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nationalharryleague · 4 years

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Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

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ootahime · 3 years

Text

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga 😈

this series will probably have more than one part because tumblr only lets me upload ten images per post </3

warning: there are disgustingly long paragraphs in here and delusions

chapter 32

utahime’s first introduction! akutami lets us know right off the bat that she thinks gojo is an idiot (so true).

chapter 32

i love the contrast between miwa and utahime’s reaction to gojo’s appearance.

chapter 33

NAH BC TELL ME WHY HE WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO NOT GET HER ONE LMAOOOO!! when he traveled overseas to meet with yuta, he picked up the tribal protection charms and thought to himself, “let’s get enough for the kyoto students as a gift since i am such a great and caring teacher, after all. mmm, i should skip utahime to make her mad~” this guy puts way too much effort into getting on her nerves. his mind = utahime brainrot

chapter 33

she’s laughing at him here because he’s getting disciplined for being a lil shit. i wonder...what would he say if he saw her laughing at him like that?

chapter 33

this interaction between them is a little strange don’t you think? i feel like over the years he’s learned how to pick up her mood based on the way she’s acting towards him. you’re probably thinking, “well any person can figure out how a person’s feeling based on the way they’re talking or acting.” yes, that’s absolutely true, but it’s kind of different with this. she’s acting normal. utahime has a rather indifferent expression on her face and what she says is spoken in a calm tone, but gojo still asks her if she’s mad at him. it’s likely that he knows her well enough to be able to notice these subtle things. even if she wasn’t actually mad at him, he was being considerate for a split second, then he went and said, “of course. i didn’t do anything wrong and all.” what a guy LOLOL. to me, this implies that maybe he made her genuinely angry in the past to the point where he realized that he went too far, and thus decided to be more careful of her feelings. she has definitely gotten annoyed at him so many times after that so whenever she seems angry, he probably asks himself if he took it too far. i’m curious to see if he can pick up if she’s upset with something that’s not involving him. would he console her? how does gojo satoru console someone?

despite him always annoying her, she’s still courteous and brings him a cup of tea during their talk. she didn’t have to go out of her way to get tea for him but she did. that’s the kind of person utahime is. a kind and caring woman who would never put her students in danger. in the anime they were sitting far away and not facing each other like they’re doing in the manga. she also has her own tea cup. i think that little panel of her placing the cup down on the table and him picking it up to take a sip is a nice little detail. it just proves that her hating him most of the time isn’t actually pure hatred but annoyance because of his shenanigans and teasing.

chapter 33

i touched upon this a little bit in my previous post, but i wish to go more in depth about this panel. first of all, he ends the sentence with her name twice. two times too many, mr. gojo. i like how they can be serious with each other too LOL. i wish we got to see them talk about the traitors because they did figure it out together after all. does it always end in bickering? can they interact with each other like adults all the way through? somehow, i feel like that’s not possible when it comes to these two. furthermore, notice how gojo confides in utahime about his suspicions. from what we know, she is the first person he brought it up to. i mean, i guess he has to start investigating the schools and would need extra assistance to save time, but he could have done it himself if he really wanted to. by deciding to ask for her help we know that he thinks she’s trustworthy, smart, and strong enough to face whatever considerable risks this task may entail.

i didn’t point this out in my other posts but see how he makes a hand sign in the last panel when she throws the cup at him? gojo is manually activating his infinity. why though? about a year after the whole star plasma vessel incident happened, gojo develops the ability to keep his infinity up at all times by using the reversed curse technique to consistently heal himself to prevent exhaustion. this means that it really makes no difference whether he leaves it on or off. there are a few times where we can witness someone actually touching gojo. for example, yuuji giving him a hug. did he turn his infinity off, or was it able to deduce that yuuji was not a threat? the erasers and pencils shoko and geto threw at him during his demonstration of his new ability aren’t dangerous normally, but is it the speed that makes them dangerous? even if it did hit him, it wouldn’t hurt. how does the infinity know when to allow an incoming object to touch gojo? i believe it is up to gojo himself to let things touch him; his infinity restricts anything and anyone. some people say it could just be the fact that water is not dangerous to him, so therefore, he has to manually put his infinity up. i thought this was a reasonable explanation as to why he put up the hand sign when the tea was thrown at him, but then i realized that it couldn’t be. remember the second opening? it’s raining and everyone is carrying an umbrella, then it pans to gojo with a bouquet in his hand and rain drops slipping off his infinity. if he DID manually put his infinity up to prevent getting soaked then that implies that he chose to turn his infinity off. you can argue and say that jujutsu high is a safe place with students so there’s no need to have his infinity there, but do you remember when he stepped on the ants in front of gakuganji and yaga? the ants were perfectly fine after which insinuates that his infinity prevented his shoes from crushing the ants. he most likely had his infinity on during the baseball game even though he was in a safe environment. how does this long tangent relate back to utahime? well, it simply indicates that gojo trusts utahime so much to the point where he can be vulnerable around her. turning off his infinity symbolizes completely letting down his guard in a way.

how about what happens next? utahime throws the tea at him, he turns on his infinity to deflect it, and he responds with, “scary! hysteric women aren’t popular, you know!” why would he even say that LMAO?? utahime doesn’t even try to deny what he said either. she just hits him with the good old, “i am your senpai!” could it be that he’s trying to poke fun of her relationship status? maybe, maybe not. doesn’t he like people a lil crazy? he did say that all jujutsu sorcerers have to be a little crazy because they’re willing to put themselves in danger constantly.

chapter 0 p.1

i wonder who he’s thinking of when he said that. could it be utahime? it seems like he’s reminiscing or thinking about someone. he wears an amused expression on his face as he laughs - almost like he’s seen his fair share of how scary women can get :>>

chapter 34

the pattern behind gojo and utahime is called yagasuri “fletching,” a traditional japanese design. this design is inspired by arrow fletching. it's a lucky charm for weddings and other celebrations since it's based on the Japanese belief that an arrow shot once never comes back. brides were given kimonos with this pattern for good luck during the edo era (1603–1868) to ensure they would not have to return to their original family home. this pattern can have numerous meanings such as steadfastness or determination to achieve a goal, or a wish for the happiness of the bride. there is a belief that a bow and arrow represent the fight against evil. honestly, this meaning fits the narrative of the story. utahime and gojo are unearthing the traitors that are feeding intel to the curse users and cursed spirits. they are in the middle while the kyoto students surround them, which could mean that it’s their job as adults to protect these children from the grasps of evil slowly making itself more prominent. do you also notice that the arrows are pointed toward utahime from gojo? from all the images i’ve seen, the arrows are usually pointed downward. what could this mean? is gojo trying to protect her (in the future (?)) or does he have a big fat crush smh...

i think it’s a good time to mention utahime’s clothing. she’s wearing miko attire. miko are shrine maidens who were once thought to be shamans (you connecting the dots?). in their service to shrines, miko used to perform spirit possession and takusen (in which the possessed person acts as a "medium" (yorimashi) to communicate the divine will or message of that kami (god) or spirit; also included in the category of takusen is "dream revelation" (mukoku), in which a kami appears in a dream to communicate its will). this was back in the old days, of course. to become a miko back then (shaman), one needed to have potential. neurosis, hallucinations, odd behavior, and hysteria (HYSTERIA HELLO???) are some of the signs that a person is being called to shamanism. when a miko is communicating with a kami (god) or spirit by acting as a medium, she is in a trance-like state, and so she must learn techniques to control herself when this happens. chanting and dancing were used to accomplish this, so the girl was taught melodies and intonations that were used in songs, prayers, and magical formulas. all of this could give us insight about utahime’s technique and explains why she’s good at singing :) maybe she can’t control herself when she uses her technique which is why she isn’t shown using it because it should be used for dire situations. i imagine being possessed by a spirit or god must consume a lot of cursed energy. it makes sense that utahime and gakuganji wear traditional clothing. they’re the staff of jujutsu high’s kyoto branch. in chapter 0, kyoto is known as the sacred land of jujutsu. it’s more traditional compared to tokyo. if you want to learn more about miko, you should check out the wikipedia page!

chapter 34

i swear he tries to annoy her every chance he gets. i bet he sets a goal for himself to see how many times utahime lectures him about respecting his seniors every time he’s within the same vicinity as her. at least he called her utahime-sensei!!!

chapter 40

this isn’t even a gojohime moment tbh...i just wanted to share a pic of them sitting next to each other HEHE. why are they sitting next to each other anyway? it’s not like they have assigned seating.

----

that was so long and i apologize for the gargantuan paragraphs you guys had to read through. i’m writing this at 4 in the morning and i’m feeling borderline delirious so i apologize if there are any errors. i’ll edit this when i have time <3

the next part should come shortly.

#gojohime #gouta #gojo x utahime

431 notes · View notes

heyitsyn · 4 years

Text

Manager!Seijoh

a/n: im a seijoh stan and theyre my little plant babies

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

this is so long oml i hate myself

theyre an actual boy band istg

lets be honest, they probably thought you were just another oikawa fangirl

they thought you just wanted to be closer to their captain bc you were another delusional girl who wanted to live out her fantasies

lmao im not trying to be salty

but when you just stared blankly at oikawa tooru after he called you a beautiful flower,

stageplay hinata calling you a mugwort

the team just about threw themselves on your feet

tbh you werent really there to get a boyfriend or for oikawa

you just needed an after school club and the other teams already had managers

the only sport that didnt was the boys volleyball team

imagine why

you were actually a little wary, since you knew of oikawa, being a first year yourself, and you were aware of his psycho fangirls who could probably kill you

but you needed a club that would last you for the next 3 years to graduate

it was kunimi who actually recommended being a manager

you were in his class and you noticed him sleeping in the morning so you gave him your energy bar

‘thanks’

you shrugged and smiled

thats why he tolerated you more than others

you were nice and you were the only one who noticed his tiredness, even the teacher left him alone, and did something about it

sometimes, you even gave him an energy drink

‘can you tell me why youve been so tired lately? i dont think ive seen you wake up until lunch’

he opened the snack and started munching while replying

‘early morning practice for volleyball is still a big adjustment. our captain demands us to be there 6 in the morning sharp and if we’re even a minute late, we’d have to run laps. like for every minute youre late, you have to run those amount’

oh my why is kunimi talking so much

but i love kunimi and first year seijoh boys rights in this household is valid

you furrowed your eyebrows

‘but yall are still growing and you need all your sleep. if i were there, id yell at your captain’

he grinned slightly, imagining your short height beating up their captain

‘meh. you want to be our manager? i saw you looking at the clubs board yesterday and we dont have one so you could take the opportunity and beat him up then’

ofc you agreed bc kunimi was best boi and you just wanted him to have enough sleep for once

after class, he waited for you to finish packing up and when you finished, yall left the classroom

until another guy with a spiky hairstyle joined you and you noticed him as the guy who sometimes came over to eat lunch with kunimi

‘oh, hello l/n-san’

you smiled gently

‘drop the formalities, kindaichi-kun. its only fair.’

he nodded before walking beside kunimi

‘kindaichi, l/n might be our new manager’

the onion head excitedly looked at you

‘really?! yes! so we dont have to fill our bottles ourselves anymore!’

kunimi glared at him and slapped his stomach

‘shes our manager, not our maid’

you laughed but placed an arm on him

‘its okay. i was a manager for my middle school volleyball team so i know a little bit about being one’

the two shared a look

god, they really hit the jackpot

as yall walked closer to the gym, you noticed the big pile of girls huddling at the corner

kunimi sighed

‘l/n, ill warn you ahead of time of our captain. hes kinda,,,, too much’

but you flashed him a smile

‘hes not the first one ive handled’

oml player-chan!!!

so when you opened the door and entered the gym and oikawa hit you with his normal antics, you just stared at him

‘okay and?’

hanamaki and mattsun howled before rushing to you and grabbing you in a hug

‘girls like her really exist!!’

you gave kunimi and kindaichi a signal of help and they nodded before gently prying the senpais off of you

‘senpai, please’

you gave kunimi a grateful nod

coach irihata went up to you bc wow, kunimi has a friend with of another gender?

‘how can we help you, miss?’

‘im l/n y/n, first year, and id like to apply as the manager’

internally, the coach sighed bc you werent the first one to apply

the reason they havent had a manager for years was bc of oikawa’s fangirls hiding themselves under that false facade

but he saw you brush off that comment oikawa make with no hint of fluster or blush on your face so he decides to give you a trial run, in guise of seeing if you could handle these chaotic boys

‘do you have any experience as manager? or do we need to teach you the ropes?’

‘i was a manager for 3 years in my middle school volleyball’

he nodded

‘ill give you one month. a trial run of a month to test the waters’

you agreed and your trial run began

kunimi mentioned that morning practice starts at 6 am sharp so you set your alarm for 5 to get ready and get to school on time before the boys

you remembered how to set up the nets so you quickly put them out (using a step stool bc we short) and ran to get the basket of balls

their water bottles were filled and you were in the middle of lugging the big basket of towels when the third years entered

the 4 of them usually came earlier than the rest so they saw you dragging the basket of fresh towels and wipe your sweat before smiling at the work youve done

iwa was so happy bc it was usually him who did this stuff and now that he had someone do it for him, it was like a god-send

oikawa’s eyes shone and he waved at you

‘yohoo, y/n-chan!’

you cringed at the loud voice of the famous oikawa tooru

‘hello, oikawa-san’

he chuckled at your politeness before hugging you

‘you did all this for us? youre so cute, y/n-chan!’

instead of the normal blush and love-struck eyes, you were actually very uncomfortable of the sudden skinship and you quickly ran to the side when iwa hit him at the head

‘shittykawa! leave her alone!’

‘iwa-chan!’

makki and mattsun stood next to you as the boys did their usual fight

‘is this all an act or are you really not attracted to oikawa?’

mattsun shot him a surprised look bc why was he so straightforward

but you just shrugged

‘hes cute, i admit. but ive seen much cuter and the boys in my middle school team was basically full of him so,,, and i hate guys who think theyre all that just bc theyre blessed w a pretty face. if anything, ill probably go for iwaizumi-san’

pop off S I S T E R!!!

you just won the heart of these two

slowly but surely, they all came to accept you and iwa straight out loves you bc you maintained this routine for the whole month of your trial run

and you still remained indifferent of oikawa’s advances and he was even impressed and slightly agitated that you werent paying attention to him

‘y/n-chan, one date! just one!’

you huffed before looking up from your clipboard

‘i like men, oikawa-san. not boys’

that comment made the guys shriek

‘y/n-chan! youre just a first year! you dont need a man!’

