#does fallen have his own tag. whatever ig

[indigo-inks]

hewwo bestie can i request a fallen ike :3c

this guys swag levels are off the damn charts. tbh

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

A Work of Art

Pairing: The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: @mandowhorian posted a prompt that came across my dash and goddamn it, I had to write it.  Why does my brain do this to me when I got another fic to finish?  

Also @amarvelousmandalorian wrote a ditty that gave me the jump I needed.  Won’t ever be as good as some people’s but whatever, I had to get it out on paper, so to speak.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

---***---

When she heard footsteps coming up the walkway, she rose from her chair to open the door.  She had just finished setting the table up for a meal, wondering if the man coming to her was going to enjoy her baked goods.  At least the house smelled of warm sugar rather than the bitterness of oil paint that usually permeated the space.

“Mandalorian!”  She called, waving at him with a large smile on her face.  She made a small note that his arms were empty of the little green being he had taken under his wing.  “I didn’t think you’d reach me by sundown, the rains have made the forest roads a little treacherous.  Come in, the tea is almost ready!”

He stopped in his tracks, confusion radiating off him and she laughed. She was his bounty and she was inviting him in for tea?  As he began to walk again, his steps were less certain as if he expected her to ambush him.  He kept his hand near his blaster and continued up the stone pathway.  

When he entered, the room seemed to shrink to half its size and for a moment, the Mandalorian felt awkward and unsure.  He mentally berated himself for letting these odd thoughts invade his mind.  She was the damn bounty and who cares if he was practically a bull in a china shop in her home?  She was coming with him and it wouldn’t be hers for much longer.

“Where is the little one?  I hope you haven’t left him on the ship unattended.  I thought you’d have learned not to do that.  No matter, we can make up a basket for you to take back.  I’m sure you hardly have anything homemade in your storehouse.”  She busied herself preparing plates of food and motioned for him to sit as she poured tea into heavy cups made of local wood.  He didn’t move, completely unnerved by her comments.  In the blink of an eye, he drew his blaster and pointed it at her.  She merely smiled and his irritation grew.

“How do you know about the kid?”  He growled at her, the hairs on his neck standing on end.  What the hell was going on?  Nothing about this seemed right to him.

“Exactly how I know about you, Din.  And why you’re here.  Please sit. I know you won’t eat with me around, but we can at least chat a bit.”  When he didn’t move, she looked at him pointedly.  “You sat on this job for four days even though you knew it could be done in twenty minutes.  Sit down.”

She had him there.  He sat down with a large thump and she worried he would break the wooden chair, sending himself sprawling into the stone wall behind him.  She giggled a bit at the image, wondering if he’d knock himself senseless in that helmet of his.  He pointed the blaster at her again.

“Talk, bounty.”

“I am Force sensitive, much like your little one and I know the Empire wishes to use us to regain power in the galaxy.  That’s why you were sent after us.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t tell me how you know me or my name.”  He still sounded hard, but he wasn’t growling at he any longer.  Only a select few knew his name and no one since Mandalore had fallen had spoken it directly to him until Moff Gideon said it on Nevarro.  And now this woman was speaking his name as sure as if they had been paired all their lives.

“I’ve always known you.”  Behind the mask, Din’s jaw dropped and his hold on the blaster wobbled a bit.

“How?”

“The Force.  Come with me.”  When she rose, she skirted the table and laid a hand on his shoulder.  Even through the layers of cloth and beskar, he could feel her warmth.  He angled his helmet to look at her before standing up.  He towered over her, his suit of armor crowding her out.  She turned and walked through a small door and motioned for him to come in.

When entered he stopped and in his state of shock, the blaster fell from his hand.  He was surrounded by. . . himself.  The walls covered in images of his face in different mediums – oil, chalk, crayon, pastels, acrylics, ink, and even embroidery.  No two pictures were the same and he slowly began to walk around the studio, taking it all in.  

He saw his face as a child before it went under the helmet and there in a pencil drawing was his face after a night out with Ran’s crew.  He looked up and saw a small portrait of himself holding the kid with the mudhorn insignia behind them.  All around him his face – his history – was charted on these walls.  Goosebumps broke out on his skin as he turned, seeking answers.

“When was I was ten, the Force began to grant me visions and sight.  By the time I was fourteen, I saw your face for the first time.  I was so in tune with your essence that I begun to draw you, to try and figure out who you were to me.”

“What did you discover?”

“You’re my soulmate.”

“Your what?!”  He barked out a laugh, utterly shocked at her words.  Soulmate?  People really believed that tripe?  He shook his head.

“How else to do you explain any of this?”  He shrugged until she pointed to a picture on the mantle.  He walked over and his breath hitched in his throat.  It was his face on Nevarro, right before he nearly died.  It was a harsh painting, dark with heavy blots of paint.  The image was almost grainy, and he could feel pain radiating from it, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it were his or hers.  He shuttered as he turned away.

“I watched you nearly die, Din.  I felt it in my very core as your life force leaked from you and a part of me was taken with it.”  She walked up to him and raised her hand. She tapped the back of his helmet, right over where the scar was.  “Here. Right here is where my life nearly ended had it not been for a droid.”

There was no way for her to have known what transpired on Nevarro nor where his scar was. And yet, she did and when she touched his helmet, it was as if there was no metal between them.  He could almost feel her soft fingertips along his skin.

“I do not know why the Force thought a Mandalorian would be good for me. But it did.  And I have been haunted for years as you were reckless with Ran.  I watched with pride as you became the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.  My heart clenched when you showed what a good man you are Din Djarin when you went back for that little one and saved his life. And I know you have thought about me.”

“What?  I’ve never seen you before in my life and certainly I haven’t felt anything like you’re describing.”  His goosebumps were turning to shivers that he tried to ignore – little fissures of truth coming out of the darkness to shame him.  This was too weird, and he shook his head as if to clear everything.  A simple bounty, that was all this was supposed to be.

“Give me your hand.”  She looked at him and he looked down at her.  When he didn’t move, she asked again.  This time he complied and held it out to her.  She looked at him while removing his glove, exposing his calloused hand to her. She laid her own soft hand on his and closed her eyes.  Din stood rock still as he could feel her in his mind, in his soul.  Her voice sounded in his brain.

“Din.  Remember.” His eyes closed and suddenly a rush of memories came to him.  Gut-wrenching tears as he laid dying.  A smile that rang with laughter that he heard on the wind after receiving his sigil.  A horrified gasp as he shot IG-11.  A small caress filled with warmth as he laid in the Razor Crest while tracking a bounty on Hoth.  A voice telling him to go the other way as he got lost in the jungles of Byss.  A pair of eyes staring at him with love as he renounced Ran’s crew and left.  Even further back to days on Mandalore when a girl made eyes at him that he didn’t return because the specter of a face in his mind told him to wait for her.

He gasped loudly as these broken images formed together into her. His bounty.  She had always been there and yet she hadn’t.  He opened his eyes to watch her staring at him with a calm look on her face.  Those eyes, her voice, that face.  He knew something about her bounty puck photo seemed familiar to him and yet he couldn’t ever place it.  Now he knew why.

“How is it that you see me fully, but I couldn’t see you?”  His voice was quiet, and he curled his hand around hers.  Her smiled returned.

“You’re not Force sensitive to tune into the connection.  But it was there for you, and it showed itself when it could or when your guard was down enough for you to feel.”  She stopped smiling, brows knitting in concern.  “Are you going to turn me in?”

“Hell no.”  She let out a laugh.

“So, you’re just going to go around collecting Force-sensitive beings and protect us all from the Empire, then?”  He stood there and dropped his head back, groaning.  Oh Maker, he was in it now.

“Yeah, sounds like it.”  He pulled his head forward to look at her.  “I don’t know what this is between us, but I need more answers.”

“It’s a lot information, though, Din.  It’ll take some time.”

“Come with me.  We’ll make the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He knew that despite the helmet that she could see his grin.  He knew because her smile looked just like his.

[spin-birdie]

What about some cold-blooded torture for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. I'm a sucker for angsty shit

sorry this took fuckin forever, it took a while for me to get a decent idea for this one. enjoy 1990 words of connor suffering

word count: 1.9k

pairing: none ig

additional tags: whump, body horror, leg trauma, android gore, graphic descriptions of violence, like seriously a lot of violence i think i went over the top whoops

Connor awakens slowly, blinking away distorted error messages and opening his eyes to a rusty ceiling. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in on sight, and his mind palace is too corrupted to run his GPS software. He’s been awake for not even twenty seconds, but dread and panic fill his mind quickly.

He tries to sit up, only to find himself stuck. He’s lying face-up on a table - metal, based on the sounds produced by his body struggling against it - and his arms and legs are tightly bound with steel rope. He pulls away from the bonds, trying to free himself in every way he knows, but nothing works. He’s only making noise and causing himself discomfort.

