I assume based off of how Chozen interacts with Daniel in CK that they didn’t teach Miyagi secrets. But to pass on the knowledge to an outsider? And it could also be construed as Mr. Miyagi brought back up. Like some mob boss returning from the USA. We know Daniel’s not there for that, but Chozen and them know nothing about Daniel and his relationship with Mr. Miyagi.  Heck they don’t know what Mr. Miyagi has been up to. And then Miyagi sensei dies. So all that tension, all that “I’m gonna fight you you coward” that Sato’s been fanning these flames of and Chozen is just lost and confused and grieving. Because here’s the thing, what if they were close? Instead of getting to spend time at Miyagi sensei’s death bed he’s got to be out of the way because Yukie is in charge and Mr. Miyagi is there. So he got shoo’d out by this guy who hasn’t been there for 40 years and his American student. Oh he’d be pissed. Heart broken and pissed and it’s so easy to be pissed when you’re grieving. And he’s not mad at Miyagi sensei no, he directs that anger at Mr. Miyagi and Daniel. Outsiders who came, who weren’t there when they should’ve been, and who brought death. Even if it wasn’t their fault at all. But he’s throwing it on them. And he’s backed up by Sato, who probably is also grieving, but that’s a different post. And then Daniel keeps making a fool of him. Poking holes in his scam, winning the bet with the ice, and it’s like salt in a wound. And he’s looking bad in front of his uncle. Who is his only family and all those emotions. Oof. Trying to keep his uncle proud of him and not letting that angry grief his uncle is feeling turn on him? And then his uncle he think dies in a storm and he’s just so lost. Like he’s lost everything. And he’s scared. Because I mean CK cannon, his parents are gone. All he has is his uncle. And he’s filled with so much grief that he’s just frozen because it’s stunning to have lost both Miyagi sensei and his uncle in such a short time. But then Daniel is out there, going into the storm saving people. Being a hero. And so is Mr. Miyagi. Proving Sato and Chozen wrong. They’re not cowards, they’re heroes and they’re brave. And the final straw is his uncle being alive and saved and rather than a reunion or a hug which I think he desperately needed because I doubt they’ve talked or worked through their individual grief, Chozen is cast out. All he has left that he is clinging very tightly to is fighting to the death, something I think got skewed terribly in his mind as the only option after hearing about it his entire life and it being Sato’s primary goal for the film. Because if he wins his uncle will see him again, if he looses, well his uncle will still see him. Because his uncle hasn’t seen him the entire film.

He’s not really family, he’s a lackey, a yes man, and he’s now a ghost. And it’s not like he has anyone else to go to. As Sato’s yes man he was already sort of not liked and then Miyagi Sensei is gone and he’s hurting  and that makes you do dumb stuff. And I think he’s self destructive. He’s got all this anger and nowhere to direct it so he picks a choice. The story he’s heard over and over again. The fight that was supposed to happen but never did and that will solve everything. Sato versus Mr. Miyagi. But instead it’ll be Chozen versus Daniel. If he wins then he was right. If he loses then, he won’t be in pain any more. And maybe he’ll see Miyagi sensei again. But either way he won’t be a ghost. He’ll be able to move forward again in a straight line.

And I think Daniel showing him mercy in a playful way like Mr. Miyagi shocks him to his core. It’s an option he hadn’t thought of. He hadn’t thought he deserved mercy. He probably was looking for someone to punish him for not being there when the people he loved needed him, his uncle in the shrine, Miyagi sensei at his deathbed. And instead he’s allowed to live and no longer is a ghost. He’s been freed and his uncle isn’t the same as he was, and I like to think that they’re made the better for it. That they figure out how to grieve and grow and how to make things for the village and island better. Because they’re no longer in pain and full of hatred. And Chozen might get the chance to be his own person and not just a yes man, because he’s finally seen and no longer a ghost. TLDR: I view Chozen’s entire actions of the second movie propelled by grief stuck in the stage of anger and denial. That he was close to Miyagi sensei and blocked from being by his side at his death and it propels him to self destructive and projection.

[liethrasir]

Let Us Play the Yes or No Game

@magicnights​ asked; “Have you ever killed someone without regrets? for Silas!”

“.........................” The amount of thought that he is putting into this is... truly concerning. Shouldn’t you be able to answer this right away without much thought, sir?

“Yes.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

Hey Angel - Harry Styles

a/n: since i had so much time on my hand at work lately (not anymore unfortunately) i used it wisely and cooked up this PA themed fic bc i absolutely love this trope. it’s lengthy and kinda emotional? kinda, lol. hope you’ll like it and as always, feedback is much appreciated!!

warning: sexual content

word count: 11.5k

masterlist

Harry likes to pretend he is tall enough to comfortably rest his chin on the top of your head when he stands behind you, but that’s not true. He has to push himself a little to his tippy toes and push you down at the same time to fit his chin above you, his arms weighing down on your shoulders. You stopped arguing him that you need to push your hips forward when he does this so you don’t carry his whole weight.

“Tha’s rude, you do not have to do tha’!” he defended himself every time you brought up, so you just stopped.

Now as you watch the game of air hockey unfold in front of you, a half empty pint in your hand, you don’t even budge when you feel a chiseled chin resting on the top of your head, you push your hips forward without a second thought to shorten your height. You catch a glimpse of a tattooed forearm on your shoulder, Harry’s chest presses against your back gently.

He doesn’t stay in this position too long, it’s making it hard to drink so soon enough, he wraps his left arm around your shoulders, coming to stand next to you, sipping on his tequila on the rocks.

“Hey you,” you smile at him as he gives you a side look, a boyish smirk tugging on his pink lips. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.”

“You need something? How much have you had to drink?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows, looking down at his glass that was certainly full when you last saw him about ten minutes ago.

“Shush, stop pretending like you’re working,” he waves at your face, his words melting together, definitely thanks to the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“I know I’m not working, I’m just tryna’ be your friend and look out for you.” Bringing your own drink up to your lips, you give him a look, but he just smirks at you playfully.

“Uh-huh, whatever. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you, H,” you sigh dramatically and it makes him laugh with his head falling back.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m some spoiled brat celebrity you ‘ave to babysit for your living? And that I always do ridiculous shit so you ‘ave to keep an eye on me at all times?”

You can’t push your smile down at how far this statement is from reality. You just like to tease him about being a typical, asshole rockstar when he is literally your favorite person in the world without a doubt.

“Oh Angel, you can’t fool me,” he cackles, squeezing you to his side before taking another sip from his drink.

“Wouldn’t even try to,” you mumble with an amused smile. “Havin’ fun, birthday boy?” you ask, leaning into his side. You would never admit, but you love how touchy Harry can get sometimes, not really caring about physical boundaries, especially when he drinks. The hugs, the squeezes, the touches, they always make your heart flutter even after knowing him for years.

“I’m havin’ a blast. What about you?”

“What about me? It’s not my birthday,” you chuckle shortly.

“So what? I can’t make sure you’re enjoying your night?” he frowns at you dramatically that just makes you laugh.

“I’m having a great night. It’s just that my boss keeps coming after me even though I’m supposed to be off the clock.”

You peek up at him to see the grin on his face at your teasing. The dynamic between the two of you has been like this since day one. The constant bickering and teasing is what really brought the two of you close, you are so similar, it’s like you can see a male version of yourself when you look at him.

“Tell the dude to fuck off,” he mumbles into his drink and you bump your hip against him, but he just holds you tight to his side as an answer.

Soon enough, Harry joins the game and you watch him play from the side, obviously cheering on his opponent to annoy him, earning some pretty dirty looks from him whenever they score against him and you let out a “woho!” in victory.

“Y’know, it’s not too nice to cheer against the birthday boy, is it?” he calls you out when the table is taken by someone else and he joins you at the side again.

“Am I not allowed to choose who I want to cheer to?” you ask with a faked puzzled look and he presses his lips into a thin line, glaring down at you intently.

“Don’t test me, Angel,” he grumbles into your ear before walking off to join his friends who came out to celebrate with him today.

It’s a pretty lowkey celebration, since he is still in the middle of filming Don’t Worry Darling, so he couldn’t really travel far from the set, but some of his dearest friends were able to come here and celebrate with him and his cast members.

You stand at the bar and your eyes find him every time you scan the place, not able to keep your gaze away from him for too long, he just demands the attention. Or at least yours.

You’ve never met anyone like him. When you got the chance to be his personal assistant four years ago at the very beginning of his solo career, you never thought how he’ll move right into your heart and never leave it. Whether you look at him as your boss or your friend, you can’t deny that he changed your life and you’ve learned so much from him, you can only hope he thinks of you somewhat the same. However you always tell yourself: what could you possibly give for The Harry Styles? He has everything in the whole wide world.

