#she didn’t quite understand much but she has the spirit

[hotpinkstars]

-> shenhes reaction to different love languages

synopsis -> how shenhe reacts to different love languages. pretty self-explanatory.

w/c -> 1.5k

-> quality time

as we all know, shenhe is certainly not one who knows love. so when you first introduced the topic of quality time to her, she just kind of cocked her head and looked at you. she was someone who quite literally needed assistance to keep her homicidal nature at bay, and you were someone who could barely harm a flee. why ever would you want quality time with her, she thought? although the both of you are a couple, she won’t ever understand all of that stuff that normal couples do. 

it takes a minute or two (more like a couple futile attempts) to get her to open up to spending a lot of time like that with you, but once you get her to maybe get a bite to eat at a cuisine in the harbor, she warms up to the idea a little bit more. she still doesn’t understand why couples like to do this- she was put under the impression of relationships being kissing, hugging, and sleeping together. 

soon enough, she’ll be the one to request to do some of these things that you showed her. depending on how much she wants it, you might have to take the hint, or she’ll just blandly tell you directly. 

“i would like to grab a meal in liyue harbor like we did last week.”

“shenhe, it’s two in the morning… but as soon as the sun rises, sure!” 

well, she’s sure got the spirit!!

-> words of affirmation

the first time you even said something as simple as “i love you so, so much,” this woman kind of just froze and asked you to repeat that. 

she doesn’t get it. she probably asked you why people say that at first, and then she got it. she already kind of knew, she just wanted to be sure she heard you right. and that she did. a few minutes after you said that to her she could feel a nice warmth in her chest and a little grin coming onto her face. 

even things such as “i love the way you did your braid today!” make her feel so grateful that she was able to date someone such as you. sometimes cloud retainer wonders what's got her in such a good mood these past few months, considering how sour she sometimes can be.

another one she tries to reciprocate once she gets used to it. (spoiler alert: she does it for all of these lol.) she’ll sometimes tell you that you look particularly nice that day. in her eyes, you look glamorous every day, but she saves that for when you two go to a fancy restaurant and you’re all dressed nice.

-> acts of service

acts of service for shenhe seem pointless in her eyes at first. she has learned to take care of herself, why should she need someone else to do the things she does for own good for her? she can make her own bed, she can put toothpaste on her own toothbrush, and she can cook her own meals. so, when she first saw that the bed was all made, the pillows were fluffed, and there was already toothpaste on her toothbrush from when you were last in there, she seemed a little.. shocked? it was very hard to tell what she felt, but she felt, once again, a warmth in her chest. she came out of the room to ask you about it, and saw you making breakfast. 

“well, i just decided maybe you’d like it! if you don’t, i can stop…” 

“well… i.. really like this.. act of kindness. but i do not know if i understand it yet.”

you laughed and motioned for her to sit down as you served two plates and decided to chat her up a little bit about what you were going to do that day. she ate her food with a small smile, and engaged in the conversation. 

sometimes, she’d come home to find little samples of some foods she likes with a little note on the side of the plate saying something like “i made something i picked up on you liking. i hope you enjoy it!” 

this was one she decided to take little steps to show. she’d do basics that she didn’t even realize she was doing before, like tidying up the room a little bit or putting the dishes away or folding the blankets. all she knew is that it made you happy to see the house so nice and clean, so she continued to do it whenever she was available to. 

-> receiving gifts

talk about something she isn’t all that familiar with.

the first time you put a little trinket in her hands- for instance, a keychain, she just looked at you curiously. 

“what is this?”

“oh, nothing really. i just thought it would be cute to dangle from your vision. see, it even matches your hair color!”

she handed it back to you and told you to hook it somewhere on her vision. she looked at it with a mirror and a kamera, smiling gratefully, even though she didn’t think it was all that necessary. she got used to your constant gift giving though, and, once again, didn’t understand what the occasion was, she still cherished them silently. the first time you gifted her something bigger, like maybe a pair of heels, she thought she missed something.

“y/n, what is this for? is there some occasion i am not aware of? it’s not your birthday, or my birthday, or our anniversary… is it maybe a holiday?”

“nope!” you replied. “just saw them on sale in liyue. i bought them because they looked like they matched your style!” 

she took another good look at these and put them in the closet. you saw her wear them with her combat outfit a few days later, indirectly trying to show them off to you.

she’ll try and get you gifts too, but she’ll go to the traveler or cloud retainer for help. the traveler has met you a few times, so he/she probably knows what you like just based off of how much shenhe talks about you, and just by your bubbly personality. 

paimons always the one bringing the gift idea up to shenhe. if she likes the idea, then the gift will be given to you as early as possible. 

