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ruby-red-inky-blue · 2 years

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rewatching Pride and Prejudice (2005) and I -

i really do love this movie so much it’s stupid

as an adaptation i don’t think it holds up as well as i thought, specifically because Darcy isn’t unlikeable enough at the beginning. At the first ball he looks like a stressed-out puppy who has lost sight of his human and Lizzie is frankly cruel for judging him so harshly, the man is clearly drowning

like the point of darcy isn’t supposed to be that he was never really a jerk but that he was a complete jerk but *changed*

do i care though? no. MacFadyen’s Darcy is a hot mess and it’s a delight to watch

hand flex

Bingley and Mr Collins are possibly even funnier than i remembered (”No I mean it’s a pleasure that she’s here.......” Bingley don’t do it don’t do it dear god - “...being ill...” Oh god Bingley why) but there are some gems that I didn’t even catch before:

the proposal scene. my god. Collins just hands her the tiniest flower. Elizabeth is sat right in front of a ginormous ham the whole time. Neither one is looking at each other. it’s so funny.

I’m not even halfway through and Lizzie thinks Darcy is so hot. I feel like that didn’t happen this early on in the book and it’s honestly so funny because I cannot believe that she hates him because a) aforementioned kicked puppy look and b) she just. She just thinks he’s so hot. Nobody’s buying it Lizzie.

also Darcy’s look of raw unbridled terror at the sight of Lizzie keeps getting funnier. Emma gave the nosebleed to the wrong Austen character, 2005-Darcy just getting a straight-up anime nosebleed at the sight of Elizabeth at Rosings and everyone freaking out over the blood on Lady Catherine’s expensive carpets?? Honestly I wouldn’t even have batted an eye at it, he is so into her and would burst a blood vessel out of sheer distress.

the odd little pre-proposal scene where he bursts in at the Collin’s and runs back out a minute later? I’d forgotten, like...

(his little glance. Like the briefest recollection that, ah, yes. Chairs. Anyway - )

(the way he declines a cup of tea so incredibly earnestly with a look of utter bereavement on his face is so funny to me. You’d think he’d come to tell her that her entire family had died.)

the lead up to the proposal is so dramatic, and i think every viewer under the sun knows what is coming, but i would just like to point out that in a different movie this shot reads vaguely like a period horror film:

his entrance is so sinister?? he’s obscuring the shot with that dark coat and towering over the camera and Lizzie - and then cut to the next shot where we’re right back to deplorable puppy, this time of the fell-into-a-pond variety

my god there is no preamble, he just starts ranting. i’ve consumed this scene in gifs only for so long i remembered it as pretty romantic if misguided but this is a trainwreck

see the first couple of lines here are where this is an odd adaptation. He’s so tortured you don’t even really notice that he’s kind of insulting her at first, and Lizzie seems genuinely concerned when she says “I’m sorry to have caused you pain” when in the book that is not the vibe I got, and then it kinda seems like it escalates a little too much

that said, it’s still glorious. I’m watching through my fingers. I can’t bear it.

Elizabeth Bennet, here seen looking at “the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry”

sure, girl.

controversial opinion, but somehow, in a movie with famously grandeous beautiful Jane Austen language, this line is my number two most swoonworthy line of the movie:

same, Lizzie.

the scene where Darcy gives Lizzie the letter is gorgeous. It’s also quite strange? it does somewhat suggest that she knew he would turn up - he literally pops up in the mirror as if she’d said Bloody Mary three times, and she doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see him

also while I assume that was normal back then it does amuse me that he just up and walks into someone else’s house - and what did the servants think? he certainly wasn’t dressed for a visit, and young Miss Bennet certainly wasn’t dressed to receive visitors in any case! Scandalous!

if that letter had been read to Lizzie as it is to the viewer, she wouldn’t harbour that much lingering resentment. 10/10, no notes.

dramatic single tear when she talks about Darcy to Jane *sniff*

“Oh no, let’s not [see Darcy’s estate]. He’s so - he’s so - he’s so - he’s so rich!” oh Lizzie...

Lizzie’s acrid little giggle when they lay eyes on Pemberley SENDS me. It’s both “of course he’d live in there” and just a little bit of “....shit is this what I was offered?” and honestly, i get it

i’m not saying people didn’t have rooms exclusively for their collection of marble statues on a working estate, but it does seem... a bit much. Especially that you would have all of these lovely images of mythology and ancient nobility and then a bust of yourself right slap in the middle?? Like Darcy isn’t the type to comission a bust of himself, but even if we assume that his late father comissioned it (already a bit of a stretch since the bust hardly looks that much younger than Darcy) whose idea was it to put it there, among nymphs and gods? Was it in his father’s room and Darcy looked at it after his father’s passing and just went, it’s a statue isn’t it, just put it with the others?

that said, the woman is done for (they even ASK her if she thinks he’s handsome like they don’t have eyes or something)

Georgiana and Darcy are so cute i can’t -

also Darcy once again first dramatically appears in a mirror - I get it Joe, I get it, it’s a theme, they’re so alike, Lizzie is seeing it now (it’s pretty cool i don’t know why i’m so glib about it)

WHY IS THIS SHOT THO I’m dying this is so dramatic:

“I thought you were in London!” “No. No, I’m not.” What you are is a desaster, Darcy.

The fiddly hands, the talking over each other, the almost yelling every other word, Lizzie is so desperately searching for ANY topic of conversation and he’s so stupidly earnest about her inconsequential traveling plans and god they both look like they’re about to start sobbing this SCENE

“We’re going to Mattlock tomor-” “Tomorrow??!” Stoppp my heart

also the closeup of the hand say what you will but Joe Wright knows his audience

not Lizzie jumping headfirst into a storage room and hiding behind a curtain when she sees Darcy at the inn. i mean i would have done the same probably but still

Georgiana digging poor Darcy’s grave in 30 seconds flat:

immediate flirting of the most desperate degree, and Mrs and Mr Gardiner stood right behind them for the whole thing, visibly wondering what the hell is happening:

also Darcy doing anything to keep Lizzie around longer is so precious. Look at this man. This man does not fish with strangers. This man fishes in solitude. That is clearly why he fishes in the first place. Now he’s inviting some old man to fish with him. Just so she won’t leave.

Behold, a masterpiece:

“This is grave indeed... I will leave you. Goodbye.” WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

god I love Lizzie taking Lydia’s wine glass away and then taking a good long sip herself because it’s all so hard to stand. And then suddenly in the middle of all her insipid chattering Lydia gives a damn fine observation of Darcy (because she isn’t prejudiced... get it) and takes back her wine glass

sidenote but i love how affectionate the Bennets are with one another, it’s so sweet

just this:

Lizzie now hiding behind walls as there are no storage closets or curtains available

Darcy started wearing stripey waistcoats. You know who else wears stripes a lot?

-”I return to town tomorrow.” -”So soon!” oh how the turntables

Bingley and Jane are almost as tragic als Lizzie and Darcy. Jane is so dense where Bingley is concerned. And I would have LOVED to see how Bingley roped Darcy into roleplaying??? his engagement??? He’s playing Jane

Mrs Bennet sloooooowly herding everyone into the kitchen because Jane may get engaged so NOBODY MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS HE’S SKITTISH (except Jane obviously. Jane needs to be there. For Jane’s engagement. Naturally.)

meanwhile Lizzie and Darcy mourn the one that got away, apparently separated by a single tree

i love those little shots of everyone at Longbourne at nighttime, it’s so domestic and sweet, with the servant singing to herself and the sisters spending time together

“Perhaps Mr Collins has a cousin” is an underrated line for sure

the whole scene with Lady Catherine is WILD like she arrives in the dead of night, no servants no nothing, impertinent with pretty much everyone in the house, only Dame Judy Dench could pull this off

here it is, the biggest swoon of the entire movie bar none (again, controversial, but they improved on Jane Austen here. I will take no criticism at this time):

“One word from you will silence me on the subject forever.” and she just gazes at him silently! they’re a lot

I really do feel for Darcy, he makes his whole speech and Lizzie just looks at him and takes his hand and says “well then” and “your hands are cold”, like, girl, you’re killing this man

(yes the sunrise forehead lean is peak romance i’m not made of stone!)

Okay so from Mr and Mrs Bennet’s point of view, Lizzie got yelled at by an elderly aristocrat in the middle of the night and when they woke up the next morning this dude that Lizzie has proclaimed to hate for half a year now is asking for her hand in marriage, looking like he literally rolled out of bed and walked into Mr Bennet’s office. And now Lizzie tells Mr Bennet that she loves Darcy while Mrs Bennet watches him pace holes into their front yard. Can’t blame them for being slightly confused tbh

Darcy did not - I cannot stress this enough - Darcy did not go home to change??? He went into Mr Bennet’s home, still half-dressed, in only a shirt and that dirty-ass overcoat, no hat no waistcoat no CRAVAT like a HARLOT he couldn’t wait two minutes, men of his standing wouldn’t have been seen on the street looking like that, this is how you go and ask for your future wife’s hand in marriage?? This man is so horny

and probably terrified she’s gonna change her mind

this scene!!! they’re so cute

the revolving door was unfortunately only invented in the late 1800s, because there would have been a prime opportunity for a dad joke for Mr Bennet otherwise

Lizzie and her father laughing the exact same way is the sweetest, most touching way to end this film (we don’t talk about the weird Sixteen Candles ending okay? Okay.)

i love this movie so much i’m not even mad i had to pay three euros to watch it again, 11/10, a delight

#pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice 2005 #keira knightley #matthew macfadyen #carrie watches #it's been SO LONG i forgot how trash for this movie i am #the last time i saw it was a few years ago dubbed into german with my parents #and i spent most of it having to explain to my parents why this is actually a funny movie because they were (inexplicably) bored

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internetgremlin-writes · 2 years

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Hi!! Im not sure your prompt night is still open or not so feel free to ignore this, but congrats on 1.3k either way!! Could I request Seb Vettel with prompt number 90?? Something fluffy if possible, thank you!! <3

90 - “If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?”

oooo go on then. How could I possibly ignore Seb?

This is the last one for tonight because it's getting super late. I have some pre-reading and work to do before I go on placement on Monday so I won't be writing consistently over the bank holiday weekend but will try to chuck out a bunch more during my breaks each day. Every request is getting done i promise <3

love that i've managed to scare you guys into specifying fluff bc you know i will make it sad otherwise. On another note. Seb's smileee

Secret relationships were never easy, you knew that. But it came with the territory, and you were willing to accept it. It made sense, paparazzi just loved to catch drivers on dates and then stir up stories about them seeing multiple people at once until it blew up into a big scandal.

When Sebastian Vettel had asked you out, you were hesitant at first. Dating people in the F1 industry was pretty normal. You were one of the few female engineers, and you'd grown up working in a male-dominated field. You were used to male attention and awkward dates with colleagues. But there are awkward dates with colleagues and then there's been asked out by a four-time world champion and one of your heroes of the sport.

You'd met Seb when he joined Aston Martin, and you'd never been happier to be put on the team managing the green car with a number 5 on it.

Sebastian had a reputation of being a terrible flirt, and you were concerned that as the only female on his team, he'd see you as anything less than your peers. But he didn't. He was interested and respectful, he asked you questions, he wanted your opinion. Several times he stopped one of your co-workers from talking over you when you were mid-point in a meeting.

He'd asked you out over a year ago now, bringing you a coffee because he'd noticed that for the third night in a row you were working until you were the last one in the garage. You were so tired you told him you loved him when he pressed the machine latte into your hand.

It took him a week to coax you into going on a date with him. You liked him, of course, you did. Working with him had given you time to get to know him for more than his reputation. He was sweet and kind, funny - he could make you laugh even on the worst days, so incredibly stubborn, he cared about politics and human rights, he gave a lot of his money away to charities, he was heading an environmental campaign. And he was drop-dead gorgeous in his own understated, scruffy way. But you were terrified of him, of the attention it would thrust on you, of what the media would say if they caught a whiff of it.

He promised you that it would be okay to keep it a secret. He didn't mind, he understood. Of course, he did; he was bloody perfect.

And everything had been going perfectly. You'd moved in with him in Switzerland. It was new and completely different but you adored it there. Seb was a master at avoiding the media, and he knew all the safest spots. Most of the time you didn't even have to think about your relationship. Even when you were working with him, he was very professional, and when the wins started trickling in he was so swamped with the attention that no one questioned his head engineer giving him a hug.

It was in Abu Dhabi that everything changed. Out of nowhere, Aston Martin had managed to pull a car together that Seb had just taken to. It was like he was one with it again, and then he started scoring points. And then podiums. And then wins. It was like his Red Bull days, except a lot more green and a few fewer parties. And now you were standing in the garage in the pit line, your nails bitten completely down to the quick as Seb was in a locked-out battle with Max Verstappen. It was one of those awfully exciting final races, where the world champion needed to win the race to get those last few points.

You screamed yourself hoarse when the nose of your green baby tipped through that chequered flag. The entire garage erupted around you, the energy crackling through the place was untouchable. Seb was dancing on his car, some arms stuck out in an odd flapping dance that was probably mimicking the wings of the logo. You were so proud of him, of both of you, because it had taken so many late nights sat up, you tinkering with parts and him studying tracks to do it.

What you didn't expect was your boss approaching you. The team didn't win the Constructor's championship, but because Seb had won the last race there was still a constructor's trophy that needed collecting. You weren't sure you were hearing properly when you were asked if you'd do the honours.

"On the podium?" You squeaked. Crowds weren't your thing. Seb got wind of what was happening and he'd grabbed your arm and marched you to the podium before you could say anything else.

The ceremony was unreal, it almost felt like an out of body experience. You cried through the German national anthem, and you could tell Seb was too. This had been a long time coming for him and you knew there were no words to describe how badly he wanted it. The weight of the champagne bottle was much heavier than you expected it to be, and shaking it was a challenge, but you managed to get a decent spray. With yourself and Seb from Aston Martin, and Toto, Max and Checo from Red Bull rounding out the podium you found that you'd naturally split into two celebrating groups. You and Seb were spraying each other, his grin devilish and you knew what was coming the second before you felt the cold splash and knew he'd emptied the rest of his bottle directly over your head.

