#somebody who would be willing to beat up someone who hurt me. to have a person outside of me who could hold me and keep me safe and shelter

[tagiscool]

Girls when they are hit with the overwhelming urge to be held and protected

[etaleah]

Seems like there are some headcanons about Shadow being tortured or otherwise mistreated/abused by Gerald and the other scientists, so naturally there’s folks saying, “There’s no evidence for it! That never happened!”

But here’s the thing: there’s more than one kind of torture. And I would argue there’s more evidence than you’d think.

When we think about torture, our brains tend to default to the most extreme examples, like water boarding and cracking a whip, but those aren’t the only ways to torture somebody. It’s worth remembering that Gerald literally implanted false memories into Shadow’s brain. He made it so that Shadow could not trust his own memory. His own head was lying to him. He thought an altered memory of Maria was real. How is screwing with someone’s memory and mind like that not a form of torture?

It’s also worth remembering that Gerald Robotnik and presumably his research team were VERY willing to cross or at least bend ethical lines to get what they wanted. They were willing to make a literal deal with the devil, potentially sacrificing all of humanity in the process. They did the same thing that the parents in My Sister’s Keeper did, create a living being with the intention of saving another living being, without any thought to how the created living being would feel about that. Gerald refers to Shadow as “It” in his diary in SA2, revealing that he did not see him as a person. And this is without even getting into the fact that Gerald was crazy enough to blow up the whole world because of what a few military folks did. A plan that would have gotten Shadow killed too and almost did, not that he cared.

You’re telling me that guy wouldn’t have been willing to medically abuse Shadow and insist it was justified because Maria?

To me, the most interesting what-ifs about Shadow being mistreated on the Ark are situations where he doesn’t know he’s being mistreated, because he trusts the people around him to have his best interests at heart, since at this point he has very limited life experience and doesn’t think he has any reason not to.

Do I think Gerald or the scientists ever took off their belts and beat him? No. There wouldn’t have been any reason for that and Shadow wouldn’t have allowed it. But do I think they could have crossed a few more ethical lines during their tests and research on Shadow? Absolutely.

I could see them getting Shadow’s consent to do a blood test and then taking a little more blood than they actually needed to see what else they could do with it, not caring that it would weaken him or make him dizzy. I could see them telling Shadow that a procedure is for Maria’s cure when it’s actually for weapons development, or telling him something won’t hurt when it will, and then acting like they didn’t know. I could see them knowingly pushing Shadow past his limits during the testing/training and then insisting he just wasn’t trying hard enough. I could see them not offering him pain relievers even though he’s in pain because how else will they get an accurate measurement of the ultimate life form’s endurance and healing capabilities? And hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? They don’t have to tell him that pain relievers are an option.

You’d be surprised at how well abusive family members can hide their abuse. Sometimes they hide it so well that not even the victim knows they’re doing it.

And honestly? I think there’s a reason that, out of all the people who would have been on the Ark, Maria is the only person Shadow misses. I think there is definitely a reason he never mentions missing anyone else.

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Potion Accidents: Yuu get´s turned into a Child *Bonus Vil*

it´s 798 words and sorry is Vil is ooc also I decided to write for him because I thought Vil looking after a Child Prefect could be funny as fuck, also would have released it with the others but it got a bit to close time wise for my taste

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vil truly doesn´t care about Children, most of the time that is sometimes he thinks they are adorable little creatures but other times he can´t help but to be completely disgusted by them and it might be unfair to judge Children by someone who isn´t one anymore and was just turned into one because of an accident involving a certain trio that needs some brain cells…

but he shouldn´t get side tracked the reason he´s disgusted by them is the fact they not only keep digging up all the ground around Pomefiore and showing him their dirty hands but also every creature they dug out, he doesn´t now how but they even caught a rabbit this way and Vil had to stop Rook from cooking it in his words “the little Trickster put so much work into catching this creature he has to do something with it” Vil doesn´t know what was more disgusting Rook giving them praise for catching it or him wanting to eat it… actually no him encouraging them to get dirty is a lot worse than the fact that Rook wants to eat a random animal I mean it is Rook so isn´t that big of a surprise

but they are a horrible Child even ignoring their habit to get dirty, they always roll around the ground, put holes in their clothes and Vil even saw them trying to drink the liquid in a thermostat which could have ended fatally for them! and he thought them being an adult was already neglecting their will to survive in favor of all of their insane ideas

but they have some ups too it´s always hilarious to see Epel´s frustration when a Child easily beats him in a fight, they actually can keep Rook entertained for a while, are willing to do some of the more stereotypical ‘feminine’ in air quotes things that the students in Pomefiore do and they gladly follow his beauty routine, their older self could learn a thing or two from their current one in his opinion

but the most important one of all is that they compliment him and happily call him the fairest one of all

“mirror mirror on my wall who´s the fairest one of them all?” was it a bad idea to hang them onto the wall with a clothing rack just so he feels better about their compliments? maybe… but they are having fun and as long as they don´t get hurt everything will be alright

“you are the fairest one of them all your highness there is no one who can beat the Fairest Queen!” the Child was grinning and looked quiet proud of themselves for finally doing a halfway decent job, Vil can´t even comprehend how Yuu has trouble remembering such a short line but they finally did it

Vil plucked them of the wall much to their displeasure which they made quiet obvious by the fact they were trying to kick him away “unless you want to be dropped I recommend stopping this at once, you might be a Child now but I won´t show any more mercy than I usually do” this didn´t stop them of course if anything they tried even harder to land a hit on him and true to his word he dropped them without any regard for their safety… okay this a lie he did make sure the little Potato got a somewhat soft landing but they won´t ever know

they just stared at him for a long while not well doing anything he was a bit concerned now, he would have expected everything from crying to anger but not silence and them being quiet is never a thing but... “AGAIN!” they jumped up without any care that they might have hit him

“inside voice, who do you think you are?”

“throw me again!” they would never learn would they? “no, but if your so eager to torment somebody look for Epel”

“Epel is boring” this got a slight smirk from him, he knows exactly why they think he´s boring and that´s for the simple reason they wanted to play with some dolls one of his Dorm mates had with Epel and he refused no matter how many times they pestered him

“well this something he would surely find fun it so you should try asking him to play with you” they stared at him without blinking again, an odd and slightly scary trait they seemed to have had since their childhood but after a couple of minutes of just staring they shrugged and ran away to look for their next victim

Vil never would have guessed he would ever think these words but he misses the grown up Prefect at least they made less messes than their current one...

[enby-crisis]

Favorite Criminal

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Summary: With everyone ignoring you and your best friend still sick, you snap at Sebastian, while Ominis thinks of a way to fix this mess they pulled you into.

Word Count: 1632

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, and Unforgivables.

A/n: Yeah so this one is hella long but also will have other parts :) Feel free to leave requests. I have too much free time this week and will see what I can do.

You try to be supportive. For Anne. Be there for Sebastian when he needed you. You knew this road he was down was a dangerous one and despite both you and Ominis begging him to be careful- to protect him yourselves, he still was set on a path of destruction with his new best friend. You knew it hurt Ominis more then you that Sebastian spent the whole year choosing someone he just met over the lifetime the two boys shared. Sebastian knew something about this character that you and Ominis couldn't puzzle out. 

Often you and Ominis would sit in the Undercroft later at night and whisper about what you could so to clear Sebastian from the crimes he has already committed with this new student. Thinking of new lies to cover up where those two went sometimes. Ominis didn't want to get his best friend in trouble and you couldn't watch Ominis beat himself up over something that was not even his fault. Though you did have far less involvement in the matter then the pale blonde, since he helped them find the relic in the first place, but he was already blaming himself for that so voicing it would only earn you a sarcastic remark and make him fall deeper into the hole he helped these two dig. 

You tried everything. All of the lies and cover ups are catching up to you and Ominis and after they used the Cruciatus curse on you, then the Imperius curse on Ominis, it was only a matter of time before Sebastian's new accomplice used the killing curse on somebody. Your paranoia was unavoidable nowadays. You felt there were people around you who knew what the two of you were up to. 

You think about running from this. Hiding from the suspicious eyes of professors and students alike. Who knows what these criminals are up to now? Where are they? Who else has this power-driven newbie dragged down with them? You can't focus on studying for your OWLS due to the stress Sebastian's new escapades have clawed into your chest.

It has gotten to the point that Ominis has started to hide things from you. You feel betrayed by the way two boys you've know most of your life cast you aside so easily. Now the only one who tells you anything is Anne.

You miss her everyday. Just being able to take a break from the boys and gossip with another girl. The school still has a spot for her in the dorms. Your dorm. A clean made bed with fresh linins that haven't been in use all year. When you miss her the most you sit on her bed, her name carved into the wooden post of the bed. 

Tonight you cant sleep, you can't handle the feelings anymore and go downstairs to sit at the window. Keep your mind off everything by listening to the water bubbling by the underwater bay window. It is very much your spot so being nearly one in the morning you were not expecting a certain brunette to be sitting there with a strange book.

"What? Telling everybody in our year about the Undercroft wasn't enough for you, you had to steal my spot to?" You snap at him, causing Sebastian to startle before meeting you hard gaze.

"No, I though you would be with Ominis at this hour. And I didn't tell everyone about the Undercroft, just one other." He says, giving you attitude right back with ease.

"Save it. I don't care that much, and why do you think I'd be with Ominis? Did he not tell you?" Your line of questioning confuses him. You scoff. "Oh let me guess. Too busy replacing him with someone who actually enjoys your obsessions?"

"Enjoys?" He puts his book down to talk to you, "Maybe if you and Ominis were more willing to help I wouldn't have had to find someone who was." His anger is evident in his loud tone.

"You are unbelievable you know that." You counter him with a whisper, "I miss her everyday. between you and that- that fifth year making problems for the rest of us and Ominis trying to stop you from getting arrested  I have been left with no one. Have you even asked your sister about what she wants? Have you even seen her? I mean of course you have. With your new best friend! In Feldcroft before Holiday Break. Four months ago."  You stop, catching your breath.

"She is MY sister! No one misses Anne more then I do (Y/n)! I just want what's best for her." He argues.

You roll your eyes, "You want what's best for you Sebastian. Stop going around pretending you care about anyone but yourself. You-"

"Will you two shut it!" Ominis causes both you and Sebastian to turn and face him. "If you don't you will surly wake the whole house. Not to mention it is way past curfew and neither should be down here."

Sebastian grabs his book off the window seat and shoves past you to the boys dorm, knocking into your shoulder as he storms off.

You turn to face Ominis, his face blank, still in his school uniform. "How much of that did you hear?" You use a softer tone with the blonde then you did with his friend.

"I was there the whole time. Waiting for you actually. I'm blind not deaf." He gives a soft smile.

"Sorry." You whisper, embarrassed about your outburst.

"Don't be. I whole-heartedly agree with you." 

You smile at him.

 "However I think there is a time and place to do it."

Your face drops again and with your help, you guild Ominis to sit with you in the bay window.

"When was the last time you two spoke?" Ominis asked, cocking his head to the side.

The last time you have even seen Sebastian was the night at the Scriptorium. You tagged along, much to the dismay of the rest of the party. Sebastian and his companion were more annoyed then anything else, but Ominis was enraged the agreed to let you tag along. When they tried to talk him into using an Unforgivable, on you no less, he was fuming, ranting about you safely and how those two dodo-brains put you in danger. Since then both Sebastian and Ominis have been keeping you at arms length. Ominis less so, he will still have dinner with you and sit with you in classes you still have together but any of his free time is devoted on keeping his only other friend out of Azkaban.

No one really worried about you. Maybe they should have. It wasn't fair on you and Ominis for your only group of friends to split in several different directions and expect a blind guy to fumble the ground for the pieces.

"(Y/n)?" He reaches for your hand. As if you left him. As if you evaporated into smoke.

"That night we went into the Scriptorium." You let him slip his hand into yours, and, though its a platonic gesture, you blush. Hard.

'(Y/n) that was months ago."

"I know." You sigh, "Haven't seen much of our troublemaker since then. Seems he's been avoiding me. Or perhaps I am avoiding him."

"Well then. He definitely deserved that tantrum you threw." Ominis snickers.

You smack his shoulder, "It was not a tantrum!" You huff, but his smile makes you give one in return.

"I would call it a tantrum." He rubs circles into your hand, staring into the blankness that is the other side of the common room. Not that he know.

 "Why were you waiting down here for me? We only ever talk in class now. These meeting only happen when Seb did something wrong." You change the subject, trying to not argue with the only person who still makes an effort to talk to you nowadays.

Ominis shakes his head, "I think they're planning something."

He pauses and you wait for him to continue, knowing it'll be something bad. Your chest tightens with rising anxiety.

"I might need your help to stop him- them," He corrects, "When they went to the catacombs, he was looking for this relic. I think they found it. Sebastian is going back in a few days to test it. he thinks it can cure Anne." 

"I think we should stop helping those two. Let them dig their own graves Ominis." You cut him off before he can explain further.

"Listen I have to go. Not for Sebastian but for Anne. I don't think he is being honest with her." "Why does that not surprise me." You once again interject.

"(Y/n) I- would you please stop interrupting me!" Ominis says, annoyed with the input you give.

"Sorry.." You blush.

"They told Anne I lead them to the Scriptorium alongside you. Sebastian is very careful with his words. Anne thought we knew about what the relic does. I told her what I knew and she did the same. Those two have been lying to all of us! Even each other. It has gotten to where Solomon wants to leave. Move further from the school. We have to stop this before it's to late." "Ominis." You whisper, "I think it's already too late."

When his face drops you know that wasn't what he wanted you to say. For a moment you understand the new fifth year and their willingness to partake in anything Sebastian throws at them. They- much like you- act out of love. You love Ominis and only want him to be happy. This new student must have a crush on your friend. They do what they do because they care about Sebastian. Its toxic but just like them you cave.

"But if you think this is for the best I will help you. I can't promise Anne will to please that either of you dragged me into this. However if you need me there, I'll go."

Ominis smiles.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Im probably not the only one whos gonna request this but!!,I would like to request a continuation of azuls dream!!,im really curious to see where it goes

Azuls Dream (Pt. 2)

Part one

Where Yuu and Azul met eachother in dreams! Gn Yuu

“Azul… Is that you?” Yuu stared at Azul with wide eyes as they cradled what appeared to be an old plus. It was them! It was truly them! Azul could only stare in disbelief at what was in front of him. Was this a dream? It had to be. Yuu isn't real. That was all he remembered telling himself at the time. There was no way they were real. Yet here they were staring right in front of him.

To his horror he felt the pinpricks of tears that threaten to swell up in his eyes. No no no! Not here! Not now! Not in front of everybody! Why did a reunion have to happen here of all places. “I…” Azul started, before a blast of blue fire obscured his view of Yuu, their face warped from the fire blast that shot between them.

“Mrah! ME! Let me take their place!” The talking cat struggled out of Crowley's grip and stood proudly, causing the crowd of people around him to laugh. “hah?! I'll show you what's funny!” The cat let out another spurt of fire, setting the mirror chamber ablaze. Crowley let out a girlish shriek as he jumped back. “Somebody get that creature!”

Azul immediately sprung into action hoping to subdue the creature where it stood in order to be able to speak to Yuu, or at the very least impress them. He and Riddle immediately started tailing the creature, wands in hand, and using what magic they were allowed to capture it.

And yet, when it was caught, Crowley dismissed everyone, him included.

****

Jade and Floyd never understood why Azul was so hellbent on keeping tabs on Yuu, a magicless human. “It's for business,” he said. “Nothing more” The twins could only assume that their being magicless would make it easier for them to coerce Yuu into a deal.

Azul beat himself up over how to approach Yuu at first. What he did was unforgivable. He left them behind when they needed him most. He abandoned them. All he could do for now was watch Yuu from the shadows. Or so he thought. How could he forget how strong-willed Yuu was?

“You have someone who wishes to speak you, Azul.” “Let them in.”

Looking up from his pile of contracts his breath catches in his throat. Yuu stood right in front of him in the doorway, arms crossed, bookbag over the shoulder, and a serious expression on their face. “We need to talk.” They stated, finger tapping on their arm as they approached Azuls desk, eyeing his contracts.

“ahem… Jade, Floyd. You are dismissed.” After some confused and displeased noises from Floyd, the twins weasel their way out as Yuu took a seat on one of the cushy chairs in the classy office. It was an awkward staredown at first, Azul would feel himself in a cold sweat as you sat there.

Yuus expression was a practiced calm. They wonder how Azul would react if he found out how much they practiced this. “So…” They start.

“You yelled at me and left me behind during our last meeting. I don’t know what happened but when you turned your back on me you left me in total darkness. To this day I still can't dream without there being some inky void. You made me cry, you know?”

Yuu spat as they stood up and began pacing around the wooden desk, head held high as they list his crimes. “But most of all? The most egregious thing you have done?” Yuu rummaged through their bookbag for a second before pulling out a familiar looking plush.

Azul’s eyes widened at the sight of the purple and black reversible octopus you held out. Its expression sat on the angry one. Azul inwardly cringes at the memory of his pathetic child self crying on the plush. “You hurt Azul Jr.” Yuu dropped the plush on the desk in front of them.

Their expression softens as they let out a chuckle, serious persona dissolving away into the Yuu he knew. “I missed you, Azul.” They smile. “Now I imagine we have a lot to catch up on?”

As Yuu flipped the plush octopus to a happy expression, they sat back down, smiling. “I… yes we do..” Azul gaped his mouth before closing it, before a smile wormed its way onto his face.

“Its good to have you back Yuu…”

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles - 2022

Day 8 - Truculent

--------------------

Ashton/FCG

Anger.

It wasn't like the emotion was entirely foreign to Fresh Cut Grass. He understood it well enough. When injustices happened, when one insulted you or something you liked, when you were hurt by others… anger was the result.

Well, at least it was for most people.

Ashton certainly seemed in tune with it!

The barbarian was basically fuelled by rage, breathed it as easy as most did air. It came easy to them, and FCG had to admit, they were a tad jealous.

To be so in tune with one’s inner aggression, it sounded delightfully freeing! He desperately wished to have his inner strength, the power to scream in the faces of those who wronged them. To wheel right up to Jiana Hexum and call her… her… well, as might say, a ‘dumb bitch’.

Not that THEY would ever say that! They couldn't even honestly think it.

Dear god was it frustrating.

“You right there, Letters?”

FCG’s head snapped up, finding Ashton mere inches away from him. Funny how someone so tall and heavy could sneak up on them like that! Or could be so sneaky in general. It was something they envied as well.

“Sorry Ashton! Seems I’m a little lost in my head today,” FCG replied with a weak laugh, earning a slight quirk of a frown in turn. Had he worried them?

“What's eating at you? There somebody I gotta punch? ‘Cause you know I’ll fuck anybody up REAL bad that's upset ya.”

There it was again, that truculent spirit of Ashton’s.

Always eager and quick to fight, a shining beacon of aggressive defiance.

He really ought to have their picture painted and placed in every dictionary right next to the word.

To have even a fraction of that burning, that passionate spirit…

“I know you would, and I'm real grateful for your kindness. It means a whole lot to me that you're willing to fight for me. But, well, this… You can't fight this. Unless you want to punch me in the head?” FCG paused, cocking his head to the side. “Maybe don't though, please. You're real strong, and this body is pretty old. I think you’d do a lotta damage and I don't wanna make Milo have to fix me up agai-”

“Fuckin’ woah there,” Ashton leant down, now eye level with him. A jade hand dropped down on his shoulder, the simple weight of it relaxing in and of itself. With it being Ashton’s, that calming effect was doubled. His touch was always so gentle with FCG, like they were precious and soft and… and alive as any other flesh and blood person.

If they had a heart it may have skipped a beat.

“Sorry…"

“No sorries, Letters. Just don't want you working your ass into a panic. I got you, okay?”

“I don't have an ass.”

“Haha. Hilarious.”

Ashton rolled his eyes, yet even with that he was unable to keep the affection they felt for the little automaton from glimmering bright.

“I… I guess I was just thinking about anger, and how hard it is for me to really reach it. You know, when I'm all normal like. Maybe if I could express it as wonderfully as you do, I wouldn't snap anymore!”

“Huh.”

A beat of silence passed, and FCG wondered if he should apologize once more.

“Maybe I could teach you to let loose. To release the beast and fuck shit up.”

“Really? You wouldn't mind? I don't know how good at it I’d be and I'd hate to frustrate yo-”

“Shut up, Grass. Quit acting like you're a fucking burden! You're… fuck, you're gonna make me say it, aren't you?” Ashton groaned, the sound only growing louder as FCG stared on in confusion. “Fine!! You're my best friend, okay? You mean more to me than anyone in this gods forsaken world! So quit shit-talking yourself so we can go beat on some trees.”

If Fresh Cut Grass could smile, they’d be positively beaming right now.

“That was so kind of you to say, Ashton!” they chirped, oblivious to the way Ashton’s face started to heat up. “You’re my best friend too! You’ve been my favorite person since the day I met ya!”

“Yeah yeah, no need to get so mushy now…” Ashton muttered, in what FCG might have thought was embarrassment. “You're makin’ this sound like some kinda cheesy ass love confession.”

“But I do love you?”

Oh. They hadn't known that Ashton's face could go so dark! That was a lot of blood rushing to one place… how concerning.

“Fuck, Letters, you can't just say shit like that!”

“Why not? It's true! I love you very much. Is…” FCG quietened, his voice now almost meak in nature. “Is it because of what I am? Is it wrong for someone like me to love someone like you? Someone more… more alive?”

That made sense. No one would want to be loved by someone like themself. Someone so cold and rigid and impossible to-

Before that thought could even be finished, Fresh Cut Grass found themselves pulled tight into Ashton’s embrace, and with it they found their insecurities crushed.

“Fuck that! You're just as alive as I am, okay? Don't give me that bullshit. You're fucking incredible, Letters. I was just being a little bitch over all the affection and the… I haven't had someone say that in a long ass time. It just- It threw me off guard. You aren't wrong to love me. You just have shit taste.”

“... I don't have any taste. I can't taste anything.”

“You know what I meant, you little shit.”

FCG laughed weakly, clinging to the genasi with surprisingly shaky hands. Gosh, how had everything gotten so out of hand?

“So it's… it's okay then? For me to love you?”

Ashton dropped his head, lips coming to lay the sweetest of kisses right to their forehead.

“Fuck yeah. The feeling’s mutual, just so you know. Still think you have shit taste, but hey, who am I to judge?”

Mutual.

The same.

A feeling returned.

Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be lacking in rage when they could feel a joy, a love so pure, as strongly as this.

Ashton could keep the rage.

They’d champion love instead.

[etherealyoonghwa]

They see their s/o kill for the first time.

Group: Ateez

Au: Mafia

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, blood, dead bodies.

Word count: 2515

Seonghwa

The first time Seonghwa saw you kill someone he was in shock. He didn’t know that his precious partner would ever hold a gun let alone kill somebody. Nothing in the world would have prepared him with the sight of you standing in front of him with the gun raised to the threat.

You know he can handle himself and has plenty of people looking out for him. But something in your mind told you to protect him. But quite frankly you had enough of what the guy in front of you was saying. Rolling your eyes, you took out the small gun you kept hidden in your blazer and aimed at the man who just laughed thinking you wouldn’t shoot him. Well, he was wrong. You lowed the gun once you saw his body hit the ground and placed it back in its place before turning around to see Seonghwa looking at you in awe.

“What was that for?” He asked as he reached out to you to pull you into a hug.

“I protected my man, now everyone knows not to mess with what’s mine.” You stated, Seonghwa just laughed and pulled you into him tighter. He wouldn’t let you know but he appreciated it and it was a very hot sight to see you with a gun. Now he doesn’t need to worry about you been hurt when you are more than willing to protect yourself.

Hongjoong

You had joined Hongjoong at his work like any normal day. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened so far, no attacks from rivals, none of the 7 boys coming in hurt and bloody, for once it seemed like everything was alright for once. Both of you didn’t know that would soon come crashing down. You were busy reading your book while Hongjoong was going through some paperwork when you were rudely interrupted with a bang downstairs. Jolting from his desk Hongjoong made his way towards the door, keeping you behind him as he knew there would be no use in trying to get you to stay in his office. He reached for his gun as you both slowly walked towards the landing that overlooked the front door area. The sight shocked both of you. Yeosang and Jongho was holding down a woman who was kicking and screaming. The woman lifted her head up and both of you know who it was. Hongjoong put his gun away as he followed you down the stairs.

“Boys lift her up.” You said with your arms crossed, you weren’t happy with the situation, Yeosang and Jongho quickly picked the woman up and held her so she wouldn’t move. “You have some nerve coming here and causing a scene.” Instead of answering the woman just spat in your face. Everyone took a step forward reaching for their guns. You wiped your face and held your hand out towards Hongjoong, who looked at you in confusion. Motioning towards the gun he quickly puts two and two together and hands over his gun, not wanting to mess with you when you are pissed off. You take the safety off before aiming it towards the woman. “This one is for interrupting me reading.” you said before you shoot her in her stomach, she leans forward crying in pain. “And this one is for stalking my boyfriend.” You fired the fatal shot to her head, Yeosang and Jongho let her fall to the floor, blood pooling around her. You put the safety back on and hand the gun back to Hongjoong before making your way back upstairs to continue with your book. All 8 of them stared after you in shock processing what just happened. Seonghwa was the first one to break the silence. “You need to marry that one.”