‘youre not a man, oikawa!’

you left oikawa to be tormented by his teammates and went to go and hand over the report to the coach

he was impressed by the notes you made bc they were ones he even missed

like the split-second of hesitation that kindaichi usually has that goes unnoticed but you immediately saw

or the wince oikawa has whenever he so much as jumps an inch

you could even tell the difference between iwa’s spike and if he was being easy or he was going full-out

this added on to the fact that the boys loved you and irihata actually saw kunimi try more

but he thinks its only to earn your praises

‘y/n, youre officially the team manager’

yall celebrated at the normal hang-out spot which was the ramen shop and it truly shocked you at how much these boys ate

granted, this was the first time you ate together but you didnt expect them to eat nearly 5 bowls each

you could only finish 2 and you already feel like throwing up

‘honestly, how do you guys not gain weight after this?’

the table you sat at, iwa, kindaichi, mattsun, and kunimi, looked at you and shrugged

‘i work out’

‘i run’

‘i fast’

‘i poop it out’

lmao im sorry i cackled too hard at this

you stared blankly at mattsun’s answer who said it so seriously that you snorted a laugh

they watched you and your laughter bc you havent really expressed yourself as much

so they made it their goal to see you laugh more

‘y/n-chan! you need to eat more!’

oikawa shouted, clearly food drunk, but you shook your head aggressively

‘i only planned to eat one bowl but he just had to shove another down my throat’

‘but you need to grow, y/n-chan!’

‘i want to grow taller! not wider!!’

As a manager:

oh boy

you basically grew into kinda their mom

‘oikawa-san! you need to rest your knee or youre going to hurt yourself! i will drag you home myself!’

‘kunimi, if you try to get this one more spike, i’ll buy you a bag of those caramel bites you like’

‘iwa-san! if you hit oikawa-san too much, youll destroy the little braincells he has!’

‘yahaba-san, nice dump!’

‘is your knee okay, watari-san?’

yall really forget that watari and yahaba exist sometimes smh

it was part of the work

keeping up with seijoh

so to keep them encouraged, you gave them praises that they always demand for and they always turn to you whenever they did something good

mattsun gives you a look whenever he blocks iwa’s spikes and you give kindaichi a head pat whenever he blocks some too

bc of how you are with them, sometimes, they forget that you are actually just a first year

they get shocked whenever you walk in with kunimi and kindaichi and talk about the current homework bc it slips their mind that their hard-working manager was actually just a 15-year-old girl

so, they try to ease the burden whenever they can

like iwa offering to help you whenever you have to take their jerseys to the laundrymat

or offering to help you with your assignments since theyve only been through it once

more like watari, yahaba, and iwa bc the matsuhana are clueless and acts like they completely skipped that grade

also

!!!!

oikawa’s fangirls ltr dont leave you alone!!!

now, its known that youre the manager of the volleyball team bc oikawa has boasted about your efforts and such

this obvs ticked off a bunch of girls bc they were jealous that you got to spend more time in a single practice with their precious oikawa-senpai than they have their entire lives

more than once theyve cornered you to threaten you to stay away from their senpai or youll have something coming for you

you never take them seriously bc you can fight too and you just give them a look and push them away

but this one time

TRIGGER WARNING-START

okay tea

the self-proclaimed president of the oikawa tooru fanclub, kenta miyo, cornered you at the bathroom with her other minions

you were just washing your hands and drying them off when she marched up to you and grabbed your hair before tugging it back

obviously you were surprised and shouted

‘oi! what the hell?!’

‘you slut! you need to stay away from my tooru, got it?!’

ehm what

you hissed and wrenched her arm from your hair and pushed her away

your hair was now a mess and you were fuming, already sick and tired of the torture these girls put you through

‘he belongs to himself, not you! so stop being delusional and leave me alone already!’

she signalled for the girls to hold on to you which you slapped away but they forcefully grabbed your arm while you kicked at them and struggle to get out of their hold

jesus what do these girls eat

miyo watches you struggle with a smile and cackles

‘oh? no fight anymore, little kouhai?’

you glared at her

‘i dont want to beat yall up bc id get yelled at by tooru so you need to let me go or regret it’

at the mention of his first name, her eyes widened and her face twisted and she slapped you

‘oi! respect your senpai, you brat! dont you ever say oikawa’s first name!’

your lips curled

‘oh? thats funny, because he actually told me to call him that since he wants his cute little manager to be very comfortable with him’

you achieved a feat that she has been working to get her entire high school life and miyo was not happy

‘ive been with him for 3 years and you just suddenly show up out of nowhere and call him that?! i dont think so!’

she had her hands around your neck and you gripped her arms, making her wince

but you laughed at that comment

‘heh, thats pathetic, isn’t it? here you are, my senpai, who has been vying for his attention for 3 years only to be ignored yet a mere first year, who shows up out of nowhere, has been asked to a date nearly a million times every day. that must be tough’

she shrieked at that comment and threw you on the floor, making you accidentally hit your head at the edge of the sink

yall im actually so bothered by this scene and im wincing as im typing

you bit your lip to prevent any sound of pain to escape bc you knew thats what she wanted to hear from you

but you werent going to give her the satisfaction

instead, you looked up at her, hatred swirling in your eyes

‘youre freaking psycho, you know that? once tooru and hajime knows about this, theyre going to give you hell. they wont ever let this go bc im the manager of their prized team and their little baby sister. so go ahead, do what you want with me. bc i paid too much for these nails to be tainted by dirt like you’

saiyo, a girl you noticed to be watari’s classmate when you went and visited him, nervously tugged on miyo’s jacket

‘miyo, we should go-’

‘SHES BLUFFING. AND HERE, SINCE YOUR SOCCERFIELD FOREHEAD IS BLEEDING, LET ME HELP WASH IT OUT’

and she poured over a carton of banana milk over you, making you wince at the sticky and cold liquid

the tough facade was crumbling and you were now screaming for help in your head, hoping that stupid theory from yahaba about team telepathy to work

but it didnt

TRIGGER WARNING-END

when miyo and her girls left, you sat on the floor, soaked and sticky and bleeding

then you begin to cry angry tears

you were angry that you were being treated like this just bc you were a manager

you were angry that you let them do that to you

you were angry that you prized your nails more than punching her square in the nose

you were just angry

periodt

staggering on your own feet, you stood up and leaned on the sink, eyes widening at the dripping red liquid from the gash on your forehead, staining the porcelain sink

you were stupid and unconsciously touched it making you wince

‘shit, that hurts’

you whined quietly

there was little you can do with toilet paper and water to clean yourself up but you managed to at least stop the bleeding

you knew you had to be put on concussion protocol just in case bc you that hit was quite hard but at the moment, that wasnt your concern

practice has already started and this was the first time you werent present for daily practice

this was confirmed at the constant buzzing of your phone in your skirt pocket which you didnt listen to and instead, started thinking of ways to go to your locker and get your stuff and fake being sick but at the same time, not be seen and relayed to the team

time was ticking and you had to come up with a plan fast before oikawa will send the team to come looking around the building for you

once you looked at your reflection and smiled big, you decided it was enough to not show the pain you were in right now

girl im hurting for you

you peeked out of the bathroom door and saw the coast was clear so you quickly ran to your classroom, which was thankfully empty, and quickly grabbed your things

but as you were packing up, the tears just kept falling

it didnt stop as you bolted down the stairs, using your cardigan to hide your face from the public

once you were safely out of school grounds, you finally took out your phone and reviewed through all the worried and concerned texts from the team group chat

but you just replied, ‘im fine but i just feel really sick right now. girl stuff’

you smirked, knowing that would keep the boys away

but oikawa had to go and ask you to call him

‘y/n-chan! do you want oikawa-senpai to come over with chocolates and ice cream?! wings or no wings?!’

your jaw dropped at the question and clearly scandalized by the question

the team was too as shouting began and you could faintly hear iwa scream, ‘oh my god, shittykawa!’

‘im seriously okay, oikawa-san. i just need to be alone right now and ill try and get some sleep. good bye’

then you hung up

there was no way you could tell them

they were in their last year anyways so doing something about it wouldnt matter

and you were strong

but apparently not strong enough to fight them off though

you would cover the wound with concealer and continue on with practice tomorrow as if everything was normal

but there was only so much you could take

just yesterday, they trashed your locker and a week ago, they took your bento and threw it away

you even got into a fight with this one girl but she scampered away, too scared to do anything alone

so you were actually just tired and want everyone to leave you alone

believe me, youve thought of quitting sometimes

but youve actually created a bond with these boys

like when you take hanamaki to get cream puffs whenever he loses against iwa in arm wrestling

or when yahaba calls you at ungodly hours to express his worries for next year and to fill oikawa’s shoes

it was simple moments that you shared with each player that kept you from not leaving

soon, you found yourself crying again and the looks pedestrians were giving you was starting to make you uncomfortable

a girl, with her gross hair in a bun, puffy eyes with a bleeding wound and walking down the street

that was a sight

so you cut a corner to an alley by your house to escape from the judging eyes and you were too busy wiping your eyes to see a boy who was crouched down on the floor and ended up walking over him

omg my baby kyoken hello luv!!!!

you gasped and you were surprised and quickly apologized

kyotani was originally about to yell at you, no matter what, but he saw the state you were in and concluded you were either from a fight or was beaten up

he recognized that and decided to just glare at you and go back to feeding the stray dogs and cats

you breathed a sigh in relief when he didnt yell at you bc that wouldve been the last thing you needed today

‘sir, im sorry for hitting you. if there is something i could do for you, dont hesitate’

he ignored you and you focused on him paying attention to the strays

going into your backpack, you had a milk carton and a sausage stick from earlier

you used your thermos lid to serve as the milk bowl for the cats while you peeled open the meat and used your scissors to cut chunks of it for the dogs to have some

kyotani watched as you went into action to feeding the animals that people usually ignored

he knew you

well, he recognized you

when he watched from the top of the gym, he saw you as their manager who ran around and helped everyone

sure, he still didnt trust you

but he watched you grin and smile as the animals started to eat

‘im in a hurry right now so i have to go but ill feed you again tomorrow, okay? you too, stranger-san. ill bring food for you too’

then you stood up and ran away, probably in a hurry to fix that wound

he wouldve offered to treat it for you but he remained silent, watching the cats mewl at the now empty lid

the next day, oikawa was worried for you and when he saw you at early morning practice, he practically glomped to your side

‘y/n-chan! you okay?! oikawa-senpai was so worried for you!’

you cringed but nodded

‘im okay, oikawa-san’

‘senpai, y/n-chan! call me senpai!’

‘im not going to feed into your kink, oikawa-san’

*cue everyone busting a lung*

to this day, no one still knew what happened to you

you kept it quiet and you were sure you got everything handled

except for one person

kyotani was smart and for some reason he knew you got beat up by the fangirls and the perpetrators were easily found bc he saw them huddled around your locker, probably trashing it again, and lets just say,

no one is def going to mess w you now

back to manager moments!!

during practice matches, the boys rally around you to prevent other teams from sweet-talking you

they make sure no one gets past them and always have excuses to get your attention

you knew what they were doing but you pretended not to, heart warming at their protectiveness and hunger for your attention

even though you have your own jacket, the team gives you theirs all the time like oikawa has his special team jacket w his name at the back and when he feels threatened by schools like johzenji, he makes you wear it

‘youre mine, y/n-chan and i want that blondie to know’

‘ehm, no, oikawa-san. im iwaizumi-san’s’

oikawa screamed

lmao training camps w them is CHAOTIC

YOU WANT TO CRYYYYYY

OIKAWA IS CRYING BC IWAIZUMI IS BEATING HIM UP, MATSUHANA ARE FREAKING OUT THE FIRST YEARS ABOUT THE GHOSTS IN THE WOODS AND NOW KINDAICHI REFUSES TO LET GO OF YOU, WATARI GOT LOST GOING TO THE BATHROOM AND YAHABA IS SCREAMING ABOUT THE WEATHER MESSING UP HIS HAIR AND MAKING IT FRIZZY

reminder: threaten to quit everytime they get too much

your hugs are the best!!!!

you have a special hug for every player

oikawa gets his favorite which was the normal arm around the waist with your arms around his neck while he snuggles in your neck

iwa gets flustered easily so you hug him from behind so you cant see his flustered look

mattsun actually likes the jumping in the air so he catches you type of hug

makki is more tame and has his arms around your shoulder with his chin on your head

yahaba is the twirly kind where he just picks you up and swings you around

watari also gets flustered easily so he likes the one-arm hugs

kindaichi gets blushy at the slightest touch from you but he gives you a hug from behind you himself where he can bury his face in your hair while you caress his arms

kunimi, now he likes it when you squeeze him extremely tight bc it makes him feel loved and feel alive

kyo doesnt even talk to you what makes you think you can give him a hug

their lost for shiratorizawa really broke them though

you made them their own bentos for nearly a week to keep them encouraged and gave oikawa extra attention to keep him from sulking or practicing late

‘oikawa-senpai, lets go watch that new movie later’

‘S-S-SENPAI?!’

then the arrival of our baby kyoken

yahaba was moody the whole practice and you were currently trying to keep him from spiking a ball to someone

‘even just today, he’s late’

‘who?’

‘that stupid dog’

he just keeps mumbling and grunting

and then the said dog arrived

you peaked out from behind iwaizumi, who protectively went in front of you

shock ran through you and you pointed at him

‘puppy-kun!’

lmao puppy what

youve called him that since he refused to tell you his name, but you call him that bc he paid special attention to this one baby beagle

he raised a hand in greeting and you gave him a smile

‘youre a player here, too?!’

he ‘glared’ at you but nodded stiffly

the team really thought that he would lash out at you but he is surprisingly tolerant

the power of the manager

he still hasnt talked to you but he does respond to you and even helps you with chores, still not talking ofc

hes so tsun tsun and he deserves my heart yall

however, youve heard him talk to iwaizumi, and iwaizumi only, so youve heard his voice before

ngl, you were flustered by how gruff and deep it was

then their loss to karasuno

bruh, it was KARASUNO

the entire team fell apart and after the match, each of them ran away from you to stop lashing out

you were also on the verge of crying, seeing the broken look on your third years

your precious third years

you decided to give them their own space but you heard a loud banging sound from the bathroom

yahaba and watari were outside, clearly trying to talk to someone in there on coming out but it got louder

okay you were lowkey like, ‘hm, i should not be here’

but you recognized that voice

you knocked at the boys door to be respectful

‘kyo-san? its me, y/n’

he was silent but he did unlock it

you took this as a sign to enter and you gave yahaba and watari a smile

‘i’ll be fine. go to kindaichi and kunimi. they need your comfort right now’

tbh, you were surprised the bathroom was still intact but you saw the stall door at the very end being rattled and shaken

you remained by the door but you wanted to go to him

‘kyo-san, please come out so i can treat your injuries’

he expected you to say those words like ‘its okay’ or ‘theres always next year’ but you didnt

instead, you knew he was hurt and wanted to help him

he continued to give a few punches to the wall and the door before emerging

you wordlessly treated the wounds and offered your hand

‘im here, kyo-san. dont worry, im right here’

at the ramen shop, you told them to eat as much as they want and wordlessly gave them your card, slightly crying inside bc you know this was going to be like over a hundred dollars

but you were treating the boys bc they deserved it

you sat beside kindaichi, who was just sobbing and apologizing, so you were wiping his tears and holding his hand under the table

this precious babie

bruh i was sobbing when i watched this part like uuggghhhh

after dinner, you walked with the other third years, knowing they would go to the gym, so you gave everyone else your special hugs before sending them home

‘text me when you arrive safely, okay?’