He then took your bottle and shared a very large swig with you. The atmosphere was electric, confetti everywhere and a shower of champagne covering the pair of you. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you'd be able to be celebrating with him on the podium, let alone for his fifth championship crowning.

"If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?"

Your heart was thudding in your ears. The Red Bulls were celebrating right beside you. The entire grid and all their teams were below you, screaming and shouting and cheering for your boyfriend. No, for the love of your life. Cameras were broadcasting you to millions of people, but the only person Seb was looking at was you. There was only one answer you could give him. There was only one answer you wanted to give him.

You grabbed the collar of his race suit and pulled him down to you, crashing your lips onto his. You felt him smile into the kiss as the noise below you erupted once more, wolf whistles now piercing the night air. He kissed you like there wasn't a soul watching, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you slightly off the floor as he did. When he pulled away it wasn't far, his forehead pressed against yours.

"I love you,"

He'd said it before, but it felt different now. The five-time world champion loved you.

"I love you too,"

You picked up the remainder of your bottle of champagne and dumped it out over his head, catching him by surprise and pulling an infectious giggle from him as you did so. You stepped back to run away, but Seb caught you before you could even try to get behind the Red Bulls, who were watching the pair of you with mild amusement.

He pulled you back to him, dipping you down like some kind of Disney character as he kissed you once more, one of your legs lifting off the floor as he supported your arched back. It tasted like champagne.

That photo broke the internet.

It was also framed in almost every room of your home.

#1.3k prompt night #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagine #seb wins 5 championships and i will hear nothing else thank u #cheeky seb fluff #formula one #f1

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theysangastheyslew · 1 year

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Hey!!!

I want to share more suffering with you, homie haha *crying*

What do you think of the episode? Especially 132 part ofc!

Hi friend! :'))))))))) Ooooooh honey that gif is such a mood XD I’ve been trying to collect my thoughts and this is the best I can do atm. Sorry it’s kind of wordy but here we go 🥲

Ok! So ever-present pacing issues aside, the overarching story made for a solid episode and the animation was incredible. Hell, even the things I disliked objectively looked well-done out of context. Overall, that was no small feat to pull off, especially in such harsh working conditions. I truly do want to acknowledge that.

But in regards to 132, you guys already put into words how I feel better than I could. I may not have anything new to add, but I’ll say what I liked first and then put my issues under a cut.

As someone who actually really likes Yams’ art style, I loved that they consistently kept Hange’s face accurate to the manga. It was really inconsistent throughout the final season and they struggled to not make it too short a lot of times. Hange was always still stunning of course but the difference always stuck out to me. Here everyone was drawn well, but you can tell she got some extra attention.

The way they inched Levi closer to where Hange was sitting while talking with Yelena. Insignificant yeah but consistent with their past behavior. Also I’m glad they tweaked the position of his bandages so it looked less like they were painfully tugging upwards on his nose.

The pained expressions of the kids and Hange watching Levi struggle to even hold his gear

The “unrequited love” exchange. It had most of the softness and emotion from the manga even though the weight of that line will never be realized in non-written form. The camera lingered on each frame in a way that conveyed the sentiment. This is what got my hopes up that they would stay truer to the source material with DYH.

I'm so glad they left in Hange's lines to Flochroach about not giving up. Helps show—once again—that they wanted to live

The choked way Levi said “Devote your heart” + Hange’s widened eye and soft gasp at his words. Though not tearing up like in the manga, the shot still looked lovely for the half second it lasted. He doesn't pause halfway through saying it though so this one I'm still wrestling with.

Of course, the last stand. Onscreen, Hange took out at least 16 colossals (including the ones we see trip and get trampled) and definitely more offscreen (when they cut away to show other characters) and for the last few, did it while in the most pain a human body can feel. 7/10 for combat, my ass. Idk about y’all but I can’t stop hearing Romi Park’s screams in my head. I knew it would be nauseating and brutal but dear God. At the same time I cannot put into words how proud I am of them. That's my commander 💜

Ok “like” is definitely not the right word for this but I had wondered when I first read 132 how Hange’s gas tank was so well-insulated that it didn’t ignite, and.. well I got my answer.

I’m thankful that they didn’t show a glimpse of Hange’s bloody, crushed remains the way you see in the og panel. That at least felt respectful to me. This is wishful thinking I know but the defined charred outline makes me choose hope they fell more off to the side from where the titans were walking so at least there was maybe still a body left to recover someday.

The afterlife scene, the kids all sobbing their hearts out, Levi holding his own hand in the aftermath trying to process what just happened, and Onyankopon confirming the plane’s significance all really were appropriately gut-wrenching.

I really recommend taking a little break between The Rumbling and Sinners. It definitely makes the shift in emotion less jarring and less

When I did that with my rewatch it helped with the flow of things.

Ok, now twist me up and call me a pretzel bc here there be some salt :|

I’ll try to leave out my og issues with the manga chapter itself (like how painfully obvious it was all just to make Armin commander and how unnecessary Hange dying was IN THE FIRST PLACE and IF it had to happen at all how it could have been done at the final boss skelepalooza showdown, etc.) and just focus on the episode.

Goes without saying but it bears repeating: pacing. 75% of my issues with the execution of DYH would be gone if they just slowed down a bit. Just let the weight of it sink in a little. That this moment —all shreds of shipping aside— is the end of the line for these two heroes who have been supporting each other for ten years while bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. But Mappa completely reversed the timing of the sequence of events. In the manga we had a longer, more intimate farewell followed by a last stand that was so short even when you knew it was coming it left you reeling from how fast it was from start to finish. Whereas here they hurried it along to get to the “main event”. Hell, it flows better in gif sets than it does in the actual show.

To me, it felt like Hange’s demeanor didn’t really change from talking with the kids to speaking with Levi, making their false bravado seem like less of a front. I know their tone was meant to sound like they were keeping up appearances, but with how often Hange just gets reduced solely to being a titan freak the way they had Romi say the lines made it sound like actual excitement, especially with the way they drew Hange's facial expressions (more on that next)

Hange’s little smirk after the salute. I kinda get what they were trying to do here but to me it came off as very flippant and dismissive of Levi’s choice of words, especially since they all but got rid of their lips trembling and eye beginning to well up with tears. I wish we’d gotten the big fake smile and laugh because that would have shown better that Hange was overcompensating by trying to put their brave face back on after starting to lose their composure. Their fear is obvious in the manga but it just simply didn’t come through as well throughout this entire exchange.

Sooo Hange almost tears up when Pieck said their words inspired her yet minutes later when their Best Friend tries to say goodbye there’s nowhere near that kind of reaction? Sure, Jan

Levi’s face. Ok look. It’s not a lack of emotion on his part that bothers me. It’s that it’s an entirely different one to begin with. He looks bummed at first yes, but then that changes to what I’m guessing is supposed to be determination which comes off as anger or annoyance (kinda like what changed with his scene with Armin on the stairs). They removed what made this parting different from previous ones, which was the sense of open vulnerability and the dawning realization that now he’s going to have to let Hans go too. See it's not like they were in the middle of the battle just yet. This situation came on suddenly and unexpectedly; it wasn't "supposed" to happen. One second they were on track and the next Hange is being torn away by fate. And yes, the highlights play a part in that transition. Anyone who draws eyes knows the importance of placement and intensity and the major impact they have over the final expression. And when drawing a comic you certainly don’t take up valuable page space with three panels focusing on the hope draining out of someone’s eyes if it wasn’t supposed to be the focus. I mean for fuck's sake, even the Final Season!Nendoroid Levi got it right. Plus, if they could make a point of getting Eren's eyes right during the raid on Liberio they could have gotten it here.

When the camera cuts to the kids watching the titans fall the angle doesn’t let you see that Levi can’t bring himself to watch for more than just a second

NOT MAPPA’s FAULT but since I’m being whiny right now I’m going to add that while ACWNR is a mixed bag to begin with, WIT’s adaptation not including Levihan’s introduction saddens me bc Levi asking Hange to keep watching loses a bit of extra oomph.

Really it just comes down to the fact that there was nothing wrong with the original page. It wasn’t overdone or dragged out by any means but considering many other scenes got shot-for-shot depictions I don’t think we were asking for anything outrageous by wanting a faithful adaptation. The couple frames we got that were almost perfect were so freakin fast you barely had time to process them before it cut away.

I wanted to like it, I really did. Especially since MAPPA did so many things so incredibly well as a whole. My expectations weren’t high, and I did want to give it the benefit of the doubt. But when it came to DYH, it felt both watered down and disjointed, like a completely different scene.

But so it goes. At the end of the day, Hange still dies a horrifying death for plot convenience, and Levi is left behind to suffer once again. It was always going to hurt and I was never going to be ready for it, no matter how it was done.

#gahhhh i keep seeing posts that better verbalize what im trying to say #words are hard #tldr: basically i agree with what you kleinzoe kachuusa warm starlight murdergiraffe nenithil glassesandswords and mcxynth all said #now imma go listen to voices carry by lights and the world is ugly on repeat bc if i see 1 more ‘hange was suicidal’ take ill eat my hand #le me #replies #ramblings #rantings #snk #levihan #analysis

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tanjir0se · 10 months

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As the World Caves In, pt II

Pairings: Rengiyuu (Rengoku x Giyuu) Words: 5.4k (7.8k total) Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everybody Lives AU Warnings: (full fic) Graphic depictions of canon-typical violence, medical procedures, blood, bodily injury

If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything, I swear.

It was now or ever. And now he’d gotten so close to never, closer than he’d ever thought he’d get in all his wildest nightmares, that the unbridled fear of it now carried the words unspoken up his windpipe, threatening to burst.

“K-Kyojuro,” Giyuu began. And Kyojuro looked at him with those stunning, earnest eyes--eye--and Giyuu’s next words fell from his mouth in a huff. “Damn it,”

This is part 2/2. Read the previous part here!

You can also read the full fic on AO3!!

“You ought to be more careful, my friend!” Kyojuro chided as he unbuttoned Giyuu’s uniform. “Look, you’ve ruined another uniform shirt!” He was referring to the large slash on the shoulder of Giyuu’s uniform, courtesy of the demon they’d just taken down together. Though they’d only known each other a few months at that point, Giyuu had learned that Kyojuro apparently preferred to dress his wounds himself despite Giyuu being fully capable, and he knew Kyojuro better than to try to argue.

He said nothing while Kyojuro frowned at his bare and bloody chest, appraising the long but superficial wound that spanned across his pale skin, coming to a stop at the hollow of his throat. He did tilt his head slightly back to allow Kyojuro to inspect the full extent of the wound, his quiet way of thanking him. Kyojuro hummed to himself. His golden eyes suddenly flicked from Giyuu’s wound to his face, stealing away Giyuu’s breath in a surprised huff.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, abruptly serious. Giyuu shook his head. Rengoku had a habit of making him lose his train of thought when he looked at him like that. “You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me. I would have been alright!”

Giyuu stared at him. The demon they’d been fighting had prepared one vicious strike right after another, while Rengoku had been finding his footing from the previous. Rather than allow the strike to land on the Flame Hashira, Giyuu had stepped in with dead calm, both sparing Kyojuro from the attack and causing it to fall on himself.

To Giyuu, his actions made perfect sense. Kyojuro was obviously the superior Hashira. He felt it only natural to protect the greater asset to the demon slayer corps, even if it meant putting his life on the line.

Kyojuro raised an eyebrow and cracked a small grin. “I know that look.” He said. It was the look Giyuu did when he was about to try to argue with him on something: brows slightly furrowed, gaze steady with heavy lids, lips parted. Realizing he was caught, Giyuu relaxed into a half smile and allowed Kyojuro to gently dab dirt and debris away from his wound.

“You may be reckless,” Kyojuro began, “But I have to admit, that eleventh form is incredible! How on earth did you learn something like that? Ah, I bet I could practice for a hundred years and never even get close!” His gaze now focused on Giyuu’s wound, he didn’t notice how bright pink his friend’s face had become. Kyojuro spoke highly of everyone, but praise of his swordsmanship coming from someone as incredible as him was still a high compliment.

Kyojuro continued. “Such fantastic work, I’m truly lucky to be on your good side!” He laughed and patted Giyuu’s chest with one hand and retrieved a first aid kit with a suture needle with the other. His hand was rough but warm against Giyuu’s permanently cold skin.

“For now.” Giyuu joked back. Kyojuro blinked once, surprised and a little disbelieving that Giyuu had actually cracked a joke, but after noticing the tiny upward tilt of his lips, smiled even wider and laughed even harder.

“I’d better toe the line then! Otherwise I’ll be the one needing stitches!” He laughed at his own joke while stitching his wound and Giyuu actually smiled along. Few could melt through his icy silences like Kyojuro could. Few understood what he was trying to say even when he was silent like Kyojuro did. “Ah, you always know how to make me laugh.” Kyojuro added with a sigh that made Giyuu’s heart ache.

Kyojuro’s half-open eyes saw white, made hazy by tears clinging to his dark lashes. White drifted above him, and for a moment he drifted with it, unaware that he was even conscious, just floating. Once his mind returned to him he tried to blink to dispel the haze but found himself unable, paralyzed, flat on his back and floating through nothingness. For a few moments he believed himself to be dead. Until the pain struck him.

He considered himself no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything else. His entire body felt shattered. Even something as simple as breathing was a battle, as if his lungs and the walls of his chest themselves were locked in combat against one another. If he was indeed dead, this must be hell.

He thought so, until he heard a distant voice reaching to him from beyond the endless white oblivion around him. There were gentle hands on him, as if bringing him out of the haze and back into reality.

Someone was cradling the back of his head, tilting it slightly upward as they removed bandages from the left side of his face. The light changed slightly as they did so, though nothing came into focus. Fingers brushed lightly over his left eye. Whoever the hands belonged to, whoever was nursing him, sighed.

