#and after when the dam breaks... how bad could it possibly be?

[uravitypng]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing: denki kaminari x reader

word count: 4.8k words

a/n: i'm so glad i finished this and i hope you all like this because i loved writing this. denki's girlfriend is possibly one of the worst people ever...

content warnings: cheating(denki cheats on his girlfriend with reader), praise, unprotected sex, creamie/coming inside, body worship, denki's girlfriend is the absolute worst, multiple orgasms, pining, reader has some self esteem issues and self doubts but denki shows her how perfect she is, oral(f!recieving), denki calls condoms rubber, reader is in denial, petnames, reader is hinted to be chubby, - mdni/18+

you didn't even want to be here... you always got a bad vibe off of them. you're 'friends' with mina but just barely, yet somehow she's dragged you to a party with people who you're definitely not 'friends' with.

at least kaminari is here, he always smiles at you and makes conversation with you even if his girlfriend is a total bitch and probably is the worst out of all of them.

you miss the time before you knew they were dating. somehow after finding that out his girlfriend seemed even worse and more entitled.

you walk into the kitchen in hopes to get another drink but instead you hear that bitch and you had a feeling she was originally talking about you and it was confirmed when she said your name. "i don't know why she's even here. the only reason mina invited her was out of pity." she says spitefully. your eyes well up with tears, maybe you did get invited out of pity, mina is someone who would do that, she knows you don't have many friends.

this whole time you don't realise kaminari is behind you hearing the same thing you are and his face twists in disgust as he hears his girlfriend carry on speaking, "she's just so boring, it's no wonder she's single." your heart fills heavy, it's not your fault that you're single you've just never found someone you clicked with, you blame it on all the fictional characters you like and you often compared them to all your potential relationships. "she's ugly. it's almost a crime that she's at a party with us, that she's in hinami's home. when i started dating kami i met some of his other friends from school when he was younger, that's when i met mineta. the really short one y'know? short, pervy and unattractive, all around terrible guy. he's probably going to be single for the rest of his life, the only way he's not is if he dates her and even then it'll be him who's the more better looking one." they laugh.

why, why, why? what did you ever do to them?

you know you're not the most interesting or the most attractive but you don't deserve this- no one does. you don't want to make a scene but you have to leave, you can't stay here any longer. you wish you could speak up for yourself but you can't and even if you could what good would it do? so you decide to leave before you start hyperventilating, before saying goodbye to mina. turning around to leave when you literally bump into kaminari and there's an expression on his face that you've never seen before and he doesn't even try to hide it.

he looks angry. more than angry, he looks pissed. he's gripping hold of the beer he's drinking so hard that his hands are becoming white around the bottle, his jaw is clenched and his stare is hard but when he feels you bump into him his eyes soften when he looks at you and takes you in. you're biting your lip trying not to sob and tears are filling your waterline. as you see him you can't stop the dam from breaking as the tears heavily stream down your face. as you push past him you hope to never see him again- any of them.

that doesn't happen though. denki has made it a point to wiggle himself into your life, inserting himself there. it happened that very night after you left the party, about half an hour after you arrived home and changed into comfy clothes he came knocking on you door. "kaminari? how... how do you know where i live? wait, what- hold up, what are you even doing here?"

why is he wet, has it been raining? he smiles genuinely at you, even though he's soaked to the bone, freezing from the rain and so very irate with his girlfriend just seeing you cheers him up. he's never seen you in a comfortable setting before, a setting where you're not dressing up from anyone, you look even cuter than normal...

"can i come in?" he asks you and you blink slowly and heavily a few times, processing the question. it relaxes you because the way he says it sounds like a sincere questions. sometimes when people ask a question you know you have to answer a certain way, you know there is a right way.

sometimes when someone asks "can i...?" you have to say yes because saying no isn't really an option, they're not really asking you. but when you heard denki say, "can i come in?" you relax because you know you could just say no and that would be okay, he would be okay with that. if you told him no he 'can't come in' he'd just leave and won't push you to say yes or try to make you feel guilty. sometimes questions like "can i come in?" or a "can we go here?" are almost rhetorical question.

he makes you feel safe.

you nod your head and step aside letting him through. "okay," you reply softly and a little hoarsely, slightly annoyed at yourself for not speaking more louder and assertively.

"how are you feeling?"

the tether that's keeping you from becoming frustrated feels like it starts fraying "how do you think i'm feeling?" beginning to get annoyed at him because why is he even here talking to you, shouldn't he still be at hinema's house with his girlfriend?

"yeah... that's a stupid question, sorry." denki rubs the back of his head with hand and steps a little bit closer to you. "let me make you feel better," he blurts out.

"huh?"

denki steps even closer to you and gently holds onto your hand, clasping it in his. "let me... let me make you feel better. let me apologise on my girlfriends behalf..." your eyes go wide starting to have an idea about what he means but not wanting to verbalise it and jump to conclusions, worrying to get the wrong idea. "let me... show you- show you how beautiful you are, how wonderful you are." he squeezes your hand momentarily and says quietly, almost begging, "please."

"what about your girlfriend?" you say girlfriend with disdain.

"what about her? she doesn't matter. let me show you how pretty you are love."

your heartbeat increases at the nickname and your face heats up. "i- i don't know kaminari."

"denki." he says gently but authoritatively.

"what?"

"please, please call me denki." he pleads, squeezing your hand again.

"okay, denki..." you test his name on your tongue and it sounds right, like you should always be saying it.

even now you're still not sure to what compelled you to say, "please show me denki." you never regretted your answer.

it starts slowly, gently, tenderly. denki cups your cheek in his palm and kisses you, placing his other hand on your hip keeping you close to him. the longer you kiss the more hungry it becomes and you're not really sure if it was you or him that deepened the kiss and pressed your bodies up against each other.

"can i love?" he gestures to your top that he's currently fiddling with the hem of, wanting to lift it up so he can touch you properly and get a good look at you.

you hum in affirmation and keep your lips attached to his, not wanting to separate. denki slivers your top up and puts his hand where it used to be, now on your exposed supple flesh, his cold hands stroking your skin delicately. as you feel his hands you shudder remembering now about how drenched he is. "you must be freezing denki." you finally move away from his lips and see his clothes covered in rain with rain drops dripping down his hair landing on his shoulders.

"it's okay. completely worth it." denki grins at you and you suddenly feel shy by the way he's looking at you. you definitely feel pretty by his gaze, it's electrifying and makes you feel bashful all at once.

"do- do you want a towel to dry yourself off with?" denki kisses your jaw and smiles, distracting you.

"don't worry about it love." his breathe against your neck making you shiver. you pout even though he can't see you and you still worry, not wanting him to get a cold. "you keep me warm."

"but-"

denki presses his lips against yours and wraps both his arms around your waist. you moan quietly and he lifts your top up over your head. "is this okay?"

"yes please," you respond, hoping not to sound too needy.

he smirks at your tone and takes off the rest of your clothes. "jesus, you look even more beautiful than i imagined," he says quietly to himself, you're not sure if you were suppose to hear it or if he even meant to say it out loud. denki runs his hands along the curves of your body.

"you imagined me?" you match his volume and he looks startled at your question, obviously surprised that you heard what he said, you come to the conclusion that he thought he was thinking but he actually said out loud

"who wouldn't? you're beautiful." denki kisses your shoulder and holds one of your breasts in his large hands, stroking your nipple as you bite your lip to stop any embarrassing noises spilling out. you're already feeling shy as it is after denki has said such nice things about you.

after realising what you were doing he takes your chin in his hand and tilts you to look at him so you're making eye contact. "look at me. you don't need to do that. not with me. i want to see you. i want to hear all the noises you make, i want you."

denki grazes his teeth along your neck and you gasp. "those are the noises i wanted." you press your lips together trying not to smile, denki grins at how adorable you look.

he moves to take off his shirt and you thought he looked good beforehand in a casual black button up shirt but god does he look even better with it off. you thought he'd be kind of skinny but he's actually lean and a little slim. you can see some defining muscle, his arms are just the same. a couple of moles on his forearms and faint freckles dust his shoulders and upper chest. you wonder if he has light freckles on his face too because you've never once seen them but maybe you haven't looked hard enough.

you know you're probably staring a tiny bit too much at his slender waist and yellow happy trail that matches the colour of his hair and he doesn't mind one bit, happy that you like what you see and fond of your attention.

"like what you see?" he chuckles. you go to hide your face behind your hand after being caught but denki catches your wrist. "what did i tell you? i want to see you sweetheart." you have the urge to bury your face against his chest, hiding away from his gaze but you resist the urge.

everything became a little hazy after that for the next ten minutes, denki has manoeuvred you into your bedroom onto your bed, hovering over you, and keeping you in between his two arms. you pull denki down by wrapping your arms around his neck so you can kiss him again. the kiss begins slow and sweet before denki runs his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for access into your mouth and you grant him it. your tongues intertwine and you can still taste that cheap beer he's been drinking that's still lingering even though you've already been kissing previously.

you could kiss denki all night but he has other plans as he starts touching your breasts again and moves his hand down your body to get you ready for his cock, surprised to find that you're already wet. "wet from just a little kissing? that's so cute." he kisses your cheek and whispers against your ear.

"denki," you whine, "don't tease me."

he has to take a deep breath after hearing you whine, not wanting to let you know how bad you affect him because if you keep making noises like that he'll come in his boxers before he gets inside you. "it's okay love." he grinds himself against your thigh, groaning at the contact, letting you feel how hard he is. "i'm just the same." he says deeply and you shiver at the knowledge that denki is just as turned on as you. he's turned on by you.

his dick is almost painful with being contained in his jeans so he rushes to take them off. precome stains his grey boxers turning the area black and he takes them off too, grinning at you. the one way you would describe denki's dick is pretty, just like him so it makes sense. he's a little longer than average, circumcised and pubes trimmed. you want him inside you. now.

"do you have a- you know?" denki asks, gesturing to your bedside cabinet. he regrets not carrying any condoms in his pocket or wallet but his girlfriend only likes having sex in ones of their bedrooms. she's not a fan of spontaneous sex.

"oh, um, maybe? in the bathroom. i wasn't really expecting this and i don't- don't do this a lot... at all really." you admit, while trying to think about where you keep condoms because you must have them somewhere but you keep coming up a blank. the entire time denki's thinking about how you never do this, it makes him feel special, special that you're letting him make you feel good.

you want him... all of him. "i um-i-i'm on the pill." denki's eyes snap up to look at you.

"holy shit are you serious right now?" he asks automatically and enthusiastically, his face lighting up.

you start regretting your suggestion and denki can tell by the look on your face, he thinks he probably spooked you. "we don't need to do anything like that if you don't want to love. i can eat you out for hours. i mean hell, that sounds like at absolute dream." you giggle after hearing that. "sorry i was a bit quick and excited there, i've just never had sex without any rubber on."

you're surprised after hearing that, thinking that he's the type to go without and you tell him just that. "i think that was why i was so excited, i've always wanted too. it's always been a dream of mine and i don't like using them but i've never brought it up with any of the girls i've been with."

"well.. is it okay that i brought it up?" you ask more confident seeing that denki is delighted with the idea.

"fuck yeah. i trust you like crazy. if it was going to be anyone i'd want it to be you." he tells you, grinning. he trusts you. if he had the opportunity with anyone he'd choose you? your heart flutters.

"i don't really like condoms either and i want you, all of you." you tell him shyly and denki's heart misses a beat after your confession.

next thing you know denki is pushing his cock into, inch by inch. even though denki has already prepped you and has been touching you there is still a slight stretch. both you and denki groan simultaneously. your velvet, warm, wet walls welcome him without any barrier.

what comes out of denki next is a mixture of moans, groans, swearing and praising with each thrust. "fucking hell, holy shit sweetheart. you're fucking beautiful, most beautiful girl in the world, so pretty." with each praise and compliment every slight doubt that lingers in the back of your mind disappears, your sole focus being on the man above you. "you feel so good, lovely." he holds your hands in his, enlacing your fingers, that seems far too intimate for a supposedly one night stand to make you feel better.

he catches on to how to please you best with every gasp, noise and shake, and only after a couple minutes he seems to know your body better than you do. with every thrust he's rubbing against your g-spot, drawing circles over your clit and taking your nipple in his mouth.

you came harder than you ever came that night, multiple times with your ears going fuzzy and eyes going blurry. denki doesn't let you know but he's in the same boat, his come spilling into you, the warmth making you shudder and arch your back, grabbing onto him tightly. he's never came as much as he did and he knows that it's all because of you.

you don't know how it happened but denki ended up staying the night and leaving in the early hours of the morning. this wasn't how your night was suppose to go but you don't regret it. he did what he said he would when he arrived on your doorstep, he did make you feel better and he did make sure you didn't spend the night upset and feeling insecure and alone. that night was so shitty, his girlfriend was so shitty yet he succeeded in making it a good night.

when he came to your door you thought there was a silent understanding, a one night stand and after this he'll go back to his girlfriend. for that one night he'll be making up for what his girlfriend said but it didn't turn out like that.

you expected to not see denki for months, that is if you ever see him again. you expected to go back to calling him by his last name and trying to forget what he looks like nude and how his stomach went taunt as he was about to climax but instead you saw him a week after when he knocked on your door, slamming his lips against yours and pushing you against your wall. at least once a week for months now you would see him, you know you should feel bad for his girlfriend, he is cheating on her with you, but you don't, not in the slightest.

after the first few times denki came by again you slipped in some questions afterwards, wanting to know if he was doing this with other girls. he isn't.

wanting to know if you're still the only person he's slept with without wearing a condom. yes you are and he has no intention of changing that.

you've never asked him any questions involving morality like if he feels guilty or if he loves his girlfriend. it doesn't involve you.

you're aware now your relationship has developed more than it once was, the closest label you have would be friends with benefits. some nights denki knocks on your door unannounced, like always, with a bag of popcorn and your favourite snacks ready to watch a new film that has just come out on netflix. he's probably the closest friend you have, you stay clear of his girlfriend though, she isn't even aware that you and denki are close now. hopefully the last time she's spoken about you or thought about you was at that dreadful party and hopefully it stays that way.

denki likes his girlfriend... he does... if he was quoting mean girls he'd say something along the lines of - there's good and bad to everybody. but his girlfriend is just more upfront about it.

that would be a lie though. there are some things he likes about his girlfriend and when they're alone together it can be really good but he then remembers about how awful her attitude is towards other people. towards you. sneaking around and cheating on her is honestly rather thrilling for him and he likes the idea of silently letting you get your own back.

sometimes he'll rationalise it in his own head while he's drunk. cheating on her is okay because he's always wanted to sleep with you. it's okay because ever since you first met, denki wished you were his girlfriend.

he could never end it with his current girlfriend, his parents always ask about her and it would cause a rift in their friend group. near the beginning of their relationship his girlfriend brought herself a dog but he prefers denki over her, opting to want his attention over hers. if they did break up he knows he'd never see that dog again, he's grown to love it. it's just as much of his than it is hers but he knows that that won't matter and he'll never see him again if they broke up. they work next to each other and they go to all the same places.

he could never break up with her, he'd never hear the end of it with his parents.

so for now he gets to have some joy from getting to see you and kiss you and lay his head on your lap while you watch television together. if he tries hard enough he can almost imagine you're his girlfriend instead.

one night denki's at yours, you're not doing any explicit but you're just enjoying your night together, that is until she spoils it. denki's ringtone going off disrupts hot fuzz and he takes the call not even bothering to pause the movie. you decide to turn it down though. "kamiiiii, where are?" god her voice is grating. once a voice that spewed such nasty things about you now just sounds annoying. "i came by yours and you're not here."

denki closes his eyes shut tight, it looks to you that he's annoyed too. "sorry, i'm out tonight." he lies and know what is about to happen next.

"don't you want to see me. c'mon home, we can spend the night together." she giggles into the phone. you knew it. you knew what would happen when he answered that call from her.

denki knows he does't really have a choice without explaining where he is so he agrees to come see her. "okay, i'll be there soon." you both stay silent for a moment not talking before he breaks the silence. "i'm sorry love, we didn't even get to finish the film. i swear we can finish it next time." he apologises.

he thought he saw disappointment on your face for a second but he knows that he's just seeing things, you wouldn't be disappointed for him to go, you're not like that, he knows to you that he's just someone to fuck. he knows that you're using him to get back at his girlfriend. he doesn't mind that one bit though, as long as you're in his life.

"you can watch the rest without me if you wanted to." he tells you getting up from the sofa.

you shake your head, "no, no, it's fine. we can watch it next time. bye kaminari."

'oh no she's annoyed at me, she called me kaminari. she hasn't called me that in months. maybe she wanted to have sex tonight and i've ruined her plans. i can't stay now though, i'm already leaving. i'll have to make it up to her.'

you don't know why you called him kaminari, you knew it was petty but that didn't stop you from saying it. sometimes you get so caught up with denki you forget that outside of your home he isn't yours and he never will be. you're just sleeping together, that's all, and you don't want anything more than that... you don't...

denki thought about you all night, you never left his mind. he hates that he left you but he felt like he had no option. if he was anyone else he would have enough sense to distance himself from you but when it comes to you his judgement gets cloudy and he'll do whatever he can to be in your life, even if that involves lying through his teeth to everyone about where he is.

two nights after denki left after the phone call he came to yours with a takeaway in his hand and a grin on his face. he doesn't actually say the word 'sorry,' he doesn't acknowledge that he left abruptly, he just grins and asks "hot fuzz?"

you match his grin and let him in. you thought maybe you would be a little annoyed with denki after seeing him in your doorway but you realised that you had no right to be annoyed. you're not his girlfriend.

one takeaway and half a film after you're playing with denki's hair and he hums in happiness and gratitude. "i could have you play with my hair all night but do you want to take this to the bedroom love? i'm still pretty hungry." he takes your hands away from his head so he can kiss your wrist and winks at you. you roll your eyes and call him an idiot. "just for you sweetheart." it just came out and both of you heard. denki splutters and tries to backtrack what he said but it's too late, his whole entire face is red and his eyes are wide and you're doing no better. you haven't fully processed the words yet but you're sure it was accidental, it's just denki being denki. you turn your head away from him, nervous and embarrassed. your cheeks feel like they're on fire and you don't think you have the courage to look at him in the eye. even though you've talked yourself into how it was denki just being denki you still can't look at him.

the implications that he's yours makes you incredibly happy but you don't even want to accept that, after all you just see him as a friend. he's a good fuck. you're absolutely in denial. at least he isn't. he knows he wants you to be his, fully, completely, body and mind.

you both end up trying to ignore what he said, haphazardly but relatively successful, pivoting back to denki's offer of going to the bedroom. "denks are we taking this to the bedroom or not?"