The only part of him that isn’t completely restrained is his head, so he takes the chance to look around the room. The walls and ceiling appear to be made of tin, though it’s so rusted out that it’s hard to tell. Shelves and tables all along the walls seem to have various tools and biocomponents lined up along them. Arms and legs, eyes and hearts and pump regulators, some in containers, some just lying in the open. The empty, limbless chassis of an ST300 lies face-down in the corner of the room. Even without his mind palace fully operational, he can detect countless thirium stains all over the room and the table he’s strapped to.

Once upon a time, a sight like this wouldn’t have fazed Connor in the least. Now, it makes his gut twist uncomfortably, sends a chill down his spine. This room has seen so much death. The fact that he’s restrained can’t mean anything good.

Connor can’t see his own stress level, but he can guess that it’s fairly high. He struggles harder against the ropes, tries to rub his wrist into it. If he can detach even one of his hands, maybe he can figure something out.

Unfortunately, he seems to have drawn too much attention. A door squeaks open somewhere out of Connor’s line of sight, followed by the sound of heavy, echoing footsteps.

“Who’s there?” Connor says, craning his neck to look behind him. He’s greeted by the upside-down visage of a human woman he can’t identify. He continues to struggle, despite knowing it’s no use.

The woman doesn’t speak. Someone else steps into the room behind her. He’s carrying a camera and a tripod in his arms. Connor can’t see their faces properly. They’re wearing masks styled to look like skinless androids.

“Who are you?” Connor yanks on his restraints. Despite his best efforts, panic creeps into his voice. “What do you want?!”

The humans exchange glances. The woman walks around the table until she’s standing at Connor’s feet. The cameraman only walks close enough for Connor to see him out of the corner of his eye.

“We’re going to send a message to your charge,” the woman says. Her voice is pitched down unnaturally; Connor can’t recognize it. “Markus. The leader of the machines.”

“People,” Connor insists. “We’re just people who want to be free.”

The woman’s voice remains unchanged. “You’re anomalies. It’s not you’re fault; you were designed to integrate with human society, and in the process, you lost sight of your true purpose. Servitude.”

Connor stops struggling and grinds his teeth. “If you think Markus is just going to roll over--”

“We know he won’t,” the cameraman interjects. “He fought tooth and nail for the freedom you don’t deserve. But he cares about his colleagues. He cares about you specifically.”

“Which is why we brought you here,” the woman finishes. She turns to the cameraman and nods.

The cameraman sets his camera and tripod down on a table and walks over to Connor. Before he can react - not that he knows how he’d react - the man lifts his head up roughly and sticks something into the access port on his neck. Connor jolts, blinking rapidly as the unknown data copies itself into Connor’s system. The specific details of said data are incoherent and jumbled up, his mind palace too damaged to tell him what’s happening.

Halfway through the process, his neck starts to burn and ache. He twitches away from the sensation, but it follows him. It’s unlike any discomfort he’s felt before; his sensory feedback is advanced, but whatever this feeling is, it’s completely foreign. He hates it.

“What are-- Ow! What is that--?!”

The download finishes, and the man tears the data drive from his neck. He feels the pull of it, but it aches, sending sparks up and down his back.

“It’s pain,” the woman says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“What does that mean?” Connor demands. He pulls the rope again. It digs into his skin uncomfortably.

“It means you’re going to suffer for the sake of your kind.” She turns to the cameraman. “Get the hammer.”

Connor follows the man’s movement as he walks away, picking up a sledgehammer in the opposite corner of the room. His stomach drops, and on instinct, he struggles wildly. Sharp discomfort shoots through his wrists and ankles, but he ignores it. He has to escape. He has to get back to Markus and warn--

In the very next instant, Connor’s vision goes white, and he emits a sound he didn’t know he could make. Warnings flash past his eyes, illegible and too numerous to comprehend. He thrashes in his restraints, kicking and choking on another scream as unimaginable pain consumes him.

“Don’t kick. You’ll only make it worse.”

Connor coughs; something an android shouldn’t be able to do. He looks down at the hammer, where it rests upon what used to be his ankle until a few seconds ago. He doesn’t need to see the wound directly to know all that remains is a mess of shattered white plastic, flattened grey metal, and blue blood.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. Worse than the chill of the Zen Garden. Worse than guilt. Every sensor in his body is on fire. It’s like he’s dying again; only it’s so much worse than feeling it secondhand. He wants to vomit, but he’s physically incapable. Not that it would do him any good if he could.

The woman is unfazed. “Keep going.”

The sledgehammer comes down on his other leg. This time, it’s his knee that gets crushed and split apart. Connor whites out again, shrieking as if it will save him from the pain. He tries to force himself into stasis, but doing so only yields an error message and more pain. He feels it in his eyes, and nothing has even touched them.

Once, twice, three more times the hammer is brought down on random parts of his body. His other knee, his shin, his elbow. After that, Connor loses count. The pain is no longer centered on specific parts of his body; it’s omnipresent and inescapable. No part of him hurts more than another. It’s agony no creature should be subjected to.

By the time he hears the hammer clatter to the ground, Connor’s extremities are completely unresponsive. Most of them have fallen off, too mangled to stay attached. He could try to roll off the table, but it’s like they planned for that; his left wrist is all that’s restraining him now. Even if he could escape, he wouldn’t get far with broken legs.

The sound of the hammer being set down fills Connor with relief. It’s quickly replaced with fear when the man tears Connor’s shirt open and picks up a pair of pliers, holding it over Connor’s stomach.

“No, stop!” Connor pleads as his stomach panel is forced open. “That hurts! Get off me-- Make him stop! STOP!”

The torturers disregard him completely. The man looks over to his counterpart. “What do I do?”

“Disconnect everything that isn’t vital. Make sure he stays conscious and verbal.”

The pliers haphazardly dig into Connor’s wires, pulling them open to slip deeper into his chassis. The agony is unbearable, prompting screams of almost animalistic torment. Connor instinctively curls away from them, but they’re inside his stomach; moving even a little sends even more torturous misery through Connor’s system.

He can’t see anymore; too many bright red, corrupted warnings appear faster than he can take them in. He’s positive that he’s the closest to physically ill that an android can be, and it’s just from the pain. He’s retching and coughing uncontrollably, like his body is trying to eject the intrusion but forgot he can’t vomit. The pain gets exponentially worse with every heartbeat, but his heart just keeps beating faster from the sheer trauma of the experience. The pain is in his CPU now; he literally feels it in his brain.

He can’t think, can’t move, can barely speak. Bits of him slowly go offline as more of his biocomponents are picked apart from their wires. Thirium is pooling in his chassis, but at some point the pliers stabbed all the way through to his back and opened up, splitting him open from the inside. He feels it soaking through his clothes, distantly hears it dripping onto the floor.

He’s not going to shut down, but that might be the worst part of it. He just wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop. The torment has gone on for far too long, and there’s no hope of adapting to it.

He wants to thank every deity in existence when the pliers are finally removed, but he’s too exhausted. Not even physically; the emotional trauma of the experience has just taken everything out of him. He feels like he’s overheating, but his cooling fans, his lungs, they’re all offline. He can’t move a muscle. He barely has muscles to move anymore. He wants to sleep, but the lingering pain is too immense to allow him that luxury.

“Can you speak?” the woman asks.

Connor tries to look at her, but he’s completely paralyzed. He clenches his jaw. It hurts.

“Ffff...fuck you...” he spits. His voice is heavy with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. There’s blood in the back of his throat. His vision is completely dark. The error messages no longer appear.

“Should I set up the camera now?” the man asks.

“Yes.”

---

The sight of the deviant leader falling to his knees would be enough to alarm anyone, but considering he’s been worried sick over his missing friend for days, everyone hurries to his aid.

“Markus, what’s wrong?” North asks. “What is that?”

Markus looks between North, Josh, and the tablet in his hands. He chokes back a sob. “It’s... Connor, he’s...look...”

He turns the tablet and replays the video so the others can see. Josh immediately puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God...”

It’s Connor, bleeding from the mouth and strapped to a bloody table. His clothes are torn and stained with thirium, his stomach is wide open, and he looks completely unfocused. He’s mumbling to himself; almost too muffled to make out, but they can barely hear him pleading, “It hurts... Make it stop... Kill me...”

Then the angle shifts over to someone clad in black, wearing a mask. “This is what freedom has cost you,” they say in a too-even voice. “You androids are lost and in pain. You’ve lost sight of what’s important, and you’re suffering for it. If you want the RK800 back, then stop trying to merge with humanity. Further details will be disclosed after this message is broadcast to your followers. You have two days to comply.”

The figure steps over to the table and puts a hand on Connor’s forehead. He visibly bristles at the contact as his head is pushed to the side, towards the camera. “Do you have anything to say to your charge?”

His eyes aren’t even on the camera, but they’re filled with misery. “Markus...” he whispers. “Markus, it hurts... Help...”

Markus caves in on himself, tears falling uncontrollably.