The bandages were replaced. A warm rag brushed against the aching skin of his arms. A hand rested lightly against his chest, directly over his heart, feeling it beating steadily. Kyojuro still couldn’t move or speak but whoever was tending to him apparently didn’t mind. The voice was silent while they worked but the silence was as gentle as their hands. That silence, its softness, the coolness of the hands on his body reminded him of something…

The haze slowly began to lift, as if his nurse’s gentle tending was pulling him back up out of the nothingness and into reality. As his mind cleared he groped for anything to anchor him back to the present; he remembered a cold wind, a column of flames.

“Another letter from Tanjiro today.” His nurse said quietly over the rustle of papers. “And…one from Uzui.”

Kyojuro would have leapt out of bed, if he could move. The kids! The train! The upper rank! I’ve got to get back there! Kyojuro wanted to reach out, tell the speaker I don’t care about a bunch of letters when Tanjiro and the others could be in danger—

A letter from Tanjiro? He’s alright?

“Uzui’s letter first, then?” The voice said. More rustling of paper. A clearing of the throat. “Dear Rengoku, I apologize for my absence, since this damn mission is taking longer than I expected, I’m absolutely certain you’re beside yourself with grief that yours truly isn’t there with you—” the speaker scoffed, and Kyojuro would have laughed too, if he could move. “Anyways, I’ll spare you the non-flashy details and regale you with the full story when I can see you again. Please get better soon, the mansion is too boring without you. Tengen.”

In full earnest now, and with little else to do but lie there, Kyojuro tried to remember what had happened. The last image he could conjure was the electric flashing of blue and pink, a crazed laugh, and distantly, someone crying and calling his name.

He assumed he was recovering in the butterfly mansion, but how long had it been since he’d fallen unconscious? Long enough that he was getting letters. He wondered if he’d gotten any from Senjuro. Or Giyuu.

Giyuu.

He’d just been dreaming about Giyuu. One of the first times he’d noticed Giyuu blushing at him, one of the many times Giyuu had made him laugh. That’s what the silence had reminded him of. With great difficulty, with everything he had, Kyojuro managed to grunt softly.

Halfway through Tanjiro’s letter, the voice stopped. Even unable to see, Kyojuro could feel eyes on him, knew them to be deep and indigo and discerning. He sucked in a labored breath against the pain wrapping around his ribs, and this time managed a groan.

“Kyojuro?”

God I’d know that voice anywhere.

Kyojuro’s eyes slid closed, then open once again, still heavy-lidded, still teary, but open. The fog around him lifting, the first thing he saw was his nurse, pale skin, a mess of raven black hair and a set of indigo eyes.

In spite of everything, he smiled. “Giyuu,” he murmured.

Giyuu felt his heart stop in his chest, his relief so intense it nearly paralyzed him. Kyojuro was looking at him. Kyojuro was alive. His world had crashed back into orbit again. He grabbed his friend by the arms and held him there tightly, desperate not to let him go again.

“Kyo! God—” Thank god, thank god you’re alright! I was so worried, I was lost without you! His throat was so tight he could hardly breathe let alone speak. “You’re awake.” He managed stupidly after a moment. Kyojuro opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out for a moment. For once, Giyuu actually spoke instead. “Kyo…” he found himself saying again.

Kyojuro lifted his head and tried to sit up, straining against the unbelievable pain that shook his entire body. He caught a glimpse of a large, blood-shadowed bandage over his abdomen before his forehead suddenly bumped into Giyuu. He must’ve been closer than he’d thought. The unexpected bump sent him back down against the bed with a groan. Giyuu still hadn’t taken his hands off of his arms.

“Please don’t try to get up.” Giyuu murmured. “Your depth perception is probably quite off.”

Kyojuro frowned at him and opened his mouth to ask why he’d say that, but another bright pulse of pain behind his left eye answered the question for him. Giyuu watched him with an expression Kyojuro had never seen him wear. His eyes were wide, tearful, endless. His pale lower lip trembled along with his hands, though he didn’t say anything. There was about a million things Kyojuro could ask: What happened? Where are the kids? How long has it been? He decided on something different.

“Kyo, huh?” He asked, his lips turning slightly upward into a smile. Giyuu stared. “Where’d that come from? I like it.”

Leave it to Kyojuro to say something like that at a time like this. That little smile on Kyojuro’s lips made Giyuu want to smile with him, to laugh and grab him tightly and never let him go. But he remembered the feeling of those lips against his, the taste of blood as he breathed for him, and the beginnings of his smile faltered. He came so close to never seeing that smile again. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on his shoulders so heavily that Giyuu dropped his head down and pressed his forehead against Kyojuro’s arm, as if in prayer. Overcome.

Kyojuro watched him and his heart ached. He’d never seen Giyuu this upset, or at least he’d never shown it this plainly. It seemed like a fairly strong reaction to a simple battlefield injury…there must be something more to this situation he didn’t understand. He called Giyuu’s name softly and waited for him to look up. “I’m alright.” Kyojuro said, softly for once, his throat dry and raw. “It’s alright.”

Giyuu looked up. “No, Kyo, you’re not. You were dead.” His brows fell heavily over his eyes in apparent anger. “I had to beat your heart for you, I—I had to breathe for you!” His voice was low, tightly measured because if he spoke any louder or with any more ferocity he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep tears from falling.

There was a brief silence while Kyojuro appeared to consider what he’d said. “And the train passengers? The kids?”

Giyuu’s eyes briefly widened in shock, but his brows were quick to pull down again. “Are you not hearing me? You were dead. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you aren’t dead now!” Kyojuro looked at him, still waiting for his answer. Giyuu’s frown deepened but the quiver in his lower lip betrayed him. “Will you worry about yourself, just for one moment?”

Though Giyuu had pulled away, Kyojuro still found an errant strand of his hair to curl between his fingers. “Why would I do that, when you do it so well?”

“Kyojuro, please.” Giyuu begged. “You—” he dropped his gaze again and struggled to conjure the words he meant. “You’ve been in a coma for more than three months. An upper rank had his arm through your solar plexus!” Kyojuro managed to look down at that shadowed bandage on his stomach, then back up at Giyuu as he continued.

“Kyo, you may never wield a sword again. You came very close to never breathing again! And I—” he snapped his mouth shut and averted his gaze from Kyojuro’s.

Still fighting through shockwaves of pain, Kyojuro watched as Giyuu stared at the bandage on his stomach. “Giyuu.” He said gently, cautiously. He knew Giyuu to have a temper, but he was acting differently than Kyojuro had ever seen, like there was something he needed to say but couldn’t find the words. “If I would have died, I would have done so gladly! It’s the risk we take as demon slayers—” he fell into silence as Giyuu looked back up again, his eyes filled with tears.

“Am I supposed to have been glad, too?” He asked bitterly. “You talk about yourself like your life is not worth anything! As if—” he stopped again. His breaths were coming faster and faster now. Giyuu did not continue, so Kyojuro did.

“My life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s…” he began. Apparently on a roll of surprising him, Giyuu cut him off.

“Well it isn’t worth any less, either!” He exclaimed, not shouting, but with an intensity that rivaled Kyojuro’s. “God you remind me of Sabito!” He added in a huff.

That stopped Kyojuro dead, all attempts at argument shut down. Giyuu never mentioned his family. Not even silently. He’d only learned he’d had a sister after they’d already known each other for more than a year. Sabito and Makomo he only learned of through Urokodaki. He watched Giyuu’s face and waited for him to continue. He did, though silently.

Giyuu looked down and shook his head, his brow furrowed. You’re making this so difficult. Kyojuro watched his jaw clench and unclench, his mouth opening for a moment before clamping shut again. I need to tell you something. Fat, heavy tears fell from his eyes and onto the backs of his hands, which tightened themselves onto the blanket near Kyojuro’s forearm. It’s killing me.

Looking down, head bowed, Giyuu was thinking of the bargain he’d made. If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything. He felt as overwhelmed as he was when he’d first come to the horrific scene at the train crash, his world spinning. His foolish and hopeful and frightened heart cracked deeper and deeper and threatened to come apart altogether as he tried to find the words to make Kyojuro understand.

It was a long time before Giyuu spoke aloud again, and when he did, his voice shook.

“Kyojuro.” he finally said. “You think to be brave is to be selfless. As if you have no regard at all for your own life. That isn’t bravery. It’s self destruction.” He remembered the feeling of Kyojuro’s ribs snapping beneath his hands. He remembered feeling Sabito’s, too. He couldn’t meet Kyojuro’s gaze, knowing without trying that the look he found there would burn his resolve away in an instant.

“You may think your life isn’t worth more than anyone else’s, but—” closing his eyes, Giyuu breathed out a sigh. “It is. To me.”

That was a surprise. Kyojuro stared at him, his shaking hands and the gaze that refused to meet his. He was even more surprised to find a faint pink blush spreading over Giyuu’s cheeks and nose.

They fell into silence while Kyojuro watched Giyuu’s blush deepen.

He’d always loved Giyuu the same way he loved anyone or anything else: loudly. My friend, how wonderful to see you! You always know how to make me laugh! Every compliment, every smile, Kyojuro was saying it over and over without ever saying it. I love you I love you I love you.

But Giyuu had never been the type to do anything aloud. He loved quietly, privately, almost invisibly if someone wasn’t paying attention. Knowing his order at their udon cart without asking. Stepping in front of him to spare him a strike from a demon. Gripping onto the blankets of his cot, unwilling to meet his eye, unwilling to let go. I love you I love you I love you.

Kyojuro was more than glad to allow their I love yous to remain unsaid, unspoken but still there, always there. He had become fluent in Giyuu’s body language, the soft silence that fell between them when they were together.

But now the silence was uneasy with tension, as if there was something aching to be said.

If you let him live, I’ll tell him everything, I swear.

“K-Kyojuro,” Giyuu began. And Kyojuro looked at him with those stunning, earnest eyes--eye--and Giyuu’s next words fell from his mouth in a huff. “Damn it,” he cursed, moving as he spoke, finally releasing the blanket and grabbing instead onto Kyojuro’s arm.

Before Kyojuro could ask what he needed to say, Giyuu had closed the distance between them, taken him gently but quickly by the sides of his face, and kissed him.

Kyojuro was so surprised he didn’t have time to move or react, just let Giyuu kiss him, his hands gripping tightly onto the sore sides of his bandaged face. Eyes wide open Kyojuro watched Giyuu’s brow pull up, his eyes tightly shut as if in great pain.

And he was. Giyuu had never felt such agony, such elation, such horror at feeling Kyojuro’s lips on his again. It had never occurred to him until that moment that Kyojuro may not feel the same as he did, that his friend—could he call him a friend?—may be shocked, or worse, disgusted. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, now that Kyojuro’s lips didn’t taste like blood anymore.

The ecstasy of finally letting out what had been clawing up the inside of his throat since the first moment he ever laid eyes on Kyojuro, bright and beautiful in the Master’s garden, and the fear of losing him, the trauma of coming very close, raged a battle in his chest that crashed through the rest of his body until he finally was forced to pull away, gasping.

Kyojuro didn’t dare speak, just watched as Giyuu slowly let his breath out and leaned back.

“I can’t lose anyone else I love.” Giyuu concluded. His voice was no louder than a whisper and yet it echoed through the room as if he’d shouted it. The fear eventually coming out on top in the battle raging in his aching heart, Giyuu tried to move fully away, to stand and brush off his haori and regain whatever dignity he had left. Once again Kyojuro’s hand came down on his wrist, stopping his escape.

Kyojuro stared into his face until Giyuu looked at him, marveling at what he’d just done. Kyojuro had known for a long time that he loved Giyuu. And he’d known that in his own, quiet way, Giyuu loved him too. But now he’d said the quiet part out loud. What bravery it must’ve taken. Kyojuro looked at Giyuu’s lips, pale and thin and pressed into a hard, nervous line. He looked down and stared at Giyuu’s wrist in his hand. He released it, but captured Giyuu’s hand instead.

He kissed the back of Giyuu’s hand, his fingers, the inside of his wrist, the back of his forearm, pulling him down and down again until their faces were inches from each other, indigo eyes meeting gold. All those times he’d watched Giyuu flush pink at something he’d said, all the tiny moments he’d noticed the tiny changes of expression on his face, and Kyojuro had never dreamed of kissing him. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he’d accepted long ago that they would always share something unspoken, and that would be enough.

They stared at one another, breathing heavy. Giyuu watched as Kyojuro’s eye traveled down his face and landed on his lips before Kyojuro pulled him down far enough to kiss him back.

It was as if he’d never been injured in the first place. All the pain that had rattled his ribs just moments prior was gone and it was a hundred times worse. His chest no longer ached and it ached more intensely than ever before. In fact he’d never felt more aflame, Giyuu’s icy cold lips on his burned away any other thought besides Giyuu’s name.

He felt Giyuu take a breath and relax against him. He felt his lips part slightly beneath his. And then in spite of himself, in spite of everything, Kyojuro smiled.

Giyuu felt Kyojuro’s lips turn upwards against his, then felt him shake slightly as he began to laugh. Giyuu opened his eyes and found Kyojuro’s closed in joy, his head thrown back as far as he could manage while still lying in a cot, laughter beginning to peel from him like church bells. If it were anyone else, Giyuu would assume they were mocking him. But not Kyojuro.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Giyuu murmured, resting his hand on Kyojuro’s cheek. Kyojuro tried to stifle his giggles and Giyuu realized how red his friend’s face had become.

“All that time,” Kyojuro began with a sigh. “All that time I wanted to kiss you…Who knew I had to do was die!” He laughed again despite the pain in his stomach. Giyuu frowned at him, trying very hard to be serious.