Harry catches you staring and he arches a brow at you, abandoning the conversation he has been in for the past minutes, mouthing you “what’s up, Angel”, his accent thick even without hearing his voice.

He’s been calling you Angel for longer than you can remember. When you asked him why the nickname, he said it’s because One Direction’s song Hey Angel was written about you. It was a fat lie, you haven’t met him when the song was written, but his words still tightened your chest, playing with the thought of Harry writing a song about you.

As cheesy and cliché as it is, you fell for him faster than you’d like to admit. You tried to fight it for a while, convince yourself it’s just a silly crush, but you soon had to realize you outgrew that after the first few weeks working with him. How could you not fall for him? He is everything any woman could wish for and he has you wrapped around his fingers, just like he has half the female population, probably.

You shake your head in his way, not sure how to tell him you just got lost in your thoughts about him. In fact, he occupies your mind pretty much all the time, but he doesn’t have to know about that.

He excuses himself from the table and walks up to you, a slow breath leaving your nose as you watch him approach you.

“Tired?” he asks, stopping in front of you, placing his empty glass to the counter.

“Kinda,” you nod.

“Want to head home soon?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can just call a taxi and go home, you don’t have to come.”

“Don’t be silly, we go to the same place, obviously we’re gonna go home together.”

Since filming has started, Harry and you’ve been sharing a nice apartment near the set. It was his idea to rent a place for the two of you, rather than to stay at a hotel. At first you didn’t think it would be a good idea, but of course, he convinced you to live with him for the months while the movie is being filmed. So now you basically live with Harry, share pretty much all your living space with him, except your bedroom.

“But it’s your birthday, stay as long as you want,” you tell him, not wanting to snatch him away from his friends on his big day.

“We’re filming in the afternoon tomorrow, can’t drag the night too long either way,” he shrugs, trying to make you believe it’s really nothing.

No matter how badly you try to convince him to stay, he doesn’t bulge and starts saying goodbye within an hour, calling the two of you a car to take you home. He is clearly tipsy, but not drunk. Once you’re in the car, Harry’s hand finds yours and he pulls you closer in the backseat until your thighs are pressed together. He curls an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to his side, sinking down in the seat. You let your head rest on his shoulder, enjoying the closeness of his body, pressing down any worrying thought that usually makes its way to your mind every time Harry gets a little cozier than the usual.

The rational side of your brain knows you should be keeping some distance from him for the sake of your own sanity and emotional health, but you just can’t. Denying these little moments from yourself would be like pure torture and your heart can’t take that for sure.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, his nose nuzzling into your hair and you just shrug your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you mumble your lie.

“Liar, I can hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours,” he grins down at you as your eyes lock for a moment. Thank God for the darkness in the car, because you can feel your cheeks heating up. The last thing you need is for Harry to see how nervous he can make you feel with just a simple compliment.

“Stop being nosy, you don’t have to know everything all the time.” You poke his side with your elbow, it makes him jump a little before he snuggles back to your side.

“That’s not true, you know I’m entitled to hold every knowledge in the world.” He tries to hide his smirk, but he fails miserably and you just laugh at him with your head falling back to his shoulder.

“Harry Styles, you are something else,” you sigh shaking your head at him.

Arriving home Harry keeps an arm around you as you walk up to the front door, fishing your keys out of your bag since you’d bet Harry didn’t bring his. There’s a chance he hasn’t even used his copy since you’ve been here, he knows you always have yours and you haven’t really left without each other so far, always staying around the other.

“Want to shower first?” he hums, walking inside, his arm leaving your shoulders and though you feel lighter without the extra weight, you wish it was still there.

“Go for it, I’m gonna clean up the mess I made when I got ready earlier,” you tell him, heading into your bedroom where the floor is littered with half your wardrobe from earlier, when you were trying to figure out what to wear for the little outing.

Harry disappears in the shared bathroom and a moment later you hear the water running. You go around your room, picking up the dresses you voted against, placing them back into the wardrobe and then you put away your makeup you left on your bed in your hurry.

“Bathroom is yours!” Harry calls out just when you finish, you hear his bedroom door open and close so you grab a clean oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts before occupying the bathroom.

The warm shower feels nice, it’s been a long day since you started on set, Harry had a few scenes to film before you could leave in the afternoon. You wash away the day, scrub your makeup off and then take off the rest with your wipes once you’re out. You brush your hair and use some lotion for your dry skin before getting dressed and leaving the steamy bathroom.

Padding down the short hallway you hear nothing coming from Harry’s bedroom and you wonder if he’s already asleep, but once you step inside your room you see that he is cozied up on your bed, your covers pulled up to his naked chest, a pillow tucked under his head as he scrolls through his phone so shamelessly, as if it was his own room.

“Did you take the wrong turn in the hallway?” you ask with an arched eyebrow as you throw your dirty clothes to your temporary hamper, which is basically your emptied out suitcase.

“Nope,” he grins smugly, you have to roll your eyes at him. He locks his phone, dropping it to the side table, watching you move around, getting ready for bed and his eyes on your figure feel like they’re burning down on your skin.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” you comment not even looking at him, but you just know he is still staring at you. Grabbing a hairtie from the little dresses in the corner of your room you reach back to loosely braid your hair, but his voice stops you.

“Wait,” he pleads and you furrow your eyebrows at him. “Can I do it?”

You give him a confused look as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, his green eyes are glimmering from the tiredness and the alcohol he has consumed tonight.

“You want to braid my hair?”

“Yeah,” he nods. You hesitate for a moment but join him on the bed at last, turning your back against him, giving him full control over your hair.

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers raking through your strands. He is so gentle and careful as you feel him section your hair off to three parts.

“Didn’t know you can braid,” you tell him, eyes fixated on the sheets in front of you.

“Gemma taught me, but I’m not the best at it.”

“So I’ll look atrocious?” you tease him smiling to yourself. He pokes the back of your neck with his fingers before continuing his work.

“You could never look atrocious, even if you tried.”

“And you are such a flirt,” you sigh. Over the years you’ve gotten used to his flirty act, it’s just who he is and though in the beginning your breath always got caught in your throat when he said something cheesy, now you just brush it off, only thinking about his words when you are alone in the night, struggling to fall asleep because you’re once again, thinking about him.

“M’telling the truth. Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?”

“Mmm,” you hum. He has told you that you looked pretty when the two of you left and he saw you walk out of your room in your black skinny jeans and flowy sheer top on, your hair loosely curled, but you didn’t really know what to say, so you just smiled at him and it’s the same now. You’re not the best at taking compliments.

“You really did. You always are.”

“And once again, you are such a flirt.”

“Complimenting a pretty woman is being a flirt?” he asks pretending to be offended as he carefully works on your hair and you wish you could see his focused face as he is trying to keep track of the sections between his fingers. At a lack of a witty comeback, you just shrug your shoulders, fumbling with your fingers on your lap.

You both fall silent as he concentrates on your hair and you manage to stop thinking, just focus on how his fingers keep brushing against your back every time he crosses two sections over each other.

“Hairtie, please,” he asks, his hand appearing next to you with his palm upwards. You place it in his hand and he finishes up his masterpiece. “There, it didn’t turn out as bad as I thought,” he comments once he is done. Reaching back you run your fingers over the braid and it feels good, he did a great job.

“Thanks,” you smile at him shyly, turning around. He leans back, making himself comfortable once again and you arch an eyebrow at him. “Need me to walk you back to your room, sir?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine here,” he grins smugly, tugging his arm behind his head as he takes up the right side of the bed.

“You’re planning to sleep here?”

“Please, don’t make me sleep alone on my birthday!” he pouts, giving you those damned puppy eyes. How could you ever say no to him?

“You better not push me off the bed in your sleep,” you mumble before getting under the covers.

You turn off the bedside lamp and the two of you start moving around, finding a comfortable pose to sleep in and you end up facing each other on your sides, Harry’s face squished into the pillow as his eyes are roaming over the hand you have laid between your faces.

His fingers start to inch towards yours until he hooks his pinky with yours, the touch sending a warm feeling down your spine.

“I hate sleeping alone,” he mumbles into the semi-darkness.

“Why?”

“Don’t you like it when there’s someone next to you? When you wake up and you’re not alone?”

“I like it, but I don’t hate sleeping alone either,” you tell him as your eyes fall to your linked pinky fingers. “Why do you hate it? You have the bed all to yourself, and there’s no chance of waking up to someone snoring or talking in their sleep.”

He huffs out a laugh as he buries his head deeper into the pillow.