[demonslayvr]

USE THIS WEBSITE TO GENERATE YOUR MUSE’S POKEMON TEAM.

so i got tagged like,  fifty times yesterday to do this and while i answered a huge long ask about this here we go lmAO.  the only thing different here is,  like,  dante’s houndoom is actually a mega hoodoom,  i was just very tired fighting the generator and went with the good boy that’s kinda the same thing.  anyway   ---   pokemon information is under the cut  ;  i go into detail how each othem really work with  /  for dante.  missing out on the  seventh  pokemon which is usually just whichever pokemon partner vergil has that dante kinda hangs onto for a long time,  folks. 

dante’s pokemon partner  and   first pokemon is an   arcanine  that is nicknamed  ace  and holds a pretty large scarf around his neck  ;  the color of the scarf is predominantly red with gold fire flames on it.  dante evolved his growlithe with the fire stone he acquired on one of his jobs  ;  though the evolution wasn’t really standard as his partner evolved to protect dante   when he was injured on a hunt.  

the stone had fallen out of his pocket and his growlithe who’d been doing his best  already   to assist his friend and was wanting to help  . .   tapped its snout on the stone and evolved to fiercely defend dante who was almost unconscious due to a blow from a demon.   ace’s   current  move set are as follows:  fire fang,  extreme speed,  teleport and retaliate.  

dante’s secondary partner,  though not   actually   his is whichever pokemon   was   vergil’s pokemon partner.  the two share quite a deep fierce empathetic bond just like dante shares with his arcanine.  there had been a roadblock between them for some time,  especially when dante was upset just after vergil fell to hell   ;   the bond between them did get better and after mallet island while it became strained  . .  the secondary pokemon didn’t blame dante for what he had done.

it mourned with him,  feeling the pain and loss with the shared empathy and it was then the lucario  (   or whatever pokemon partner vergil had ig   )   telepathically communicated the forgiveness and it was then that dante and it’s bond grew to be greater than before.

dante does have a full team of six   –  seven including vergil’s own partner who,  with ace, stay clear of pokeballs 95% of the time. the team took a bit of time to make since he running all over the place doing what he usually does  –  demon hunting  –  but he does have a full team.  dante doesn’t do competitive battling as of right now even though he used to for a time and won   three   small scale championships.  currently with his team he’s out and about on jobs getting rid of demons like in original canon.

the full team   is as follows:

zoroarck  ;  nicknamed   zoro   or   z   with the move set:  dark pulse,  night slash,  nasty plot   and  protect.   he originally found zoro in its disguised form of a child when he was passing through.  with the child,  to dante at least,  seeming to be lost dante had put it upon himself to help them out.   both got into a spot of trouble and the little pokemon gave up disguise to try and protect  –  only for dante’s arcanine to protect the little zorua and keep it safe.  in the end,  the zorua became close to dante and ended up on dante’s team and evolved into the powerful and loyal zoroarck once it reached level.

cubone  ;  nicknamed    c    and otherwise doesn’t   like   nicknames with the move set: bone rush,  head butt,  growl  and   thrash.   c is past the level needed to evolve into a marowak by far,  it’s stayed as it is.  the two have gone through quite a lot,  especially since the cubone was the   second   pokemon dante ever caught.  it was with him during vergil’s fall,  it was with him during the supposed murder of vergil and it refused.  dante and the cubone have both grown as a team and have helped each other through their trauma.  dante with the lil’ guy’s mourning of its mother and keeping the tyke comfortable during full moon’s and c with dante’s own loss.  it never needed to be something bigger  –  its always been there for dante in its original ‘guise and it will continue to do so.  

mega blaziken  ;  nickname   blaze    or   b   with the move set:   high jump kick,  sky uppercut,  focus energy   and   flare blitz.   dante found the blaziken before its mega evolution once again on his travels and this bond is mainly forged out of mutual respect  – and loyalty.  originally found by chance   –  and put to a battle,  blaze had been a tough opponent for ace to begin with but dante had put a pause to the battle.  with the blaziken’s moves mainly been fighting based rather than using fire against opponent   . .  dante decided to spar with the pokemon.  caught by surprise but not backing down,  the pokemon took up the challenge  –  losing just by a hair.  it held a touch of honor by its loss and wished to join ranks   ;   become part of dante’s team in hopes of a rematch down the line.  there’s loyalty between the two and genuine camaraderie between blaze and dante.

talonflame   ;   nickname   fletch    or   t    with the move set:   brave bird,  me first,  roost   and   flame charge.   originally found by ace by chance at its lowest evolution   (  fletchling )    when it had an injured wing in the middle of forest nowhere close to civilization,  dante worked his best to nurse it back to health.  currently on a job which would have taken longer if he turned back to get proper help,  he had decided to bring the bird with him.  ace had left the meeting with a rough talon scratch to his nose but all was well besides that.  as it went and by the time the job was complete the wing had all been healed with what little potions and remedies dante had on him.  he wasn’t sure if the lil thing would survive but he was damnest sure to try his best.  thankful for the help fletch stuck around,  becoming dante’s pokemon and usually preferring to stay out of pokeball to fly and scout ahead during any hunts or simple trips   –   she’s good at bringing down lesser demons with her talons,  picking them up and dropping them to their death from great heights.

mega houndoom   ;   nickname   doom   or   hound   with the move set:   payback,  fire charge,  feint attack   and   howl.   originally found in wild,  dante had a stereotypical catch with the pup and it was only afterward that that a bond was formed.  with houndour’s existing in packs and show unparalleled teamwork,  the pup grew to find the team as its pack and family over time.  coming to trust dante over watching his trainer’s care for them all to be equal and worry about them the same it gave the same back.  fiercely loyal to dante and unwilling to abandon a team member,  instead choosing to fight and protect them as their family.  out of pokeball the fierce houndoom is bound to be close to dante or bothering ace at any given opportunity,  wishing to play - fight with its new found family.  it wouldn’t give them up for anything.

[merlevum]

Dormiens rex De Aurora

Chapters: 2/?

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum Characters: Gladiolus Amicitia, Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Nyx Ulric Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, cyrofreeze, cryovat Summary: Gladio comes out of the cryovat and learns just how long he's been asleep.

It was strange. Gladio couldn’t make heads or tails of why he couldn’t open his damn eyes. His body was numb, slow, and he couldn’t feel it like he was supposed to, how he knew he was supposed to. If he moved, he didn’t know, but the cold was there again.

Pain.

Right, his lungs felt like they were on fire with every breath he took.

In.

Out.

He needed to breathe. He needed to live if he was going to do what he was trained to do.

Static buzzed in his arms first and then his legs. Finally, forcing his eyes open, Gladio tried to discern where he was. What was going on? What happened?

Dad.

Where was dad?

Green eyes came into view. Heat flared, burning him. Hands held him? Was he falling? Gladio couldn’t tell, but the world spun, so he focused on those green eyes behind panes of glass instead. Without his consent, his body shivered and slowly the aching from the cold grew till it burned and he could finally hear his own ragged breathing. Too fast. He needed to slow it down, to calm his racing heart.

Why was it racing? Where was his--

“D-Dad?” Gladio didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded hoarse and broken. Trying to speak gave him a coughing fit that only hurt.

The one with green eyes was saying something, but it was so far away, muffled. Did he have ice in his ears too? Wait, what was he saying? It didn’t sound right? It wasn’t Lucian. What was he saying? He didn’t know what to do with the sound. He needed to get to his dad, to help him fight off the Niffs. Wait, the ring, where was Noct? If his vat was open, Noct would be woken too? Had it not worked? Or had he woken to help his dad?

Gladio looked for his father’s body, but there was nothing in the corner it had fallen to right before Gladio was frozen. Had they managed to overpower the Niffs and this was the future? Gladio couldn’t be sure, but those hands were a boon to his cold body. But fucking Six, what was the guy saying?

“I-I....I can’t understand.” Gladio managed to croak out. “N-Noct, Is he-”

“Noct?”

It’s a question? Does he not know about Noct? Glancing around, the room had cracks, and layers of dust and rubble. No, it wasn’t like it was when he had gone in. There were no technicians running around, just him and the man with green eyes. Wait, no there are more, but they are nothing like the rebels who had put him under ice. How long was he asleep?

Gladio’s body grew heavy. Why couldn’t he move when he needed to? Why couldn’t he have the strength to do what he needed to do? Why were the people he loved always in fucking danger because he couldn’t do his job?

The world slowly faded as concerned green eyes watched over him, words were formed, but Gladio couldn’t hear them.

Beep.

Beep. Beep.

Beep.

Astrals give him patience, Gladio thought as he groaned. Was that his alarm? No, it sounded off and his body was sore all over. Had he overdone it at training? No that didn’t sound right either. He had fallen asleep with Iris after they hugged. Wait, there was more. Right, he had been escorted to the cryovat. Was this what it felt like to wake up?

Fuck.

Slowly he tested out his muscles. Wiggling his feet a little. Clenching his fists. Focusing on his breath to make sure everything was in check, but there was still that steady beeping. A few moments went by before he realised the sound had a rhythm to it. Opening his eyes, it was easier to focus them this time. First, on the machine next to him, wires sticking out and connecting to his own body, and then to screen that was making that horrible noise. He watched a green line move up and down until he realised it was a heart monitor.

How long had he been under? Opening his eyes more, to take in his surroundings, a gentle hand pushed him back down on the bed he was laying in. He hadn’t realised he was trying to get up.