“Trust me I will.” Hongjoong replied running after you.

Yunho

It was the only choice, that’s what Yunho kept telling you. It was either you or him.

Yunho thought his life had ended when he heard that you had been kidnapped. His whole world had been turned upside down. He didn’t eat, drink, sleep, shower, he just completely stopped functioning. All he could think was “how could I let this happen?” He was beating himself up every second.

“Yunho man, you need to sleep.” Mingi said as he walked into his office with some food that they all know will still be there by dinner.

“How can I sleep when they are out there been tortured?” Yunho had his head in his hands as sobs racked his body. Mingi put the plate down and approached him placing a hand on Yunho’s shoulder.

“We are going to find them and bring them back safely.” Mingi promised and he intended to keep that promise. Yunho was about to reply when Wooyoung rushed through the doors saying they had found where you were been kept. The two boys have never seen Yunho jump up as quick as he did then, rushing everyone into the cars to your location.

Yunho had jumped out of the car before it had even come to a stop. As he was about to run through the door he heard your desperate screams before a gunshot rang through the air. He rushed through the building trying to find the room you were in. He stopped when he heard you sob making a beeline straight for that room. The breath of relief he released upon seeing you alive was heard throughout the whole building. He rushed to your side while calling your name.

“Y/N you’re okay now, you’re safe.” He said as he pulled you into his arms rocking you as your sobs rang throughout the room.

“I killed him...” You whispered holding onto to Yunho even tighter.

“Baby look at me.” His hand cupped your face. “It was the only choice, it was either you or him. You did the right thing.” He tried to reassure you in a calm tone but it just made you cry even more. “It’s okay baby let it all out.”

Yeosang

Yeosang did not expect to walk into your shared house to see a bludgeoned body laid in the living room. But the sight that terrified him was you standing there covered in blood, so much that it was dripping off of you, with the knife still in your hand.

“What the fuck happened here!?” Yeosang exclaimed trying to take in the scene in front of him.

“He broke into our house.” Was all you said, no expression on your face. Yeosang wouldn’t let you know that right now you were scaring him.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow “So you butchered him to death?!”

“Yes.” Was all you replied. Yeosang didn’t know what to say in that moment, too shocked, scared to even try come up with something. “I had to protect my family.” And with that you walked away, putting the knife into the sink and getting cleaning supplies out of the cupboard. All Yeosang could do was watch you cleaning up the mess you made. “We are going to need to buy a new carpet.” That made Yeosang laugh. Taking off his blazer he rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in.

Both of you had managed to clean the living room, dispose of the body and make yourselves presentable before the kids came running down the stairs. Seeing them so happy made Yeosang realise why you went to town on the man and he would do the same any day.

San

San was frantic trying to look for you when no one could get a hold of you. You had gone radio silent for hours locked up in San’s basement room where he does his “interrogations”. You had San’s enemy hanging from the ceiling by his hands. You were busy interrogating aka torturing the man when San burst through the doors. His heart calmed at the sight of you safe and sound. His men alerted him that the heard screams coming from the room. San quickly made his way to you, taking your face in his hands.

“Are you okay my love?” San asked scanning your face for any injuries. All you did was give him a smile and a nod. “My men said they heard screaming.”

“Well if you look behind me you will be ale to see the reason of the screaming.” You said nodding your head behind you. San looked over your shoulder and took in the sight in from of him. He was too busy looking for you to take in the surroundings. A gasp left his mouth.

“Is that?” Is all San could get out.

You give him a smile and nodded, “Yes it is. I found him lurking around outside early hours this morning. So I took a sedative, got the bow and arrows and aimed it at him. Once he was knocked out, I drug him down here.” You replied like it was nothing. San was shocked especially at the state of the man who was barely hanging onto life.

“So, this is your little play toy then?” The man muttered, without a warning you raised the knife that’s in your hand and plunged it into his heart, killing him instantly. When you turned around you saw San with his mouth open.

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You said with your fingers under his chin pushing upwards to close his mouth. “So, what do you want for dinner?” San stood there with a proud smile on his face, knowing that you wouldn’t be going anywhere but staying with him.

Mingi

Mingi was scared to bring you into his world, he didn’t want to taint you in anyway. You were his innocent angel. He never wanted you to witness what he did for a living so he vowed to keep his work life away from home. But like anything it had to come to an end. That’s what happened when you walked into your shared home to see Mingi tied up. Luckily no one had noticed your arrival so you quickly crept into the kitchen. You knew you had to do something, anything to get the love of your life out of that situation. Mingi thought you didn’t know about his life, about his work but you did, he doesn’t hide it that well. Hearing a groan coming from Mingi it snapped you into action, grabbing a very large kitchen knife you made your way towards dining room. Raising both hands, you stabbed the knife into the back of the guys neck before taking it out again and repeating the same action. You didn’t stop until Mingi had managed to get out of his restraints and approached you, placing his hands on your arm.

“Darling stop, he’s dead.” It was then that you came out of the haze you were previously in. Looking down you gasped in horror as you look at the man bludgeoned to death. Dropping the knife, you bring your hands to your mouth but stopping upon seeing blood on them. A sob quickly left your body and it shook you that much you fell into Mingi’s arms. “Shush darling its okay, everything is going to be okay.” He knew it would take a while for you to recover from this, as he did the first time, he had killed someone. But he was insanely proud of you for stepping into action and saving his life.

Wooyoung

Wooyoung knew it was going to happen, he was just waiting for that moment. He had you trained so you could protect yourself if he or his men weren’t out with you. But he didn’t expect it to be so soon. You had walked into his office suspecting nothing to be out of the blue, however Wooyoung didn’t greet you like he normally did and the air has this strange quietness too. You look up from the tablet you’re looking at to see Wooyoung been held hostage by one of his own men. The gun that was held against Wooyoung was pointed towards you, this caused Wooyoung to struggle not wanting you to get hurt. You calmly walked towards his desk putting the tablet down, moving your arms like you were surrendering before quickly whipping out the gun that was hidden under the desk and shoot the man point blank in his forehead.

Upon hearing a gun shot all 7 guys rushed into the room with their guns raised. “What the hell happened?” Seonghwa exclaimed upon entering, all lowering their guns seeing that you two were safe.

“Kai had me held at gun point so Y/N shot them.” Wooyoung explained walking towards you. They didn’t see the body at first as their gaze was fixed on the couple. Moving their heads in the direction Wooyoung nodded they could see a clean bullet hole with blood seeping out of it. The guys were shocked knowing you had never shot anyone before. “Could you do me a favour and remove the body?” This sprang them into action as they quickly picked him up and left the room.

“Thank you, my love.” Wooyoung whispered against your head as he kissed it. He was forever grateful that you saved his life.

Jongho

Been the youngest mafia boss in the world meant Jongho had a lot of enemies. At first, he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with you not because he didn’t love you but because of the enemies, he didn’t want to put you into danger. But he didn’t need to worry about that after your first date. Seeing as you were capable of protecting yourself.

Jongho had taken you to one of his friends’ restaurants where he knew would be safe, or so he thought. You had clocked someone staring at you two all night but seeing as they hadn’t done anything you put it to one side. As the date was coming to end you both got up to leave and in that moment, the person who was watching you both stood up and pointed a gun right at Jongho’s head. But seeing as his back was towards the person you shouted for him to move before you drew out your gun hidden in your bag and shot the person killing them instantly. Jongho stood in shock and disbelief not been able to move, everyone in the restaurant had drawn their gun and pointed at you the second you brought yours out.

“Settle down everybody, lower your weapons.” Jongho said motioning his hands down, they all did as he said and sat back down. He turned to you with a look of adoration, “You saved my life. Thank you for that but now I am in debt to you.”

Jongho watched as you let out a small laugh with a shake of your head, “You’re not in debt to me, though if you insist then take me out on another date.” With a wink you left him standing there with a massive smile on his face. He was so going to take you out on another date.

[whoreforrafecameron]

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

“Convince Me.” - Rafe Cameron

“Baby, I want to leave.” You whispered, tugging on Rafe’s shirt. He was downing shots with Topper and you didn’t feel like having to take care of a black out drunk Rafe. “Baby!”

“What?” He turned to you, sliding a hand up your thigh and continued drinking. You sighed in annoyance and pulled on his hair, causing him to choke on his drink. He scoffed, “Let me finish here, okay? Give me a few minutes.”

“It’s fine, Rafe. I’m sure JJ would be willing to give me a ride home.” You got up from your seat next to him, hearing Topper laugh. Fear was coursing through your veins, but you were done with Rafe’s crap.

Midsummers was supposed to be fun, and Rafe had promised you he wouldn’t drink. You had wanted to come to Midsummers and dance, whether it was with Rafe or not. JJ was holding a drink tray and trying to slide past security when you spotted him, “JJ!”

JJ looked over in confusion, before realizing who called his name. “Hey, gorgeous!” He looked you up and down, grabbing your hand and spinning you around, “You get all dressed up for me, princess?”

“You wish.” You teased, before taking the tray from his hand and setting it down. “I did, however, save a dance for you. I was planning on dancing with Rafe, but as you can see he’s busy right now.”

JJ smiled, “His loss. I mean, come on, who here wouldn’t want to dance with you? The man has the prettiest girl in OuterBanks and he’s spending Midsummers with Topper?”

He pulled you out to the center of the floor, maneuvering around the many people. “I’ll tell you one thing,” He whispered, laying his head on your shoulder while sliding his hands around your waist, “If I had you to myself, we wouldn’t be dancing either, but I’m sure you get what I mean.”

He winked, which made you laugh and wrap your arms on his shoulders. The lights were reflecting off of the glass floor, giving off a heavenly glow throughout the room. The music was barely heard, with all the people chattering and dancing.

You heard the song begin to end, and you’re surprised that Rafe hasn’t noticed you and JJ yet. You were a bit disappointed, but happy that JJ wouldn’t be hurt by him. JJ gave you a kiss on the cheek and bowed, “Thank you, madam, for this lovely dance.”

“Anything for you, kind sir.” You curtsied and watched him go. Before you could turn around, you felt a hand around the back of your neck, a cold ring digging into your skin.

“Did you have fun, darling?” His voice was dark and taunting, which sent a shiver down your spine. “I sure hope it was worth it.”

“Rafe..” You tried to speak, but he just added pressure to your throat. He spun you around, so you were facing him, and ran his fingers through your hair, sighing.

Rafe grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, “Say another fucking word and I’ll bend you over this table and do with you as I please.” You nodded, and stayed quiet. “I’ll make you a deal, baby. I can either beat the shit out of JJ, or I will fuck the shit out of you.”

You felt your panties get soaked by his words, and you whispered, “Fuck me, then.” He smirked at your words and pulled you off the dance floor, waving to Topper and Kelce.

The drive home was silent, other than the occasional heavy breathing to be heard from Rafe. He looked over at you, anger radiating from his body. “What was the point of that? Dancing with JJ?”

“I told you I wanted to go, Rafe. You ignored me.” You said, not removing your eyes from the window.

“I said I needed a few fucking minutes.” His voice was raised and he slammed his free hand against the dashboard.

“Fuck you.” You replied, crossing your arms. He let out a chuckle and slowed the car down, pulling over to the side of the road. You tried to hide how your breathing picked up, but you could tell he noticed.

He slid into the backseat and patted his lap, “Come here, pretty girl.” You felt your arousal throbbing from what he called you, and you climbed back into his lap, not wanting to infuriate him even more. “I think somebody needs to teach that mouth of yours to stay quiet, yeah?”

“You know what, Rafe? I think someone needs to teach- ” He put his hand over your mouth, his other hand making it’s way up your thigh. You felt a moan rising up your throat, but you forced it down.

“Tsk, tsk. Did you not hear what I just fucking said?” Rafe said, gently, but with an edge to it. His hand went underneath your dress and moved your panties to the side. He ran his finger over your folds, “Be a good girl for me and try to make up for the shit you pulled during the dance.”

“I hate you..” You whispered, and he plunged a finger inside you, emitting a moan from you. He moved it in and out, curling his fingers to hit the spot. “R- Rafe.”

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure are wet, huh?” He pulled out suddenly and began unbuckling his pants, “I really hope you didn’t think I was going to punish you by fingering you, darling. I plan on hurting you a lot more.”

He pulled out his cock, which was stiff and outlined with veins. “Spit.” He ordered, and you obliged, watching him pump it onto it. “Good girl. If only you could’ve been this good at the party, hm, baby?”

He looked up to you for consent, because even though he was pissed, he wouldn’t do anything without permission. You nodded and lowered yourself onto his cock, whimpering at the penetration. He flipped his hat around to get a better look at your face, which was scrunched up in pure ecstasy.

“Let me ride you, Rafe. Let me make up to you.” You pleaded, putting your hands on his chest and rocking your hips against his. He grabbed your waist and held you still, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I don’t think you deserve to ride my dick, what do you think?” He groaned at your wiggling hips, but didn’t remove his hands. “I think I’ll have you sit there and keep me warm until you can come up with a reason why I should give you want you want.”

Your eyes were clouded with anticipation, and you couldn’t think straight. “Baby, I was- I was only trying to, uhm.” You let out a whimper and begged, “Rafe.”

He readjusted his hips and put his arms behind his head, letting out a sigh and watching you intently. “Convince me, pretty girl.”

ANYWAYS, let me know what you thought and yes, I will be taking requests <3 This is my first time writing smut so I’m sorry for how bad this is LMFAO (:

[silky-stories]

If you can or want to of course, could you do pico, ruv and garcello reacting to you having scars? From anything (s$lfh@rm, surgery , fights, etc) thank you!❤️

Sure thing! I ended up having the scars be from fights, hope you like it! :D

———————————————————————

S/O With Scars Headcanons {Pico, Ruv & Garcello}

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1313

Disclaimer/s: Mentions and descriptions of scars, mentions of fighting, swearing, hints at talk about trauma

Notes: This was yet another reminder that I’m not very good at writing for Ruv—

———————————————————————

Pico

Pico’s probably one of the most understanding and relatable people in the world when it comes to having scars

As someone who’s earned quite a few scars of his own, he definitely fits that criteria

(Seriously, with all the things this man has been through he’s practically collecting them like pokemon cards)

However, that didn’t dissuade his immediate concern when he saw your scars for the first time

He saw them for the first time when you were getting changed and he was in the room

(Nothing nasty, he didn’t see anything ya weirdos-)

When you took off your shirt, his usual reaction to say something playfully flirty was stamped out quickly when he noticed the long strips of paled and sunken skin that ran up your arms, crossed over your abdomen

He went so quiet that you actually got worried for a minute

He hastily reassured you when you asked if they were grossing him out

“Nononono! ‘s just, ah... hope that ya didn’t... didn’t go through too much gettin’ those...”

You knew about his past at that point, and the reasoning behind his statement and silence became apparent instantly

Once you told him that you were actually just a badass and used to get in fights a lot (or still do-) he feels much better

Maybe a little irked that someone would do that much damage to you that it would leave permanent marks, but much better nonetheless

After that he’s always jumping at the opportunity to see them

If you two are cuddling he’ll run his fingertips across them and trace them as he rants about how cool he thinks you are

Please tell him the stories of how you got them if you’re comfortable with that, he wants to marvel over how awesome you are

“Damn, he cut ya that bad an’ ya still beat his ass? That’s metal as fuck.”

Later into your relationship he might share as well, but it’ll be a lot less of a badass story-time session and more of a “I haven’t been able to open up this intensely to someone in years but I love and trust you so I want you to know” kind of thing

He’s pleased that he can show his scars around you, both physical and mental, and not feel judged

Ruv

Ruv has got a couple scars from the job he used to have, but they’re all quite minor and he doesn’t really care about them

To him they’re just a byproduct of his past, that’s it

Just a reminder of what he used to do that only he gets to see, all of his scars usually being covered by his clothing

It was odd when he saw your scars for the first time though

His initial reaction was... pretty much nothing actually

Your shirt had gotten dirty while the two of you were hanging out alone and you had pulled it off to change without thinking

He stared at your back and the pale lines that littered it with the same monotone stare he usually carried

That is until you looked back to stare back at him, he quickly looked away after that, muttering a concise apology

You didn’t even realize that he had thought anything of it until he brought it up ten or so minutes later

“What are they from?”

Your tilted head and puzzled expression told him that you didn’t understand, so he took your arm and ran a finger along a visible scar, now out in the open with the t-shirt you were wearing

“Did someone... try to..?”

You were quick to tell him that it was fine and explain what they were actually from when you noticed the dark gaze his eyes held

He was surprised to hear that you had received them by kicking people’s asses in fights, but he found himself actually kind of amused

You were weird, of course you got them from something weird like that

(...the good kind of weird though, the kind of weird-good that would make somebody want to date someone as intimidating as him)

He’d probably want to hear about the stories as well, but there wouldn’t really be any hyping you up, mostly just silent listening as he allows his hands to wander, tracing scars as he goes

Eventually he’d get more used to it though, just like everything in your relationship

“...what about this one..?”

He wouldn’t show you his scars on purpose because he wouldn’t feel any need to, they are what they are, but he wouldn’t try to hide them

He never mentions it but he kind of hopes that you get his help if you’re ever in another fight

He trusts your capability and he (secretly) does think that the scars look cool, but he’d prefer that you don’t have to go through pain to get them

Garcello

He doesn’t really have many scars, just a couple that he’s acquired from the standard *insert dumb thing done during childhood* kind of scars

He honestly thinks that scars are pretty cool as long as they’re not associated with anything traumatic

They’re proof of strength and overcoming hardship, and that’s rad

He saw your scars for the first time when you two decided to go for a swim together in a small lake he knew

It was summer, it was hot, and he knew that the lake was secluded and not too many people knew about it, making it perfect for a little getaway together to beat the heat

When he noticed the ribbons of lighter skin that indented your arms and legs, he wasn’t sure what to think at first

Like Pico, he was immediately kind of concerned, wanting to subtly make sure that they weren’t because of any sort of traumatic or dangerous experience that you had to go through

“Hey, feel free to tell me if it’s none of my business, but...”

He doesn’t want to pry into something that’s none of his business, but if there’s something that he needs to be concerned about mentioning for your sake, he wants to know

Once you tell him about the fights that you would partake in (and usually win) though, he’s definitely interested in hearing all he can

He wants to hear about all the people that had their asses handed to them whenever you decided to walk onto the scene

He wants to hear about your triumphs and losses, tracing around each scar as you go into detail about how you got it and how long it took to heal and what it felt like

“He snuck a knife in? Geez, I’m kinda glad that you roughed him up as much as you did.”

He’s intrigued and, as someone who just loves hearing you talk (especially about things you’re passionate about), he can’t get enough

He always asking if it hurts before he makes contact with one, knowing from research that scars can sometimes hurt even after they’ve healed

Actually, he asks before touching any of them at all times, he never wants to make you feel uncomfortable

He’s perfectly fine with you seeing his scars, he makes it more of a joke whenever you see them though since he doesn’t really have a sick story to tell

“You see this? Seesaw, 1999.”

It’s his mental scars that he opens up to you about

He’s got some baggage, and he’d never dump it all on you if you weren’t open to it, but he really appreciates having someone that’s willing to listen, and will repay that tenfold

That aside though, expect him to flaunt you if you’re comfortable with it

He’ll totally brag to people about having a badass partner that could beat them up if they wanted to

(He’s only half-joking)

In summary, you’re super cool and he makes sure to remind you of it regularly

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 23)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6,000

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Full Masterpage |

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

+ + +

“Don’t question acts of the daring and misinterpret it for insanity. 

Simply thank the courages ones for their heart and strong character, 

for not all are willing to do the good and get destroyed in the worst way, 

not for their own benefit, but for others.”

+ + +

It starts in his fingers, a feeling of hot tingles and sporadic static. He plays with the condensation of the glass, gathering the wetness on the tips of his digits until they are completely numb from the cold. The hot tingles and static dissipate momentarily until they move up his arms and into the cavity where his heart beats.

It beats for the way you waltzed into the room, smelling like sweet strawberries and your shampoo. 

It beats for the way it continues to ache and hope to feel your touch again.

If he’s quiet enough, he could hear it, too. It thumps away in his head, making his temples pulse and his palms sweat. He rubs the palm of his hand against the glass, too.

He looks up, dark eyes meeting your figure in your shared bedroom. Memories of the last few months fill his brain with a strong ripple of serotonin, gaze drifting towards the messy, fresh out the dryer, white sheets. 

He’s feeling too much. It must be why he feels like he’s having a heart attack and why his mouth is insanely dry.

His eyes flicker back up to you again, and for a fraction of a second, he considers saying something.

Bucky doesn’t talk about his feelings much. 

He always held it down. 

He didn’t talk about how he felt when he watched his sister being taken from him, or when either of his parents died and he in result became an orphan. 

Not much has changed since then, he thinks as he keeps looking at you.

You were moving around, unaware of his inner turmoil.

Bucky is fully convinced that no one on this earth detests him more than he detests himself. Not only does he hate himself for the things he’s done, but he can’t stand how he’s unable to talk about his feelings when he knows he needs to. 

He can’t stand how weak he is and how he doesn’t have the guts to face it. 

He’s watching you and he wants to speak up, but he can’t.

He detests himself for always running away from facing his demons. 

This had a lot more to do than you going on a date. This was about everything. He knows there’s so much he needs to tell you.

He just wishes it were a lot simpler. 

He doesn’t dare compare his issues to yours. 

He knows each person has their own demons and their own complications to conquer, so he doesn’t dare compare. But, sometimes, he can’t help but think he is the world’s most horrible person, through no fault of his own.

Why couldn’t he have been stronger? Why couldn’t he have stopped himself from getting brainwashed? Why couldn’t he stop himself from doing all the things that he did?

Nobody knows what it’s like to live with the memories of being forced to train young girls who were taken from their families to fight for the KGB, one of them who later turns out being your friend. Not to mention then also shooting the same girl through the stomach on a bridge in Odessa. Nobody knows what it’s like to be forced to put a bullet between countless of innocent people’s eyes, some being young kids, cutting their innocent lives short. 

Nobody understood what it was like to then be forced to kill someone’s parents, the same person who’s teams then welcomes you decades later into their home as family. 

He experienced all of it without one goodbye to his blood family. 

It doesn’t make sense to him how no one else could see what was going through his mind. Maybe he was messed up to the point where he could no longer be okay ever again. 

Maybe.

But you, you had woken something inside of him that he thought had been long gone. You gave him a longing for communication, to talk about how he was feeling. For the first time in over half a century, because of you, he sees a potential light at the end of the tunnel.

You didn’t treat him like an ex assassin, a veteran, an avenger, or just a friend. You treated him like an imperfect man, taking him into your arms in spite of that.

Unbeknownst to you, you had taken his broken heart in your hands and held it tenderly, like a mother holding a newborn child. You taught it how to be happier, you taught it self forgiveness and preservation. You showed him how to be human, how to feel human desires that for so long he had held down. 

He continues to watch you, swelling hard.

You showed me that it was okay. He thinks to himself.

You were his friend for much longer than you ever knew, and you had no idea.

He needed you more than you realized. 

But you were right. It was time to let you be truly happy. After all, how could someone like him make you happy? You made it clear to him, time after time, that you’re both toxic together. He knows most of it was his fault, but he had changed. Unfortunately so had you and your feelings were just platonic now. It was a mess. Both of you, together, was a mess.

The amount of orgasms you shared don’t even make up for the hurt you’ve put each other through.

That’s what he needs to tell himself as he watches you from the living room, pulling the wool scarf tight around your neck to hide your tattoo, and tightening the lightweight white coat over your shoulders. 

You were wearing a mid length dark red dress and short black heels. You looked great. The small smile your wore complemented you well, too. You looked happy.

Bucky knows he has no right to feel what he does as he watches you go back into the bathroom to touch up your hair.

It was a quarter past seven and the sun was setting. If this was two weeks ago, you two would probably be having sex right about now. 

It had become routine after a certain point. He would probably have you bent over the sink, leaving finger indents on your hips. 

Not anymore. That was over.

Ironically, it wasn’t even want he wanted to do with you as he watched you walk back in. He just wanted to grab you, run his hand through your hair and kiss your forehead. 

The thought of wanting to do such a pure act catches him off guard and he feels a tightness in his chest grow hot. There was the static again in his fingers. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours. We’re just going to have dinner at his place.” You say, slowly stepping into the lit living room.

Bucky’s on the sofa and you watch as his eyes leave yours to obviously linger down your body. 

He clears his throat, reaching for the glass of water on the coffee table.

“Be safe.” He says softly. 

You watch as he takes a sip of the water, his eyes meeting yours again over the glass. There’s a pull inside of you that wants you to ask him if he was okay.

“You’ll be okay here?” 

He gives a curt nod, avoiding your eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” His tone is hard and straight to the point, but something was still clearly off with his behavior. 

He’s been acting weird since a few days ago when you told him about Pietro.

You start playing with the sleeve of your coat, clearly stalling. 

He had to open up to you.

“You have food?” You ask. The edge of Bucky’s lip perks up. You’re thankful for the almost smile.

“Yes.”

You watch him for a few more seconds. The mundane exchange is almost comical.

“I gave you his address, right? Just in case?”

Pretty blue eyes narrow at you curiously. 

“Yes, I have it right there.” Bucky says, pointing over to the dining table below the blue A.I glow.