“It makes me feel lonely. Which is ridiculous, because I’m never alone.”

“But lonely and alone are not the same, so it’s not ridiculous. You can feel lonely when you’re not alone.”

“I know,” he nods, his eyes watching your linked fingers intently, before he moves his hand so it’s now covering yours, his warm palm wrapping around your much smaller hand. “I’m never lonely with you, though.”

“So… you are only lonely when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom, because we basically spend every moment of the day together.” You smirk at him and see his dimple form in his cheek as he smiles at you nodding.

“That’s right. We are like glued together.”

“How aren’t we sick of each other already?”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“You sure about that?” You raise your eyebrows at him with an amused smile, he is too sure about that answer.

“One hundred percent. You’re my favorite person.”

“Is that what you tell everyone?”

He gives you a look, but you just chuckle, sinking further into your pillow. His fingers start playing with your hand as he draws a deep breath.

“I only tell this to m’ mum and Gemma. No one else.”

Your heart starts racing at the thought of him seeing you on the same level as his closest family. You know how much his mum and sister mean to him, but you never thought you are anywhere near them in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite person too,” you whisper as your eyes meet over your joined hands. He smiles at you warmly, his floppy curls falling into his forehead and you want to run your fingers through them, feel how soft they are under your touch. Harry scoots closer, your faces only a few inches away from each other as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

For a moment you just watch him, thinking how good it feels to have him in your bed. How amazing it is to end the day with him so close to you. You wish all days would end like this, you wouldn’t have another bad day with him next to you.

Lying there and watching him slowly fall asleep, his hand still on yours, the bitter thought eats itself into your mind that he is only here because he feels lonely and wanted to be close to someone, not you particularly. And though you’re glad it’s you he ended up next to, you try not to get too accustomed to the feeling, because you’re just a temporary fix to his loneliness.

The door to Harry’s trailer opens and he walks in wearing his blue dress pants and crispy white dress shirt, fumbling with the top buttons to undo them. You glance up at him from your laptop where you’ve been working on his schedule for the upcoming weeks while he was filming.

“Hey, how did it go?” you ask as he places his water bottle to the vanity and then sits in the chair he spends his mornings in while his hair is being styled and tattoos are covered.

“Good. Messed up only a few times. Whacha’ working on?”

“Just your schedule, I’ll email it to you when I’m done, though you never check it.”

“Hey, I do check it! I like your color coding. I just suck at using it and you’re always here to remind me of the important stuff.”

You roll your eyes, continuing to type away on your keyboard as he moves around, having a snack and texting back people.

“Florence is coming over for a little after we’re done. We can order something,” he speaks up grabbing your attention again.

“Cool,” you nod with a small smile. “Is she staying the night?”

“No, we just thought it would be nice to hang out a little without dressed like this,” he chuckles looking down at himself.

“What’s wrong with Jack’s clothes? You look neat.”

“Do I?” he cocks an eyebrow cheekily, placing his hands to his hips as he looks down at you.

“Yeah. It’s a nice change after all the grandpa clothes,” you tease him and he gasps pretending to be offended at your words, though you both know you have nothing against his style. In fact, you love how he just wears whatever he wants, not caring what others would think.

“Watch your mouth or you can’t wear my bode jacket again,” he warns you holding up his pointing finger, shaking it at you, but you just chuckle at him, finishing up what you’ve been working on before shutting the laptop down.

“How long until you’re done?”

“Just a few more scenes. I think we can leave in about two hours.”

“Alright.”

“You done working?”

“Mhm, for now.”

“Come and watch the filming. You’re always so hidden in here.”

“Because I always have work to do,” you point out, putting the laptop to the side from your lap.

“Yeah, but you’re done now, so come out and watch me be the next Leonardo DiCaprio,” he smugly tells you, and it makes you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re so humble, H. Is something that comes with the age?” you tease him standing up from the small sofa, grabbing your phone from the table.

“You’ll find out in a year,” he smirks back as you follow him out of the trailer, back to the set.

Later that day you, Florence and Harry are chilling back at your apartment, munching on the pizza you ordered, watching some documentary on Netflix, just enjoying a lazy evening. You’ve become quite close with Florence, her personality is a lot like yours so you got along well from the beginning, the three of you often do things together outside of set.

You and Harry are sharing the couch while Florence is curled up on the loveseat. The temperature at the apartment is always nice, but you often catch yourself feeling a little cold in the evening, but it has more to do with the tiredness rather than with the heating of the place. When you pull your legs underneath you to warm your feet, Harry notices the action and knows right away that you’re starting to feel cold as always. Reaching down he grabs a blanket from the basket next to the couch and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbles, draping the blanket over the two of you. You shuffle closer to him, making yourself comfortable at his side as he makes sure you’re fully tugged in. Then he leaves an arm around you, his fingers gently grazing your shoulder as he turns his attention back at the movie.

Glancing over at Florence you see the puzzled look on her, but you ignore it biting into your bottom lip, turning back to watch the movie though you’re having a hard time focusing. All you can think about is Harry’s touch on you.

It’s almost midnight when Florence calls herself a taxi. Harry picks up the glasses you used and volunteers to wash them, leaving you and Florence alone in the living room.

“So, what’s up with you and Harry?” she questions right away without beating around the bush.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you two has always been close, but now… it seems all too… couple-like.” She narrows her eyes at you, hands on her hips, looking like a mother questioning her daughter.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” she scoffs. Then you pretend to be busy with folding the blanket, but you can feel her intent stare on you before she speaks up again. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What?” you huff with a not too Oscar-worthy expression on your face that was supposed to hide the panic in you. “Well of course I like him, he is my friend and boss.”

“But not just like that. You like like him.”

“Florence,” you sigh, just when Harry walks out of the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation that he just interrupted.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night?” he politely asks her, but she just shakes her head.

“I’m not really up for spending the night on the couch.”

“You wouldn’t have to, you can sleep in my bed,” he simply offers and something is telling you he shouldn’t open his mouth again.

“You’re not taking the couch because of me.”

“I wouldn’t, I usually sleep at Y/N’s,” he states as if it was nothing, but you instantly freeze.

Yes, ever since his birthday he has spent way more nights in your bed than in his own, always raving to you how well he can sleep when you’re next to him and you couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling lonely, so you’ve been letting him occupy half of your bed through the nights. He usually holds your hand falling asleep and then you wake up tangled together, sometimes he is cuddling you from behind, other times you’re the one curled up to his side. He treats it so casually, like it really is nothing, he just always goes on his day when you wake up so you decided to not make it into a big deal either.

Florence gives you a wide eyed look that you try hard to ignore, while Harry is so oblivious to what he just caused with his statement.

“I uhh—thanks but I’m fine going home. Besides, I think my car is already here. See you guys on set tomorrow. Y/N?” she calls out walking towards the front door.

“Hm?”

“We’ll talk later,” she tells you and it’s a strong message that she won’t just leave it at that.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you nod awkwardly, waving her goodbye.

You and Harry clean up together and as always, he is the first one to use the bathroom and by the time you’re done, he is in your bed, waiting for you to join him. You don’t comment on his presence anymore, part of you afraid he would stop spending the night in your bed and you definitely don’t want that. Not much is left from filming, meaning that soon you are forced to go home where you and Harry do not live at the same place so you’re gonna have to sleep alone, like you did before. Only now you are way too hooked on the feeling of having him in your bed, even if it’s not in the way you truly want, it’s better than nothing.

The moment you get under the sheets, Harry reaches out and pulls you to his side. He hasn’t done this often when you went to sleep, only sneaking some small touches, but you don’t mind him being a little extra clingy.

“Filming is almost over,” you mumble into his chest, your hand lazily resting where his ribcage ends in his chest.

“Mhm.” There’s a short silence before he speaks up again. “What about it, Angel?”

“It’s just that it’s going to be weird going home. I got used to living here.” It’s your way saying that you’re gonna miss having him around all the time, but you’re not sure if he understands the hint. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

“You like cramped together with me?” he chuckles lowly.

“Was kinda nice,” you smile.

“Remember how you threatened me to throw my shit out if I leave my dirty clothes on the floor?”

“I do,” you smirk, thinking back to the conversation where you agreed to live with him while he is filming. “Didn’t find any clothes on the floor, so you get an A for that.”

“Wow, was this… a compliment?”

“Shut up, I always compliment you!” you laugh smacking his chest gently.

“Oh, no. You don’t compliment, you just tell me when I managed not to fuck something up,” he corrects you and your cheeks are heating up about how well he knows you.

“Those are compliments in my book, don’t be greedy.”

“M’not. I love how grounded you keep me with treating me like this.”

“Like what?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows.