“That isn’t funny.” He chided. Kyojuro just laughed harder, louder, stronger, as if Giyuu’s kiss had healed him. Giyuu rolled his eyes, but for once he didn’t think about how close he’d come to never hearing that laugh again. He didn’t think about how Kyojuro’s eyes had been staring blankly up at nothing, how his golden skin had paled and his chest fallen still. That laugh was like the sun parting through clouds, and for once Giyuu just sighed and chuckled with him. The sound of his laughter made Kyojuro laugh even harder until they both devolved into giggles.

Since Kyojuro’s laughter was both very distinctive and quite loud, it was bound to attract attention as other inhabitants of the butterfly mansion began to follow the sound. Giyuu leapt nearly a foot in the air when he heard a voice from behind him.

“Mr. Rengoku?” Giyuu quickly moved back from Kyojuro, who released his hand, though both relaxed when they saw Tanjiro standing in the doorway, his eyes already filled with tears. “Mr. Rengoku!” Tanjiro shouted, and sprinted forward.

“Young Kamado!” Kyojuro grinned at the way Giyuu moved back to allow Tanjiro in beside him. “Ah, how good to see you!”

All Tanjiro managed to say was his name as his eyes welled with tears. Kyojuro put his hand on his head. “Don’t cry, I’m alright!” He said softly. “Besides, I don’t want you tearing that belly wound open again!”

Tanjiro looked up, then at Giyuu, whose face was neutral and measured. “Mr. Rengoku, my stomach is all healed. It’s been three months.”

“Ah. So it has.” Kyojuro shifted and tried to get a better look at the boy. Without speaking, or having been asked, Giyuu slid his arm beneath Kyojuro’s shoulders to help him sit up.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but let out another sob. “I’m so glad you’re alright! Mr. Tomioka hasn’t left your side since you got here!” Though escaping Tanjiro’s notice, Giyuu went bright pink and set his jaw. Kyojuro grinned at him.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He said softly, speaking to Tanjiro but looking at Giyuu as he helped him settle in the new, more upright position.

Next to follow the sound was Shinobu herself, who was so surprised upon appearing in the doorway to find Kyojuro looking up adoringly at Giyuu, holding him by the shoulders, his face bright pink, that she actually froze for a moment. It did not take her long to realize what Giyuu had done, and she smiled, blinking away tears. Finally.

Then she put her hands on her hips, blinked the tears away, and gave Giyuu the chiding of a lifetime for daring not to tell her that Kyojuro had awoken. Inosuke appeared next, already yelling, leaping onto the foot of Kyojuro’s bed and declaring Kyojuro the master of death itself. Zenitsu was quick to follow, carrying a half-awake and tiny Nezuko with him. Once her bright eyes fell onto Kyojuro’s she leapt from Zenitsu’s arms and joined Inosuke on the foot of Kyojuro’s bed, her delighted voice muffled by her muzzle but still clearly excited.

Any Hashira who wasn’t on a mission joined them. Mitsuri’s bright—if shrill—sobs of joy briefly drowned out anyone else’s attempt at speech, Sanemi sternly but firmly put his hand on Kyojuro’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tightly, Gyomei offered a prayer of gratitude. But the room stopped when Senjuro arrived. He stared at Kyojuro in the doorway for a long moment, as if disbelieving that he was really awake and breathing. It took both Shinobu and Giyuu to keep Kyojuro from leaping out of bed to greet him. Senjuro ended up sitting on the bed beside his brother, handing him letters that Giyuu had handed him and helping Kyojuro catch up on three months’ worth of missed correspondence.

It was only then that Kyojuro’s attention was jarred enough from Giyuu to look around at the scene surrounding his sickbed. On a table behind Giyuu was a stack of letters, cards, and notes. Beside the letters were gifts, wrapped in colorful paper or fabric, stacks upon stacks of bento, boxes of candy, several vases of flowers, several more wilted bouquets of lying on the floor beside his table. All of it had been carefully organized; The notes had all been gently unfolded and stacked in chronological order, the bottom boxes of bento had been opened, likely emptied of their contents before they could spoil--it had been three months, after all--rinsed and replaced on the table. The flowers had clearly been traded out for fresh ones each time the previous bundle wilted. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile even wider at Giyuu the more he noticed his work. There he was, saying it over and over without anybody but Kyojuro knowing. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Though typically Kyojuro never seemed to tire, he had just cheated death after all, and so much commotion from so many well-wishers was becoming difficult to keep up with. Shinobu was quick to pull rank even on other Hashira and clear the mansion out when she noticed his eyelids becoming heavy. Only Giyuu and Senjuro lingered while she caught Kyojuro up on his injuries.

“I'm sure you’ve already noticed the injury to your left eye. It was ruptured. We treated it with medicinal ointments and managed to close the wound, but your pupil doesn’t react to light anymore…I’m afraid that eye will be permanently blind.” Kyojuro nodded slowly, remembering feeling Giyuu changing the bandages there before he was fully awake, remembering how he’d bumped into Giyuu’s head with his new lack of depth perception.

Shinobu continued, though her voice became gentle and slow. “The wound to your solar plexus was the most severe. It went all the way through your torso and damaged your spinal cord.” She told Kyojuro. Senjuro and Giyuu had already heard this from her, but it hurt a little to watch Kyojuro’s reaction to the reality of his injuries. His eyes wandered down his own stomach, across the bandage, and toward his feet. “It caused damage to the nerves that control your left leg. So far it seems like it still moves, but I don’t know how strong it will ever be.”

You may never wield a sword again, Giyuu had told him. Kyojuro had breezed past the statement at first, just glad to be alive. Now, staring at his left foot and trying to wiggle his toes, finding with a strike of fear that he could only manage to move the foot a matter of millimeters, Kyojuro swallowed but set his jaw, stiff-lipped, trying to look strong in front of his brother.

“I see.” He managed.

Shinobu laid out an aggressive rehabilitation plan for him, to start as soon as he was ready, then parted with an oddly knowing look that made Giyuu squirm just a little. Nothing got past her. Senjuro lingered a bit longer, but as intuitive as he was, nothing really got past him either. He could see his brother’s head beginning to nod as exhaustion overtook him. And he could see the way it nodded toward Giyuu’s faithful and unwavering hand on his shoulder, his cheek falling against the back of Giyuu’s palm. Senjuro slid off of the bed and invented an excuse to leave, letting Kyojuro begin to drift. Before he left though, he met Giyuu’s eye.

“Thank you, Mr. Tomioka.” He said quietly. Giyuu nodded silently at him; he’d been thanked by Senjuro several times before during the blur of these three months, once the boy learned how his brother had managed to survive the battlefield. Senjuro’s eyes were on Giyuu’s pale hand as Kyojuro’s cheek fell against it. “Thank you for saving my brother.” Senjuro continued in a whisper.

Giyuu nodded again, though this time it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Senjuro left the two alone in the wing of the butterfly mansion, the light of evening turning gold around them. Giyuu nodded a third time, this time just to himself, because he couldn’t think of a way to say Kyojuro is the one who saved me aloud.

He felt Kyojuro sigh against him and looked down. Kyojuro’s good eye was open again, looking down at his own feet. “What’s going to happen?” He asked, mostly to himself, trying to move his defective left leg and frowning when he failed. After a moment he looked up to meet Giyuu’s gaze.

“I don’t know.” Giyuu admitted. With a defunct left leg and no depth perception, it was quite clear Kyojuro wouldn’t be wielding a sword any time soon, perhaps ever again. He’d be forced to retire as a Hashira. He swallowed and watched Kyojuro, who seemed to be thinking very hard.

He’d been born a Hashira, the blood was in him from the start. He’d always thought he’d die a Hashira, too. It wasn’t just the cornerstone of his identity but the very basis of it; everything else was built up from there. His entire concept of himself was going to crumble without his sword, without the flames curling from his lips as he wielded it. Without the knowledge, the certainty that he would eventually die in service of their cause. Now, Kyojuro didn’t know what he was going to die for.

Kyojuro looked into Giyuu’s eyes and watched them carefully as they began to shine. His ivory skin was glowing in the dying evening light, his hand was cool and soft against his cheek. He looked past Giyuu at the stacks of gifts on the table, the letters Senjuro had read for him and left for him. And he smiled. And he kissed Giyuu’s hand again and he smiled even wider, lips still against his cool skin.

“Me neither.” He said softly.

He did know what he was going to live for.

Evening fell into night with Giyuu by Kyojuro’s side, where he’d been all along and would be as long as he allowed him to remain. Their hands eventually entwined again, Kyojuro every so often kissing Giyuu’s as if in awe that he could. Each time Giyuu felt a little more faint. Each time he watched Kyojuro’s chest move up and down he relaxed a little more. By the time the sun had slipped down over the horizon Giyuu was practically asleep too, leaning against Kyojuro’s cot.

Kyojuro watched the back of Giyuu’s head, tiredly carded his hand through Giyuu’s mess of black hair, couldn’t keep from smiling.

“I love you.” He whispered aloud to Giyuu. Because he could just say it now, because he still had breath to whisper it into the dark room, because his heart had kept beating long enough to see Giyuu turn slightly to look at him, eyes heavy.

“I love you too.” He whispered back, aloud. The words came as easily as breathing now. He settled his head back against Kyojuro’s cot, keeping his neck craned back so he could look at him for just a little long before sleep overtook them both. I love you too, he said, silently.

#THERE IT IS LADIES AND GAYDIES AND STUPID PEOPLE!!!#kny #rengiyuu #rengiyuu wednesday RIDES AGAIN!#anyone who reads or comments: we shall have a summer wedding #this is a mess and incredibly long so maybe read it on ao3 so you can get the full thing?#also you should all know that this has inspired in me the Everybody Lives AU brainrot and now THAT has consumed my life #and i spent the last four hours drawing my post- As the World Caves In Kyo #no matter what he and giyuu obviously have Secret Relationship shenanigans #stay tuned for that next wednesday!

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historia-vitae-magistras · 8 months

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I am currently trying very very hard to be good and do my grad school work diligently. But then you posted and my willpower disintegrated.

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Rhys didn’t knock, he never did. Privacy hadn’t been much of a concept when they were young.

I love these little behaviors they keep and how... lived in? it makes them and the world feel. They've adapted to each new cultural norm to some extent, but some things from how they grew up stay with them. And there's also something about Rhys having this little quirk and Arthur remembering why he does that feels... I think intimate is the word I want? There are literally a handful of people on earth who'd even remember the era Rhys grew up in, and even fewer who went through it with him and would be able to connect those norms to his present behavior. IDK - point being I liked those lines a lot.

The world had long been spinning with Alfred as the axis, but a glance left, beyond him to Matthew and she let decades collapse and he suddenly had both of them in arm.

He squeezes them. Jack is so tall, warm and bundled into a sweater and unusually solemn. He’s too bloody big to hold properly but Arthur tries anyway, suddenly desperate for the certainty of the physical. But Zee he could still hold, if only barely. It was awkward, how long he held on. He didn’t want to let go. Three children in his sight, two in his arms. Three. That'd been normal once. No longer. Zee hugged him harder than she normally did, usually giving one quick and then slipping away. She knew what was in that box.

I can't quite wrap my head around what I want to say about this scene, but I will attempt.

The world's been spinning around Alfred because of actual geopolitical stuff. The British Empire collapsed and America became the center of the Anglophone world. That's a level that they as personifications operate on - politics does inform who they have relationships with and how those work. Jack and Zee aren't just more distant with Arthur and Matt because of all the messed up interpersonal stuff, but because politically Alfred is more relevant to their lives.

But that level isn't actually relevant here - whatever's going on with Alfred, it's not changing the way the world works. So this thing where they're reverting back to how it was as kids, with Arthur being dad and being able to hug them, that's purely on the emotional side. They're upset about Alfred going missing and they're falling back to the earlier dynamic, not because they've gone back to the geopolitical reality that created it, but purely because of emotions.

It's... I highly doubt I've managed to get a point across here, but it's a lot. Something about them being people with free will and individual emotions independent of what they represent, and also them being people who worry about each other and fall into old patterns when they're stressed even though the origins are fucked up and they're all fucked up too.

He jolted, seeing his second son, tall and sharp where his mother had been— His fist went down by his side. “There was some evidence—” He couldn’t quite say it.

Arthur is NOT having a good time lately. First they dig his corpse from the axe incident up, then mom appears when he's not ready for her, then it turns out Alfred's missing. And it's all connected. No wonder he's drinking so much, it's like someone sat down with the intention of crafting a scenario that would cause him as much emotional distress as possible. (Not that I'm accusing you or anything... XD) Also, I'M SO EXCITED THAT I CALLED THE AXE! I realized as I was reading that the title was definitely a clue, but whatever, I'm giving myself credit. I CALLED IT! And now I am bouncing off the walls waiting to figure out how Alfred's going to be relevant to this incredibly traumatic event in his father's history.

“He finally let them open up the back garden for a testpit hoping they’d find some old knickknacks and they found two corpses. And one’s him.” Rhys said.

Love that Arthur let the archaeologists in because he was hoping they'd do all the work to find some of his old stuff

Also love Rhys just casually explaining that this dig found two corpses and one belongs to the guy standing right there. I know their lives are weird, but that one's so weird that the casualness tips into absurdity.

Zee said more, arching her hand over his spine. He couldn't hear her words but he remembered that blow.

The description is, as ever, absolutely fantastic. I could really feel Arthur's stress and how he was getting lost in the trauma in that moment.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Arthur’s head turned sharply. Matthew was suddenly there, from nowehere. At his sister’s elbow, opposite Rhys. He’d put himself where he always been once upon a time. Between his father and his siblings. Mortar between the bricks.

Again, just... them reverting back to these dynamics is killing me. It wasn't a good thing that their "family" existed, and it sure as hell wasn't healthy (probably still isn't), but there's something about the way the world got knocked off its axis and they all fell back into it. In some ways it's sweet (because there is genuine, if very complex and uncomfortable affection) and in other ways it's unnerving because it's caused by Alfred's disappearance. They're all working together, in this fucked-up-but-very-effective unit, but there's also the constant reminder that it doesn't (shouldn't) work like this anymore and they're doing this because something's gone very wrong.