‘yes, mom’

‘KINDAICHI WHAT’

oikawa’s speech made you cry bc despite only knowing them for not even a year, you already feel like a family

you didnt want your family to be broken but you knew they would all go their separate ways eventually

there was a big hug pile of third years on the side where you took a picture and sent it to the group chat

you had to eventually go home after helping them clean up and when you checked your phone, a fresh batch of tears rolled down

each from every person on the team but with the same sentence and same words

‘we love you, l/n y/n. thanks for everything.’

ngl i dont think this was that good and its like 8 in the morning and im extremely tired

i want to do karasuno, nekoma, and fukurodani but im so exhausted i cannot right now

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

Note

I’m s o r r y but I made myself sad over this one so naturally I’m here to share the pain

Okay so I was thinking about the alternate timelines//realities thing and what if there’s a universe where Billy dies, and a universe where Steve dies,, and somehow they meet ~maybe in the Upside Down???~ and Steve is like 🥺 b i l l y,,, but Billy can’t deal with it??? Like, “you’re A Steve, but you’re not MY Steve”

| quick heads up!: mentions of death and mourning ahead |

Ahhhhhh, Kelly!. Bring the pain, bring the pain, we’ll deal with it together, cry together, blow our noses together! 😢😢

i’ve been having my mind full of that alt timelines/realities idea these last few days, and that’s surely the reason why that’s what I saw in your beautiful 3-sentence fic, both because a post i saw about one of the boys dying (i can’t find it now. please human who posted it, tell me if it was yours!) and bc of this marvel @edith-moonshadow (<3) wrote in one of my posts. and then you sent me this ask and wrote that fantastic piece and-- IT'S ALL BEEN VERY COSMIC AND PLANETARY ALINGTMENLY and i didn’t want to make myself sadder or make you sadder but,

I can imagine how it’d go. Both of them trapped on the upside-down. Both of them bleeding out. Sliced down as they are, right through the middle. Half a Billy and half a Steve, the wound still fresh with the part they’re missing and I imagine they could barely stand it, right at the beginning, the mere sight of that other that’s not― That’ just not. What was once love rotting into hate, into feeling trapped, doomed, to live in this cage with the constant reminder of their loss.

And Billy’d miss the way Steve used to roll his eyes at him, and the way Steve used to sigh all dramatic like ‘God, Billy Hargrove, you’re too much for me I swear’ but would then wink and pull him close and steal a kiss, voice falling low to smile a ‘Definitely way more than I deserve’ into his mouth. Would miss the way Steve used to brush his hair to the side, bite at the curve of his neck, and words, they always sounded better when Steve traced them against the shell of his ear ‘Tell me I’m your pretty boy’ he’d say and Billy would tell him, would try to catch his lips but ‘Ah-ah’ and Steve’d shake his head, brush their lips together ‘First babe, you gotta tell me how much I love you’, holding him tight and not letting him go ‘till Billy would get over the way his cheeks were blushing, and tell him. But―

This Steve. This Steve doesn’t love this Billy. Doesn’t love Billy. This Steve gets mad and yells at him when Billy’s been ‘Too fucking much, I swear! You’re too fucking much’ and it hurts, when he puts his hands on his hips and looks exactly like his Steve. And it hurts even worse, when he sets his jaw and looks wrong and like somebody else completely (And it hurts even worseworseworse, when he finally says it, what they both think. When he opens up those pretty lips Billy used to kiss, to love, those pretty lips that used to say ‘I love you’: “Of all the monsters in here, you’re the only one that gives me nightmares”).

This Steve never calls him by his name. This Steve doesn’t look him in the eye. This Steve hates him.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and they repel each other, can't stand each other but ―they can’t, either, even if none of them ever says it, bear the idea of splitting apart. And Steve’s house is not Steve’s house, but it makes do, with its walls re-painted in horrors and damp seeping through the floral wallpaper of the hallway his mama used to be so proud of. And there’s mold growing in the mattress and invisible night-terrors that bite living in the blankets and it gets cold at night. Cold and lonely and hopeless. And Steve doesn't want to and Billy doesn't want to but. They sleep together. Back to back. Touch only where they have to touch. Not to freeze (not to feel. Except they― ). Wake up together (like they used to). Steve's face buried in Billy's curls and the smell, the smell is the same. Exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly. The same. Right there, all along the tenderness at the curve of Billy’s (this. Not his. Thisthisthis. Never his) neck.

And weeks pass, and months pass, and it hurts. Every minute, every second and every tiny, tiny particle of time. Because this Billy is not Billy and Steve―

Steve’s missing a half. Steve’s an open wound and it doesn't matter how much alike they are, how much they feel (exactly, perfectly, dishearteningly) the same under Steve’s touch, because this Billy is another Steve's and he doesn't fit, and he wouldn’t ever heal, against his skin but― his blue eyes are the same and those curls of his look like they’ve forever captured the sun in the same way and his scars are gone but when the creatures hurt him and draw new ones Steve recognizes under his fingertips the familiar shapes of his back, the way Billy bleeds, the way his skin feels warmth against his palms and,

Billy.

Billy recognizes the way Steve touches him, the way he groans a "Be quiet for frikin’ once. And hold still!" but then, lower, softer, a whisper “Shhh. C’mon. Shhh. Just a second, alright? I promise I’ll be careful” and Billy does and bites down his tongue and the pain and the tears as Steve stitches the wound and Billy wants to ask him to sew his whole body, too, all along that wide wide line where it used to fit that half he’s missing, but what he says is "Would you kiss me once? Just once? So I can feel like I still have him?".

And it's the same. And it's different. And it's not Steve. But it is. Steve. And they kiss and Steve’s crying, because is thesamethesamethesame, the way Billy’s lashes are falling and Billy wants to say ‘I love you’, but he doesn't, and it becomes a lump in his throat as they kiss and kiss and kiss for hours, on that bed they’ve been sharing, that bed they’ve only been touching for survival, and when they're done, Billy wants to ask Steve to sew his lips together too. So he can’t ask him again. So he can not want to but― the nights are cold and lonely and hopeless. So they touch. And they kiss. And weeks pass. And they touch and they kiss and they fuck. And months pass. And they kiss and touch and fuck and fight. And they need each other. Want each other. Hate each other. Hate themselves. And then Steve says "I'll never love you. I'll never love you like I loved him" and Billy says "Neither I will”. And they’re both are bleeding. Been bleeding for so long. Bleeding out. And they won’t heal, a Billy-less and a Steve-less, as they are. So it spreads. The rot. And it's even worse like this, hating what there’s left of themselves. Because they don’t fit but it feels like they do, when they touch and they kiss and they fuck. When they fight.

(When it feels like love but― isn’t).

(Can’t be)

And weeks pass and months pass and neither of them says it (‘Wanna touch you again, kiss you again, fuck you again’), even though they're both thinking it and it’s been almost two and a half years. Five hundred days. Five hundred nights. Of hiding from each other, of finding each other in this endless night, when the dormant creatures start to crawl out of their nests, when the darkness is filled again with growls and howls and screeches. With danger. Vines coming back to life after their hundred years of sleep and then something’s coming something’s coming something’s coming and,

“Take all you can”

“Get the bat!”

“Run, Billy run!”

“Block the door! Block the door!”

“The head! Steve! Slam ‘m on the head!”

“Come on, come on, come on! Let’s get the shit outta here”

and then,

“The gate. Somebody must be opening the gate”

They find it.

Seven feet. That’s how far it is. That's how close they are from making it. And must be some kind of cosmic joke, so Billy laughs at it. Gives that one to the universe. Chokes on his own blood.

Steve’s blurred, less and less clear every time he blinks. Still the most beautiful thing Billy’s ever seen.

“C’mon, pretty boy” he says. Squeezes Steve's hand tighter. Just one second. It’s the end of the end of the world and Billy feels like he’s spent a whole lifetime like this. Stealing Steve Harrington in seconds. So he can steal one more. That’s always been the deal. Just a little more, a little more, since the moment he saw him “You know you hafta go”

Salt. Tears. That detail, Billy always forgets: they taste exactly like the ocean.

“Nah. I’m thinking that― they won't split us apart. Not this time”

Tears. Salt. The ocean on Steve’s lips. Taste like coming back. Coming Back home. But,

“It’s ok, pretty boy. I’m not him”

Steve shrugs. Smiles. Dots on the curve of his cheek. Eyes like the first day of fall. It’s in the curve of his lips, where Billy’s history has always been rewritten.

“But there was a me, that loved you. And there was a you, that loved me. And I guess it’s just impossible. Not to do it again so―” and words, they always sound better when Steve traces them against the shell of his ear, says,

“Can you kiss me? So I can know how it is to have you?”

And it’s the end of the end of the world.

(But,

Time Swirls. Space wraps around itself. Reality flickers. So maybe― maybe it really is. The end. But. Maybe,

There's a house. Steve’s house. And is not the same. But it’s not different, either. And there’s daylight pouring down the hallways, burning bright against that soft-gold wallpaper his mama’s always been so proud of. And the mattress is soft and warm and feels familiar. And the blankets smell like softener and old memories. Like new memories. Like us. Us.

“Tell me how much you love me”

Steve brushes Billy’s hair to the side, runs his lips all along the curve of his neck, leaves a kiss behind his ear. And it’s the same, but it’s different and Billy know it’s always, always gonna hurt. Because they’re still a Billy-less and a Steve-less but. They’re always gonna be a Billy one Steve loved, a Steve one Billy loved. They’re this Billy and this Steve.

But there’s this one thing, that’s always gonna be the same. This one thing neither of them would ever do in halves.

“I love you with all my heart,” he says, and draws Steve closer, closer, ‘till there’s barely any space left between them.

And they allow themselves to feel, where their wounds touch.

Allow themselves to love.)

#harringrove #i'm sorry #for the terribleness of this #but thank you so So much for making me feel inspired #and for being SUCH a dear <3<3<3 #i wrote this and still can't shake the all other possible ideas out of my head #the sadder and happier possibilities #ahhh #ill stop or ill just ramble essssndlessly #<3<3<3<33<#also!#@lovebillyhargorve my lof #this is a 'this billy with this steve' sorta thing?#look at what you've made to me <3<3<#edith. u there? as always. thanks for adding magic to my brain #tw: death #tw: mourning #also yep its not a trick of your mind i keep on paraphrasing my favorite oscar wild line #xharringrove

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diyeoracha · 4 years

Text

fanfic recommendations

for @kittensocute bc i heard “atsukita” and “iwaoi” in reference to fanfiction and i am There

i took your “i love slow burn or slow build fics... so i like relatively shorter burn fics (20-30k). If its a 10k oneshot slow burn hELL SIGN ME UP” and absolutely ran with it.

i listed my fav iwaoi fics (17) with a longer word count (longest is 80k) that are all mostly either canon compliant or divergent with only two straight up AUs. none of them feature heavy nsfw content and most if not all are tagged as friends to lovers lmao. feel free to read the my thoughts or just go into them blind!! and they’re all in order of how much I absolutely adore them :^)

now atsukita is not a big ship *sobs* but here are some of my favorite fics (7) of them! a lot of them are shorter bc i guess that’s just. what happens when it’s a small ship LOL.

the formatting in this is fucked if you open it from ur dash but if it’s on my actual blog it should be fine!

Iwaoi

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

thoughts: my absolute absolute absolute favorite iwaoi fic. the characterization, the fact that oikawa’s a bastard but because he and iwaizumi are older (late 20s i believe), it feels more realistic and sad rather than oikawa being a bitch for the sake of it. spoiler alert it’s slow burn and pining and mostly oikawa not realizing his feelings. this world building is pretty cool bc iwaizumi is the professional player while oikawa is an entomology professor! also i love non-linear narratives bc of This fic. there’s mutual pining in this fic but it’s really really really subtle to the point where you dont even know if oikawa likes iwa. this made me cry like twice.

sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

thoughts: the tone in this is So similar to the courtship ritual that I liken this as an alternate story even though it’s still oikawa’s pov. professional player oikawa and regular guy iwaizumi and oikawa is just. bumming around at iwaizumi’s place and naturally he messes up but things happen.

told before and told again

word count: 4k

thoughts: i looked through literally all the tags i could’ve thought of for this and nearly cried when i found it agian. outsider POV!!

In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

thoughts: oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and they blur the line between roommates/best friends and being fwb. this is an iwaizumi pov and the pining is obvious on his end. as a iwa stan the tone made me feel weird bc it makes it seem like iwa cares more abt oikawa than he cares abt himself but. its a good fic

i grew up, you grew down

word count: 19k

thoughts: this is also SO funny bc basically oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and becomes his stay at home wife and a bunch of shit happens like people think that oikawa is dating ushijima and oikawa basically loses it every time. here’s one of my favorite quotes:

“Oikawa also bought a new ultra-strength vacuum cleaner he’d decided to name Ushiwaka out of sheer spite, because it sucked all the air right out of the room. Iwa-chan didn’t think the joke was that funny when Tooru told him, which was frankly very hurtful and insensitive.”

Mint

Word count: 19k

thoughts: iwaizumi is moving and oikawa planned a perfect last hangout and it goes to shit featuring matsuhana. oikawa pov where he pines more than iwa which is something i can get behind!! and this was written in 2015 and iwa’s moving bc of a sports medicine program so iwaizumi stans know and love him sm ;;

Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

thoughts: same premise as mint LOL except they’re on a trip together and there’s more non-linear narrative!! this one is a little more mature in tone than mint i would say (funny how people just like splitting them up and throwing them in different countries huh)

with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates and they’re both obviously and really pine-y for each other and everyone sees it but them. srsly. they’re sleeping in the same bed. like my god

Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women’s volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

thoughts: so funny. so sososoosso genuinely funny. the tone is so snappy and iwaizumi honestly just sounds like a confused teenager (which he is in this) and it gets extra points for including a lot of american culture that a lot of the other iwaoi college au ones don’t include for like. obvious reasons lol.

Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates thats abo but it’s like. mentioned twice. whiny and possessive oikawa makes an appearance in this but it’s done really well

things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he’s in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only for a little while.)

thoughts: high school getting together!! my second iwaoi fic ever and this one is just. so sweet. just an unsure oikawa realizing iwaizumi might be more than someone he wants as a best friend. this fic is honestly really really lovely.

galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

thoughts: ok this fic was so funny. theyre uni roommates and matsuhana just come fuck shit up and they all act like idiots together even though they go to different schools. and this really throws me back to university days.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count: 19k

thoughts: pro! oikawa and iwaizumi haven’t been close for a while until oikawa invites iwaizumi to go to the games with him. there’s a lot of frustration and pining and actually talking about feelings (aka iwaizumi losing his mind and getting advice from people like akaashi)

when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

thoughts: this was actually my first iwaoi fic which is funny bc the author doesn’t even like oikawa much and i didnt even ship anything in haikyuu before i read this fic and now im in iwaoi hell. oikawa is really frustrating in this in that it’s basically a really good character analysis on how oikawa comes off as a Mean person all the time bc he’s manipulative and there’s some explicit content

shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates with oikawa admitting his feelings first back when they were in middle school and iwaizumi putting that thought on the backburner until. obviously. things happen.