“Okay.” you say, nodding slowly, “Okay, I’ll see you later then.” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you leave. He leans his elbows on each of his knees, bringing both his clasped hands together up to his chin. 

He wants the static to go away. He wants to tell you everything.

He takes in a deep breath and runs a metal hand through his hair.

No, I wasn’t going to be okay without you here. 

He picks up the control off the table and starts season nine of Friends. 

It was going to be a long night.

+ + +

You were nervous. This was your first date. 

Ever.

You also didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Sure, you liked Pietro. He was sweet, a good guy, and he was attractive. You wanted to give it a try. You were done being dragged down by one man that didn’t even love you the way you did. 

It was time to move on.

Three soft knocks is how long it takes for the dark blue door of apartment 8C to swing open.

You’re immediately welcomed by the scent of something delicious and Pietro’s warm and bright smile.

“Hey, you.” He says with a delighted perk in his voice. He swings the door open wider for you to walk through, “Come in.”

Timidly, you walk into his inviting home. 

The walls were beige and he had dark brown wooden floors. They were glossy instead of matte. To the left was a small kitchen with black cabinetry, and in front of you a small living room with a television and a black cotton couch.

You didn’t miss the hallway towards the far left the most likely led to a bedroom and bathroom.

Bedroom.

You feel your throat close up.

You were nervous.

“May I take your coat?” He asks sweetly, stretching out a hand to you. Your eyes go from his hand to his own eyes and his smile is contagious, “I’m just going to hang it in the closet. I won’t let it run away. Promise.”

You chuckle.

You give him a short nod, shrugging off your coat and handing it to him. 

“Thank you.” You say.

There’s a small pause of silence.

“Wow, you look amazing.” He says quietly, taking in your dress. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you and you knew he was being sincere. You smile. “Do you want me to take your scarf, too?”

You instinctually reach for your scarf before pausing, your hands lingering on the fabric a bit longer than casual, “I’ll keep it,” your eyes meet and he squints at you, “It’s supposed to go with the dress.” You say quickly on your feet.

He tilts his head at you and chuckles.

“Okay. Well,” he looks down at his hand still holding your coat, “I’m just going to go hang this up. Feel free to to look around for a few seconds.” 

You nod again, watching as he walks to a small closet towards the right, passed the tv.

You look over into the kitchen, and you see a neatly set table with two glass of wine. 

There’s a pot on the stove with the lid on it, but the stove isn’t on.

You feel a warm and inviting hand on your upper back.

“I made, or should I say, I attempted,” he adds a chuckle that makes you smile, “to make some chicken parm.”

You giggle.

“I’m sure it’s delicious.”

You both walk over to the table which isn’t that far to the side and he pulls out one of the chairs for you. You thank him politely, taking a seat.

There’s the sharing of shy glances and awkward feet hitting each other under the table. You mutter out sorry’s.

Pietro clears his throat when he remembers he forgot the plates. You smile again as he apologizes and gets up.

“I’m the worst.” He says quickly.

“You’re not, relax. I forgot, too.” You play with the glass on the table, vividly remembering Bucky doing the same not too long ago.

You were picking up each others habits, hard.

“So, how’s it going with the whole situation at home? With your friend?”

You’re caught off guard by the indirect mention of Bucky and you try to casually grab the white napkin off the table, laying it over your lap.

“It’s going better.” You say, hoping it’ll make Pietro cut the topic short.You smooth the fabric over your legs, picking at it.

He looks over his shoulder to you and you can feel his eyes on you.

“Really? That’s good. I’m happy to hear that. I know it was rough for you. I hated seeing you like that.” That makes two of us, you want to say. There’s another pause. “You’re quiet today.” He notes, placing your plate in front of you. You’re hit with an intense wave of nausea as the delicious smell peaks up into your nose. You look away from the plate swallowing hard, “You okay?”

You clear your throat and swallow and swallow.

“Yeah I’m fine,” the bile lays in your belly as the smell continues to drive into your head, making you dizzy and sweat, “Do you have some water?” You croak out, trying to push your chair a little away from the table. It scrapes angrily against the floor, and if it wasn’t for how sick you were feeling, you would be apologizing.

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He says quickly, moving around the kitchen and fixing you a glass.

He hands it to you and you take some heavy gulps. It’s cold and slices through your throat. It lays into your stomach uncomfortably but you prefer it over a dry and heavy tongue. 

You place it back down on the table, taking a deep breath. You feel the sweating start to dissipate and your stomach slowly settles.

You bring your palm to your head and quickly blink away. 

You hated throwing up.

“Sorry, about that.”

He chuckles and gives you a smile as he takes his own seat across from you, “That’s okay. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

You weren’t too sure, but you don’t say that. “Yeah, I don’t know what that was,” you look back down at the plate that begins to look somewhat appetizing again, “Believe me, it wasn’t the food. This smells delicious and looks delicious.” He opens the glass the red wine and offers some to you. You quickly shake your head, giving him a wave of rejection with your hand. Just the thought of wine made your stomach turn again, “I’ll stick to the water for now.” He nods and pours himself a glass, “Sorry if I’m quiet. I’m a bit nervous.”

“Nervous why?”

You shrug, digging a fork into your chicken and swirling it around.

“I don’t know. I’m just like that.”

He says your name and you stop poking your fork to look up at him, “It’s me. We’ve been friends for a few months now. I’m not some stranger.”

You smile. He was right.

“I know, trust me. It’s just…” you think for a moment and then start laughing, “God, we’re literally on a date, during the apocalypse, like this is just weird, ya know?”

Pietro frowns.

“Apocalypse? We’re safe in here, in these walls. Everyone is safe in here.”

Your smile drops.

You stare at him and begin to wonder if he’s actually being serious. Was the majority of the people in here really convinced that this was it? That everything was perfect? Was Hydra really that capable? Part of you is proud of your parent’s work because you truly were safe because of what they built, but the world was still out there, living. There was still more. This wasn’t supposed to be a permanent solution. 

There were people out there still dying, trying to survive. And these people had no idea, including Pietro.

You realize you’re quickly going into dark territory and you don’t want Pietro digging into what you were trying to say, accidentally blowing your cover.

“You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.” You say quickly. You bring the chicken to your mouth, taking a small and careful bite, “This is so good.” You say after chewing and swallowing.

“I’m glad you liked it. I made some lava cakes for desert, too.”

You laugh.

“Are you a cook?”

“Nah. Just watch a lot of Tiny Kitchen.”

You perk a brow.

“Tiny Kitchen?”

“You’ve never heard of Tiny Kitchen?”

You laugh, placing your fork down on the plate. 

“No, what the hell is it? A small kitchen?”

“Literally what it is. I’ll show it to you afterwards.” 

“Okay.” You grin.

You look down at your plate again, wanting to go in for another bite, but for some reason you just can’t.

+ + +

He doesn’t get past episode three. He can’t. 

Not when all thoughts of you clouded his mind. He knows Pietro is good people, so he’s entirely not concerned about that. 

He knows he’s jealous. He knows that. 

The jealousy mixed in with the anticipation of how the rest of the mission will play out worries him. 

He wanted you home and near him, but since that wasn’t going to happen, he was home by himself, glooming.

He knows he needed a distraction right away so he picks up some of his things from the dining table, slides on a light jacket, and makes his way towards the tower.

He knows the blueprint of the tower already and he’s able to navigate himself into stairwell of the apartment on the top floor. 

After weeks of dissecting, you both found out that Ashens’ father, Ashen, and his mother don’t live here with the boy. For safety precautions, which are obvious why, he’s being housed in under high security and under the supervision of some au pair who is as clueless of his importance as the day is young.

Bucky knows that what he’s about to do borders on breaking boundaries, and downright creepy. 

But this was a situation he would qualify as desperate times comes to desperate measures.

Bucky’s able to bypass security, taking a security outfit off a ‘poor’ victim (he scoffs) as he does soon. 

He’s just outside the boy’s bedroom when he hears the nanny tell Ashens goodnight.

When she’s leaving she tells Bucky in a heavy Bulgarian accent, clearly thinking he’s just a regular guard, that Ashens is about to go to sleep. Bucky keeps his head down and nods.

The clueless ar pair goes the opposite way, presumably to her own bedroom.

Bucky waits a few moments before knocking on the boy’s door.

He hears the little boy give out permission to come in. Bucky opens the door.

The bedroom is plain and depressing. There’s a bed with plain white sheets, a small nightstand, and a large window. There are no toys and nothing that would show any proof that a child resided here. 

The room is not one he would expect for a boy Ashens’ age.

The little boy sits up in bed, his eyes squinting at the figure in his doorway.

“Hello.” The boy squeaks out.

Bucky practically laughs at how easy it was to get here. For a boy they are trying so hard to keep protected from just anyone, it was quite easy ending up just a few feet away from him.

Bucky’s had his fair share of experiences with kids, having a little sister himself. He knows he has to do this differently.

“Hi.” Bucky says lightly, almost too cheerfully.

The boy continues to stare at him as Bucky closes the door behind him, but not letting it close shut just yet.

“Who are you?”

Bucky slowly takes off his halo looking helmet and the boy squints at Bucky’s revealed face.

Bucky tucks the helmet under his arm and smiles.

“Can you keep a secret?”

The boy looks at him for a few more seconds before nodding slowly.

It’s not until Bucky is closer to the boy that his eyebrows shoot up,

“Wait. I know who you are.” Bucky can’t tell if the boy is excited or surprised, but the reaction makes Bucky’s chest swell.

This might go down easier than he expected.

“I -I  was so little when I had the toy but,” the boy starts to talk excitedly and Bucky has to hide a growing smile, “Because I can’t have toys anymore. Not since we moved here. I was little but I remember,” the boy and Bucky both narrow their eyes at each other as if it’s a game to who would say it first, “it’s captain America. You ever heard of captain America?”

Bucky bites his lip. 

“No, never.” He says sarcastically. “Oh, he’s the best. You look like his friend, but I don’t remember his name. He used to be the winter soldier and then he became good.”

Bucky’s heart swells again. The boy’s joy was so pure.

“Oh, yea?”

“Yeah. Dad didn’t like them vey much, though,” his face drops as he looks away from Bucky, “I didn’t like how happy he was when they all died. But no one knows that just us I think,” when Ashens looks up again, Bucky’s face is more solemn this time, “Are you sure you’re not the winter soldier?” The boy whispers the question.

Bucky considers his next words carefully. He places the helmet at the feet of the boy’s bed.

“If I told you I was?”

“I would be surprised because I though you were dead, and also I would be confused. Because why you here?”

Bucky nods. He looks away and then back at Ashens.

“Would you tell your dad?” He asks quietly. This was important.

The boy looks at him for a bit before answering.

“No. He would kill you. Daddy’s not on the good side.”

“And you believe I’m on the good side, right?”

“Yes. You’re an Avenger.”

Bucky bites his lip and looks around the room. This boy was good. It angered him that his own father wanted him killed. Now, more than ever, he wanted to rescue this boy. 

“Can you trust me?” Bucky asks, suddenly serious. 

The boy nods.

“Am I in trouble?” He asks timidly. “What do you mean?” “Ae you here to save me, sir?”

The question broke Bucky’s heart, but he nods.

“I trust you.” The boy’s eyes dart down Bucky’s left side, “Can I feel you arm?” The edge of Bucky’s lips perk up as he takes a seat, “and what does it feel like to hold the shield? Did you really know Iron Man? Black Panther always said —”

+  +  +

By the time Bucky is back you’re already home in your pajamas tucked into bed.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” You ask him as he takes off his coat, draping it over one of the chairs in the dining area.

He kicks off his shoes and reaches back, pulling off his shirt. He walks over to the closet for a new one.

“I met Ashens.”

You raise your brows at this. You knew it was part of the plan to happen, but you didn’t expect it to be today.

“What?”

Bucky also pulls out a new and clean pair of boxers, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah. We spoke for a bit.” “And he didn’t recognize you?” “No, he did,” Bucky says simply, eyes going over to you. You looked so pretty, comforter pulled up under your clothed breasts, a book in your hands, and a messy bun in your hair. He wanted you. He looks away, remembering where you had just been, “He knows I’m here. He won’t tell his dad." “How can you be so sure?” “I’m an Avenger, aren’t I? That’s what everyone tells me, has been telling me.” He says it bitterly. Bucky sighs, closing the closet door and then walking over to the bed near you, “Because I made him a promise that I was here to save him. I think he knows his dad is bad news. He’s a smart kid. He knows his dad hits his mom, too.” Bucky’s voice is soft.

“So you trust he’ll keep this between us?”

“I do.”

You nod. You watch Bucky’s eyes as his stare stays on you, unnerving.

“And you?” You voice shakes as you ask, “How are you? Ya know, after?”

Bucky nods his head.

“I’m alright, ya know? I — ,” something happens to him that you had never seen before. A wave of happiness washes over Bucky’s face like a fresh cup of lemonade. His eyes shine and a bright smile fills his face. Even his voice sounds perkier, “It was just so nice talking to him. He’s such a sweet kid. I know we’re doing the right thing,” his eyes meet yours again and his voice lowers to a deep tone, “We’re both going to walk away from this mission with more than we thought.” It’s the first time he’s said that you are both going to walk away from the mission together, and not just you. He knows that. Bucky clears his throat, “You definitely won’t run into his father. He’s not living with him to avoid attention and possible abductions. Ashens is a literal rapunzel right now.”

“Good. That’s good.” Obviously it wasn’t. But it was good for the both of you. You had less chances of running into Ashen.

Bucky takes in a deep breath when he realizes his eyes are lingering on your collarbones for far too long.

“How was your date?” He actually doesn’t want to even know, the thought of you and Pietro makes him sick, but he knows he needs to show courtesy. They can’t ignore it forever. “It was fine. I wasn’t feeling too well, though—“

Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“—Oh no, I’m sorry.”

 “Couldn’t eat. But,” you took a deep breath and eyed the hallway, "Brought some in a small Tupperware if you want it. It’s in the kitchen.”

Bucky ignores the flutter in his heat at the mention that you thought of him. Thought of him enough to bring the leftovers for him.

He smiles.

“What is it?” “Chicken Parm.” You watch as Bucky continues to watch you, eyes still sparkling. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. You’re happy, right?” Your eyes flicker away for a moment.

“Y-yeah.”

He knows he’s not fine so he lies. 

“Then I’m fine. You looked great by the way.” He adds quickly.

You tilt your head at him and he tilts his back.

Damnit, he needed you.

“Yeah?” You ask hoarsely. 

He wanted you.

“You’re glowing.” He says.

 +  + +

Jazz and burlesque shows were the epitome of everything she had lived for up until she was sixteen years old. The smell of handmade lace garters and expensive perfume still lingered in the back of her mind, bringing her a feeling of contentment and a strange longing for the past. 

Nostalgia would overwhelm her as she looked on at what was the exact contrast to her innocence – her mother’s hugs. She missed those nights where she’d play some 12’s of her beat up vinyl on her record, the scratches adding to Peggy Lee’s voice a twinge of imperfection that made it the perfect tone. 

With nothing on but her undergarments, and a pair of leg garters accompanied with knee high black stockings, she’d open her closet to a huge collection of gorgeous cocktail dresses. A couple handful landed just above her knees, not many past her mid shin - Scandalous and mildly scandalous. Her parents would kill her if they ever found out she even owned them (let alone have them in their home) so she kept those hidden in a little pile in the back corner of the wardrobe. 

She had every right to be terrified for many reasons. It’s not that she was not loyal or a rebel, per say. She was born and raised into a Christian family, all strict rules of modesty and heavy morals applied to her daily life. She was always daddy’s little girl in the simplest sense possible. 

She wouldn’t ever dare roll her eyes at him or purposefully make him disapprove of her, ever. Sure, she was raised in a rich family, so she was used to getting everything she always wanted. Material things being at the top of the list. Even then she remained as humble as possible. 

Especially when she thought her strong faith was behind it all. 

Do well for God, he gives back in return, right?  At least that’s what her naïve self believed at the time. But she’d never admit it to her family that she now thought otherwise, especially to her mom. 

If anything, God was now banning them all to Hell anyway.

Her vanity was those of every girl’s dreams. Drawers filled with everything you could only wish of having. Inside were lingerie of every shade (from fiery red to pure jet black, like the night sky in the city), style, and earrings of every pearl and diamond crystal variety you could think. Her favorite would always be the garters. 

She’d clip each of the four clasps into place just above her knees with her nimble fingers and then she’d sit opened legged in front of the mirror. 

Diligently, and with prestige dexterity, she’d apply her blood red lipstick and her four inch black heels. 

After an o shape with her lips around her fingers and a loud pop, she’d walk around her room and close her eyes, envisioning herself as a burlesque girl and a sensual song playing in the background. After all, she had all the right in the world to be the exact opposite at night than what she was during the day. Morally, at least.

 She still remained as the same sweet, innocent, and faithful young girl she always was. But she had big hopes and dreams, especially in film and dance. God should be okay with dreams, she thought.

When she had learned the truth it was just short of her 20th birthday. She unwontedly found out that her father and brother were different souls at night, too. She wished she never found out that everything that had been lying in front of her had been a lie, and instead of life being a gifted blessing it was instead a bloody carcass hades. 

Their life wasn’t one she liked to admit to partaking in. There were times where she would trick into telling herself that they weren’t doing it. She’d trick herself into thinking that way so that when she saw her dad that night, she’d be able to surpass the strong smell of whiskey and gun powder and kiss him goodnight. 

Jimmy would roll his eyes with a shove past her shoulder.  

As much as she detested it, she knew that without them, they wouldn’t be living in one of the most beautiful homes in all of Manhattan in complete safety. It was because of them that she wasn’t living out in the slums. She tried to divide that part of harsh reality from her brain as much as she could. Eventually, the pros outweighed the cons.

Maybe it was the fact that her body had finally developed into a women’s body. Her breasts were now fully perked and her legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all she knew was they figured she could be put to good use. 

At first she was repulsed by her own father’s comment, but if it meant having dinner that night and not getting killed, she would swallow those nagging feelings and take it head on. It never lasted too long anyway, and all she had to do was stand there and be her brother’s accessory.

When her father brought her into the business, he told her she would thank him one day when she had children of her own- she’d have all the men of the lower east side wrapped around her pretty little finger.

 She was alright with it, until something happened that she would never forget. She had to swallow the repulsive bile and control herself not to run away then and there. She was too far in and knew way too much.

It was just another Tuesday night and she had been sitting at the dinner table, when both her mom and dad had stepped out of the dining room and into the kitchen. She ate her soup quietly, not being able to stop thinking about going back to her room to play burlesque, when Jimmy had turned to her.

 At first it was the sudden motion that caught her attention, it had made a strand of blonde hair fly off her arm. Then it was the feral look in his eyes. 

“Daisy,” his voice was low and dangerous. Daisy knew that tone very well because it was the tone all the other men used on their nights of missions. She was terrified and disgusted.  Wide eyes trailed from her eyes to her full red lips and she felt a cold rigid finger against the heat of her skin on her upper thigh, pushing the fabric slightly up. She gulped.  

Jimmy smiled, “You gorgeous thing.”

She thought about telling her father but she knew that if he found out, the one partnership that was bringing them the most cash would be jeopardized and it would have to be terminated and he’d be more than upset. She knew when her dad got angry, it was not good. It’s was messy and bad. 

Back at dinner, her father would say grace before they ate, all of them hand in hand, and her mom would sit there quietly, a terrified and exhausted look in her smiles. She had heavy bags that weren’t there years ago, and her hair that used to always be done was now up in a messy clip, the baby hairs hanging against her wrinkled forehead, messy and unruly. But still she managed to smile, even if it wasn’t a real smile. It was all a stupid act. 

 It reminded Daisy of how she herself was when she was 16 - pretending to be oblivious to what her family were doing to the innocent. And so she hated her mom for that, for being just like her. 

She felt disgusted in herself, she felt disgust for her family. Oh how she missed those days of when she was a child, before she even knew the truth. It was all so much simpler back then and she was so much happier.  The worst it used to get was when her mother would tell her stories about when she was a nurse back in WWI. 

She had wanted to be like her mom at first. Her mom was quiet, humble, caring, and extremely gracious. It’s what made her such a good person to have back in the war to help the soldiers- she was strong willed and knew she could help and would in her best ability do so. But those stories made Daisy question why any man in his right mind would want to do such a thing to their own body- putting themselves at such a risk. 

Sure, she was privileged by riches, but problems didn’t have to be solved by violence. There must be other ways, like prayer or simply believing. 

Her mother would tell her the graphic stories of the injuries that made Daisy queasy and fidget in her seat. She loved her mom’s qualities and how willing she was to help others who were injured and almost dying, but it still made no sense to her.

 When daisy questioned her concerned to her mother she had simply said:

“Don’t question acts of the daring and misinterpret it for insanity. Simply thank the courages ones for their heart and strong character, for not all are willing to do the good and get destroyed in the worst way, not for their own benefit, but for others.”

To this day, Daisy wondered if her mom was indirectly referencing her own father- him lacking thereof. 

Next, she wondered about when her mom stopped believing her own words.  

Daisy wondered if she’d ever meet one one day - a soldier. Someone willing to get destroyed. Or if her mom had been lying and all men are the same, evil like her father and brother.

But she was evil, too.

No, I don't wanna fall in love.

A/N: yes. she’s pregnant.

@snakeeatery17 @utterlyhopeful-fics , @marvelfan1017, @iheartsebastianstan , @annathesillyfriend , @redhairedfeistynerd, @perksofbeingabookworm, @amyrose051, @meegggoooo, @morganclaire4 , @captainchrisstan, @bxndys , @shoesonpointe ,  @writerwrites, @rainbowkisses31, @lindatreb , @littlemissner98 , @dezzylou24, @ayeitslelee , @hardygal69 ,  @emmabarnes , @redbarn1995@thequeenreaders@ilovemysupersoldiers@maximumplaidzonknerd@ceapa-mica @s-trawberryv-eins@buckysknifecollections@sobangie@lindatreb@theseuscmander@nervous-plant @wildmoonflower @aya-fay@appreciating-fanfics@kaitlynisinfinite@justreadingfics@kaitieskidmore1 @mrsdancing​ @everythingiloveandcherish @shinykoalacat​ @dragongirl31 @kaitlynisinfinite​ @alwaysclassyeagle

[chiliiscereal]

Well my standards have really lowered when I comes to writing fanfiction a XD

First I didn’t want to write any at all, then I didn’t want to write for any cartoons, then I didn’t want to write for cartoon turtles... and here i am.

Here I am starting a x reader fanfiction... with the 2014/2016 version of Raph

Still a bit uncomfortable with this but I had an idea so here we go! If I like it then I’ll keep going :p

Lol what am I doing with my life XD

Too tall

Raph x tall! Fem! Reader

Summary: yes this is me self projecting. Reader is 6 foot 4 inches tall and literally every boy she meets is too insecure to date her when she’s that tall. After a while of being treated like she unbreakable and a giant she gets tired of it. Luckily there’s someone else out there who understands how she feels.

———-

You tapped the cafe table impatiently, trying not to watch your friend and her boyfriend across from you. You attempted to look at the door instead. Maybe if you stared at it long enough then your date would show up.

“It’s okay! I’m sure he’ll show up.” She tried to console you as her boyfriend held her tiny little hand.

Perfect.

Small.

You looked at your own clenched hands and wished that yours could fit so perfectly in someone else’s hands. But, sadly, big hands come with height.

No boy your age ever came close to you.

It’s not that you minded.

It’s that they did.

You didn’t care that practically every boy you met barely went up to your shoulder. You wanted companionship. You didn’t need them to be a hulking giant. You needed someone who loved you.

This wasn’t Tall Girl for goodness sake.

You weren’t waiting around for some tall man to show up.

Unfortunately no guy was willing to step up to the plate.

Why might you ask?

Insecurity of course.

The last three guys that turned you down all said they weren’t comfortable with being shorter than their girlfriend. Others said they weren’t looking for a girlfriend.

Funnily enough they all ended up with girlfriends maybe a week later.

The other girls were incredibly tiny. They barely even made it to the boys shoulders. If that.

But you thought maybe this boy would be different.

He seemed like he was.

He seemed interested at least.

He SEEMED like he was excited when you asked him on a double date with your best friend and her boyfriend.

But an hour passed already and he wasn’t there.

You sat up with a bit of a huff. “It’s fine. Let’s just... let’s just enjoy dinner.”

Your friend frowned at you but decided to let it drop. She knew you hated whenever anything like this was addressed so she bit her tongue and changed the subject.

You couldn’t enjoy dinner or pay attention to anything brought up.

Oh you tried.

You gave it the old college try.

But you found your mind wandering back to the lost date way to often.

After another thirty minutes you stood up. “You know what? I’m kind of tired and I still have some homework to finish up. You two enjoy your date!” You grabbed your bag and walked out before your friend could even call you back.

You just needed some time to yourself.

Time to think.

You walked down the sidewalk slowly, half heartedly wishing that the boy would call you and give an amazing reason as to why he was two hours late.

You stopped yourself from reaching for your phone to check for a text.

No it was his loss.

Not yours.

Surely there was someone out there for you... waiting for you to come along.

Someone that wouldn’t care if you were a little taller than them.

You huffed and zipped your bag shut. Whoever they were, they definitely weren’t that boy.

“Hey girl, who you all dressed up for?” Came a voice from the alley you were about to pass.

“No time to talk.” You answered quickly and continued walking.