'god she's amazing.' he's so glad you aren't acting weird.

denki's got his head between your plush thighs, he's holding onto them keeping them open so you don't close them and stop him. licking a strip along your pussy, before flicking your clit a few times with his tongue and then lapping up your juices as he plays with your breast and moaning at your taste. "denki, don't do that, it's embarrassing."

he looks up from where he's laying to see you, "what? enjoy myself. don't complain or i won't let you come."

the threat of not being allowed an orgasm shuts you up, knowing that denki will absolutely deliver on that threat if he wants to. you know that he would eat you out for hours not letting your come once.

you loose track of time, your hips start rolling uncontrollably and you grab hold of his hair. "don't get greedy sweetheart, you'll come when i say you can." he holds down your thighs to stop you from moving and kisses your hip, sucking to form a mark on your soft skin. his mark.

for all his threats he does let you come. "you've been so behaved. so good sweetheart," he mumbles against your skin. you come again and again. he finally lets up and you watch him lick his lips and wink at you. you turn your head away from him and he chuckles. his erection is visible even with his jeans on and denki flops down on the bed next to you, drawing you closer so you're laying next to each other, his arm under you.

reaching down to his jeans you start stroking him through his clothes. "don't worry about that, not tonight. i just wanted to look after you, make you feel good." he places a chaste kiss on you forehead.

"you always make me feel good," you tell him honestly and his heart feels like it's beating out of his chest.

"then my work here is done." he replies and you giggle. he is completely and utterly in love with you.

he can't tell you, no matter how much he wants to. you don't feel the same way and he can't lose you.

how much longer will you stay in denial for?

will his girlfriend ever find out about you two? maybe that will be your tipping point. maybe her finding out will make you realise that you want denki more than a quick fuck or a friend. maybe her finding out will be what you need. you're in love with denki.

[kuttesandknives]

warning(s): SMUT. jax in a fractured emotional state, parental death mention. 18+ readers ONLY. words: 2.3k a/n: set smack dab in the middle of season two, so spoilers are within. truthfully, this is my first x reader fic, so go easy on me with the reviews. 🥺✨

The clubhouse still smelled like stale beer when Jax stormed out, jaw tight, rings and fingers stained with blood, knuckles raw. The fight with Clay wasn’t just another blow up over miscommunication. It’d been building for months now, ever since Donna. Jax had been extra volatile lately, more so since Tara left Charming again. He saw that coming, as much as it rested bitterly on his tongue and ached in his chest. It was almost worse the second time around.

“You wanna lead, son? Start actin’ like it. Stop hiding behind your dead daddy’s words.”

That was the last thing Clay said before Jax swung. Now, those words echoed at the forefront of his mind, incapacitating any other possible thought to come to the forefront.

By the time he showed up at your place, it was well past midnight. You recognized the distant growl of his bike pulling into the parking space outside your apartment's patio–surely Patty next door would complain to the landlord about that. Not that you gave a damn.

“Can I come in?” Jax asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You stepped aside to let him inside, the porch light highlighting the raw knuckles and split lip, but you didn’t ask. Not yet. And just like that, you became the one person he could run to when shit got too damn chaotic.

The door clicked softly behind him. He was quiet for the first thirty seconds, removing his kutte and putting it on the back of your dining chair. You watched him cross the room again, taking in the blood dotted along the front of his white shirt. He plopped down on the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes as his head was facing upward.

Silence stretched between you two again as you walked into the kitchen, clicked on the dim light above the stove, and grabbed the ice pack you kept in the freezer. Part of you hated how automatic it had become, tending to Jax’s wounds like this. But tonight felt different. The fight had dug deeper.

You returned into the living room, crouching in front of him as he leaned forward now with his forearms resting on his knees, pressing the ice pack against his jaw and giving him a soft smile of reassurance. He flinched slightly, not from the cold but from the touch, like he wasn’t used to something so domestic such as this.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You finally asked, holding the ice pack firmly against his jaw.

He didn’t look at you. Just past your shoulder, like if he’d meet your eyes, the dam would break.

“Clay.” One word. Heavy and unmistaken.

You nodded. “That bad?”

“Worse,” he muttered, finally sparing you a glance with that signature smirk for just a second.

You moved the ice pack a little, brushing his blond hair back with your free hand to get a better look at the cut on his brow. It had stopped bleeding, but it’d bruise considerably by morning. You could already see the purple blooming beneath his skin.

“Did he say something, or did you finally throw the first punch?”

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. “Both.”

He went quiet after that. You knew better than to push. You just stayed close and allowed the silence to seep in between the two of you again. Your hand brushed against his knee as you adjusted your knelt position a fraction, your head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

He leaned back against the couch now, taking control of the ice pack with his own hand and holding it there. He looked at you–really looked.  “He said I was weak. That if I wanted the goddamn gavel, I needed to grow some balls first.”

You could see his jaw tick, like he was holding something back on purpose. “Well… did you?”

Jax’s tongue darted over his split lip. “Yeah. I swung. First time in front of the table. I knocked him on his ass.”

You let out a slow breath. “Jesus…”

He shook his head, tossing the ice pack on the side table. “He deserved it. He’s been throwing his weight around, becoming so goddamn full of himself and his vision–” His jaw ticked once again, like he wanted to elaborate but knew he couldn’t, nor would he. “Greed. Power. Lies. Everything that SAMCRO is supposed to be against, he’s gunning for everything that’s in the wrong direction on purpose.” You took his hand and held it, noticing the smear of Clay’s blood under his fingernails. “I’m scared I’m gonna become him. Or worse. I feel like everything is falling apart and I can’t get a fuckin’ grip on any of it.”

You felt your chest tighten. “You won’t.” He looked at you like he wanted to believe you if just for a second. “Every time you’ve come here, Jax, bleeding or not, you’re still fighting to be something better.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, the hand that you were holding coming up to cup your face as he spoke, “This is the only place I can breathe.” Jax’s thumb grazed against your cheek a few times as he held it while your hand came up to gently brush his hair back.

“I don’t know who the hell I am anymore,” he admitted, and it came out like a confession. “I thought I did. I thought the manuscript, my dad’s vision, all that… thought it would show me the way, but every time I try to steer this thing differently, I end up right back where he was. Drowning in the same fuckin’ shit.”

You reached up, fingers brushing against the bruise above his eye, “He didn’t drown, Jax. He was pulled under. There’s a difference.”

One hand rested on your wrist now while the other cupped the back of your neck. His touch wasn’t rough, but it held a considerable amount of weight. The pad of his thumb traced your skin, like he was trying to ground himself and like your heartbeat was the only constant left. The only thing that grounded him, tethering him to reality.

“I didn’t come here for this.” Jax admitted, his forehead resting against yours now. “I just–I couldn’t go home, you know? Not right now.”

“I know.” You reassured him in a whisper. “You don’t have to elaborate if you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.” His voice cracked on the edge of it. “You’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m supposed to have all the answers. Like I’m not already burning at both ends.”

You forced down the knot rising in your throat, your gaze undeniably locking with Jax’s, quietly pleading, quietly saying all the things you couldn’t put into words. He looked back, his eyes never moving from your face; they never did, even if he’d deny it.

He moved first, deliberate and slow as he leaned in, like he was expecting you to back out but you didn’t. His lips captured yours as your breath was caught, but not out of surprise but rather relief. The kiss started carefully, loaded with a question he wasn’t sure neither of you wanted answered.

Still, you answered without hesitation, returning the same urgency.

Jax kissed you like a man starved, like he was desperate to feel something that didn’t rip him apart. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. Your mouth opened for him, lips parting, and he groaned low and guttural, like the sound had been stuck under lock and key for days.

You climbed into his lap without asking, straddling him where he sat on the couch. Your knees bracketed his hips as your fingers traced up under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest, tracing warm skin and hard muscle. Jax’s breath hitched when your hands rested against the top of his chest, fingers curling into soft fists.

“Jesus.” He murmured against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours, “You sure about this?”

“Yes.” You whispered faintly, “I want this.” A beat of silence filled the void and then, “I want you, Jax.”

That did it, snapping the lingering tension like a bowstring.

He surged up, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you toward the bedroom like he couldn’t bear to waste another second. Your fingers fumbled with his shirt the second the door shut, but he beat you to it. He set you down right in front of the side of your bed, removing his own shirt as you undid his belt and zipper, letting each item fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them as he kissed you and helped you out of your sleepwear, conveniently a pair of shorts and a threadbare t-shirt far too baggy.

He gently held you in his arms and guided you onto the bed, gently laying your back against the mattress like you were something sacred; like this wasn’t just about fucking anymore, no, this was about remember what it felt like to just be human.

When Jax’s body lowered onto yours, his left hand trailed against your sides while his right held your face. His lips found yours again, his teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip. Then he pulled away just enough to study you despite the darkness in the room, as the only light that was present was the streetlight outside your bedroom window.

“You always look at me like that.” He hissed out in a hushed tone, now lapping his tongue against your neck.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m not me. Like… I’m worth a damn.” Like I’m not just another fuck, he thought.

“Because you are.” You declared once his eyes met yours seconds later.

He didn’t respond with words, but he did kiss you again. This time more urgent. Rougher, to the point where his scruff scraped against your skin with every pass. He cupped your breast, and his thumb brushed against your nipple, causing it to pebble underneath, and your back arched into him. You felt his cock against your thigh as he ground his hips into you, but he didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring the feel of your tongue against his.

Your hands explored him in return, grazing fingertips along his shoulders and cupping around his biceps with one hand while the other dipped low, gliding against the low dip of his spine.

Jax pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes soft, “I need you to see me tonight. Not the kutte. Not the club. Just… me, babe, can you do that for me?” God, the way he looked at you sent a shudder down your spine. He was the farthest thing from innocent, but that look could feed patrons for hundreds of years.

You reached up, cupping his jaw, “I already do, Jackson.”

He pressed his forehead against yours with a ragged breath. Then, slowly, he reached between you and guided himself to your entrance. He slid in with a quiet groan against your lips as your walls stretched to welcome him.

Fuck. You gasped at the feel of him; heavy, warm, perfect.

He didn’t move right away once he was fully sheathed. He bracketed both his forearms beside your head to hold himself up as your body fully adjusted. He made sure to study each subtle micro expression and leaned down to kiss you again, more meaningful and sweeter, a far cry from the first batch of kisses you’d shared tonight.

He started to move now, slow and steady, hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that was all need and reverence. Every thrust was deliberate, dragging across your walls and pushing you toward something deeper than just pleasure. You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close and unambiguously inside.

“Fuck.” He cursed against your lips.

“Jax–,” you sighed in a whisper. He buried his face in your neck in almost a pathetic attempt to keep it together. You felt him tremble, his biceps twitching as you held him there and the unmistakably twitch of his jaw. He was close. “Jax, baby, you can fall apart here. It’s okay.”

That cracked something open.

His thrusts became uneven now, heavier, as if your permission had granted him the space to unravel. He held you tighter, his fingers digging into your hips and his breath turned ragged.

The build in your core grew hot and insistent. Each grind of his hips pulled a breathless moan from your lips. The weight of him, the way he moved inside you, the emotion… it was too much and not enough all at once.

Your climax crept in slowly, like a tide rising. Your body tensed under him, and he felt it, slipping a hand between your legs to circle your clit with practiced fingers. “Come for me.” He muttered against your ear, “Come while I’m inside you.”

Your mind protested for a moment before caving, your body obeying after the third pass of his cock following his request. Your walls clenched around him as your release hit. You cried out his name, fingers splaying his shoulder blades as you clung to him as he wrung out every bit of what you could give him.

“Shit,” he groaned, his hips sputtering. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He came with a broken sound, burying himself deep one last time, his whole body going rigid for a few seconds before he slumped over you, chest heaving.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held each other, hearts thudding in sync, sweat cooling on your skin. Eventually, he rolled onto his side, pulling you into him so you were tucked against his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, his thumb tracing circles on your back.

“I didn’t come here to do this.” Jax admitted, staring at the ceiling like he regretted what transpired. He didn’t, but he did at the same time.

“I know.” You said in a whisper.

Then… “But I’m glad I did.”

You tilted your head upward and smiled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Me too.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just held you closer, tightening his arms around your frame.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[5:51 pm]

(cw: accidental/unexpected pregnancy, pregnant reader, implications of past sex, "fucked")

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You have never felt more stupid than you have in this moment. You feel sick, anxious, overwhelmed, sweaty, and maybe just a tiny hint of excitement. And what a horrible mix of emotions to feel while sitting on the toilet.

The tiny plus was very bold but barely visible with how much your hands were shaking and the tears gathering in your lash line. Oh, you were going to be sick. More sick than you had been for last 2 weeks. You were able to explain maybe 3 days of it, since you'd gotten some food from a really sketchy stand, but then the sick feeling lasted longer than you could blame food poisoning for. On top of the fact that the sickness persisted after you'd only eaten crackers and water for a couple days.

It really should have been some kind of indicator when your friends told you that the food they had eaten didn't make them sick, but you weren't ready to face any other possibilities at that time. 3 weeks later, here you were

There's a knock on the bathroom door and you hear Jisung call out, "uhhh are you ok?"

You wipe your tears and clear your throat, "y-yeah I'm fine."

"Can I come in? That last round sounded pretty bad," Jisung asks and you can hear his nerves. Nerves because for 3 weeks you've been sick everyday and refuse to go to the doctor when he asks you too.

You must have stayed silent for too long, too busy overthinking like you had been for the last 10 minutes, because he comes in. You scramble to hide the pregnancy test behind your back, the worst hiding place ever, and he sends you a look as if to ask you what you're hiding.

You smile and you hope it comes off reassuringly but your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, "it's nothing!"

"I didn't say anything so now I know you're hiding something. You can tell me or I can start digging," he retorts with a subtle squint of his eyes.

That's all it takes to break the dam. You start sobbing and hyperventilating, telling him you don't even know how it could have happened, that you're sorry, and you beg him not to leave you. Jisung can barely understand you through all your sobbing and his focus right now is getting you to take deep breaths. He pays no mind to the pregnancy test in your hand while he sets it on the counter beside you. He pulls you into his hold and rubs a calming hand up and down your back, "breathe with me."

Listening to the sound of his heartbeat and feeling of his chest rising and falling, you eventually calm down. He cups your face and wipes away your tears before passing you a tissue to wipe your face. He sends you a soft smile, "do you want to tell me what happened now?"

Your voice sounds weak and breaks as you gesture to the stick he set on the counter, "just look for yourself. We fucked up."

Jisung grabs the stick and almost drops it when he realized what it is and more importantly what it shows. It shows a bold, tiny blue plus sign. A tiny sign that means so much but looks so little. His voice is caught in his throat, "b-but how did this happen? We're so careful."

You let out a wail and he realizes maybe he shouldn't have said that. He clears his throat, "I just mean we use condoms! We always use condoms..." Then he thinks back on all your various passionate encounters and his face unintentionally blushes while thinking back on you great moments together in bed, only interrupted when you smack him because you know him well enough to know what he's thinking about.

He shakes his head and coughs, "I guess there was that time like six weeks ago when you were very excited and we did more than usual."

"Oh? Just me?! Mr. Dancing is good for my stamina, baby," you ask sarcastically while mocking his voice.

Jisung laughs, it's laugh of relief and even happiness, "Baby," he presses his forehead to yours and looks you right in the eye, "we're going to be just fine. I'm not leaving you. Ever."

-

a/n: I honestly always feel so iffy about writing for Jisung bc in my head he's like a baby (he's 2 years younger than me) but I love how this came out

[abcjxyzyeo]

haiii!! i have a request for you! could you maybe do a Sokka x Kiyoshi Warrior reader who watches over Sokkas trainings with Suki and he becomes embarrassed or wtvr because of how much hes failing? it can go any way you want, idm really. thanks sweets!<33

-🦢

Heart of a Warrior

AN; Request by 🦢 !!! Omg I absolutely love this idea sm, I had a little field day w this one 😘😘 But tbh I didn't know how to end this too the ending is kinda rushed and bad !!! Also for this js imagine Sokka and Suki r 20 and reader is 18 !!(It doesn't matter but Katara and Aang r still 12/14 !!) AND ONE MORE THING OMFG anyways just imagine that the gaang stayed at kyoshi for a little bit longer like 2 weeks before the fire nation came. (why does it feel so weird writing a fic for Sukis' sister x Sokka like dam she rlly stole her sisters man 😭😭)

Pairing; Sokka x afab!reader(romantic), Suki x afab!reader(family)

summary; When the gaang visits Kyoshi Island to ride some Koi fish, Sokka seems too distracted too even try to figure out whatever is going on with Katara and Aang. And distracted by a certain younger Kyoshi Warrior

warnings; not proof read!!, angst(?), sumwhat sfw ? semi one sided enemies to lovers

You sighed, wiping off the lengthy make up you wear to be a warrior. You loved being a Kyoshi Warrior more than anything, but it was tiring. You were two+ years younger than everyone else so Suki, your older sister and the leader, let you take breaks every so often. Luckily she said you can take the day off. You started to lay down to take a nap when you heard running and yelled outside, in your pjs you ran to grab your fan and went quickly outside. Staring at the trio that was tied to the podium you were star struck. Their clothes were so different than anything you have ever seen. You had honestly(but luckily) been sheltered to only have to know clothing from the earth kingdom and Kyoshi island. After debating between the three and your sister, the young bald monk was revealed to be the avatar. Something about it irked you and you rolled your eyes. When you looked back you had caught the attention of a water tribe boy who seemed to be your sisters age. he started to walk over and talk to you, but nothing peaked your interest. Mostly just him giving back handed sexist compliments.

"Your sister is pretty strong for a girl!" He chuckled, obviously annoyed he was ambushed by girls.

"Uh huh" not giving him common curtesy to look him in the eyes.

After a few more comments you simply zoned him out. Well until he asked something that you were actually interested in.

"Sooo.. are you one of the painted fighters too?"

"Um. A Kyoshi warrior? Yea I am" and he gave an interesting look so with that you walked off sighing to yourself. The first outsiders to visit during this 100 year war had to be the most uninteresting people ever. (Cuz honestly you weren't completely convinced the Avatar was here on good terms, he'd probably just lead the fire nation here.)