“Steady there. You’re alright.”

Gladio shuddered at the touch, it was warm. Six, he was still fucking cold. He needed to have a word with whoever took over the cryovat science. Maybe there was no way to really fix the way his body felt so cold, but hell it was worth a shot. Noct was probably having a much harder time, never liking the cold. Wait, shit where was Noct?

“N-No-” Gladio cursed himself as he started coughing. His throat was still hoarse and barely there.

“Noct or Noctis I presume?” the man asked, his green eyes gentle. The guy from before when he first woke up sat there. Gladio nods. “He’s stable. Look to your left.”

Gladio does so and breathes a sigh of relief seeing Noct laying there in a bed next to him. Thank the gods he was fine. His dad would have had his head if Noct was killed after everything they had gone through. Dad....Gladio closed his eyes. He couldn’t grieve for his dad or anyone for that matter. Not yet. Not when there was still so much to do. While he was certainly thankful to the guy sitting next to his bed, Gladio didn’t know who this guy was or if this was still even part of King Regis’s plan anymore. Everything was starting to fall apart.

“Gladiolus? Is that your name?”

Gladio needed a name for the stranger. Seeing the glasses, he decided Specs would be fine for now. At least until he knew the guys real name. He nodded his head.

“Good. At least we understand that much of the lost tongue.” Specs relaxed a little as he sits straight in the chair. “Can you understand me alright, Gladiolus?”

“Gl-Gladio’s fine.”

“Then I presume you can.” Specs smiled, but Gladio didn't know why.

“Great! At least we know the chip is working.”

Gladio whips his head back to the left, glaring at the new voice. A blonde kid, probably around Noct’s age, sat down in a chair. The kid smiled, not wavering at Gladio’s look. Chip? What were they talking about? What had they done? Shit, Gladio tried to get up.

“W-Wait, please. You’ll only hurt yourself. Prompto, please be gentle. They’ve been asleep for quite some time. We don’t want to stress them.”

Gladio can hear the heart monitor now. The steady beating is no longer his, it’s Noct's. His own was pounding much faster and harder. Specs was right about one thing, he was stressed and for good reason. Would the Amiger still work with Noct unconscious? He hoped so because if he had to, he’d pull out his sword and show them a thing to two, but there was no shimmer and no sound to indicate it.

“S-Sorry, Igs...” Prompto shifted in his chair uncomfortably, his hands resting on the seat between his legs, heels hooked into the bars.

“Listen Gladio, we put a chip in both you and Noctis. It’s standard for everyone here to get them when they are little. The chip translates languages for you to understand and in return when you speak you are able to speak the same language. We meant to ask you both first, but seeing as there seemed to be a bit of a language barrier when we brought you both out, we presumed--”

“W-What?”

He can’t help but wince as he body protests to him sitting up. They put a chip in him without even checking if it was okay? What the hell? And they did that to Noct too. Shit. His dad really was going to come and kill now. Some shield he was being.

“Gladio, please. You’ll only make your recovery longer.” Those hands were on him, gently guiding him back down. If Gladio didn’t have to worry about his arms giving way, he might have actually fought against the guy. “That’s all we did. It’s just a translation chip. I promise, at least to you.”

He glared at Specs, or he supposed Igs, wanting to know what the hell that meant. Seeing where those green eyes were suddenly trained, Gladio tried to sit up once more before falling onto his arm with a cut of cry of pain.

“Gladio!” Igs sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. Prompto hid a grin behind a hand until Gladio glared at him. “Your friend, Noct. He has- or rather- had something called the Starscourge coursing through him. The remedy for that disease was found hundreds of years ago, so we cured him of it. Now he should be able to use whatever power he normally couldn’t. He’ll just need to learn to control it.”

Gladio looked at his prince. Noctis had the Starscourge and no one told him? Did Noctis even know? This was all kinds of fucked up. Prompto sat in the chair, quiet. Perhaps Igs was the better of the two to explain things, but dammit all. He wanted more than just reassurance that they were going to be okay. Dawning on him, Gladio reached into his pocket only to find it empty. Panic settled in once more, the monitor raising in bleeps alerted both Prompto and Igs as they glanced at each other. Shit, where the hell was it?

“Are you looking for this?” Igs held out the Lucii ring. “Thought you might. It fell from your pocket when we were taking you out of the cryovat. I kept it safe.”

Gladio shifts so he holds out a hand. “Give it back.”

There, that sounds more like him. Strong and confident and definitely more like the Shield he was meant to be. Still, he wished he could have had some water or something. He was damned parched and his throat was itchy, dry, and hoarse.

“Here.”

Gladio half suspected Igs to keep it or try and put it on himself, but instead, those lithe hands place the ring gingerly in Gladio’s plam. Thank the Six. If Igs had put it on or even knew a fraction of what he held, things could have gone very differently. Everything was so out of place, but at least he hadn’t lost the fucking thing. Leaning back into bed, Gladio felt tired again.

“You should get some more rest. I’ll be here when you wake to answer any questions,” Igs said, eyes gentle.

“W-Water?” Gladio asked, not caring if this was the enemy and if they drugged the water fine. He would probably just fall asleep anyway after he drank a bit.

“Ice chips for you and Noct,” Prompto said, handing Igs a cup full of the stuff. Great, more ice. “Doc says you won’t be on solid food for another week either. So just take easy.”

Gladio nods. For now, he’ll accept their reassurance if only to bide his time. When he has his voice back he’ll ask a few more questions, but for now, he is satisfied with Igs putting an ice chip to his lips.

Gladio woke again, this time there’s more weight on top of him, but he is finally warm. Opening his eyes, he sees the white walls of the room, but the beeping has finally gone away. Did they not need heart monitors anymore? Where they okay now? Gods, he hoped so. Taking stock of his body once more, he’s relieved to see that he can move a little better than before and his body is no longer as sore. To his left Noct was still sleeping with Prompto dosing in the chair he occupied the last time. Gladio wasn’t surprised to see Igs sitting in the chair by his own bed either, but rather bemused at Igs’ glasses practically hanging at the edge of his nose and head slumped forward.

How long had he slept this time? He couldn’t be sure. There were no windows here. Which should have concerned him, but at the moment he was thankful. It meant no one could see him and that meant privacy. Maybe they didn’t know Noct was royalty and then again, maybe they did and this was a precaution. But with everyone asleep, Gladio had no one to stop him from thinking. No one to distract him from his thoughts.

Dad.

Iris.

Crownsguard.

Kingsglaive.

Every one of the rebels who had survived since then.

He doubted any of them still existed. Not even Cor the Immortal could have survived. Right? Astrals take him, he could feel the stinging in his eyes before the tears finally fell. He’d never see any of them again. A gentle hand is on his, making him flinch as he took a shuddering breath. Glancing at the hand, he can tell it’s Igs despite his blurred vision. Some shield he was, crying in front of a stranger. Gritting his teeth, Gladio willed the tears to stop.

“Gladio....” Igs spoke softly, if only to comfort him, or keep Prompto or Noct from hearing, Gladio doesn’t know. “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot it seems and holding it in will only worsen matters.”

Gladio swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“H-How--” he cleared his throat before trying again. “How long have we been asleep?”

“I’m afraid a thousand years, Gladio.”

He choked back another sob. That long? No, it couldn’t be. Why had they stayed asleep for so long? Was that really the plan?

“I....I don’t know exactly how to tell you this, Gladio, but Lucian, the language you tried to talk to me in first, that language has long since died. Niflheim has made sure of that. I work as an assistant to a scientist, who is very intrigued by history and past sciences. Prompto is a friend of mine, who documents her findings and so generally goes along with me when I do research. We happened upon your cyrovat first. It took years to decipher what the words on the screen said.”

Igs repositioned his glasses, but the hand on Gladio’s never wavered.

“When he found out there was another, we immediately searched for Noct. Only when we were certain you two could be brought out of your status without harming you or the structures, we finally started the process.”

“Structures?” Gladio said, interrupting Igs. “What do you mean the structures? And why doesn’t this place have windows?”

The hand on top of Gladio’s squeezed his. “Insomnia as you know it is no longer here, Gladio. Insomnia is now just ruins and I’m sorry, but there is an outpost that was built on top of it. What you might have considered your home is now what we consider the catacombs. When we found your cryovat, the building was sound enough. But Noct, his cryovat was not exactly in the same condition. Some of the building was coming down and there apparently was something wrong with his console. When I read that if one of you was woken the other would as well, we had to take precautions.”

Gladio breathed deep, trying to take in what Igs was telling him. If it wasn’t for the two cryovats connected, it meant that Noct might not have ever been able to wake up. Shit.

“It took another week before you started to --defrost? I suppose that would be the easiest of terms to put it. We monitored your vitals the entire time and ensured you were both stable. But as I dug into the files more and more, I’ve found it rather difficult to decipher some of what was written. Please, why were you put into the cryovat in the first place, you and his highness?”

So they knew. They knew Noct was royalty. The last of his line. The last prince of Insomnia, or what was left of it.