You weren’t about to give them the time of day. There was a tub of ice cream and a sappy romance movie waiting for you back at your apartment.

“Come on, a girl like you with legs like that? Surely you’re dressed up for somebody.” The man stepped out of the alleyway and leaned against the brick wall. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s me.”

Oh you wanted to turn him around and hit him with your bag.

But it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Hell no.” You stated curtly and walked by him briskly.

He snatched your wrist, effectively making your skin crawl. “Look at me when I’m talking to ya.”

He pulled you into the alley before you could stop him.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” You growled and tried to rip yourself away. “HELL. NO.”

“Come on, baby! Give me a chance-!” He attempted you sweet talk before he was interrupted.

You caught his hand before he could grab you anywhere inappropriate. “I have had a REALLY terrible day. I am a MINOR and if you don’t get lost RIGHT NOW then you’re gonna have some serious problems.”

He was close enough that you could smell the bitter alcohol on his breath.

He was probably a head shorter than you and had no idea what he was getting into.

“I don’t care if you’re a minor-.” He started.

Your fist smashing into his nose stopped his words.

“Like I said!” You growled as you shook the pain out of your knuckles, “I have had a really really REALLY bad day. And YOU are some little gnat just buzzing in my FACE!”

He gripped his nose with a cry, blood dripping down it like a waterfall. “YOU BROKE MY NOSE!”

“YOU PULLED ME INTO AN ALLEY AND TRIED TO TOUCH ME!” You shouted back, hitting him with your purse before he could charge at you. “YOU MADE THIS CHOICE AFTER I WARNED YOU!”

It felt good to take your rage out on somebody. And it was justified to! It wasn’t like you were just beating this man. He wasn’t letting you leave! He kept grabbing you before you could go.

————-

Turtles pov

They crouched above the alleyway, watching the man pull you into the alleyway.

“We gotta get involved man.” The red masked one whispered. “This doesn’t look to good.”

“I told you, we only get involved if it gets really bad.” The blue one responded with an eye roll. “We can’t risk being seen!”

“It already looks really bad!”

“If she gets anymore hurt then we jump in!”

The orange masked turtle jumped into the conversation. “I don’t know, I think my money’s on the girl.”

“Mikey shut up!” The purple masked brother whispered. “This is serious!”

“So am I! Look at her! She isn’t even scared!”

“I think she at least looks a little scared.”

“Probably cause she’s trying to keep herself from beating the shit out of him!”

Raph rolled his eyes and shoved his younger brother. “It’s our job to do the protectin’ round here. Shut up and- HOLY SHIT!”

The all gasped as you reeled your hand back and knocked your fist into the creeps nose.

“Damn that looked like it hurt.” Leo observed. “Maybe she doesn’t need our help.”

“I say we stay here in case it goes south.” Raph argued, waiting for Leo to argue with him.

“Fine, but we leave when it looks like she’s safe.” Leo nodded and looked back to the fight.

Raph didn’t have time to feel proud that he’d been listened to. Mikey was inching closer to watch. “What the hell are ya doin’?” He reached forward to pull him back. “She’s gonna see ya!”

Mikey leaned over the edge anyway. “Look at her go! I told you he didn’t stand a chance!”

“Who knew using a purse was so effective?” Leo nodded. “Think she’s got it?”

“Looks like it to me!” Mikey laughed and watched with glee. “This is real entertainment.”

“Mikey you’re too close to the edge!” Raph tried to grab him but was shoved away. “You’re gonna fall-!”

————

With that you shoved the man into the wall. “Are you FINALLY done? Have you FINALLY learned your lesson?”

He spit out the blood from his mouth and nodded. “Fine! Please just leave me alone!”

“Good choice!” You shoved him away from you. “Go before I change my mind!”

He was gone before you could even blink.

“That’s right! Get out of here!” You shouted to him as he scurried away.

You lifted your chin triumphantly.

Maybe you hadn’t gotten that date but you sure did beat the crap out of a creep.

You dusted your hands off and snatched your purse off the ground.

“If I catch you harassing anyone else you’ll get it twice as bad!”

No answer of course.

He was long gone.

Still, it felt good to shout.

You could finally go home.

You turned back to the edge of the alleyway with a sigh of relief.

You took one step forward.

Then, the least expected thing happened.

“OH SHIT!”

Next thing you knew you were on the ground after something very large crashed into you.

“What the hell!” You sat up and rubbed your head. “Who just sits on a roof above an alleyway?!”

You grabbed your purse quickly and stood up, ready for another fight.

It wasn’t another creep.

And from the looks of it... it wasn’t even human.

Well, THEY weren’t even human.

You didn’t know what they were.

Green...

Huge...

And shells...

The finally looked at you.

Why were they wearing masks?

What even were they?

Why were they there!?

The one in orange immediately scurried behind the one in red. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit!”

The one in red looked at you and then looked at the guy behind him. “You dragged me into this! You fix it!”

He pulled him forward.

Honestly you had no idea what to think.

There were two GIANT turtles right in front of you! And they were talking!

You gripped your purse a little tighter, waiting to see what they would do.

The one directly in front of you tried to speak only to look back at the red masked one and then back up at where they had fallen.

You looked from him to where he was looking quickly. “Are there more of you?”

He gulped quickly and attempted to hide behind the bigger turtle. “Uh... yeah?”

You took a small step to the exit. “Are you... are you gonna try to take my purse or something?”

The red one glared at you. “No! We’re just.. just here to protect the city. We ain’t monsters!”

You noticed him getting defensive immediately and nodded. “...okay then. Well, if you’re not going to rob me then I’m going to pretend I saw nothing and go on my way.”

The red one frowned.

You were acting waaaaaaay too casual.

Surely there had to be some other motive.

“Hold on a minute... you ain’t goin’ anywhere yet.”

You glared at him and held out your purse. “Are you gonna stop me?”

Mikey took a step back and Raph rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think a purse is gonna do much against someone like me.” He stated.

“I don’t even know who you are.” You stepped back again and tightened your grip. “I didn’t even know people like you existed until now.”

You looked them up and down, taking them all in.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

“You say anything bout this and you’re dead, got it?” He pointed around you as if aggression could make you quiet.

“Can you at least let me go home and finish my ice cream before you decide to kill me?” You backed up again.

You were so close to running away.

So close to escape.

Before you could back up any further, two more creatures dropped from the sky behind you.

You jumped and scrambled away, nearly running into the red masked turtle.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the way my brother phrased everything.” The new turtle glared at his companion. “What he meant to say is that we protect the city. We were watching that man just in case he tried anything and these two,” he glared at the first two again, “fell off the roof.”

The one next to him pushed up his glasses. “I’m surprised you haven’t passed out from fear yet. The first person we met did just that!”

Your back hit the wall and you had no where else to go. “I’m not too sure if I won’t do that.” You glanced between the four of them. “What even are you guys?”

“Turtles!” The orange one spoke up before the red one could shush him.

“Mutants as well.” The purple one joined.

“And ninjas.”

“And teenagers.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Mutant turtle teen ninjas? I think you need to rebrand that.”

Maybe you were insane.

Here you were cracking jokes with large turtles at dinner time.

But so far they were harmless, despite their stature. According to the blue one they protect New York.

“Ya got a problem with it?” The red one grew even more tense.

You shook your head quickly. “No. Just... surprised.”

“And scared?” He added. “Scared of monsters like us?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you just said you weren’t monsters.”

That seemed to stop him.

So you continued with a deep breath. “You’re all just... really huge. I thought I was tall but standing next to you...” you swallowed and tried not to let your nerves get to you. You turned to the blue one since he seemed to be the leader. “...can I go now? I won’t tell anyone you exist or... whatever it is you want.”

The blue one was skeptical but the purple one butted in.

“Do you have a way home? Like a friend you can call?”

You opened your purse. “Yeah I should be able to call an Uber with my...” you pulled out the broken device. “...my phone.”

Well crap.

You stuffed it back in quickly. “It’s okay I’ll just walk-!”

“I can fix it.” He offered. “Besides it’ll be an extra security measure for us if we have your contact information.” He gestured loosely to the hand you’d punched the creep with. “We could also bandage up those cuts.”

You brought up your hand and inspected the blood with surprise.

Well... when were you gonna get another opportunity like this? It’s not everyday a girl gets invited into the homes of local mutants.

Besides you really didn’t want to walk home with your phone destroyed.

The red one looked at the purple one angrily. “You wanna being ‘er back??”

“Our job is to help people, Raph.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m with Donnie. It’s only fair since we broke her phone.” The blue one nodded.

“Well if it’s not too much trouble...”

—————

Next thing you know you were whisked away to none other than the sewers.

Well that kind of made sense.

No one would ever really want to go down there anyway.

The purple one, whose name you learned was Donnie, had your phone in his three fingers the moment you stepped foot in their home.

“I’ll do a little fixing up, maybe an upgrade, and Raph can take a look at your hands.” He muttered as he started to disappear into a lab like room.

Raph...

He was the red angry one wasn’t he.

The tallest and biggest out of them all.

He didn’t seem too happy about it either.

“Why me?” He protested. “What ‘bout Leo? Or-or Master Splinter? Heck, even Mikey!” He gestured to his orange masked brother as if to showcase how he’d be better at it.

You couldn’t help but silently agree with him.

Mikey seemed the most open on the way here. He’d talked your ear off the whole trip, asking questions about what it was like to be a human and bragging about all the people he’d saved. He’d even wanted you to play a video game with you when you got to their home. He’d been a bit overbearing but that was better than Mr. miffed muscle mountain.

“Hey you’ve broken the skin on your knuckles before. You’ve got experience in it. Just fix her hand and be done.” With that, Donnie was gone.

You shared an awkward moment of eye contact with Raph before he sighed.

“Well, I’m gonna go play my game.” Mikey dashed over to the tv. “Let me know when you two are done and we can play!” He grabbed Leo by the back of his shell and pulled him along.

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously.

It was just you two.

You and the giant turtle boy beside you.

“Aight well...” he cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll take you up to the work out room then?”

He stopped and you realized he was waiting for you to say something. You quickly tried to scrounge up a comprehensible sentence.

“Y-yeah, sounds good with me.” You followed after him quietly, holding your hand so the blood wouldn’t drip everywhere.

The room was smaller than you imagined but still... it was huge to you.

He began rummaging through a box on the table, fumbling with objects. “You can uh... you can sit down while I grab the-the stuff.” He told you quickly.

You didn’t know where to sit so you interpreted his words to mean that you should sit on the work out bench.

You watched patiently as he found the roll of gauze.

Clearly he was just as nervous as you.

You didn’t know why HE was nervous though. He was a giant turtle for goodness sake. He could snap you in half easily.

“Here lemme see that hand.” He shuffled over and reached out.

You gave your right one to him, trying to hold in your nervous shaking.

“Ain’t gonna bite ya.” He rolled his eyes.

“I know.” You commented, watching him start applying disinfectant. “Just never been in a situation like this before.”

He snorted and continued his work.

You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his. Ha. That was new. Usually it was you watching little pick me girls compare their hand size to their crushes. How strange it was for it to be you.

“And I thought I had big hands.” You couldn’t help but blurt out.

He kept his eyes on your hand, examining it a little more. “Ya call this big?”

“Yep.” You glanced around the room, taking in the ‘scenery’.

He snorted. “Damn tiny to me.” He pulled out the gauze and began wrapping your knuckles. “Look, I’m uh... I’m sorry ‘bout the way I handled earlier. My dumbnut brother got us exposed when ya clearly had the situation handled.”

You cringed, remembering that they’d seen you beating the creep. “Yeah I could have handled that better as well.”

He paused for a half second, as if considering his next words, and then continued. “Heard ya say you were havin’ a shit day as well.”

You weren’t exactly sure if you wanted this brought up in the middle of the weirdest experience ever but you were desperate for a smooth conversation. “Yeah, some jackass stood me up.”

He frowned and momentarily made confused eye contact with you. “Stood ya up?”

“You know, as in he said he was gonna go on a date with me and just didn’t show up.” You forced out a laugh. “But it’s fine I got ice cream at home.”

“Mmm.” He muttered. “Sounds like a douche bag.”

Well outta room! Part two will be up I had too much fun :)

[cube-cumb3r]

The Means Reflect On The Ends Actually, (c!Dream & the conditioning of Exile)

What was the point of exile, storywise? What does it say about c!Dream? Sure, it’s showcasing how far he’s willing to go to achieve his own ends, but I don't think all discussion about what exile tells us about c!Dream should start and end there.

Dream is not cruel for cruelty’s sake. Dream’s end goal is not to hurt as many people as possible. He views his cruelty are “necessary evils”, and he doesn’t dwell much on whether the things he does are “good” or “bad”. He’s fully aware he’s hurting people and he ultimately thinks that hurting people, to the extent that he does, is worth it. That being said, while Dream has an ends justify the means mindset, but the truth is, the means absolutely reflect on the ends. His true intentions aren’t a mystery, it’s very clear in the text that his ultimate goal is unity, but why does he want unity? And what would said unity entail?

(Before this essay starts I have to do an ad break to promo @daggryet's very helpful [transcriptions from the exile streams], which I'll be using a lot of. Thanks for the very helpful resource.)

TW: Relatively extensive discussion abt the abuse in exile arc & the effects of said abuse.

Firstly, I don't think you should deny his relationship to control. A through-line of his character is achieving harmony through control, and more specifically, obedience. There’s a reason why he tends to single out Tommy the most. It’s not actually because Tommy is remarkably more troublesome than anyone else on the server, but rather, because his disruptive nature is at Dream’s expense. Tommy is the only character who’s consistently over and over again refused to respect Dream’s authority, and though he isn’t particularly threatening on his own, it’s the sentiment itself that’s dangerous. Similarly, this is why he has consistently targeted L’manburg, moreso than any other faction on the server such as, say, Badlands, El Rapids. It’s almost as if they represented the sentiment, “Hey, why are we listening to you anyway? Why can’t we be listening to anyone else?”, which is why he crushed them, over, and over again. What if everyone figures out they can just stop listening to him? What then?

We talk a lot about the effects exile had on Tommy, and rightfully so, but we don’t talk enough about what Dream was actually doing. What was the purpose of exile? Was it just a way to get closer to the discs? Just a means to an end? What was the end?

TOMMY: What, what could you possibly want more from me? You’ve tortured me.

DREAM: I’m just keeping an eye on you, Tommy.

TOMMY: What does that mean?!

DREAM: I’m just, I’m making sure that you’re not up to no good.

TOMMY: But, how, you’ve exiled me, you fucking stupid, manipulative fucking green bastard!

DREAM: I know! And you know why I did that?

TOMMY: Yes? 

DREAM: No, you know why?

TOMMY: Why?

DREAM: Because you don’t listen to me ever, you’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me. If I tell you to do something, you’re like “no, fuck you!”, and you go and like do like the exact opposite.

[full transcription]

As much as I have to preface this with that this is speculative and we may not have any irrefutable confirmation, I think it's very likely that it's literally just what Dream is saying he's doing. Tommy is the one person who refuses to listen to him, and he wants him to listen. Exile was not only conditioning Tommy to believe that nobody other than Dream cares about him, not only conditioning Tommy to be entirely reliant on him, but also conditioning Tommy to listen to him, without question, without disobeying. And that is such a significant and reoccurring motif for it to arguably just be the intended reading of exile.

Abuse is a vague term that encompasses a lot of abusive practices. There are a good handful that apply to exile, I'm sure if you ask someone qualified they'll be able to provide you a nice handy list, but ultimately, all of them target Tommy's own sense of agency and autonomy, and it all revolves around power and control. Dream creates rituals purely to disarm him, threatens him and punishes him when he doesn't listen, and rewards him when he complies (or rather, conditions Tommy into thinking that not being punished is a reward).

TOMMY: [begins throwing his armor and axe down for DREAM to explode.]

DREAM: No, no, it’s fine.

TOMMY: Re-really?

DREAM: Yeah. Today’s the party, right?

---

TOMMY: So when can I- no, I wanna go back. I… hey, thanks for letting me keep my armour today.

DREAM: You’re welcome.

TOMMY: Kinda nice of you.

[full transcription]

Dream isn’t only hurting Tommy for the sake of hurting him. People tend to frame it as if Dream Just Hates Tommy, but that’s not true. He finds Tommy fun, in a twisted way. There are a lot of moments in exile where they’re both on very good terms and Dream is friendly with Tommy. But, it's also all part of horror of exile, making Tommy reliant on him and his company, getting him to doubt his sense of reality, making him question whether his friends back in L’manburg ever cared about him at all, and possibly questioning whether he’s imagining the abuse as well, Dream is so kind to him after all, why would he ever want to hurt him?

Over the course of exile Tommy agency and sense of self start to deteriorate as well as his mental health, he starts worrying about what Dream would think, starts asking Dream for permission, going out of his way to avoid upsetting him, his only friend, his only reliable caring companion.

TOMMY: Yeah, so I’m thinking we- and then I can- but the thing is; so recently my buddy, Dream, has been doing this thing where he, uhm… it makes sense, though, because I’m not in his land anymore, but he takes my shit from me, so I need to make sure- […]

---

RANBOO: Yeah, so what do you say- does Dream like take your armor? Is that what you said?

TOMMY: I don’t know, he just- hey man, I just follow the boss.

[full transcription]

TOMMY: “Visit Techno” no, no, what would Dream think? […]

---

TOMMY: I’ve had a little idea, by the way, and I wanna know what you think, and also if I’m allowed

DREAM: Okay?

[full transcription]

TOMMY: Yeah, I know he’s actually - he’s sort of my- he’s borderline my owner, Big Q, so I’m not really sure.

MEXICAN DREAM: He’s your dad?

TOMMY: No, no-

MEXICAN DREAM: Ey! Ey, Papa Thomas!

TOMMY: No, no, we’re- as in labor.

MEXICAN DREAM: You gotta teach your child some manners.

[full transcription]

Dream’s outburst in exile after finding Tommy’s chests, is arguably one of Dream's most emotionally honest (and reckless) moments in exile considering it was what made Tommy realize he needed to save himself and escape. And it's punishing Tommy for going behind his back and planning to revolt.

TOMMY: I’m really, no, I’m really sorry, though. Why don’t we just pretend this never- yeah, let’s, shall we just pretend this-?

DREAM: Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy. Listen, I’ll leave you here to think about what you did-

TOMMY: What about the nether? What about the nether, my friends, what-?

DREAM: No! You can’t go to the nether, no one can come here, you are alone, okay? As soon as I think that you have changed, have become somebody who isn’t going to hide and lie and try and revolt; then people can visit you again. You can go to the nether again. But for now - no, no one can. You- I was being very lenient. Yesterday I let you go into the Dream SMP on a temporary pass, and then what do I find out the next day?

TOMMY: I’m so sorry.

DREAM: I have been nothing but gracious to you. Tommy. Think about what you did.

---

Exile wasn’t only a means to getting closer to the discs or getting Tommy out of the way. Exile was a means to conditioning Tommy into listening and respecting Dream as his superior. Dreams solution to Tommy being disruptive and troublesome was to [physically beat], emotionally abuse, and psychologically condition him into obedience. Only seeing exile as a testament to how far how willing he was go to meet his ends is reductive, and not acknowledging what Dream considers to be a “problem” and what he considers to be “solutions” is to not engage with his worldview. You have to take exile into account and what it actually says about his ideals of harmony and unity.

---

TOMMY: I can’t go back… I can’t go back, and see my friends and see Tubbo. This is a shithole! He wasn’t- he wasn’t here ‘cause he was my friend. He was here to- what did he say on the first day? Got a little bug that he can’t flig off? I’m the only person who never does exactly what he says?

TOMMY: I’m the only person who never does what he says. Me! He said that to me, didn’t he?

TOMMY: He was here to watch me.

[full transcription]

Dream’s relationship to Tommy can (and honestly should) be compared to his relationship to the entire server at large. Not to imply that He Literally Wants To Abuse The Server, but rather the he views the server revolting as a problem, and the solution? Well. The [prison]. The hall of attachments. It’s no surprise that the disc war, a conflict that was initially only primarily between Dream and Tommy*, is suddenly about everyone. Bargaining and blackmailing using attachments, something Dream initially only subjected Tommy to, to keep him under his control, is now a means to control everyone.

Is Dream's goal of unity for the sake of the overall happiness and quality of life of the people living within said unity? I don’t doubt that this at some point in time was true. But, the fact that he’s willing to ruin lives and long-term psychologically destroy people over it, means that his goal isn’t unity for the sake of the people living in his ideal version of the server, but at their expense. Him believing he needs to control people to maintain unity and harmony means that he believes himself to know what's best for people moreso than the people themselves, and therefore he's the only one responsible enough to make decisions for them. And it also means that his motives has warped and twisted overtime, it’s likely that he’s become so fixated on the goal of unity itself that he’s lost track of why he wanted it in the first place.

Anyway. Stop buying into Dream's own self-justification of "ends justify the means" and put his deeply flawed and broken worldview and view of people under a little bit of goddam scrutiny.

[harry-writings]

Drive Me Wild

- where Harry has a problem expressing emotions, and Y/n talks too much

Masterlist 

A/N: mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, indications of depression, and a very mild form of smut (if we can really call it that)

Song mentioned: Invisible String by Taylor Swift 

-

December 23, 2016

“Do you even have feelings for me?”

Celeste was sitting across the booth at their local diner, a half-empty mug of hot chocolate left stale at the table top, her eyes wet and cold just like the December she’d been trying so desperately to feel warm in.

Harry had his hands held together in front of him, his eyes void and stare blank as his mind played back to all the times he’d given his all to her. Sure, he didn’t always do it with a smile on his face or with lovestruck eyes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy.

And how could she not see it? How could she not feel it? He didn’t even bother spending his time with anybody else because he didn’t like anybody else. She was his only company, his only kiss, his only friend.

How was that not enough?

“What would make you think that I don’t?”

She laughed, right in his face, like it wasn’t enough to tear him apart.

“You’re kidding me, right?” She looked serious then, her face fallen and lips frowned. He felt stupid because he must have done something he couldn’t remember, or something to blindly hurt her feelings, yet he had no idea what it was. They were doing so good. “Do you even know how you look at me? Like I’m not even here. Like I’m boring you half to death. I can’t even tell what you’re feeling right now.”

Broken, sad, confused. He wanted to tell her that — he really did — but what would it have mattered? He’d still have that same meaningless stare and that same emptiness that had brought them to that very moment. She wouldn’t believe him even if she wanted to.

And it shouldn’t have broken him as much as it did, considering they weren’t even dating — just testing the waters, feeling each other out, wondering if their dreams could ever belong in their reality — but it hurt him just the same. She was the closest thing to a girlfriend Harry ever had, after all.

“Talking to you is like — it’s like talking to a wall. You’re just… there.”

She stopped to look at him more intentionally then — maybe she had missed something all along. Maybe, there was something he did to show the smallest of his emotions, like a shift in his eye, a pitch in his breath, a quiver of his lip.

But just like every other time, there was nothing. He was incurably empty.

“I think you’ve laughed at something I’ve said maybe, five times?” She let out a breathy chuckle because the tension was so thick she could hardly keep herself together, and she was so nervous, and he was so unpredictable. “And then you have this way with your words where, like you say certain things to beat around the bush about how you truly feel about me, and then it makes me wonder if it’s because you don’t even feel that way at all.”

He wanted to argue with her so bad. He wanted so badly to prove to her how wrong she was but how could he have, when she was so right?

Nobody had ever taught him how to do that — the relationships, the emotions, the vulnerability that came with being human. He couldn’t even recall a single time his parents had laughed at something he had said — couldn’t recall his parents ever having friends over, having date nights, even smiling at one another.

And to make matters worse, he was an only child. He was constantly around the voidance of his parents, the empty conversations, the pit of silences — really, that was all he had ever known. And later, that was what he grew into.

And if he could have changed it, he would have. But how does one go from keeping it all inside, to letting it all out?

He’s tried it all — emptying bottles of wine, smoking down blunts, shoving pills down his throat — and still couldn’t he laugh alongside himself, smile at memories that haven’t let him go, pour his heart out to strangers.

That wasn’t him. That wasn't who he was supposed to be, no matter how hard he tried to be that person for her.

But again, why wasn’t that enough?

“But I’m here, aren’t I?”

Celeste looked at him like it was the last time she was ever going to. And he knew.

“I don’t think you want to be.”

-

Y/n is utterly incapable of leaving Harry alone.

And Harry’s always alone, Y/n finds. Between every meeting and during every lunch hour, Harry always has a space beside him that’s just as empty and vacant as he is — well, just as empty and vacant as he comes off — and she assumes that’s why nobody’s ever been willing to take it.

But Y/n finds herself beside him more than she finds herself anywhere else.

Everyday when the clock hits twelve and lunch hour begins, Y/n sits in the chair right beside his and talks to him about anything and everything she can think of — the books she’s read, her childhood memories, the dreams she had the previous night — because he shouldn’t be left all alone the way he’s been so used to.

He doesn’t deserve it. He isn’t just a heartless, lifeless man passing through his days and night without feeling anything, he’s so much more than that — so much more than his blank stares, his vacant expressions, and his linear lips.

There’s something so unexplainably mesmerizing and compelling about him, she can’t help but wonder how nobody else has felt it. It’s magnetic, the way he tells the world everything it needs to know by the look and glimmer in his eye.

It’s all there, everything is there, yet nobody sees it except for her.