Desperado

word count: 80k

thoughts: one of my favorite aus. it’s all from kyoutani’s perspective and it’s almost so au that they’re original characters (if that makes sense). basically iwaoi matsuhana are ex-grifters except iwaoi are estranged and daishou somehow brings everyone back together. excellent world building and reading the pov from someone not involved with the iwaoi drama was refreshing

sing with me a song of conquest and fate

word count: 26k

thoughts: a mythical kings au that’s just. so pretty. iwaizumi ends up becoming oikawa’s servant for some reason and the world building is a+ because you can feel the trust and frustration from both of them build

Atsukita

dreams of me and you

word count: 10k (incomplete)

my second atsukita fic that rly sent me down atskt hell ;; what is essentially post-break up when atsumu gets signed to msby and he’s just Pining and sad for the most part. but the established relationship pre-break up was written really nicely because it just fits my hc of them just being domestic and atsumu being blatantly head over heels

take me home

word count: 4k

i read this this morning and it wrecked me. domestic relationship atsukita?? sign me up

No time like the rest of my life

word count: 19k

mythology au with kita as a regular person and rest of inarizaki as fox spirits! it’s cute and the world building is absolutely lovely but it is an au so they might seem ooc but their core character values are still there

wild blue yonder

word count: 6k

literally full of similes and metaphors and it’s more of an abstract read i guess? but it’s so beautiful and soft and this is exactly how i imagine their relationship

reap and sow

word count: 8k

atsumu confesses and kita ignores him and it’s a couple years after the fact and it’s mostly just weirdly domestic almost roommate like except for the fact that atsumu makes it clear he likes kita LOL. they’re really in character for this!

weightless souls

word count: 2k

pillow talk before atsumu’s first game! the atsumu pov and voice is amazing

if we were both alone

word count: 7k

now this was actually my first atskt fic that sent me down this rare pair hell. it’s an explicit chat fic (both tropes i usually try to avoid) but atsumu types like me (except for the nsfw parts alksfjd) so i guess i like. feel appreciation LMAO.

if you do read like any of these fics pls let me know so we can discuss

♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

#iwaoi #atsukita #i added some more on friday feb 19!

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kiara-carrera · 3 years

Note

“actually i’m…i’m really not okay.” + Leah for the comfort starters?

convinced you can somehow read my mind across the internet because you're always picking the best prompts for them like this allowed me to write a hc that's been living in my head since may anyways. i also wanna fight myself bc this is like 3 fucking thousand words and its super fucking sad idk why i did this to myself.

content warning for parental abuse and a mention of alcoholism.

In the middle of the night, something brushed against her face.

She was asleep on her side, some of her hair falling into her eyes, but it was swept aside, the feeling tickling her skin and it caused her to stir briefly. But her eyes stayed shut and she merely burrowed deeper into her pillow.

Leah had never been much of a light sleeper, but the feeling of her bed dipping next to her seemed to rouse her enough.

It took her a moment to settle into waking, eyes fluttering and lips smacking together tiredly to combat the dryness of her mouth. A tiny yawn escaped her, her eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness of her room, the only source of light being the sparse moonlight that trickled in through her window.

It was enough to make out the shape beside her.

Her heart nearly stopped at the sight of them sitting on her bed, arm pulling back towards itself. It felt like something out of a horror movie or perhaps the evening news with the headline of a teenager being stolen from their bedroom. Fear gripped at her with icy hands, eyes widening at the realization that someone was in her room with her.

Lips parted, she was a mere second away for screaming out for her father and brother before a shred of moonlight at just the right second highlighted the unruly blond hair of the intruder.

Pushing up on one shaky hand, she asked, “JJ?”

Leah’s sleep addled voice cut through the silence, a harsh and hurried whisper into the dark. If it truly was JJ sitting on her bed, the volume would need to be kept near silent — she wouldn’t put it past Jack Thompson to treat JJ like an actual intruder.

The voice that replied was unmistakably that of her boyfriend’s, a little tired and a little sheepish. “Hey baby.”

Relief flooded her body and she allowed herself to slump back down into her pillow, a quiet groan escaping her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, JJ, I thought you were a serial killer. What the hell?”

She couldn’t really see the expression on his face, but she saw him look down at his hands. “Wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me at —” She paused, turning to squint at the alarm clock beside her bed, neon numbers vibrant in the dark. “Two am? How the hell did you even get in?”

“Window.” He jutted a thumb behind him in its direction as if to make his point. In an attempt at lighthearted conversation, he jokingly added, “You know, you should really lock that thing.”

Leah pulled a face, disbelief coating her features. Sleep was still mulling in her brain and she couldn’t for the life of her make sense of this situation. It wasn’t the first time JJ had ever snuck into her room. Even before they were dating, he’d mastered slipping in through her window often enough that he even knew which floorboards would creak loudly under his boots.

But the difference between then and now was that this was the first time he’d done it without warning. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d come unannounced like this. It had to have been months ago, when he’d shown up after —

Fuck.

Leah pushed herself back up on her elbow, a sense of unease washing over her as she squinted at her boyfriend in the dark. The last time he’d shown up unannounced in the middle of the night, it hadn’t been for a midnight make out session or because he’d randomly wanted to spend the night — he’d had a bruised cheek and a busted lip, compliments of his father.

He’d dripped blood on her floor by accident and she’d nearly woken up her brother while getting the first aid kit from the bathroom. She’d gotten a mini one from the dollar store the next day to keep in her dresser just in case.

Except, she didn’t want there to be a just in case. Didn’t want there to be a next time. She’d cleaned JJ up from multiple fights in her time as his best friend and now girlfriend, but nothing left her with a pit in her stomach like cleaning him up after his dad was through with him.

“You didn’t come here from the Chateau, did you?”

It was phrased as a question, but it was more of a statement. JJ shifted awkwardly in his spot beside her. Even if she could make out his expression in the dark, he wouldn’t look at her anyways.

“Lee ...” He trailed off, almost as if he wanted to ask her to drop it.

But he knew her and he knew she wouldn’t. “J, did you go back to your place tonight?”

A small noise of discontent escaped him, but he nodded his head.

“Got into it with my dad,” he finally admitted, letting out a chuckle. It was meant to play off the situation, but there wasn’t a single trace of humor in the bitter sound.

Despite how tired she felt, eyelids heavy enough to drag her back under, that single sentence seemed to wake her up just enough. She squinted at him in the dark, heart thumping a little quicker in her chest as she blindly reached for the lamp on her bedside table.

It switched on, bathing the room in a soft glow as Leah pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blinked a few times, letting the now lit room to come in to focus, a hand reaching up to try and rub the rest of the sleep from her eyes.

Her gaze eventually landed on her boyfriend, looking uncomfortable as ever under her gaze. His hat was in his lap, hands wrung into it, while his hair looked like he’d raked his fingers through it anxiously a number of times on the way over. And his eyes, normally cheery and mischievous, looked almost hollow, a glossy sheen to the redness that surrounded the blue of his irises.

He looked ... broken and Leah’s heart stuttered a bit at the dejected expression he wore.

She’d never considered herself violent or capable of truly hurting anyone, but it was moments like these where she swore she could put Luke Maybank six feet under if she put her mind to it.

Unless he drunk himself to death first.

JJ watched on quietly as she let her eyes trail across his face intently, no doubt scanning for new scrapes or bruises or split lips. A twinge of guilt flickered in his eyes, one that Leah ignored. She didn’t care if he felt like he was burdening her or that he felt bad knowing she was expecting him to be dripping blood on her floor like he had one too many times before.

She didn’t care about that, because all she wanted was to make sure he was okay.

Leah hated when he went home. She knew that JJ was too proud to spend every night at the Chateau and knew he thought he could handle himself on the off chance that he ran into his dad. Rarely, though, did that seem to be the case.

“It wasn’t like that,” JJ supplied, noticing the way her eyes strayed to his shirt, more than likely wondering if there were bruises littering the skin it covered. “He was too drunk to start anything physical. Probably would’ve tripped over himself before he got two feet.”

Leah nodded, though his admission didn’t do much to quell her nerves. She didn’t know much about Luke Maybank to start with, but something told her his words were probably as painful as his hits.

After a moment, once she decided that his face looked the way it had when she’d seen him yesterday, save for the frown and his bloodshot eyes, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Not all of it, though, because her mind had already started jumping to the next possible idea of what exactly had happened in the Maybank home earlier that night.

“Do you ... do you wanna talk about it?” she asked gently, tucking her legs under her.

Getting JJ to open up was ... tricky. Leah had been around him long enough that she could clock his bad moods at the drop of a hat, could read most emotions swirling in his eyes like second nature.

Noticing something was wrong, that something was eating away at him, was easy. Getting him to verbalize it and let her in fully was the hard part. Even around the Pogues, around Leah, JJ held a certain level of walls up. Thoughts and secrets and the level of abuse at the hand of his father that he kept guarded for one reason or another. There were things that they knew, things that they found out on accident or because he’d hit his breaking point, but Leah wouldn’t be surprised if there was a whole slew of things she didn’t know.

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, but it didn’t surprise her when JJ waved off her question.

“Nah, it's not a big deal,” JJ replied easily, brushing it off as he adjusted his position on her bed.

He forced another smile on his lips as he regarded her. It was one that almost looked genuine. Almost. It might have fooled someone who didn’t know him well into thinking that he was fine, someone who wouldn’t pick up on the way he was fidgeting with his rings or how he seemed incapable of looking her in the eye for more than a brief moment before glancing away. But Leah wasn’t just someone and she could pick up on his unease just as easily as she was taking her breaths.

Because Leah knew when JJ wasn’t okay. She always knew.

Treading lightly, like she was dealing with a deer who might spook, she said, “Well, it must have been if you came all this way here.”

Annoyance wrinkled his expression. Tossing his hat to the side, he asked, “Can’t a guy just stop by to see his girlfriend?”

“JJ, it’s two in the morning,” she told him seriously.

His frown deepened. She could see his jaw clench and he nodded his head a few times. “Yeah, okay, you know what, this was fucking stupid. I’ll just leave then if you’re gonna keep looking at me like that.”

She knew the that in question was the pity he was probably reading across her face. But the problem was that she didn’t pity him, she was worried for him, but JJ never seemed to know the difference between the two.

The sight of him getting up and turning to head back towards her window had Leah lurching forward, hand circling around his wrist. “Hey, hey,” she whispered, giving his arm a tug. “No, J, don’t leave, please, c’mon.”

At her pleading tone, he halted, a sigh escaping him. It took another moment before he was sitting back down, a frown still etched on his face.

Leah’s hand slipped from his wrist and she longed to twine their fingers together but she didn’t in favor of scooting a little closer to him on her bed. She tilted her head a bit, trying her best to get eye contact with him.

He finally sighed and looked up at her, another sigh slipping past his lips. “Lee ...”

“Look, I’m not trying to push it, okay?” She bit her lip, thinking over her next words carefully. She didn’t know how many times she could successfully talk him out of leaving tonight. “I just ... I get worried. If you really don’t wanna talk, we don’t have to. We can just go to sleep and leave it, but I need you to know that I will listen if you wanna talk. You came all this way here and it’s so late and I know —”

“I just wanted to see you,” he repeated, cutting her off. There was no edge to his voice. Instead it was softer, a tone that suggested there was more to it. Unconvincingly, he added, “I’m fine, Lee.”

A shaky breath left Leah’s lips, tears beginning to sting at the back of her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her words sat in the air for a few moments. Or maybe it was minutes. JJ was watching her intensely and Leah could almost see the legions of thoughts bouncing around his head at her statement. His eyes were glassier than ever, tears brimming along the edges. He chewed on his lip anxiously and Leah could do nothing but wait for him to make the next move.

When he did, she was certain her heart broke.

“Actually I’m ...” JJ’s voice was thick with emotion and his breath hitched in his throat as his bravado began cracking under her thoughtful gaze. He couldn’t meet her eyes again when he choked out, “I’m really not okay.”

The first tear betrayed him, dripping down his cheek and disappearing somewhere on his shirt.

“Oh, JJ,” Leah whispered, her soft voice, laced with unmeasurable concern, nailing the coffin shut.

Within seconds, tears began streaming down his face as the dam finally broke.

Leah was quick to shuffle across her bed, the last bits of sleepiness washing off her like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Her arms were curling around him tightly, pulling him into her as the first sob racked through his body. His face was pressed into her neck, the collar of her shirt dampening with his tears.

He was mumbling into her, words muffled by her skin and her shirt, fragmented by the sobs that snuck through. She could only make out pieces, the words hate it and hate him and sorry repeating more times than she could count.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbled into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got you.”

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer, impossibly close, like he didn’t think she’d stay with him.

But there was nowhere else she’d ever dream of being, not when he was like this.

This wasn’t the first time Leah had seen JJ cry. While he always tried to hold up a devil may care attitude, the wild Pogue image, the view of a kid from the Cut with no worries besides keggers and weed, there were times where he’d hit his breaking point in the past. She’d seen it before, seen the facade shatter like glass against the floor. There was only so long he could go on being strong, feelings bottled up inside him like a ticking time bomb, before he’d burst.

Another sob wracked through him, a quiet and painful noise buried into her neck.

“I just want it to stop,” he told her between hurried gulps of air. “I’m so fucking sick of it.”

Leah’s eyes squeezed shut and she ran a comforting hand through his hair. She told him, “I know, J, I know,” because what else was there for her to say? What else was there for her to do in moments like these?

Anger burned in Leah’s chest, a sudden hot feeling, akin to a pot left to boil over on the stove. It was seeping into her veins as she listened to his cries,

Anger at the world, because it took people like JJ and put them through hell. He was sixteen. Sixteen fucking years old and this was the shit that he had to deal with. This was his reality. It was two in the goddamn morning and instead of being asleep in his own bed, safe and loved by his own fucking father, he was here in pieces because of him.

Anger at his father, for being such a useless sack of shit. Who did this to their child? Who could look at a kid like JJ and do nothing but tear them down until they started believing the lies being fed to them? Leah hated him, she’d decided that long ago. Hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life and the feeling of JJ shuddering under her hands only seemed to make it run deeper.

And then there was the anger at herself, because she knew there wasn’t enough that she could do. She could patch up his wounds and hold him tight, could let him cry in her arms until he had nothing left to give, and it would never be enough. She couldn’t fix the world for him and there weren’t enough words in the world to describe how important he was, how special, how loved. His father’s words would always exist somewhere in the back of his mind and she wasn’t sure she knew how to combat them with ones of her own.

It pained her to think he’d believe any of it. To think he was worthless or going nowhere or a waste of space. She wasn’t sure exactly what Luke had said to him tonight, could only guess, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt, with every fiber of her goddamn being that they were lies.

Leah knew JJ. She knew every reason that she loved him was because he was unapologetically him. He could be brash and impulsive and crude and he didn’t always say or do the right thing. But she also knew that when it came down to it, he was loyal and brave and selfless and better than anyone on this goddamn island. He deserved the goddamn world. He deserved a mansion on the Eight with a koi pond and a ridiculous marble statue or Yucatán and lobsters and surfing all day and whatever else he wanted and it was because he was better than the world gave him credit for.

Tears of her own were pooling in her eyes, steadily dripping down her face as she rested her chin against the top of his head. She knew in that moment that this, being here with him right now, letting him deal with this pain in whatever way he needed to, was all she could offer him. She knew it didn’t come close to what he needed, but she’d hold him as long as he wanted.

As he clutched at her like a lifeline, Leah held him a little bit tighter.