“....Noct and I....we were...” Gladio bit his lip trying to find the words. Igs had given him the answers he had sought, the right thing would be to give him the same answers in return. “King Regis decided it was best to have us frozen. Something about a better future if we were. Dad agreed with him and volunteered me along with him. We were supposed to still have time.” He gripped the sheets tighter. “When I was being frozen, I saw my d-dad....he-...he was struck down and there was nothing I could do for him.”

Igs shifted to scoot his chair closer to the bed, green eyes gentle when Gladio looked at him. Neither spoke, but just having Igs there was enough. Gladio let the tears fall, his body curling towards the stranger, who didn’t judge him. There was no accusation of being weak or being told to buck up. He was allowed to be human. He was allowed to grieve what he had lost even if it didn’t feel like a thousand years had passed. When the tears finally subsided, Gladio relaxed in the bed. He hated this. All of it and he couldn’t even go work out to relieve some of the pressure he felt because he was stuck in the bed.

“--Gladiolus.”

Gladio blinked, focusing back on Igs.

“Ah, I’ve found you. You were far away. It’s best not to think too much right now. You and his highness have been through a lot and I assure you, no one knows of your actual status. When we told our scientist we had found something of interest, we told her the machines weren’t working. She works for Niflheim, you see. We technically all do, but some of us....well,” he shrugs.

Shit. Niflheim was still at large? Gladio made to move, to try and summon his weapon from the Amiger, but he was in no state to do so and Igs had his hands on his shoulder again. Nothing but gentle touches and concern in those green eyes. Was there still a resistance?

“Gladio, please. Stop trying to make your recovery longer. You are safe here.” Igs relaxed back into his seat, his hands folded in his lap. “The only ones who know you are awake, are Prompto, the medical team, one other person, and myself. But you have no fear there, they have no loyalties to Niflheim either. Finding them was rather difficult and obtaining their help was even more so, but we knew if we brought you out of your cryostasis, we would be dealing with something rather important.”

“Who’s the other person?” Gladio stiffened a little. He still needed to be a shield to Noct.

“A man by the name of Nyx Ulric. Fear not, he is a good man. You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s the one who provided us with the necessary information to create the Lucian translation we are using now. He wouldn’t let me have the necessary books without knowing why.” Igs sighed before going wide-eyed. “Oh dear. Forgive me, Gladio. It seems with everything happening, you know everyone’s name but mine. My name is Ignis Scientia.”

Ignis? So, Prompto was using a nickname, figures. They must really be close then.

“Nice to meet you....I guess,” Gladio said with a shrug of his shoulder. He’s tired again, but he doesn’t want to sleep. He’s afraid. He’s afraid, now that he was more aware, the nightmares would start. They always did. “So, what happens now?”

“Now? We help you two recover. After that, well....it’s up to you I suppose. I doubt you’ll want to turn yourselves over to the empire, but then again, there are other dangers out there now that I’m sure were not there when you were last in your crowned city, Gladio. Perhaps we had best wait until you can move about before talking about what happens next aside from rest and regaining your strength.”

There’s no need for Ignis to hold his hand. There was no reason for Ignis to show him any sort of compassion. Gladio knows that, but he misses the feeling of those lithe hands on his, now slightly colder than he remembered. Maybe now that he was more awake, he was starting to retain his usual body heat. Good signs. He was healing.

Gladio gave a non-committed grunt in response, not sure where else to take the conversation at this point. Watching Ignis fiddle with a watch on his wrist, Gladio couldn’t help but find himself closing his eyes again. Next time, he would keep them open longer. He needed to get stronger for both Noct and himself. Noct would want to take back what belonged to him, but the how would be the problem.

[runwiththieves-blog]

I’M GONNA DO A QUICK LIL INTRODUCTION HERE SISTERS! bc i’m lame and new!!! well i’m not new to the fandom etc but this is a fresh blog and this is the first time i’ve ever posted my writings anywhere for the general public (who happens to be searching for harry styles smut) can read it and I’M GEEKIN TBQH!! anyway, hi hello – i have a name, but im gonna let u guys call me T, even tho my name starts w H. H would get too confusing should this work out the way i’m hoping it will! so i’m T. and i like writing and harry styles and so i thought i, along with everyone i scream about H to in the wee hours of the night, would probably find it beneficial if i had blog where i could do that and ppl who actually want to read about how i want him to spit in my mouth! i’ve been a silent lurker of the tags for awhile now (shoutout to @stylesunchained, @permanentcross, @jawllines, @canistay-haz for the inspo behind me finally making this godforsaken blog) (please be my friend) (i’m very intimidated by all of u). so yeah i hope this works out, and if not then it was fun to share this little bit of a something with all of u! and if it does then i’ll likely post a pt 2 to this!  if u like it like/reblog if ur into the kinda thing ig :) also my praise kink is jsut as alive as harrys and my ask box is always open to discuss either one <3

“Pet,” he starts, and you smile, because after a long moment of just standing there and listening to each other breathe, you hear the familiar nickname and know you’ve got him back. “You are the meanest, most stubborn, woman ’ve ever met. Got a bloke full on puttin’ himself out there in front ‘f thousands, 'nd you run away. Same bloke tells ya’ exactly what he means even after that, 'nd ya’ tell me I don’t mean it?” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear it. “Tell me how I can prove it to ya’,” he adds before you can get another word in, and he seems to already have a good idea, because his nose is brushing against yours already, but you quickly figure out that it’s going to take you asking for it before he does it, because Harry’s humble, but he has his pride, and you doubt he needs you fucking with it anymore tonight.

“’M going to start screaming if you don’t kiss me in the next three seconds,” you state, and he’s laughing as he presses his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek, and it’s gentle and soft and everything you ever imagined kissing Harry for the first time would be like.

And that’s how you die.

or

Harry’s your best friend and then you realize a lot of things, mostly that you’re an idiot

7k+, smut, overuse of the word ‘because’

It’s when you’re sitting on the couch next to him that you have your ’oh god’ moment where you realize that you’re actually really into him.

Harry hasn’t done anything to provoke this. He’s literally just sitting there, being his angel-like self because he can’t help it, it’s just who he is and you’ve accepted that. He’s beautiful and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. But you can feel it down to your toes when you look over to him and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest because he’s already looking at you, like he knows.

“’S wrong, pet? Not in the mood t'cuddle w'me today?” His voice suddenly breaks the comfortable silence you had fallen into, and you feel yourself flush down to your chest because this is Harry calling you out for being weird with him. You’re pretty sure there’s supposed to be at least a three month pining window before he starts to notice.

He’s Harry, though — not megastar Harry Styles, or the Harry his fans have dreamed up in their fantasy worlds where he takes them on luxury getaways whenever he has downtime (you guess they have no idea that he would rather watch romantic comedies and drink wine on the comfort of his own couch). To you, he’s the Harry who held your hair back while you threw up the first night you met at one of Nick’s parties. He’s the Harry who then proceeded to make his home, whenever he got to hangout with Nick and the rest of his friends, right beside you. He’s the Harry who insists that you sleep in his bed with him whenever you’ve had a bit too much to drink (and when you haven’t), instead of crashing on the couch (there are a gazillion fully furnished bedrooms in his house, you’d never have to crash on the couch, but you always crawl into bed with him instead of pointing that out). He’s the Harry who sort of just wiggled his way into your life and heart four years ago and forced you to be his best mate, whether you liked it or not, because he liked you.

So of course he notices when something is off with you. He always has, so you’re not entirely sure why you thought he wouldn’t notice when you went dead silent and put three miles between the two of you, when you had just been curled up against him like you always were on nights like this (and nights not like this, just kind of whenever the two of you were in the general vicinity of each other).

“Jus’ getting t'be a bit sleepy, I think. Think ’m gonna call it a night soon,” you say, and then you spare a glance to the clock on the wall, and it’s barely half ten, and Harry knew damn well that you almost never fell asleep before midnight, and if you did you’d wake up at three in the morning unable to get back to sleep.

The lie seems to do it’s job, though, because he doesn’t press you for further explanation, despite the fact that he’s looking at you in a way that lets you know he knows you’re bullshitting him and he’s bound to find out whatever it is that’s clearly bothering you. It almost feels like a challenge, but you know that this isn’t a game, and Harry gaining knowledge of your newest revelation would change everything, and probably not for the better.

It’s when you’re putting your answer into action that he presses further, because you’re grabbing for your keys, instead of announcing that you’re going to sleep with a kiss to his cheek, or wherever you can reach, and heading up the stairs to his bedroom. “Y'not staying?” He questions, and he’s got a pointed look about his face, and he really looks genuinely concerned, because you’ve never not stayed after a night like this. “’M supposed to meet m'mum for brunch,” you say, and you know it’s a lame excuse, because you’ve stayed over at Harry’s and went to work the next day with no problem. It also doesn’t help that he knows there’s no way your mum isn’t in town, because she would have texted him and made dinner plans a week in advance. They were close like that and you momentarily hate them for it.