His hand went to his back and he conceded to gravity, falling into a chair. “I’ve dug up the back garden at thousand times since ten-eighty-something. My corpse hasn’t been rotting under the bloody tudor rose for a thousand years. Your brother slid out of reality and whatever that is,” He pointed to the bones. “Slid into it.”

I am absolutely hooked on this story for so many reasons. I want to know why they got swapped, I want to know why there was some kind of time delay where the bones arrived before Alfred got yeeted, I want to know how Alfred connects to that very specific trauma of Arthur's, and I am so fucking excited to see all of it play out with the Anglos trying to deal with not only an emotional situation, but an emotional situation where Arthur is one of the most affected. (And I'm desperately curious to know how Alfred fared after attempting to trade a NASA patch for a ride to the Ren fair... to a bunch of actual medieval warriors.)

This is fic is absolutely amazing and I am so glad you're continuing it, I love it so much!

THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭 new chapter soon I always feel rotten for answering late without having another one but 💚💚💚 thank you.

#the ask box || probis pateo #why i write #honestly your comments are just such a positive force you don't even know 😭#naxos

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whumpshaped · 5 months

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I'm probably super late & no pressure to respond but I want to share a scar story! (Maybe it can inspire writers who want to read a firsthand experience about some OUCHITY OUCH pain.)

I have a tiny straight line of a scar along the nail of my big toe. But the interesting bit is just, the painful part tbh. It's wild but might be squick. So again, no need to respond or read it all. Bail if it gets too squick. Nothing life threatening or gorey, just big ouchers.

(CW: I had a Matrixectomy/partial nail removal. But he forgot the local anesthetic.)

I was like 14 yrs old and had a really infected spot on my toe where my nail had become ingrown that kept getting infected again if I stubbed my toe etc. so my mom took me to a medical clinic & they performed a Matrixectomy. But without a local anesthetic.

So it's one nurse, one doctor guy and my mom. He just gets right to it after all of the tools are brought out and was pushing teeny mini scissors/cutters into the infected skin area that was really tender and painful by just barely walking on it, cutting a straight line on my nail to the base of the nail to remove the problem area. With No injection for numbing. I was like a 90lb stickboy of a beanpole but my mom had to help the nurse hold my legs down bc it was so hard to stay still and not roll around in pain. I tried not to cry too much and didn't scream bloody murder because I didn't want to inconvenience the doctor or freak my mom out but that shit HURT. Then he applied the acid with a q-tip or something that scars the area so the nail in that section doesn't grow back. That also hurt.

Once it was over I sat up and nearly passed out so they had to make me lay back down, & brought me a wet towel for my forehead. Once I was good to get up we walk out the door to pay or whatever, idr, I just know I almost passed out in the hall on the way to the counter, and then one more time in the parking lot before I got in the car to go home. The gauze was so tight my toe was throbbing, I was literally just writhing in pain on my mom's bed for 1 or 2 hrs till I loosened the wrapping and the pain finally went down enough that I could sleep it off with an Ibuprofen.

A couple weeks later the nail still curled into my skin and got infected again. 🫠 I nearly cried when I saw the pus it was gross and I didn't want to go through the procedure again, I was an anxious wreck over it. We go to another clinic, get told the first guy did it wrong/incorrectly somehow, then get directed to a podiatrist to fix it for real this time.

That podiatrist was the nicest doctor in the world. When the nurse brought out the tray with the tools right before they were going to start my eyeballs took one look at the instruments and just WEPT without my say-so. It didn't even feel like crying. It just felt like water coming out of my eyeballs without my consent. They were so understanding about it. 😭 I felt like I was being a big fat wuss, or a crybaby. But I was scared. "Sorry. I'm good. It just really hurt last time." And they'd heard the story so they knew so I was gonna trust them to NOT do that they reassured both my mom and I they'd make sure it didn't hurt.

Then he injected the local anesthesia to numb my toe and get to work. All I felt was him vaguely pushing my toe around for a better angle and a little bit of pressure and then bam. It was over and done. 0 pain whatsoever. It was fuckin INCREDIBLE. 20/10 experience.

IDK why that first guy kept going when the patient was clearly in so much pain or distressed he had to be held down. I was like 14. >:( But it makes for a good story to tell.

& that's my traumatic scar horror story of the smallest scar I have. :D

THATS INSANE. SOME DOCTORS ARE SO DUMB AND SHOULD NOT BE PRACTISING. also yeah i know abt this procedure bc .. i obsessively watch videos w it.. dont even. dont even say anything. i know. i know.

im soooo sorry u went thru that shit thats so bad. but im glad it got fixed later.

#i had smth cut out of my foot when i was younger that idk the name of in english but i can confirm the local anaesthesia part #it rly does numb the area #but the needle was fucking huge my mom said she was waiting for it to just go thru my entire toe and come out the other side lmfao #anyway i also didnt make a sound bc i was afraid of inconveniencing the doctor #i do that w every doctor ever #im a horrible patient #they tell me 'hey let me know if it hurts' and im like ok :D and then stay silent. so silent.#im just so afraid of being a nuisance #ANYWAY #asks #scar stories and gore stories

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declanowo · 8 months

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31 Days of Horror - Day 12 - Martyrs

12/10/23

I begin most mornings at the moment by spinning the wheel to see which film I will watch - I like to know when I should start the film, for example, if I land on a three hour long movie, I won’t start it at midnight. Today when I first landed on Martyrs, I respun the wheel. After everything I had heard about this film, I felt that it wasn’t the best day to watch it, as before I had a family dinner out which I knew would leave me exhausted, therefore, something easier and lighter would be far nicer.

After landing on another film I wanted to watch, Blood Rage, which was exactly the type of movie I was hoping for, I thought about the free time I had today as a result of looking after my friend's cat, who is bound to my bedroom, and therefore, I am too. After sitting on it for a while, I decided to watch both! And I am glad I did :)

Martyrs is a French film directed by Pascal Laugier. The plot is ever changing as it unfolds, and has been hailed as one of the scariest horror movies ever. I see that perspective, although it feels like a weird and impossible thing to award a film. I believe I have also seen Sinister called the scariest movie ever during a long survey, which I bring up because of how different these films are! I’m curious whether people find Sinister scary solely for the jumpscares, which are amazing, or also the plot too? I think it is primarily the jumpscares, which mirrors Martyrs, which I think people find so scary because of how visceral and gross the gore is. It paired nicely with Blood Rage, which has super fun and bloody kills, whereas this film has very bloody and disgusting kills. I find the way a film can frame kills super interesting, based on how the effects are done, how long it lingers etc… Usually, slashers have creative deaths where you don’t linger on the action, they aren’t drawn out or too gross to imagine, but they’re fun to watch, and can still make you wince. There is not a single death in Martyrs that is fun.

I want to start by discussing the way the films acts work - they are incredibly divisive amongst the reviews I have read, and weirdly enough that is the most common criticism, as opposed to the fiendish gore that Saw is often criticised for! Anyway, the film's acts feel unpredictable as far as where the story goes, but I would argue the film never loses its tone, nor its purpose! The first act is a home invasion style film, where we follow a family that appears sweet and innocent as their house is broken into, and they are subsequently killed. For starters, this is such a fun juxtaposition to the grim cold open, showing our protagonist as a child, escaping from the abusive group we learn more about later in the movie. We go from that gritty exposition, to a timeskip which shows us a happy family, to a sudden series of murders. Watching the parents die, you begin to understand their innocence may not be whole, yet as we watch Lucie kill the families two children, the sequence is long, uncomfortable and deeply dark, yet unlike a film such as Cannibal Holocaust, which I will say I haven’t seen, this doesn’t feel like gore for gores sake. It was born in the New Extremity era of filmmaking, which was especially popular in France, and that shines through. My bottom line is that the gore doesn’t feel unnecessary here, it’s uncomfortable, but it is purposeful.

Quickly, I will mention that while many people liken this film to being a part of the New Extremity Wave of films, it lacks many key features of these films. The most glaring, is the absence of any sexual violence or messaging, the former I was relieved to find out, and only watched the film after researching if there was any. Ultimately, the film does retain some features from this wave, such as having a female lead, as well as centering around women as a whole, alongside the theme of spectatorship. Okay so after writing all this, I read an article that says the director in fact denounces the likening of the film to the wave of filmmaking, but I will leave it in as a result of the constant comparisons. He instead discussed this film being about a world that rotted a long time ago, which I think is a perfect explanation of the film.

Returning to the first act, we also are introduced to our protagonist, Anna, played by Morjana Alaoui. Both our leads (for this act) are excellent, showing a contrasting conflict as they deal with revenge, and who they want to be. Their relationship is also deeply interesting to me, given how little we see of it. As of yet, I haven’t been able to decide whether they are friends or lovers, Lucie is dismissive of their kiss early on, while a later phone call from Anna’s mother indicates that they are together. Either Way, I think they work well off of eachother, and have very interesting differing views.

My final thoughts on this act are left with the visions Lucie has, which are grotesque and excellent, some real fun imagery of the corpse that follows her around, attempting to kill her, and I didn’t find Anna’s dismissal of this lifelong plague Lucie has had to live with to be too bad, although thinking about it more kind of bugs me - like why not just believe she is seeing this?!

In the second act, we follow the two as they inhabit the house over night, and as Lucie deals with the vision returning. I really enjoy this section of the film, just watching them live while disputing what is best to do. Sure, it feels somewhat strange as to how lax they are about not leaving the house, but I don’t mind too much! The attempted clean up and realisation that the matriarch of the family is still alive is terrifying, as she sees a glimmer of hope, before Lucie snuffs out her life. Truly, it is dark, and the film offers no more signs of hope for anyone, as Lucie wrestles with her demon, until eventually, we watch her slit her own throat.

Despite how dark this film is, I never felt bad while watching it, which a film like Human Centipede did make me feel. Once again, intent is the key point for me! Martyrs is exposing you to a dark and twisted world, and while we don’t yet understand quite what the meaning of all this is, it does have one. In contrast, The Human Centipede seeks only to shock you, it is designed to make you feel uncomfortable, and nothing more, which isn’t my kind of film at all!

The third act follows the reveal of the torturous group, but not before one of the most spine curdling sequences! Inside the house, we find a basement, where a person is being kept. Their body is withered, but the more frightening aspect is that she has a metal clasp nailed into her eyes. Gross. After this, the group’s goal is revealed, their scale is vast and all the more terrifying! Having the film open up more works nicely in its favour, the horror is amplified when we understand that they are attempting to create a Martyr, a person who can see beyond death through torture. Knowing that they started over fifteen years ago, makes this even more chilling as we are left imagining how many people have been placed into this system.

For me, the three act structure works perfectly, each one offers us something new and different, yet they all flow together perfectly. I think of it similarly to 28 Days Later, where we switch locations and tones three distinct times, which aids in the character's development, and the scale of the scenario.

Before moving onto a more general overview, I want to mention the ending, which delivers on everything I had hoped it would. The montage of Anna growing stronger, repeating the words of Lucie in her head is deeply moving and powerful; the eventual conclusion to the film is hideously dark, and I love it.

Martyrs is a weird film, it’s one that isn’t created to make you happy or fulfil you - some of the time I was clueless as to what I was being told, yet it was sharing something, and I like it for that.

After watching the film I went to my family dinner, the tables surrounding us were filled to the brim with old people! All I could think about while I was there was the ending to the movie, as all the elderly people await their martyr that will never deliver her vision. I already know this one will latch onto me, in the short time since watching it, I can already feel its effects shiver down my spine.

7/10

#halloween #horror #horror movies #creative writing #literature #reviews #review #martyrs #2000s

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nilthonsjapaneselitblog · 1 year

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Week 11 Blog

86 Eighty-Six

Asato Asato

Pages read 191- 240

Word Count: 389

Summary

After the Spearhead squadron got their final mission—the remaining five out of 24 members marched to their deaths—or rather, to their freedom. However, they had one more challenge before they continue walking through this hell also known as battlefield. They had to win against the first line of the Legion; led by a Shepherd that took after Shin’s late brother, Rei. Seeing that Shin was about to get killed by his brother, Lena fired the Republic’s cannon directly toward them; however, she appealed to Rei’s love for his brother, which led to him sacrificing himself to protect Shin. However, even while they won the battle without losing anyone, this was still the final goodbye between them and Lena. After two long years—in which the Republic fell for its own arrogance and laziness—Vladilena(now also known as Bloody Reina), finally made it to her squadron’s final resting place. (147)

Critical Analysis

“‘Don’t leave me behind.’” This quote while being short has an incredibly deep meaning. These were, in fact, the last words Lena said to her squadron. It shows how important they had become for her, how much she wanted them to stay and not walk to their deaths and how these feelings led her to unconsciously try to create chains to bind them to her. This, however, triggered both an event and a realization Lena hadn’t foreseen. Hearing her words, the Spearhead squadron finally truly smiled to Lena, seeing her now like a little sister rather than their oppressor. And Lena finally understood their position "For them, freedom meant being able to decide where you died and willingly choosing to travel down that path.” (125)

Personal Response

When I first started reading, I knew some of the characters might die since the story takes place on the battlefield, but I would’ve never considered that the Spearhead squadron’s fate was decided the moment it was assembled. And that fate was meant to be their execution ground. So yeah, it ended up being pretty much a sad story. The way their final resting place was reached only after two long years—considering that they had died within a month after parting ways with Lena—makes me feel deep respect and appreciate their characters more. Since there are only 10 pages left from the book, this is pretty much how it ends. Or is it? (113)

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yanderes-galore · 2 years

Note

dude.. i loved your concept for the emotional reader and yandere ghostface! could i possibly request something short? like a short fic, yknow?

(after reading it i immediately rushed to ask-)

Alright, sure 😄 Again, Ghostface is not specified so I will keep it general. Sorry for the wait!