#asks #comfort prompts #mayson #will i ever let them have a fun happy time??#claryxjackson

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elliotfm · 4 years

Text

hey guys ! i’m jules and i’m super excited to open; i have two super clingy cats in case any of you ever need a visual pick-me-up, i’m a uni student in canada and a Big skincare and dark chocolate junkie, more than likely gonna be typing replies while indulging in either jsyk ! i tried to keep it short since i’m a rambly bitch, but links to elliot’s basic stats and her wc page will be up soon — though i have some under the read more — as well as a playlist whenever i find the energy to set it up here FLDKSJGSD also pardon the lack of theme, i forgot the url for the preview and code link for the one i wanted to use but i’ll have it figured out shortly ! anyways, without further ado:

◤ * kim doyeon ; twenty-one ; cis female ; she/her — is that who i think it is over there ? outer banks very own kook , elliot hong . makes sense ‘cause i can practically hear into it by chase atlantic blasting through their headphones . plus who else would you find out at the boneyard right now ? some say they're pretty astute , but it's the imperious reputation i'd watch out for . i wonder if they're still a student / heiress and obsessing about keeping up with their bongs, random shoes and empty bottles of dom on the living room floor & a bite as big as her bark vibe . [ ooc ; jules/21+/nt/she/her ]

tw: drug and alcohol mention

the middle child of her parents, elliot is the fourth of her father’s five children

her mother is his second ( now ex — ) wife, though they remain cordial and have since moved on

grew up with a silver spoon, her dad being a wall street giant who would split his time between nyc and, once upon a time, connecticut — though it ultimately became a back-and-forth from nyc and the outer banks when elle was about four

her mother was adopted into an old money family ( on the lower end of that group ) in charlotte when she was a baby and had become something of a socialite when young, but shifted to becoming an entrepreneur. of what ?? i still haven’t figured that out LFJDGS

has a half-sister and half-brother from her dad’s first marriage, tallulah ( aka tally, a pain in my ass over on my indie fdlkjgs ) and bennett, and is basically a mini tally as all she really had were brothers and was Attached to her big sis whenever she’d visit

and as for her older and younger brother..... they might be wcs soon enough so we’ll leave that be for now DFLSGKJ

now onto ELLE ! she was the princess of the younger three hong kids, like the apple of her mother’s eye and her father’s Biggest tormentor

aka would hog the phone whenever he couldn’t come home for the night to tell him good night, hounded him to read her bedtime stories, pretty much always got her way in the most wholesome way when she was a kid

like i said before, moved to the obx when she was four because her mom used to visit when she was a kid and loved it; it was also due to its convenience in seeing her maternal grandparents regularly, its quieter nature in comparison to the affluent hubs for businessmen outside of manhattan and just in general

her dad just went along because it’s what his wife wanted and fuck it, at least the kids wouldn’t hound them to take them to places beyond their urban surroundings as often DLSFJDS

growing up, she wasn’t Too much of a brat but liked having the spotlight on her — she’d accredit it to tally’s influence AND her parents caving to her whims more often than not — and was very sociable and respectful even back in primary school

LOVED to explore, and, while not a tomboy per se, would take part in some activities her brothers or other boys in her grade participated in; be it to bond, trail along her siblings’ every move because she didn’t wanna stray far from action, or to prove that she can hold her own, she’d do it

uhhh overall a cute, if not high-maintenance, kid, but her teen years ?? yikes, people would be in for a ride bc this is when she REALLY started to emulate tally and shift her boldness towards riskier shit

basically could’ve been a main character on outer banks itself with her reckless antics and partying as a teenager…. and now, even SGDLKF

could’ve been considered a typical kook, save for her wild streak; she could hang with the pogues and wouldn’t let her slight superiority complex come into play unless she was challenged or something, otherwise she’d chase the party and the fun wherever she could find it

loves fashion and being the hottest in the room, didn’t need to step on toes to get further but would do so at times Solely to make a point/to call someone out on their shit

is now attending columbia u, rather she’s taking a Break as she makes sure she’s content with the path she’s taking ( aka being the trashy 21 year old she wants to be, chilling at the family home with just her siblings and daddy’s money with no Major worries involving the near future )

isn’t the most studious person, but she’d gotten far enough to begin wrapping up her major whenever she decides to head back

though.. the entire time has been mostly spent sleeping with some of her rich friends, drinking and smoking pot, with the occasional hit of whatever clean enough drug that one of her friends had on them

also spent a lot of her time meeting up with her socialite big sis as a plus one to some cooler events, so while she’s not famous, her name has made the rounds where it matters given her surname’s already established relevance in nyc

when she’s not getting an education and is homebound instead, she’s pissing off her neighbours with her house parties at the family home on the beach, doing dumb shit the second she’s inside of a gala or club — albeit with partial discretion that’s completely ignored whenever around other young adults — and just chilling poolside and staying hydrated fgkldjsg

personality and shit

if i were to use a label to describe her, she'd be a mix between the princess/baby doll, the hedonist and the reveller i think ?? i don’t even know where to place her LKSDFGJLK

self-confidence is through the roof, KNOWS she’s pretty and doesn’t really let rumours or negativity get her down — aside from wanting to unleash hell if someone keeps irritating her for whatever reason

she’s messy as hell, but around the uptight, live-through-your-kids parents of kooklandia she puts on the façade of a poised young woman who has Some fun because she knows it bodes well.. only even then, she doesn’t maintain it bc honestly, who cares —

she’s not a complete dick per se, but she can be snide and boastful when provoked

has something of a superiority complex, independent and lives lavishly with reckless abandon

non-committal yet sensible when it comes to who she sleeps with; typically has a couple of stable fuck buddies but has had some one night stands if she’s feeling it

keeps her true inner circle small, but gets off on attention and likes to stay cordial with some people, so she’s got quite a few friends all the same

like i said earlier, will hang with the pogues and thinks the whole class rivalry thing is kind of stupid when it means sticking with her own would mean dealing with parent pleasers, polo shirt enthusiasts and either being too straight-laced or too destructive for her liking

.. so she’s a far cry from her sister in that regard, otherwise rip GLSKJ

though that doesn’t stop her from unleashing her pompous attitude onto a pogue when it seems appropriate, aka doing anything to piss her off

there really isn’t much to expand on tbh, though i will say that her emboldened nature and need for a good time however she can get it comes out more than her uglier side ( except her vanity. that’ll never go away KSFDG )

some quick plot ideas

a childhood friend or two, pretty standard idea there

could carry over into a trio type of thing depending on where she stands with either of them, or they’re a different couple of pals she’s made over the years

family friends, aka nyc kids or people who’ve rubbed elbows with either of elle’s parents, though they don’t Actually have to be friends of course JGDSFKL

her best friend and confidante, someone she can have cute moments with between the chaos and one of the few people that elle would probably accost someone for if they hurt the other in any way

enemies are always fun ! probably rooted in a competitive streak more than anything else but i’m all ears for a more complex reason

ex-hookup(s), current hookup(s), throw it all at me klgfjd

a hateship/ewb would be fun with her too, oh my god sfdgklj

FAKE FRIENDS !! either in the past or currently, probably stayed friends for the sake of their appearances but have a lot of quiet disdain for each other — though elliot wouldn’t be too bothered by that situation beyond being around someone she deems soul-sucking, face value hype and knowing they probably need her more than she needs them gives her too much satisfaction fkskgls

an ex-something, open to anyone. either someone her parents forced on her to straighten her out a tad that she wound up liking…. after a good period of her telling them to fuck off sdglk or someone she’d been seeing for a while at her own accord, likely someone her parents wouldn’t approve of so readily. would’ve ended the same way: with her calling it off because she didn’t want to settle down, not even for a relationship ( and perhaps bc she’s scared of commitment with her cracked family dynamic that’s been a thing since birth, but that’s another story jsdfkg )

or we can just as easily do high school exes who only really stayed together until graduation bc their parents were being Some level of overbearing with how they’d be such a good couple — not that there was nothing there, just nothing beyond sex and being some kind of status symbol to each other, idk lfkgsd

her designated event pals would be super fun ?? sdgkflj like they go to all of these big parties and galas with their families, break off to do their own thing bc those events are boring as fuck, and head back to her place before she throws an after-party of sorts. they’d be decent friends beyond this though, them being someone she trusts a good bit compared to others in her circle

#╰ 💎 . ❪ 𝐖𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐒 ↝ jules talks ｡#outertmintro #tw drugs #tw alcohol #now that that's done i can get some water bc i'm Parched FGDSJKL

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unavenged-robin · 5 years

Text

Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow

or, the one where after a long, long time the Batman and The Red Hood meet on a rooftop.

(Also on AO3 bc this stuff is long)

He had known from the very start of this particular mission that there would be very little need of secrecy involved, but the years of training under Batman and the League had shaped the way his body moved in such a deep manner that it was just too unnatural not to try to blend in with the shadows around him. Instead than controlling that impulse, it would be easier to go in the opposite way and make himself known; he could do it too: after all the Red Hood has not a common sight in Blüdhaven for some years now, but he isn’t a secret either and criminals usually have a long memory.

He still finds himself hesitating. And it’s not because of the Batmobile approaching on the street just across from the building he’s currently on top, no. Batman knows he’s here, it’s a legitimate assumption that he’s always aware of the Red Hood’s movements. He finds that he doesn’t mind it that much. Before, when he was still a kid, that constant surveillance had bothered him like nothing else had, but in time he’d got used to it. Now their paths had been severed for too long for it to be a problem or even a nuisance anymore. It’s just a reminiscence of that what was once done out of love and is now done out of suspect, fear, maybe anger. He, himself, had stopped caring a long time ago, he just finds it sad that the old man could not let it go.

Several floors beneath him, in the yard outside the antique shop he's keeping his eye on, three masked men start moving the crates from the storehouse into the back of a black van. The man he's here for tonight hasn't shown up yet, but he isn’t surprised about that, Owain Dorsey had a reputation for being a hard one to locate, and as much as it pains him to admit it, hearing about this operation was more of a stroke of luck than the result of months of hard research. Luck was also a debatable term in this case, since he would have very gladly avoided coming back on the continent, let alone on this very city. Sure, Gotham would’ve been worse, but given the circumstances, not even that much so.

He picks up the binoculars from the floor and scans the west side once more. Batman would come in from the north, unless he decides to go around the store, in which case he would have to find a way to distract him long enough to make sure he wouldn't go after Dorsey before him. He has no reason to believe Batman knows anything about his operation, but better be careful anyway: he knows there are other eyes around, and he knows they are no longer on his side (if they ever were, that’s it).

He checks the gun strapped to his left leg, making sure that the holster is unfastened, then he runs his gloved fingers along the edge of the katana at his other side. He’s not nervous about having to use either of them, but he’s not looking forward the discussion he’s going to have with Talia if any of this goes wrong. Not to mention the one he’s going to have with the asshole that is the new Demon’s Head, who’s never agreed with this plan to start with.

He sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes for the split of a moment and, finally, he jumps.

Batman gets there before him, which was somehow expected because if there’s a talent he can recognize to the man, it’s his timing: never there when you most need him, always in your way at the least opportune moment. He’s not too worried, though. Tonight should not be hard, there will be no killing involved and no moral conflict about what needs to be done. What he needs is one single information, and a bit of violence was never frowned upon too much, not even when he was a kid and the adults around him were so, so busy settling an example for him.

The back of the van spews out three more masked goons the exact moment Batman lands in the middle of the yard, and he smiles behind his helmet, looking at their guns. One of them is holding a gold plated Desert Eagle, and that’s what he was looking for: the stupid and very distinctive little quirk that had made Dorsey instantly identifiable, linking him to a series of robberies targeting antique shops and jewellery stores.

Batman doesn’t even look at him as they fight back to back against the small group of thieves. He tries to hold back enough not to cause serious damage, but all in all he doesn’t worry too much about the punches he’s landing: as long as the gun stays where it is, Batman shouldn't have anything to complain about. He keeps an eye on Dorsey, but doesn’t show too much interest in him either, merely knocking him back a few times.

“On your left”, Batman growls, and he ducks immediately, his body so trained he doesn’t even give himself the time to discuss the order. It upsets him a little that the instinct to obey that voice is still so strong in him, like it hadn't been years since he'd worn the Robin's costume, like all the blood and betrayal that has happened between then and now means nothing just because they’re together again. And he hates that a part of him really believes that, he hates that this feels so familiar it makes his heart hurt, he hates finding out that he had missed this.

“Think about yourself”, he growls back, and he takes advantage of the clumsy attack of one of his opponents to grab the man by the arm, twirl around on his feet, and throw him against Batman's back. Low blow, he knows, but if the old man hadn't seen it coming, it's not his fault.

Batman goes down on one knee for just one moment, and that’s all he needs. He grabs Dorsey by the collar of his jacket, pulls out his grappling hook and shoots it above their heads. They’re both gone in a matter of seconds, and Batman shouting behind him only adds some sweetness to his victory. He won’t be able to follow them right away, not with five other men trying to keep him on the ground.

He lands on the roof of the building that had served him as a point of observation all night long. The bag he had purposely left open is still there, sporting a few tools that would come quite handy in the unlikely event this discussion should not go down the way he wants it to. He makes sure Dorsey understands this by throwing him down on the concrete just next to the bag, his nose almost touching one of the sharp tips poking out of it.

“Where is it?”, he asks, the helmet warping his voice into a metallic rasp.

The mask on Dorsey��s face is long gone: small eyes stuck into a lump of fat vaguely shaped like a human face look up at him, bloodshot and scared.

“I don’t know what-”

He doesn’t give him the time to finish and pushes his right foot right into the man’s trachea long enough for the man's lips to take on a vague bluish tinge, as Dorsey wriggles underneath him and tries, without success, to get rid of the combat boot that is crushing him.

“The book”, he repeats in the same even, scary voice. “Tell me where it is, if you want to be still able to talk about anything ever again.”

He removes his foot, allowing the man to take in two quick breaths, and then, before Dorsey even tries to answer him, he thrusts the tip of his boot under the man’s chin, as a warning.

“If your next word is not the one I want to hear, I'll make you swallow your teeth”, he informs him. One thing he doesn’t dislike about his costume is the look on his opponents’ faces when they look at him and see nothing but their own reflections. He doesn’t need this kind of tricks to make sure they believe him when he threatens them, but surely it doesn't hurt.

Dorsey licks his lips, then swallows down, evaluating the chances that the Red Hood could maybe be bluffing. He’s not. They all should know that by now.

“Dishna”, he whispers.

“Egypt, then”, the Red Hood says. It makes sense. They already have a small contingent of people looking for the asset there. Talia will be happy to know she was right: cowards and traitors, when they don't know where to go, they always go back home.

The rustle behind him warns him of what’s about to happen. He’s quicker than the old man this time, and he gets to knock Dorsey unconscious with a well placed kick before the batarang flies so close to his face it actually make a small cut into his neck.

He rolls on his feet and takes himself to the other side of the roof before standing up to face his old mentor.

“Good evening”, he salutes him, making sure to sound as sarcastic as possible. “There are nicer way to say ‘welcome home’, you know.”

He brings a hand to his neck and withdraws it covered in blood. Not much, but still enough to annoy him. He had pointed out the flaw of an uncovered neck under a full-face helmet several times: that strip of naked skin is practically an invitation to be beheaded, but his predecessor had retorted that no one else was ever supposed to wear that costume apart from him - he least of all. Stupid Todd.