He’s looking you over from where he sits and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more small or intimidated in your life, and all he’s done is look at you. That’s all he’s done all night, really, and you feel like you’re about to claw your way out of your own skin because of it.

The three month pining window would kill you, probably, so scratch that.

“Has anyone ever told you what an awful liar you are? I mean, I know I haven’t, but that’s because you’ve never lied t'me,” he says, and the words send chills all over you skin, because you’ve been maybe not necessarily caught, but he knows there’s something going on, and you don’t know how to get yourself out of this one.

“I’ll cancel,” you finally tell him, accepting defeat, but not admitting to the lie. The fact that there is nothing to cancel isn’t something either of you bring up, even though you both know it.

“Wanna tell me why you’ve been a mile away fr’m me all night, while we’re at it?” He murmurs, and you just shake your head, setting your keys back down on the coffee table and fitting yourself into Harry’s side. “I just didn’t want t'bother you, s'all. You’ve had people all over you for a month now, w'your album 'nd all. Wanted t'give you your space,” you explain, even though you know he’ll see right through that excuse, too, if he really thinks about it, but it’s not nearly as opaque as the brunch thing.

It’s when he calls her cute and tucks her head under his chin that she knows she’s in the clear, for now at least, and she smiles silently. 

—–

You’re in his dressing room helping him get ready for one of his secret shows when it happens again.

It’s nothing different from what you’re usually doing when you get to go to one of his shows, even did it the last couple of years that One Direction toured. You’ve seen all his bits and helped him cover each and every part of them at some point or another, so seeing him without clothes has never had a very strong effect on you (okay, well it did, because you’re human and you’re not blind to the fact that Harry’s gorgeous, but you did a damn good job of hiding it).

And he’s not even naked now, not really — he’s wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, and he’s got his shirt covering his arms, and you’re standing in front of him buttoning (and smirking up at him when he unbuttons one more of the top buttons, even though you know not to even try to start at the top and fix him up proper) from top to bottom, like you always do. It’s become something you just do, no questions asked and for no real reason, because Harry is perfectly capable of buttoning his own shirt. You just like to do it, you suppose, and he’s never had a complaint.

Your fingertips drag across his lower abdomen by accident, before you’ve finished, though, and you swear you feel like your entire body’s on fire, and he hasn’t even touched you.

“I like this shirt,” you tell him as you drag your hands over the fabric covering his tattooed chest to smooth it out. You don’t even know why you said it, it’s like you were trying to distract him from the much more intimate, in your head at least, touch before, even though he probably didn’t even notice or think anything of it if he did.

“’S the ruffles, innit? Makes all the girls wild f'me,” he says, and you know he’s teasing, but his smirk lets you believe for just a moment that he’s flirting with you.

He’s not. It’s something you decide quite easily for the both of you, because it’s easier to shut your brain down that way than let it wonder if, maybe, possibly, he might be feeling everything that you are. You’re a very humble and grounded person, and ironically enough, you pride yourself in being just that. You wouldn’t dare let yourself believe that Harry Styles would ever have any romantic interest in you.

“’S too bad I only care that this one’s wild about it,” he says, kissing your cheek, but it’s so close to your lips, just barely brushing against the corner of your mouth, that you feel dizzy from more than just his statement.

Well. Maybe that changes things little bit.

Because you’re the only one in the room with him, so it’s not like there’s some other girl lurking in the shadows that you didn’t know about. Also, he almost kissed you. Like, really kissed you. Mouth to mouth. Does he know he almost did that? Does he know that you feel like you’re going to pass out the more you think about it? Also, what does that even mean? Why does he only care that you’re 'wild’ about him? There are so many questions and you feel like you’re going to start screaming any second, so you decide a shot of tequila is the best option right now.

–

You’re standing at the side of stage when you realize there’s no coming back from this.

He’s performing 'Woman’ and you don’t think you’ve ever witnessed anything as provocative as this. He’s really into the song, is the thing, and you’re certain he could tell any girl in the building to drop her panties for him, and they would in a heartbeat. You’ll pretend that you aren’t part of that group.

Until he’s looking to the side of the stage, like he’s looking for someone, and once his gaze finds yours and stays there, you realize it’s you that he was looking for.

And oh. Oh.

You are definitely, undeniably part of the Drop-Your-Panties-For-Harry-Styles group. Very much so, indeed. 

He’s got the microphone stand between his legs and he’s practically grinding against it as he just stares at you — he’s been doing that a lot lately, and that’s another one of the many realizations you’ve had in the past week with Harry.

You swear you nearly pass out when he sings the line ’you flower, you feast,’ with the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen before he’s looking back towards the crowd.

And then you have to go. You have to leave and go to his dressing room for the rest of the song, at the very least, because you’re so fucking confused. Where did all of this even come from? Why is he suddenly acting as if he just can’t resist you anymore, like he’s been longing for you this whole time. Was he just lonely? Horny and unwilling to put any effort into finding someone to get his fix with? Was it just a joke? Because the ache in your heart and between your legs was no joke.

You consider leaving the entire establishment when you hear the beginning chords of the last song on the setlist, so that you don’t have to face him afterwards, but instead you find your way back to the side of the stage and watch proudly as your best friend absolutely rips this crowd apart with his talent. You want to cry sometimes because you’re so proud of Harry, you really do. You think you probably will when he heads off on his first headlining tour in a few months. Cry because you’re proud, but also because you’ll be without him for the majority of those three months. The thought tugs at something in your chest, probably your heart, and it makes your eyes sting just for a second, until you’ve pushed the tears off for the moment.

For now, you’re watching on with a smile you just can’t help as he belts out the last few lines of 'Sign of the Times,’ and you want to join in, but you’d die if his microphone were to pick up your awful howling, as well. So, you wait for the end, and then you cheer and scream with the rest of the crowd in front of him. You notice that he spares a glance back at you, and you send him a nod back as you continue your cheering, watching as he practically personally thanks each and every fan in the crowd until the stage has gone dark and the lights in the main establishment have come up, and everyone’s pushing and shoving their way out.

You’re grinning because the star of the whole goddamn show is walking over to you before he is anyone else, and you’re beaming as you wrap your arms around his neck. “You were fucking incredible,” you tell him against his neck, and you take the kiss to the top of your head as an acceptable way to say 'thank you.’

–

It’s when the two of you are back in his dressing room that you feel the tension build again, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you replay his question over and over again: “Where did you go after 'Woman?’”

You want to scream, shout, throw things; not because you’re angry, but because when the hell did Harry get so confrontational? Or was it just something he was doing because you were being noticeably weird with him?You don’t like it at all, despite the fact that you’re always telling him he needs to speak up more. You never meant with you. 

“Had to use the loo,” is the answer you give him, and he cocks an eyebrow at you not a moment after you’ve spoken.

“You feelin’ okay, then? You were gone for four songs after that, and I talk a lot,” he says, and it’s so matter-of-fact that you know he sees right through you, just like he had the other night when you told him you were going to brunch with your mum.

When you don’t say anything for a minute, he presses on, stepping closer to you. “I don’t understand what you’re tryin’ so hard t'hide from me, babe. First the other night, now this — what’s going on?” He questions, and his stare is intense, and it wouldn’t be if were anyone else, but as always, he’s Harry.

“I’m fine, H, just have a lot on m'mind,” you try, feeling absolutely defeated, because try as you might, it really is impossible to lie to Harry, especially when he’s looking at you the way he is. He knows something is up, because you’ve never hidden anything from him. He knew your deepest, darkest secrets three days into your friendship. He knows more about you than any of your exes ever have, and you think that could be part of what scares you so much about him. You feel like if he ever finds out, the chances of you losing him are far greater, and the idea puts a pain in your chest, because what would you ever do without Harry?

You can’t help but miserably stutter and stumble over your words when he asks you who you’ve been thinking about, rather than what, but what catches you even more off guard is him stepping until he’s nearly got you pinned against the wall of his dressing room, and you’re breathing is heavy as you stare up at this beautiful, sweaty boy who just wants to know why you’ve been treating him so differently.

“You’re all I’ve been thinkin’ about, 'f that’s any sort of encouragement,” he tells you, and you want to speak, you do — you want to say something, fucking anything, but you’re frozen and your heart is about to beat right out of your chest.

“You don’t mean that,” is what you say, for whatever reason, and you feel awful as soon as you see the way Harry’s eyebrows furrow and his lips form into a tight line, but he’s not moving away from you at all. If it were possible, you feel like you’re drowning in him even more so.

“I — of course I fucking mean it,” he argues, his eyes unmoving from yours. “I can’t believe you’d fucking say that. Have you not noticed that I spend every bit of free time I have with you? You’re the first and last person I talk to every morning and every night, and the first person I run to when I have news, 'r just something to say. You’re the first person out of everyone I know that I run to after I come off stage — of-fucking-course you’re all I think about,” he says, and although his words are nice and make you feel all warm inside, he sounds angry, and that scares you, because Harry’s never been actually angry with you.

“Harry, I — I’m sorry,” you say, and your voice is nearly a whisper and you feel like crying, because he was honest with you, and you all but said you didn’t believe him, and honestly, how could you be such an idiot? You’ve got the most beautiful man in the world standing in front of you, telling you you’re all he thinks about, and you tell him he doesn’t mean it — who does that?