For the next few days you saw Sokka try and learn how to fight like a Kyoshi Warrior. It kind of disgusted you, you know he just wanted to be better than Suki, but luckily she was the best of the best so you had nothing to fear.

Suddenly you found your feet moving towards the duo practicing, against your will. You knew you disliked Sokka, you avoided him as much as possible. It was baffling to you how different he is from his sister, at least you could stand her. Once you reached the two you sat on a near-by tree stump. Sokka looked over mid attack and absolutely fumbled falling straight on his face. You rolled your eyes and his face went bright red. For the hour that you watched them, Sokka missed every hit and took every hit thrown at him. By this time you were annoyed, instead of finding it humorous. It was like he was trying to be funny and mess with a sacred art form. Frustrated, you loudly groaned and walked away. Sokka knew he had messed up, he wanted to be good, he wasn't sure if it was for him or for you. He thanked Suki and ran off to find you.

Practicing all your moves you had learned over the course of your young teenage life, you left someone creep behind you. Stopping what you're doing you turn around, expecting Suki, but finding Sokka. You simply crossed your arms expecting him to speak.

"You saw me practice today" he uttered embarrassed

"Indeed I did," rolling your eyes

"I didn't mean to mess up, I was just nervous with you watching!"

"Whatever you say water boy, just stay out of my way and stop making a fool out of yourself." you turned back around and tried expanding your fan, but suddenly a hand was on your wrist and your hip, spinning you around instantaneously. Sokka's face was mere inches from yours, he looked down at your lips and back up to your eyes making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Why won't you give me a chance?" he whispered low

Your mind whirred, 'chance for what? Why does he want a chance? Why is he so close?'

"Um what do you mean?" you gulped loudly

He let go of you lightly, "Why don't you give me a chance to show you I'm not who you think I am, I'm strong and a warrior."

You immediately scoffed "Yea right, what I saw today really showed that." this obviously pissed Sokka off, and he lowered his head down to stare at you in the eyes. Suddenly you could smell him, taking a moment to appreciate how clean he kept himself, you gathered and studied every inch of his face. Pausing to look at how nice his lips looked in the light. A moment of silence was suddenly broke.

"Like what you see?" He said smirking, leaning in to close the distance between yours and his lips.

You yelped loudly before throwing him over your shoulder and running away.

After what happened it was easy to ignore him and his practices. But your heart didn't want to, some how that stupid pony tail boy made you yearn for him. But your brain knew it wasn't a good idea to fall for a strange boy, let alone let him know that. But fate was against the organ in your head and as you turned the corner you saw, once again, your sister practicing with the water tribe boy. You walked up to them to watch but this time when Sokka noticed you, he gave it his all. Easily overpowering Suki, her face turning bright red that you could see through the makeup. Sokka crossing his eyes and giving a smug look. Your jaw dropped and you felt something inside your stomach, a tight knot that wouldn't untie. Sokka walked over to you after thanking Suki and bowing to her.

"How was that?"

you just stared at him, shellshocked. Causing him to laugh he rolled his eyes at you, he wrapped one hand around your waist and one around the back of your neck pulling you in for a kiss.

You eased yourself into it, kissing back. Your brain knew it was wrong but what was so bad with letting your heart win?

"Well Sokka, you do have the heart of a warrior." you laughed before leaning in for another kiss.

[spikezonebby]

Hiii!! Can I request a gn!human reader song fic with the song Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, with Tfp ratchet,

maybe some angst of ratchet realizing how frail his human is, and how he’s going to lose them eventually?

Everywhere, Everything - TFP!Ratchet/Human!GN!Reader

Word count: 1,352

Cybertronian protoform could score and dent, but ultimately all it took was a bit of filler and a bit of sanding to make it look as if nothing had happened. Organic flesh, though? Stitches, antiseptic, and time, then you’re still left with bumps, ridges, and discoloration that would take more pain yet to smooth away.

Ratchet had treated more than a few human wounds. Miko’s scraped knees, asphalt and gravel chunks in Jack’s hands, and the occasional bloody nose from Raf. You, though, could pinpoint the exact moment that the gears really started turning in Ratchet’s processor that things really, REALLY could be worse.

It was when Miko, in all her infinite wisdom, thought it would be fun to make everyone watch one of the Final Destination movies. The amount of car wreckages and graphic, often cartoonishly so, carnage wouldn’t be easy on anyone’s stomach or, uh… Fuel pump, in Bulkhead’s case. You had no idea Cybertronians could vomit but the floor behind the sofa has personal experience. 

Bumblebee tapped out immediately after to ‘go on patrol,’ as Raf had translated. Arcee wasn’t really paying attention and was much more enthralled with watching Jack play with a language app on his phone, occasionally giving him hints and pointers. Miko ended up abandoning her movie to go and wrangle Bulkhead, and of course, Optimus had other things to attend to. Which left just you and Ratchet.

You were going to offer to go do something else with your guardian when the medic’s servo cups around you, scooting you against his thigh. And, well, it’s hard not to feel safe when you’re securely held like the world’s dumbest hamster between two different surfaces of warm living metal. You push yourself up on his thigh, laying yourself as flat against his plating as possible to catch his attention.

“Yes?” He tacks your name onto the end, but his optics are affixed to the screen and his expression has this pinched look of concentration. 

“You okay, doc? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

“What gills are you…” His optics finally flick down to you and it seems he registers the figure of speech. You love it when he gives you that funny, confused and exasperated look. He just looks so cute.

“I’m fine. Just thinking is all.”

Oh, there we go. There’s the dam breaking. You let him know you’re listening by looping your arm around his thumb and coaxing him to curl his digits loosely around you. His expression softens, especially when you press your cheek into the crux of his thumb and forefinger.

“How has your species survived when things like this,” He gestures to the screen with his off hand, “Can happen in the flicker of an optic?”

“The movie? Ratch, a lot of this is highly dramatized and takes astronomical amounts of bad luck.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say we’re brimming with good fortune around here.” Ratchet says with an audible grimace.

“Well,” You wrap your arms around his thumb, then press a kiss to his pad, “I still think I’m one very lucky human.” 

It is then, that you fear, Ratchet was thinking about a little more than just how accident prone humans tend to be. He scoops you up in his servo and holds you to his chest until you’re close enough to his workbench for you to set him down.

Ratchet snorts a chuckle, but he doesn’t seem wholly convinced. His index finger comes around and gently strokes down your back as the medic bot becomes lost in thought once more. The movie ends and everyone who’s left– Just you two plus Arcee and Jack, really– Returns to their stations. Ratchet takes you with him back to the medbay so you can ‘help him test something.’

“M.E.C.H was certifiably insane but they knew what they were lacking.” Ratchet muses, knocking his knuckles against his own chassis, “Humans are soft, squishy, and vulnerable. Of course some kind of armor would be the logical choice. Not certain why your evolution hasn’t started developing something of that sort, you have animals that have done it already.”

“Probably because we’re not animals.” You point out, letting Ratchet go about taking tons and tons of tiny measurements with various rudimentary tools kept in the medbay, “Well, we are but not that kind of animal. And evolution takes millions of years of environmental pressures to stimulate. Instead of getting tougher, humans evolved to be smarter. Don’t have to protect yourself from a situation if you can avoid being in said situation to start with.”

Ratchet actually has to pause in his measuring to give you a long, weary look.

“Okay we you’ve seen evidence of this, Ratch. Example A, Miko and Raf.”

“Alright, alright.” Ratchet sighs, taking a seat at the workbench before you. “You have me there. I’m not giving up so easily though. There has to be something I can do.”

“Babe,” It’s your turn to sigh as you pat your hand against Ratchet’s forearm plating. “You’re like three degrees off of going full Shockwave, I can feel it.”

Ratchet sputters, “I am not! I actually have a medical license!”

“Ratchet,” You say his name as a fond, tired note that you mean with so much love, even if you know he might not listen to you. “Come down here for me, please.”

He’s still just a little offended by the Shockwave comment, but he leans down anyway, resting his weight on his arms so his face is level with you. Immediately you flatten your palms out on the white kibble on his cheeks. He leans into your hands, and you take the opportunity to bump your forehead– Or rather, your entire head– between his red chevron brows.

“Talk to me, doc.” You say, as his optics finally meet your gaze, “Where’s your head at?”

His expression screws up, like a kid that just licked a lemon, but you hold him there and you let him find his words.

“...I can’t be there all the time.” He begins, clipped and shamed. You don’t interrupt him. When he lifts his helm up and away from you, he doesn’t leave you entirely and instead cups you in both of his servos. “I hate the thought that something might happen to you and I won’t be there to save you.”

“Ratchet…”

“And we can’t just lock you up here with us! Primus, the kids need someone looking out for them while the others are off getting the slag beat out of them.”

“Ratch, I’ve been surviving most of my adult life on my own. I’m capable of getting myself out of a scrape.”

“That was before you got pulled into all of this war nonsense! And I wish Optimus would just listen to me when I say you would have been better off if you couldn’t prove we were real and then maybe the ‘Cons couldn’t find you.”

“...But then we wouldn’t be partners.”

Ratchet sighs, optics slipping shut as he tries to compose his thoughts. He shakes his helm.

“And I… I almost hate that thought more than seeing you hurt. Almost.”

You know he means it. You know how much he cares about you and what he’d sacrifice just for your sake. But he’s forgetting one vital thing.

“My feelings matter here too. And I can tell you with absolute certainty… My life is better, richer, with you guys in it.”

You reach up and coax your big medbot back down to you. He obliges, and you happily flatten yourself out against his cheek in a hug.

“I don’t ever wish not to be here, because then I know I’d lose one of the most important things in my life. You guys– Arcee, Bee, Bulk, Smokey, Optimus, you– are my family. And I can’t see myself anywhere but right by your side.”

Ratchet’s vocalizers make this low static rumble as he leans into you, cupping your tiny body against him in his servo.

“Gah, you’re sappy.” Ratchet grumbles, you just laugh.

“I mean it, though.”

“Yeah. I know you do.” 

[glade-constellation]

Not Built For This

Sun x Reader

Summary : Sun is having a difficult time, finally cracking under the stress of his job after a run in with a rude parent. You’re there to comfort him.

Trigger Warning(s) : Mentions of abusive/neglectful parent and alcohol, accidental self harm, mention of decommissioning

Rating : T, SFW

Word Count : 2053

Extra : Just a little one-shot I wrote a while ago, sometime in January of this year. I apologize if it’s a little odd. I wrote it when I was having a bad time myself, but I really enjoy how it came out and wanted to share.

“Because I wasn’t built for this!”

Sun threw his hands into the air, bells on his wrist ringing out softly, before he fell to the floor in a ball. You knew he couldn’t cry. Fazbear was at least smart enough to not build their bots with working tear ducts and have them start sparking like a lit firework. But you swore, in that moment, Sun’s eyes glassed over with unshed tears. His shaking frame leaked of such pure anguish you wondered if he’d been built with a human soul. Even covered in stray marker lines and spots of sparkling glitter, he looked so violently drowned in his own emotional pain that you felt it yourself.

“I wasn’t built to do any of this! The ‘daycare attendant’ wasn’t even a role when the Plex was first built! Why do you think we had so many complaints over the years? Why I seem too overbearing or Moon sometimes acts far too frightening for the kids? That’s what we were built for. Performances. Short bursts of dramatic entertainment. Comedy and tragedy. We were theater performers.”

The hiccuping static coming from his voice box was too close to sounding like a cry. His frame creaked and groaned, sounding as if about to combust. Knowing how little maintenance the two of them received, the possibility was too high for your liking. “Sun, honey, I need you to listen-“

“The kids weren’t even supposed to be near us! We were supposed to be up on a stage, only interacting when engaging with the crowd.”

You took a step forward, hands rising as if to reach out to him, “Sun, please, you’re going to hurt-”

A soft crunching sound filled the air. “We’re had to learn all of this ourselves, no help from anyone. Playtime, time outs, kissing the boo-boos away, we’ve had to learn all of it by watching others. People who didn’t even like working here, didn’t like us.”

He didn’t even notice the now dented rays in his hands. “Sunny, please-”

“I try my hardest every day to be the best I can be and do the best I can do with what very limited resources I was given and no one seems to care about anything I do meaning Fazbear hates us and we’re so close to being decommissioned for something we can’t even help-”

“SUN!”

Besides the rattling of his frame, there was finally silence. You stood over his curled body, hands gently but firmly placed on the sides of his face. Even without visible pupils, you could see when his eyes finally focused with yours. With slow movements, you softly began to remove his hands from his now bent rays. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he moves his hands with yours. He slides them towards you, reaching but not touching. An unasked request for comfort. As you reach to pull him forward, he grabs your hips and does the same. There’s a moment in the silence when he simply holds you to him. Then the dam finally breaks.

Sun buries his face into your stomach and sobs.

It’s not quiet or soft, full of shaky breaths and muffled whimpers. It’s not like the daycare kids who threw fits with sharp huffs and cries. Sun folds into you and he screams, static scratching through his voice box. It’s loud and aching and broken, so defeated that your own heart couldn’t help but break with him. He grips you like a lifeline as he cries, frame shivering and vibrating so roughly yours afraid he might actually begin to fall apart. A star in threat of collapsing in on itself.

You let him cry. You hold him as he screams and you try not to cry yourself. Your hand moves from his shoulder to one of his rays, gently tracing it in a way you knew calmed him down.

It’s a while before he finally calms down enough to speak coherent words, but what he says only breaks you farther. “I’m sorry,” drops from his mouth, so strained in static you almost can’t make it out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeats it over and over like a mantra. You open your mouth, going to shush him, but freeze as he continues. “Please please please, don’t decommission us, don’t throw us out. I can do this, I can do this, I’m not broken, just a small mishap. Won’t happen again, I can do it, I’m sorry.”

You’re having not of that.

Pull his face away from you, you drop down to your knees. Your gaze is firm as you stare into his eyes. “Sun, you listen to me and you listen to me good. This wasn’t your fault. None of this was. You said it yourself, you weren’t built for this. Nothing about what you do in the daycare is part of a program you or Moon own.”

You stop for a moment, just long enough to cup your hands against the sides of his face. He’s still crying, but he’s listening, and that’s what matters right now. “But you want to know something? That makes what you do in here so fucking brilliant. You care for these kids almost every day, playing with them and cleaning their messes and kissing their hurts away, and you do it so much better than any of the human assistants I’ve seen sulking in here before me. You may not have been built for this but you do it so beautifully that I wouldn’t have known any better unless you or Moon told me. The fact that you had to learn how to do all of this while locked away in here with no help but your own two eyes is frankly far more astounding than Fazbears’ ability to create your AIs. How you haven’t lost it up until now is a fucking wonder.” You shake your head, chuckling.

“But maybe that’s just a testament to you two’s innate ability to love with all your being. When you two commit to loving something, you give yourself away to it. I watch you with those kids all the time and you treat them like a parent would their own children. As a parent should love their children. You spend hours upon hours keeping this daycare in working order without any help, not because you’re programmed to but because you love doing it. That kind of emotion isn’t something you can just replicate. The level of humanity I see in you and Moon far surpasses most of actual humanity that exists on this Earth today.

“If some kid’s abusive bitch of a mother wants to come in and call you a worthless machine because her kid love you far more than her, you take any word that comes out of her mouth with a fucking grain of salt. That’s her problem to work through, not yours. She doesn’t see what you do here. She obviously doesn’t see what you do for her own kid every single day she’s off getting drunk.

“What matters is what those who actually care about you think. The kids love you. Both of you. They were freaking out the day you guys went to maintenance, some actually started crying. Made all those Get Well cards for you two, remember? I highly doubt Fazbear is going to decommission one of their most beloved animatronics from one drunk lady’s comment. They’d have hell to pay.” You bring him forward, just enough to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Hell that I would raise for you.”

Sun falls forwards slightly, head hitting your chest as he pulls you close again. He moves you to the side just slightly, throwing a leg under you so you’re no longer resting on your knees. You throw an arm over his shoulder as he begins to rock the both of you, your other hand coming up to the back of his faceplate to hold him. It's another moment before either of you speak.

You can hear Sun mumble something, but whatever was said is buried in the sound of his fans buzzing on overdrive. You hum in question as you trace patterns aimlessly on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says again, “Moon says it too.” You feel more than see when his rays shrink slightly into his faceplate, “I’m sorry.”

You snort, “Hey, what did I just say? No more of that. It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” He pulls back from you, eyes looking down instead of towards you. “That was really childish on my part. Parents complain all the time. That shouldn’t have affected me that much.”

You shush him, placing a hand over his mouth despite knowing that wasn’t going to do much. It still had the desired outcome of shutting him up. “Sun, did you listen to anything I just said?” He nodded, and you quickly continued before he started up again. “I didn’t explicitly say it, but everything I just explained can also be used to say that both you and Moon are extremely overworked.” You give a huff as you roll your eyes, “Give an AI sentience and then make them work until the break. Typical Fazbear right there.”

You feel the speaker behind Sun’s faceplate vibrate as he speaks up, “But we were built to work-”

There’s an audible smack as you facepalm. “Oh my god, I spill my guts out trying to calm you down and you listened to none of it,” you groan. You grab his chin to tilt his face towards yours, “Sunny, honey, it doesn’t matter that it was just one parent telling you something you’ve already heard and gotten over before. You may have been built to work tirelessly but you literally just said you weren’t built to handle this kind of work. Plus, I don’t think Fazbear takes into account that they build living beings. Straw on the camel’s back and all that. You and Moon have one too many things going on up in that pretty little head right now. It couldn’t handle the additional yelling and triggered all your pent up emotions. It’s normal. Happens to me too. Don’t apologize for simply being alive.”

You drop your hand as you finish, watching as Sun blinks at you. His rays flex in and out in no particular pattern, something you’ve realized means he’s having an internal conversation. He finally seems to come back into focus after a moment, simply staring before moving a hand to gently cup your cheek. You laugh slightly as his hand covers the right side of your head but lean into it. He looks like he wants to smile, but whatever he’s thinking is obviously weighing on him. “You. . .really see us as people.”

You can't quite tell if it was a statement or a question, but you nod all the same. A confused look crossed your face, “I mean, yeah? You may be made of metal and silicone, and held together by desperation and glitter glue since the mechanics can’t do their job for shit, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have just as much intelligence and emotion as any human. Probably more, not gonna lie. I’ve seen Moon hack into things he really shouldn’t more times than I would like to admit. You have this unbelievable talent to read a person’s body language from across the room and change the mood of the whole room to fit their needs.