“Did you kill him?”, Batman asks.

“Unless you’ve gone blind in your old age, I’m pretty sure you can see he’s still breathing”, he answers coolly. “And you can take him and tie him up with the others, if you want, I have no use for him anymore.”

Clearly distrustful of that immediate hand-over, Batman takes a step closer to him.

“Then why did you take him?”

“That’s none of your business, I’m afraid. He’s alive and I’m not going to fight you for him, it should be enough for you to be happy”, he retorts. “It's definitely an improvement compared to the last time we saw each other, Grayson.”

That makes Dick stop, physically and mentally: he can see it. It’s been years, yes, but they can still read each other so well, it’s frankly unnerving.

“Take off that helmet”, Batman says. “Please, Damian.“

Damian pretends that the please is what persuades him to comply. The truth is that he’s never liked the constriction of that stupid thing all over his face, dulling his senses and forcing him to rely only on its technology - and as advanced as the League had made it, he still doesn’t entirely trust anything outside himself. The truth may also be that, after all these years, he wants to look at Grayson with his own eyes, and maybe, at the same time, he wants Grayson to look at his real face.

“Take off that cowl”, he still demands in return.

Grayson hesitates, but only for a moment. He pushes the Batman’s mask back with a sigh almost as satisfied as Damian’s. Before this moment he had never considered the fact that now both of them are wearing a costumes they never wanted in the first place. The irony of a vigilantes life, Damian supposes.

There are grey strands in Grayson’s hair now, and wrinkles around his eyes. Damian’s surprised to see him so old, to find out that time has left such an evident mark on him. Not that he expected to find him identical to how he remembered him but… almost, maybe. Not so similar to Father, that’s for sure.

“You look just like Bruce”, Grayson says softly, mirroring his thoughts. “I mean, you look more like him than before. It’s scary.”

Jason and his mother use the word unsettling instead of scary, but they say it in the exact same way as Grayson.

“It's not a pride of mine”, Damian answers sharply. “And I'm sure the feeling is reciprocated.”

Dick shakes his head.

“He misses you”, he answers, almost smiling, and he uses that gentle voice that Damian knows so well. “And so do I.”

“The feeling is not reciprocated.”

Dick takes another step towards him.

“Don’t”, Damian warns him, and his brother stops again.

So many times Damian had wished for this moment, and so many times he had imagined a reconciliation that he was not possible, but, more than that, so many times he had feared that Grayson would never even try to make it happen. Knowing that he was wrong is a small victory he doesn’t intend to share, not even with Grayson himself.

“How’s Jason?”, Dick offers after a moment of quiet.

Damian shrugs, feigning indifference. He could lie, or say anything else, but he doesn’t see the reason to do hide something that’s not going to be a secret for more than a few days.

“Sitting on Grandfather’s throne, last time I checked.”

It's a pretty hard blow to take, but Damian has to admit that Grayson cashes it with a certain grace.

“Is it true, then?”, Dick only asks. “Is he the new Demon’s Head now?”

“That’s what my mother has decided.”

And what a conversation that had been. Damian had never seen Jason so angry or Talia more unyielding. A clash of titans indeed.

Richard looks at him like he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to do so. Maybe because he doesn’t want to hurt him, maybe because he knows it’s not his place anymore.

“Are you okay with it?”

“He’s the one who killed Grandfather”, Damian answers. “And I owe him enough not to kill him right away to take what's mine, at least.”

In truth he hasn't wanted his grandfather's throne since he was eight years old, but neither Grayson nor Todd need to know that, even if they had probably known even before Damian himself had realized it. He’d still like to keep both of them on their toes, if he can, and Talia would never forgive him for that unnecessary admission of abdication anyway.

Grayson doesn’t answer him right away, instead he kneels down next to Dorsey’s inert form and ties the man’s hands behind his back. He does it slowly, as if it were a difficult task that required a lot of his attention.

“Is it what you think?”, he asks eventually, when the last knots is tied, in a calm and almost curious tone. “That you owe Jason for what he did?”

Damian stiffens, immediately aware of the turn the conversation is going to take. This is what he had always wanted to avoid.

“He saved my life.”

“I know”, Dick answers.

“He saved my life when you and my father refused to.”

It hurts him to say it out loud. He hopes it hurts just the same for Richard to hear it.

Still on his knees, Dick looks up at him with a plea in his eyes.

“Don’t say it. We tried, kiddo. You ought to know that.”

Damian shakes his head, feels the sting of the cut on his neck and the deeper ache down in the pit of his stomach, that quiet rage that still tightens his throat like a knot on fire.

“You were never going to kill Ra’s”, he argues. “Neither one of you has ever even considered the idea.”

“That’s what you think.”

“That’s what I know”, Damian almost yell.

Grayson sits back on his heels, a position of surrender Damian doesn’t really want to see him in right now.

“Todd did what neither of you could”, he continues, cruel and honest. “And I owe him my life for it.”

Dick’s mouth twitches in a grimace that Damian is not able to identify. Could be guilt, could be anger, could be something else entirely.

“Is that what he told you?”, Dick asks.

Damian doesn’t like that implication at all.

“No. He never told me anything about it.”

It’s not completely true. It’s, in fact, a blatant lie. Jason had only spoken about it once, and Damian still remembers what he’d told him. It was his life or yours. It wasn’t a hard choice. And the simplicity of those words was the thing that had hurt him the most, at the time. Because he had known, right here and right there, that it was the same thing he would have done, and just as easily as Jason had done it, if it had been his choice, if it had been Richard’s, or Father’s, or even Todd’s or Drake’s life on the line. He would’ve killed for all of them, but only Jason would - and did - kill for him too.

And even at seventeen Damian had known that that limitations wasn't a proof that they didn't love him enough. They just loved him differently. But that only meant that the problem was not them but him, Damian, and how better solve it than by not leaving? Stay in the court where his Grandfather had dragged him, away from the family that had not come after him, claim the altar where his body had almost been sacrificed to the Demon’s Head glory as his own new throne. Back then it had made more sense to him than the idea to go back, like Jason had wanted him to.

So he’d stayed, and Jason had stayed with him, and Talia had made it work. And it had broke his heart to leave one family for the other, but he’d already learned oh so long ago that he could survive that particular pain, after all. And Talia was not Bruce, and Jason was not Richard, and Alfred was long gone by then, but Cassandra shows up at the new League’s quarters sometimes, and Drake and Brown still call him every now and then, and always, always, on his birthdays.

With Father and Richard there had been no other option but to cut ties, because anything else would’ve just hurt a lot more. And he had known from the very first time he had stolen Jason’s old Red Hood costume, that going around into the world with that helmet on his head was going to keep them away. He had wanted it. And that, he regrets sometimes. All these years gone by in silence, with this affection that still burns his anger to ashes. And all it took was seeing Batman once, for Damian to want to run into Dick’s arms just like he used to do as a kid, to want to see Bruce too, and to feel the warm weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder just one more time.

But a wish is only that, a whim of the imagination, and reality is quite a different thing.

Richard stands up and the Batman’s cape behind him twirls into the wind. Instinctively, Damian takes a step back.

“Stay”, Dick says, and it’s so out of the blue Damian almost believes he’s misheard.

“What?”

“For the night”, Dick adds. “Let’s go home, Bruce will be so happy to-”

“I’m here on a mission”, Damian interrupts him. “And Gotham is not my home anymore.”

When Dick moves again Damian senses immediately what's about to happen. So he raises his hand to ask for one more moment of truce.

“If you try to stop me, we’ll have to fight”, he starts. “And whatever way it ends, I can promise it won't end the way you want it to.”

He can see the struggle behind Richard’s eyes, he can actually feel it like it were his own, and in some ways it is. Damian’s always had very few certainties in life, but Grayson’s love had always been one of those. He knows exactly how much his brother’s hurting right now, he knows what his instincts are yelling, what he wants to do, the things he wants to say. Because this fracture between them is not beyond repair, and they both know it. But what would a fight and then forgiveness bring at this point? Nothing but more pain.

And Dick knows this too, and that’s why he pulls the cowl back over his eyes.

“Say hello to Jason for me”, he says, as he lifts up the unconscious man over his shoulder.

“Will do”, Damian agrees.

He watches him jump then, and follows him with his eyes for a minute or two. It doesn't escape his attention that Batman doesn't tie up Dorsey with the other men - left in plain sight near their missed heist for the police to find - but that he pushes him inside of the Batmobile instead. Damian knows Grayson’s going to interrogate him, and he knows Dorsey will talk. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way they can stop them now, and ultimately, there’s no reason either for them to meddle with League’s business anymore.

He picks up the red helmet and pulls it over his head, hiding his face again.

It’s time to go back home.

#damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #I know people are gonna yell at me for this one #but YOLO #future au #shari writes

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duckyaltalt · 4 years

Text

「herman tommeraas & cis male」⇾ mercer, ducky, the junior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 21 years old. he is studying business, living in gorham and can be tenderhearted, nimble, compliant & taciturn. when i see him i am reminded of fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown . ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hi :D this is the last of my OG characters ... the next two will b sexy n new bt they wont arrive fr a while bc i <3 need 2 hv a steady pace <3 anyways hes. rly sad so. good luck charlie <3 okay bye :D

TW CHILD ABUSE / DOMESTIC ABUSE / ABUSE, VIOLENCE, INJURY, TRAUMA, MENTAL ILLNESS, DRUGS / DRUG ABUSE / ADDICTION , GANGS.

aesthetic.

bruises; from beneath your eyes to the edge of your jaw, aligned against your stomach and the sides of your waist and the groves of your knuckles. bleeding noses and bleeding gums, spat out teeth, tattoos scarred from improper treatment, a facial scar; jagged and old, now, from above your eye to beneath your lip. worn hoodies and scuffed sneakers, sunglasses inside. the night sky, and it’s many stars, and how brightly they shone during the 2019 blackout, and wanting to be up there, with them. knowing constellations by heart. wishing to be the face on the moon. beer bottles and secret exchanges. dark alleys. fear, through the very core of your heart. fear, hidden behind a stoic stare.

basic info.

full name: donovan mercer

nickname(s): ducky but i’m 95% sure he hates the nickname it’s just. Stuck with him.

b.o.d. - march 15th, pisces :)

label(s): the allegiant, the despondent, the grifter, the malleable, the vacant, etc.

height: 5′11″

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york

sexuality: bisexual bt make it closeted.

stats

inspired by: lip gallagher (shameless), freddie mcclair (skins), frankenstein’s monster (frankenstein), fez (euphoria) … that’s it i don’t know any other characters KJNSGLDNVLSDJNFDS

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

you can correctly assume that they grew up in a heavily abusive environment, and can imagine the sort of things the two have gone through. ducky was, maybe, the least favorite of their father’s -

- for numerous reasons, and one being that ducky’d always been a sensitive kid. kinder than his brother, and far kinder than his father - kindness is weakness, and ducky was filled with it. too much so, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice. should’ve - but didn’t. and never did, either.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed.

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be.

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. his grades fluctuated frequently, and it’s a surprise that he hadn’t dropped out of high school altogether.

anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip, the entire left side of his face a bloody mess afterwards. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly. corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

graduated high school and had been on-and-off attending community college since then. he’d miss days at a time, flunk an entire semester’s worth of classes - gpa dropped further and further. wanted to try, but life got in the way. always got in the way.

hadn’t intended on transferring to radcliffe, but their father’d been missing for a few months then, leaving ducky to handle the drugs side of their business in hell’s kitchen - and mercy’d disappeared, too, leaving their branch in lovell completely open. in a split decision - an opportunity, and opening - something he couldn’t miss, or he’d maybe never get the opportunity again, ducky bullshitted a scholarship essay (plagiarism, tsk) and transferred to pick up where mercy’d left.

this wasn’t very well thought out, because that meant there were no mercers in new york - and lars amaretto? not a very understanding man. more of a brute than their father was, by far. to keep a story short - ducky is missing a tooth (molar, luckily, this time) and is … more rough’d up than he’d like to be, for sure. but mercy’s back, now, and he’s still at lovell, at radcliffe.

and that’s enough.

UPDATE: heehaw. mercy is gone & ducky’s still here. feeling a bit lost - dealt with a lot of shit this summer, new wounds and old wounds and just. a lot. started an underground fight club on campus for some extra cash, reasons unknown. being blackmailed by someone named rocky - someone who knows ducky is skimming cash. god. i don’t know ... danger danger danger danger. nightmare-ville. wrapped up in more walls than ever.

personality.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be harder - and his hits will be, too. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures, occasionally, or physics - or anything that isn’t business, because he hates his major, but he knows it’s the only chance he’s got to stay at radcliffe. and that’s to follow his brother, to follow his father. a business degree treats you well, teaches you skills you’ll need to know for this type of work.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs, only to leave it in the gorham community fridge with no name, something for somebody who may need it. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing, the result of years of abuse. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy. his room is messy, but still oddly barren. nothing on the walls except for a poster or two, sheets a standard navy blue and a row of empty liquor bottles on his windowsill.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing. sex is uncomfortable for him, he always feels gross afterwards. wrong, sometimes.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it. it’s his first semester at radcliffe.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

uuuhhh. god. okay so ducky’s got an addiction to xanax. it’s numbing and it’s better than feeling, and he’d rather this than that and it’s. a Thing. we won’t go further into it. besides that - he does smoke weed, does try out some of their products to make sure it’s not … fucked, for their clients, but otherwise fucking hates drugs. social drinker, but still doesn’t like it a lot. hates beer but drinks it often.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted connections.

clients… first n foremost. he needs people to deal to. i don’t think he handles the Hard Shit like mercy does, but like coke and mdma? works for him.

f…riend..s?… like it’s so hard for ducky to be sincere with people but if you don’t mind like … an emotionally distant man who doesn’t even hit 6′ then maybe? he’s your guy? maybe you can break him down a little? chip away at his cold shoulder?

a close…r friend… maybe not like. the best of friends. but at least one normal friend whose world does not revolve around fucking drugs and violence would be nice for ducky. someone he can be a little soft with, as a treat.

hook-ups… not many, because ducky doesn’t really enjoy sex too much but y’know. that’s just how it is. he do be having needs, tho. KDSJGSHDKLFSE god.

fisticuffs!… someone he got into a fistfight with. multiple people he’s gotten into fights with. he’s probably lost them (on purpose) but - mayhaps, some of them, he did not?

gorham roommate… god… i don’t know what these two cld get up to but! maybe give him a sexuality panic but who knows.

unrequited feelings… there’s probably a few of these. whether people are drawn to his fucking ~mysterious~ demeanor (he just has fucking anxiety, man) or mayhaps. mayhaps he has the feelings.

flirtations… he’s never been in a relationship so i can’t really include exes, but he can flirt with people i’d like to think … when he’s drunk. :-)

ghostees… everybody he’s ever fucking ghosted because he’s stupid and is afraid of both friendship and relationships and romance and platonic? feelings of warmth? so sometimes he panics and ghosts people forever. :) spite!

new yorkians… who are familiar with his family or the business they have there

enemies… god. i’m sure he has a lot of these even without attempting to make them. just like, by association, you know? sometimes ducky hates people because mercy does. sometimes he hates people because mercy likes them. JKSDGDSJGFSNLKF

i won’t lie i’m very tired and am having a Troubled Time coming up with connections please. bare with me.

annoyances… i don’t know if ducky can get annoyed very easily but? thorns in his side? something lighthearted? alternately, something Not lighthearted and then ducky :/ goes rogue JKDNGDSNLFK

idk something soft… literally anything soft. please :) give me something soft and cute :) and peaceful and not stressful :)

something ANGSTY and AWFUL… literally. i don’t know. duality of man.

ok i have been awake fr too long i’m going to bed goodnight.