“Like a normal person. With you, I don’t have to be afraid that I earn something because of who I am. You give no shit about my name, you always keep me in check and I appreciate that.”

“Can’t let you have a too big of a head,” you smirk, closing your eyes. He laughs with you, squeezing you a little before you both fall into silence, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

You’ve managed to avoid Florence in the past few days. Her burning look has been making you way too nervous, you know she wants to know more about what’s going on between you and Harry, but truth to be told, you have no idea what to tell her.

Yeah, I’m definitely in love with him and we’ve been sharing a bed for a few weeks because he feels lonely alone at night, so he uses me to ease the feeling while I just let him because as I said, I’m in love with the man.

No, you can’t tell her that.

Now there’s only two days left from filming, meaning that only two more nights to spend with Harry and it’s making you a nervous wreck to think about sleeping alone in your bedroom.

You round the corner in the maze of the trailers after a phone call you had with Jeff when you run out of luck and bump right into Florence.

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N. Come have lunch with me in my trailer,” she smiles sweetly, grabbing you by your hand so you can’t escape her this time.

“Oh I wanted to call—“

“Do it later,” she simply cuts you off.

Soon, you find yourself in her trailer as she eats her burger while she eyes you with suspicion.

“So, you and Harry sleep together?”

“Well, not like that. We really just sleep in the same bed.”

“Oh, makes perfect sense, sleeping in the same bed as your boss. Very casual.”

“Don’t make it sound so weird,” you frown at her words. You definitely don’t see Harry as your boss. You do work for him, but it never felt like he stands anywhere above you, the two of you have always been equal even before you became close friends.

“You gotta admit it’s pretty unusual,” she points out and you just look away from her. “So let’s talk about how you’re in love with him.”

“What? I never said that!” you protest, but she just gives you a look that says ‘cut the crap, girl’ and you know there’s no use to try to trick her, she sees right through you. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, I have enough shit on my plate without your judgment.”

“Oh, I’m not judging you. I’m just wondering why you two are not together already.”

You practically snort at her statement, finding it quite absurd and ridiculous.

“What? You two are perfect for each other and I’m pretty sure Harry loves you too.”

“Yeah, as a friend.”

“That’s not how friends act, Y/N. He wouldn’t beg himself into your bed every night if he was just your friend.”

“He is just lonely. He doesn’t need me, just someone to be with him.”

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffs. “You two are just being idiots.” Just as you are about to answer, your phone starts ringing. Harry’s smiley face appears on the screen, making you extremely nervous because of the conversation you are having with Florence.

“Hey,” you breathe out answering the call.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Just, talking with Florence. What’s up?”

“I got an email from Jeff and I have some questions.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Thank you Angel,” he hums before ending the call.

“I gotta go. Please don’t… bring any of this up for Harry,” you ask Florence, heading to the exit.

“You’ve gotta sort your shit out. This is not ideal, Y/N.”

“I know it,” you growl under your breath, leaving the trailer. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you march back to Harry’s trailer. You feel so confused and anxious about this whole situation and the worst thing is that you have no idea what to do about it. Telling him how you feel seems like a stupid idea, but mostly because you’re terrified of rejection. What if it all meant nothing to him? If you were right and he is just lonely and uses you to help himself, it has nothing to do with you. You wouldn’t survive the heartbreak it would give you if he told you he doesn’t see you more than just a friend.

As you walk into his trailer he is sitting on the sofa with his phone in his hands. He glances up at you, a warm smile tugging on his lips as you take a deep breath, feeling very much out of place suddenly. Unfortunately, he immediately senses your discomfort.

“Everything alright, Angel?”

Angel. This nickname could make your knees go weak in a heartbeat and you hate how much effect it has on you. Especially in this state of mind you’re currently in.

“I just…” You shake your head shutting your eyes. “Why do you keep calling me that?” you ask, sounding way more desperate than you intended to. Harry puts his phone aside, looking a little puzzled at your sudden weird act, but he seems more worried for you.

“I, uhh—“

“And don’t tell me it’s because Hey Angel is about me. We didn’t know each other back then.”

You have no idea where this is coming from or why you even questioned him about it all of a sudden, but Florence just totally threw you off with what she just said. Harry stares back at you, probably vigorously looking for the reason why you are acting up now, but luckily, he doesn’t try to turn it into a joke as always.

“I call you Angel, because you remind me of the song. It wasn’t written about you, but the lyrics match up with… you.”

“What?” you ask in confusion.

“I wish I could be more like you, do you wish you could be more like me?” he quotes the song, not singing the words, simply just talking them as he stares back at you. “I see you at the bar, at the edge of my bed, backseat of my car, in the back of my head,” he continues and you feel your throat doing dry just from the way he softly speaks, standing only a few feet away from you. “I come alive when I hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound, it’s a beautiful noise.”

You never really gave it another thought, but now that he has told you this, it hit you hard in the chest. You weren’t expecting, especially because those lines are rather meaningful, to you at least.

“I thought of it once not long after we first met and thought calling you Angel would suit you. Do you mind it? I can just… stop calling you that if you don’t like it.”

You shake your head. You never want him to stop calling you that even if it’s not that meaningful for him. If it’s just some game. It’s great to know that something reminded him of you.

“No, it’s… it’s alright.” Your voice is small, barely more than just a whisper. It’s a little too much at once. Florence’s words are still stuck in your head, and what he just said has felt like he just gripped your heart even if he doesn’t know.

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to come back from this hazy state of mind.

“So, what about that email?”

“You alright?” Reaching forward he takes your hand and you try not to flinch at his touch, just smile at him nodding.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He squeezes your hand before dropping it and he luckily doesn’t ask any more questions.

 You stay oddly quiet for the rest of the day and Harry surely knows something is wrong, but he respects you enough not to bug you about it any longer. He just stays close to you as much as he can, trying his best to take your mind off of whatever keeps you occupied.

On the way home you and Harry drop by a supermarket, buy some quick dinner, not wanting to stack the fridge when you’re leaving so soon. Then you sit in the living room, eating and watching some random movie that’s on TV. You snuggle to his side on the couch naturally, he doesn’t even have to pull you close this time. The thought of having left only one more night in the apartment makes you want to sue every little moment you have left in this bubble.

Harry makes you have a shower first tonight and when you come out from the bathroom, your bed is already nicely made, inviting you warmly. He is quick to finish with his shower and joins you in bed barely five minutes later. You move towards each other instantly, his arms curling around your form soothingly as you make yourself comfortable, melted into his embrace. You feel his lips pressing against your forehead and you almost start crying at the small action.

“Angel, I don’t know what has upset you, but I’m here for you, alright? You’re not alone,” he murmurs softly.

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I would do anything for you, just like you do so much for me. You’ve got me.”

I wish, you think to yourself. You have him, but not the way you’ve been desiring. His hand moves to cup your face as he lifts your head so you are looking into his eyes in the darkened room, but there’s enough light coming through the window that you see his features. He runs his thumb across your cheek, gently caressing your skin and everywhere he touches you, it feels like your body is in flames. This something has been building up inside you and now you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to control yourself. And just as you think about how you really should put some distance between the two of you so you won’t regret it later, the unexpected happens.

Harry pulls you up just enough so when he moves his head he is able to place his lips on yours, kissing you out of the blue. His lips feel so soft, so fitting on your mouth, you let out a whimper when he goes further than just a gentle kiss, taking your bottom lip between his properly. It’s an out of world experience, you’ve imagined it so many times, but you never thought it would actually happen and now that it is very much happening, your whole mind goes blank and for a split second… everything feels right. You kiss him back with fever and with each passing moment the kiss grows more passionate and way hungrier than how it started. Harry’s arm tightens around you, almost pulling you on top of him and you can’t make yourself stop, not that you want to.

With a little force, Harry pushes the two of you around so now you’re lying on the mattress and he holds himself up above you, his lips never disconnecting from yours. He licks into your mouth, pulling and tugging on your lips, making your whole body go weak just for him.

But then, as if reality hit you in the head, you realize what’s happening.

“Harry,” you gasp pulling back, gasping for air. “This—We…”

“Angel, let me take care of you. Please,” he begs out of breath.

“What…”

“I want to make you feel good. I want to take care of you, please let me.” He sounds so desperate, like he would do anything for this and you are not strong enough to deny it from him.

It’s just his pity. He’s been using you for his needs, now he wants to give some back, it’s nothing more, you think to yourself. It can’t be more.

You lack the willpower to make a rational decision, so as you stare up into his eyes that appear so dark due to the lack of proper lighting, you just nod before he leans down and kisses you again.