“And like I mentioned earlier, you two don’t half ass anything. When you give, you do so with your whole being. Simple machines don’t have things like love and trust. You two are the definition of it.”

You could feel as Sun ran his thumb across your cheek as you spoke. As you looked back up at him, you were greeted with a soft look. Sun’s rays slowly pinwheeled around his head as he smiled at you. His hand moved from the side of your head to the back as he pulled you forward. Your breath caught suddenly, your heart beat suddenly too obvious inside you.

He seemed to second guess himself at the last second, or maybe you had simply read too much into that act. Hugging you close, Sun reciprocated your earlier forehead kiss. “Thank you,” he mumbled softly.

[accihoe]

Pairing: Bruno Madrigal x fem!reader

Summary: After Bruno's disappearance, Y/N brings the Madrigals some unexpected news.

Genre: angst (fluff)

Warnings: none that I can think of.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Encanto characters. I named the son Bartholomew in this fic. Feel free to change the name to suit you 😊. NOTE - I apologize for any incorrect grammar, spelling, or language with the Spanish.

A/n: I'm surprising myself by doing this. As per literally almost all of my other fandom works, it's probably gonna be a series. Same as always, folks, please don't steal my work. God bless! :)

xxx

The walk to Casita was nerve-wrecking. Every step closer to the household, her gut grew colder. Y/N wrapped her arms across her stomach, shielding her womb from the cold air. She hoped that Pepa was alright. Sucking in a deep breath when she arrived, Y/N entered into the courtyard.

The tiles whirred and greeted her, aiding in calming her nerves just enough for her to face breaking the news to Alma. Y/N was greeted by Camilo and Mirabel racing to her, hugging her legs. She chuckled and crouched down, hugging them back. Dolores followed suit, and then Isabella, and finally Luisa.

The children hugged her, all asking questions at the same time. Felix and Augustin came down and moved the bombarding children away from their dear friend. Pepa and Julieta soon joined, and finally, Alma. Y/N's veins ran cold as Alma's eyes locked with hers.

By no means was she afraid of the woman. In fact, she admired and respected her, which was why the news was even more appalling to have to break to the Madrigals after the fiasco of Mirabel's ceremony and Bruno's disappearance. Y/N's heart sunk when she thought of Bruno. Alma spoke, pulling Y/N from the pit she was nearing.

"Y/N, querida (dear), what brings you here on this rainy day?"

"Señora Madrigal, I've come with news."

"Good news, I hope. I doubt we could stand any more bad news."

The older woman's tired smile splintered Y/N's heart, and she felt sick to her gut. The news she bore was supposed to be sheer joy, happiness, excitement, and all the other good emotions. However, the timing was terrible. Y/N's heart throbbed with a dull ache at the misfortunate environment and timing for her blessing.

"If we could perhaps discuss this in private, please."

Y/N gave a weak smile. Alma nodded.

"Children, Dolores, you specifically, please make way to your rooms."

The children scurried off, doing as their Abuela asked. The grownups stayed in the courtyard as Y/N followed Alma to the kitchen.

"I'd uh.. I'd suggest that you sat down for this, Señora."

Alma raised concerned brows but sat down nevertheless, and Y/N did too. She plucked at the hem of her skirt, unable to look Alma in the eyes. Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath before she looked at Alma.

"I-I uh.. there is no easy way to say this... but I have to let you know. And I'm aware that this is the worst time possible to bring this news to you, but I'd rather tell you myself, a-and- you have every right to know. And to be upset with me..."

All Alma did was raise a brow. Y/N swallowed thickly and smoothed her palms across her lap before they protectively wrapped around her middle.

"You're with child?"

Alma guessed. Y/N looked at her with large eyes and bit her lip as she nodded.

"Querida (Dear), I do not know how you being with child can upset me."

"It's Bruno's."

Y/N rushed out in a whisper. Alma gasped as she sat back in her chair. The knot in Y/N's throat came loose, and the tears queued behind her waterline.

"I promise you that we didn't fornicate- we just... oh dios. Bruno and I..."

Y/N sighed and tightened her arms across her waist.

"Nos fugamos cuando Bruno tenía treinta." (We eloped when Bruno was thirty.)

"You married my son behind my back and have been married to him for ten years without informing me?"

Y/N looked at her lap as the dam wall broke and the hot tears spilt over her cheeks. She nodded, unable to look the woman in her eyes.

"I am so sorry for not telling you sooner. We - Bruno, Bruno, and I wanted to tell the familia when everything was settled and when the town was more fond of Bruno. We planned to re-marry and have a large ceremony for the familia."

"Please leave and never come back." (Lol, my dentist said that to me word for word when I was about 6 or 7.)

"Perdóname?" (Pardon me?)

"I said, please leave and never come back."

"B-but the child- it is your grandchild..."

"I do not care. I want nothing to do with a child who's parents betrayed the familia!"

Y/N got up on trembling legs.

"Lo siento mucho." (I am so sorry.)

Whether she whispered it to the baby, to Alma, or to herself, she was unsure. Y/N kept her head low, ignoring the pleas of her brothers and sisters in law as she walked. The walk home was even worse than the walk from home. Alma refused to tell anyone what had been discussed between herself and Y/N, and insisted that everything go back to the way they were.

Her son was born several months later, Bartholomew Tavares Madrigal. Y/N sent Alma a letter, to which she never got a response.

(Here comes our boiii)

Bruno, who had been arranging the space behind the kitchen wall for himself to live in, had heard the conversation between his mother and his wife. He was distraught by the idea of having a child and being unable to be in the child's life or in his wife's life. A sickening feeling in his gut made him fear the worst; that she'd find a present father for their son and ignore his existence like everybody else. Mustering up all of his courage, Bruno decided to write a letter to Y/N. His little acquaintances promised to deliver the letter to her.

One evening, he'd snuck out of the walls to get food when he heard his mother's voice.

"Mi Pedro. I wish you were here to help me. Brunito has a child, and he's not here to see it. Al parecer es un niño pequeño (Apparently it's a little boy.). Brunito is also apparently married. The mother sent me a letter today. The child's name is Bartholomew Tavares Madrigal. Que nombre (What a name.)."

Alma chuckled at the end of her confession, and Bruno had to grip the wall for support. He heard his son's names, the very names him and his amada (beloved) had discussed in their years of courting.

It'd had been a long day for Y/N and Bartholomew, Y/N, trying to find any job in the town to feed herself and most importantly her child, and getting judged for having a child outside of marriage, which she hadn't. But nobody could know that she was married.

"Por fin estamos en casa, cariño."

(We're home at last my darling).

The baby cooed, warming Y/N's heart. He inherited his father's big, beady eyes and their mischievous glint. The very glint that made Y/N fall in love with him. And not the dreadful mischievous he was described as, the mischievousness of a humble heart yearning to please others and make them laugh.

After feeding him, Y/N put Bartholomew down in his crib. Her ears perked when she heard a shuffling noise in front of her door. Y/N squeaked when she opened the door; two rats were dragging an envelope. She shooed them with her broom, assuming they wanted to use the letter in a nest or something. The rats screeched before scurrying into the bush. Y/N clicked her tongue as she brushed the dust off the letter and got up. Her eyes widened when she saw her name on the paper in very familiar handwriting.

Y/N bit her lip as she traced her name on the paper. She sat down on the steps, reaching into her apron. She tutted with her tongue and the rats slowly crept out of their hiding spot.

"I'm sorry for being rude."

She smiled, breaking off a piece of pastry and tossing it a bit away from her. The rats scurried, racing each other to the crumb. The second rat pawed sadly as the other rat refused to share the crumb. Y/N broke off another piece and held her hand out. The rat inched closer slowly before leaning against her palm with its paws, sniffling the food.

The rat grabbed the pastry piece from her and sat next to her on the step, eating it.

"Thank you for delivering my letter."

The first rat sat on its hind legs, grooming its ears as Y/N spoke. The second rat cautiously made its way onto her lap. She laid her palms in her lap, allowing the rat to get onto it. She brought the rat up to her face, smiling at the creature. It ran down her arm and joined the other rat. They squeaked as if in conversation, and both heads turned to Y/N. Beady, glassy, red eyes stared at her before they scurried off. As if on cue, Bartholomew started crying.

Y/N went in and locked the door, swiftly making her way to her son. As soon as he was cradled in her arms, he was calm. And, unbeknownst to anyone, Bruno had started crying at the same time as his son, mourning for the life he'd wanted since his golden years. A life that was torn from him the moment he got it.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, deciding to read the letter whilst she held her son. He was her only comfort.

Y/N, mi regalo más preciado y hermoso. (Y/N, my most precious and beautiful gift.)

I'd like to start off this letter with an apology. An apology for my sudden disappearance and an apology for being the worst form of a husband I could be.

I heard about Bartholomew. Just know that I love him, and I love you. I will always love mis dos bendiciones (I will always love my two blessings). I cannot describe the inconsolable grief that I feel from being unable to have a part in my son and my wife's life. And I feel the same amount of grief that you have been banned from the familia.

You have every right to be angry with me, to hate me. I will never blame you, should you do either of those or more.

Mi corazón (My heart), I will continue writing to you. I will send a letter to Bartholomew on his birthday each year until we are hopefully reunited one day. Even if you throw them away or burn them, I will continue writing to you. I love you more than I could ever find the words to put together.

Tuyo Sinceramente, (Yours Sincerely) Bruno.

Y/N felt numerous emotions at once. Anger, pain, confusion, joy, and hope. Though, she did not feel the anger towards Bruno. She kissed the letter, placing it on her windowsill. Y/N looked down at her son. His peaceful face put her pounding heart at ease. She finally understood the trail Alma faced being a single mother. Her throat burned as she thought of the woman, the heartache she must have been through. Though uncalled for, she understood Alma's reaction.

Y/N pressed a loving kiss to her son's forehead, promising to give him the best life she possibly could.

xxx

Fin

Hope you liked it. There will be more parts. Part 2 will probably be released today.

Lots of love

[lanawinterscigarettes]

omg baby tiny request you don't have to write loads for this or not at all but i saw this on your feed and like, a little comfort fic clara x fem reader (atp for both me and sparkle we're the clara crew now)

'humming a song to calm them down'

maybe reader curls in clara's lap after work and starts crying or something (bonus points if they try to pretend theyre ok and then break down at an 'what's wrong?' and you can see the tears fill in their eyes), omg and the swaying someone hurting in your arms as you hum or sing to them i would FOLD

anyway thanks in advance if you do it no worries if you don't we just all need a comfort fic in our lives

xoxo

- ⭐

I'm guessing you didn't have a good day recently, which makes me feel so sad for you :(( I'm sending you a massive virtual hug, and I made this my priority to get finished so you could be comforted as quickly as possible <3 (kind of off topic but the clara crew is such a cute name for you and sparkle anon)

this is the original post for those who are curious

In Her Arms (Clara Oswald x fem reader)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, reader had a bad day (though why specifcally isn't mentioned)

The day had been awful, and you didn't want to have to think about it for a single moment more. All you wanted to do was get home and see your girlfriend, Clara.

She was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea when you entered the flat, though her smile at your presence instantly slipped into a frown when she noticed just how upset you were.

"Hey, love," she cooed in a low voice, trying not to startle you. "How was work?"

You simply let out a quiet grunt in response as you kicked off your shoes and slipped off your coat, making your way over to where she was.

"That bad, huh?" She let out a sympathetic sigh, opening up her arms to you. "C'mere, love. Let me hold you for a moment, maybe you'll feel better."

Nodding, you moved to sit next to her, melting into her touch as she pulled you in close.

You were both quiet for a moment as she held you before she pulled away a little and gave you a warm, reassuring smile. "There, see? Don't you feel a bit better?"

It was hard to keep everything in, and you could feel the weight of the day push down on you further and further. "No," you choked out as you voice cracked, tears welling up in your eyes.

The smile on her face fell, and she immediately pulled you back in again so that you pressed right against her. "Oh, love, what's wrong?" She gently murmured the question in your ear, that being the one thing that caused the dam inside you to break as everthing came pouring out all at once.

Her arms wrapped around you in a tight and protective embrace as you sobbed into her shoulder, unable to keep it in any longer than you had. "Shh, love, shh, it's okay, I've got you now," she muttered in a soothing tone as her hands went to your back, rubbing the area in comforting circles as she began to hum.

The sound of whatever sort of melody that was coming from her helped to calm you down, and you allowed her to hold you there as you sat curled up in her lap. She continued to hum the tune in your ear while she began to rock you back and forth, stopping to press the occasional kiss to your face.

You let out a shaky sigh while blinking back a few stray tears. The day had been awful, but things felt a bit better now that you were in her arms.

End notes: I know this is a bit short but I hope you enjoyed it regardless star anon 🫶

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[half-shadowgalra]

I think…

I think I’ve watched to many Cinema Therapy videos to like…

enjoy ANY SORT of story where the main characters hurt each other because of a miscommunication,

or like,

a thing where someone’s thought process is like “I love them, but I have to go, and I can’t tell them why I have to go, so instead of telling them why I have to go, IM GONNA ROOT UP THEIR MOST PREVALENT INSECURITY SO THEY HATE ME SO THEY WONT GI WITH ME AND POSSIBLY GET HURT!!”…

or anything like that

like…

I’m sorry but if I’m reading a fic or a book and one of the characters pulls shit like that or is like “I don’t wanna hurt them, so I’m not gonna tell them what’s been hurting me” or like “I bet they don’t actually like me. I bet they don’t actually like me. I bet they don’t-“ *the smallest misunderstanding EVER* “-THEY DONT ACTUALLY LIKE ME!!! IM SO DEPRESSED, IM SUCH A VICTIM!!! AAAGGGHH-“

and like, I know that sometimes stuff like this does happen irl

and if you are reading this amd you feel called out, I’m not upset or angry with you, and I can understand feeling insecure and not wanting to hurt someone so you don’t tell them something and then that makes it worse

I’ve been in those positions before

I’m also not saying we should NEVER have stuff like this depicted in fiction

I just had the realization of why I think I get so viscerally upset, and frustrated, and depressed, and have so much anxiety over FUCKING FICTION like this

and it’s because I’ve watched too many DAM VIDEOS of CINEMA THERAPY dissecting and explaining why this is so bad to do in ACTUAL relationships

(this also isn’t a gripe about cinema therapy, I love them and will watch them till the day they die, or I die, which ever one comes first)

I also think I just needed to complain about how much I HATE and when I say HATE I mean visceral reaction want to throw something across the room want to die anxiety attack SOMEBODYS GONNA DIE HATE

for THIRD. ACT. BREAK UPS

OR when you get to the end of a long fanfic that, yeah, the characters have gone through some ups and downs but now they are happy and everything is great amd I’m feeling good, NOW HOW ABOUT WE RUIN IT!!!!!

like

I can NOT take it

I know that it’s fiction

however

I DONT KNOW!!!

is this how ppl feel about things that we put trigger warnings on

cause like

I have sobbed and kinda wanted to die after reading a fic (or even and actual published book) because of shit like THIS!!!!

so like, idk, could we have or—

IS THERE SOME SORT OF TAG OR TRIGGER WARNING FOR STUFF LIKE THIS THAT IM JUST NOT AWARE OF!?!?

cause I could just be being stupid

and like

again

I’m not targeting you if you like for this sorta stuff in fiction

I honestly think I just REALLY needed to vent about how much distress shit like this puts me through

idk

if you read all this… do you get me? Do you get what I’m saying? Please tell me I’m not the only one

(I also REALLY dont think that this is all Cinema Therapy’s fault)

umm…

anyway

ta ta!!

[sapphire-dicson-official]

[ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE THINKINGS]

oooooo boi, do I have thoughts about spiderverse.

like oh my GAWD

okay, so, first I wanna talk about Miguel's ideology with cannon events and how breaking them is "bad"

we see, some evidence in the movie that would indicate he is correct about this assumption, however there is also big damming evidence that this assumption is VERY FUCKING WRONG.

I'll first address the shown evidence that indicates any semblance of truth to Miguel's fears. First, we meet Pav, great introduction, action sequence, stopping death and most destruction, and Miles stops the one death that is "supposed" to happen: the death of Captain Singh. Nearly immediately after the day is saved, we see the fabric of Mumbattan start to break a little bit. So, we have a case of cause and effect right? cause: "cannon event" didn't happen, effect: reality does a fucky wucky and splits like a banana.

I don't think it is, and here's why: before Captain Singh's life was ever in danger, we had the event of Spot activating the Mumbattan collider. Remember what happened in into the spiderverse when a collider was activated? reality started getting REALLY fucked. I think the reaction of spot activating and interacting with the collider was the cause for the sudden rip in reality to open up. It's a deceptive clue hidden by the writers, at least in my opinion.

okay, if not the cannon event of Captain Singh's death, then what about Miguel's backstory?

I don't doubt for a minute that Miguel believes he caused the destruction of an entire world because he interacted with it too much. That is what he BELIEVES happened. That doesn't mean there weren't other causes that led to the webs of a world to disappear and break. I honestly don't think we've seen enough of Miguel's time in that world to use it as evidence that he's right. Spiderman, ANY spiderman, can't see everything that's going on all the time. there could have been things afoot that he didn't discover before the collapse.

So now, what evidence do we have that Miguel is wrong?

Miles 1610 and Miles 42. The existence of both of these characters and the worlds they inhabit still existing is proof that Miguel can't possibly be right. Don't follow?

Let me explain.

Miles from earth 1610 was never supposed to get bit by the spider, therefore every single action Miles makes as spiderman is a "non-cannon event" and yet earth 1610 has been stable from the moment the collider was shut down in the first movie. If any characters from different spiders' worlds made it into 1610 there would have been some indication of it mentioned to plant clues for the next movie, it would be foolish not to. Miguel is only meant to appear right, it's how it's written and how Miguel presents it to the other spiders.

And earth 42 with Miles 42? He was supposed to get bit, he didn't and now he's the Prowler of earth 42. If we assume that every action Miles 1610 does as spiderman is a "non-cannon event", we must also assume that every action Miles 42 does as the Prowler is also a "non-cannon event". World 42 still exists, and still hasn't seen hide nor hair of and reality ripping since the collider incident.