#ruhqintro #child abuse tw #domestic violence tw #abuse tw #violence tw #injury tw #drugs tw #trauma tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #gangs tw

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calm-me-down-oh · 4 years

Note

How about all the questions ;)

skdsjf ofc u would get me back for that, under a readmore bc theres a lot!

When was the last time you masturbated? Yesterday! Had a.. very hot convo w my gf

Do you enjoy being fingered/fingering? Uhh the only time Ive had it done to me the person had to stop bc they got uncomfy with it and it was overall just a bit odd,, wait it happened a second time and their nails were too sharp also sdkfhsdh I feel like I could get to like it though? If its like, actually properly done rather than my current experiences sdhfk

How do you feel about food during sex? nno thanks mostly? I guess it can kinda depend on the food though idk, like if my gf suggested somethin I might not mind trying it out depending on what it was yknow

What do you do directly after sex? um.. well afaik just kinda lay/sit in a daze for a moment, mayb have some water, get real clingy, kind of have to be nudged into doing stuff bc i guess my brain just stops working skjdfkj

Cuddle with the tip in? Hell yeah. cuddle with it all in. sounds good.

What’s the nastiest sexual thing you’ve done? I don’t think I’ve really done anything nasty sdjkfsj all the sex ive had has been quite brief and vanilla idk

Name a follower you would fuck. @you-better-make-me!

Name a follower you have fucked. None..

What’s the sexiest part of your body? Idk man I guess my thighs are ok people seem to like them anyway

FuckMarryKill: DJ Khalid, Rick Ross, Fat Joe Am i supposed to know who these people are

Would you ever be with a trans person? i think the real question is would i ever be with a cis person (yes i would be with a trans person i am with 2 trans people and i am trans and i havent dated anyone cis since i was like 15)

Riding dick or doggy style? yes

Ever fucked in a school? Nope

Most random place you’ve had sex? havent really had sex in a random place lmao just beds

Would you ever be part of the mile high club? maybe..? thats having sex on a plane right. idk. maybe

Name three of your spots. what does this mean fkjd

Fuck on the first date? Depends

Do you suck dick? I’m sure gonna try!

Do you eat ass? Idk maybe not skdfjhsjk

Do you eat pussy? Haven’t yet, nearly did, got too nervous sdkjfh

Do you like kissing? So much!!

Is farting during sex sexy? I.. I mean its not sexy but like im also not gonna have a negative reaction. unless its me. that is something im admittedly very nervous about fkjd

Ever fucked in the shower? Nope

How old were you when you lost your virginity? Uh............ good question. 19 or 20 i forget if it was before my birthday but within the last year. unless you only count penetrative sex, then I haven’t yet

Do you prefer sex in the morning, afternoon, or night? Y..yes? I suppose afternoon/night is usually a better time, morning is jsut sleepy and trying to remember how to exist hours

Do you like drunk sex? Haven’t had it but I do get horny when I drink, wouldn’t be against trying it with someone I trust

Do you like high sex? Again never had it! And I haven’t really been high either so Idk

FuckMarryKill: Nicki Minaj; Cardi B; Kash Doll N..none for any

When was your first kiss? I was like 13 I think

How did you meet the person you lost your virginity to? College

Have you ever faked an orgasm? Nope. Wait maybe. Kind of. Idk when I was younger I was with this guy who would try get me to touch myself n I hadn’t figured out how to make it feel good so I’d just lie and say I was when i wasnt bc i didnt wanna do it so maybe at some point i said i came when i hadnt sdfhks

Ever painted/been painted on? Yeah but not in like a horny way, my ex would paint on my hand as kinda their way of flirting with me

You like sex toys? Sure

What’s your favorite sex position? Personally think missionary is underrated bc that closeness and being able to cling just sounds v good but also getting fucked from behind face down ass up also sounds,, v good lately

Sex on a bed, couch, or floor? beddd, maybe couch, floor just seems uncomfortable

Do you like car sex? Never had it, just seems a bit awkward but I guess I’d be open to trying it

You get instantly horny; what happened? My neck got bit!

FuckMarryKill: Trey Songz, Chris Brown, August Alsina. Kill chris brown. idk who the others are

Describe your crush. Don’t have one!

Woukd you ever be with someone with an incurable STD? Uh... Idk? I mean, theres preventative measures for basically all std’s right? So as long as those are taken so i dont also get it I guess it’d be ok

Rate your head game. No clue dkfhdsj

Rate your sex. Awkward!

Would you fuck someone outside of your race? ?? yes. what kind of question is this

Describe the type of freak you are. idk what this means but what first came to mind was ‘pet’ so take that as u will

Ever tasted your own nut/cum? Sure

Into golden showers? Nope

Body count: Under or Over 25? Wayyy under

How do you feel about nipple play? Uh depends! Not into being harsh like clamps etc just seems like itd hurt n not in a good way, but playing w/ them w ur hands and sucking on them. very good

Where do you like to be nutted on? chest/stomach seems good

Which are you better at: topping or bottoming? bottoming

What do you consider “too small?” Idk man dick is dick idc

Is play fighting foreplay? It sure can be!

Do you like angry sex? In concept maybe, in reality itd just kinda scare me

How long should a quickie be? Idk.. quick

How long is “too long” to have sex? Idk sex ends whenever one of u wants to stop, don’t think u can go too long if ur both comfortable with it

How long is “too long” to go without sex? Listen i.. am not the person to be asking this I’ve had sex maybe 3 times spread out over almost a year. i have never regularly had sex

Is “no” relevant in a relationship? Incredibly relevant!! Always!! Unless you’ve discussed beforehand that its ok to ignore it and have a safeword in place instead!! and then that safeword is not to be ignored!!

Do you believe in no-strings-attached sex? Sure but idk if i could do it

Would you have sex in a public bathroom? mmmaybe....

Would you have sex in a changing room? mmmmmmmmaybe

Who was the last person you had sex with? My ex

Describe your type. Idk I have the weirdest type i think they have like nothing in common then theyll all turn around and be into the same stuff or something its v strange

Name 3 turn-ons. Biting, just making out sometimes tbh, skin contact in places usually covered by clothes or under clothes..

Name 3 turn-offs. Umm. i definitely have turn offs but whenever im asked my mind goes blank. I guess being overly rough, hair pulling im undecided on tbh, and oh i usually dont like having my ass smacked but idk if itd change if it were like.. in the middle of sex

Name something that would make you stop in the middle of sex. Bad pain or panicking or it seems like the other person is uncomfortable. or someones knocking on the door for some reason sdkfjs

Would you answer a phone call during sex? no omg

Would you ever pay for sex? Nah.

Would you accept money for sex? Uh. Maybe? Wouldnt ask for it tho

How do you typically feel after sex? Mostly affectionate and good, but w the last person i was with sometimes it seemed like they just wanted it over and done with so i would get kinda nervous and guilty over that,, idk

Do you like your body? Nah

Ever sent nudes? Yep

Have you ever cheated on someone? Yeah he was abusive

Have you ever been cheated on? Idk, maybe, wait i think the guy i cheated on tried saying he cheated on me too but idk if he was just trying to get back at me so

Would you have a threesome? If I trust the people sure

Would you have a foursome? Same as above

Would you take part in an orgy? Uhh idk maybe, same as above applies tho

Would you let’s train be ran on you? Again if I trust the people yeah sure

How often do you masturbate? Idk it really depends sometimes im really horny and its like daily maybe more than once a day and then sometimes i just dont for like. a while

Sex with the lights on or off? on.. how are u meant to see what ur doing otherwise sdjkhfs

Sex with music or tv in the background? Sure, idc really. Though i have a thing if its like.. kids stuff.........dont do that..........

Do you have a cousin you’d fuck if you weren’t related? wtf no

In your last relationships, rate the sex? Uhh... good? I mean, good at the time, though like i said sometimes felt a bit rushed, and that now makes sense and i have very mixed feelings on it but mostly guilt bc the person i was with has since said they werent really into it. so.

Do you sleep naked? Nah I at least have underwear on

How often do you go commando? Never

Are your nipples pierced? If not, would you get them pierced? Nope

Do you dive right into sex, or converse first? Uh, depends? Talking about it beforehand or even during can be good though. But i guess it doesnt have to be Right before it, it can be a bit in advance

After taking your clothes off, what’s the first move? Kiss.. touch,, etc,,

Do you make the first move? Um. w my ex i kinda had to bc as i said, i later found out they werent really into it. other than that i generally dont tho bc im very nervous abt all that, kinda especially after that discovery hdfbghf

Have you ever had sex with more than one person in a day? Nope

Do you like dryhumping ? Sure

Can you twerk or do a split on a dick? Probably not

Have you ever been recorded during sex? No but I’ve had a dream abt being recorded sucking someones dick it was weird

Do you watch porn during sex? W. who does that. how can u focus on that. why would u watch sex when ur having sex skdjfhsjdk

After fucking, do you try becoming friends with a one night stand? Never had a one night stand

What’s your kink? Praise! Marking! Collars!

Would you hook up with the same hook-up again? I don’t think i could have a hook up tbh so no

Ever made a relationship from a one night stand? nope

How romantic are you during sex? uh.. idk havent rly had chance to try being romantic during sex but soft sex sounds v good imo

Describe your sex in 5 words or less. in my experience so far? nervous and kinda awkward

#god rip to my gf when every question i answer abt what its like having sex w me is just 'uh! awkward!'#Anonymous

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jzixuans · 6 years

Text

hang tight, little brother

summary: Virgil’s never had a successful quest in the Imagination before and he’s determined to make this his first.

word count: 3991

pairing: platonic brotherly prinxiety, background platonic lamp

tw: roman and virgil swear a lot, non-bloody injuries, heights, falling from said heights, virgil and roman climb a mountain without any proper hiking gear bc they’re dumb, passing mention of anxiety attacks, and please tell me if there’s anything i need to add

a/n: my relationship with my brother honestly resembles the prinxiety dynamic so much that it’s probably why i prefer them to be platonic, though i’m still working to improve things with my brother. so this may or may not be me self-projecting

“C’mon, slowpoke! Pick up the pace!” Roman calls over his shoulder, pushing yet another branch out of the way. The branch snaps back into place, and had Virgil been half a foot closer, it would have knocked him right in the nose.

“Your legs— fuck— are so— fuck— fucking short. How the fuck do you move that fast?” Virgil wheezes, clutching at his probably-very-bruised ribs. Up ahead, Roman scales the mountain ledge with ease. There’s not a speck of dirt on his white prince uniform, despite their rocky forest surroundings, whereas Virgil’s shirt is splattered in mud from their latest run-in with a wild tribe of centaurs. He decides that Roman is most definitely abusing his control over the Imagination.

“Years of practice, Virgil dearest. And in heels, no less.” Roman says with a grin. He is indeed wearing two-inch high heeled boots, and Virgil supposes that practicality doesn't matter that much in the Imagination. “Besides, what's a couple of inches? What matters most is that I’m still taller than Logan.”

“I dare you to bring that up to him again.” Virgil tries to ignore the pain flaring in his chest as he laughs and pretends that the world doesn’t spin with every step he takes. It takes much longer than it should for him to haul himself up next to Roman. He lets himself lie on the cold stone, chest heaving. The twin knives strapped to his back rest uncomfortably beneath him, but Virgil can’t really care to do anything about them right now.

Roman's face appears over his, mirth glinting in his eyes.

“Are you good?”

Virgil makes to flip him off, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit.

“Just— mother fuck— peachy.” Virgil mutters, resting his head back down.

“Virgil that’s your…” Roman takes a second to count them out on his fingers, “…twenty-seventh ‘fuck’ in the last ten minutes.”

“That long? Wow, new record.” Virgil closes his eyes in the hope that the two Romans above him would merge back into one. In retrospect, he really should have run from the manticore, rather than take it head-on. Though being thrown at a boulder doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the fact that Roman hadn’t even noticed that he’d been hurt in the first place.

“Come on. We’ve still got a whole mountain to climb.” Yeah, no shit. Virgil drew the short straw when Roman proposed they go on another quest. Meanwhile, Logan and Patton get to sit back in the commons, not hiking up a mountain in the cold autumn air. He wishes he brought more to wear than a normal cloak and scarf. Roman had insisted that they dress according to ‘set the mood.’ And while Virgil can appreciate a good aesthetic, he desperately misses the comfort of his hoodie because cloaks have no fucking pockets goddammit.

“Why the hell is it on top of a mountain?” He grabs Roman’s hand and pulls himself up, only to sink back down, head hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Roman prods his side with a stick.

“For the adventure!” Roman exclaims. Of course it is.

“Can we adventure after I catch my breath?”

Roman sighs and plops down on a rock next to Virgil’s head. “You get five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Four.”

“Fuck you.”

“Two, then.”

“I could technically just take as long as I want.”

“And you would technically be left for the harpies to find, given how dead you look right now.”

Virgil hates when he pulls the ‘I’ll just leave you to die’ card. He’s been using it since they were kids.

“Fine, five.”

“Mm, too bad you just took a whole precious minute to argue with me.” Roman hums, delicately examining his nails. Virgil scrapes up a handful of leaves from the ground and chucks it at him. Roman just arches an eyebrow as a cool breeze blows them away from him.

“Patton said you’re not allowed cheating in the Imagination,” Virgil complains, picking a particularly dusty leaf out of his mouth.

“Patton’s not here.”

“I’ll tell him, then.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna snitch on me?”

“If you keep being a dick.”

“You don’t have any proof.”

“It’s literally so obvious!”

“Really? We’re in the middle of a forest in November, Virgil. A little wind is bound to happen.” Roman says, propping his chin up on his fist, knowing full well that he’s won. He smirks at him. “Two minutes, by the way.”

Virgil decides to let it drop. He’s yet to win that particular argument, and he’s far too exhausted to keep it going. The ache in his chest has dulled to a quiet throb, though he knows it’ll flare up once he starts moving again.

For a split second, he debates telling him. If he does, Roman would drop the whole quest and force him back to the mindscape. Which would be fine, except that Virgil can’t seem to go one quest without ending it early. And Roman has been hyping this quest up all week. There’s no way in hell that he’s ruining this for him again.

Besides, they’re not even real. What kind of baby is he if he can’t handle imaginary pain?

Virgil hears Roman stand up with a content sigh. There’s a sharp kick at his feet and Virgil swears that he’s about to push Roman down the mountainside.

“I’m going,” Roman sings, and he can already hear his retreating footsteps when he sits up. Virgil reaches out for the nearest tree branch to pull himself up, which turns out to be a grand mistake because sharp twig ends pierce his palm and scrape at his arm.

He really doesn't have time for this.