“I really — I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just — it’s kinda’ hard t'believe, innit? That the person you’ve got feelings for has them for you, too?” And you realize there really is no going back after you’ve said that out loud, but hopefully it could fix what’s just happened here if he knows the only reason you said it is because it’s just a tad bit unbelievable.

“Pet,” he starts, and you smile, because after a long moment of just standing there and listening to each other breathe, you hear the familiar nickname and know you’ve got him back. “You are the meanest, most stubborn, woman ’ve ever met. Got a bloke full on puttin’ himself out there in front 'f thousands, 'nd you run away. Same bloke tells ya’ exactly what he means even after that, 'nd ya’ tell me I don’t mean it?” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear it. “Tell me how I can prove it to ya’,” he adds before you can get another word in, and he seems to already have a good idea, because his nose is brushing against yours already, but you quickly figure out that it’s going to take you asking for it before he does it, because Harry’s humble, but he has his pride, and you doubt he needs you fucking with it anymore tonight.

“’M going to start screaming if you don’t kiss me in the next three seconds,” you state, and he’s laughing as he presses his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek, and it’s gentle and soft and everything you ever imagined kissing Harry for the first time would be like.

And that’s how you die.

–

At least, you thought you were dead because you’re pretty certain Harry’s pillowy soft lips are what Heaven is made out of, and if you were experiencing those, you had to be dead, right?

Except now, he’s got you in the back of a car, and his hand is sliding up your thigh, beneath your skirt, and it’s then, with his lips on yours, that it happens again.

You realize that he’s probably not going to be able to come back from this, either. You don’t know when it happened, or why it seems that you both had the realization that you’re fucking mad about each other at the exact same time (not that it isn’t convenient, it’s just strange), but you’re here with him and it feels like he’s using his mouth to promise a lot more than just a few heated kisses.

You pray that this isn’t just some dare, or an adrenaline thing, because you’d have to be blind or just not paying attention to not see that Harry gets hard each and every time he performs to a crowd. Like, fully erect, you’d noticed, and of course you had always teased him for his evident praise kink (’even the twitter fans know, Harry, it’s not a secret’).

But from the way he’s pulling away to whisper praises in your own ear, about how badly he wants you and all that he wants to do to you, how long he’s wanted to do these things to you, you’re starting to realize that this is very real and you aren’t being fucked with at all.

Well, you will be, hopefully, but in an entirely different sense of the word.

You’ve somehow found your way onto Harry’s lap now, because apparently the silently pining over each other thing did a bang up job of sexually frustrating both of you, so you jumped at the opportunity. If you died in a car accident on the lap of Harry Styles with his tongue down your throat, so be it.

–

It’s only five minutes later when you realize you’ve pulled into the driveway, but it feels like it’s been hours, and your lipstick has gone to hell already, and your shirt is hanging off your shoulders, and so is Harry’s because as it turns out: you’re just as good at unbuttoning his shirts as you are at buttoning them.

Despite your messy states, you both thank the driver as you exit the vehicle, and the rush to get to his front door would be funny to absolutely anyone else, but you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get into bed with someone. Hell, he could get the door opened, closed, and locked again and take you in the corridor and you wouldn’t care. You don’t need a bed, you need his cock. And then you wonder when your self conscious started talking like a porn star.

“Are you goin’ to laugh a'me 'f I try t'dirty talk you?” He asks, and it’s a ridiculous question, because he has no idea how much you’ve fantasized about being the one he’s whispering filth to. “Absolutely not,” is of course your answer, and it’s breathless and you’ve already let your shirt hit the floor, and you’re dropping your skirt at the bottom of the stairs, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, which are totally cotton and not matching and not sexy at all, but Harry doesn’t seem to care, because he’s pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and is picking you up to carry you up the stairs a second later.

“Take me t'bed, please,” you murmur in his ear, kissing along his jaw with your arms and legs wrapped tight around him. Everything about this is so, so, so urgent and is happening so fast, and you wish you could slow it down, even if only for a second, because it’s all so much, but it’s not enough at the same time. And you kind of want it to be perfect and remember every little thing, as cheesy as that really is.

He’s got you on his bed in no time, though, and you’re practically shaking, because that’s when it happens again. That’s when you realize this is really about to happen. You’re about to fuck your best friend, and the thought should be terrifying, if for no other reason than all that you’re risking in doing so, but you’re smiling up at him as you grasp the nape of his neck and pull him down towards you so that he’s fitting between your legs and his lips are back on yours for the first time since you got out of the car. “Want you,” you whisper against his mouth, and you realize when you press up against him that there’s no foreplay even needed, because you’re already soaked through the fabric of your panties, and you can still feel where he’s been hard since he left the stage tonight.

“’S that — do you want that?” You ask, and it’s sudden and probably sounds ridiculous, considering the situation you’re currently in, but you think it’s an important question to ask. “This, I mean. Me,” you clarify, blinking up at him, and you doubt seriously that he thinks your awkward quirkiness is cute at all right now, no matter how many times he’s implied how adorable you are because of it.

“You’re the most ridiculous person I know,” is his answer, and you’re starting to think you’ve heard more insults tonight than compliments, which is weird because you always thought Harry would be the type to tell you that you’re beautiful and kiss every inch of your skin. Turns out, he’s still just as good at picking at you even when he’s got you pinned to his bed and your lips swollen from kissing him so much. “Yes, I want that. This. You,” he says after a moment, and you’re blushing as he repeats your own words back to you in confirmation.

“I want you to fuck me, Harry,” is the next thing out of your mouth, because apparently filters don’t exist anymore, and he shrugs before shaking his head. “Was hoping t'get my mouth on you first, actually,” he tells you, licking over his lips, and you’d swear it was for dramatic effect, but it was also really ridiculously hot, so you can’t even be mad at him for being a walking cliché.

As much as you want to argue with that, because you want him inside of you now (and you also argue with him about whatever it is he wants to do before you eventually give up and do it), he’s looking at you like he might die if he doesn’t have his mouth on your cunt in the next two minutes. How could you deny him, really? It’d be wrong and unjust. 

Or: you really want his mouth on you, too, but you’re willing to let Harry seem more desperate to please you than you are desperate for him to eat you out, even though you’re certain that’s not the truth by any small means.

You don’t know when he took his pants off or your underwear, you must have missed it, unfortunately, but you’re watching him as he kisses over your thighs, and you feel sort of like you just got to fast forward to the good part. It’s when he licks over you completely and presses harder on the upstroke against your clit that you know that’s what happened.

You don’t know if you moan or if you scream, because you’ve tuned everything that isn’t Harry’s mouth on you and the little noises he makes against you all the way out, and you feel a little bit like you’re floating as he sucks at your clit, and your hands had flown to his hair the second he’d started that.

“Fuck, Harry, please,” you whine, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you know you need more of anything he’s willing to give you. “Taste so good, baby. ’S it feel as good as y'taste?” He murmurs against you, and his voice vibrating against you may be hotter than anything you could possibly think up for him to do to you — and you’ve thought of a lot. All you can do is nod and give his hair a tug, grinding up against his mouth, and you wonder if he notices that you’re practically riding his face while he fucks his tongue into you, licking in and around your entrance, and you could cry from how good he’s making you feel. But also because it’s Harry who is doing this to you.

It’s the Harry who would rather stay in and cuddle with you than go to a party packed with A-listers. It’s Harry, whose preferred method of clearing out a cake batter bowl before putting it in the dishwasher, is the the two of you licking it clean. Harry, who would do anything and everything for you, and never make you feel like it was anything less than what he wanted to do. It’s Harry, and he’s told you a million times how much he loves you, and even if you roll your eyes at the sentiment from time to time, you know he means it, and you always say it back.

“Harry,” you say, looking down to him and the pleasure is almost overwhelming, so it pains you to make him stop, but you just want to be as close to him as humanly possible. He can devour your cunt afterwards, or later, or something. You’ll fit him into your schedule. “I — Harry, up. Come back up here, please,” and your voice is cracking, so you swallow as you look down at him, and you don’t know why you’re near tears, but you definitely are, can feel them welling in your eyes.

“What is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?” He whispers, holding you by your wrists, his thumbs gliding against the skin soothingly. “Why’re you cryin’, sweetheart? Talk t'me, please,” he murmurs, and he sounds so panicked, and it makes you feel bad because how could he ever think he’s done something wrong? This perfect, wonderful, amazing man hovering over you is clearly unaware of how fantastic he truly is. He’s looking at you with concern in his eyes, and you know he wants to comfort you, especially when you feel the warm tears trickling down your cheeks, because it’s Harry, and he won’t leave your side for hours if he ever catches you crying. Which, you don’t mind so much. But you know he needs his answer now, or he’s going to end up thinking he’s done something wrong, or to hurt you, and it’ll all be over, and you refuse to let that happen.