There is something else causing the rips and tears, and there's evidence that it's the colliders and the Spot.

now I'd be remiss if I neglected to mention the beloved Hobie Brown. A lot of my evidence is getting pulled from This video here a character analysis of SpiderPunk and his depth in the 5 minutes of screen time he has (great video, watch if you have the time).

In his 5 minutes of screen time Hobie plants seeds of doubt for both Miles and the audience. He acts as the writers' hands to get us to question what's really going on in the Spider Society before we realize what's wrong. Hobie recognizes the patterns of fascism in the society and the autocracy in Miguel and actively works to combat it. He secures tech to make a watch so anyone can world hop even if they aren't in the spider society, he tells miles how to break barriers so miles can escape and break barriers between himself and other spiders, Hobie warns Miles to really understand what he's signing up for before fully committing to it, and he congratulates Miles when Miles saves Captain Singh fully knowing it's an event that's supposed to happen according to Miguel.

By the end of the movie we know Hobie is solidly a good guy, we know because he gives Gwen the watch to allow her to find Miles. this watch frees Gwen from the grips of the Spider Society, provides a means of communication, and a means of traveling where ever the good spiders need to go. Because we know that Hobie is a good guy, a hero we're meant to root for, we know that he can't oppose Miguel's ideology if any point in Miguel's argument were true or could be justified, even if Miguel doesn't know he's wrong.

The other thing I want to talk about here is Miguel's idea that Spiderman isn't Spiderman without having the trauma of losing someone important to them. Nicque Marina made an excellent video discussing her thoughts on this concept and how bullshit it is, and I very much agree with her.

The idea that we need Trauma/abuse to make us stronger has been a concept that has held our society, not just the Spider Society, for far too long, and it also isn't true. We see it in the movie with Miles 42, instead of becoming the hero he was "supposed" to be after the death of his dad, he became a very bitter angsty teenager. Having trauma from abuse or tragic events doesn't automatically make them a good person, there are plenty of serial killers and villains with traumatic backstories and pasts who prove this wrong.

If trauma doesn't make a Spiderman, then what does? The decision to not standby as there are problems only a Spiderman can handle actively happening. Spiderman doesn't need a death, they don't need the "great power, great responsibility" speech from their Uncle Ben or their stories' equivalent of him. What makes Spiderman a Spiderman as well as a hero is the realization, acceptance, and actions of knowing they have the power to do something so people don't suffer or die.

With that said, you can make a good argument that when the spiders join the Spider Society they stop being the spiderman they once were because they ignore one death that they can prevent. Heroes are not meant to look at something they know is bad, they know is suffering, and turn the other way to let it happen. As the lead of the Spider Society, Miguel actively and vehemently insists on the spiders knowing a death will happen and ignoring it. It's safe to say that in Miguel's pursuing of what he think's is right, he's forgotten what it means to be Spiderman, he has lost who he was.

TL;DR : Miguel is wrong about cannon events and the idea that you need to have trauma to be spiderman.

[cowboyslikedean]

Thank you for your very thorough response! I have some more questions for you.

Do you have any favourite tropes? Any least favourites? And anything you specifically can’t stand in fanfic?

Lots of love, your secret valentine 💌

hello! apologies this took a while:

favs

Angst!! all the angst!!

generally i think this is fairly self explanatory, but honestly, i thought i would put it down as i’m gathering ur a writer and i would like here to give u a free reign opportunity that if there’s an angst fest that fits no other trope that i love, but has been sitting in your drafts for years and you love it but writing is HARD with no deadline: go for it!

Deaths door/presumed dead.

i want to watch them lose their fucking marbles. properly insane. people are getting the wrong idea and it would be so easy to let it be the truth on paper, because maybe then someone could understand the enormity of loss. in a slightly diff vein i am also down bad for deathbed confessions that they then have to live to see the consequences of.

marriage of convenience/fake married/undercover couple

ok so i know these aren’t all the same thing, but i love them all for similar reasons. with fake married/undercover as a couple fics, i just wish there were more that were early-mid seasons based - i love the later seasons ones bc it’s often from a place of AT LEAST mulder already sort of. being aware why he enjoys this so much and the angst involved there. but i do crave more of the early-mid seasons of “oh this isn’t so bad. this is pretty easy actually. ah shit why is this so easy.” | Alternatively, marriage of convenience mid seasons has soooo much room for angst and miscommunication. maybe it’s for some weird legal reason. maybe it’s after (or even just before) emily - mulder becomes obsessed with the idea that he can prevent her from ever being turned down by the agencies and courts again. maybe it’s earlier, say mid cancer arc, and scully breaks down in the office after having coffee with her mother. maggie had quietly handed her the pair of blue pearl earrings she wore when she married Bill Snr over terrible coffee, asking her to wear them if she ever needs to get dressed up for something - and scully knows it’s because maggie has given up on being able to give them to either of her daughters on their wedding day, and mulder is in dire need of finding something he can actually fix. however it is: it is not meant to be romantic. having JUST ABOUT everything you want is a killer.

Hanahaki

listen i know this is oddly specific but there really are not enough of them! for obvious reasons i lean towards the version of the trope where the love doesn’t have to actually be unrequited, the person afflicted just has to believe it is. a trope made for a casefile.

forced proximity

pretty self explanatory - i am a sucker for a good the dam breaks snapping of tension moment. double points if they fight first because they’re just soooooo mad about wanting to jump the other persons bones and they cannot take any more of it and they’re like an arm length away at all times.

bisexuality

this isn’t a trope but i’m throwing it in anyway - big fan of when either or both of them r incidentally bisexual in fic. when it’s just thrown in offhand.

a fun AU!

i like these most when they’re pretty one step removed - contemporary to the show time wise, with a bunch of fun what ifs. always here for a fun take on a soulmate au, but also love a more non supernatural or extraterrestrial au.

mulder or scully /other to msr

i like these most when it’s an original character - i think it can be really interesting to see how the other would genuinely react and respond. how quickly would they realise? would they do anything? how long would they NOT do anything? why?

third person tense

this isn’t a trope it’s just the tense i like to read most! no biggie if it’s not ur jam though, just trying to add as much info as possible :)

not favs

colonisation/post col fics or fics with a huge amount of emphasis on the mytharc. idk man just not really my thing.

not a huge reader of historical au

also despite my love of angst i’m not a massive reader of diana angst! not sure why, just not super my thing.

ok that was far from exhaustive but hope u got enough to go with!! again if there’s anything you’re desperate to write that doeesn’t fit in anywhere there - feel free!! would rather read something you’re passionate about than something catered to me that you hate.

thank u so much for reading <3

[electrozeistyking]

She bared her teeth, anger and terror burning in her eyes. Even here and now, she wouldn't go down without a fight. But there wouldn't be much of a fight. Not one she'd be able to win.

The hands pulled her down into the water, and held her head under.

"NO!" he cried out. He tried to help her. No matter what he tried, the hands were just too strong. They'd always been too strong. "NO! NONONO! No, please! Not her! Anything but her! Please! No!"

It was too late.

----

me, standing in your doorway: “i did it again” 

[yeyinde]

omg if you could, would you please write literally anything about soap?? If not then would you possibly write some jealous ghost? (,,: maybe the reader and Soap are really close and fuck around together and ghost just watches from a distance until it's taken a little too far and he does something drastic ? Reader and Soap are goofing around and end up in a compromising position and ghost just yanks them apart and at first they're like "that was so unprofessional I'm in trouble oh no" but it turns out ghost was just enraged with jealousy lmaoo

i absolutely write for Soap (and Price, and Alejandro, and Gaz, and "Alex"... honestly, all these COD boys got me simpin something fierce). 

i'm so sorry this took so long—i had a lot of ideas about Soap, but i mostly wanted two pining idiots in a pub! i tried to add elements of the Ghost request as well (messing around, blink and you'll miss it Ghost jealousy), but i really just enjoyed that almost comfortably claustrophobic feeling you get when you're with someone who ensnares your full attention until everything just completely goes away. that "oh, are we still in public?" dazed feeling.

i really hope you enjoy this! 🖤

tw: none, mostly just fluff and banter; gratuitous use of Scottish slang

Ghost’s Version

He slides you a glass filled with amber, eyes dancing in the low, golden glow of the pub. Fairy lights. They catch on the green in his irises; a boscage in hazel. 

There is something warm in the air—the taste of victory, of scotch (Price insists, buys two bottles, and offers up Maduro cigars to anyone who looks at him)—and you cling to it, wrapping your hands around this feeling, and tucking it close to your thudding heart. It's comforting. 

Everyone is together again. Price knocking his hand against Gaz's shoulder, loudly telling anyone who'll listen about the time the kid was hangin' out a helo. Fuckin' nutter. Laswell nursing a glass, pad in her hands. Ghost beside her, eyes drawn to the names of men you'll eventually have to go after flashing in his dark eyes. 

Gaz shoots you a glance. Help me, it says. 

Your return smile, a wave. No way. 

If you get close to Price now, you'll never get loose. You'll end up walking away with the taste of a battle on your tongue, scotch in your belly, and cigar smoke clotting inside your lungs. He always leaves you feeling dazed, whiplash sick. 

It's best to avoid your captain when his voice is a raw scrape, a wheeze, after yelling in the trenches for so long. 

It might, of course, be said bottles of scotch that permeate inside of you; a low heat in your belly. You feel giddy with it. 

"A'right, bonnie?" His voice is a thick fog in the morning. A blanket of white over the pastures. Sun peeking through. 

"Aye," you murmur, riding a very thin line between that confidence only being a shade away from drunk can bring, and coy—coquettish. Teasing. It's been like this all night. 

(Maybe even longer—ever since he knocked his knuckles to your shoulder, bottom lip between his teeth to stem a grin, and said, not bad for a bonnie lass.)

Soap's hand jerks. The glass scratches across the tabletop. 

"Oh, aye?" He thickens his accent, lets the twang of the highlands congeal in the space between you. 

"That's it, bonnie."

He's close—leather, plastic; he smells of polymer and oak—and the flecks of caramel in his eyes remind you of the sun. So close, you can feel the rays scorch your cheeks when he leans in, when his white teeth flash, blinding, in your periphery. 

"That right?" 

"We'll make a Scot out of you, yet." 

It happens in between everything. 

A break in the clouds between rainfall—turadh. 

That's how most things happen with Soap, you find. Small moments here or there; little snippets. They stack up slowly, a steadily filling dam until the levee begins to crack, and crumble. 

It spills over; a splash. A lull.

He's meant to be teaching you cuss words that you can hurtle at your enemies, or a secret language meant for the two of you if you'd ever gotten into a tight spot together. Maybe, even a way to annoy your Lieutenant. It's slipped in somehow—between it’s a dreich day and whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye! —and sits heavy in your chest.

Turadh. 

(Is there even a word out there more beautiful?)

His chin is pointed up toward the arching ceiling when he mutters it softly, a ghost, perhaps, from his childhood. It slips out like it wasn't meant to. Like it was lost somewhere in his mind, his memories, and slowly buoyed the surface, captured between trembling hands. A forgotten piece of home dipped in the evanescence of nostalgia. 

It feels like the end of a storm when his eyes drift to you. A crooked smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

"Heard it from me granny," he says, shrugging, bashful. "Heard a lot more than that, too. Cussed like a sailor." 

He says nothing more. His past, like most of the men whose company you keep, is a secret. Held tight to the chest under a thick bulletproof vest. Untouchable. Unreachable. 

Your fingers itch all the same.

"She definitely raised you well."

"Is that an insult?"

You flash a light smile his way. "If I wanted to insult you, I'd call your haircut naff."

"Cheeky little—," Soap huffs. "No one appreciates the mohawk anymore." 

"Did they ever?" 

He leans down, eyes honeycomb golden in the gloaming, and smells of alder and wych elm. "I happen to think so." 

The fissure splits. Water leaks. You wonder if he'd taste of the highlands. 

"You happen to think a lot of things," tremulous words, barely above a whisper, slip from the seam of your wobbling lips. "Doesn't mean any of them are right." 

"We'll see, bonnie." He motions for you to take your drink. "I'm sure you'll find I'm always right."

"Is the clause in that always ironclad?"

"Aye, and you best know it, lass."

Another word is learned— fadachd —when he smiles at you; a soft crook of his lips, shadows catching on the jut of his mouth. His eyes are warm honey; molasses. If you stare too long, you think you might just get stuck. 

A shudder, then, rolls through you. 

(You've had worse ideas, really.)

"You're not teaching me the good stuff," you pout, thumb brushing over the curve of the cup, dragging through the impression of your mouth left on the rim. 

"I'm not much of a teacher," he shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips. 

Your throat is dry. Eyes locked on the way his Adam's apple buoys with his swallows; on the smooth column of his neck, on the stubble that falls beneath his chin, jaws. 

You can't look away quick enough when he turns to you. His eyes burn into yours. The glass clinks against the table. 

"What do you want to learn?"

"Everything—," you choke, fingers curling over the cup. "I—I mean… what are some, y'know, stuff I can use on a date."

His voice is thick, raw from the alcohol he drank. "A date?" 

You nod. The glass is cool against your palm. You bring it to your lips, and let the sharp liquid sit on your tongue. 

"With who?" 

You mimic his shrug, swallowing. His eyes are on you. You try not to tremble. 

"Anyone. Just—," your voice is a rasp; a shade under a whisper. 

You take another swig—liquid courage—and try not to grimace. The alcohol burns through you. 

(His eyes are suns. Dizzying. Blinding.)

When you turn to him, you flash a slow grin; eyes lidded. Teasing. Kittenish. You feel a little bit like an imposter. "How do I get myself a Scottish man?" 

You can see him swallow. Hear the click in his throat. 

Beside his sternum, you watch his vein tick. Wonder, dazed, what it would be like to sink your teeth into his skin. To mark him as yours for the world to see. 

Soap— Johnny —MacTavish: all yours. 

You shiver. 

"A Scottish man, aye?"

"Well, if you teach me right, I'll know how to seduce one."

His elbow rests on the tacky tabletop, knuckles pressed into his chin. He leans over you until all you can see is him. 

"And if I teach you wrong?"

In the triangle of his arm and jaw, you find Ghost in the corner—sitting beside Price and Laswell (you wonder, for a moment, if any of them ever really stop) as they pour over documents—and tip your chin toward him. 

"I might end up with an Englishman."

Soap raises his head, peering over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment, eyes darting between his Captain and Lieutenant.

It's satisfying to hear him huff through his nose. A heavy exhale. You wonder if he's jealous. 

It makes you think of Madrid. Of that stunning woman draped in Chantilly. 

Aye, lass. It was a pleasure to meet you. 

You turn to your glass, mulling over what he might say in response, your comeback, but his grip on the glass catches your eye. 

His knuckles are white. Nails red, flat against the surface. 

"Soap—"

He turns back to you. The tight grip around the glass eases. 

When he smiles, it feels like a cloud cover, hiding away the blaze. "Lt? Might be good for him."

"Yeah…" you murmur, words quiet in your slurred panic. You don't know how to salvage this. The teasing, the banter—it was bordering on flirting, and now—

Distance. 

He's just Soap. And you're just you. 

(Aye, lass—)

It stings. Prickles between your ribs and your heart, and the ache of it makes the alcohol in your gut churn. 

"I doubt he'd go for it." 

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!"

You blink, a small smile growing. "D'unno that one, yet, professor."

"It means: you're talking rubbish. He can't stop lookin' at you." 

He enunciates the words for you, even adapts a spiteful English accent to go with it, but it's the burn in his gaze that makes you feel like you're floating. Bubbly and light and reaching for the stratosphere. 

You don't want to lose this.

(The ever in that is ironclad.)

"How do you say I'm drunk?"

Soap shakes his head, tension dissipating. It's a relief when humour cuts into his grin. "Too many ways to count, lass."

"C'mon," you slide forward on the barstool, elbows perched on the table, palms cupping your warm cheeks. They feel blistered, sunkissed. "Just one? It'll even be the chef's choice."

"Oh, aye?" He mimics your pose, leaving only one hand to grasp the glass between his palm. He rolls it between his thumb and fingers for a moment, eyes downcast as he thinks. "Yer mad wae' it." 

You roll the words around your tongue. "Mad with it?"

"Aye." 

"I like it."

"Are you?" 

"Am I…?"

"Mad wae it?" 

"Just a little…"

Soap levels you with a look that knocks the wind from your lungs. "You're blootered, bonnie."

"Awa' an bile yer heid!"

Something sits in his brow at the sharp words that spill, unpractised, from your lips. A rumble in the distance warning of approaching rain. 

You think the deluge might drown you. 

"Careful, bonnie," his breath smells of scotch. Tastes like a sunburn. "You might just bite off more than you can chew."

The burn of the alcohol does little to abate the itch in your throat. 

"Bonnie," you murmur, numb. You can't hear much past the thudding in your chest. "Why'd you call me bonnie?"

(Aye, lass—

Bonnie. Bonnie. Bonnie—)

His head drops when he huffs, a soft laugh spilling—almost reluctantly—from his chest. He stays like that for a moment, head bowed and the corner of his mouth twitching. When he raises his head, his cheeks are stained rubescent. 

The alcohol, you think, dizzy. The world spins, and then narrows into a pin-drop where only the ruby smear on the bridge of his nose exists. 

"'Am no diddy, but—"

"Sergeant." 

There is a misty cloud surrounding you; a gossamer spooling over your eyes. You blink the cobwebs away, but they're stuck to your retinas. 

Ghost stands shrouded in the smog. His dark eyes slide to you. Endless black. Unfathomable. 

"Soldier." 

The command is clear. Stop muckin' about.

His voice is a warble when he speaks. Gruff, low. "Lt, comin' to learn some Scottish, too?" 

"Negative." He says, clipped. Then: "can barely understand these pissed Glaswegians as it is." 

"It's a lovely accent," you murmur, grinning. Stupid, dopey. It feels like waking up after a long nap on the beach. 

His eyes are liquid pools of black when they slide to you. "Bloody hell. Must have knocked your head one too many times if you think that's lovely."

"It was more of a smack." 

"Christ. With a rifle?"

You like it when he's loose like this. Relaxed. When he isn't barking out commands, and orders, and keeping a chasm between everyone. 

"No, with a hand." 

"Better see the medic. Don't need you suffering any more brain damage."

It's on the tip of your tongue— aw, you do care —but his words stick to the gummy lining of your scotch-filled head. Any more. 