-> physical touch

if she’s gonna be starved of any of this, it’s gonna be physical touch. she’s gotten a few pats on the head or shoulder by cloud retainer or her fellow adepti companions whenever she’s done something well, but that’s the extent of it. she has never been tackled to the bed and cuddled before, she’s never really been hugged, and she certainly hasn’t slept in the same bed in a super touchy manner with anyone else before you. 

the first time you rolled over to her side of the bed and latched onto her back, sliding your arms around her waist and propping your head on her shoulder, she was understandably stunned. at first, she tried to pull away, but you wouldn’t let her. so, she was stiffer than a board the rest of the night to be careful not to roll on top of you, and immediately brought it up to you in the morning. you told her it’s just what you do, and was always what you did since you were a child- you felt the need to constantly hug something in your sleep, and you decided to hug her. she just slightly nodded, still not understanding, and walked away for a little while to process what happened the night before. 

she’ll eventually be much more open to the idea of allowing you to rest on top of her or hugging her, still being fairly stiff. but the first time you asked her to rest her head on your chest, she declined, saying she was “too strong and could potentially cut off your airways if she wasn’t careful.” you brushed that thought off and slightly begged her until she sighed and very slowly let her weight fall onto your body. she genuinely liked the way this made her feel, and continued to do it much more often- when she was sad, upset, stressed, or just felt the need to lay on your chest for a few minutes.

when it came to hand-holding or hugging, she wasn’t opposed. she just made a strict rule that there is no hugging or cuddling in public. you agreed, and only did those things when you both knew that there was privacy. the last thing the both of you wanted was to scare each other off. that would be crushing to both ends.

 she was much more open to cuddling and hand holding and all that comes with it later into your relationship- you realized she was a woman who needed an indescribable amount of patience, and that you were willing to give.

#shenhe x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #shenhe #x reader #genshin #genshin x reader

[primaviva]

PAIRING: (primary) gwen stacy x fem!reader, (secondary / onsided romance) harry osborn x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: gwen has liked you for a long time, harry knew this. to gwen's surprise, harry actually liked her for much longer, something she only learned when he confessed and asked her to prom. gwen's rejection hit harry hard. you can imagine gwen's shock when, just as she was about to tell you how she felt and ask to be your date, you revealed that you already had a date. harry osborn.

WARNINGS/NOTES: misunderstandings trope like heavy, a lot of cursing, manipulation on harry’s part, angstyyy, suggestive toward the end, jealous n angry gwen vs sassy man harry, white boys doin too much and not proof read

as summer's hot embrace swept across queens, whispers of anticipation filled the air in midtown high.

the arrival of prom.

the streets adorned themselves with vibrant hues of gold and scarlet, echoing the spirit of the season that gripped the hearts of every new yorker. decorative banners danced in the breeze on campus, proudly displaying the school's emblem as a symbol of community pride. the heat and constant air conditioning mingled with the distant sound of a marching band practicing their lively tunes, weaving a tapestry of nostalgia and excitement for all the locals and alumni.

prom, a cherished tradition to no one but the beckoned who peaked in high school. let’s be real here, what teen beside the tryhard kids trying to form the perfect resume for college genuinely cared for homecoming? nah, not one. the only excitement that came from it was being able to get free food, dress cute, some photo ops with your partner, and just hanging out with your friends. you could technically count the performances by the school bands and dance teams but to be honest all the talent was overshadowed by the patriotic midtown chants praising the school for its community and kindness even though you could’ve swore you saw flash thompson trying to beat on some freshman in the hall the other day.

it’s midtown high… mid is in the name. to be quite honest, you weren’t expecting much. you didn’t even have a date in mind, you just knew you’d end up going with your small friend group consisting of your best friend gwen, peter, and harry.

you were brought back to reality when your teacher pulled an ‘i’ll wait’ on some girl in the front who was just as confused as the rest of the class and was simply asking someone else for help.

as the minutes ticked by in the seemingly endless ap english class, the only escape you found was talking gwen during class to keep you sane.

you leaned towards gwen, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "i feel like i’m trapped in a literary prison. is it just me, or does every sentence, as soon as she opens her mouth, sounds like some philosophy subreddit bullshit?"

gwen stifled a giggle, her eyes sparkling with shared amusement. "oh, trust me, it's not just you. i think i've somehow deciphered the hidden meaning behind every comma in this book. it's like we're on a quest for the nonexistent holy grail of english assignments."

you both burst into a fit of laughter, struggling to contain your amusement while keeping a watchful eye on the teacher. the irony of the situation wasn't lost on you— the passionate exploration of language and literature reduced to a burdensome chore.