He holds himself up on one arm while his free hand wanders down your body, touching you at places you have never felt him before. He palms your left breast, squeezing it gently and it makes you moan into his mouth before his hand moves down the curve of your waist until it reaches your sleeping shorts. Your body is burning for him and you can’t stop it from reacting to everything he does. You buckle your hips up when you feel his fingers gently graze along your pubic bone, even though you’re still fully clothed.

“What do you want me to do, Angel? I’ll do anything you want me to,” he pants between kisses as his hand moves to cup your heated core, making you moan again from the sensation of his touch there.

“I need you,” is all you manage to get out.

“I’m right here. You got me. What do you want me to do? Please, tell me, Angel,” he whines, forehead pressed against yours and his hips fall, pressing against your thigh, making you realize how excited he has gotten. His erection is hard under the fabric of his boxers, almost aching to be freed. There’s no way you can take any teasing or a long foreplay. You need him inside you now before you burst.

“Harry, I need you inside me. Please,” you whimper, almost cry, before he kisses you again, hard and demanding as he simply pushes your shorts down, revealing your naked sex since you don’t wear any underwear to bed. You grab the waistband of his boxers too and push it down until he can wiggle his legs out of them, leaving him completely naked in your bed while you still have a top covering your upper body, however he is quick to change that. He grabs the hem and starts pulling it off, your hands helping him so a few moments later you’re completely naked underneath him.

“Fuck, Angel,” he breathes out, his perfect, pink lips attacking the side of your throat, kissing and nibbling on the skin, going down to your breasts, giving the same amount of attention to both while you turn into jelly under his touch. lacing your fingers through his hair you cry out his name as you can feel him leaving a mark on your left breast, his tongue swirling against the spot he just completely destroyed before he brings himself back up so he can kiss you again and again with so much hunger, it’s hard to tell where you end and where he starts. Everything melts together and you’re such a mess in every possible way.

His hand gently reaches down between your legs and parts your shaking thighs before he cups you drenched pussy, his middle finger sliding between your folds, a shameless moan slipping from your mouth, right into his as your lips are still attached.

“So wet, I can’t wait to make you feel good, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

“Harry, just… please,” you pant, surely feeling yourself lose the last bits of your nerves.

“D’you have a condom?” he asks, head lifting up a bit so he can look into your eyes.

“I-In my, um, the makeup bag,” you try to explain gesturing towards your dresser where your makeup bag sits on top, two condoms somewhere inside it. Harry pecks your lips before pulling away from you, the lack of his weight on top of you making you shiver.

He digs into the bag until he finds what he’s been looking for, tearing the packaging open with his teeth and he rolls it on while he walks back, not wasting another moment. You cling onto him like a koala bear once he is back in bed, his massive body covering you again.

“Just tell me how you like it, I’ll do anything,” he mumbles against your shivering lips as he pushes the head in first, stopping for a second before the rest of his cock buries inside you, completely taking your breath away. He is bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, filling up every inch of you, your walls stretching around him as he stills once he is all the way inside you.

This is it. This is the moment you’ve imagined oh so many times, feeling him the closest possible, his cock buried inside you, his cheek pressed against yours as he holds himself up on top of you. Years of yearning and endless nights when you imagined your hand was his… and now it’s your reality. And though you know it’s gonna change everything, you can’t tell yourself to stop.

Harry lifts his head, pecking your lips gently, calling you Angel over and over again as he starts moving, the friction between your legs growing with each thrust. He fits inside you so well, you won’t be able to enjoy sex with anyone else now that you’ve experienced it with Harry. All of a sudden, he has become the epitome of your whole life.

“Tell me what you want, Angel. Do you want me to go slow or fast? Tell me how to make you feel good.” His lips brush against yours with each word while you’re just trying to catch your breath, fingers digging into his back, the euphoria building up inside you gradually.

“A little faster,” you breathe out, speaking feels like a hard task at the moment. Harry picks his pace up, finding just the right rhythm that makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can go even deeper with each thrust he makes.

“Look at me, Angel. Let me see your eyes,” he begs, his hand cupping your cheek. He runs his thumb along the line of your lower lip before he takes it between his lips, tugging on it gently, kissing you like you’re his last breath on Earth. He is devouring you, body melts together with yours, all your senses are strictly focused on him. He is all you see, hear, feel and taste.

Your gaze meets his and the way he looks at you, like you’re his whole entire world, it makes your eyes tear up. You want it to be true, you want it to be reality, you want it to be more than just about needs and satisfaction, but it’s not and your consciousness is not letting you believe otherwise.

“Oh Angel,” he softly hums, wiping away a tear that escaped the corner of your eye and ran down the side of your face. Keeping up his rhythm he kisses along your jawline, your cheek, your lips, the side of your face, the bridge of your nose, everywhere he can before returning to your lips with a hungry, passion filled kiss.

“Harry…” you whimper, holding your thighs tighter around his waist as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

“Let it go for me, Angel. I wanna see you feel good, cum for me,” he tells you, eyes never leaving yours as you are ready to burst underneath him.

“Harry, I-I need you!” The words fall from your lips as a desperate beg, arms wrapping around his torso tight, as if he could disappear from your embrace any moment.

“I’m right here, Angel. Right here,” he soothes you, kissing your lips sweetly as proof that he is not just a trick your mind is playing on you. “Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” you pant, losing control over your body and all your senses. It’s gonna be intense, you can tell and it hasn’t even started yet, you just know it’ll shake you to the core.

“Good girl. Let me make you feel good.” “So good,” you breathe out before Harry occupies your lips with his once again.

It doesn’t take long. He keeps thrusting in the perfect angle and it throws you right over the edge. Harry demands you look him in the eyes when your orgasm wash you over and the intensity of it all almost makes you cry again. You burst, lose yourself under him, screaming his name as if you were praying to all higher forces. In a way, you are, because for a moment you really think you completely vanish from this world.

Harry follows you just a few more thrusts later, falling out of his rhythm as he grunts and moans your name, face buried into the crook of your neck while you tug on his hair, the feeling of his soft locks between your fingers is like pure heaven.

He stills, but stays inside you as he looks up, his eyes filled with satisfaction and contentment as he cups your face again, kissing you long, taking his time with you.

As you come off your high and the clouds of euphoria clears off, reality sets in more painfully than ever. Your limbs are paralyzed and you feel like you are outside your own body, just watching everything happen as if you were a third person in the room. Harry rolls to the side, chest heaving wildly as he is trying to regulate himself. Once he is able to breathe without panting, he pecks your shoulder gently and makes a quick round to the bathroom. You hear water running and then his feet padding on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to move, you just lie there, completely drained out. It doesn’t change even when Harry gently cleans you off with a damp washing cloth, throwing it to the side to take care of it in the morning. He pulls the covers over the two of you and scoops you into his arms. You manage to bring your arm up to his chest as your head rests on his shoulder. His fingers are dancing up and down your arm, his steady breathing keeping your overcrowded head grounded. And then… he starts singing so softly, it’s almost just a whisper.

“Hey Angel, oh, I wish I could be more like you. Do you wish you could be more like me?”

Your eyes shut close, the damn tears flooding again, but you keep your sobs drowned in your throat. Instead you force yourself to sleep and hope you live to see the morning, because you feel like your heart is about to give up on you.

 When you wake up, you genuinely feel like you’ve drunk through last night and now have the worst hangover. It’s like you’ve been hit on the head with a chair. You slowly come to your senses and realize that you’re completely naked in bed and there’s a body curled to your side, equally naked.

The shock sets in first because you realize, once again, that what happened last night wasn’t just a fever dream, it actually happened. And then you basically jump out of bed when you look at the small digital clock on the bedside and see that the two of you have ten minutes to leave if you don’t want to be late to the last day of filming.

“Harry! Harry get up!” you smack him, kicking the covers off and grabbing your top and shorts from the floor, quickly putting them on. The man in talk growls, just rolling to his back without even opening his eyes. “Harry damn it! We have ten minutes or you’ll be late!” you snap at him and it somewhat wakes him up. With furrowed eyebrows at puckered lips, he lifts his head up and looks around.

Those lips were kissing you last night.

“What?” he mumbles in confusion.

“We overslept, get up. We have… eight minutes left.”

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath, finally getting out of bed, reaching for his boxers.

It’s a shitshow as the two of you try to get ready on time and though you are running just a few minutes late, the driver of the taxi manages to speed down the streets fast enough that you arrive to set just in time.

During the whole ride, you feel Harry’s burning eyes on you, but thank God, you get a call from Jeffrey the moment you get into the car and it lasts the whole ride so you don’t have to talk with him about what happened last night.

“Y/N,” he tries when you’re still on the phone and he is already done with hair and makeup, heading to set to start filming.