Tears

Yandere! Ghostface Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Yandere behavior, Possessive behavior, Implied dub con actions, Obsession, One-sided fixation, Stalking, Blood, Threats, Sadism, Unhealthy relationship, Implied murder.

It was every night. Every night was a new way to torment you. All by some masked psycho who loved to see your emotions.

They loved it when you put on a show. Your face morphing into all sorts of expressions. Fear, anguish, anger, sadness, and acceptance once their visit was over.

By the end of it there were always tears. The knife pressed to your skin always reminding you of how helpless you were against them. That mask they wear always being a sign of terror.

Some nights they came to you clean, their black shroud clear of any stain. As if they came to you first before getting their hands dirty.

Other times, more often than not, they came to you dirty and soaked. They showed no care about their current appearance. Your fear only seemed to edge them on.

"You've been good I assume? You haven't made any attempt towards the police yet. That's good... It would be a shame if our fun had to end."

You never knew if your tormentor was a man or woman. They had a good way of hiding their true voice and never removed their mask past their mouth.

They acted like a ghost, watching you from the darkness. If you made any attempt to call for help you'd quickly be silenced. So now you were at a stalemate to put up with whatever they felt like throwing your way.

"I've missed you since our last visit."

They'd coo that line over and over. Despite the fact the last visit tended to be the previous night. They could never stay away long.

Blood from their gloves smears onto your face when they hold you close to their mask. You cringe softly, earning a chuckle from them.

"You look even cuter this way! So vulnerable to me... no wonder I love you."

'Love' wasn't a word you'd call it. You didn't know anything about them except their behavior. Even then it was vague, their 'affection' incredibly one-sided.

Fixation, obsession felt more like it. Their constant visits were not romantic for many reasons. You didn't know them, they were armed, and they were almost always bloodied.

Yet you didn't have the guts to interrupt their little 'fantasy'. Not when their knife pressed against your back in silent warning. Especially not when they lifted their mask ever so softly to kiss your lips.

"I can never get enough of you. Every little whimper, every little scream... I want to have it all. This is why you're mine!"

They were a poison you had no choice but to build a tolerance to. In your position you were better off letting them make you cry. Your family was safer that way.

In this unfortunate reality, everyone but you was happy.

"Unfortunately, I must go. Do wait for me, dear..."

As if to remind you of your lack of choice, their knife gleams beside you. You don't bother moving except to sniffle. A kiss is pressed to your cheeks before they lean towards your ear.

"I'll know if you don't."

#yandere slasher #yandere slashers #yandere ghostface #yandere dead by daylight #yandere scream

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guardianofrivendell · 3 years

Text

A Royal Tease

Thorin x fem!reader

Requested: kind of - this was a favor to a very special person!

Warnings: NSFW with an E rating, so please only read if you’re 18+!

A/N: Wowee... that was a ride! Writing smut is definitely NOT the same as reading it :) Let me know how I did it and if I should write more smut in the future. I still feel like it jumps from here to there sometimes, but the longer I worked on it, the worse it got so I decided to stop editing and throw it on here 🙈

Before you start reading, another friendly reminder that English is NOT my first language, so if some sentences feel forced or the vocabulary feels too simple or not descriptive enough, that’s why!

Thorin was lying on his back in the sand, eyes closed and panting heavily.

“Another one!” he growled after a few seconds. “Are you sure you can take another one? Married life sure is taking a toll on ya!” Dwalin teased, getting in his starting position again. He rolled his muscles and Thorin could hear his bones crack. Dwalin was enjoying this far too much.

Thorin might be losing his touch, but Mahal be his witness, he would never admit defeat. He couldn’t give Dwalin the satisfaction. So he pushed himself back up while muttering a line of very colourful words, ready to smack that smirk of his best friend’s face.

These late night sparring sessions with Dwalin were a godsend to get rid of the tension and frustration in his body, but that didn’t mean he would let him off the hook so easily.

Wiping the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand, he walked towards the opposite side of the training field. His tunic clung to his body, dripping with sweat so Thorin decided to take it off.

“What in Durin’s name are those?” Dwalin’s voice boomed across the field.

Thorin immediately held his tunic in front of him, as if he had been caught doing something that he shouldn’t. He completely forgot about them.

“S’none of your business,” he muttered.

“As your personal guard it is my bloody business, Thorin,” Dwalin retorted, making his way towards his King.

“Who gave ya those bruises?”

Thorin stared at his best friend and felt his cheeks flush. He could see Dwalin’s thoughts take a turn for the worst, blaming himself for his King’s injuries. But he couldn’t tell him the truth, could he?

“You were not the one who caused them,” Thorin said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Then who did?” he pressed on.

“Leave it, Dwalin.”

But Dwalin was quicker and snatched the shirt out of his hands so the bruises were visible.

“Thorin…”

Dwalin’s eyes traveled over the King’s bare chest. His pecs, abs and hips were covered in dark purple bruises, each one of them the size of a gold coin. His eyes landed on the waistband of Thorin’s breeches and it looked like the bruises didn’t stop there.

“I’m supposed to protect ya, Thorin. Who mistreated you like this?”

Thorin kept his eyes focused on Dwalin’s, as if he wanted to have a staring match. Dwalin could see the internal battle his King was fighting, before Thorin broke eye contact and turned around to put his tunic back on.

“They’re Y/N’s alright,” he hissed, without looking at him.

Dwalin stood completely shocked for a few seconds, before he balled his fists and almost bristled in anger.

“Dam or not, she can’t treat ya that way, Thorin,” he said through clenched teeth.

Thorin placed his hands on Dwalin’s shoulders to calm him down.

“No, my friend. No, it’s not like that at all… They happened during…” Thorin took a deep breath and lowered his voice in case someone could overhear. “During our lovemaking.”

Dwalin’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide. But he didn’t back off like Thorin had expected. If any, it peaked his interest.

“She hurts ya for… Pleasure?”

Dwalin’s nose scrunched up, like the thought of someone hurting their One for pleasure was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. Which, in his humble opinion, it most certainly was.

“In her world what happens at night is a lot more... interesting, to give it a name. We’ve been missing out, Dwalin. You can trust me on that.”

“But she hurts ya?” he repeated.

Thorin chuckled. “Believe me, it doesn’t hurt one bit. On the contrary...”

They started walking out of the training halls, their sparring session long forgotten.

Thorin knew it might not be appropriate to discuss his love life so openly with his friend, but he was almost certain Y/N wouldn’t mind and he felt relieved he could finally talk to someone about it.

“You don’t know half the things she’s capable of, Dwalin… The way her hands feel when she… Mahal!” Thorin groaned at the memories of your late night activities.

“Easy there, lad,” Dwalin chuckled. “Ya don’t want to ruin those trousers too, aye?”

Thorin shoved him in a playful jest, but the seasoned warrior didn’t even budge. He shook his head, tutting at the poor attempt of his King. “Pathetic.”

While they were walking towards the Royal wing of the mountain, Thorin told his friend about some of the things he learned the last few weeks.

Dwarrows were a bit old fashioned in the bedchambers, or ‘rather prude’ as Y/N had called it, and she helped him discover a different side of himself.

By the time Thorin had told Dwalin about the different positions he definitely should try besides the classic one, they’d reached the heavy double doors of Thorin’s chambers and Dwalin’s cheeks had turned a few shades darker.

Dwalin halted and nodded at the guards posted at each side of the door.

Thorin opened the door and the right corner of his lips twitched. He was still a bit agitated that he couldn’t beat his friend on the grounds but there was always another way to get the upper hand...

“Oh and Dwalin… They use their mouth too.”

“Well I may hope so, it’s hard to kiss without yer lips,” he said, not understanding what Thorin meant.

“Not for kissing, Dwalin. Not only for kissing.”

Thorin closed the door, leaving a speechless and heavily flustered Dwalin in the hallway.

When he turned around with the intention of entering his chambers and relaxing for the night, someone forcefully pressed his back against the door and pulled his face down in a heated kiss.

It only took him a fraction of a second to wrap his arms around his wife and happily return the kiss, not wasting any time with deepening it by swiping her bottom lip with his tongue. He felt her smile against his lips and she broke the kiss.

“Eager, are we?”

“I do recall it was you who couldn’t resist me, ghivashel, you didn’t even let me come in properly,” Thorin chuckled, keeping his arms tightly wrapped around her while he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

In the meantime, her hands started traveling on their own, making their way over his broad shoulders and upper arms, before finally settling on his chest. His tunic was still damp from his earlier activities and left nothing to the imagination. Not that she needed to imagine it, she knew exactly what he was hiding underneath. What was hers…

Y/N smiled. “I can’t greet my husband after a day’s hard work?”

She reached up and caught his lips in another kiss. Thorin hummed softly.

“Aye,” he said, his hands lingering on her back, but he couldn’t resist slowly lowering them towards the delicious curve of her buttocks. He gave them a firm squeeze and pulled her flush against his body.

Y/N could feel someone else greeting her. “Well hello to you both,” she smirked.

Even though she knew Thorin was that kind of dwarf who gets easily aroused - which was incredibly fun during meetings and official visits - he still caught her off guard with how fast his soldier could report for duty.

“We’re at your service, little one,” he said, lowering his voice.

Licking her lips in anticipation, Y/N grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it upwards. Thorin raised his arms and helped her get the tunic off his body, carelessly tossing it aside. His breathing growing heavy already with the adrenaline still in his body from the earlier workout.

His trousers and undergarments were next, she tugged at the laces and let the fabric pool around his ankles.

She took a few steps back and took the time to admire the view before her. His silver and black hair screaming at her to get her hands in, so she could tug it just the way he liked it. The dark hair dusted across his broad chest, trailing down towards his V line and circling around his member. The bruises her lips left the night before stood out on his skin, proof of her claim on him. Thorin was absolutely stunning. A work of art.

“Like what you see?” he hummed, his voice still a deep rumble, hitting her right in her core. Mahal, bless that voice!

“Always,” she whispered.

When she turned around and started walking away from him, Thorin grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

“You’re not going to leave me like this, are you,” he growled.

He knew she was capable of it, she’d done it before. There was nothing his wife liked more than teasing him and leaving him hanging for a while. According to her it was fun, she liked getting him all riled up, but for Thorin it was absolute torture. He wasn’t used to not getting things when he wanted them.

“Easy tiger, I was just going to draw you a bath.”

Thorin sighed deeply when he reclined in the tub, the warm water soothing his aching muscles.

“Feels good?” Y/N smiled, getting a washcloth ready.

He nodded and hummed softly, closing his eyes. His nose filled with the scent of the burning wood from the fire and lavender from the bathwater, and combined with the warm temperature of the water it made him finally relax.

She sat down behind the bathtub and took the bottle of oil for his hair. Y/N brought the opened bottle close to her face, smelling the herbal fragrance. She inhaled it deeply, loving the smell because it reminded her of Thorin. Her husband. Her King.

“I’ll start with your hair.”

She poured a little oil on her hands and rubbed them together to spread it evenly. Her fingers purposefully moved around his scalp, working in small circular motions. He moaned when she added just the right amount of pressure to massage the oil in his hair and again when she started delivering gentle strokes around his ears and neck. With a cup she poured hot water over his hair to rinse it. Thorin kept his eyes closed when she was finished, his body completely relaxed and at peace.

Seeing how he turned into mush under her skilled hands, made washing Thorin’s hair something Y/N loved to do. It was not her favorite part… no, that part came up next.

She leaned over and pressed a kiss below his ear, and took the washcloth from the side of the tub. Carefully pouring some oil on it, she kneaded the cloth until it was properly soaked, before she let it glide over his chest.

A smile played around her lips when Thorin groaned as soon as she started massaging his muscles with the cloth, washing away the tension in them.

Her hands let the washcloth glide over the muscles in his arms, shoulders and legs, adding enough pressure to work the knots out, leaving no skin untouched.

Except the part where he needed her touch the most.

Every time she came close, Thorin bit his lip in anticipation but she always changed direction or directed her attention elsewhere. He grew more and more desperate, she noticed. So far so good.

“What were you and Dwalin talking about?” she asked, curious about the subject of their conversation.

Thorin opened his eyes, but couldn’t meet hers.

“Ah… yes. Well, I may have taken off my tunic during our sparring session tonight.”

Oh. So Dwalin got curious, she thought. She abandoned the washcloth, letting it float around the water.

“I bet he had some questions about these?”

Her finger started trailing the contours of the bruises. First in a faster circular motion, but as she got closer to his hips she slowed her pace down and adjusted the pressure to nothing more than a feather-light touch.

Thorin closed his eyes again and let his head fall back against the sloping side of the tub. His breath came quicker and when her eyes wandered down his stomach, she was pleased to notice his member was back at full attention again. When she let her finger linger near the tip, she could hear him hold his breath in anticipation.

“What did you tell him?”

But Thorin didn’t give her an answer, too focused on her movements and ministrations. She was so close, just a little more to the left...

But instead of doing what he wanted her to do - and she knew he was desperate for it, her teasing and lingering touches had made him wild with desire - she changed direction again and traced the inside of his thigh and pelvic bone, purposefully ignoring his hard on.

“Tease!” he groaned, clutching the edge of the tub in frustration.

Y/N raised an eyebrow in question. “A tease? Me?”

She stood up, clutching her chest like she was actually shocked by his accusation.

“I would never,” she smirked, and Thorin loved the way her eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to tell me what you told Dwalin.”

“I merely gave him some advice based on our experiences, ghivashel. I believe master Dwalin will keep his flushed cheeks for the remainder of the week. Serves him right.”

Satisfied with his answer, she turned to grab a towel, dropping it on a nearby chair for him to use later.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Her eyes lingered on his pulsing cock for a few seconds before she winked at him. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much.”

Before she could leave him, he called out to her.

“The least you can do is give me another kiss.”

Y/N smiled and leaned down to peck his nose.

“No, a kiss worthy of a king,” he groaned.

But when she leaned further down to press her lips on his, she missed how his eyes held the same twinkle hers did a few moments ago…

Before she knew it, Thorin had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her on top of him. Their movements made the water splash everywhere and Y/N shrieked when her dress got soaked with the bathwater.