however, you couldn’t help but feel a pair of jealous eyes on you. the prickling sensation at your neck coming from the back of the class made you turn your head slightly, and you caught a glimpse of harry's eyes fixed on gwen, his expression tinged with jealousy. his lips pressed together in a tight line as he bit down on them, lost in his thoughts to notice that you caught him looking. he seemed almost irritated at you by the way he stared and to your understanding, for no reason. it’s not like you did any sneak shit behind his back or got on his nerves .

caught in the awkwardness of the moment, harry mustered a teasing smile and gave a nod, as if attempting to play off being caught. the nod was like a silent statement from him to you, that he felt the same way you did in the class. bored as hell.

but beneath the facade, the tension simmered, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was brewing beneath the surface. questions swirled in your mind, but for now, you chose to let it go and return your focus to gwen.

"this class single handedly ruined how i’ll read for the rest of my life, and you know how much i love to read edgar allen poe," you whispered, barely able to contain your sarcasm.

gwen leaned closer, her voice barely audible. "i swear, if i have to dissect one more sonnet, my brain cells will start killing themselves."

the bell's sudden ring startled both of you, cutting short your whispered complaints and signaling the end of yet another mundane class. you exchanged a knowing look, relief and mischief dancing in both your eyes.

"finally, damn!" you exclaimed under your breath. "let's get out of here before we start speaking in iambic pentameter."

gwen nodded, her lips curled into a smile. "i can't wait another second."

together, you gathered your belongings, trying to suppress the lingering laughter that threatened to bubble. as you made your way towards the door, the teacher's eyes scanned the room, momentarily pausing on your mischievous glances, but quickly moving on.

you were about to respond to her joke when harry osborn approached you two with a slightly hesitant yet determined stride. his sudden interruption caught both of you off guard.

"hey, gwen," harry began, his voice shaky. "can we talk for a minute?"

your curiosity piqued, but you gave gwen an understanding look and assured gwen that you would wait for her at the lockers, giving her a reassuring smile. with a nod, she followed harry to a quieter corner of the hallway, leaving you to be nosy and wonder what the conversation could be about. time seemed to stretch as you leaned against the lockers, the echoes of passing students fading into the background.

minutes turned into an eternity before gwen finally emerged from the conversation, as she walked toward you, you could sense the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. without a word, she shook her head, her eyes filled with unspoken thoughts.

"what did harry want? some chemistry homework answers that been due since last week?" you asked playfully, trying not to make it seem like you were praying for information.

it’s not like you were jealous of harry or envious of him for talking to gwen, you knew where you two stood. but just the way he looked at you? just rubbed you the wrong way. and you couldn't lie and say the curiosity wasn’t killing you as to why he had to pull gwen away from the public to just ‘talk to her.’

gwen's eyes met yours, looking unusually reserved. she hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice barely above a whisper. "it’s nothing, really. he just asked me a stupid question. don’t worry about it."

you left it at that, not wanting to force her into talking about something that was clearly private. you respected her desire to just move on. still, a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you couldn't resist a teasing remark.

"did he ask you to be his secret prom date?" you quipped, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

gwen's face turned pale for a moment before her cheeks flushed slightly as she shook her head, a subtle smile gracing her lips. "no, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. i um… i actually have someone in mind."

you felt your cheeks heat up at her comment, but also a gut wrenching feeling in your stomach. could she be talking about you? no, but then again all the moments where your legs brushed together while you sat, the lingering gazes and stolen looks, her hands on your waist when she guided you through a big crowd, just all the times where the lines between best friend and more became blurred.

however, gwen remained silent, her intentions veiled for now.

you two had similar schedules, so it was everyday you two walked to your classes together. as the two of you made your way to study hall, gwen broke the silence, "wanna share headphones while we work?"

her hand brushed against yours, your breath hitching as you became hyper aware of how close gwen was. you could feel her continue to stare into your eyes as she intertwined her hand with yours. a smile bloomed across your face as you nodded in agreement, unaware of someone else glaring at you from a distance. again.

weeks passed since then. before, prom was less than a month away. now? just days.

you still didn’t have a date. part of you wanted to just go along, not having any interest and anyone besides gwen. but another part of you was still holding onto hope, living in the fantasy world of the imaginary scenarios that she’ll ask you out.

there were doubts in your mind if gwen liked you, and even if you liked her. she’s your friend, best friend even. but your friendship with her is so different from the way you both treat your other friends. you don’t let your other friends call you names, sit on their lap while their hands wrap around your waist, stay up on friday nights and fall asleep on the phone, and so much more. it was more than just the physical attraction you had to gwen, it was the chemistry between you two. you admit, gwen is more than fine. to her tall demeanor and athletic body, and not to mention the hair and piercings. but the way she understood you more than anyone else was the biggest turn on of them all. she can read you like the back of her hand. she knows when you’re sad, when something’s bothering you, when you’re overwhelmed and just want someone to run away with even if it’s temporary.