“What?” you mouth at him.

“Can we talk later?”

“I’m busy. Go, I’m sure they are waiting for you,” you whisper to him and he looks so disappointed, but he nods and walks away. Your heart breaks as you lower the phone. You have been out of the call for some time, just didn’t want to talk to him.

Quite frankly, you’re not ready to talk to him about what happened last night. You don’t want to hear him say that he was just trying to help you out last night, that it wasn’t anything serious, just some messing around. It was just two people trying not to feel lonely.

Walking back into his trailer you can feel your chest tightening, a sharp pain shooting right into your heart the more you think about him. It was a mistake, you shouldn’t have done it because you are the one with the feelings and now you are the one struggling with the consequences of your little get together.

The more you think about it, the worse it gets and you feel like you’re about to suffocate. You need to get out of here, there’s no way you can face him now.

It all happens so fast. Before you can even second guess your decision, you’re on your way back to the apartment to pack all your stuff and get on the first flight back home. You need to put distance between you and him, spending one more night in the same apartment would make you go nuts. So while Harry is filming, completely oblivious to what you’re doing, you pack up your room as fast as possible and head to the airport to hop on the plane that leaves at four pm.

With a racing heart you check all your baggage in and make it through security when Harry first calls you. At first, you want to ignore it, but then you find yourself swiping your thumb across the screen.

“Hey,” you shortly greet him.

“Hey, where are you? Have been looking for you everywhere.” “I um… I’m at the airport,” you answer and the silence on the other end is deafening for a moment.

“You are at the what?” he then snaps.

“I had a, um, kind of emergency, so I’m heading back home now. Sorry, I would have called you, but didn’t know when you’d be off set.”

“You fucking packed and left already? You’re really at the airport?” He is fuming, Raging. You can tell he is pacing in the trailer, vigorously running his fingers through his hair, ruining it without a care. You almost feel guilty, but then again, you just know facing him now would break you. You’ll get back to him when you’ve pulled your shit together.

“I am, calm down, alright? Not a big deal.” “You just left on our last day here without a fucking word! And when am I seeing you again?”

“I, uhh—I need to be home for a while, but you’ll be fine. I’ll stay in touch with you in email and text.”

“Fucking text? Email?” he is barking now. Good thing you are not there because it would be a disaster. “Y/N, you can’t be serious. We-we were supposed to talk. You can’t just fucking disappear like this.”

“We’ll talk, alright?”

“When?”

“Later,” you simply tell him at a loss for a better answer. Hopefully, never, you think to yourself, but don’t say it out loud.

“Okay, you’re not doing this. Don’t you dare get on a plane, I’m going to the airport right now. You’re not leaving.”

“Well, I am and you’re not coming here,” you clap back, but you can already hear him moving around, probably gathering his stuff so he can leave right away.

“Swear to God if you get on that plane, I’m—“ He cuts himself off, no idea what to really say and you just sigh, closing your eyes. People rush by you and as you glance at the big screen you see that your plane is boarding.

“Harry, just… it’ll be better like this, alright? You’ll be fine, I’ll see you… when I see you. Have fun on your last day on set.”

You end the call before he could get another word out and put it on airplane mode right away as you grab your backpack and head to your gate.

Using your time on the plane wisely, you put together a very detailed schedule for Harry so he knows everything about his next few weeks and you can minimize your contact with him. You even set up a bunch of reminders in his calendar so he won’t miss his appointments.

When you set feet on the ground again, you expect the distance between you and Harry to feel comforting and freeing, but it’s the opposite. An ache in your chest is getting heavier as you get yourself a taxi and head home, feeling more alone than ever in your life.

Your home doesn’t feel like a home. Not without that one person who could make any place your home, but you can’t see him right now, not until you learn how to exist around him without the urge to faint.

Going to bed alone is pure torture. Every moment you are waiting to hear Harry shuffling around in the apartment, you miss his little snorts when he is watching the TV, his singing coming from the shower, but most importantly, you miss having him so close to you in bed. Now that you’re lying on your own, your bed feels so cold, it brings you tears as reality sets in. You miss him. You miss him more than anything and you can’t imagine a time when it won’t hurt anymore.

The crying pushes you into a shallow slumber sometime in the middle of the night, however, you’re rudely shaken back to consciousness when you hear someone banging on your door like crazy, pushing the doorbell constantly.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble with a grimace, pulling a hoodie on as you make your way to the door hazily, probably still half asleep because you open the door without checking who it is through the peephole and you end up staring up at none other than Harry. “What the—What are you doing here?” you breathe out, panic sets in fast and your hands start shaking at the sight of him.

Harry steps inside without invitation and closes the door behind him, a stern expression on his handsome face.

“Y/N, what the fuck were you thinking when you left like that?”

“I-I told you, it was an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency? Because I called your mom and sisters, they all said nothing happened in the family, so what could possibly happen that needed you here immediately?”

“I don’t have to explain shit to you.” Shaking your head you try to step back to put some distance between the two of you, but he doesn’t let you, taking a step forward at the same time.

“Well I think we have a lot to talk about after last night, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to talk,” you shake your head biting into your bottom lip. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why couldn’t he just stay where he was? “How did you even get here so fast?”

“Left as soon as we wrapped.”

“Where are all your stuff?”

“Left everything there, I’ll just go back and pack it up, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that for a girl who genuinely hates any form of working out, you ran pretty fast from you today.”

Any other day you would have laughed at his comparison, but not today. You just stand there, chewing on the inside of your cheeks as you try to figure out what to do or say. You were not ready to face him so soon.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask desperately, throwing your hands into the air.

“Tell me what it meant for you,” he calmly answers and you want to shake him. How is he so peaceful?

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m not doing this to myself, okay? I need time, Harry.”

“For what?”

“So I can get myself over this, alright? I need time, I—fuck this,” you growl, feeling the tears flooding your eyes again. Damn it!

“Why the fuck do you want to get yourself over it?”

“Because it obviously didn’t mean the same thing to me as it meant to you!” you snap at him and he raises his eyebrows at you in a way that tells you “you’re stupid”.

“What do you think it meant to me?”

“Probably nothing,” you scoff rolling your eyes, but the anger that bursts from him quickly washes your attitude away.

“Fucking nothing? You think I would get on a fucking plane first thing after filming for ten hours straight just to come after you? You think I spent all my nights with you these past weeks because you mean nothing to me? You know, for a smart girl, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

You blink at him in utter confusion, his words knocked you off your feet. He exhales sharply, long fingers running through his messy curls as he tries his best to calm himself down. When he is finally breathing somewhat normally his wildly vibrant green eyes meet your widened stare.

“Y/N, I thought we were on the same page. What did you think it was all about?” he softly asks, seeing how shook you still are.

“I, uhh—I thought this was all just some kind of distraction. You said you were feeling lonely, I thought you were just… kind of using me. And then last night was you returning the favor.”

“Hell no,” he breathes out shaking his head as he steps closer and this time you don’t back away from him. You let his hands run down your arms until they find your hands. “I thought this was clear, but I’m gonna say it then. I’m in love with you, Y/N, have been for a long time, I was just being a pussy and didn’t know how you’d take it. But then, when you didn’t kick me out of your bed the first night we slept together, it got me hoping and it was all heading just the right direction. Then last night happened and I was so damn sure this would be our turning point but then…” He breathes out shakily again, as if the thought still upsets him. “When I called you and you said you were at the airport… I love you, Angel, but I was ready to murder you.”

You let out a faint chuckle, feeling the tears bubbling in your eyes.

“Why did you run away instead of talking to me? Did you not trust me?” he asks softly, a hand coming up to cup your jaw gently.

“I didn’t trust myself,” you admit weakly.

“Oh Angel…” Leaning down he kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips feel like soft feathers against your hot skin. “Do you need me to tell you again how in love I am with you or are you gonna believe me? You’re not planning to run away again, are you?” he teases you making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“I’m not gonna run away, but I would love to hear you say you love me again.”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Angel, don’t you ever think otherwise for a moment, okay?”

You nod, lips curling into your mouth as your teary eyes meet his green orbs.

“I love you too, Harry.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he chuckles breathing out in relief and it makes you smile. “I would never just use you. Love you way too much for that, Angel. You are everything to me.”

“Wish I knew that earlier,” you mumble with a bitter chuckle. It would have saved you a lot of tears.

“I will never stop saying it to you.” His forehead rests against yours, noses touching as his arms curl around your frame, pulling you close to him until you’re pressed up against his hard chest. “Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking when I told you, you reminded me of Hey Angel? Because I think it pretty much gave me away, but apparently, I was wrong,” he chuckles lowly, pulling back a little so he can look you in the eyes.