“Oakenshield,” she growled, pushing her off his chest with her hands and settling in his lap.

She enjoyed the lustful clouding of his eyes when she moved just the slightest, giving him the friction he longed for.

“Always trying to get what you want,” she reprimanded him.

“Can you blame me?”

His hands drifted admiringly over her body, following the curves of her bossom and hips.

“Yes!”

He was taking over control and she had to stop it before she gave in. With some difficulty she managed to climb out of the tub and wrung the water out of the dress of her skirt, turning the bathroom floor in a small pond. Seeing as Thorin made no move to get out of his bath or apologize, Y/N decided to take the teasing to a higher level.

Keeping her back to her husband, she slowly unhooked the fastings of her dress and let it drop to the floor with a slap. She heard the sharp intake of Thorin’s breath and the slosh of the water when he sat up.

Oh, that’s right… Did she forget to mention she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? Oops…

He wasted no time in getting out of the bath, not even bothering to take a towel to dry himself. The only thing on his mind was to get to his wife as fast as possible.

She whimpered when their bodies clashed together, the evidence of his arousal poking between her butt cheeks. His lips attacked her neck, and she was almost certain the firm grip of his fingers on her waist would leave bruises the next day. Not that she minded.

He guided them into their bedroom, and when the back of her knees touched the bed frame, her mind cleared and she tutted at him.

“Since when are you in charge, yâsûn?”

He cupped her breasts, softly kneading them and letting his thumbs flick over her nipples. He lowered his head to take one in his mouth, not stopping his caresses on the other one.

Y/N sighed and let her head fall on her shoulder, her hand finding its way in his hair. His damned mouth...

“I don’t hear you complain,” he smirked.

She certainly didn’t complain when he slid one of his thick, calloused fingers between her folds, and Thorin moaned when he felt how slick she already was.

“You’ve been enjoying your teasing,” he accused her. “All this for me?”

She grabbed his length and he hissed at the sudden contact. She stroked a few times to spread the precum, and when her thumb flicked the head it took all his strength not to come all over her hand right that minute.

“I couldn’t stay behind with all this for me...” she smirked.

With a growl he connected their lips again. His wife knew exactly which buttons to press and he both loved and hated it. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed her thighs and squeezed them, urging her to jump up. Y/N did as asked - which surprised Thorin - and locked her ankles behind his back to keep her balance.

Not bothering to clear the furs from the bed, he laid her down on top of them, her hair sprawled out on the pillows.

She bit her lip when she noticed how his eyes had darkened even further, Thorin looked like he could devour her any minute. She didn’t realise how close to the truth she was. Maybe he needed another round of teasing...

Before she could follow through with her plan, Thorin took the lead.

He flipped her on her stomach, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto him, all in one fluent move. It was a position they only did once before but he had already claimed it as his favorite.

Knowing what he wanted, she placed her knees on either side of his hips and let her back rest against his front. The hairs on his chest rubbed deliciously against her soft skin and she had a hard time staying still. The muscles in his thighs and stomach were rock hard, just like her toy in between. Y/N’s hand went up his hair and tugged it harshly when her clit came in contact with his cock.

“Are you ready for me, little one?”

His voice got even lower if that was possible, the words wrapping around her like a silky smooth blanket. If he kept talking like that, it would be over for her before they even began.

“Thorin, please,” she begged.

“I thought you liked teasing?” he chuckled.

She grabbed his member, guiding it to her entrance and lowered herself down in an attempt to shut him up, a desperate moan falling from her lips when their hips connected. Thorin tightened his grip on her. She felt absolutely divine.

“Only when I’m the one doing it,” she gasped, enjoying the feeling of being stretched out.

One of his arms slid around her stomach and settled between her legs, circling her clit with his thumb when he began to thrust upwards.

They soon found a steady rhythm, and Y/N could feel her orgasm building quickly.

No, too soon, she thought and she slowed down the pace, slapping his hand away from her clit.

She leaned forward, keeping her body up with her hands on the furs. The new angle made her feel every inch of him and a loud moan escaped her throat.

This is what she had been craving the entire day.

She raised her hips until only his tip was inside of her and then lowered herself down, agonizingly slow.

“You’re such a good girl for me. Mahal, keep going, do not stop!”

She loved it when he got vocal, and with each curse and praise he murmured, she felt herself getting closer to her release.

Thorin noticed her change in breathing and pitch of her moans and sped up the pace.

This was all feeling too good and with the help of his encouragements she came undone, clutching the furs until her knuckles turned white.

He cursed heavily when she clamped down on him, but did his best to help her ride out her high. He kissed her neck and stilled his movements to give her a break, only resuming them when she nodded that she was okay.

As he began to thrust even harder and faster, Thorin gathered her hair in one hand to keep her in place, his other hand firmly on her waist while he chased his own release. His moans became increasingly louder, less controlled with each thrust and a curse escaped his lips.

“You feel too good, ghivashel, m’not going to last,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

He came with a shout and a cutoff curse but kept thrusting in and out of her until he felt himself soften. When he finally pulled out, he covered her back in kisses.

Y/N laid down on the bed and opened her arms for him to cuddle. Both their bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and it took them a while to catch their breath.

These were the moments when she felt the safest. In his arms, in the after bliss of their lovemaking, listening to the soft and even breathing of her husband. She kissed his head and trailed the muscles of his upper back with her finger, earning her a content sigh from Thorin.

A chuckle escaped her throat and he looked up at her questioningly.

“Now you have something new to tell Dwalin,” she said with a wink.

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

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theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

Text

Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd. When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life. They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene. For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey. Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him. With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did. “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face. She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.” Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well. So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit. “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.” For that, she received a slap on her arm from him. “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.” That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

“Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.” With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise. And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something. But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had. “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms. In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head. She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have. And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant. Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all. Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever. He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her. The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her. Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her. That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last. He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him. Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend? Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’ Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others. Bring Back Manly Men. At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life. “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.” Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?” “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.” “Why?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.” “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?” “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.” He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen. Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle. Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had. Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.” At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!” “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?” “You’re a menace.” Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.” His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head. For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?” Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.” “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.” She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!” “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?” “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.” Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?” “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?” “Deal.” “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“ But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call. She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her. When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox. “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.” He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.” “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after. “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.” That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.” “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.” “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.” The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’. To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N. The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck. I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing. Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.” “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.” But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything. Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word. He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on. But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself. Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone. Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.” That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?” “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.” “What? Why?” “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.” Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.” “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip. She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?” “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood. “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.” Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.” It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time. Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.” She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’ Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry. Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings. As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked. “Have you even slept, Har?” “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.” Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.” “I know, but I will.” Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over. She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head. “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?” But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around. “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two. Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?” “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.” Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?” “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.” Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her. All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together. Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course. For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together. As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot. No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to. A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing. “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.” She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest. Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set. This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’. Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?” “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?” “I told you I would!” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.” Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?” “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.” “That’s what friends do.” “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?” And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do. The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest. His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face. She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.” Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.” “And you’re a living furnace.” “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?” The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.” For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work. “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.” He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?” “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.” “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves. “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.” Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.” “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?” “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?” She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?” “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?” “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.” “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.” Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back. It was then or never. Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart. “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?” “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.” Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.” “Oh.” That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.” At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session. In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible. As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers. “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded. “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.” Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it. “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.” “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp. “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.” But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on. The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her. But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.” Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.” And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment. “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him. “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.” “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.” “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.” But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?” “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…” Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!” And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes) – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15 @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission.

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biisexualemma · 3 years

Text

helping hands. peter parker

word count: 2.6k

warnings: blood / open wounds / lots of hurt / sad / talk of insecurities all that kinda stuff

request: Hi, first off your writing is incredible!!! I just finished the home series two days ago! However, I had a request that came to mind from reading part 4 specifically!Could you possibly write something to where the reader gets in a really bad fight or possibly fights crime low-key that Peter doesn't even realize they do it. And so they get pretty beat up and they stumble into peter's bedroom one night bc he's the only one they can think of to help them. (You can maybe include where Peter in the past has done the same thing to reader/helped take care of him under similar circumstances) So he helps take care of y/n while at the same time learns about this double life of the reader. You could possibly include like aspects of the home series/part 4 (the belly kisses hehe) bc he only has so much medical experience in hand. And it goes from angsty (like the reader has bad wounds and is just overwhelmed by being so badly hurt) to fluff/sweet (Peter helps calm their nerves, soothes/ helps heal the reader, and is the sweetest bean known to man kind? Only if you want to of course , hehe !!'

a/n: of course i want to!!!! this request is literally right up my street, i live and die for this shit loool thank you so much for this request i really enjoyed writing it! just sorry it took me so long! sorry i’m shit at posting these days! but enjoy! lmk what you think pls!

masterlist

you clung to your side, your bottom lip trembling as you let out a soft whimper. you lifted your free hand and knocked carefully against the glass, before moving to hold yourself up against the wall. peters head swivelled around at the soft knock, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you hanging around on his fire escape. what the hell he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up and away from his desk where he had been studying moments ago. as he reached the window and pushed it open, his eyes level with your torso, he noticed your hand holding your side. his eyes trailed up until he met your face, bloodied and beaten behind the hair hanging in front of it. your brows were knitted tightly together and your eyes were filling up with tears now that you were face to face with him.

you'd been telling yourself to just get to his apartment and then everything would be ok, but now you were here and you realised how little he knew about all of this and how badly you were hurting. "pete," you choked out his name, your throat closing up a little when you finally spoke.

peter was frozen for a second, the crack in your voice bringing him back. he frowned. your free hand moved to his shoulder, his hands touched your waist and he carefully helped you in through the window. you snivelled, your eyes meeting with his. peter could see the sheer exhaustion and pain and fear all locked in your eyes. he felt his chest tighten the longer you looked at him like that. you shook your head, your lips parting to speak. peters eyes moved down to your mouth, noticing the fresh blood lining your lips and staining your teeth. his frown deepened. "i didn't know where else to go," your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking slightly.

peters gripped your forearm tightly, as if he was trying to convince himself that you were really standing in front of him right now looking like this. he shook his head. "it's ok," he mumbled finally, his mind still processing the sight of you.

your lip trembled, tears threatening to spill. peter could barely catch his breath, he couldn't think what to do first. his hands moved up your forearm, using his grip to pull you a step closer to him before cautiously wrapping you in his arms. your breath hitched, peter could hear your heart beating out of your chest as loud as his own.

you nuzzled your head into his chest, pushing him away slightly with a twinge of pain. "hurts," you felt your throat tighten, your eyes welling with fresh tears. you opened your mouth to speak but a soft whimper came out. you moved your shaky hand from your side, fresh blood soaking the hand that had been keeping pressure on the wound. peters eyes darted down as you moved, his eyes widening when he saw more blood soaking your shirt.

"shit," he used his grip on your forearms to guide you to his bed. "ok—stay here—"

you grabbed his arm. "no—please don't leave," a couple of tears had slipped down your cheeks as he halted. he physically felt his heart ache. he squeezed your hand, blood transferring from your fingers and onto his.

"i just need to grab the first aid kit— i'll be so quick, promise," your grip loosened as he slipped away from you. you wiped under your eyes, wincing when your side twinged again after taking a few deep breaths. before you knew it, peter was running back into his room with a first aid kit under his arm and panting a little.

he caved onto his knees, positioning himself in front of you. you sniffled, peters hand touching your thigh and giving it a soft squeeze of reassurance. he used his free hand to rummage through the first aid box in search of the supplies he needed to clean you up. he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, focused on the blood soaking your shirt before he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes. "you're gonna have to take that off, y/n," he stated, clearing his throat, motioning to your shirt, covering the wound he needed to get to.

"yeah— right— ok," you reached to the hem of your shirt and pulled up carefully over your head. you grimaced at the movement and struggled to remove your shirt the last of the way. "ow, ow, ow," you muttered, your face contorting before peter quickly came to your aid and yanked the shirt off the rest of the way.

"y'good?" he checked in, his eyes locked onto your pained expression. you nodded faintly. "alright," he gulped. peter grabbed both of your thighs, and positioned himself between them so he could get as close as possible. his hands lingered on your thighs for a moment, freezing when he saw the large gash on your side, a few large bruises beginning to form over your torso. not to mention the amount of blood. he bit down on his bottom lip as hard as he could, forcing himself not to stare any longer.

"you're gonna' need stitches," his eyebrows knitted together tightly, as he began cleaning out the wound and disinfecting it. you hissed, your hand instinctively reaching out and gripping his hair where his head was hovering just above your chest. your breathing grew heavier, soft cries muffled as you bit down on your tongue. he glanced up at you for a second, your hand loosening its grip on his locks, slipping down to his shoulder. "how did this even happen? did someone attack you? did you get a good look at their face?"

"i got into a fight," your grip tightened on his shoulder when he began dabbing a warm cloth around the wound, your body twitching every time he touched your skin. "oh, my god, peter," you groaned through gritted teeth, your eyes watering as you squirmed from the pain.

"i know, i know," he mumbled hurriedly, his arm moving to your hips and holding you down on the bed to stop your from shifting around. "hold still, it'll be over soon, promise," he continued to clean the wound in silence for a while, your hand gripping his shoulder so tightly that peter was getting cramp. "but how did you get into a fight?" peter asked impatiently after a while, unable to answer the question himself. it didn't make any sense. it was usually him in these scenarios, not you. you wouldn't hurt a fly. "i—i don't understand."

you gulped. "i know," you whispered through gritted teeth. "there's some stuff that i need to tell you and i don't really know why—ow— i waited this long to tell you."

"what? are you in a cult or something?" he tried to ease the tension a little, your hips jolting underneath him when he cleaned up the last of the blood surrounding the gash. "this is gonna' hurt a lot but if i don't stitch this it'll get worse, ok?" his eyes locked with yours and you nodded, eyebrows knitted tightly as you braced yourself. peters gaze softened, turning his head to the side to press a kiss to where your hand sat on his shoulder. "you'll be fine," he mumbled, trying to reassure you. "tell me about your cult," he was trying to distract himself as well as you as he grabbed the needle.