all year it seemed that you both had been running circles around each other. there was just something different about the way she stared straight into your eyes as you talked about something. or the times where you swear you saw her biting down on her lip as she sneakily checked you out before you could catch her and she’d tell you how pretty you are. the times you would ask her to repeat stuff on the phone because you just loved hearing her voice just to fall asleep to it. the time where she noticed you looked at her while she cleaned her drumsticks and she told you it’s rude to stare. the times where she had no problem sneaking into your home from through your window to comfort you after a fight with your parents.

she felt like your other half and that’s what confused you. everyone talked about their best friend like that, but you and gwen didn’t seem like friends. and you can’t tell anymore if that’s good or bad.

it was clear you were attracted to gwen in more ways than one, but you couldn’t help but be in denial because of your fear that if you did pursue something romantic with her you could possibly ruin your friendship forever, and you couldn’t imagine your life without her.

gwen couldn’t imagine her life without you either, harry knew that first hand. which is why he’s on his way to your place right now.

harry osborn mustered up the courage to confess his feelings to gwen, his heart pounding with anticipation. he found her in the hallway, took a deep breath, and poured out his emotions, confessing his affection and asking her to be his date for the upcoming prom.

"hey, gwen," harry began, his voice filled with a mix of nervousness and determination. "i've been meaning to tell you something... i really like you. you're amazing, talented, and so fearless. i’ve admired you for a while. so, i was wondering if you'd go to prom with me?"

gwen listened attentively, a kind smile on her face that slowly dropped as she kept talking. but before harry could catch his breath, she gently interrupted him.

"harry, look, i appreciate you telling me this and you're such an amazing friend," gwen replied, her soft and cautious. "but, i can’t go with you. i’m sorry it’s just… i actually had something on my mind too for a while. i've been wanting to tell (y/n) how i feel about her for a while now and so i thought prom would be the best excuse. i've just been nervous about it because i don’t want ti ruin anything. you understand, right?"

harry's face fell slightly, his disappointment flickering across his features. he tried his best to hide the bitterness he felt, realizing that gwen's heart was set on someone else.

"oh... i see," harry responded, trying to sound nonchalant. "don’t worry, gwen. i get it. i never caught on that you liked our (y/n), that’s my bad. i'm sure you’ll both have an amazing time at the dance when you ask her."

gwen's expression softened, "thank you, harry. i hope this doesn’t make anything too weird or weirder than it needs to be. friends?"

harry forced a smile, masking his envy as best as he could. "of course, gwen. friends always."

but as gwen turned to leave, harry's mind started to spin. thoughts of revenge began to cloud his judgment.

how could gwen stacy reject him? it was all he could think of. ‘she’s just a cop's daughter’ he thought, balling his hands into a fist.

“hey, could you speed it up?” he pressed the driver, quickly apologizing. “sorry i just… the waiting is killin’ me.”

maybe it was the bitterness fueling his need to boost his own ego, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the rejection. all his life, harry was given what he wanted without a second thought from his father or the people around him. it seemed that for the first time he couldn’t have what he wanted and didn't know how to act.

that’s what led him here, to the front of your place. harry pushed open the car door, his oxford shoes hitting the pavement.

“wait for us, will you?” he asked the driver but the tone of his voice made it clear that it was an order.

harry : hey sweets

harry : go look outside your window for me sent at 4:53

you were doing your homework when suddenly you felt a vibration against your desk. you turned your head to the side and noticed your phone lighting up. with a sigh wanting to take a break from working, you picked it up and your eyes went wide as you saw who it was who texted you. part of you hoped it was gwen, but no, it was harry.

the message on your lock screen made you cringe as soon as you saw that he had called you ‘sweets.’

“the hell is this boy on now,” you muttered, swiping up to see the full text in messages.

you : tf you mean look out my window… did you take your daddy’s medicine by any chance ?? sent at 4:55

before you even gave him the chance to reply, you walked up to your window and pushed the curtain to the side. looking down, you were met with the sight of harry typing on his phone before looking up at you with a charming smile.

harry : you wanna come down rapunzel?

you let out a scoff, the sides of your mouth twitching into a smile as you made your way downstairs. you unlocked the door, opening it to be met with harry walking up to you and revealing a beautiful bouquet of assorted flowers to you. it looked expensive and it glowed in the sun.