It’s as if the universe is telling her that right beside him is where she belongs. Nobody else has claimed that spot, after all, and it’s the only place that feels so right to her.

She feels as if it was always waiting for her, long before twelve o’clock, long before they had even met.

-

August 7, 2016

“Do you know how embarrassing it is?”

Y/n was sat on her kitchen counter in nothing but underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, sobbing and shaking upon the granet, her elbows on her bent knees so her arms were covering her mascara-run face — too ashamed to show herself to the world that’ll only find its way to break her down again.

Cooper was sitting on the barstool just three feet in front of her, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his tie loose to his collarbones, sleeves rolled up against his elbows, eyes defeated yet raging with resentment.

She had never seen him quite like that — so vengeful and so unforgiving. She was so unloved, she saw it in everything he did that night — from telling her to shut up in front of his friends, to making her take a taxi home because nobody could stand the sound of her voice anymore.

The love of her life didn’t even want to take her home, and that was all she needed to know that everything she had ever held onto was everything that needed to be let go of.

“Darling… it has got to stop at some point. I know it’s because you’re nervous but you don’t do anything to change it.”

But why does she have to have to?

That’s all she wanted to know — all she wanted to scream at him at that moment in time but god forbid she had anything to say to him anymore.

And how many more times did she have to keep wasting her breath trying to convince him that she couldn’t help it no matter how hard she tried — the constant talking, the rambling, the scrambling to tell stories, the muttering in awkward silences.

It was her way of calming down her nerves in new environments she could never seem to adapt to — her way of dealing with groups of unfamiliar faces, her way of coping with the rest of the world.

And it seemed as though no matter where she went, there was no place for her. She constantly felt stuck in someone’s way, felt like she was always blocking the entrance, and no matter how many times she tried to find a corner to shelter herself in, there were people still climbing over her to go their own way, and she was always left behind, beaten to the ground.

She just wanted to catch up so badly, but only did it make her fall backwards, time after time again. Yet she still did it, time after time again.

So, she just kept crying, too embarrassed to look at him, too afraid to speak, too hurt to know that she could never forgive him no matter how hard she tried.

“Your habits become a problem when they negatively affect everybody else around you. Y/n, you barely have friends, you can’t make friends with mine, all because you don’t let anybody else talk.”

And what an over-exaggeration. Of course she let other people have a chance to respond and have side conversations… just maybe not as often as they would have liked. But it wasn’t extreme enough where the only conversations she carried were one-sided — not that she had noticed.

“I used to love you for it but lately it’s just been — it’s been too much. I can hardly stand it anymore. Don’t know how to say it without making you cry.”

There was no way to.

The babbling, the rambling, the talking… it was all in her nature. If somebody didn’t like it, then they didn’t like her, and it was just as simple as that.

There was no way around it — there was no magic serum, no prescription drug, no cure for over-talking. And there were days, endless days, that she felt cursed, because why is the one thing that’s so wrong about her the one thing she can’t fix?

But again, why would she have to?

“So — so all the times you kissed me whenever I started going on tangents wasn’t because you loved me or because you wanted to, it was because you didn’t know how else to shut me up, right? You didn’t want to have to hear me anymore. Didn’t even want to hear me cry.”

He didn’t have to answer her because she already knew the answer herself. What she once thought was manifested from pure love and endearment was just as toxic and conniving as everything else she’d ever put her hands on.

Why couldn’t she just be enough?

She refuses to move her hands away from her face.

“You never loved me.” Y/n whispered beneath the sobs that shook through her already broken soul. “That’s the worst part.”  

-

Harry doesn’t like being alone.

He never has, but he’d been able to tolerate it through the years. He didn’t have much of a choice — forced to shove the feeling down to the very depth of his core and carry it around with him until it faded to a subtle numbness that pricked against his chest with every move he made.

Loneliness now, though, has taken on an entirely different meaning that Harry can’t tolerate no matter how hard he tries. Because now, loneliness means Y/n isn’t beside him, and he despises being away from her.

There’s something about her that’s unexplainably addicting, like a drug he can’t get enough of even when it’s soaking in his veins and taking over every one of his senses — one that gives him withdrawals that make him so far gone he can barely stand on his own two feet.

She’s unlike anybody he’s ever met.

Because though she seems to put herself out for the world to see, there is so much she keeps hidden. He can see it in her eyes — all the darkness and pain that’s been seeped within them, and nobody else has ever seemed to notice, because nobody else seems to care.

But he does. God, how much does he care, how much does he want to curse every person in existence for not seeing how deserving she is to be happy. It’s all she deserves.

And he’s convinced that the universe created her solely for him, because everyday when the clock strikes twelve and lunch hour begins, he’s reminded that she doesn’t choose anybody else — it reminds him that she chooses him, every single day, in a room full of people that are so much more approachable.

She keeps choosing him because somewhere deep down, he makes her happy. And he’ll keep choosing her, too, long after twelve o’clock.

-

Harry’s having a bad day.

Since the moment he blinked his eyes open, every little thing has been driving him absolutely mad — from somebody honking their horn at another driver (that wasn’t even him), to the way Jeremy asked him to change one of the slides for his upcoming presentation (even though he told him as nicely as he possibly could), everything was getting under his skin and onto his nerves like a newborn leech.

And what’s even worse is that Y/n is aggravating him when normally, he dreads the final minutes of lunch hour because it means they’re going to have to part ways and only see each other at team meetings until it’s time for them to go home.

They’ve been friends for two years and not once has Y/n ever made his leg bounce with impatience, or had him fiddle with his glasses out of anxiousness, or made his jaw clench with annoyance, until today.

It’s only twenty minutes past twelve and Harry is begging for death.

“You see, I didn’t know it at the time, though! I was twelve and the chaperones weren’t around to watch what I was doing. I saw the duck come towards me and for some reason, I really wanted to know what its beak felt like. I didn’t think it would actually bite me, I wasn’t food!”

And normally, he’d nod his head or give her some sort of indication that he was paying attention to her because he always was, but he hasn’t even so much as lifted his head from above his food since she started talking.

“And it hurt! Proper cried and screamed because it was so much worse than I thought it would be. Ducks are evil little things. I remember one time me and my mum were at the park having a picnic when a duck came flying by and almost hitting her right in the —”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Silence.

He shouldn’t be talking to her like this, he knows that, but right now, he can’t seem to dwell on the consequences that’ll surely come after this. This headspace he’s in is so unforgiving, it somehow convinces him that Y/n never talking to him again is exactly what he wants, when it’s so far from it.

This bitterness that’s consuming him is only swallowing him down for today, it’s temporary, he knows this because it’s happened to him before. It makes him act instinctively and selfishly, like he’d tear limb from limb if he doesn’t get what he wants in that very moment in time.

He doesn’t care who he hurts in the process, even if who he hurts is the only person he cares about.

“W — what?”

She knows what she heard, she’s heard it so many times before, she just can’t believe Harry was the one who said it.

Never, in a million years, would she have believed he would ever be the person to make her feel this way — so heartbroken, so lost, so confused. He’s always been so different with her, in ways she couldn’t explain, and it always made her feel worthy of something so good.

It never crossed her mind that he’d betray her like this, she never saw that in him — she never saw him being angry at her, or resenting her, or disliking her until this very moment, as he’s staring right through her, like she doesn’t even exist.

“Would appreciate it if you left me alone for today.”

There’s a thud in her chest that makes her blood run cold and her insides freeze with sadness. And there’s this look on her face that makes Harry want to take it all back, and he almost does, but he doesn’t.

She’s lived twenty four years of misery, yet never has she felt so hurt, because never has she loved so hard.

“Oh, o — okay.” She mutters with a faltered voice, nodding her head through unshed tears.

There’s forty minutes left of lunch hour and the only friend she has doesn’t even want her here. She has nowhere else to go.

But she leaves anyway.

-

Y/n locks herself in her room that night.

It’s a bad habit she made out of herself when she was a teenager — where she’d lock herself up, shut herself out from the world, and keep herself quiet until she’s forced to leave her house again.

She keeps the lights off and sits in the corner in silence, keeping herself awake by repeating self-loathing mantras in her head — like a form of punishment only she is deserving of.

She cries, but that’s all she allows herself to do.

-

Harry doesn’t sleep that night.

He lays in the dark and just stares up at the ceiling, wondering how he let himself do what he’s done.

Y/n means everything to him, whether she knows it or not, she’s the only thing he has. There’s nothing left in this world for him to hold onto, except for her, and he still managed to let her go.

Tomorrow, he wants to tell her he loves her, because he does. But that’s just another form of selfishness he can’t put onto her again.

He won’t allow himself to, though that’s all he wants to do.

-

Y/n doesn’t show up for lunch hour the next day. 

And Harry’s never felt so alone.

-

Harry sees her three hours later organizing files in Jeremy’s office.

Suddenly, his hands are slicked with sweat and his fingers shake with nervousness. He feels as if the world has stopped turning because what he chooses to say determines whether or not he could ever have her the way he so desperately needs her.

He wipes his palms against his pants, gathering his breath and his thoughts before he slowly creeps himself up behind her — terrified that if he makes one wrong move, she’ll walk away from him again.

He really wouldn’t be able to survive it if she did.

“Y/n.” Harry greets her hesitantly, knowing in the pit of his stomach that what he’s done was so much worse than he thought because she doesn’t even acknowledge him —  doesn’t even look at him — when that’s all she ever used to do. “Can I have a word with you?”

Still, she doesn’t look up at him. She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t even want him looking at her and she would tell him that if she were still talking to him, but she isn’t. She’s just going to keep biting her tongue until it falls off and she has no choice but to swallow it down whole.

Harry’s heart breaks when all he’s met with is her silence.

This isn’t her, and this isn’t what he wants.

His hand reaches down to her wrist, holding onto it so lightly, Y/n almost doesn’t feel it. Her movements halt.

He’s never touched her before.

“Please.”

Her eyes follow the path to where they’re connected, watching as Harry’s thumb traces the smallest of circles against her skin. And as she stares down so pathetically, she feels Harry’s eyes casted exactly where hers are, too, wondering when he’s going to have to let go.

And though his touch is mending the broken bones within her, his words cut like knives, and she’s still bleeding out so helplessly.

She rips her wrist out of his grasp, her eyes now just as far away from him as before. It happened so fast, Harry wonders if he imagined the whole thing.

“Busy.”

He waits for her to say something else — waits for her to curse him out, to yell and scream and rant to him about how much she hates every last bit of him because anything is better than this. But again, he’s left with nothing.

His world falls apart.

“One word? That’s all you give me?”

Her eyes flood with tears.

“That’s all you asked for.”

He slams the side of his fist against the shelf in defeat, so incredibly angry with himself that he can hardly stand on his own two feet without wanting to beat himself down. She’s crying and avoiding him like he’s the last person she ever wants to see, and the worst part is that he can’t even blame her for it.

He has half the mind to walk away and never look back because she doesn’t deserve this; wants to spare her the heartache and let her find somebody that is so much better than he is — somebody who can look at her like they want her to be there, somebody who can smile at her, somebody who can laugh with her.

He can’t give her any of that because that’s not the kind of guy he is, but he doesn’t have that kind of heart. He can’t let her go because deep down he knows she loves him, too, and what would it make him if he were to destroy something so beautiful before it’s even started?

“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. All I’m asking is that you listen to me, please. Y/n, you know I didn’t mean it.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I like you so much.”

Y/n looks back at him now, her eyes still as wet and distant as before, and it tears him apart.

She looks into his eyes because all of her answers are there — they always are — and she can tell this has taken a toll on him the same way it has her. Even with his voice being so stagnant, and his face being so cold, he’s falling apart.

She wishes that was enough.

She looks away from him again.

And Harry’s at a loss. He doesn’t know what else to do to convince her how much he means it — how much he really is sorry and how badly he wants her. He’s so bad with words and so bad with expressing himself that he doesn’t know what he can and can’t do to get her to forgive him.

So, he does the only thing that feels right.

He grabs a hold of her arm and spins her around until her chest is against his, and before she has the chance to say anything to him, and before he can talk himself out of it, he kisses her.

His hands are intertwined with hers as he gives her everything he has. He’s absolutely relentless but it’s nothing short of passionate and desperate, longing for her even when she’s right up against him.

It’s better than either of them could have ever expected it to be.

He’s the first to pull away, and Y/n is let completely and utterly lovestruck.

-

“You can take it back!”

Harry looks up from his notebook with furrowed eyebrows and curious eyes, watching as Y/n slams the door shut behind her before standing at the head of the table with her arms fisted at her sides, nervously biting on her bottom lip and tapping her foot with anticipation — all the while keeping her composure as firm and collected as possible.

“Pardon?”

“The kiss.”

She waits for him to say something about it — anything about it — maybe even scoff or gag a little at the reminder. But alas, he gives her nothing but empty stares and emotionless lips.

“You can take it back, if you want to. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

And of course, she’s lying.

It would really break her heart in two if Harry felt that what happened yesterday was a mistake — that the feelings only fit in that one particular scene, that he was just caught up in the moment and didn’t know how else to apologize.

She had been waiting a lifetime for that sort of magic to be casted onto her — the kind of magic that has her feeling like she’s been granted everything she has ever wanted and more than she could ever ask for. And it feels so surreal that he kissed her that her head keeps swooning with hopes and dreams of everything that could possibly lay between them.

But if he isn’t laying in bed, desperately wishing for the same things she is, she needs to know before it’s too late.

“Oh.” Harry purses his lips, looking back down at his notebook as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “No, thank you.”

Y/n’s mouth drops ever so slightly before she shuts it closed again, flaring her nose as she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She had been preparing everything she was going to say for every possible scenario, yet here she is, racking her brain trying to come up with how to respond to such an ambiguous yet lucid answer.

And now he won’t even look at her, his undivided attention set upon the pen and paper below him as he writes the ideas for his next project, like it was the most casual and most nonchalant conversation he had ever been in.

“Was that all, love?”

Y/n blinks at him and tilts her head to the side, dazed in her confusion and lost at his choice of words.

Love. He called me love. He’s never called me that before.

But when his eyes sneak back up to hers, she shakes her head as if to pull herself together. She didn’t sacrifice last night’s sleep just to get lost in those very eyes — she needs to know where he stands with her before she takes another leap of faith, though all she wants to do is jump right into the same arms that were holding her so closely yesterday.

“I’m giving you a chance to opt out.”

Harry feels his chest fall to the pit of his stomach.

He straightens himself up upon the chair, his shoulders tensing and his fingers stiffening around his pen, feeling uneasy because does she want him to opt out? Does she want him to take back the kiss that’s been lingering on his lips for far too long now?

And he just looks at her, desperate for her to tell him how badly she wants him to do it again — tell him how badly her lips are aching without the feel of his and how badly she wants him to kiss at them until they’re numb and no longer her own, because he’d do it. He’d do it in a heartbeat if she asked with those pretty eyes of hers, with that stutter and that stumble over her words that never fail to make his heart give out.

And if that just becomes another long-lost dream in his never-ending curse of a life, it will do him in deeper than any of the trenches that have been dug out from within him — deeper than any cut anybody’s ever made on him because right now, in this moment in his life, she’s all he has.

“This is the one and only time I will let you break this off without me babbling about how perfect we could be together and how serious I am about you. Because it’s not going to stop — this rambling thing that I do — and I just want you to know that that’s what makes me who I am and it’s not going to stop for you or for anybody else. And so if it annoys you, if it bothers you and embarrasses you, I’m giving you the chance to leave before either of us get hurt and we can pretend nothing’s ever happened between us.”

She thinks we’d be perfect together.

That’s all his brain can process despite everything else that came with it — all that’s stuck in his brain and tightening at his chest.

He thinks they would be, too, when he really thinks about it. She gets lost in stories he lives so vicariously through, and he gets lost in feelings she lives so curiously in — submerging herself between the lines, reading what lies so dangerously beneath him. And nothing sounds better to him than spending every second of his day relishing in that feeling of intimacy they had both been deprived of for so long.

So how dare he? How dare he make her feel so insecure, so unworthy and so undeserving, to be standing here defending everything that makes her who she is when he’s so captivated by it all? And why is it so fucking hard for him to just tell her?

He feels the corners of his lips dip slightly to his chin, but that’s all he can manage to do. He hopes she can see it, and he hopes that it’s enough.

“I’d rather not.”

She frowns herself, looking down to her feet, feeling slightly ashamed for putting him on the spot like this. But what else was she to do? She couldn’t risk getting her heart beaten and bruised because of her stupid mouth all over again.

“But I’ve annoyed you before.” Y/n mutters between a pout, her foot kicking softly at the ground, wishing she didn’t let his words cut her as deeply as they did. “And like I said, it’s not going to stop. I’m still going to want to be around you and talk to you and keep you company and I don’t know what I would do if later down the line you decide you’ve heard enough of me and can’t handle the way I deal with my feelings anymore.”

But he wants all of that, too, more than he’s wanted anything else in his entire life. He wants her next to him during lunch hour talking about her days and her nights, wants her midnight pillow talks, wants her to be the only company in his cold and vacant home.

He just wants her to see it, wants her to feel it, just as much as he does.

“That was different.” He tries to sound more convincing for her sake, but he fails so miserably it hurts.

Talking to you is like talking to a wall — that’s all he can hear beneath his words and it makes him want to give up on the conversation because he’s afraid it’ll only bring her down more, but he can’t leave her like this. Besides, it’s Y/n. And for reasons so unknown, she understands him.

“I wasn’t aware of your importance.”

“My importance?” She scrunches her nose, squinting her eyes. “My importance to what?”

“To me.”

Y/n’s eyes widen in disbelief and she sucks in a breath so deep, it settles in her chest and she swears her heart is on the verge of flatlining.

“To you, right. To you. Because I’m — because I’m important to you...” she mumbles mainly to herself, so quietly and so breathlessly before it dies down on her tongue — the sight of Harry taking off his glasses and throwing them onto the table making her knees buckle and head spin with emotions she’s never felt before.

He’s got this glimmer in his eye and a faint smile painted on his lips and she really can’t breathe, now, as he makes his way towards her.

This is the first time she has ever seen him smile, and though it is as soft and small as any other she’s ever seen — so soft and small, she would have missed it if it were on anybody else — she’s the reason it’s there, and it’s a sight she wouldn’t dare take her eyes off of.

He stands before her now, his fingers reaching up to cup the blush of her cheeks, eyes following the shapes he traces with his thumb against her skin. And though his smile has faded to nothing and he looks as serious as ever before, he doesn’t look away from her for even a second.

And that’s enough.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

She flutters her eyes closed upon his words, knowing this moment is going to end all too soon, and she doesn’t have the heart to say goodbye to it yet.

She wants to remember this feeling for when she has to.

“No, no. That was all.”

He ducks his head and nudges his nose gently against hers before pulling away to pull her back into reality, just for a moment — just long enough for him to know that she isn’t holding herself back from him.

“And I’ve put your worries to rest?”

Oh, how her worries have subsided to nothing but a stomach full of butterflies and a chest of pulled heartstrings.

Nobody has ever made her so sure of anything, the way Harry makes her so sure of him.

“Yeah, I — you make me feel really good, Harry. Can’t explain it. Can’t even put it into words, really. Just, really, really good.”

He makes her feel loved.

And she wants to tell him that, she does, but that word — loved — it’s the same word he called her not just five minutes ago, but it’s so much more than that. Maybe he doesn’t love her, she surely doesn’t expect that from him just yet, but how is she ever going to explain that her feeling of feeling loved is what other people — normal people, she supposes — would consider feeling liked?

And as Y/n’s practically melting between his palms, Harry is trying so hard to understand just how he’s ended up here, being this close to her, when he always believed he’d go his whole life not being this close to anybody.

His eyes bore into hers just to reassure himself that it’s okay — that she’s okay and that they’re okay and that now, it’s okay for him to do the one thing he’s been dreaming about doing since yesterday. And when she smiles at him, a real and genuine smile, he nods.

And he leans in for their second kiss, his thumbs rubbing along her cheeks, humming into her mouth because his own has been watering for a chance to do this again. And it’s perfect. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way about anything.

And Y/n is on cloud nine. She could really kiss him all day every day and still feel like she hasn’t missed a thing. This — this feeling, this moment, this person — is everything she’s ever wanted and everything she will always need. It’s irreplaceably and undeniably hers, and she’ll do anything to keep it for as long as she lives.

Her hands are on his neck, pulling him further into her because she can’t get enough of him and nothing else matters besides them meeting in the break room, kissing behind closed doors like teenagers who haven’t learned how to keep their hands to themselves.

The only thing that breaks them from their moment is the sound of the copy room door being slammed in the hallway, their breaths heavy and lips red and wet from each other’s.

“Have dinner with me tonight.” Harry suggests as his fingers tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Wherever you want.”

And Y/n’s unsure as to whether it’s the sleepless night sneaking up on her or if it’s the aftermath of Harry kissing her senseless, but she can’t think of a single thing she could possibly want for dinner when she just wants to be with him. He could take her to the most run-down restaurant in this city and she would still feel as though she were on the highest of hilltops, overlooking the prettiest view, all because of him.

“I don’t — I don’t care, really. It wouldn’t even really matter, anyways, just — just as long as you’re with me. Don’t even have to have dinner, if you don’t want to. Could do anything you’d like.”

She’s blushing and looking down at her feet, and Harry hates when she hides herself like this, hates that she puts herself under to put him first when she deserves to be the first and the only — he has a sick and twisted feeling she’s never been any of those things to anybody.

“Y/n.” His tone is slow and stern as his head ducks down so her can eyes can meet his. “Wherever you want.”

And how could she say no to those eyes — though always so dark, so void, are also so gentle and so kind, so deep and so open? The light in them changes just ever so slightly whenever he looks at her, and she wouldn’t dream of ever taking that away from him.

“I want what you have for lunch on Tuesdays.”

His thumb brushes against the edge of her jawline.

“It’s homemade. I can pick you up around seven, eat dinner at mine.”

Her fingers wrap around his wrist absentmindedly, holding his hand so that it stays pressed against the back of her head.

“No, Harry, that’s not — that’s too much work for you. Let me at least drive and meet you at your flat, yeah? I can’t let you do that.”

She really is just the cutest, sweetest, most considerate person he’s ever met, and the most beautiful he’s ever laid eyes on. And if she wasn’t all of those things, he would let her drive and meet him at his flat for dinner, but she is, and what kind of date would it be if Harry didn’t come knocking on her front door, holding out his hand, and leading the night away?

She deserves to have a night that’s just for her. And surely, Harry wants this date just as much as she does, but it’s not about him, because as long as she’s beside him, he doesn’t have a care in the world what he has to do to get her there.

“Y/n.” His voice is as low and stern as before. “I’m picking you up at seven.”

Y/n looks at him for a moment, studying him, wondering how she’s ended up here — the only place she has ever wanted to be. She lets out a breathy chuckle, her cheeks flushed, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“I’ll see you at seven, then.”

His eyes light up.

And they kiss.

-

It’s 6:35 when Harry actually comes to pick Y/n up, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to see her so badly, and he couldn’t just sit on his sofa trying to justify waiting to be with her again. He would have been more than willing to watch her finish getting ready, or just stand at the other side of her door, trying to convince her to let him in because she’s going to look beautiful no matter what.

He doesn’t even care if he comes off as desperate, because he is.

And Y/n is, too, because of course she was ready by 6:35. Since the second she got home, she was putting herself together as best she could, though refusing to try as hard as she normally would with anybody else because for whatever reason, Harry likes her for her — likes her in her work clothes with her hair up, without makeup on, first thing in the morning — and she wouldn’t ever dream of jeopardizing that.

And Y/n is left speechless as she opens her front door, because not only does Harry look as handsome and fit as ever, but he’s also holding the prettiest bouquet of flowers she’s ever seen.

“Harry, I — wow.”

He holds them out to her, failing to mention anything about them, just handing them to her like it’s something so normal and so casual, when in reality, the gesture is anything but.

Out of all the years she’s lived, nobody’s ever given her a reason to believe she’s been thought about once out of sight. Even when she was with Cooper — her one and only boyfriend — he’d never bought her flower arrangements or spontaneous gifts whenever they were apart, even on the days he should have, like she only existed when it was convenient for him.

This is just her first date with Harry and she’s never felt more alive. She lives in his mind even when she’s blocks away — nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be heard.

She takes the bouquet from his hands, looking down at what must have been two dozen flowers, wrapped all together by a rubber band and light purple plastic wrap.

“Lilies.” She marvels at him, eyes wide with an open-mouthed smile, like she couldn’t believe the sight of them. “These are my absolute favorites.”

He nods, his hands locked behind his back, lips pursed and body rocking from heel to toe. “I know.”

She tilts her head at him.

“You told me a couple months ago during lunch hour.”

And again, she’s left speechless.

She can’t even remember telling him about her love for lilies, yet here he is, recalling all these small details about herself she’s said in passing. Even in the moments he wasn’t the most fond of her, even in the moments he could hardly stand her company, he was paying attention to her. He was listening to her, so much so that her words have stuck with him despite all the days that have passed.

And it’s no wonder she’s fallen so quickly under his spell — it was made just for her. Nobody else could ever see what he sees in her, and nobody else could ever see what she sees in him, and that’s exactly how they’ve ended up here — both standing on her doorstep, refusing to take their eyes off each other, anxious to spend the rest of their night together, hoping it’s forever.

“I love them, Harry, thank you.” She blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m just going to put these in a vase real quick. You can come in, if you’d like. Or you can stay out here, it doesn't matter.”