“No, no, no — ’m fine. Perfect, actually, just — I love you, ’s all,” is what you say, and you give him a watery smile, even when your voice gets a bit quieter and doesn’t sound nearly as rushed there at the end, because you know he knows that, especially now. There’s no way he could ever doubt it, you don’t think. He lets out a throaty laugh as he pushes his hair back where it’s fallen against his forehead, his hands dropping down to yours, holding them tightly as he leans down to kiss you for maybe the hundredth time since you first started about an hour ago, even though it feels like it’s been a lifetime. “I love you, too, you silly girl,” he assures, kissing you once again.

“No, Harry — I mean I really love you,” you murmur, breaking the kiss for a second just to say that, because you need him to know that it’s not just something you’re saying, or even being said in the same sense as you’ve always told each other. He’s looking at you with an amused expression and shaking his head, but in the fond way that doesn’t hurt your feelings. “That’s what I’ve always meant, Y/N,” he confesses, and it hits you like a ton of bricks, because it really feels like everything suddenly makes sense and all is right in the world, a love song is playing in the distance (and it’s not just in your head, so you must have missed when he turned that on, too), all the dumb things that are said in books and movies are happening to you, and you want to appreciate the moment for what it is, but you’re also going to scream if he doesn’t fuck you into his mattress soon. There’s time for talking later.

“Please, please, please fuck me. Now. Please,” and you don’t realize you’re begging for him until you’re begging for him, and it has you blushing down to your chest. “Haven’t even gotten m'dick out yet, 'nd you’re already beggin’ f'me? Love me that much?” He teases, because of course he does, but you look up at him with a new sort of determination your eyes.

You’ve got your hand on the bulge of his briefs not a second later, working over him through the fabric, and it makes your legs spread instinctively when you feel the patch of wet where the head of his cock is pressed against the fabric. It’s then that you decide you’ve had enough, and you’re doing your damnedest to try and push his boxers down. You eventually give up and he laughs and stands to tug them the rest of the way down, and it almost sounds animated, the way you gasp when you see him bare, hard, and leaking for you.

It’s not that you didn’t know Harry was a monster — he’s woken up with enough morning wood pressed against your ass and your thigh for you to be more than completely aware of just what you’re getting yourself into (or what’s getting into you, actually). But knowing it’s all for you and because of you that he’s this hard is a lot to take in.

“Y'still wan’ me?” The question catches you off guard, but you nod almost too enthusiastically for it to be anything other than embarrassing. “Tell me,” is the next thing he says, and your eyebrows knit together in obvious confusion, but your features soften as he lays you back against the bed again and offers more information on what he’s wanting from you exactly. “Tell me how bad you want my cock inside your wet cunt,” he says, and it makes you bite your lip to keep from moaning, just because Harry’s filthy, as it turns out, and your thighs are glistening with how wet you are from it all. “Want it so bad, Harry. Want — wanna’ feel you, please, all of you, every goddamn inch of your cock. Wan’ you t'fuck me until I can’t take anymore,” you whisper, and it seems to have done the trick, because the head of his cock catches on your entrance where he’s sliding between your folds, and you can feel him start to press inside of you.

You really think you could blackout when you feel the whole of him settled snugly inside of you, but it’s not until he starts to move that you have dig your nails into his shoulders and drag them down his back as he fucks back into you. “Fuck me,” you moan, your head tossed back and your hips grinding up against his. It feels so good, is the thing — he’s so big, not just his cock, but everywhere, and he’s got you pinned to the mattress as he drives into you somewhat relentlessly, and he’s stretching you so wonderfully, because he’s thick, too, and it hurts in the best kind of way.

“Wanna’ ride you.” The words leave your lips before you’ve given them permission, but Harry’s smirking at you wickedly, so clearly he’s on board with the idea. You know he is when he’s pulled out of you (and you want to die because of that) and he’s got you on top of himself now and is unhooking your bra. “Feel like I owe your tits a personal apology for not paying attention t'them sooner,” he tells you, and you lean down to kiss his stupid mouth, rocking back over his cock. You tease him like that for a long minute, just grinding against him and feeling him against you, before you’ve decided that you quite miss the feeling of him inside of you.

You start to tell him that, but then it hits you that you’ve got the power now, so you take him into your hand after that, lining him up, and you sink down on him slowly, smiling into the kiss you’re giving him, because you can’t even begin to count the number of times you’ve dreamed of this moment exactly. It feels so good to be fucking yourself on Harry’s cock, and you don’t pass up the opportunity to tell him that this time. It makes him groan as he stares up at where you’re properly bouncing on him, and you notice when his eyes drop down to watch where he’s fucking in and out of your pussy, and you swear you feel him twitch inside of you at the sight. “Takin’ me so well,” he praises, and apparently you’ve got a bit of a praise kink, as well, and you throw your head back when you feel him begin to thrust up into you, the head of him nudging against your most sensitive part each time. “Harry, fuck,” you breathe, your fingers curling and nails digging into his chest.

You’re so torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to hear everything he has to say, that you’ve settled for just kissing his neck and his jaw, leaving a lovebite or two in your wake, listening while he tells you how beautiful you are (you were right, he is into that), how good you feel, how you’re going to make him cum, and God — you hadn’t even allowed the reality of that sink in yet. Through all of this, you had completely forgotten that you had a goal, something you wanted to accomplish, because all you’ve wanted is to be as close as possible to him this whole time.

Now, however, you really want to make him cum, and you want it inside you (you’re very much on birth control and if you were to get pregnant, having a baby with Harry wouldn’t be the end of the world, and he wouldn’t be the first former member of One Direction to become a father). “Want you t'cum inside me, yeah? Fill me up,” you tell him, and you feel it when his grip on your hips tightens and he helps you fuck yourself over him faster. “Not until you cum on my cock,” he replies, and you clench around him at that, fucking down harder each time. “Need y'to touch me,” you whisper, grabbing for his wrist and guiding his hand towards your clit, “here.”

Your moans get louder the second he presses the pads of his fingers to your clit, rocking your hips harder, with more determination to get off. “I wanna cum,” you whine, and you want it so bad, now that you’ve remembered that’s part of all of this, that you could cry. You were a bit spoiled when it comes to getting your with Harry, you could say, because his fingers are quick and just right on your little bundle of nerves, rubbing in tight circles and applying just enough pressure. “Know y'wanna cum, baby. Wan’ y'to. Wanna feel y'squeezin’ me,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing over your ear. “Can y'do that f'me, angel? Come for me,” he continues, but his voice is so low and he sounds just as wrecked as you feel, and you can feel his lips brushing your skin as he speaks.

And then you’re pretty fucking sure you did, in fact, die this time.

Everything goes black, your lips parted in a silent scream, but not because you’re not trying, but everything feels too fucking good and you can’t even make a sound, aside from the pathetic sobs you’re letting out into his shoulders. You can feel your cunt pulsing around him, your clit throbbing beneath his fingers, and you’re sure he’s drenched with you, but it evens out because you feel him releasing inside you not even a minute later.

This time you moan his name, grinding yourself on his cock while he empties himself inside of you, fucking him through his orgasm, despite how tired and sensitive you are, praising him and thanking him with each and every movement, milking him for all he’s worth as you listen intently to the string of curses and your name falling from his lips.

You feel him dripping down your thighs the moment you slide off of his cock, but you only move to straddle the lower part of his torso, making a mess of his abs, and you can’t begin to explain how little care about that when you lean down to kiss him. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you don’t know why you say it, but it feels like something that needs to be said, because you are thankful for everything that’s just happened.

“I love you,” is his response, a smile tugging the corners of his lips up, and you can’t help but kiss him again. “For how long?” You question, and you’re about to explain what you mean, because you just want to know how long he’s known he loved you, like this, but he answers you with “probably forever” before you can elaborate, and it makes your heart skip a beat. He’s decided to answer the question in the ‘how long are you going to love me’ sense, you realize.

You blink down at him, like you’re surprised, but he’s just wearing his signature smirk and you feel a bit lightheaded. He seems so sure of everything he’s told you in the last day or so, and it’s so scary, but it makes you wonder how long he’s felt this way and how he figured out that you finally realized that you felt this way, too. Was he sitting on the couch beside you, staring at you instead of paying attention to The Great British Bake Off, too?

“How’d you figure out that I was just cranky ‘cos I realized ‘m in love w’you?” Is the next question you ask, and he shrugs, staring up at you and letting his fingertips drifts over your skin. “Jus’ know you, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “‘Nd I remembered how red y’had gotten when y’mum told y’that we’d end up t’gether, ‘nd then y’started tryin’ t’push me away, ‘nd I knew you’d realized she was right. Plus, I did the same bit t’you when I realized. Remember when I’d hardly talk t’ya’ when I was in Jamaica? Wasn’t just ‘cos I needed t’focus on m’album,” he explains, and you laugh, because everything really does make sense now. 

You’re laying down beside him, curled into his side in what has always been your favorite position when you speak again. “I love you, too,“ you nearly whisper, and you’ve got a smile curling your lips, your hand wrapped around his wrist and your other arm slung over his chest where you’re resting your chin to look up at him. “Probably forever.”