“don’t tell me those are for me,” you spoke in a whisper, voice caught in your throat from how unexpected this all was.

he smiled, putting the bouquet in my hand as the floral aroma filled my senses. “then i won’t, just take them princess.”

harry knew you were getting weirder out by his behavior just by the way your face had this stank look to it. not like you were disgusted by him or anything, but by how confusing this was.

“what?” he asked with a smirk.

“you’re just acting a lil’ strange is all,” you replied slowly, squeezing the bouquet to your chest and sniffing the assortment. “they smell beautiful harry, thank you. but no offense, why are you outside my home dressed like james dean?”

he did a low chuckle as he looked into your eyes. sure, harry was cute though he wasn’t necessarily your type. and while it is really attractive to have someone dress nice for you, call you sweet things, and even come to your home with flowers, it was just weird. it was just weird. why him?

"just walk with me, please?" harry asked, extending his hand towards you.

“and sight see all the power plants?” you mocked, but seeing the pleasing look on his face made you fold. you hesitated, but ultimately took him up on it.

as you took his hand, you felt his grip tighten, pulling you uncomfortably close. "i'm sure there's a beautiful waterfront or some other scenic spot for us to explore," he said, his voice filled with anticipation.

you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and curiosity flickering in your eyes. despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him and his intentions.

“you look beautiful today,” he added, still looking forward as the glow of the sky highlighted his face.

you let out a laugh, causing him to glare at you from the corner of his eye.

“oh harry, you’re so charming, thank you,” you teased, voice monotone to poke fun at his advances.

he let out a chuckle as you both approached the waterfront. golden hour was approaching, and the sky was painted a deep orange with yellow highlights and a beauty exuding from it. the clouds were faint and moved slowly to the side, like careful paint strokes to a canvas.

as you released your hand from harry's, you walked toward the ledge, taking in the awe-inspiring scenery. it felt like a moment of pure magic, as if the world had paused to allow you to appreciate the simple pleasures surrounding you. the gentle caress of the warm breeze, the distant echoes of laughter, and the soothing sound of water rippling in the wind created a serene ambiance.

harry initiated the conversation, breaking the silence. "you've never been here before?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

you met his gaze with a sly smile, “nah, i never have time to do stuff like this. im always busy with my own responsibilities so it doesn’t really cross my mind to do a tinder style long walks down the cigarette infested new york streets and visit all the landscapes.”

harry approached you, leaning against the ledge with a smile playing on his lips. he let out a genuine chuckle, appreciating your sense of humor.

"there's the (y/n) i know," he remarked, his tone filled with affection. "always quick with the sarcasm. it's one of the many things that make you so likable. you have this unique and mysterious charm about you.”

you studied him for a moment, a dry laugh escaping your lips. "secret charm?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "i've never really made an effort to talk to anyone, so l'd be surprised if i had any secret admirers.”

“well, allow me to introduce you to one of them,” he said as he took your hand in his and gave it a chest kiss.

harry's expression turned softer, and he took your hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on your palm. his eyes held a glimmer of and a hint of seduction.

"i know we haven't always been the closest, but lately, you've been on my mind. a lot," he confessed, bringing your hand to rest against his chest. "i've admired you from afar, and i've been nervous to be around you. you're not just gorgeous, but smart, witty, and so much more. i can't imagine going to prom with anyone else but you. so, would you honor me by being my date?"

your heart skipped a beat with each word he spoke. shock washed over you, and your face revealed a mix of emotions. while you value your friendship with harry, you didn't share the same romantic feelings. you hesitated, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts.

but something about it was off. while his words seemed genuine and soft, his eyes told a different story. they were dark and deceptive, gleaming with an unsettling intensity. it sent a shiver down your spine, making you question his true intentions. the way he stared at you felt predatory, like he was sizing you up, waiting for the opportune moment to strike at his prey. it created an alarming imbalance of power, as if he was counting on something beyond your control.

"harry," you began, your voice gentle but firm. “i’m really sorry for this but i don’t see you that way. i’m flattered but you have to understand… there are other girls that would love to go with you. you’re a heartthrob, y’know? you can get anyone with your appeal. it’s just that i’ve liked gwen for a while and have been waiting for something to happen but-“

“it seems i really can’t get anyone, (y/n),” he spat out in anger. harry's demeanor shifted, his face contorting with anger. he turned slightly away from you, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to regain composure. his tone dripped with bitterness as he spoke. “gwen huh? always gwen, isn’t it?”

“what?” you mouthed in confusion.

"you really think gwen would ever ask you to prom? better yet, you think she likes you?" he sneered, closing the distance between you until your chests almost touched.

“get outta my face, i’m leaving,” you demanded, frustration welling up inside you as you pushed against his chest, trying to create some distance. “harry, fuck off of me.”

but harry's arms held you firmly in place, preventing your escape. his voice took on a mocking tone as he continued to belittle you.