"you said cult, not me," your grip tightened as he began stitching up the wound. you were sure he was probably a master at this, he did it enough times on himself, but it still hurt like hell.

"so no cult?" you shook your head, your eyes screwing shut for a second, trying to stop yourself from looking down so you wouldn't freak out. "so what then?"

your brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth, you could still taste metal. after a short while the pain eased, and you opened your eyes to see peter tidying up his work. you watched him tenderly through blurry eyes as he tended to you. he didn't push you to answer, he kept quiet, his question lingering in the air as he packed away his supplies. he humphed.

"once you shower, you'll feel better," he mumbled. his eyes refusing to meet yours again. you closed your eyes for a split second, before reaching out and stopping him from moving around. he paused, your hands touching his gently. "it's fine, y/n," his voice lowered. "tell me when you're ready."

you shook your head. "pete, i just don't want you to be mad at me."

"wha— why would i be mad at you? i won't be mad at you," he quickly corrected himself. he still rested on his knees in front of you, his brown eyes looking up at you with so much confusion.

"'cause i didn't tell you sooner and now i messed up," your eyes were red and glossy, snivelling when his eyes didn't move from you. peters mind was racing with so many different thoughts and he was trying so hard not to be mad about the situation because he wanted to be there for you and make you feel as safe as he could. but underneath all that he wanted to know who did this and he wanted to hurt them back.

"no— no —" he shook his head repeatedly. "y/n, it's me. whatever it is, you can talk to me," peters hands moved from yours, trailing onto your bare skin and landing on your hips. his thumbs rubbing soft circles.

you frowned, shutting your eyes tight for a second.

"i got into this fight with a guy," your eyes glossy as you held his stare, rolling them slightly. "he was twice my size and it was stupid— i wasn't suited up or anything— but he was harassing this woman and i couldn't not help— pete, you would've done the same thing in my place—"

"yeah but i have spiderman," he furrowed his brows. why would you put yourself in harms way like that? you nodded, biting down on your lip watching his mind work. "you— you can't just go and fight men twice your size—" he cut himself off, his expression changing, softening. "wait— suited up for what?" his eyes narrowed and his head tilted as he leaned back from you.

"my fighting-bad-guys-twice-my-size suit," you wiped under your eyes with the back of your hand. you were in a lot less pain now. peter had a way of distracting you from everything. "'cause i kind of have superpowers," your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, awaiting his response. "and i kind of fight bad guys."

"i—w—what?" peters face contorted, his eyes widening. "you what? kind of?"

"nobody knows!" you reached out and grabbed his forearm, gripping tight when he began to pull back. you looked at him with pleading eyes, catching him off guard. "please don't tell anybody, pete. i don't want anyone to know."

"shit," he mumbled under his breath. "holy shit," he reiterated, his brown eyes drifting in and out of focus as he begun processing this new information. you watched his mind working until he stopped and met your eyes again. "wait— what— what superpowers? when did you start— and how long have you— i mean— did you—"

"oh my god, pete," you let out an anxious laugh, careful not to cause any strain. peters eyes drifted to your lips again as you cracked a small smile, spotting the dried blood and suddenly he was brought back to the reality of the situation. the small bit of amazement and excitement that fluttered into his expression moments ago was lost and he was concerned again. he sighed.

"i wish you'd told me," his voice was soft, smooth and comforting to your ears. you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek as your smile slipped away from your lips.

"m'sorry," you mumbled quietly. "i think— i liked how things were going with us and i didn't want this to mess it up," you admitted, eyes falling to your lap. as your eyes drifted downwards you spotted the neatly stitched wound and the dried blood still covering your hands.

his eyebrows knitted together gently. he pulled his head back a little, tilting it to the side with a quizzical expression. "why— why would you think that?"

you shrugged, eyes stuck on your blood stained hands, gulping as you suddenly felt a bit nauseous. you frowned, licking yours lips and tasting metal. "i don't know, guess i'm a little insecure about being different. took me a long time to get used to this version of me," you cringed at the taste in your mouth. "i didn't want to put any of that on you when you have your own stuff going on."

peters expression softened, he recognised what you were feeling. "this doesn't mess anything up," he reassured softly. "i like different and i like you," he gently squeezed your hips. "i will like every version of yourself, good and bad," he shrugged. his eyes drooped as he kept locked on yours.

"pete.." you mumbled weakly.

he shook his head. "my stuff is your stuff, and your stuff is mine, alright?" he leaned his face closer to yours when your head dropped a little. "alright?" he repeated, his forehead nudging yours.

you nodded faintly, resting your forehead against his for a second. you felt tired after the night you had, but so grateful that you had peter to hold you up. you felt like a weight had been lifted now that he knew everything.

"you will be telling me everything about your powers, by the way, but you need to shower first," you cracked a small smile, your head falling back with a soft laugh. peter felt his chest tighten at the sound that he'd missed. "you're a mess, if you hadn't noticed."

"thanks so much," you pushed his face away from yours and he laughed, burying his grinning face into your lap. "just what i wanted to hear."

"anything to make you feel better," his lips pressed chastely to your thigh, his words muffled. your skin tingled. he tenderly made his way up to your stomach where he stopped. you felt his breath fan against your bruised skin, his lips ghosting a kiss to your stomach and lingering for a while.

"i'd feel better if you showered with me," you felt his lips tug back into a smile against your skin, your stomach was in knots. his head barely lifted from where he was buried so he could look up at you.

"only 'cause i feel sorry for you," he teased, a lopsided grin on his lips as he shrugged. you scrunched your nose at him playfully, shoving his face away with your hand again.

"i'm kidding," he grabbed your hands, using them to keep you from pulling back. "c'mon, i'm obsessed with you. 'course i wanna shower with you. even when your soppy and sad."

"mhm," peter smiled at you, ignoring the playful scowl on your face and tugged your hands so you'd lean closer to him. he tilted his head back, catching your lips against his gently, your hands moving to either side of his face. his hands sat on your hips, pushing himself up onto his knees so he could kiss you better. you hummed into the kiss, pulling away for a second, peters lips trailing after yours desperately.

"obsessed," he mumbled against your lips.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Waking Comfort (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence (in a flashback), implied/referenced trauma (unspecified) Warnings: N/A Summary: Unable to sleep on a cold day, Bela Dimitrescu tries to find comfort in her favorite servant... only to end up being the one doing the comforting. Notes: This is super self indulgent, because my dreams have been murdering me recently. Reader is a selective mute/partially nonverbal, implied neurodivergent (unspecified), gender neutral but written with a non-binary person in mind, with non-specific past trauma. Basically this is somewhat of a self-insert fic but I've smudged some lines to make it more relatable for other people.

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In the early hours of the day, when the sun had yet to reach its peak, a cold quiet fell over Castle Dimitrescu. Most inhabitants were of a nocturnal persuasion, and lay sleeping soundly at this hour. Those few that thrived in the sun moved softly, with caution, daring not to awaken their masters. Oh, if only they knew that one Lady of the house was awake, prowling the corridors with marked intent. What a chill it would send down their spines- what lovely fear would permeate the household.

Ah, but that was not what Bela Dimitrescu desired, at least not for now. No, what she needed was something she would never admit out loud. It was a “base” need, one that all humans felt, and so she feared that it was beneath her. There was only one person that she could trust for this: A servant, experienced in all matters needed of them, level-headed, compassionate… and, most importantly, selectively mute.

Over the past year, Bela had found herself growing closer to you, much to her own surprise. The two of you had started to bond through reading, after you had helped her reorganize a mess in the library (left by none other than Lady Daniela). Since then, you had proven to be a valuable ally, always finding creative solutions to the family’s problems. From jury-rigging a set of climbing gear for repairs, to proof-reading all formal letters, there was hardly any part of Bela’s life that you hadn’t assisted with. All while only ever saying two or three sentences- short ones, at that.

Neither of you would ever forget the first (and only) time you spoke out loud. A would-be hunter had infiltrated the estate, through a damaged skylight (which you later repaired), intending to prove his worth by killing the nobility inside. By the time Bela arrived, after being notified by a terrified maiden, she found the situation had already been aptly handled. There you had stood, clutching an ornate, bloodied cane like a club. In front of you had been the unconscious hunter.

“You could have been hurt!” Bela had snapped, unable to stop herself, glad that her sisters hadn’t arrived yet. Then you had glanced at the man, then her, then back to the man. Something uncharacteristically dark had danced in your eyes.

“He said he was going to save me… from you. Called me defenseless,” you had snarled, poking the man with your cane as you did. “Rude.” Before Bela even had a chance to react, her sisters had appeared, disappointed to find the fight already over. They had fought over who would get to kill the hunter, and somewhere in that chaos you had slipped away without another word.

That day had replayed itself in Bela’s mind hundreds of times in her mind. Though she would not readily admit it, that had been the day that her casual affection for you had started to turn into something more serious. These days she didn’t even know how to describe your relationship- after all, you had never told her how you felt. But you had held her, closely, fingers running through her hair while she fought off memories from someone else’s life. Held her in your arms, as she held you, staving off the cold like it was all you had ever known.

This was what she wanted. Your touch, your comfort. All that stood in her way was a familiar question: Where were you? Master of your environment, schedule constantly in flux, you were rarely where anyone expected you to be, especially when you were prone to taking on whatever tasks others hadn’t had time to finish. So Bela searches, quickly, around places the day-shift tends to gather. She’s careful not to be seen, even though she knows the maidens aren’t likely to gossip where her family might hear. In the end she catches a hint of your scent near the servants’ quarters, and curses herself for not checking there sooner.

Your room is one of the only single-occupancy rooms in this wing. Only senior staff were allowed within these places, most of them rotating out as they “lost their usefulness”. The fact that you had slept in the same bed every night for six months was a testament to your skill. It’s the kind of thought that brings Bela some semblance of warmth in her chest. Still, the thought alone is not enough, so she slowly eases your door open.

Her ears strain against the silence, listening for the pattern of your breathing, or the telltale murmurs that would announce your awakening. Instead, the first things she hears are little gasps, then the shifting of fabric. Dreams of some sort have you turning and tossing, lungs getting hungry in their pursuit of air. It’s not immediately clear whether or not you are enjoying the dream. Were these good gasps, like those that Daniela often cooed about when she praised her maiden? Or were these the same kind that sometimes haunted Bela herself?...

A whimper cuts through the air, and suddenly Bela loses all patience. Practically running, she crosses the room in an instant, concern etched into her brow. One hand cautiously reaches for your blanket, pulling it back enough for her to slide in next to you. It’s a risk, one that could make you wake up with a panic, but it’s one she’s willing to take. After all, she had asked you about this sort of thing before. Though you couldn’t form full sentences, you had experience “miming” things, and Bela was quite clever with her “yes or no” questions.

When she carefully wraps an arm around your waist, she does so with confidence. Beneath her touch you stiffen, back going as tense as possible, but you stop shaking. A few more gasps leave you, and Bela wonders whether or not she should wake you up. Less than a minute later the decision is made for her. All the sudden your gasping turns to a sharp exclamation, body jerking hard, eyes snapping open. Tension coils through your muscles, driving your already overstimulated brain overboard.

Before Bela can even try to comfort you, you sit up, quickly turning so your legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Muffled sobs pass your lips as you hold your face in your hands. Memories struggle against each other behind your eyes, blocking out every other sensation. Your jaw is clenched, hard, and you struggle to breathe between shakes. A hand touches your back, but quickly moves when you flinch in response. It takes a minute for you to even process who else is with you. Once you do, some of the tension bleeds from your body.

“If you’d rather be alone right now, I understand,” Bela says, quietly, as soon as she thinks you’ll be able to understand her. For a moment you can’t bring yourself to respond, and you can feel her side of the mattress shifting, like she’s getting ready to leave. Panic springs up in your chest again, so you quickly reach a hand out in her direction. Thankfully she knows what to expect at this point, easily finding your hand in the dark, gently taking it within her own. “One squeeze for yes, two for no?”

You squeeze, once.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Bela asks, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice. It makes you pause, considering, even though you’re still overwhelmed by your sensory inputs. In the end you squeeze her hand twice. “No worries, my dear. Don’t be tempted to push yourself just for my sake.” Somehow she always knew how to read you like an open book. Even with the… difficulty of communicating with you. Not that she had ever complained, or even thought about it. Knowing you, and caring for you, made any effort feel as easy as breathing.

A few minutes pass without another word being said. Sometimes Bela gives your hand a little squeeze, just to check in, and you always return it. Soon enough your brain starts to relax, loosening its vice-like grip on your motor controls. Once again you can ease the tension in your muscles. Then you find yourself rubbing your thumb against Bela’s hand, moving in soft circular motions, head turning so you can smile at her. Even if it’s too dark for you to see much, you know that her eyes see you just fine.

“Feeling any better?” She asks, donning a smile of her own. One squeeze. “Is there anything more I can do to help?” A pause, then one squeeze. Now that your limbs don’t feel as staticky, there’s only one thing on your mind: Cuddling. You’re moving before you know it, briefly letting go of Bela’s hand so you can get closer to her, pressing your face into her neck and giving her a soft kiss. Then you’re falling against the bed, on your side, looking up at your partner with a grin. It doesn’t take her long to get the message, shifting back onto her side so she can hold you for real this time. One of your hands goes to rest on her back, to serve as your translator for the rest of the night. “I love you,” Bela says, without even thinking.

She freezes up afterwards, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever said the words out loud to you. For a moment she’s scared, a feeling alien to her, but she refuses to back down. It pays off a few seconds later, incredibly so, when you return the words the best way you can: One squeeze.

#bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #glorified self insert #self indulgence at its finest #is this even in character??#or am I just lonely and prone to incredibly intense nightmares #hopefully ~somebody~ enjoys #especially after the last serenade chapter right?

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