You pout. "You're a stone-cold bastard, you know that?" 

Somewhere under the mask, you like to imagine that he's grinning. "Never said I wasn't." 

"What do you need, Lt?" 

Liquid eyes slide to him. "We're heading out. You stayin', MacTavish?"

He nods, sharp. "Aye. Might wander around Glasgow for a 'mo."

"And you, soldier?"

Ghost stares down at you. Soap's words surface—keekin' you all night—but you see nothing when you match his stare. When the heavy brunt of his full attention falls on you. 

Soap glances at you, eyes a half-sun. Your hands prickle. You wonder if wandering around might include a trip to the Cairngorms. 

(You imagine you could reach up and kiss the sun. 

Maybe, him, too, if he'd allow it.)

"I—," you tilt your head, nervous suddenly. "I'd like to learn more Scottish. If you wouldn't mind the company." 

"Aye, bonnie." There is victory in his grin. 

Ghost gives a sharp nod, and doesn't wait. 

You watch him leave, suddenly tense. Soap hasn't looked away from you yet. It simmers inside; another fissure. Another crack. The levee wobbles. 

"So…," he says, his voice a tickle in your ear. "About wantin' to seduce a Scot…"

"Not just any Scot," you murmur, eyes low. Framed by the hazy fairy lights, his grin feels like the sun cresting through a storm cloud. 

"Got my heart flichterin‘," he mutters. His hand is warm when it touches your wrist. "Wanna feel, bonnie? Feel what you do to me, hen?"

It feels like you're underwater when you nod. Like you've been dragged below the surface, then spat back up on the sandy shores, drenched in the rays. 

The heat kisses your palm when he presses it flat to his chest. His pulse hums under your lifeline; the grand wings of a bird fluttering in his ribcage. Your nails sink into his shirt, curling over the fabric until it's knotted in your fist. You could hold on to him forever. 

His eyes feel like a dawning sun when they land on you, wrapped in that equinox between day and dusk when you can still bask in the warmth that curtains over you. Liquid honey. Melted wax. It seeps over you, filling the cracks. 

(You, the earth; him, the sun: a perfect perihelion. You bloom under his cosmic heat.)

When you were younger, you'd stand on the hills, and gaze up at it in the aether. Your eyes narrowed into slits, watering from the blaze. The smile on your face was warmed under the rays. 

They warned you, then, when you'd come home with a headache, rubbing your tender eyes, that you'd go blind for it. That the sun would ruin you, that it wasn't meant to be stared at so nakedly. 

You think of it, now, when your eyes begin to crease. When the blistering intensity of him—luminous, bright, blinding –stares, open and raw, back at you. 

—you fucked in the upper car park at the Cairngorms, nestled near the base of a hill. he took you under the setting sun, and whispered how pretty you looked bathed in ochre and desperate for him

—it was Price who bailed you both out after getting slapped with public indecency ("haven't you two ever heard of doggin'?")

—he takes you to a football game for a proper date, your well-won Scottish man, but spanks your ass at home when you cheer for ManU over the Celtics; it's blasphemy in this household

—Gaz doesn't even want to know why you're barely able to sit in the chair, and why Soap looks so damn satisfied whenever you wince

(you tell him, anyway.)

translations (forgot these, oops)

—turadh: A break in the clouds between showers | dry spell

—it’s a dreich day: miserable day

—whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye: what’s meant to happen will happen, or what will be will be

—naff: boring, rubish

—fadachd: yearning, longing

—keek: looking

—yer aff yer heid: acting stupid, someone that's too drunk or talking nonsense

—blootered: drunk

—diddy: coward

—flichterin‘: soft fluttering, as in the wings of a butterfly, or the flame of a candle.

—bonnie: used by older gens; used to describe someone pretty or attractive (is actually gender neutral - could be bonnie lass or bonnie lad)

—hen: used for a younger lady (can also be patronising) but kind of like sweetheart or honey)

[amhrosina]

Your Pretty Heart (Billy Russo x f!Reader)

A/N: Anyone else widely obsessed with Pedro Pascal and The Last of Us right now? Being back in my Pedro era feels like getting home after a long ass trip. Should I write for some of Pedro's characters?? SOS! Also, I hit 800 followers today??? Like what??? Thank you to everyone who supports me and this account!!

Request: ex’s to lovers with Billy Russo or Matt Murdock. Where Frank and Karen “help” Billy/Matt get their ass together to get back with Reader. Because come on their clearly still in lovee. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: When you and Billy break up, Karen takes it upon herself to get you back together. Her plan comes to a head one night at Josie’s, and you and Billy must face the consequences of loving and leaving one another. 

(Warnings: so much angst, cursing, Billy is a soft!boy at heart, soft!Billy, descriptions of smut (but like romantic descriptions, not graphic ones??), I think that’s it, it’s literally just really sad until the end lol) 

“You look great.” Your date smiled, but he wasn’t looking at your face. Instead, for the third time in less than a minute, his eyes trailed the sloping curve of your cleavage as it disappeared into your dress. You shrugged his gaze off, hoping there was at least something interesting about him to keep you entertained for the evening. Something could be there. Deep, deep, down, but there, nonetheless.  

“So, Brad, what do you do for work? When Karen set this up, she didn’t tell me much about you.” 

“I’m an accountant.”  

Brad nodded his head along with yours, an awkward bob as you waited for him to return the question. He didn’t, instead choosing to fix his gaze on the jazz singer across the restaurant. Zero for two, Brad. 

“Do you, uh, have any hobbies?” You tried again to break the conversation dam, but Brad’s attention was so far away from the table you were sharing that he barely glanced at you when he responded. 

“I jog sometimes.” 

“Oh!” You lurched forward, desperate to grab onto anything that might make this date less awkward. “I like to jog, too. I’ll listen to books when I do it to pass the time. Do you read at all?” 

Brad’s eyes flicked to yours, then back to the jazz singer. Uninterested, bored, and inconvenienced. That’s what his glance told you. 

“People who need books or music when they run aren’t capable of self-reflection. It’s how you grow as a human being, you know? You should try it.”  

You blinked. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? A pompous, arrogant, prick seemed like the winning description, and you chuckled as you looped your purse handle over your shoulder. 

“Well, Brad.” You stood from your seat, drawing his attention away from the band. “Congratulations. You win. I think this is quite possibly the worst date I’ve ever been on, and that’s saying a lot.” 

You didn’t deem him with an explanation as you exited the restaurant, but a vivid memory flashed in your mind of Billy standing you up on your anniversary last year. Yeah, that date was terrible, but at least Billy hadn’t insulted you after standing you up. He’d spent weeks apologizing with flowers, jewelry, and even cutting down on his time at Anvil so he could spend more time with you, but that date would always stick out in your mind as the beginning of the end.  

You shook the thoughts from your head, digging through your purse to find your cellphone. Karen was going to explain where the fuck she met this guy, and why she thought setting him up with you would be a good idea. She picked up on the second ring. 

“Karen.” You tapped your foot on the sidewalk. “What the fuck?” 

“Hey! How was the date?”  

Wherever Karen was, it was loud. You could barely understand her through the speaker, muffled by music and what sounded like a crowd of people in the background.  

“The date was so bad.” You almost whined. Almost stomped your foot at how unfair the dating world had become. Almost thought about how much easier it was when you were with Billy. “Where did you even meet this guy?” 

“At work. Was he an asshole?” She sounded apologetic, but the volume at which she had to scream her question into the phone made the entire interaction feel a little less impactful.  

“Grade-A Asshole.” You groaned. “Where are you?” 

“I’m at Josie’s, but-” 

“Great. I’m on my way.”  

You hung up the phone before she could respond and hailed a taxi. You felt a little guilty for barging in on her evening. Karen was a good friend, one that you’d clung to since you and Billy had gone your separate ways, and she deserved a night out without your moping. But the nagging feeling rolling around in the pit of your stomach told you exactly the reason you had to go to Josie’s. If you didn’t go hang out with Karen, you’d end up calling Billy, and the last thing you wanted to do was let him see you after a shitty date. You climbed into the taxi and hoped you could drink away the memories of tonight with Karen once you arrived at Josie’s.  

- 

Billy took a hefty sip of his beer as he eavesdropped on Karen’s phone conversation. Technically, it wasn’t eavesdropping if Karen had whacked him on the arm the second her phone started ringing, but it made Billy uncomfortable anyways. What they’d planned felt too much like a trick, and he didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. 

“She’s on her way.” Karen grinned, raising her beer in the air to clink bottles with him.  

Billy fiddled with the bottle in his hand, unsure if there was anything to be ‘cheersing’ to. 

“C’mon, Bill,” Frank grunted, meeting Karen’s still outstretched arm, “It worked. She’s on her way. Now, all you have to do is be a lesser asshole than her date.” 

“Don’t you think she’ll be furious when she finds out her entire evening was construed by her ex-boyfriend and best friends? She doesn’t even want to see me.” 

“Trust me, Billy,” Karen angled her head for emphasis, “She does. She just won’t admit it.” 

“How do you know, though?”  

“I see it on her face, and hear it in her voice, and she’s still sleeping on my couch. And you know what that tells me?”  

Billy rolled his eyes. “What does that tell you, Karen?” 

Karen’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “That she’s not looking for another apartment. That she still has hope that she’ll be able to go home, to your apartment.” 

Billy shook his head. “The market is insane. Maybe she just can’t find an affordable one.” 

“I saw three listed in the paper this morning. She’s not looking, Billy. She misses you.” 

Billy groaned, dragging his hands over his face. This entire situation was completely and totally fucked, and it was completely and totally his fault. He’d always been warned that his ambition would get the best of him. You’d slipped through his fingers so quickly that he got whiplash when he thought about the end of the relationship. It was like you were there one day and gone the next, and he had no idea how he ended up alone, stranded in his kitchen in the middle of the night because the idea of going to bed without you hurt too much.  

“What if it’s too late? What if I can’t fix it?” 

“All you can do is try, Bill.” Frank shrugged. 

“She loves you.” Karen spoke firmly, tapping her finger on the table, “And you love her. But she needs to know that. You have to show her that you love her.” 

“How? I thought I was doing that before.” Billy let out a disgruntled breath and cleared his throat.  

“Your priorities need to change. She deserves better than last-minute cancellations and rescheduled dates. You’re your own boss, Billy. You make the rules, and no matter how much money you spend on her, or how many gifts you buy her, she’s always going to remember the times that you didn’t show up.” 

Billy nodded. Karen was right, as usual. There’d been a significant change in the amount of time Billy was spending at Anvil, sometimes returning home early in the morning, only to change suits and leave again. It wasn’t your fault – it never was – but Billy couldn’t help himself from falling back into his old patterns. When shit got too real, he retreated, and it ended up costing him the most important thing in his life.  

Tonight was his chance to fix everything – to bring you home, to remind you that he adored you, to show you that his life was falling apart without you in it. All he had to do was get you to listen, and he was sure everything else would fall into place. 

- 

You took three steps into the bar before swiveling around and marching out in a dramatic fashion. Cursing Karen for conveniently forgetting to mention that Billy was with her, you tried not to stomp down the sidewalk that led to Karen’s apartment. If you had an apartment of your own, you’d surely be stomping your way there instead.  

You didn’t make it far before you heard your name being called behind you. Two distinct voices trailed you, but you were more focused on the lack of the third. Had he stayed behind at the bar? You swung around, almost slamming into Frank’s chest. Karen was a few steps behind him, and behind her, stood beautiful and broken Billy, hands in his pants pockets.  

“What?” You screeched, eyes flickering between the group. 

“I just wanted to tell you thaaaat,” Karen’s eyes twinkled, and you should’ve known that she was about to make your night go from bad to worse, “I’m going back to my apartment with my boyfriend, who is going to do very loud things to me for hours. If I were you, I’d steer clear of the whole block tonight.” 

You rolled your eyes and looked at Frank, whose innocent expression gave away Karen’s plan faster than you could piece it together. Clearly, this coup had been planned, and they were leaving you with no option but to spend time with Billy. 

“Is that so?” You narrowed your eyes at her, hoping she could read every nasty thought you’d ever had about her in your gaze.  

“Yep!” She hooked an arm through Frank’s and tugged him down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow!” 

You watched them until they turned a corner, and you could no longer see them. When you turned to face Billy again, he had inched closer to you, standing a heady meter away with his hands still in his pockets. 

“Did you plan this?”  

The anger in your voice echoed across the concrete, slamming into Billy. He grasped his chest as if you’d shot him in the heart.  

“No. I didn’t even know there was a plan until I showed up at Josie’s earlier.” 

You hesitated to believe him, but something in the way he was looking at you told you to trust him. You looked him up and down, focusing on the way he looked worse than you’d ever seen him. For a brief second, you felt triumph over it. He deserved this after everything he did to you. He deserved to feel like shit. The triumph faded faster than it came, and an overwhelming sadness replaced the ire thoughts you were having about him.  

There were bags under his eyes, and you could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well. He never did when he couldn’t sleep with you. The facial hair that he usually kept so neat and maintained had grown beyond his usual boundaries, and the fact that he kept subconsciously scratching at it told you he didn’t like it. You tried not to let it get to you. You probably looked like shit, too.  

“How’ve you been?” His focus remained wholly on you. You rubbed the back of your neck to try and shake off his stare. 

“We don’t have to do this, Bil.” You looked at the ground, focusing on the crack in the concrete that crawled its way across the sidewalk, drawing a line inbetween you and Billy. You couldn’t decide if that was fitting, or incredibly sad. Maybe it was both. 

“We’re not doing anything.” He shook his head innocently. 

“You know what I mea-” 

“Come home.”  

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation as the two of you eyed each other. 

“Billy, I-” 

“Just for tonight. Until Karen’s apartment is...safe again.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for an ulterior motive. And of course, there was an ulterior motive. You couldn’t blame him for it, because you knew if the roles were reversed, you’d be doing the same thing.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, more towards yourself than at him.  

“Why not?” He cocked his head to the side. 

“You know why.”  

He nodded but shrugged his shoulders anyways.  

“I’m not going to leave you out here with nowhere to go. It’s either the apartment, or we spend the next few hours in awkward silence at a diner.” 

The apartment. Not ‘my’ apartment. He didn’t consider it his when you weren’t there to claim the other half of it. You couldn’t lie to yourself. You wanted so badly to go with him, to see the home that you’d built with him. You wanted so badly to see how he’d faired over the last month without you. It was with all this in mind, and not how much you missed him, that had you nodding, agreeing to go home. Just for a visit, you repeated in your mind, just for a visit. 

When you stepped into what was once the living room you shared with Billy, you were struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. There was nothing different about it, except that the bookshelf was a little less stuffed than usual. You’d grabbed your favorites on your way out, unable to part with them, even just for a little bit. 

“Can I get you some wine?” Billy asked, already heading toward the kitchen to pour himself a glass. You nodded, shrugging your jacket off and trying to ignore the strangeness of being treated like a guest in the home that you’d lived in for years.  

When Billy returned with two particularly full glasses, you plopped down on the couch. You didn’t know how to act, or what to say, or who to be when you were around him anymore and falling back into old habits seemed like a grand way to get your feelings hurt again. 

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.” Billy took a swig from his glass, sitting on the armchair across from the couch. You silently thanked the universe that he had put distance between the two of you. The closer he was, the less clearly you could think.  

“Which one?” 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Oh.” You took a sip, only because it gave you something to do with your hands. “I’ve been alright.” 

He smiled, but the corners of his mouth didn’t reach his eyes. Anyone who looked at you longer than two seconds could see that you’re clearly not doing alright, but you’d grown comfortable living in denial, and you weren’t going to admit how not alright you were.  

“Heard your date didn’t go well.” 

You scoffed. Maybe it was the wine, or the way he looked smug about the fact that you’d had a shitty date, but you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.  

“Fuck you, Billy. It’s none of your business.” 

Billy looked startled by your outburst. You gulped down another mouthful of wine before rubbing your hand down your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know where that came from.” 

“It’s okay. I probably deserve it.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. 

“What happened to us?” You asked, gazing at the ceiling. 

“You tell me, sunflower. You’re the one that left.” 

Your heart ached at the nickname. It wasn’t fair that he used it, especially when you were clearly in a vulnerable mood, but you cherished it anyways.  

“You left first.”  

It was barely a whisper, said so quietly that you weren’t quite sure he had heard you. If the palpable tension that followed wasn’t indicative of his acknowledgment, the deep sigh that erupted from his chest soon after was indication enough. He stayed quiet, swirling the remaining wine in his glass around in small circles. 

You stared at him, unflinching in your assessment of his body language. He didn’t look as miserable as you felt, and a spark of anger ignited in your belly because of it.  

“Did you ever really love me, Bil?” You barked. It was bait, and both of you knew it. You’d never questioned his love for you, and he knew you were trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn’t help stepping up to the plate and taking the bait. 

“What kind of fucking question is that?” He watched you closely. You tried not to let your triumph show on your face. “Of course, I love you.” 

He stood from his seat and rested his hands on his hips, willing you to do the same. Meet him where he stood, he dared, show him how much you still care. You were nothing if not a daredevil. You joined him in the middle of the room, pressing your index finger into his chest. 

“Well then, what the fuck happened?”  

“You. Tell. Me.” He gritted from between clenched teeth. 

Billy wasn’t being fair to you, and he knew it. You were asking a valid question, and he was cowering behind the anger and frustration in the room.  

“I can’t do this again, Bil.” You turned, reaching for your purse. A heavy tug on your elbow had you crashing into Billy’s chest, where he enveloped his arms around you and pulled you into a crushing hold.  

“You’re not leaving, are you?”  

There was a softness in his voice that tugged at your heartstrings. For a moment, you forgot you were speaking to a grown man and not an orphaned little boy. You blew a long breath out before shaking your head. He rested his forehead against your shoulder. 

“No, Bil. I’m not leaving.” 

“I always knew I’d end up breaking your pretty heart.” His voice was muffled by your shoulder, but you didn’t miss the slight crack in his words. “I knew I’d fuck it up eventually.” 

“I don’t understand what happened. Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t.” You blinked away the tears that had built up on your waterline.  

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

You cupped his face as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His eyes, now red-rimmed and glassy, pleaded with you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from lowering your body next to his. 

“What’s going on?” You asked him, eyes flickering between his fast-blinking eyelids and rapidly shaking hands.  

“I was afraid.” He cleared his throat. “Am. I am afraid.” 