"gwen already has a date. some kid named miles from out of town. she's been talking to him for a while now," he informed you, his words hitting you like a blow. "she doesn't want you, never has. she's just being nice, pretending to be your friend. so i don’t know when or how you tricked yourself into thinking she has any interest in you."

your world seemed to crumble around you, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. your legs grew weak, and you struggled to maintain your composure. tears welled up in your eyes, and you wiped them away, attempting to regain your composure before facing him.

“i know, it’s hard to hear. and she’s a fool for ever letting a girl like you slip away,” he continued, his tone shifting once again. "but you deserve better, (y/n). gwen is a selfish coward who only goes after what she wants with no regard for others. you deserve someone who appreciates you. someone like me. let me show you how you should be treated."

you took a step back, turning away from him, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. the tears flowed freely now, and a sense of disbelief washed over you. had you been deluding yourself all this time? was there truly no spark between you and gwen?

a forced smile played on your lips as you turned to face harry again, your entire demeanor transformed. it was as if a switch had been flipped, and you presented a facade that masked your true emotions.

"i'd love to go with you," you spoke weakly, your voice devoid of its usual strength. though you didn't reciprocate his feelings, you wanted a distraction. maybe he could give you the attention he claimed you deserved.

a wide, unsettling smile spread across harry's face, his expression taking on an eerie quality. it was a smile that sent shivers down your spine, as if there was something unsettling behind it. you couldn't shake off the feeling that his happiness wasn't truly about you saying yes.

"i'm glad," he replied, pulling you closer to his side. "let's get you home."

as you made your way back home with harry, the atmosphere became increasingly tense. the once-pleasant and work filled evening had transformed into an uncomfortable walk home. harry's grip on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin almost painfully.

you attempted to break the silence, hoping to alleviate the mounting unease. "so, what are we gonna wear? have you thought about it?"

harry's response was curt and lacking his usual warmth. "i have a few ideas in mind. we'll figure it out."

you couldn't help but notice the change in his demeanor, his friendly and charismatic personality replaced by something cold and distant. doubts and concerns swirled in your mind, but you couldn't find the energy to voice them. instead, you kept quiet, unsure of how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

upon reaching your house, you turned to face harry, attempting to gauge his mood. "thanks for walking me home," you told him, your voice laced with uncertainty. "i'll see you at school tomorrow."

harry's eyes bore into yours, his gaze intense and unsettling. "no need to thank me," he replied with a slight sneer. "i'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on."

confusion washed over you as you watched him walk away, his figure disappearing into the night. something was undeniably wrong, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of impending danger. you retreated into your home, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders.

you went into your room and just jumped into your bed and before you knew it your eyes were wet and you blacked out.

it was saturday morning, and the events of the previous night were a blur in your memory. as you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed, you glanced down at your clothes, and suddenly, it all came rushing back. you had spent the entire night looking over old photos of you and gwen, shedding tears, before finally succumbing to exhaustion and taking a hot shower to soothe your emotions.

your face felt tight and slightly flushed as you made your way to the mirror. you examined your reflection, noticing the lingering redness in your eyes and the puffiness of your cheeks. even your voice seemed affected, carrying a hint of strain from the relentless sobbing that had consumed you.

it wasn't the news itself that hurt you. it was fine if gwen didn't have romantic feelings for you because it’s not like you’re entitled to her. if anything, you found relief in knowing that your friendship could still remain intact. but the way harry had delivered it to you was harsh and blunt, forcing you to confront things you hadn't even considered before.

to realize that gwen may have never seen you in a romantic light, not even once, left you feeling foolish. the most humiliating part was the possibility of misreading every interaction, every gesture, and every shared moment. and to learn from harry of all people that she had someone else all along made you question how long she had been interested in miles without ever mentioning it to you. although you had heard his name mentioned a few times, it had never crossed your mind that gwen had feelings for him. and it definitely didn’t cross your mind that they had been talking as of recently.

your phone began to ring, causing a pang of agony to surge through you. "please, let it be a scam call," you silently pleaded, yearning for a moment of solitude to process your thoughts.

reluctantly, you picked up the phone and turned it around to see the caller's identity. it was gwen. you felt conflicted as your stomach began to turn once again. on one hand, you longed to talk to her, driven by the depth of your feelings. but on the other hand, the internal embarrassment you felt made you want to avoid her at all costs.

summoning your courage, you swiped to answer the call. "hi," you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to conceal any cracks.

there was a brief silence on the other end, and then gwen spoke with concern in her voice. "(y/n), are you okay? i tried texting you last night, but you didn't respond," she questioned.