He follows her into the flat, which looks and smells exactly how he imagined it would. It feels just as warm as she does and smells like a mix of lavender and honey, just as intoxicating as her.

And though there are so many things he wants to see — the books she collects beside her living room couch, the movies scattered alongside her DVD player, and the pictures hung up on her walls — all he can focus on is the woman that’s stolen his heart so effortlessly.

He leans himself against the wall of her kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she pours the water and powder into the vase, stirring it together gently between her hands. And as she unwraps and unties the flowers, Harry wishes they could live for as long as they do.

This is the view he wants forever — Y/n putting flowers he’s gotten her in clear vases, surrounded by her favorite things, sharing comfortable silences she’d feel so nervous in if it were with anybody else.

She is his, he decides, and he is helplessly hers.

“Didn’t tell you when I first saw you but, you look stunning.”

She looks over at him, her eyes gleaming and lips tugged upward at his words.

“Yeah?”

His lips tug upward, too, in the same way they did earlier today in the break room, and it amazes her how something so small could mean so much to her.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, his eyes soaking her all in, still convinced she’s a dream he hasn’t woken up from. “You always do.”

She blushes, reaching forward to place the vase onto the windowsill above her sink. She can feel his eyes on her still, refusing to break away from her, and it makes her feel like the only woman in the world. And maybe she is — at the very least, the only woman in Harry’s.

She walks over to where he stands so irresistibly — so tall and so handsome, with a chest she so desperately wants to make a home out of and kiss at until she has nothing left but the burning of his skin on her own.

And as she stands before him, neither of them have anything to say because in times like these, their breaths are taken away and all they can process is how close they are to each other.

Her hands graze over his chest ever so slightly, hesitant to touch him the way she’s been shamefully aching to, afraid to push him away. But she can hear his breath hitch in his throat and can see his pecs tighten beneath her fingertips, and she lets out an uneven breath. He likes it.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” She whispers, her breath fanning his neck and she swears she can see his eyes fighting to stay open.

Her hands graze up to the dip of his collarbones, her thumbs running along the sides of his throat. And to give her more access, Harry dips his head back, overstimulated by the feeling of it all.

“To touch me?”

His voice is strained and croaked, borderline delirious. And though his eyes are fluttering closed as her fingers now run along the shape of his shoulders and up the sides of his neck, dancing along his jawline, he can see her bite down on her bottom lip and it makes his heart hurt, in the best way possible.

Her eyes gleam as her fingers twist around the chain on his neck.

“It’s been all I could think about since I met you.”

His head falls back against the wall, the smallest of whimpers falling from his practically drooling mouth.

God, everything about her drives him wild. He has so completely lost himself in her, he can’t even remember his own name. He can’t even remember who he was just twenty seconds ago, much less who he was before he met her, and it’s something so new he can’t grasp the reality of it.

Her hands all over him is a feeling he can’t put into words, and one he certainly can’t hide.

He is falling.

And falling.

And falling.

-

It doesn’t take them too long to figure out how similar they are despite their differences, certainly not after downing half a bottle of wine mixed with being so incredibly drunk on each other.

Y/n confided in him about her past — about how her nervous habits have never made her feel like she never had a true sense of belonging because everywhere she went, she was constantly kicked out. She’s had such unfathomable lows that she’d lock herself in her room for weeks on end, forcing herself quiet, because even she was sick of hearing herself.

And as Harry listened to her speak about all the cruel, heartless things that have been said to her, he couldn’t help but feel understood despite the feeling of guilt throbbing in his gut, for he had done what everybody else did not just one day ago.

Harry confided in her, too, about how he had always been left out because he always managed to bring down everybody else’s mood. He told her things he hadn’t told anybody else because he had nobody else to tell them to — told her about all the drugs he’s taken and all the other toxic habits he’d pursued in a poor, desperate attempt to become emotional.

Then, they talked about their parents — a conversation so barren and so untouched, it was almost impossible to talk about.

Y/n grew up with parents who didn’t understand her, because who could? Even when she was little, barely forming an identity and her only concept of friendship being imaginary ones, her parents would tell her that she was embarrassing herself. She’ll always remember the look on her mother’s face at a New Years Eve party when she said, “I just can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

Harry grew up with absent parents — absent in a sense that they were around, just never really there. His parents hardly acknowledged him, hardly ever spoke to him, and when they did it felt so forced, like an obligation they couldn’t find their way out of. He’ll never forget the way they looked at him, like he wasn’t even there, like they didn’t even want him to be.

It makes them question just how strongly the universe works in their favor.

Because what seems to be the first time in her life, Y/n has found something only made for her, a place where nobody else belongs, and it wouldn’t have brought her here if she had kept herself locked away, rotting in her self pity, refusing to let anybody in for all the rest of her years.

And for what seems to be the first time in his life, Harry feels he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, with the person he’s supposed to be with, and it wouldn’t have brought him here if all the wine, all the blunts, and all the pills did what he so desperately wanted out of them all those years ago.

They had spent their whole lives trying to make something out of themselves when they were always enough, because they were enough for each other, and each other was what they were made for.

“So you’re saying that all this time, we’ve been the exact same person?” Y/n chuckles, because though their conversation was so serious, the mood was still as lighthearted as everything else between them.

“Peculiar habits, a history of toxic behavior, no friends, and shitty parents? Yeah, sounds like it.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head.

“Here’s to nobody liking us.” Y/n raises her glass.

“Here’s to nobody liking us.” Harry repeats, raising his own. “Except for each other.”

And they clink.

-

Maybe they shouldn’t have finished that entire bottle of wine to themselves, but they did.

What started off in the kitchen made its way to the living room, both sat beside each other on Harry’s sofa with their heads hung back, Y/n cracking jokes and humming along to the songs on her playlist, and Harry admiring her from the distance.

They both have their last glasses of wine nearly gone, holding them upon their thighs, taking their final sips throughout the hour and with every one they take, they feel closer somehow.

Y/n’s giggling about how Harry won’t stop looking at her, and though she can’t see it between her squinting eyes and their gaze set upon the ceiling wall, he smiles.

He can’t help it — looking at her like it’s the last time he ever will though it’s only the beginning, but he doesn’t ever want to forget the way he feels whenever he does. This is the only good feeling he’s ever had, and even when she’s not in view, he wants to hold onto it ‘til his dying day.

“You’re my favorite person.” Is all he says, his lips fallen. “My only person.”

Y/n finally turns her head over to him, now, so that her eyes are locked on his. And she wishes he can understand the feeling in her heart and the way it’s beating so eroticly, but she doesn’t, because it’s so overwhelming and too much of a good thing for her to make sense of.

Never in her life has she felt so good, yet here she is, feeling even better than that, all because of one person she met nearly two years ago.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He nods, because he understands, and they both look away from each other again.

They’re getting lost in the music and lost in the feeling of the air that surrounds them — so full of unexplainable things that leave them wanting more than they did before, breathing in nothing but longing and desire.

And it isn’t until one of Y/n’s favorite songs comes on that the comfortable silence between them is all but broken, in the most beautiful way possible.

“Green was the color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial Park. I used to think I would meet somebody there.”

Harry stiffens beside her, his fingers instinctively curling tighter around his glass of wine — speechless and breathless as the sound of her voice intoxicates his already drunken state of mind, the room now spinning but only because of her.

“Teal was the color of your shirt when you were sixteen at the yogurt shop you used to work at to make a little money.”

This is heaven, he feels. It has to be because things this beautiful don’t exist in worlds so cruel, in worlds so evil.

Things this beautiful don’t belong here.

Y/n doesn’t belong here. She’s too perfect for her own good — too perfect for a world that refuses to believe in such things, but he does. He does because how can he deny the woman that’s sitting right before him? How can he deny the sound of her voice in a dim lit room, soaked in red wine, existing only to be heard by him?

“Time — curious time — gave me no compasses, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn’t see? And isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string — tying you to me?”

Y/n’s raising her glass to her lips as the lyrics pause but god, if Harry has to watch her lips touch anything but his, it’s going to be the end of him. And right as her mouth puckers for a taste, Harry reaches his hand out to grab the bowl of the glass, lifting it from her fingers before setting it down upon the coffee table beside them.

She tilts her head at him with furrowed brows and squinted eyes, watching as Harry practically crawls over to her until his thighs are pressed to her knees and his hands are at either side of her waist.

“You’re so pretty.”

Y/n rolls her eyes at him but it hides behind her flushed cheeks and growing smile.

“Harry —”

“Sh.” He shushes her, laying his forehead against the top of her chest, slithering his arms to her lower back, and Y/n giggles. “Keep going.”

So, she does — keeps singing the very words she had been so hopelessly trying to put a face to, to the very man that holds her to them.

And she’s falling.

She feels it now more than ever as he practically buries himself into her, rocking her gently back and forth like she’s some sort of delicacy he wouldn’t dare to break. Everything about it is so intimate, so real, so raw — no boundaries, all walls crumbled down so vulnerably, feeling each other so deeply.

She wonders if he feels it, too.

And oh, does he feel it — her words, his touch, the room fading to nothingness. It is just them — no fears, no doubts, no resentment — together in this moment, becoming one, letting everything else simply slip through their fingertips.

Harry rests his lips upon her collar bone, settling them against her sweltering skin. He can feel her heart beating against his mouth, and it feels right.

“Spend the night with me.”

Y/n stiffens.

She wants to spend the night, she does, more than anything else she could ever want. It’s been her long-lived dream to be cuddled to his chest, feeling him breathe against her, burning in his touch until slumber clouded her senses; waking up beside him in the early morning and hearing that voice so rasped and far gone.

But all of her dreams are so innocent, so pure, and so holy by him, and what if that’s not where his head is? Between all the drinks, all the touching, and all the stolen stares, it could be somewhere so far out of her reach, somewhere so far away from her own, and it’ll absolutely ruin her if that’s all he wants out of her.

Harry must have felt her uneasiness because he’s quick to lift his head from her chest.

“No, no. Not like that, Y/n. I promise. Never even —”

Had sex.

He was so close to saying it to reassure her, but he couldn’t — he couldn’t because if he did, she’d have every reason to believe he was thinking of such things when it was the farthest thought from his mind. Really, he wants her to spend the night because once she leaves, she’s all he’s going to think about and all he’s going to want beside him. He probably would have ended up on her doorstep at two in the morning, dazed and confused, all because he never wants to be away from her.

She is so close, and he wants her so bad.

“Had a girlfriend.”

He settles for something less straightforward but just as truthful and vulnerable. Besides, he figured it’s something she should know because if he ever fucks something up, or fails to do right by her, even if it’s unintentional, maybe she’d understand why.

He’s absolutely terrified that he’s going to be the first one to start a fight and not know how to fix it, or be the first one to make the other cry and not know why. He’s done it before, with Celeste. And though what he has with Y/n is so different and so much more real than what he ever had with her, he still managed to break her heart enough for her to leave him. He wouldn’t blame Y/n if she ever decides to, too.

Y/n looks down at him with eyes full of sorrow. He’s not asking for pity, she knows that, but how he’s gone his whole life without ever being loved, she’ll never understand.

It’s all he deserves.

And she can’t help but feel like she’s the least deserving person to be the first because she knows, down to the very pit of her soul, that Harry isn’t like the others — that Harry wouldn’t kiss her, ask her out on a date, and snuggle himself into her the way he is right now just to get a proper shag — yet she convinced herself that maybe, somewhere so deeply within him, he is that kind of person, and that is so far from fair.

She runs her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll only spend the night under one condition.”

He blinks at her.

“Anything.”

She leans forward to rub her nose against his, a soft smirk set on her lips as she kisses him gently.

She giggles before pulling away, sliding out from underneath him and though the small pout on Harry’s face would send her right back to him, she chooses to stand beside him with an open-palmed hand sticking out before her, her eyes glistening, her lips bitten.

“Dance with me.”

And god, how could he ever say no to that face?

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he hitches his glasses up — the closest thing to a laugh Yn has ever heard out of him, and it makes her want to cry. And he shakes his head softly before grabbing onto her hand, letting her lift him from the sofa.

“You drive me wild.”

She hums, lifting his hand up to her lips.

She guides him behind the coffee table, grasping both of his hands in hers, and though she fully intends on pulling him to her and leading the rest of the way, he beats her to it.

He’s got her pressed up against him, one hand hooked to her lower back and the other holding hers between their shoulders, swaying them side to side as they dance together in slow circles.

They’re at peace. Together, they can do the most cliche of things — make a dance floor out of a living room, make a night out of a date — and not feel anything but pure, genuine happiness out of it.

They don’t need anything or anyone outside of each other, and that’s what makes it all the better.

“Hm…” Y/n hums, resting the side of her cheek against his chest. She feels at home like this. “Quite the dancer, you are.”

His thumb rubs at her wrist, and he shakes his head.

“Only for you.”

-

Y/n doesn’t go home the following night.

Or the night after that.

Or the night after that.

Or the night after that.

-

This must be the third time Y/n’s set off the smoke alarm.

And in any other circumstance, she probably would have given up and called Harry’s favorite take out to spare him from a night of potential food poisoning, but Harry’s spent the past two weeks telling her how much he wished Thanksgiving was a British holiday, and now that it’s late November and Harry has spent the past three months of their relationship doing all the cooking, she can’t quit him now.

Even as she’s flinging around the oven mitts trying to waft the smoke from the open oven out of her face, she still can’t quit.

The things she does for love, she fucking hates it.

“Pretty, you’re going to burn our flat down.” Harry chuckles from behind her, his hand landing on the small of her back as he rubs gently at it. “Let me take it from here, love. I’ve got it.”

Y/n’s quick to close the oven door back shut and press her back to it, practically flinging herself away from Harry’s touch as she does so. She’s panting and sweating and her hair is an absolute wreck, yet she refuses Harry’s helping hand.

This is his day, and she is his girl, and she just has to do this.

“No, no, mister! Don’t you even think about it! I’ve got it all under control.”

Her lips are pursed for the simple reason that she knows it’s an absolute monstrosity — she’s burnt two rounds of yams, somehow turned mashed potatoes into soup, and overcooked the green bean casserole to a cripst — but at least it’s all been made with love.

And she assumes Harry doesn’t believe her, either, because he’s trying his absolute hardest to not laugh at her, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“Pretty,” Harry laughs, facepalming himself before his hand cups around his mouth to try to stifle the sounds. “You — you closed the oven door again and it’s —”

“Fuck!”

She turns herself around before ripping the oven back open, coughing and groaning as a cloud of smoke hits her face for the millionth time tonight before reaching in to grab yet another round of burnt yams.

She slams it onto the stove, ripping her oven mitts off and throwing them onto the counter beside her.

Harry feels bad, he does, because she’s been slaving away in their kitchen for the past five hours and she’s the farthest from satisfied she could possibly be, but he can’t deny that he loves seeing her like this — so passionate, all cute and grumpy just to make him happy.

Oh, how he loves her so, even when she burns his beloved yams.

He kisses the back of her head.

“Looks incredible, baby. Don’t need anything else than what you’ve got.” His lips move to her cheek. “Let me set the table while you put everything in dishes, yeah? Starving.”

He lights two pumpkin spice candles upon the table, pouring two glasses of their favorite wine, and setting down two plates for each of them because they haven’t eaten all day in preparation for their dinner, and they’re both at their wits end.

Y/n sets dinner up buffet style along the kitchen island — the roasted young turkey set in the middle surrounded by bowls of corn, mashed potatoes, stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and dinner rolls.

Though she’s far from being a good cook, she does feel slightly better when she sees it all set up in autumn-colored dish sets. It could have been a lot worse, it really could have been a lot worse.

And it’s the look on Harry’s face that makes the past five hours of hell so incredibly worth it.

His fists are on the kitchen table, his body leaning forward as his eyes marvel at the sight in front of him. Autumn has always been his favorite season, and he’s always been so fond of the concept of Thanksgiving — spending time with his loved ones, reminiscing all his favorite memories throughout the year, delving into his favorite foods.

He’d contemplated making a Thanksgiving of his own for the past couple years, but whenever it came down to it, he realized he didn’t have much to be thankful for, and he didn’t have any memories to look back on. So, he never did.

But now, he has so much to be thankful for — so many unforgettable memories, a lifetime of happiness, and a loved one to finally celebrate with — all of which are standing right before him.

Nobody else in the world would ever do the things she does for him. She is one and a million, his little miracle, and the absolute light of his life.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

She shrugs, a teasing grin playing on her lips.

“Once or twice.”

She loads their plates up with everything she made — giving Harry extra stuffing, of course — before she makes her way back to the kitchen table, sitting across from the very man she’s thankful for this year.

She didn’t realize how good it would feel — to spend a holiday with Harry, even though it’s illegitimate — but it’s warm and homely and everything else in between. It’s no wonder she falls more in love with him everyday, and no wonder she wants to spend all of her days exactly where they are now, until they’re old and grumpy and can hardly stand the sight of each other anymore.

Y/n lifts up her wine glass.

“This year, I’m thankful for being yours and only yours. I’m nothing without you.”

Harry lifts up his wine glass.

“This year, I’m thankful for you and your love. You’re everything to me.”

They clink, they eat, they kiss, and they do it all over again.

-

“You know, I don’t think guys are meant to do this kind of stuff.”

Y/n’s sitting across from Harry on their queen-sized bed, their legs crossed Indian style as Harry’s hand is spread out before her, Y/n grasping onto his fingers with her own as she paints a thin layer of black nailpolish onto his nails.

It didn’t take Y/n much convincing to get Harry in this position. She knows full well that all she has to do is pout and cross her arms for him to give her what she wants. And normally, she doesn’t use his weaknesses against him — she doesn’t think it’s right, and he’d never do it to her — but this is something so harmless that she gave herself a free pass.

Plus, she knows he’d look hot with his nails painted black.

“Shut up, H.” She giggles, shaking her head. “They’ll look really good, I promise. Besides, it could be our little secret.”

He can’t lie, it does feel nice to be pampered like this. Her hands are soft and it tickles when she goes finger-to-finger, and it’s a damn good excuse to touch her and look at her for minutes on end. She’s got her eyebrows pinched together as she moves his fingers around, trying to get into every edge and crevice, and he can see it in her eyes how much she’s truly enjoying herself right now.

His eyes take a peek at his nails and it’s not nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be. They make him feel… different, but in a way that can only be described as holding a certain power he never knew he had.

Guys normally don’t do this kind of stuff, but he is, and he looks damn good while doing it.

And as Y/n takes both of his hands out to her and starts to blow on them, his eyes flutter with amusement. Maybe, just maybe, he’d let her do this again.

She pokes one of her nails into his.

“They should be dry now.”

And though his nails are finished, Y/n still hasn’t let go of his hands, and her eyes haven’t left his fingers. Instead, she’s marveling over them — eyes gleaming, bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her digits twisting at his rings.

He smirks at her.

“Look good?”

She nods, lifting one of his hands up higher towards her neck.

“They look really good, H. So good, I —” She doesn’t even let herself finish before she brings his pointer and middle finger up and into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and proper sucking on them like she was born for it.

Harry’s breath gets locked in his throat, his entire demeanor changing as he broadens his shoulders and tenses his chest, his eyes darkening and hawking over every move of her mouth, every swipe of her tongue.

She’s moaning — whimpering and whining like she’s been left starving and he’s her first proper meal in weeks. And nothing’s even started yet.

He reaches his free hand over to her face, petting her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“That’s it, my pretty girl. Just like that.”

She pops them out of her mouth, her lips red and wet and eyes glossy with lust. And Harry watches as she grabs a hold of his wrist and guides his two, sloppy and dripping fingers down her neck and between her breasts, stretching down the collar of her shirt, leaning back for him to have the most perfect view.

“Fuck.” He breathes out, the hand that was once on her cheek reaching over to grope at her thigh. “Is this what I’m going to get every time you paint my nails black? You being such a good girl for me?”

She nods her head, gulping.

“Y — yeah.” She shudders as the hand on her thigh inches up with every passing second. “Told you they’d look so good.”

He chuckles darkly before he reaches his hand up to grab at the base of her throat. It’s her favorite, when he takes her breath away like this, because all she can feel is him.

And right now, he doesn’t want her to feel anything else.

He pushes her down until her back is fully pressed against the mattress, and he crawls until he’s above her on his hands and knees, his fingers still squeezing at her throat.

Such a pretty neck, such a pretty face. And it’s all his.

“Let’s see how good they look all over you, yeah?”

-

Harry hears something when he passes one of the vacant offices at work.

It’s a bloodcurdling sound, one he hasn’t ever heard before and one he wished he’d never heard at all, but he knows exactly what it is before he sees it.

He could never mistake the sound of his girl — it’s all he ever hears and he’s been around her long enough to know the sound of her very breath. She’s a part of him — he feels her in his bones when she’s close and knows exactly what she’s feeling at every moment in time.

But what he sees is worse than he could have ever imagined.

Y/n’s sobbing something so awful her face is nearly blue, lips trembling and eyes all but swollen shut, shaking and convulsing upon the chair below her.

And Harry doesn’t know what to do.

His brain is working at a million miles an hour and he can’t keep up — doesn’t know left from right, up from down — because all he can feel is the overwhelming sense of heartbreak and his world crumbling out from underneath him.

He practically runs to her — tripping over the legs of office chairs, ramming his hips into the corners of the table, on the verge of collapse with every step he takes. Yet nothing stops him from falling to his knees before her, letting his hands grab a hold of her soaken cheeks, having his thumbs wipe away her endless tears.

“Pretty —”

He can’t even get a word out without wanting to cry, but he’s never done it before. He wouldn’t know how to even if he wanted to, but it’s there — that lump in his throat, that tightening of his chest, that burning in his eyes, it’s all there.

“What happened, baby? Talk to me.”

And though she really didn’t want Harry to see her this way, she can’t help but clasp her shaking fingers around his wrists, holding him there because she doesn’t know what she would do if he were to leave her now.

What happened today — what happened to her — is just further proof that the only person she can trust and the only person she can truly be herself with is Harry. The world is so vengeful and so deceiving towards her, for reasons so unknown, but it’s brought her to the very man kneeling between her thighs, with eyes full of unshed tears, wanting her and loving her even when nobody else does. And if he were to walk away from her now, though she knows he wouldn’t dream of it, she’d lose every last bit of hope she has, and she wouldn’t be able to survive it.

She needs him so badly it hurts.

“Can’t —” She shakes her head as she sniffles back a sob. “Can’t tell you.”

She can’t because she doesn’t want him to see just how bad it can get for her — see how her differences are so obvious to everything and everyone around her. It never ends. It’s been like this for as long as she can remember and she’s so scared and so afraid that if Harry sees it, too, he’d do the very thing that happened to her twenty minutes ago.

But even through her waterfall eyes, she can see just how devastated Harry looks at her words.

“Pretty, you can tell me anything. You know that. Can’t —” He shakes his head, gulping, one of his hands rubbing at the back of her head. “Can’t see you like this and not know how to fix it.”

She pulls her hands away from her tight hold on him so that they can cover her face — too ashamed for the world to see how much it’s broken her down, too humiliated to face somebody so much better than her.

“It — it’s s — so emb — embarrassing!”

She’s hiding from him. Harry hates when she hides from him.

“No, please don’t — please don’t do that.” He practically begs as his hands reach back up to hers, pulling them away from her face and intertwining their fingers together. “It’s me, baby. It’s me. You don’t have to do that with me. Please, don’t do that with me.”

He’s got their hands held on top of her knees, the pads of his thumbs stroking her palms, his lips pressing to the top of her exposed thighs because it’s the only thing he can think of doing right now.

He’s never done this — never had anybody break and shatter before his very eyes, much less somebody he loves — and he is so bad with words and so bad with dealing with his own feelings he wouldn’t even know where to start dealing with hers, but he does know that he can be the most affectionate boyfriend there is towards her, and he hopes that’s a start.

But he doesn’t have a single clue just how good it feels for Y/n to be loved by him when she feels so hated. He is the only person that really, truly matters to her, so to feel him touch her and kiss her when she’s at her absolute lowest, is all she really needs.

Harry notices her breath starting to shallow and her sobs fading to distant cries every time he presses his lips to her skin, and despite how much of a mess he is, it warms his heart to know that they share a love that can overcome anything life decides to throw at them.

He reluctantly lifts his head up to look at her properly, now. His glasses are all fogged and wet but he refuses to take them off the way he normally would with her, because that would require him letting go of her hands, and for both of their sanity, that’s not something he can do right now.

He’s crying.

And though his face is as stone cold and tight as always, his eyes, Y/n notices, are unlike anything she’s ever seen. They’re so undeniably broken, and her heart crumbles into a million pieces just at the sight of it.

She feels it’s all because of her.

“The new recruit, Mason, he —”

She sucks in a breath, trying to find the right words that could possibly explain the amount of damage that he caused her without sounding so weak and pathetic. It wouldn’t have hurt her as badly if it wasn’t something that’s happened to her more and more over the years, beating her down further and further each time, digging deeper and deeper into her already hollowed out chest.

And all Harry can think about is how one name, one person, has made this much of a mess out of her — one that she has to see every single day, that she has to speak to in order to get her work done, that she has to face time and time again.

He’s never hated so much in his life.

“What did he do to you?” He whispers it, afraid that one wrong tone of voice or one wrong word can tear her apart all over again. “Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?”

She shakes her head, her eyes casted down at their intertwined hands.

“Laughed at me.”