“I honestly have no idea,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. “I just had a conversation with Florence before that where she called me out about my feelings for you and I was still kind of in shock. Probably took it as just your usual flirty behavior.”

“I’ll admit I do flirt some, but haven’t you realized it’s different with you?”

“I guess not.” “Angel, you are… something else,” he chuckles in disbelief before leaning down he finally presses his lips against yours. You giggle into his lips, arms wrapping around his neck as he lifts you up from the ground, twirling you around, a squeal slipping from your mouth.

“So, now you have to go back to pack your stuff?” you question, still wrapped into his arms completely and you don’t want to exist any other way. This is where you belong.

“Yeah. Had to chase down this Angel who thought she could run away from me.”

“So how are you planning to get to New York by four tomorrow when you’re still here and have to go back to pack? Have you checked the schedule I sent you? You’re not gonna make it.” You cock your head to the side with an arched brow.

“Did you just go back to full assistant mode right after we confessed our love for each other?”

“Someone has to be responsible and we both know it’s always me.”

“I’ll just hire someone to do it for me, I’ll leave to New York from here. Happy?” he grins at you as you nod.

“Very. Because this means you can stay the night here.”

“Seeing the fact that I literally have nowhere else to go, because even my house keys are in the suitcase I left back… I very much need to stay here for the night,” he points out.

“Good. Come on, my bed felt empty without you,” you giggle, pulling him towards your bedroom and he follows you eagerly.

“I can definitely help that.”

 Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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[giorno-plays-piano]

Forgotten Promises

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x reader

Warnings: yandere, noncon, kidnapping, mentions of torture, Shigaraki being a creep.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: You were well aware one day he would catch you, a traitor who was ought to be his confidante but chose to abandon him instead.

________

"Long time no see."

You didn't shiver when you heard his voice, your arms and legs tied tightly to some kind of bedstead where you laid helpless like a sacrificial lamb on the altar. You knew this was going to happen one day even with all that crowd of heroes surrounding you to protect you from Shigaraki. Of course, they only bought you some time because those who betrayed the League lived very shortly. As for those who betrayed its psychopatic leader personally the way you did...

Oh, you were long prepared for what was coming for you.

"Hi, Tomura."

You didn't see his figure in the darkness of the room - or whatever this godforsaken place was - but you could clearly feel his presence somewhere close. Shigaraki must have waited for this moment for so long he was savoring every second of it now, watching you lay defenseless in front of him, unable to even move a finger, left completely at his mercy. You could imagine the expression on his face, the things he was going to tell you, pointing out how incredibly stupid it was of you to betray All For One and become one of the Heroes' squad instead.

The things he shouted when he saw you leaving in the middle of the battle were much harsher.

"You're a fucking whore!" Face distorted with hatred, he tried chasing you despite knowing you had already been out of his reach. "I'll break your every bone and skin you alive when I get to you!"

You kept seeing him in your nightmares for months after that, shivering from the thought what would happen if he really caught you. Too bad you weren't just one more member of the gang, some simple criminal Shigaraki would pay no mind - on the contrary, being the only one who could handle his deadly touch thanks to your Quirk, you were given to him by All For One personally. You were supposed to be some kind of confidante for him just like Kurogiri, but with time you realized your master wanted you to be Tomura's personal toy, a girl he would keep for his own comfort. Although neither of you confided in each other, you knew Shigaraki had been slowly developing feelings for you day by day for years as you served him like a companion, following him everywhere, playing in his games, figthing alongside him if you needed to - even if Tomura was twisted and corrupted, he still longed for intimacy despite all his hatred, and you were his only possible option.

It wasn't hard to imagine his reaction when he found out you were leaving the League of Villains, abandoning him.

You wondered how vengeful he was going to get after all these years, having so much time to plan your punishment, imagining how you were going to cry and plead him for forgiveness. Well, it was very likely you would, tortured to death by him, but it didn’t change the fact you did a lot to help the heroes, ruining so many plans of All For One you certainly had been his personal headache for years. Nothing would change it even if Tomura tormented you as much as he wanted.

As you finally saw him coming from behind, his figure blocking the light coming from a lonely bulb hanging from the ceiling, you flinched, grimacing as you saw Shigaraki's red eyes staring at you intently. The son of a bitch was smirking while he looked over you as if you were his trophy.

His light blue hair changed its color and grew longer than you remembered them; the skin around his eyes had twice more wrinkles, making Shigaraki look like a century-old teenager, and his neck was bruised just like when you were still a part of the League. While you thought he didn't look too different, Tomura matured. He was no longer a raw-boned video kid, and the change made you think you had no idea what he had become and how he was going to treat you. You were certain about a single thing - he was surely going to make you suffer.

"Do you like what you see?" You asked, annoyed he was staring at you for so long and saying nothing.

He let out a chuckle, leaning over until he brushed his nose against your cheek, making you shiver, "I do."

As he inhaled deeply, you realized he was sniffing you. What a creep, you thought as you clenched your teeth.

You hated this uncertainty, not knowing what he was planning to do, and soon it was impossible for you to stay silent, "What are you-"

But before you could finish, you felt his warm, slimy tongue licking a long stripe from your chin to your cheek, leaving your skin wet from his saliva. Quickly squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, hoping it was all a bad dream. What the fuck was he doing? Sure, he reached puberty a long time ago, but you thought he was going to do something more violent to you - in the end, you hurt his pride more than anyone else did.

"You're awfully quiet now," you could feel his smirk with your skin. "But, I guess, you'll be pleading me to stop a little later. Or rather not to stop?"

Cringing, you opened your eyes only to stare in the face of Shigaraki right above yours as he held your bound wrists, clenching them painfully, "I expected you'd be more creative with my punishment. Last time you promised to skin me alive."

"That would be boring and pretty useless," he rolled his eyes in irritation, his hand touching the fabric of your shirt only to decay it immediately. "Are you so desperate for your punishment? Maybe that's why it was so easy to catch you."

You wanted to tell him he needed years to get close to you, but you kept your mouth shut. Only god knew what this creep had planned for you, and it was stupid to provoke him when Shigaraki was already drooling on your face. You just hoped he did it only to scare the shit out of you.

"I knew you'd get me one day."

"Then why did you run?" His sharp eyes made you froze as he loomed over you, his expression frightening.

You turned your head away, "You know why. You wouldn't follow me anyway, so I did what I had to."

"No, I wouldn't," strangely satisfied with your answer, the Grand Commander finally took a step back, giving you space, and you remembered how to breathe again.

There was this unnerving silence again, and you tried to toss and turn on the bedstead, exhausted from the run earlier and being tied for far too long. What was in his head? Was he really going to rape you as a way of demonstrating his dominance over you? It sounded insane, but you reminded yourself you had no idea how much Tomura had changed. Maybe that was what All For One told him to do to you... although this was rather questionable. It almost looked like Shigaraki was taking something he thought had always belonged to him, a way to make you remember all your efforts had always been futile while he held real power over you.

"So, what's next on my menu?" You asked loudly, unable to hold your tongue. "Breaking my bones, was it?"

You heard him chuckle.

"No, but it'll hurt," he whispered as he left his hooded coat on the floor, standing in front of you so you could see him getting undressed, his deeply bruised skin making you nauseated. "It'll hurt you just right."

[anashins]

If You're Willing to Kiss || Taeyong

“If you’re willing to kiss, then let’s show him what he’s missing out on.”

During a stupid round of spin the bottle, your crush kisses someone else, but you make sure that he'll regret it very soon.

_____

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” the people in the circle chanted and clapped their hands simultaneously to the rhythm of their voices.

You watched in rigidity as your female best friend and your crush Jaehyun were about to kiss each other.

Reluctantly, they crawled to the middle of the circle as the chants only increased in their volume the closer they approached the spot until they were awkwardly sitting in front of each other, almost not daring to look into the opposite’s eyes, their cheeks visibly flushed.

At the same time, your heart broke into a thousand pieces.

You hadn’t signed up voluntarily to play this stupid game of spin the bottle as you sure had better things to do on a friday night, like reading or sleeping.

But you couldn’t have said no when Jaehyun had tagged you along to this party as all your friends were coming as well.

At first, you had been excited about it, because wherever Jaehyun went, you would willingly join him as you always wanted to spend as much time with your crush as possible.

After years of having hidden your feelings, tonight you had gathered enough courage to finally make a move.

But now he was about to kiss your best friend, and you felt utterly devastated as you watched how they slowly pressed their lips onto each other.

The people before had only shared light pecks without even touching one another at other parts, but Jaehyun and your best friend did not only kiss longer than required, they also started to put their hands on each other’s bodies, not minding the cheering crowd at all as though they had drifted off to their own world.