"oh, um, yeah. i've just been having sleepless nights, so i went to bed early," you explained, attempting to brush off the previous night's emotional turmoil. "sorry bout’ that."

"are you sure everything's alright? it sounds like you've been crying," she pressed, genuine worry coloring her words. "if you need someone to talk to or if you want me to come over, just let me know. i’ll be there.”

"i'm fine. i wasn't crying, i literally just mentioned being tired," you replied, irritation seeping into your tone.

"i just want you to be honest with me. can i still come over? i have something i want to tell you," she mustered the courage to ask.

this was gwen's moment. she had been gathering her strength to speak to you about for so long, and now she was ready to make her request.

"yeah, sure. actually, i have something to tell you too," you added, your voice steadier now.

“okay, great- i mean good. i’ll see you later, okay?” she spoke, her voice cheery but a little nervous.

“see you later,” you replied, repeating it back to her as you hung up.

hours had past and it had only made you more anxious. what did she want to tell you? why wasn’t she here already?

you had already changed your clothes and fixed up your appearance to make yourself more presentable. you made sure to put some concealer under your eyes too to try and draw attention away from the puffiness and fading redness.

the knock at your door gave you a temporary relief from the anxiety of your mind as you went to go open it and greet gwen.

“hey,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into a hug.

you hesitated for a moment, but you couldn’t resist the need to feel her touch. you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her closer. there was something so comforting about her touch and gentleness. you both pulled back as gwen stared deeply into your eyes. her hands drifted from the sides of your waist to the small of your back as both your eyes flicked over each other's features.

“are you gonna raid my fridge or wanna go straight to my room?” you asked, teasing her as you broke the unspoken tension between you two.

she giggled as a smirk appeared on her lips. she gave your back a gentle slap, “hey! and no thank you, i actually wanted to come talk to you about something that’s been on my mind,” she confessed.

“oh okay,” you said silently, leading her to your room.

gwen made herself comfortable as she plopped herself on your bed. she manspreaded her legs as she threw her head back against your wall, giving you a glimpse of her faint adam's apple before looking down at you. her hair had gotten longer since she shaved the sides, turning it into more of an undercut now as it framed her face beautifully. it was moments like these you remembered that gwen had equally good looks to match her personality. god, she was so breathtaking. her outfit was an oversized band hoodie that overlapped the tied flannel shirt around your waist, paired with black leggings and her signature teal converse.

"do you always have to take up all the space in my bed?" you asked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you placed your hands on your hips.

gwen responded with a playful groan, accompanied by a mischievous look. "oh please, there's plenty of room," she retorted, patting the empty space next to her, inviting you to join.

taking a deep breath, you couldn't resist the playful banter, and you sat down next to her, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"so?" you prompted, your voice filled with anticipation, hoping she would take the lead in the conversation.

gwen's hesitation lingered in the air, her gaze momentarily shifting away as she gathered her thoughts. "i don't know... i've been wanting to tell you this for a while now, and, well, with prom coming up..."

before she could continue, you blurted out your own news, interrupting her. "harry asked me to prom."

the sudden interruption hung in the air, momentarily breaking the flow of the conversation. the nervous smile on gwen's face dropped immediately, and she sat up, her eyes locked onto yours with intensity.

"he what?" she questioned, her voice low and raspy, almost demanding you to repeat yourself.

"harry came here yesterday with flowers and asked me to be his prom date," you explained, sensing gwen's anger starting to simmer.

"(y/n), are you being serious with me right now?" she asked again, slowly rising from the bed as her anger began to surface.

"why the hell would i make any of this up, gwen?" you responded, a touch of frustration in your voice. "he said that he's liked me for a long time and that all he's been thinking about is asking me to prom."

gwen was in shock. anger fueled her thoughts toward harry. could he really be plotting revenge against her like this? was it possible that he would go to such lengths?

"do you think you're the first person he's told that to? he's not what you think," gwen told you firmly, her voice tinged with hurt and anger.

your irritation grew. you couldn't understand why gwen was so angry when she already had a date.

"really? so what is he then?" you questioned, your voice matching her intensity as you stood up to meet her gaze.

"i'll tell you this, he isn't the damn saint you're making him out to be!" gwen exclaimed, her anger palpable. "he's an actor, and if he's got you so hooked with a ten-minute performance, he's probably next in line for an oscar."

you scoffed at her frustration. "you have no business being mad at me for this when you already have your own date. do you want to have your cake and eat it too? because i'm sorry to tell you this, but that's not gonna slide with me. i'm allowed to have fun and talk to whoever i want," you declared, standing your ground.

gwen's eyes furrowed, and she put a hand over her mouth, taking a deep exhale before turning back to you.