Her voice is so small and so sad, it’s the most heartbreaking sound Harry has ever heard. And he feels like he failed her.

He knows full well that somebody laughing at her and degrading her, hurts her more than any physical pain she could possibly feel. Even if Mason had touched her, it wouldn’t have made her like this — so afraid, so self-conscious, and so successfully ruined.

“In front of the whole team, just — just kept poking fun at me. Mocking me. Speaking about me as if I wasn’t there. Making fun of my nervous stutter and — and talking over me like, ‘oh, and she keeps going.’ and ‘wow, it just never ends, does it?’ and making everyone laugh at me.”

He should have been there. All he can think about is how he should have been by her side the way any boyfriend should — should have been there to protect her, to keep his eyes on anybody who dared to even look at her the wrong way, to never let her out of his sight.

They’re on the same team and he just should have fucking been there.

“Said he’d take bets with people to see how long it would take me to shut up and I wanted to tell him so badly that the more he says those things the more I ramble because it makes me nervous and I don’t know what else to do but apart of me — apart of me felt like he already knew that and kept going so that I could keep going so that he can keep making a fool out of me.”

Her bottom lip quivers again, and so does his, and Harry has had enough.

He can’t keep seeing her like this because who knows what his love for her could make him do. He’s already broken so many boundaries just from taking one look at her, he can’t even imagine what comes next, or what would come next, if he has to see it again.

With every last bit of courage he has, Harry lets go of her hands and brings his wrist up behind his glasses, wiping away the remnants of his tears, before bringing his hands back down to her knees.

“I’m going to tell Jeremy that you’re not feeling well and that you needed to go home, okay?”

She nods with a pout on her face because god, how badly does she want to crawl into their bed and hibernate beneath the covers until the weekend’s over.

“I’ll help you finish up whatever you need me to, and I’ll meet you back at our flat once I’m done.” He hooks his pointer finger under her chin, kissing away the pout his heart just can’t handle the sight of. “I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”

He didn’t have to tell her, because she already knew.

And it’s so hard for him to leave her like this, but he has to. He has to because she can’t stay here and face the same team that just spit on her name and pretend everything is okay, when everything is so far from it.

He kisses her one last time.

“Go home. I’ll be there soon.”

-

Harry wasn’t looking for Mason.

He really wasn’t, though every fiber in his body instinctively wanted to hunt him down and brutalize him until he was nothing but a pile of broken bones and battered flesh. His fingers ached for it, but he was more focused on getting home to Y/n so that she didn’t have to be alone — so that he can hold her, and kiss her, and remind her that the only reason the world keeps trying to knock her down is because she’s too perfect to be existing in it.

But as he stands in the copy room to help finish one of Y/n’s major projects, that’s exactly who he sees.

He walks in, whistling the same tune he does every other day, one hand holding a pile of papers and the other slinging the office keys by their lanyard. And as he occupies the empty copy machine next to Harry’s, he lifts his chin up as if to greet him on this truly horrible, unforgiving day.

Harry tenses on sight, his shoulders straightening up and his fingers tightening around the folder that now holds everything he needed to make his way out of here.

But how could he, when Mason is right here?

He takes one last glance at Mason and one last breath before he slowly and steadily makes his way to the door, shutting it closed, before he says anything at all. And really, he doesn’t even fully know what he wants to say, but he does know that he can’t let him get away with the things he’s done, or the words he’s said, or the pain he’s caused to the one and only person Harry cares about.

He’s never been one for confrontation — never been one to project his feelings onto people, or make his problems into somebody else’s — but fuck, it’s Y/n, and his love for her is so different than any other emotion he’s ever felt. It makes him hate, it makes him dangerous, and it makes him something so beyond himself when he sees her the way he did not just three hours ago.

And who would he be if he didn’t do what he knows is right?

“I’m not an emotional guy, Mason.” Harry starts, his fingers twisting and knotting against his palms, trying so hard to keep himself together. But this is too small of a room to carry around so much anger, so much loathing for one person, and the narrowing space between them is building so much tension Harry feels like he’s drowning in all of it. “But I am today.”

Mason’s full attention is on Harry now, fully suspicious of his actions and words, confused as to why the temperature in the room has suddenly fallen below zero.

“I’ve got a lot of feelings… never really learned how to express them. Got a lot of resentment, a lot of anger, a lot of love for my girl.”

Harry takes his glasses off, closing them shut before stuffing them in his jacket pocket.

“Got a lot of all three right now. But if it ever came down to it, I’d do what’s right by Y/n and I wouldn’t think twice about it. Can’t say that for anybody else, except for her.”

And it’s true.

She’s the only thing in existence that can get to this side of him. He’s been so visibly numb his entire life, it didn’t matter how angry he was, or how hurt he was, or how depressed he was, he was so incurably lifeless despite all the vulnerability scrambling inside him. Yet seeing Y/n practically fall apart between his palms set something so deeply within him, he cried alongside her.

And now, he’s rolling up the sleeves of his jacket.

“You understand what I’m saying, correct?”

There’s a pregnant pause in the air, and Harry’s left starving to feast on this poor excuse of a man.

“Look, mate —” Mason finally turns to him, smiling so obnoxiously it makes Harry’s stomach churn. Y/n’s spent the whole day crying and Mason is smiling, laughing, even, like he doesn’t have a care or a clue in the world that he’s broken somebody down so badly — somebody so innocent, somebody so undeserving. “I’m a jokester, alright? Whatever I said to her, it wasn’t personal. I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit — make some jokes, crack some smiles. All innocent here, yeah? It’s all good.”

Out of all the things he could have said, he chose all the wrong words.

And Harry just can’t understand how somebody could be so heartless and cruel and be so completely unaware of it — how someone could turn something already so foul into something so nauseatingly evil and do it with shrugged shoulders and a shit-eating grin.

His palms twitch.

But it isn’t until Mason pats his hand against Harry’s shoulder like he’s the one that’s being let off the hook, that Harry is pushed over the edge.

He should be on his knees, begging for mercy, begging for forgiveness, writhing in fear.

He grabs a hold of Mason’s wrist so tightly his fingers turn numb under the pulse of the very man he so desperately wants to demolish. And before he can even process what’s happening, before he has time to suppress the blackout rage crashing down on him, the fist of his right hand knocks Mason down cold.

It happened so fast, Harry couldn’t even keep up. One second he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with the enemy and the next, he’s towering above him with knuckles covered in blood that isn’t his.

“Man, what the fuck?!” Mason cries from the ground, his hand reaching up toward the side of his already swollen and busted eye, cupping the wound as if to keep the pain from spreading and the blood from dripping. “You just fucking hit me!”

Harry’s panting and shaking and still has yet to finish what he’s started.

“My girlfriend is not a joke. She is not somebody for you to pick on when you want to crack some smiles and she is not a punchline for you to use when you have nothing funny to say.”

The tone of his voice is such a contradiction to the rest of him that if anybody else were watching, they wouldn’t understand why he did what he had just done. Because he’s far from yelling, far from screaming, far from anything other than the way he’d talk in any other circumstance, yet he doesn’t care. For the first time in his life, he just doesn’t care, because what he did was enough.

He rolls his jacket sleeves back down, the side of his wrist wiping the sweat from his top lip.

“You could have done anything else, but you didn’t.”

His bruised and busted hand takes his glasses out of his pocket, unfolding the temples and sliding them back onto the bridge of his nose. And he doesn’t bother taking another look at Mason — doesn’t even want to — before he hooks his fingers around the doorknob.

“If you ever make a joke out of her again, I’ll kill you. That’s it. Just like that. I’ll kill you.”

-

When Harry gets home that night, he’s got his hands full of all Y/n’s favorite things.

Not only does he have two bags of her favorite take out, but he’s also got a pint of her favorite ice cream, a heated blanket she’d been eyeing whenever they walked down Bond Street, and a bottle of the sweetest wine he could find at the liquor store.

And when she walks to the front door to greet him, wearing nothing but underwear and one of his favorite sweatshirts, he realizes that he couldn’t imagine a single day not coming home to her, or loving her, or protecting her from all the bad that’s been chewing on her and spitting her out.

“What’s all this?” She smiles softly at him, reaching to take some of the bags out of his trembling hands. 

“A peace offering.” He whispers so quietly, Y/n almost doesn’t hear it. 

He knows what he did was right, but what he doesn’t know is if this will make her see him differently. Because what he did was not the Harry she fell in love with, and maybe it’ll drive her so far away she’ll never have to see him again. 

But he’s praying, down to the very depths of himself, that she’ll understand. 

“What?” She tilts her head at him, “What do you mean?”

His eyes fall to his knuckles, that are still scarred and busted from before. And as her eyes follow his gaze down upon them, she gasps. 

“Baby —”

“I had to do it, Y/n.” He whimpers, his eyes closing. “He made you cry, I had to do it.”

And later that night, after they ate everything Harry had brought home until they could barely get up from the sofa, Y/n kissed at his knuckles, one by one. 

He’d get his knuckles bloody every single day if it meant getting his hands full of all the love he has to offer her. He’d cry, and cry, and cry if it meant Y/n doesn’t have to face the world alone. He’d go against himself in every way, in every conceivable notion, just to make her smile the very smile he’s looking at right now.

She is stronger than any drug, stronger than any other pain, any other happiness, any other feeling he has ever felt. Because now, he is so much more than he could ever imagine himself being, and all it took was her.

She is his favorite person, his only person — his little miracle and the absolute light of his life, even after all this time, and he couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

And it was then, he knew.

[odos-bucket]

More Protective!Batdad Fic, With the Pretense that this is a Series Mostly Given Up

They’re returning to the cave after Robin’s first night out since the start of Tim’s parents’ most recent stay in the city. It had been a routine patrol, made noteworthy only by the return of the boy wonder. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some muggers towards the end of the night, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and they had both come away from it unharmed. At least that was what Bruce thought at the time. And he paid pretty close attention to things.

But when the domino mask comes off he can clearly see where Tim has a black eye, and a bruise blooming over his cheek.

“What happened?” He leaves his cowl and gloves on the computer, and takes a few steps closer to where Tim is fishing his civilian clothes out of a bag.

“Huh?” Tim bunches up the shirt he’s holding into a fist, and his eyes dart around for a moment without settling on Bruce. “Oh.” Fingers of his free hand fly up to hover over his injured cheek. “Thief got in a lucky shot.” His voice is a fraction of an octave higher than usual.

Bruce’s eyes automatically narrow as he begins his mental recall of the events that had transpired less than twenty minutes prior.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” he says slowly.

Tim just shrugs.

The bruise is too dark to be less than half an hour old anyway. It had to have come from sometime earlier in the day. It had been hidden beneath the mask though, and they’d both already been in full costume when they’d met earlier that evening.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Tim is ducking into a private alcove to finish getting changed. He’s a bit slower at it than usual, and Bruce wonders if that could be indicative of other hidden injuries, or if Tim is just drawing it out to avoid further scrutiny. Several minutes go by, and he finally clears his throat.

“Tim?”

“Just a second.” The words come out quickly.

Bruce goes to change himself, only to find that Tim still isn’t out by the time he’s finished and returned. He knocks gently on the wall that’s partitioning off the section of the cave where he’s changing, and hears a soft startled gasp, before Tim’s scurrying out.

“Yep! Sorry! Sorry! Just a little spaced.”

“Tim.” Bruce hopes his voice sounds gentle. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you-“

“Don’t lie to me. That didn’t come from just now.” Bruce pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim shakes his head.

“I won’t tolerate you hiding injuries from me.”

“I’m not.”

They stand looking at each other for several drawn out, silent seconds.

“Were you patrolling on your own?” Bruce asks after a minute. “I’m going to find out if you-“

“No.” Tim sounds even less like his normal self when he cuts in. “I promise I wasn’t.”

“All right. So what is it? Did something happen during the day?”

As much as Bruce wants to know about it if Tim’s getting into fights at school, or somewhere else, he recognizes that it may not be his place to intervene if this wasn’t vigilante related. That’s fine (at least so he tells himself) but he’d like assurance that someone’s looking out for his Robin.

“Is it something you can handle with your parents?” He tries.

Tim’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he bursts into tears.

Bruce briefly freezes, before returning to himself and rushing to Tim’s side.

“I’m so stupid,” Tim is muttering, barely discernibly. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” The words barely come out between bouts of gasping, shuddering sobs.

Bruce wants to beg him to tell him what happened, but settles for reaching out a careful arm, and slowly pulling him close. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second, before melting into his side, continuing to mumbled unintelligibly.

“It’s all right,” Bruce tries to sooth, very aware that he doesn’t really have the voice for that sort of thing. “You’re okay.” He desperately wishes that he could offer some more specific reassurances, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. “I’ve got you,” he settles for, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, Tim crying, and apologizing, and Bruce telling him it’s okay, and wishing he could be sure that it was true. Eventually the tears dry up, and the breathing evens out, and the tense body beside his goes limp with exhaustion. Bruce doesn’t let go, not until he feels Tim starting to shift around restlessly. And even then he stays close enough to be easily collapsed into again, should the need arise.

“I messed up,” Tim says, after a few false starts.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it.” A ridiculous promise, and one that Bruce normally wouldn’t be making without more information. But somehow- without Bruce meaning to allow him to- Tim has joined the narrow ranks of those capable of inducing him to speak or behave a-procedurally.

Tim shakes his head.

“Tim, I want to help, but you have to give me something to work with.”

Tim is too focused on keeping his eyes dry, and his breathing steady to respond.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Bruce forces himself to offer, forces himself to remember that this child isn’t his, doesn’t need him the way the other robins did.

Another sob escapes Tim, and he buries his face in his hands. There’s a pang in Bruce’s chest as he realizes what he has to ask next.

“Did something happen at home?”

The question is met with heavy breathing, followed by a drawn out silence, and then, finally, a slow nod.

Bruce forces down his rising anger, as Tim finally gathers himself to speak.

“I don’t know if they want me to go back.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Dad was so mad at me.”

Fury coils in Bruce’s gut, and lies in wait for his next question to be answered.

“Did he do this?” He gestures to the black eye.

“It’s never happened before,” Tim rushes to say. “Nothing like this ever has.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce practically growls. Tim, to his credit, seems entirely unaffected by the intensity of the tone.

“I started it,” he says.

“… There’s no way that’s true.”

“Bruce,” Tim chokes out, leaning back into him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Bruce pulls him close like he could absorb Tim into himself, like if he holds him tightly enough he can keep him safe- as if he’s actually capable of keeping any child safe. This will never happen again, he wants to say, I won’t let it. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to let Tim back into that house, doesn’t want to let him out of his sight really. He’s never been able to fathom how the Drakes can have this selfless, determined, brilliant child in their care, and be so willing to spend all their time away from him. He’s been wary of them from the beginning. But he never imagined that they could pose this kind of danger to their son.

“This is so stupid,” Tim grumbles into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce can’t disagree, though he’s a little worried that they aren’t on the same page about what exactly that means.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim continues after a minute. “I thought- I thought things were going well!”

“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Bruce says quickly. “If somebody’s hurting you- no matter who it is-“

“That isn’t what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, and leans back a little bit.

Bruce watches patiently, as Tim calms his nerves, and steadies himself.

“I… told Mom and Dad about Connor,” he breathes. “Not the alien clone thing, obviously. But, I told them that I was seeing someone- a guy- and I don’t even know why I did it! In the back of my head I knew there was no way it was going to go over well. I knew that. I was just, I don’t know, feeling happy, and okay for the first time in a while. So I thought-“ He shakes his head. “I mean I didn’t think; that was the problem. And Mom reacted the way I knew she- the way I should have known she would. And I got mad, and I started yelling at her, and Dad, when I yelled at her, Dad, that’s when he- he…”

Bruce’s heart breaks. It’s not like he’d imagined that Jack Drake would have a good reason for lashing out at his son, but this was nothing.

“I’m still not hearing anything that you did wrong.” He forces himself to stay calm.

“Trying to come out to them was dumb! I didn’t need to do it. They were leaving soon anyways, it shouldn’t have mattered!”

“No. They shouldn’t have hurt you,” Bruce says fiercely. “This is part of who you are, so it should always matter. It’s not stupid to assume that people who are supposed to care about you would want to know more about what’s going on in your life. Tim, you did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand up and down his back, like he’d done when Dick had nightmares as a child.

Tim glances at him out of the glassy corner of his eye, and scrubs his hands roughly over his face, before mumbling something that Bruce doesn’t catch.

He waits for a beat, before quietly asking if Tim will repeat himself.

“They don’t want me coming around here anymore,” he says more clearly, voice suddenly empty. “They- they saw that interview you did a couple years back, where you came out as bisexual.” His face is tinged pink, ashamed to even be repeating his parent’s words. “So they think that I, I don’t know, caught it from you, like it’s contagious or something. But I didn’t know where else to go! And I- I don’t want to give this up…“ He gestures broadly to the cave around them as hiccuping breaths overpower his speech.

Bruce just holds on as Tim continues to cry, softly repeating that he didn’t do anything wrong, carefully keeping the furious voice raging, ‘those bastards won’t take you away from me,’ under wraps. He doesn’t let himself think about every other instance of his sexuality being cited as a factor making him an unsuitable guardian that he’s committed to precise memory, the vicious arguments that his children should be taken away from him, the fact that if he hadn’t been born so lucky in so many other ways they might have been. Tim doesn’t need him to be angry, Tim needs him to be smart.

They wait out the tears again, until they’re not falling so heavily, and Tim is shuddering occasionally, rather than continuously, and can compose himself enough to speak.

“I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says once he’s mostly calmed down.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce threads his fingers through locks of lightly tangled hair. “I’m so glad you told me what happened. You’re going to stay here tonight, okay?”

Tim is with them often enough when his parents aren’t around that they already have a room made up for him, a room which after less than a year has come to show more evidence of his personality than his bedroom at the Drake’s mansion.

Tim nods.

“Thank you.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you still have pajamas here? Or do you need to borrow a pair of Dick’s?”

It’s something easy in a moment where everything feels impossibly difficult.

“I brought them with me when I went home.” His breath catches on the last word, and it only half comes out.

“That’s all right. Dick won’t mind.”

Now it’s just a matter of getting themselves upstairs. There will be more to worry about tomorrow, much more, and it will undoubtedly only increase in the days that follow. Bruce will have to figure out whether or not Jack and Janet Drake are looking for their son, and he can’t quite decide which the worse option is at this point. He’ll also need to make sure he understands what exactly is within his power to do to keep Tim safe. Bruce stops himself before he can begin preparing for the future too obsessively. He brings himself back to the present moment, stairs, pajamas, bed, all very manageable tasks.

He just really doesn’t want to let go of the child in his arms. The realization that Tim might need him more than he thought is overpowering, making him feel violently protective, and a little bit terrified.

Some of the strain of the moment breaks when Tim uses the side of Bruce’s arm to stifle a yawn, but it’s still a little while longer before they’re ready to head upstairs.

When they do, Tim wanders up to his room, where Bruce hopes he’ll find easy rest. He stays awake and finds Alfred. There’s a lot they need to talk about.

[apixrl]

YOUR EREN.

eren jeager x fem!reader

WARNING(S): angst. slight manipulation. s4 spoilers. brief mentions of (but not actually) throwing up at the end.

word count: 5.9k

song: a soulmate who wasn't meant to be // jess benko

note(s): oh, that sound? it's just the sound of my tears whilst writing this oneshot. no biggie

The prison cells underneath headquarters were as dark and dreary as ever as you stood opposite them. Whilst the windows were generously large, the night sky was not so giving. Clouds were gloomy and blocked out the moon and stars, replacing it with a heavy downpour of rain. If you listened closely, you could pick up on the faint 'pitter patter' as droplets met the pebbled ground outside, the sound comforting compared to the echoing silence within the walls. Mattresses were placed in the corners of each cell, old and tattered after years of use by many different faces. You could only imagine their discomfort as you'd never been required to sleep on them, your record in the Scout Regiment practically a clean slate after your years of service. You were someone who took your position as a soldier seriously; respected your superiors and did as told when told.

As for Eren Jeager? It seemed in recent events he was past the point of caring.

Such a fact was blatant as you stared at him through the prison bars, your back pressed against the wall, body stiff and fearful of what would happen if you tried to step closer. Eren's gaze was terrifying to witness even from the odd angle you stared at him. His eyes locked on the ceiling as he lay flat on his back on the bed of his cell. His hair had been pulled back into a messy bun, some strands not long enough to reach so far back were fated to live a life of their own. They glued to his temples and forehead and even entwined with the strands pulled back. You couldn't decide if the look was flattering or not.

"I...," You blurted out without thought of what you planned to actually say, your pathetic attempt at making conversation followed up with a nervous whimper. Eren barely inched a muscle when you broke the quiet, from his eyes to his hands that lay lifeless at his side. He remained laid down as if you weren't even there. That made your heart weep in the worst of ways and your mind qualm - to think the last time you were together he was holding you in his arms as you gazed under the stars. And now he could barely spare you a second glance.

"It's been a while since you were last cooped up in one of these cells," You eventually tried again, calming yourself down as best you could by trying to be light-hearted. "Remember when we would play cards through the bars when I could visit? Those were fun times," You smiled sadly at the memories, eyes drifting away from Eren and towards nothing in particular. The smile then faded, the yearn to experience easier days once more hitting you as hard as stone. "If only we could experience them again,"

Your tone lowered, left unhinged since you knew mourning for what was no more was a waste of time. But you couldn't help yourself. All you wanted was to live in the past, where the titans were slane and the Scouts had reached the sea. All you wanted was to live out your days with your friends, talk and laugh with no need to worry about the rest of the world. All you wanted was to fall into Eren's embrace, to love him with all your might as he did you. There was a short period where that was your life, one filled with simplicity and peace after years of blood and death and gore that haunted your every nightmare. It had been pleasant, and you missed it. More than you were willing to admit.

If only Eren hadn't pushed things too far.

Eren's eyes shifted after a prolonged silence, travelling from the ceiling to you across the way. He was quick to take note of your vacancy, your conflict as you stared at him. How you created your own form of a jail cell by restricting yourself to the opposite side of the room. Maintaining a safe distance like you sensed you would get hurt stepping too far. Eren sighed loudly at that fact. Which caught your attention, E/C eyes flicking back to him at the sound. Eren pushed himself upright, eyes leaving you to stare at the floor before he hoisted himself off of the bed. Then, he turned to face you, searching for you through the wisps of his unkempt fringe.

You held your breath when he did, unable to fathom just how uncomfortable his gaze made you feel. Typically, Eren looking your way would send butterflies to your stomach. Your heart would perform somersaults and beat soundly with joy. Your cheeks would heat up, to which he would smile and tease and call it cute - merely deepening your flustered state like it was some fun game.

But this time, upon him meeting your gaze, nausea swiftly followed after. Rising concern over unconditional love based on his expression alone. It was empty. Unreadable. Nothing you had ever seen him display before. You had witnessed most if not all his worst moments up front but none of them - none of them, came close to just how desolately devoid he looked in that moment.

His lips didn't twitch, firmly held together as they added to his glaring aura. His brows arched sterner than Captain Levi's when you failed to clean a room up to standards, you didn't think it was possible for them to be so closely knit. But the worst part that made you truly sick to the stomach at the unfamiliarity of it all, were his eyes. Their usual bright and gleaming jade green blend that had entranced you from the instant you met Eren were now bleaker and more stationary than ever. They no longer held a zest and determination that motivated you to fight another day, no notable twinkle against the dimly lit room. Only a barren vacancy the most broken are succumbed to display.

You felt the need to comment on it, communicate to Eren just how worried you were. That you wanted to help him because you cared about him more than anyone else in the entire world. You were willing to lay your life down for him, and had even nearly become an anonymous number in the ranks because of that sheer will alone. However, before you had the chance to open your mouth, Eren beat you to it.

"Did Hange send you down here to try and sway me?" Eren asked half-rhetorically, taking a couple of steps forwards until the bars of his cell stopped him. "You of all people should know you can't stop me, so why even bother?"

You were taken back by his bluntness, even more so by his disregard for your previous words. Like you had never said them in the first place and he was the one initiating conversation. Perhaps it was so Eren felt he had the control, asserting dominance in a relationship where he already held more than half of it. His aim was unclear, but you persisted nonetheless.

"No, they didn't," You said. "I came here on my own accord, Eren," You shrugged your shoulders aimlessly. "I wanted to see you. I-I've missed you," Eren's eyes narrowed in suspicion, studying your frame for any sign indicating you were lying. He came out with no clear answer as from the instant you had set foot in the room you'd been shaking like a lamb bleating after its mother. Afraid. His arms crossed over his broad chest still in doubt, the action reminding you just how much he'd changed over the last few years. He was taller, looming over you even whilst feet apart. He was no doubt stronger, evident with or without the fact he held the power of three titans within him. Eren was no longer the vigorous and unruly boy he once was, who devoted his strength to rid the world of all the titans. He was now an indestructible force that vouched for freedom, his will to fight unshaken by no one.

"If you missed me so much," He started, looking down at you with what only felt like shame. "What took you so long to visit?" Raising a brow, you realised he held a point with his inquiry. If you proposed you missed him why hadn't you visited? The truth was you were scared of who you would find on the other side when you did. Levi and Hange had given you the option since the first day Eren was placed in his cell. But no matter the undying need to have Eren in your line of sights again, you failed to find the courage to make that final step.