“Of what? Where is this coming from?” You gaped. You knew Billy struggled with commitment more than most – it had taken him almost a year of serious dating before he could tell you he loved you – but you thought he had moved past that. 

“Tom’s getting married.” 

Your brow furrowed. “What does Tom have to do with us?” 

“Tom’s getting married, and all I can think about is how I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give that to you, and how you deserve someone who can give you everything you want and more.” 

You let his words sink into your chest, dissecting every interaction you’d had with him leading up to your breakup. It had been a slow descent, and when it finally became too much, you’d left with no clue how you ended up alone and sleeping on Karen’s couch every night. 

“Billy,” You shuttered, shaking your head as tears began to travel down your cheeks, “I never said I wanted any of that.” 

“It’s what you deserve.” 

“But it’s not what I want. Why couldn’t you see that I was happy with the way things were?” 

“I was terrified that you’d leave me. And then I became a shit boyfriend, and you really did leave me, and it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You wiped the tears from under your eyes and sniffled. “You weren’t always a shit boyfriend.” 

Billy snorted, letting a small smile cross his face as he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“Can you ever forgive me, sunflower?” 

You considered his question. If you were being completely honest, you’d forgiven him as soon as you saw his pretty, brown eyes across the bar earlier, so sad and searching for you.  

“Can you promise that you’ll tell me when you’re feeling like this again, instead of shutting me out?” You cupped his cheek, eyes flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.  

“I can promise that I’ll try.” He swallowed, searching your expression. “Is that enough?” 

You lurched forward, pressing your lips to his. The kiss tasted of red wine and salt, and you were suddenly grateful that you’d slumped to the floor earlier instead of waiting until now, when your knees were weak and shaking with anticipation.  

“I love you.” Billy mumbled inbetween kisses. 

“Show me.” You responded, opening yourself to him for the first time in over a month. 

He took you right there on the living room floor, a flurry of intertwined limbs, swollen lips, and skin brushing skin. His lips only left yours long enough to whisper praises against your neck before returning to yours in a bruising kiss. When you came apart underneath him, you couldn’t stop the tears from forming, but he didn’t mind. He kissed the tears away, apologies in their own right, as he continued showing you how much he loved you. 

Later on, after hours of reconciliation and apologies, you collapsed next to Billy on the couch. You’d lost your clothes a long time ago, only covered with the throw blanket you’d purchased the year before on a whim, and you watched as he sighed in quiet contemplation.  

“We should tell Karen and Frank that their plan worked.” You rested your head on his shoulder. He smiled, pulling you into his chest.  

“Let them figure it out on their own. They’ll come around at some point tomorrow when you still haven’t gone back.” 

He was right. The next morning, when Karen and Frank knocked on the door, you and Billy were still cuddled together on the couch, so worn out from the night before that you hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to move to the bedroom. You took one glance at Billy before you were on him again, uncaring that your friends were waiting. That’s fine, you thought, let them wait. Let them wait. 

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[finelinevogue]

don’t break my heart this year

summary - you break up with Harry but you live to regret the decision

warnings: self-deprecation, breakup, anxiety, family death, depression, but also fluff and a happy ending, i am one with hurt-comfort fics :)

pairing: ex-boyfriend!harry x reader

word count: +7.2k

It hadn't even been a year since you'd broken up with Harry and yet it still haunted you.

There wasn't a day that went past where you thought about how your life could've been so different if you had of stayed. If you had talked everything through with Harry. If you had been that little bit stronger. If you had given Harry a chance to explain how he felt.

Your breakup with Harry wasn't like most. Neither of you had cheated. Neither of you had fallen out of love with one another. Neither of you had stolen off the other. You had simply moved back home, to take care of your widowed mother and had lost contact with him. Your mum lived up in the top hills of Scotland, meaning the signal was dire. If you wanted to call anyone, including Harry, you'd have to drive at least 50 miles before hitting service.

It wasn't fair to keep Harry waiting days on end, just to have a five minute phone conversation with you. It wasn't fair that Harry couldn't see you because you lived so far away. He deserved so much more than you could give him. He deserved someone he could come home to each day, after work, and shower him with endless love. So you did what you believed was the most mature thing, and broke up with him. You drove all the way down to London to explain it to him in person, feeling like he deserved that much from you. He didn't take it well and neither did you. You left before he could ever really tell you how he felt, not having the courage to stay.

Since that day, you hadn't spoken to him. You knew it would hurt too much if you did.

Your mum wasn't doing well. Two years ago your dad had passed, due to heart problems, and your mum had taken it very hard. She was not in a good place, mentally, and you knew she needed someone to look after her. Being an only child made times like these hard.

Life had been hard recently, and it didn't seem like it was getting any better.

All your time was being devoted to looking after your mum that you hardly had any time for anything else. You were trying your best to study at online university whilst holding down tough hours at the local restaurant. Your average day would be 9-5 at university, but dipping in and out to help aid your mum in anyway you could. Then from 6pm until, normally, 1am you would work in the local pub. It was quite the drive from your mums house, but the money was needed.

In recent weeks it had gotten tougher. The work load from university had started to ridiculously pile up, to the point where when you finished at the restaurant you'd have to stay up until 5am just to finish off some readings or essays.

Your mum was worsening too. She no longer liked going outside by herself, because she was worried the "big, bad, world" might snatch her up just like it had you dad. You promised her she was okay, but she'd lost a lost confidence in herself and the world she lived in. Having a conversation with her was harder too - almost like you were losing her mentally.

All you could think about was how Harry was doing. Was he okay? Was he dealing with the breakup well? Or did it not really bother him at all? He was constantly on your mind, invading your every thought and you wished to have a moment away from him sometimes. Only sometimes though, as he quite honestly was the only thing holding you together at the moment.

As much as it pained for you to admit it, you truly hoped he'd found someone else - someone better. You knew the possibility of ever seeing him again, let alone being with him again, was shattered the moment you walked away from London. You'd left your heart with heart with Harry that day and you would be dammed if you gave it to anyone else. It was his to keep - even if he was unaware of its presence.

Tonight was just like any other night. Until it wasn't.

The pub owner, Patrick, your boss, had put you on an even longer shift today. It was getting closer to Christmas and the locals tend to come to the pub more often, sometimes even bringing relatives and friends from around the country. So today you didn't finish until 2am, having started at 5:30pm. It was tiring after a full day at uni.

You'd finished serving Alan and his friends their third round of beer for the evening, before getting back to cleaning up. It was getting close to closing time and you were beyond ready to go home now. Your mum would hopefully be in bed, but if not that would add an extra hour on before you could go to sleep.

Alan and co. luckily ended their night after round three, thanking you for your impeccable service as they left noisily.

The other staff members, who worked alongside you, had left ten minutes ago or so, claiming they had to be up early in the morning and so had to head off. If only you had the courage to say the same. You'd love to get off a little earlier, but it just wasn't practical.

As you were stacking chairs the front door chimes went off, signalling that you had a new customer. It wouldn't be an employee or Patrick because they'd all use the back entrance.

"Oh, i'm sorry we're closing." You explained, not looking over your shoulder to see who'd entered. You were focused on wiping down tables to rid them of alcohol stains, and flipping the chairs over to balance them off the tables so you could wipe the floor.

You didn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing again. Instead, you heard his voice.

"All this way and you wont let me even have one drink?" He teased you, making you freeze in your motions.

You turned around cautiously, prepared for anything because it could just honestly be your mind playing tricks on you. Maybe you were losing the plot, not your mum. How wrong you were, though. So, so wrong.

There he was, all warm and loveable. Nothing had changed really. He had a little bit of stubble, clearly proud that he had finally grown some facial hair. His curly locks were piled underneath his infamous Green Bay Packers beanie, the one you'd bought him on your trip to New York. His cheeks were a little rosy from the cold winters eve, explaining why he was also layered in clothes.

"Hi Harry." You warmly smiled, feeling a small red burn creep onto your cheeks now. You were nervous stood in front of him again and you didn't know why. It was just Harry, after all .

"Hello." He replied the same way he always does upon meeting someone. You felt like you had to shake his hand or something to break the awkward barrier you'd built, but you didn't.

You were so caught up in the beauty of him that you completely forgot you were being rude.

"Oh, i'm sorry. Would you like that drink?" You offered, after clearing your throat and dusting down your clothes, even though the last thing you wanted to do was make another drink this evening.

"I was only messing, love." Oh how you'd missed him calling you that. The mere sound of it again sent butterflies straight to the depths of your stomach. He made you feel like life was on an eternal rollercoaster and it was one that you'd never want to disembark.

"Well, I-I can't serve any food past—"

"In not here for food either." He shook his head softly, maintaining the comfortable distance between you two. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable.

"Oh. Um, then what service do you require? Are you lost, um, because we have a phone out back that—"

"I'm not lost. I'm exactly where I need to be." Harry cut you off again, a habit you'd always found annoying but now found endearing. It was like he knew your thought process better than you did. He knew what you were going to say before even you did.

"How did you even find this place?" You asked confused. You had trouble finding this place and you grew up here, so how Harry has found it was an incomplete puzzle.

"I have my ways." He smirked his signature cheeky smile, the one which you'd fallen in love with. The one you were still in love with. You laughed and shook your dead at his idiocy but also his gentle humour. You really needed it after the past few months you'd had. The past few months that you caused. The ones that broke the perfect man standing in front of you.

"Irene?" You questioned your mothers name, not being able to think of another way he'd know your location.

"Irene, yes." Harry laughed at how quick you were. "How is she?" Harry continued, wondering if she was any better from the last time you'd spoken to him about her.

"Not good." You nodded your head and tried your hardest to smile, although it felt very unconvincing sat on your face.

Harry nodded too and you knew it was his way of silently telling you that he was sorry and that he hoped everything would get better. You were having a hard time believing him though. "And you?" He asked, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets to warm them up. He didn't understand how you were only stood there in a tshirt and cardigan, on top. Your tights and skirt were nice and toasty warm, but you were chilly up top.

"Okay, yeah, um you?" You quickly brushed past his question, not wanting to delve deep in to your feelings with him right now. Harry could tell you weren't okay though, no matter how much you told him otherwise.

He noticed the tired eyes. He noticed the stressed brain. He noticed the ever-slimming figure. He noticed the messy hair. He noticed the irritated and scratched skin on the top of your wrists. He noticed the way your hands were slightly shaking and your teeth were barely chattering. He noticed it all even when you thought he didn't. You weren't okay. He knew that much and you knew it too.

"Been better." He truthfully admitted, making you feel worse than you did before. You couldn't do right for wrong and it was slowly exhausting you.

"Mhm." Was all you could reply with, not having anything else to say because he'd heard it all before when you'd gone to London. You stacked the last few chairs and a thick blanket of awkward silence filled the air. You didn't want it to be awkward, but then again you should've thought about that before breaking up with someone you could never stop loving.

"What are here for then, Harry?" You wondered, moving behind the bar to maintain a distance between you two. You decided you'd sweep the floor tomorrow, instead of tonight, just wanting to escape from this shithole now.

"For you." He firmly put it, not sugar coating anything but just providing the honest truth.

"Oh-uh," you cleared your throat again, not sure how to continue the conversation, "any particular reason?" You stupidly asked, as if you didn't know the reason he'd travelled hundreds of miles to see you.

"Well it wasn't to come and shout at you, you'll be happy to hear." He joked, but all you could do was breathe a huge sigh of relief. You don't know whether you could take the hate today, even if you did heavily deserve it.

"Yeah, that is good to hear!" You joked along with him, but knew that wasn't the tone of what he wanted to talk about either.

"Hey? How about we get out of this dark and saddening, beer smelling, pub and go somewhere a little more fresh?" Harry offered, telling that you were desperate to get out of here and literally go anywhere but here.

"You have somewhere in mind, Mr Spontaneous?" You teased him, knowing that he will be useless in finding a good spot out here. There were plenty of good hideout spots, you just have to know where to find the best ones. You'd proudly been to them all and you used them as a place to seek the calm amongst the eternal chaos.

"Actually, I do, Miss Know-It-All." He teased back, earning a stuck out tongue on your behalf to him. He was such a little prick sometimes. "Go get your stuff and let's go."

"Okay." You bit your lip in excited anticipation. This could be either the best night in your life's history, or the worst.

Running to the locker room gave you the opportunity to let out a breath that had been wildly built up inside you, without even realising. Harry was actually here, let alone in the pub but actually in Scotland. Harry had been in contact with you mum, just so he could travel across the country to talk. God knows about what - or maybe it'll be about who he's now with. You were just so incredibly happy that he was here. For so long you'd built up this idea that it would cause a war if you ever saw him again - that he'd get angry at you - but it was nothing like it. If anything, he was being overly gentle and cautious around you - like he was afraid that he'd say the wrong thing and you'd make a run for it again.

The crew room reeked of sweat and it didn't take long for you to start feeling sick because of it. You quickly grabbed your overcoat and your bag before heading back out to the main restaurant area. Harry was sat at the bar, aimlessly tossing a beer mat between his fingers. He didn't even notice your presence he was that caught up in his own thoughts.

"You ready?" You timidly asked, internally asking yourself the same question. The answer was an indefinite no.

"If you are." He nodded and warmly smiled at you, assuring you that this was okay and it was alright to feel nervous. Hell, he certainly was.

"Okay. Let's go." He let you guide him to the door, like the gentleman he is, stopping to let you turn all the lights and machinery power off. Once you were both out of the door and in to the bitter frost, you locked the door tight shut.

"It's fucking freezing up here." Harry complained, and you knew it wouldn't be the last time he made a remark like that today.

"Tell me something I don't know." You rolled your eyes at the weather, fed up of the depressing cold. Jamaica sounded lush round about now - with all the swaying palm trees, warm sandy beaches and cooling waves of the ocean. Here, it was just hills, snow, hills, rain, hills and hills.

Harry lead you to his truck. It was one you'd never seen before so most likely had hired for the duration of time he was going to be here for. You wondered where he was staying, since there were no five-star hotels out here - only Margaret and Tony's B&B. Harry would like it there though. It sat proud next to a quaint stream and you couldn't hear a car even if you tried - it was the perfect retreat for a critically acclaimed mega-rockstar.

He opened the door for you, lending you a hand to step up since it was a large step. The feeling of his skin touching yours was a sensation that you could write novels about. A feeling that you'd so dearly missed and craved more than ever now. It didn't take long for him to enter his side of the car and start the engine up. The first thing he did was turn up the heating, noticing how your hands had been ice-cold when they touched his and how you were silently shivering. He noticed.  

"It'll heat up in no time, I promise. In the mean time, here you are." He handed you the coat he'd just been wearing and it was still lusciously warm inside. It smelt just like him. It smelt of home.

"Thank you." Not even turning down his kind gesture because you were that cold.

"Trust me, still?" Harry asked you, setting the car into the right gear before looking across to you. It was painful to hear him have to ask such a question. You pulled the coat tighter over you, using it as a blanket, trying to preserve as much heat over your body as possible.

"Always."

•••••

The drive was a very peaceful one.

No commentary was made between the two of you, only the soft, mellow, tunes of Sinatra danced around the confines of the car. You could sometimes hear the passing of a nearby car or steam train, but there were no voices. Comfortable silence is so overrated - at least you for you it was uncomfortable. It was because you were terrified of saying the wrong thing as to why you didn't say anything, but also you felt like you'd said everything the last time you saw him.

Your mind drifted to London, as you closed your eyes, on that rainy Thursday eve...

I didn't think i'd be this nervous for anything in my life, but here I was.

His house looked bigger than the last time i'd seen it. The ivy growing up the walls looked powerful, as if it could tear the whole wall off if it wanted to. The pink front door assured me that I was at the right house, but I silently wished that it was a different colour because then I wouldn't have to face what I knew was to come. It was all going to be my fault though. I would most likely leave with a broken heart and the guilty conscience that I broke his too.

But this had to happen. It wasn't fair to him anymore.

I got out of the taxi, thanking him for waiting just a few more minutes whilst I collected myself and went and did what I came to do. He was very sweet and let me ride for a discounted price, obviously sensing my abundance of nerves, saying he'd wait for me to take me back to the station after this. He didn't say anything else to me, but he didn't need to.

The walk to the door, underneath the porch out of the torrential rain, felt like miles and yet it was only a few steps. My mind rushed through every possible scenario this could end up as. I looked back at the taxi man and he was smiling with encouragement at me, as if he knew exactly what was happening here.

I knocked three times - each one with the same amount of power.

The anticipation was the worst part. I wanted to scream, but also cry already.

The door swung open after 27 seconds precisely, not that i'd been counting or anything. I was so ready to start my rehearsed piece with him, but I was so blinded by his beauty that all thoughts were forgotten. He couldn't have looked better. He was standing here in checkered pyjama bottoms and a navy-blue crewneck sweatshirt, with little brown loafer slippers for comfort, and he still managed to be the most handsome man on the planet. He was so perfect.

Unlike me, Harrys thoughts were clear and his mind was only focused on one thing. Me.

I'd never seen him move so fast in my life. He closed the distance between us instantly and sealed our lips together to knock down the final boundary. His hands cupped my cheeks so desperately I wobbled back slightly from the force. His lips had never tasted so good. So sweet. The sounds of the pattering rain were long forgotten and the overwhelming senses bursting off of Harry quickly infiltrated my system. The sweet taste. The freshly-showered smell. The angelic sight. The tingling touch. The blissful sound. My senses were overwhelmed by him and I couldn't help but cry into the kiss.

He didn't want to let go, that I was sure of. Each time I tried to move back and regain air he whimpered, pulling me back as soon as I had caught some oxygen. This was our longest, most passionate, most burning kiss. In fact it was our last, most passionate, most burning kiss - little did Harry know of that.

"Where've you been, baby?" Harry asked breathlessly, between a further two kisses to my now swollen, cherry, lips.

"A-away." I struggled get out my words due to Harrys continuous kisses.

"I was so worried. So, so worried." He shakes his head not wanting to think about it anymore. I pulled away from his grasp, stepping back to create a little distance between us. I couldn't say what I wanted to say if I was too close to him. "Where are you going love?" He chuckled out, but there was a heavy tone of vulnerability underneath his words.

"Harry y-you need to listen to me, okay?" I asked, but even he knew that he didn't have a choice. All he could was nod his head, too afraid to say anything. He had a disturbing feeling like this wasn't going to be a conversation about how much I loved and missed him - no matter how true that would be.