“You're not gonna wait for me?” Virgil calls half-heartedly. Up ahead, Roman pauses to shrug.

“Use those long legs of yours!” Comes the reply.

Asshole.

By the time he catches up to Roman, the prince is sat on a cliffside, looking over the expanse of forest below them. In the distance, the pristine white turrets of the Mind Palace stand proud like a beacon amidst the many surrounding villages of the Imagination.

Roman casts him a lazy glance.

“Your face is nearly as red as my sash,” he says with an irritating air of nonchalance.

“Wouldn't be if you’d just slow down,” Virgil shoots back, punching him lightly on the arm. If it hurts, Roman certainly doesn't show it.

“I missed coming up here. Hiking with Logan is so much slower than hiking with you.” Roman grins the secret smile that he saved for when he makes fun of Logan behind his and Patton's backs. The one he really only used around Virgil.

“So why don't you just come up here by yourself?” Virgil grumbles, because he is most definitely still bitter about being left behind. His whole body hurts, but it's reached the consistent kind of pain where he can ignore it. Doesn't mean it isn't there, though.

“Not the same. I built this place. None of it is new to me.” His gaze turns wistful, and Virgil knows that it's because he spent years exploring the land here with Logan and Patton. Virgil never usually made it that far.

That was back when they were kids. Back when the most Thomas had to worry about were the shadow demons in his closet and being caught skipping recess. Before Virgil grew and started encroaching in on Roman’s territory. Before Roman decided that he hated Virgil, and in return, Virgil decided to tear down each and every single one of his creations. Roman stopped taking Virgil to the Imagination for a while.

Virgil shifts next to Roman. His head is pounding and his vision is starting to blur and he really just wants to get this over with so he can go back to his room and sleep.

“Are we gonna go?” He asks with a poke to Roman’s cheek. If he wasn’t going to give Virgil a break, Virgil wouldn’t give him one, either.

“Hm? Yeah, let’s go.” Roman says. They start back on the winding path that curls its way up the mountain. Virgil’s anxiety decides that now is a good time to remind him of his fear of heights.

“Are you sure that the treasure is at the top of the mountain?” He asks, shuffling away from the edge. Because he doesn’t trust himself not to fall with this headache, he tells himself. No other reason at all.

“Of course! There’s no excitement in a treasure hidden halfway up a mountain! That’s for the players who settle for two stars, but us, no, we go for the perfect three!” Roman pumps his fist in the air.

“I mean, I’d settle for two.”

“Nope! Sorry Virge, this is the only treasure!” There’s a small hint of sincerity in Roman’s words, but the gleam in his eyes tells Virgil that he has no regrets.

Every passing minute on that mountain is torturous. Virgil’s legs burn and his breaths come in shallow pants. The air around them thins as they go higher, which is certainly not helping his case. Sooner or later, he’ll pass out, he thinks, and if he’s not careful, he’ll fall off the path and he’ll land amongst the trees and he could die—

“Oh, hey, look at this! I rescued a bird’s nest up here a couple years ago! One minute, Virgil, I want to go check and see if it’s still there.” Roman says, and he’s off around the corner before Virgil can even respond. And perhaps if he weren’t so lightheaded, he would have caught the fleeting look of concern that crossed Roman’s face.

Virgil slumps down against the nearest tree and closes his eyes. The treasure is only another twenty minutes up. He can do this.

Roman comes back all too soon, looking rather dejected. Virgil opens one eye at the crunching of the leaves under his feet.

“I couldn’t find the nest,” Roman says. Virgil rolls his eyes at his expression.

“It’s been how long, Princey? I don’t think it was meant to be.” He mutters, and even speaking makes him want to cry out.

“Well gee, Virge, don’t look so down on my behalf.” He opens his eyes again to see Roman offering him a hand. When Virgil doesn’t take it, his joking tone drops and he crouches down to get a proper look at Virgil. “Hey, are you okay? We can take a break.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve ever been okay. I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all. You know I don’t like heights.” Virgil doesn’t miss how Roman winces at his words. They’d all had a talk after they’d accepted Virgil into their family and discussed Virgil’s list of boundaries. Heights happened to be quite high on that list.

“Did you want to go back down? I can sink us out,” Roman offers. He’s trying. Virgil appreciates that, he really does, but he’s come too far for them to quit. He’s determined to make this the first quest he’s ever completed. To this caliber, at least. The ones from when they were kids weren’t exactly difficult.

“No, no, we can keep going. We’re almost there, right?” Please, God, let them be almost there.

“Yeah. Maybe another half hour, if you can make it.” Thank fuck.

“If I pass out on the way, you’re carrying me.”

“In your dreams.”

With a satisfied hum, Roman rocks back and stands, one hand on his sword, looking like a true Disney prince. He grabs Virgil’s wrist and hauls him up, steadying him with practiced ease. Virgil lifts his gaze to match the determined look in his eye.

“Let’s go.”

Cold air bites at their skin as they climb, prickling like a thousand needles that burn his hands and face. Half an hour in Virgil’s state is bad enough without the fucking weather out to get him, too. It’s too late to back out now, though. He’s not about to swallow his pride and go back on his word. Not today.

It’s not long until he sees the treasure. It’s locked in an ornate silver chest underneath a golden-leafed tree, and Virgil, in his delirious, near-unconscious mind, can’t help but be reminded of the island in Lion’s mane from Steven Universe.

The tree is within reach, some ten or twenty metres ahead, and Virgil can taste victory.

And then his foot slips.

He barely registers that he’s falling when a hand snaps out to grab his arm. As Roman pulls him back to safety, Virgil is suddenly very grateful for all the time Roman’s spent running around the mindscape, sparring in the Imagination, and working out in the commons because Virgil is pretty much dead weight and Roman is far stronger than he looks holy shit.

They tumble to the ground in a heap, a messy tangle of arms and legs. It’s another second before Virgil notices the pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him tight against a warm chest. Roman presses his face into his hair and murmurs something inaudible.

“What?” Virgil mumbles, and he’s not entirely sure that he isn’t dreaming.

“I was so scared,” Roman whispers. Virgil laughs at this.

“You? You ain’t scared o’ a lil’ falling,” he slurs. His head rests against Roman’s shoulder and he can’t remember the last he’s done this— if he ever did it at all. It’s… nice.

“I’m scared of you falling, dummy,” Roman rolls his eyes, though his hands still shake. “What happens in here is my responsibility. Even your stubborn ass.”

“S’not like we can die or anything,” Virgil says, trying to play it off like he wasn’t just worrying about dying in the Imagination half an hour ago. He hasn’t seen Roman this worried since they brought Thomas to his room, and even then, the concern wasn’t necessarily for Virgil.

“We can get hurt. We can get hurt pretty bad.”

Virgil wonders when any of them have ever gotten hurt bad enough to worry Roman this badly.

“You were still in your brooding solitude when I fell out of a tree and got my ass handed to me by a hellhound.” Roman answers. Virgil blinks and he realizes that he was speaking out loud. “You could have told me that you were hurt, y’know. There’s no shame in stopping.”

“We stop every time,” Virgil argues. He flinches at the disappointed crack in his voice. “This was s’posed to be the first.”

“If you wanted to make it, then you shouldn’t have taken on that manticore,” Roman scolds, giving Virgil’s ear a sharp tug. So he did notice. Virgil bats his hand away from his face.

“If I didn’t distract it, it would’ve gone for you. I killed it, though,” he protests, albeit weakly. Roman doesn’t tense or get annoyed like he usually does. Instead, he runs a gentle hand through Virgil’s hair, the way Patton sometimes does.

“I can handle myself, Virge. This is my realm. This is where I get to protect you. You’re not the only protector in the mindscape, y’know.”

There’s a flash in Virgil’s mind and he remembers all the times Roman has stood between him and a monster, sword out and ready to attack. All the times Roman has pushed or pulled Virgil out of the way of the teeth of enormous beasts, right before he dashed off to tackle the creature. All the times Roman came back to find Virgil curled up in a secluded nook hidden from view, asking if he was okay, walking him through anxiety attacks.

“I know, I just wanted to be the one to save you this time. To like… pay you back, for all the other times.” Virgil’s voice trails off at the end because dammit, he sounds so stupid, what was he thinking?

To his surprise, Roman actually laughs.

“You don't owe me anything, baby brother. Except for that Art of Moana book. I know you lost my copy.” He says with a fond chuckle.

“Did not.”

“Mhmm, sure.”

“Roman?”

“Yeah, what's up?”

“You know you're still hugging me, right?”

“Yep.”

“...you gonna let go?”

“Absolutely not. You haven't let me hug you in years.”

“It's been two weeks.”

“Too long.”

They sit in silence for a couple minutes. Virgil finds that he doesn't mind Roman holding him. It's a far more welcome sensation than the pain flaring in his chest—

Right.

“Uhh, Roman?”

“Mm?”

“Is breathing supposed to be hard up here?”

“Uh, no. No, your lungs are just severely fucked up from that manticore fight that you didn't need to engage in. Were the centaurs not enough of a challenge for you?” Roman wags a finger in his face.

“It was me or you!”

“And in this realm, that decision will always be me. You are not to go running into danger because that is my job and I’d rather keep it that way. Can you stand?”

Virgil nods, and with Roman's help, he manages to get to his feet.

“What do you say we grab the treasure and then head home?” Roman says. Virgil can only nod. He has a sneaking suspicion that Roman is mad at him, and he's just a little terrified to see what happens when Roman really chews him out.

Roman drapes one of Virgil's arms across his neck and together they limp over to the chest under the tree.

“Honour’s all yours, Virge.” Roman bows and helps Virgil kneel down in front of the chest. The latches open easily, like they've been well-oiled, and inside is… a book.

“Isn’t this more Logan’s type?” Virgil asks, a little confused. Roman's favourite part of these quests was always personalizing gifts for whichever side was picked to go along with him.

“Well you gotta take a better look at it, Virgil,” Roman says. Virgil can already see the excited gleam in his eyes.

The book is a simple black leather-bound. He opens it to the first page and—

“You fucking didn't.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Nope.”

“Roman—”

“All your poetry and writing, all the stuff we worked on together. It's all in there. And all of your original art.”

“You leave me and my edgy hatching alone.” Virgil warns, though there's a smile tugging at his lips. “This is great, Roman. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Virge. It had to be perfect for your first quest. Lo and Pat already have their first quest treasures.” Roman says, ruffling Virgil's hair affectionately. He points at a page from Thomas’ teenage years. “We may have been assholes, but we still made some pretty great masterpieces.”

“Shut up, I know you put this one in here because I hate it.” Virgil laughs. He moves to stand, but the action sends him falling back on his butt. “Can we go back home now?”

“Yeah, c'mon.” Virgil doesn't have any time to process before Roman sweeps him up princess-style.

“You're carrying me,” Virgil smirks, and he's already feeling the fatigue set in.

“You're dreaming,” Roman replies with a snort. “You can sleep, Virgil. I’ve got you, little brother.”

When Virgil wakes up, he’s lying on a bed in the Mind Palace. Logan, Roman, and Patton are all crammed on the other bed beside him in a snoring heap. Sunlight streams lazily through the window, dancing lightly over the black book on the nightstand next to him. Virgil smiles. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Roman was even more of a nostalgic than Patton.

There are at least four blankets tucked firmly into the bed, effectively pinning him against the mattress. By his head, there's a ratty old stuffed rabbit, and Virgil knows that that one's from Roman.

“Hey,” Roman says, off to his left. He's on top of his cuddle pile and the least squished, so he carefully extracts himself and goes to sit on Virgil's bed.

“Hey.” Virgil croaks and wow, he sounds like shit. His headache is just a gentle throb in the back of his mind, his breaths even, if a little shallow. At least the rest of him is less shitty than yesterday.

“So, now that you're on safe, solid ground, I get to properly scold you for fighting a fucking manticore. You are so fucking lucky that it didn't sting you,” Roman huffs. He grabs the rabbit and hits Virgil's head at every word. “You gave me a real scare, y’know.”

Virgil feels a spike of irritation in his stomach.

“So if you noticed that I got hurt, why didn't you do anything?” He snaps. The bitterness from yesterday is still fresh in his mind, and now that he's rested, he can properly focus on it. Roman has the decency to look ashamed.

“You always hated it when we fussed over you. I didn't know how bad it was, but I thought you didn't want to make a big deal out of it.” He says, eyes downcast. “I should've, though.”

“Oh,” is all Virgil has to say in reply.

“Of course I noticed, though. Why do you think I kept stopping to check out the scenery? There wasn't actually a bird's nest that I rescued.” Roman continues, waving his hand animatedly as he babbles.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, you were too busy spiralling to notice that I noticed.”

“That sounds dumb.”

“You're dumb.”

“Not as dumb as you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Virge.”

The two lock eyes for a second and then burst into laughter. To an outsider, there's nothing particularly funny about the scene. To Roman and Virgil, it's the most hilarious thing to ever happen to them.

“Oh good, you're awake,” says Logan's tired rasp. He stirs Patton, who mumbles something indistinct. Patton sits up and stretches, narrowly missing Logan's face.

“Hm?” Patton hums, still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Virgil's awake,” Logan says, and Patton's eyes snap open, suddenly full of energy.

“Virgil!” He exclaims, leaping off of his bed and onto Virgil’s lap.

“Hey, Pat,” Virgil grins. Patton grabs his face between his hands, pulling him in for closer inspection.

“How are you feeling? Any headache? Stomach ache? You're breathing okay?” He demands.

“‘m finph,” Virgil says through squished cheeks.

“Patton, don't you think this would be better conducted with your glasses?” Logan says, coming up behind him with Patton's glasses in hand.

“Oh, right. Thanks, Lo,” Patton smiles sheepishly. He slides them on and turns back to Virgil. “You took a pretty big hit there, kiddo.”

“Yeah, Pat, I know. Roman already chewed me out.” Virgil glares playfully at Roman, who just shrugs.

“Rightfully so. I take it that we don't have to discuss the rashness of your actions, then?” Logan muses. He fixes Virgil with a pointed look.

“Nope, I got the yelling rights. So you two can back off,” Roman says, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Now leave us alone so I can harass him some more.”

“Roman, play nice,” Patton chides, but there's no real threat in his voice. “I’m glad you're okay, Virge.”

He throws his arms around him one more time before hopping off the bed.

“We’ll go prepare some breakfast. I’m glad that you're safe, too, Virgil.” Logan says, and with a nod, he leads Patton out of the room.

Roman and Virgil sit in silence for a minute, hands in their laps, not knowing what to say.

“Thanks,” Roman says after a bit. Virgil lifts his head.

“For what?”

“For taking the manticore for me. That was pretty brave of you.” Roman's voice is quiet, and Virgil knows that that's a pretty big compliment coming from him..

“Yeah, well, protecting people is kind of what I'm supposed to do.” Virgil offers him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He's working on it. “So you’re not mad?”

“Of course not! I’m proud of you, Virge. My ickle baby Virgil, all grown up now.” Roman sniffs and pretends to wipe away a tear.

“Shut up.”

“Never.”

#prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #thomas sanders #sanders sides #blink writes #there's an unhealthy amount of conjunctions and repetition in here but am i gonna fix it?? nOPE #cursing tw #brotherly prinxiety

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