"I wanted to, I-I really did," You said in a panic. "I was just scared! I didn't know what to say or how to speak to you after... after...,"

"After what?" Eren reprimanded, glowering at you as his hands wrapped around the iron bars. Your eyes widened and you whimpered, shaking your head frantically as a means to apologise.

"N-No Eren. I didn't mean it like that I just -," You swallowed thickly, your breathing quickening as Eren's pressing stare intimidated you more and more by the second. You hated how much you were falling apart. Where had your Eren gone?! Your Eren who always fretted over you during and after battles. Your Eren who grew antsy at Jean or Connie if they got a little too comfortable in your company. Your Eren who snuck into your room past curfew to share stories of his life late into the night. Your Eren who crammed his lips on yours when he couldn't hide his feelings any longer, confirming your relationship would turn from friendship to deepened love. You missed your Eren. You wanted your Eren back. Was that so much to ask?!

"You just what?" He spoke harshly, impatience riddled within every letter and syllable. You were quick to notice his grip on the bars tighten to the point you thought he'd snap them clean in two.

"I...," You trailed off, finishing your cut sentence with a defeated sigh. Your hands lowered to your sides as your head hung forwards. Perhaps being upfront with him was the only way you could go. "You killed people, Eren. Innocent people that hadn't done anything wrong! You ate somebody. Women, men and children crushed under debris like they were nothing. Y-You... you made Armin destroy that port and your decision making got Sasha killed!" You brought a hand to your forehead, not realising how distressed you sounded as you recalled that night. Tears started forming in your eyes, lip trembling. "Shit! I nearly... if Jean hadn't shot that Marley soldier first then I would've...,"

You had experienced a rocky start during the raid on Marley. One of your biggest flaws as a soldier was your will to take another life. Life as in... a human life. You despised the concept and did everything in your power to avoid it all costs, even if your fellow soldiers disagreed (especially Levi's, who persisted humans could be just as bad as titans when it came to killing). That exact flaw came forth when you first encountered a Marleyan soldier, and your hesitation almost ended with a bullet between your eyes. Had Jean not been behind you just in time... your grave would have been undoubtedly determined. There was a time where Eren was the same as you, never wanting to act and inflict harm on other humans. But times had changed since then. Oh, how you hated how much it had changed since then. None of it was fair.

A silence ensued, your stifled sobs the only thing willing to break it. Eren watched you motionlessly, the glare still apparent on his face as your emotions got the better of you. You hadn't realised just how shaken up you were from what happened. Sure, you had faced death many times, but always at the hand of titans. Where you had to evade giant swooshing limbs and teeth that could churn your flesh as cows do cud. Never had you looked another human in the eye and watched them contemplate killing you. To aim a gun directly your way and prep the shot as you realised what their intentions were. Then a feeble attempt to escape approaching death, all too distracted with your life flashing before your eyes for you to see the way out. That was one of the scariest moments of your life. You never wanted to endure it again. Never.

"Come here,"

You stiffened up, looking at Eren amidst dishevelled strands of H/C hair falling over your face. His glare had left and his face had returned to its neutral state, his eyes boring into you with his demand lingering in the air. You wiped your nose on your sleeve as well as your eyes, confused by the abrupt change in atmosphere. A truly weird circumstance and turn of events you weren't expecting indeed. At first, you weren't sure doing as Eren said was a smart idea, having heard Hange's experience with him during a debrief. You didn't believe Eren would treat you with the same sort of disrespect, but you also didn't want to take that risk just in case.

"B-But...,"

"Just do it," He roughly snapped, suspense in his tone kicking you up the hind to move. With a yelp, you pushed yourself off of the wall - back sighing out in bliss after starting to ache because of the uneven rocky surface. You gingerly stepped towards Eren, biting down on your lip to stop it trembling in fright. You came to a stop once close enough to the iron bars, hands going to wrap themselves around them, around the same ones as Eren. Whether you intended for that or it was just subconscious instinct you didn't know. Finally, your eyes dropped to the floor, lost on where to focus. Eren hummed a complacent sigh at your actions, head tilting to the side as he looked you up and down. You couldn't find an answer to what was running through his mind, blank gaze concealing all form of emotion and clarity. Then, just as you thought the silence couldn't grow any more powerful, Eren lifted his hand and reached out for you.

You gasped at the sudden contact, the feeling of Eren's hand cupping your face sending all sorts of sensations through you. His palm was warm despite the cool air of the prison cell. It was as though his hand was constructed to cradle your cheek, moulded into the perfect structure to which you filled in the empty spaces. His hand felt soft even after years of wear and tear of fighting and training, fingers long but not at all discomforting. You had forgotten just how pleasant the feel of Eren's thumb across your cheekbone was until he initiated the motion, almost a way to lure you in. And with your deprivation of his touch - of him. That was enough to have you wrapped around his finger.

"I forgot how nice it was to hold you like this," Eren declared monotonously, though his expression betrayed his lack of care. Something about it had calmed, but he didn't allow it to stay for long, gone so fast that if you blinked you would have missed it. You inhaled deeply, head tilting to the side as you nuzzled into his hand. Seeming satisfied with that, Eren proceeded. "That and just how easily you melt under my touch,"

"Eren," You uttered no louder than a whisper, eyes closing tight as you welcomed his touch. You despised how much he was correct, that you became putty without him even needing to try. That was the impact of love, after all, it makes people act in crazy ways and do some incredibly crazy things. But you couldn't ignore the odd funny feeling still pitting your gut, begging you to stop falling to Eren's will before it was too late. You couldn't get carried away, he had committed obscene criminal acts without jurisdiction. That was more than enough to get him locked up for life, regardless of the war you were fighting. You should be disgusted by his actions, his corrupted thinking and the way he went behind the Military's backs to further his own idea of freedom. You were disgusted.

But you also loved him. Way, way more than you were disgusted.

A frown merged onto your face, blending awkwardly with the once peaceful content that Eren noticed as fast as it appeared. He managed to figure out the thoughts running through your mind also, the young adult lamenting a sigh and he opened his mouth to speak. Not before his hand drifted down to your chin, tilting your head up to make you look at him. His thumb planted on your bottom lip as he grazed over it.

"I'm trying to build a future for Eldia, Y/N," Eren spoke firmly, your heart having a brief elation to the way he said your name. It had been far too long since you had heard him say it. "A future for us, where we can be free and live our lives the way we want to,"

"I know," You began, eyes opening to meet Eren's. "But there are other ways, Eren. More humane ways. We don't have to kill anymore if we just-,"

"There isn't another way," Eren interrupted, his ministrations of stroking your chin coming to an abrupt halt. "We've tried other ways and they haven't worked," Eren evaded your disheartened stare. "I'm sick of it not working,"

"We all are, Eren. Stop making out that you're the only victim here," You paid no mind to Eren's reaction. "We're all victims of this shitshow that's our reality, and we're all just as much the culprits of it as well! All w-we do is fight fire with fire and add more ashes to the pile with each person we slaughter," You felt your grip tighten on the bars, gritting your teeth harshly together. "I'm sick of all the violence and suffering! I just want to go back to the days when we could be at peace. Where we could laugh and joke because the main problem - the titans, were dealt with! I became a soldier to fight titans, not to embark on an endless war where both sides are human and neither is willing to cooperate with the other,"

"Those days are gone," Eren spoke sternly, though it softened up when he noticed you look away. "But they can return," He pressed his forehead against the iron bars, staring at you through deadened eyes. "We can live a life of freedom together once I finish what I started, all I need you to do is stay by my side and to have faith,"

Your eyes widened, gawking at Eren with complete and utter disbelief at his words. His persistence came off like the cruellest of sicknesses, corrupting Eren's mind to the point of insanity. His moral compass was in shambles as was his sense of humanity. The way his eyes were numbed right down to their pupils, blinded by his visions of a future for Eldia that came with the cost of the rest of the world's suffering. It pained you to witness such a change, to witness Eren's descent into madness as war took over his every thought and breath. Suddenly that foreign feeling in your stomach became clear as day, and you abhorred it with a deadly passion.

"I don't want to be free in a world built on other people's suffering," Your hands fell down to your sides, heartbeat racing as you avoided Eren's gaze. He quirked a brow, eyes piercing into you once he realised what you meant, and his chosen tone suggested he didn't like that one bit.

"What are you trying to say?"

You faltered, both as a mental brace and a state of refusal to your next actions. A second or so passed before you took a step back, creating a distance that did more damage than healing. With a shaky breath, you answered his question.

"I love you Eren, with everything I am. B-but I can't stand by your side if this is the path you're going to take," The tears were already brewing, doing everything you could to blink them away. "I won't sit by and watch the rest of the world crumble because of your selfish desires,"

You hated the words you were saying, how you said them and who you were saying them to. That it had all come to this, where Eren became the threat to humanity rather than its saviour. He only had so much time left and had you known that his way of spending it was to spiral the world into chaos - perhaps you wouldn't have grown so attached.

"I can't - I...," Since he hadn't said anything, you felt the urgency to speak. "Eren you have no idea how much I want to but this isn't how I saw our future -,"

"What future?" Eren persisted, not giving you a chance to reply. "Eldia has no future within the walls, these cages! It's time we give the world a taste of its own medicine, so what if a couple of lives are taken out on the way? It's not like they give a damn about ours," Eren scoffed when you shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes and the stinging sensation that came with it was painful to deal with.

"Please, Eren. Think about what you're saying," You pleaded and begged. But you knew it was no use, Eren too fixated on his 'destiny' to see logical reason. Merely the look in his eyes was proof enough to tell you that. "What happened to you? When did you become so heartless? Where's the Eren I knew all those years ago gone? Don't you miss it back then? When we weren't cheating death and we could simply be us? Be two dumb teens in love and the only thing that mattered was that love we shared? Do you even think about that anymore? About me? What about -,"

"Stop it," Eren stopped you, voice acting as a silencer to your blubbering drabble. Flinching at the interruption your mouth clamped shut, and your eyes darted for Eren in surprise. Despite locked behind bars, you were still terrified, and it felt more like you were the prisoner of the pair. With a low growl, Eren raised a clenched fist and thrashed it harshly against the bars. It made a low but loud 'thunk!' sound that hit your ears like impending doom, deafening all around you excluding that of Eren and the words he uttered next. "I'm sick of listening to you whine about shit that's not even important,"

"W-what?" You stammered in question, voice unsteady. "What do you mean it's not important?"

"Do you really think that amidst all of this I have time to be playing boyfriend?" Eren half-mocked. "I've got bigger priorities than you right now," He didn't look you in the eye, nostrils flared as his gaze lingered on the floor. Your legs nearly gave way at what you were hearing, each word a fatal stab to the stomach. Each stab even more malicious than the last. So that was it? You didn't matter anymore? Were you just some pawn in Eren's plan until he didn't feel he needed you anymore? Had his love ever been real or was it all a hoax to manipulate your every waking thought?

A minute passed of still silence, one of the many that evening. Your eyes never left Eren, searching for something to indicate he was joking. As well as contemplating pinching yourself in hopes you woke up from this horrible nightmare. Maybe you'd wake up in your Eren's arms, safe and secure as you lay beside him - his gentle breaths from deep sleep tickling the back of your neck and helping you forget the entire reason you woke up. But sadly, no such thing happened. You never woke up from anything but were instead left to face an Eren you barely knew anymore. Endure the pain as he pounded words into your head that gashed crueller than the worst of war wounds.

Realising this, you felt an urge to laugh, unsure what else there was you really could do. Crying was ineffective, and there was no way you could let Eren get the better of you. That's probably what he wanted anyway, for you to turn around and beg on your hands and knees. So as your hand met your face, you released the smallest of chuckles, lacking in humour but overwhelmed with an unforeseen emptiness. It definitely caught Eren by surprise, but he was fast to not hide it as he pressured that vacant stare onto you yet again.

"You insist your plan is the only way to get us our future, but I'm not even sure what future you mean anymore," You hesitated, trying to gain control of your lip which began to quiver erratically. "Clearly it's not the one we imagined together when we were younger,"

"If only you weren't so blinded by your emotions," Eren avoided your words, something you noticed and felt more agonised by than relieved. "Stop thinking with your feelings and see the logic, already. It's so annoying,"

Almost choking on the sob you tried to hold down, you bit down harshly on your lip - any harder and you probably would have drawn blood. You did everything you could to ignore Eren's words, but you were so hurt that you were losing the means to do so.

But you couldn't let his words consume you and manifest them into truth. You had to be strong, use whatever power you had left to regain your composure and come out the bigger person. Eren had always been a stubborn brat, Levi's nickname reigning true now more than ever.

"Use your head and think, Y/N," Eren spoke slowly, leaning his weight back onto one foot. He stretched his arm out towards you, held out for you to take. "Maybe if you stop caring for those that'll just kill you off for sport you'll actually comprehend why you're following the wrong cause,"

His words were suffocating and barbaric, not at all inspiring or persuading in the slightest. It didn't make you feel hopeful, it made you feel trapped. All you wanted was for it to stop. It wasn't love no matter how much you adored him. It wasn't healthy no matter the good memories you had shared. You had to stop the past messing with your head. You had to stop Eren messing with your head. You wanted to get out and escape. You needed to and as soon as possible. So, taking a moment to regain your composure, your hands raised to adjust the collar of your jacket and you looked over at Eren. An apologetic expression on your face for deciding to cut the visit short.

"I think I should... should go check on Armin and the others," You started, not sure what Eren would make of that. He appeared to show confusion, blinking once your words processed and frowning based on how sudden they were.

"Why would you need to do that?"

"They've been busy, and they're probably looking for me," You made up on the spot. "I didn't tell them I was coming to see you," Eren was silent, eyeing you up and down before he scoffed.

"You know I can tell you're lying, right?"

"W-Why would I lie?"

"For the same reason all people lie," Eren said. "To avoid what you're too scared to face," The way Eren spoke made everything feel much, much worse. A heavy amount of disrespect originated from this new flesh of conceit that Eren displayed on full. He had always been one to boast, but never in the form he showed in the present.

Listening to his slander any longer was something you simply couldn't handle. Not today, anyway. Fatigue was starting to claim control over your thought process, emotionally drained from talking to Eren. He had selfishly left you in a constant state of confusion and agony, making you ask yourself more questions than answering them. It utterly and totally sucked, being honest, and you had no clue where your relationship stood. Was it over? Were you still even together? Had he even seen you both as a couple this entire time or was it all just a big lie?

"So what were you trying to avoid when you spent all those months lying to us?" You were tempted to leave without another word said, but you knew you'd regret not asking your question. Which had popped into your head at the last moment as you pondered on Eren's words. Using them against you seemed to strike a nerve, as when you expected Eren to talk he did no such thing. Instead, he glared at you for being caught out, prompting your next words to follow. "I'll... I'll see you later, Eren,"

And with that, you started walking away.

You did everything in your power to not look back, focusing your gaze on the exit that was a little way ahead. Eren's stare etched itself into your back on the way out, leaving an even deeper wound than before which would probably scar for sure. Your footsteps dragged across the floor like you hauled twice your body weight behind you. Walking upstairs had never been such a demanding challenge before in your life. To think that you possessed the energy to traverse the walls but absolutely none to conquer thirteen mediocre steps.

You made it around ten steps up, just about to reach out for the door handle - when Eren's voice finally filled the room again. It brought your rushed exit to a halt with ease, much to your dismay, and what he had to say did nothing to help your situation.

"Who's to say I ever lied?"

Your heart both soared and sank at the same time, the conflict in your head skyrocketing as your thoughts drove you mad. What did Eren mean by that? Lie about what exactly? It was the way his words were always so devoid of clarity that hurt the most. The brunette was exceedingly blunt yet always left you inquiring more, prying further until it was too late. A mind game that pulled you in and kept you playing. You admittedly almost swayed.

But so close to the door, your hand wavering in the air just begging to open it - it was enough to prevent such a thing a happening. You knew if you headed back it would be the end, you would somehow get more hurt than you already had. It was a risky move you didn't want to place your bets on, you had come too far to be foolish.

So taking a deep breath you reached out for the handle and gripped it tight. You turned the knob and braced yourself to leave, blocking Eren from your mind as you lifted your foot to the eleventh step. Then the twelfth. Then the thirteenth, and finally onto the floor above the jail cells.

Closing that door behind you felt like the freshest of cleanses, your body sighing out in relief when it clicked shut.

Sadly though, you didn't have time to celebrate. The whole encounter surely caught up with you, as did the tears you had been saving for when you were finally alone. Just like they guaranteed, the hot, salty liquid singed the corners of your eyes and the tears returned. Before you could do anything, a cry broke out and you staggered until your back hit the door. The hinges jolted loudly, most likely attracting the attention of someone nearby. Whether it be a guard around the corner or one of your friends in search of your location. Maybe even Hange or Levi coming to check up on you. Whichever it was, they were in for a shock.

Your heart raced with anxiety, mind and body overwhelmed by inner turmoil that made you sick to your gut. The nausea was so bad you had to hold your stomach with your spare arm, fighting the urge to violently vomit all whilst controlling your reckless sobs that didn't cease their slander. Your vision went blurry from how much you broke down, unable to blink the tears away no matter your efforts.

Fearing the unknown had always been a part of who you were. But had somewhat simmered down as you grew older and developed mentally through being a soldier. However, all that progress reversed in an instant as your mind flashed back to the thought of Eren. How someone who used to possess so much passion now resorted to an empty vessel. The way he admitted to your insignificance with such little struggle, only to proceed to confuse you even more by implying he had never told a single lie. Was he even talking about you when he said that? Or something else completely unrelated?

A little bit of confirmation wouldn't hurt anybody.

It was odd to have Eren be the reason for your tears after so many years of him typically being the one to dry them off your face. Though thinking about it, he had been the leading cause for a lot of things as of late. The number a very concerning amount indeed. You barely even recognised him anymore. The once caring soul you fell in love with was no longer there, replaced with a man who had discovered the bittersweet lust for power based on a corrupted idealogy. Such a ruthless lust that it no longer mattered how that idealogy came to be, just as long as he managed to taste an essence of it.

You hated it. You hated that of all people it was Eren who tumbled down that drain. How did you allow yourself to fall in love with someone so possible of committing such atrocities? To worship him and give him everything you had, only to be told it was all for nothing and you were fighting a losing battle. You knew it was hopeless to hold on and believe that your Eren might return but at this rate that seemed unattainable. Not after witnessing him firsthand. The only thing left now was to move on and pray the world was on your side.

Part of you didn't want to move on though, so familiar with Eren as your crutch that a world without him sounded terrifying. You had grown so used to his presence in your life that all of this still felt so surreal no matter the fact you were very much living in it. Living in an endless hell that never allowed anyone a moment's peace. Not you. Not even Eren. Not a single human being on the planet. Nobody.

Just... where along the line had it all gone so painfully wrong?

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Once again, as a reminder, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji are the text's literary mirrors to each other, in all adaptions. I am not a fan of the plot shift for CQL so this will mostly just be talking about the novel for this rant.

Lan Wangji is the positive pillar of maturity growth, while Jiang Cheng is the stagnant regressive one. They are the opposing points of moral conflict for Wei Wuxian to choose from and is the classic set up even with choosing the childhood friend (that nice false romantic lead reading) and the Love Interest that beat for beat follows the main character's subconscious yearnings and ideals of morality.

The most blatant tellings of this are the way Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji choose to deal with Wei Wuxian when he is faced with the backlash of the cultivation sect's anger.

“Wei WuXian, have you still not realized what the situation at hand is like? Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

Wei WuXian, “There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.”

Jiang Cheng’s face twisted.

Wei WuXian, “Just let go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei WuXian does, it’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect.”

Jiang Cheng, “… All for the Wen Sect…? Wei WuXian, do you have a savior complex? Is it that you’ll die if you don’t stand up for someone and stir up some trouble?”

Wei WuXian stayed quiet. A while later, he answered, “So that’s why we should cut ties right now, in case anything I do affects the YunmengJiang Sect in the future.”

Or else, he really couldn’t make any guarantees on what he’d do in the future.

“…” Jiang Cheng murmured, “My mom said that you do nothing but bring our sect trouble. It’s true indeed.” He laughed coldly, talking to himself, “‘To attempt the impossible’? Fine. You understand the YunmengJiang Sect’s motto. Better than I do. Better than all of us do.”

He sheathed Sandu. The sword returned to its scabbard with a clang. Jiang Cheng’s tone was indifferent, “Then let’s arrange for a duel.”

Three days later, the leader of the YunmengJiang Sect, Jiang Cheng, arranged for a duel with Wei WuXian.

They fought quite a fight in Yiling. Negotiations failed. Both resorted to violence.

Under Wei WuXian’s command, the fierce corpse Wen Ning struck Jiang Cheng once, breaking one of his arms. Jiang Cheng stabbed Wei WuXian once. Both sides suffered losses. Each spat out a mouthful of blood and left cursing the other. They had finally fallen out with each other.

After the fight, Jiang Cheng told the outside that Wei WuXian defected from the sect and was an enemy to the entire cultivation world. The YunmengJiang Sect had already cast him out. From then on, no ties remained between them—a clear line was drawn. Henceforth, no matter what he did, they’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect!

Jiang Cheng chooses to exasperate what Wei Wuxian had told him, he chooses to stage a fight in order to display the fact that he is not in connection with him. It is a staged fight but he does go in for a dramatic blow that wasn't needed as Wei Wuxian says later, covered in a jest to downplay Jiang Cheng's violence. Jiang Cheng only secretly visits Wei Wuxian once and with no other's knowledge as he is still committed to staying in favor with the other sect's for his own safety within the cultivation world.

Contrast that to Lan Wangji's stance at Koi Tower.

Suddenly, somebody came from behind him. It was Lan WangJi, who had followed him without speaking a word. Wei WuXian’s reputation had always been terrible, so it wasn’t his first time in such a situation. In this life, his mindset was different from how he was in his past. He could already face these situations calmly. He should get away first. There might be a chance of a counterattack in the days to come. He wouldn’t push it even if no such chance came. If he stayed, all that would come out of it were more than hundreds of slashes from the swords. Saying that he was actually innocent was even more of a joke. Everyone believed with utmost certainty that he’d return to seek revenge sometime in the future. Having destroyed countless sects, nobody would listen to his explanation, especially when Jin GuangYao would be there fanning the flames. Lan WangJi, though, was different from him. He wouldn’t even have to explain, and people would explain for him, such as how HanGuang-Jun had been deceived by the YiLing Laozu.

Wei WuXian, “HanGuang-Jun, you don’t have to follow me!”

Lan WangJi looked straight in front of him, saying nothing in reply. The two left behind them a crowd of cultivators shouting to kill. Amid the chaos, Wei WuXian spoke again, “You really want to go with me? Think carefully. After you walk out this door, your reputation will be destroyed!”

The two had already dashed down the steps of Koi Tower.

All of a sudden, a coldness passed through his stomach. As he looked down, Jin Ling had already pulled the white blade—now red with blood—out of him.

He didn’t expect that Jin Ling really would come at him.

The only thought that passed in Wei WuXian’s mind was, He could have been like anyone, yet he just so happened to have taken after his uncle Jiang Cheng. They even like to stab the same places.

He couldn’t quite clearly remember what had happened next. He felt that he tried to attack. Everything around them seemed frenzied. Not only had it been noisy, their escape seemed to bump and jolt as well. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he hazily opened his eyes again, Lan WangJi flew on Bichen, while he was carried on Lan WangJi’s back. Blood had spilled onto half of his snow colored cheeks.

In truth, the wound at his stomach didn’t hurt too much. But it was still a hole in his body, after all. In the beginning, he had managed for a while, as though nothing happened. It was likely, though, that this body hadn’t received many injuries before. As the wound bled, he couldn’t help but feel light-headed, and this wasn’t something that he could control.

Wei WuXian called out, “… Lan Zhan.”

Lan WangJi’s breathing wasn’t as placid as usual, feeling somewhat rushed. It was probably from carrying Wei WuXian while fending off attacks and being on the run for too long.

The way he replied though, was still the usual single syllable, as steady as ever, “Mnn.”

After the “mnn”, he added, “I am here.”

Hearing those words, made something that Wei WuXian had never felt before sprout within his heart. It was like sorrow. His chest hurt, but also felt a bit warm.

He could still remember how, back in Jiangling, Lan WangJi came all the way to assist him, yet he didn’t appreciate that kindness at all. With all kinds of disputes between, the two of them often parted with disapproval.

But what he hadn’t expected was that while everyone feared him or flattered him, Lan WangJi scolded him right to his face; when everyone spurned him and loathed him, Lan WangJi stood by his side.

It is an exact replica of the situation Jiang Cheng had faced with Wei Wuxian. But Lan Wangi neither condemns or speaks for what Wei Wuxian should do. He only wordlessly protects him and stays by his side in support that he does believe Wei Wuxian. His reputation is not worth the continued condemnations against Wei Wuxian and he very publicly solidifies his standing with Wei Wuxian where Jiang Cheng said he stood against him with that duel. Lan Wangji several times even when they had been young tried to stand with Wei Wuxian knowing his intentions were meant well, and Jiang Cheng further alienated Wei Wuxian placing further blame on Wei Wuxian and calling him self-serving with a savior complex.

Years later, Lan Wangji is able to take actions finally for Wei Wuxian that makes him understand that Lan Wangji is fully willing to stay with him and is a safety net. Jiang Cheng has cemented himself as an enemy without the deception for Wei Wuxian's complacency.