"I-I think you already know where this is going, so i'm not going to sugar coat anything." Harry was already shaking his head at me.

"Y/N/N.. Please, no.." Harry continued to shake his head, realising you two were on the same page now and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Harry, I - uh - shit. C'mon Y/N." I mumbled to yourself, trying to hold myself together. "I love you, Harry. I've never loved someone half as much as i've loved you, and I never will. You have my heart - all of it. I need you to know that first, because it's important to me that you understand that," I watched him nod his head, "Harry, baby, I can't be with you anymore. It's nothing you did I swear. You were and still will be the best boyfriend to ever exist, because you are the most amazing person to exist—"

"Then don't do this, angel. Please." Harry butt in, tears now flowing down his face and it made it painful for me to look at him.

"Harry stop. Okay? It's not fair on you anymore. I can't be the girlfriend you need. I can't be the one you depend on anymore because I can't be here. My mum she's.. Well it doesn't matter, but she needs me more than ever and I can't leave her. Not now,' I watch Harry sniffle and wipe his nose on his sleeve, "You deserve so much more than me. You deserve someone who will give you everything, not that you didn't have everything from me - it's just I couldn't give you all of me all the time—"

"I don't care." Harry kept repeating like a broken record. This is what i'd made him into. I stepped closer to him again, cupping his cheeks to help him focus on anything other than his dark thoughts.

"Hey. You'll be okay. You don't need me. I was just someone passing by in your life, alright?" I pressed my forehead hard against his, and he cupped my cheeks to mirror me. If I could touch him then he sure as hell was touching me. He would savour every last moment next to me, because it might just be his last.

"No, Y/N/N, you're not. You m-mean everything t-to me." Harry sobbed out.

"Okay, but now you have to let me go. For your own bright and wonderful future, Harry, you have to let me go." I instructed him.

"No, no, no." He repeated and all I could do to shut him up was give him a kiss. The final kiss. I poured as much emotion as I possibly could do into the kiss, relishing every last second I had with him. After today I would probably never see him again. I would go back and live in Scotland, where the media is non existent, and live my life without my favourite person by my side. I would go back to working in the dirty bar and slaving away to the demands of university, all the while Harry will find someone new - someone better - and start up his wonderful life with them.

He was going to do great things.

I was the one to detach my lips first this time, knowing that if I didn't stop there I would never. I gave him one final, full of love, peck before pulling away from his warm embrace.

"I'm going now." I whispered, not wanting to even hear myself say those dreaded words.

"No." Was all Harry could say back. We both had faces full of tears and hearts full of hurt, but for now I had to be strong for him.

"I love you." Were my last words, before running back to the taxi out of the storm.

The look on his face was one that I knew was going to haunt me for years. There was no escaping it. He was utterly and completely broken - and all because of me.

My impending thoughts got interrupted by a call of my name. It was a distant voice, one that I didn't understand where it was coming from. It was so loud and clear and it sounded just like Harry, only when I looked at him his lips weren't moving. I'd left him broken on his doorstop and he couldn't do anything to fix the situation at- Y/N/N!

Again the voice repeated my name. Maybe I was having a stroke?

I couldn't stop crying in the taxi. The man knew to take me to the station, no questions asked. I respected him for that. My mind spiralled down in to a pit of self destruction and loathing. Every possible cruel thing I could think of, I could relate to myself. I couldn't stop thinking about the fragile Harry i'd left on the doorstep and—

"Y/N/N!" Harrys voice was much clearer now and it was obvious that you hadn't been dreaming him calling your name. He was standing outside the passenger door and it was only then that you'd noticed that you were parked up somewhere. "You're okay, you're okay." He assured you.

"Wha- where are we?" You asked, slightly dazed from the god-awful memory that just replayed in your head. It was a nightmare that kept you up most nights - it was one of the reasons you hated sleeping. It baffled you how Harry even wanted to be near you right now after everything you'd put him through.

"Come on and i'll show you." Harry held out his hand to help you back out of the truck.

The clicking of your seatbelt signified to Harry that you were preparing to climb out of the car and follow him. It meant that you continued to trust him, and that was more than enough for Harry. You grabbed on to his hand and allowed him to hold on to you tightly, in case you fell.

"There you go. I've got you." Harry spoke quietly, like he was afraid someone nearby would hear him. There would be no one around for miles though. It looked like you were at some outlook, somewhere, but it hadn't hit you exactly where yet. You were slightly disorientated considering how dark it was and not being awake for the journey.

"Thank you." You whispered back, both of you knowing it carried a much deeper meaning than you thanking him for helping you out of a car.

He pulled out his coat that you'd had wrapped around you, knowing it was too cold for you to not be wearing a coat right now. He pulled it around you, helping you slide both your arms in, before leaning down to do the zip up for you. He did it up teasingly slow and it made you nervous for when he'd reach the top. Once he'd reached the top he was stood so close to you that you could hear his heartbeat. His breath was shaky, but not as shaky as yours. You wanted to blame it on the cold but you knew it wasn't because of that.

He looked between your sparkling eyes and your rosy lips, being so indecisive of what he would rather look at. Your lips, he could kiss them for days, but your eyes - your eyes were something else. He swore they were the most precious things in the world. You were convinced he was going to lean in and kiss you, but he proved otherwise.

"Here," he took off his beanie and helped suit it onto your head instead, making sure your hair was tucked out of your eyes as he did so, "you're like a little icicle." He chuckled, making you laugh along with him.

"Thanks, Harry." You smiled sweetly at him, blessed to have him act so kind towards you. His heart was so big, yet so fragile as if it were made of glass, and deserved to be treated with all the grace in the world, but you'd managed to tear it down to its last shards - leaving nothing but broken pieces for him to pick up. "Aren't you going to be cold?" You asked, concerned for his physical health.

He reached in to the glove compartment, before bringing out another hat - a TPWK one at that. You laughed as he placed it on his head, finding it amusing how he was repping his own merchandise.

"You think it's funny? Me, wearing me own merch?" He laughed along with you, finding the most stupid things hilarious. It was just like old times - better times.

"Well do you want your hat back?" You offered, reaching for the bobble on the top of it.

"No. I like it better on you." He winked and it made you roll your eyes.

He slammed the door shut and locked the car with his keys, before stuffing them in his pockets. He took in a big breathe, most likely taking in the crisp winter air. It was refreshing, but something that was becoming all too familiar now. You needed a change. Jamaica, maybe?

Harry reached in to the open trunk of the truck and pulled out a regular rucksack. He slipped it on to his back before he held out his hand for you. "Ready?" He asked, not going anywhere until you took a tight hold on his hand.

"Ready." You nodded, eagerly grabbing his hand - wanting to feel those tingles all over again.

•••••

The walk, to wherever the fuck you were going, was exceptionally pretty. Harry chose well.

The path was hidden deep within a forest and it creeped you out at how dark and mysterious the whole atmosphere was. You felt completely safe standing next to Harry and holding his hand. He was warm and it warmed you up too.

No words had been spoken yet, only soft hums of a tune that Harry must be working on - seeing as you'd never heard it before. It was beautiful whatever it was. The eery night was so peaceful that you felt as if you had no problems left in the world. As if you mum was mentally okay. Your dad was still here. You and Harry were still together. What a perfect world that would be, but unfortunately some people weren't supposed to lead a perfect life. You were one of the unfortunate ones.

As you reached an opening of trees you noticed the lights shining more and more. They were becoming brighter and brighter the closer you came. Then it all started coming back to you. That tree - the one you fell out of whilst playing hide and seek with your dad. That bush - the one that you'd fallen in and cut your knee on whilst on a run with your dad. That pile of logs - the ones that you'd built many a campfire with, with your dad. And finally, that outlook over the valley below - the one that you would turn up at whenever you were sad with your dad.

It made you stop dead in your tracks.

"Harry." You whispered, finding it overwhelming that he knew of this place and how special it was to you. He knew that your father had passed, but you never really explained how it made you feel. You tended to bottle up all your emotions and keep them to yourself, finding it unfair to lay all your shit on someone else who might be going through things worse than you. This was uncharted territory for you.

"It's okay." He reminded you, bringing you closer in to his side with his arm. You appreciated him a bloody lot.

"No it's not. It's not and it's all my fault." You couldn't walk any further, not knowing where this evening was going and what Harry wanted to talk to you about. The guilt was eating you alive. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no. Don't be sorry. I don't want you to be sorry, Y/N/N, okay?" Harry made you look at him, showing him to observe the small trickle of tears rubbing down your cheeks. You wished he didn't see them, though, because you felt selfish. If anyone should be crying it was him.

"But I—"

"I know what you did, I was there. Front row and centre actually." He laughed, bopping your nose to earn a laugh out of you too.

"How c-can you stand being near m-me then?" You were confused. You mum had told you that Harry would never want to see you again - charming.

"Because I love you." Harry put it in a way that was so simple, yet one that made your heart melt and walls crumble. He was still yours even after all this time, really?

"You l-love me? Still?" You had to double check, completely lost at how he was still devoted to you after all this time. After all that you'd said and done. Of course you still loved him, that was a given, but him still loving you was a terrifyingly happy surprise. He always has had the biggest heart of gold, and he remains to live up to that title. You were so undeserving of him and his heart of gold.

"I never stopped, baby." He squished your face close to his, large hands concealing your face to keep you focused on him and only him.

"You can't mean that, Harry. Not after everything I put you through." You whispered, searching for any signs of doubt behind his eyes. There was nothing but love for all you could see though.

"Listen to me Y/N/N. The last few months have made me realise something. It's made me realise that you're too special to me to ever let you go. Even though you made my phone miss your calls and we hadn't spoke since you went away, all I could think about was you and how you were doing. You didn't look good when you came to my porch in London, and you still don't baby." Harry was being completely honest with you, needing you to understand the complex depths of both sides of this relationship.

"No, i'm okay." You tried to convince him, but lacked the evidence to justify the statement.

"When was the last time you slept for a good 8 hours?" Harry asked, keeping you close to him - afraid you may dash at any point.

"Um, well—" You tried to rack your brain for an answer, but the answer was so long ago it was long forgotten.

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" He asked again, this time his eyes gazing down at your body. Yes, you knew that you'd become skinner but you didn't realise it was that noticeable. Or maybe it was just because Harry always noticed the most smallest, most minute, details about you.

"It was, um—" You squeezed your eyes shut hoping something would come to mind but you knew it was pointless.

"When was the last time you gave yourself a breather? A sit down? A bit of time to yourself?" He pressed for an answer, but it was obvious by now that you didn't have an answer.

"I-I," you let out a defeated sigh, looking towards the ground in shame, "I don't know." You admitted to him, and to yourself. You know you should take care of yourself better, but it's been hard to sort it out when you're doing a million and one other jobs too.

You two stayed silent for a few moments, reflecting on the words that had been spoken this evening. Finding out that Harry was still in love with you, in the area that was filled with fond childhood memories with your dad, whilst coming to teens with your mental struggles was a lot to take in in just one night. You could only take so much and you'd be forever grateful that it was Harry by your side right now and no one else. Not even your dad could come close to the secure and warm feelings that Harry gave you.

"I'm not okay, Harry, am I?" You had to ask Harry for support in your question, not wanting to admit the truth to yourself alone.

"You're just a little broken, baby, but i'm here okay? It won't be like this forever, I promise." Harry swore it on his mums life. His hands left your cheeks and instead wrapped around your body protectively, making sure you felt the mental and physical stability of him being there for you.

"I'm so-sorry for everything, Harry." You apologised for not nearly the enough times that evening - well technically morning. If you waited long enough you could probably watch the sun rise from this side of the valley - it was something you dreamt about doing with your dad, but it was too late to fulfil that dream when the time came around.

"It's alright." Harry shushed you, allowing you to carry on with the sobs you needed to let out.

"Is it?" You questioned, still not fully convinced that it was.

"I'll be alright as long as you are alright, love." You could feel Harrys smile against the side of your head where he was resting it, making you slightly smile in return. "Just need you back."

"If you'll have me?" You offered, wanting him to be positively sure of himself.

"Always." He replied, using the same phrasing you'd done earlier this evening.

•••••

Sunrise.

You never thought it would be so beautiful and yet you were so magically lost for words. The way the sun caught its first few rays on the glistening, snowy, mountain tops was cinematic. The rays starting to warm up your icy skin was exhilarating, almost like it was feeding you life again. Oh how your dad would've loved this.

What was even more special than the sunrise was the boy that you got to spend watching it with. Wrapped under a layer of three blankets, your back against his front whilst sat perched against a thick oak tree, you got to witness a moment so singular and unique, with someone as equally unique, and you wouldn't swap it for a million pounds.

Harry had brought hot cocoa, with little pink and white marshmallows, in a thermo-flask to help keep you both warm. He'd clearly thought about this "date", you guess you could call it, with great passion. He had thought of everything. He'd brought bundles of blankets, the hot chocolate, an extra jumper for you - your favourite one of his in fact - and even a portable charger so your phone was ready to snap some shots of the waking sun.

You were positive his body was completely stiff now, most likely going to have crippling back pains for the rest of the week, but you knew he didn't care. All he cared about was you and that you were happy.

Throughout the morning, whilst you were waiting for the sun to arise, you spoke about everything and nothing. You'd learnt that Harry had been with someone a month after your broken up with him, but went in to a two week period of self loathing afterwards because she, quote, "just wasn't you". Apparently he'd almost said your name, to her, the morning after and that's when he knew it was never going to be anyone else but you. Of course your heart bled a little to hear him have moved on so quickly, but you also remember encouraging it so you couldn't really be angry.

You opened up about the grieving of your dad and the hardship that your mum had become. Although it was hard to hear, listening to Harry suggest maybe taking her to a group house for family rehabilitation, or something along those lines, it should be an option to consider. He never pressed you for an answer, but only letting you know he was here whatever you decided to do.

You apologised a lot more times and each time he shut you up with his lips. God had you missed those lips. You'd missed him more.

Harry admitted he'd developed a slight drinking problem and had had to stay at random hotel rooms, for the first couple of months, because he couldn't bare to walk around a house that was so full of you and your memories. The kitchen, where you'd prepared countless morning coffees for him. The study, where you'd read a few stories to him. The bedroom, where you'd spent many a night with him beneath the sheets loving each other until you physically could no more.

Both of you were extremely vulnerable and that's exactly how it needed to be.

To move forwards you vowed to be more open and honest with one another. Harry promised to stay with you for a while, up here, until he was comfortable that you'd be okay if he left you. You promised to never leave him again, which he was perfectly happy with. You also strictly told him that he wasn't to go near a bottle of alcohol unless you were with him, not baring the thought of having to send him into rehab for substance abuse.

The two of you had a long way to go to be perfect, but then again there was no such thing. You were just Y/N and Harry, and as long as you made each other happy, then that, in your eyes, was perfect.

[magicdonuts-supreme]

TW: past abuse. abandonment issues. self-doubt. intrusive thoughts. self-hate statments that S/I believes but are not true. trust issues (kinda). 750+ words.

— - + - —

You had exposed yourself to your F/O. You showed them your raw, emotional, troubled self… but they were still here. Something in your mind doesn’t fit right, panic rising as it washes over the euphoria you had experienced alongside your beloved under their tender care.

Because they were there.

Why hadn’t your F/O left? Why had they stayed so long? So many had abandoned you by this point, why don’t they? Is there an endgame to this? You are a freak, a horror, a traumatized lump of human flesh… You’ll poison them… Why can’t they just see that and leave already? (Not to mention the other side of your raging mind: the one on its knees, the one that grovels and begs and dehumanizes itself into a living joke just to have another person give you a second of attention…)

Deep down, you know why the thoughts are there.

You are expecting abandonment.

Every moment your F/O welcomes you into their warm embrace oh-so cruelly, you know you’re falling further and further for them. But you can’t allow yourself to do that.

You are expecting abandonment.

So much so that you make a fool of yourself and show your most vulnerable sides to them and hope it wards your F/O off… because it’s easier to say that they left because of your actions than to wait a lifetime for them only to realize their absence is the only answer you’ll ever get.

You are expecting a—

“Love?”

You dry your tears against your shirt as discreetly as possible, red eyes darting to and fro—  anywhere away from your F/O’s. “…Yeah?” You cringe at the cracks in your own voice, How dare you not be able to hide this better? How dare you burden them?

Your F/O leans closer just the tiniest bit. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, lips pressed tight.

“C’mon, S/I, you’re underestimating me if you think I can’t notice when you’re upset.” They offer a reassuring smile, although it wavers as your guilty lack of response hangs in the still air. “… Just… I won’t force you, okay? But I know you aren’t feeling well, and that it’s not healthy to keep it all in like this.”

Your voice doesn’t disrupt the silence. A single syllable could break down the dam holding back your sobs, God, you’re a crybaby. You’re weak, pathetic.

“Hey, love, could you please look at me?”

Your line of sight wavers, yet it’s your F/O’s gentle hold and their warm gaze that attracts your own like a magnet’s fated pull.

“There you are,” they utter. “You never were, never are, and never will be a burden, S/I, I love you just as you are. This isn’t a punishment and I will never use it against you. I just want to make sure you’re alright… Like all of those times you did the same to me, ok?”

As calm and tender as they are, there are still signs of breakage in your F/O’s voice. They want to banish — perhaps even worse — whoever taught you those self-damaging beliefs in the first place, but your health comes first. When you’re tangled up in barbs of false promises and toxic love, all your F/O wishes to do is untangle you with a touch of silk and show you what warmth is like. They want to chase those swarms of bad thoughts away and kiss your forehead at night when they’re sure the only thing in your mind is soft dreams of carelessness when you finally let yourself feel safe in their arms.

Some time after their reassurances, your walls break— perhaps for the first time in front of them. Maybe it’s loud and messy whilst your F/O gathers you in their arms, or maybe your tears are silent until you succumb and press yourself against their chest.

And by the end?

“Can I ask you… something…?” You hesitate, doubt still plaguing that one place in your mind.

Your F/O places a kiss against your temple. “Always, love.”

“I mean…” Your gaze wanders off. “It’s a bit unnecessary, maybe even childish…”

“As long as it’s you? As long as you think it’s important and it matters to making you feel safe? It’ll never be unnecessary.”

“… Could you promise…?”

They nod and a small, wonderful smile graces their features. “You don’t ever have to worry about me leaving, S/I. I promise that I’ll always be here for you, that you’ll always be worth waiting for.”