You felt sick in your stomach, murmured something along the lines of a hurried apology and excused yourself to the bathroom.

Splashing water into your face, you looked into the mirror while your fingers gripped so tightly onto the sink that your knuckles turned white in the process.

No wonder, you had always felt like that your best friend was a hundred times more beautiful and intelligent than you. Every guy wanted to go out with her, then why not Jaehyun as well?

You had seen the way they turned shy, the way they flushed at each other, and then the way they shared a chaste, yet deep first kiss with 20 other people as witnesses. You may be in love, but you weren’t naive.

If one kiss could change everything, then this had been the kiss.

The kiss he had been supposed to share with you. The kiss you had wanted to save up until it was now too late.

And before the first tears started running, you wanted to go home. Nobody would care anyway.

“Y/n, are you in there?” you suddenly heard from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

It was Taeyong, Jaehyun’s close friend, and the only one who knew about your secret crush.

“Yes, I’ll come out soon, no worries!”

You had forgotten that he was also here, but he hadn’t participated in this round of spin the bottle anyway.

Taeyong only knew about your crush because you had once poured out your heart to him when you were drunk, and until this day, you regretted it deeply as he never failed to miss a chance to tease you about this.

But always, he had kept his lips sealed in front of Jaehyun, and for this, you were grateful.

So of course he would now be the only one knowing about your true feelings after having witnessed your best friend and crush kissing each other.

Yet, you tried not to let any of your true emotions slip as you opened the door and faced him with the brightest fake smile you could pull off.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t feeling well. I think I’m going home.”

“Uh-huu…”

Taeyong inspected you from head to toe, and then decided that he wasn’t satisfied with this answer.

“You sure about this or are you just affected by the clownery Jaehyun has just pulled off?”

It had been a given that you couldn’t lie to him about this topic. Somehow, he must have gotten wind of what had happened. Perhaps, he had also purposely followed you to the bathroom.

You were just asking yourself why.

“Look, Taeyong, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Lately,” he started, “he has been talking about her a lot.”

You hesitated and gulped. “About… my best friend…?”

Silently, he nodded, confirming your fears and making your stomach churn. It hurt you more than anything ever before, and you were rendered motionless.

“I want to go home,” you then said in the same robotic manner.

At home, you could pour all your feelings out and finally started crying instead of staying at this place where you had to watch them getting closer and your best friend taking the place at your crush’s side that was supposed to be yours.

“Either that or you could stay,” Taeyong suggested.

You frowned. “Why would I want to stay?”

“Jaehyun is an extremely jealous person. If he sees you with someone else, he might regret it and realize that it’s you that he wants.”

“That’s stupid,” you judged and crossed your arms.

“How long have we been knowing each other, y/n?” Taeyong asked. “Long enough for me to know that if you don’t do something now, you will whine about it for ten years, and - no offence - I don’t have the time and patience to hear about your unrequited love for much longer. Either you do something now or you let go of him.”

“It’s already too late,” you commented dryly and wanted to pass by him, but he grabbed you by your arm, making you stop.

“Are these the words of a young woman who had fought her way through the crowd to the first row to see her favorite band up close, elbowing people to the left and right? They’re not! They’re also not the words of someone who had threatened an online seller with an imaginary consumer advice centre when they didn’t want to return her money! And you want to let him go just like that? If there was anything you have taught me, y/n, then it’s the fact that it’s never too late.”

Turning keen-eared, you asked, “So what do you suggest?”

--

Shortly after, you found yourself being part of the spin the bottle circle again.

Of course your eyes hadn’t missed out on the longing gazes Jaehyun and your best friend were throwing at each other while more and more people gathered in the middle of the circle to amuse the crowd with their kisses.

You were angry on the inside, but also full of nervousness as the bottle spun again and Taeyong jumped up, paused, and then reached out his hand to make it stop at the right time.

And the bottleneck was pointing directly at you. You inhaled deeply.

“Hey Taeyong, you wanna kiss her so badly or what?” someone shouted.

Another one added with a laughter, “He’s finally shooting his shot.”

“Shut up, the bottle is pointing at her, so that’s the rules.”

No one complained though as he crawled to the middle and you did the same. It was as though the crowd, your fellow students, actually had been wanting to see you two kiss for a long time, and you wondered whether you were right with your suggestion and why they would think that way.

Taeyong… he had always been there by Jaehyun’s side. He was Jaehyun’s friend, not yours.

Even though he always helped you with homework when you forgot yours. Even though he always handed you water at parties to keep you sobered. Even though he always gave you a ride when you missed the bus. Even though he always made you laugh when you were sad about Jaehyun again.

Even though, in a situation like this, he wanted to help you again.

There were many things Lee Taeyong did for you, yet you had never considered him your friend.

You wondered whether he felt the same way when he leaned in to you.

“If you’re willing to kiss, then let's show him what he’s missing out on,” he whispered only for you to hear. “If you’re willing to kiss, then close your eyes.”

But before you did as you had been told, you threw a last gaze at Jaehyun who looked at you with a mouth slightly agape.

Surprised that it might work, you grinned inwardly as Taeyong’s lips brushed over yours.

It had been so long that you last kissed someone, but from the first moment on, he proved to you that he was indeed a very good kisser.

Taeyong’s lips moved with yours in a very chaste way that had even something romantic to it, and it surprised you, to say the least. It was not even the manner in which Taeyong kissed you that gave you this feeling, but the way he made you feel, the emotion he delivered.

So comfortable, so warm, and raw, and you wondered whether this had been his intention all along or whether this was the usual manner in which he kissed.

So you didn’t wonder when you suddenly noticed him leaning in to you and bending your body to the point of you having to wrap your arms around his neck to look for support so as to not fall backwards, yet you didn’t stop.

Before, you had agreed on fake kissing passionately to rub it under Jaehyun’s nose, but truth to be told, the line between faking and reality slowly started to blur as you genuinely began to enjoy kissing Taeyong.

With his hands now holding onto either side of your waist, he parted your lips to deepen the kiss, and you gladly let him do so.

Even when he started using his tongue, you didn’t make him stop like he had asked you to before in case it would get too much, but you didn’t want him to just yet and pulled him even closer.

You only stopped in the moment Jaehyun interfered with an, “Enough now, it’s only a game!”

But when you pulled away and looked into Taeyong’s sparkling eyes that radiated so much fondness, you wondered how you could have missed the affection he had been holding towards you all this time.

You didn’t care much about Jaehyun’s opinion anymore. Or who he was kissing.

Because if one kiss could change everything, then this had been the kiss for you.

[liltaz-asatreat]

for the title game: "per my last mistake" ?

Send me a fake title for a fic, and I'll tell you what I would write for it!

Okay, so this has definitely got to be a blupjeans email pen pals au <3

It's written in the style of emails being sent back and forth, no narration, no internal thoughts, just the emails. And the backstory is, they're best friends in college, and Lup and Taako went to Spain for a few months as a study abroad thing.

During that time, Barry gets a girlfriend and is asking Lup for advice on How To Be A Good Boyfriend, and Lup gets jealous but tries her best to give good advice, but no matter what Barry does, he just seems to be fucking up left and right.

Lup also gets a boyfriend shortly after hearing Barry has a girlfriend, and she also ends up asking for advice, and Barry also gets jealous but tries his best to help her.

Cue both of them being absolute disasters because they're actually in love with each other <3

Also, nothing Barry does is ever good enough for his girlfriend, and Lup's boyfriend actually does love her, but she's too preoccupied with Barry and he knows that </3 Plus, Lup would be leaving soon anyway

So they eventually get broken up with, and they talk about that and how upset they are and try to comfort each other. Probably Lup gets broken up with first, and then Barry gets broken up with. And then soon after Barry's break up, he gets super drunk because he's depressed and accidentally sends an email to Lup confessing everything. Then the next email is also from Barry because he woke up the next day with his computer still open to that email, and he freaks out because not only did he just "ruin their friendship", Lup hasn't responded at all, so in the next email, he apologizes profusely and is like, please ignore everything I'm so sorry don't hate me </3

And then- wait no! Barry gets broken up with first, he sends the email, the reason why it took Lup so long to answer back was because she didn't know what to do now that Barry has finally confessed everything and like, she still has a boyfriend, but it's also close to the time she and Taako are supposed to go back, so in her email, she explains how she broke up with her boyfriend as gently as possible and kind of feels really bad about that, but she loves Barry too, and wants to get together with him <3

Actually no, maybe I should stick with Lup's boyfriend breaking up with her first? Either way, I have time to figure out what I want to do lol That's the gist of it though <3