"what date? what the hell are you talking about?" she hastily asked.

"don't play with me, gwen. i heard about you and miles. if it's not supposed to be a secret, then why didn't you mention it at all?" you raised your voice, frustration evident.

confusion etched over gwen's face. "did obnoxious osborn tell you this? because it's all bullshit, and he's talking out of his ass. he's literally known for being a heartthrob and making out with random girls in our class under the bleachers. come on, you know better than this," she explained, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and concern.

“i said don’t play with me, i’m not here to listen to you act childish and sound like a psycho tryna rhyme his name with the first words you can think of from a kids vocab book,” you yellee, quicklime calming yourself down.

you took a deep breath, ready to finish this.

"do i know better?" you repeated, stepping closer to her. "you're always disappearing randomly and refusing to open up about it. you act one way and then another, and you give me so many mixed signals that i've had enough of it!"

it felt like everything was falling apart, like a chaotic mess that couldn't be unraveled. after years of friendship, it was collapsing before your eyes like dominoes.

"i can't talk about it, okay? i have my own stuff, and you've never pressed me to tell you anything about that, so i know that’s not the real reason you’re upset," gwen argued back, her voice strained. "the mixed signals are what i came here to talk to you about, (y/n). i... i don't want to be friends with you anymore!" she admitted, her vulnerability showing through.

the room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. you took a couple of steps back, feeling the ground shift beneath you. is this what harry was talking about? no, you knew better than to trust him over gwen. but in this moment of vulnerability, the conflicting information dragged you in two different directions. was it true that she didn't want to be friends with you, as harry had tried to convince you, or did she see it entirely differently?

gwen put her hands over her face, gripping her hair out of frustration. she tried to step forward, reaching a hand out to you, but you refused, holding your ground.

"shit... (y/n), i didn't mean for it to come out like that," she attempted to explain, her voice choked with tears as she realized the intensity of the situation.

"leave," you told her, your voice stern and harsh.

"what? you can't be serious," she pleaded. "you don't seriously choose his word over mine, do you?"

"no! i just- i just can't do this right now, and i need you to leave," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of pain and frustration.

the room fell into an uneasy silence as gwen stared at you, her eyes wide reflecting her disbelief. slowly, she walked past you, tears streaming down her face as she looked down to avoid your gaze, and left without saying another word.

as the door closed behind her, you sank to the floor, feeling a heavy emptiness settle in your chest. the weight of the broken friendship added a weight onto you, and you couldn't help but question whether things could ever be the same again.

"you told her you didn't want to be friends anymore?" peter asked in disbelief as he leaned against a nearby locker, his eyes fixed on gwen.

gwen let out a frustrated sigh as she slammed her locker shut after putting her books inside, resting her back against it. "i didn't mean it like that, peter. i was just caught off guard. and to make matters worse, harry sabotaged everything," she explained, running her hands through her hair in frustration. "i never even saw it coming.

peter stepped beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "you know (y/n), gwen. she's smart and strong. she won't let harry manipulate her, and deep down, i think you know she doesn't have any real interest in him," he reassured her, urging her to have faith in your judgment.

gwen nodded, her eyes closing shut as she palmed her face. "i know, it's just... the thought of her with harry makes me physically sick," she admitted,

the image of you with someone else haunted gwen's thoughts. and knowing the person was harry, who didn’t even love or care for you, made it so much worse. she knew he could never love you the way she does. he was merely using you as a pawn in his little game, and it infuriated her that you were dragged into this one-sided fight.

"speak of the devil," peter muttered, gesturing for gwen to look down the hallway.

her eyes landed on you, engaged in a casual conversation with your friend liz allen. that was normal, but what wasn't normal was harry by your side, holding your hand as you strolled confidently down the hallway together. gwen's heart sank as she felt her tongue press against the inside of her cheek. he noticed her gaze and it only made his smirk grow.

“i'm gonna go with liz. see you later," you said to harry before walking away, leaving him with a warm smile

on his face.

"i'ii catch up with you later, baby," he replied, his tone affectionate as you disappeared into a nearby classroom.

gwen winced at the nickname, her inner cheek now bearing the marks of her biting down on it. she let out a deep sigh, her eyes still fixed on harry as he made his way over to her and peter.

"why the long face? the frown doesn't suit you," he taunted, trying to provoke a reaction from gwen.

and it worked.

gwen's frustration boiled over, and without hesitation, she grabbed harry by the collar and pushed him up against the wall, surprising him with her sudden burst of anger. the unexpected aggression caught harry off guard, eliciting a loud grunt from him.

"gwen, wait!" peter called out, attempting to intervene and calm her down.

“she’s not just some toy you can pick up and play with until you don’t need her anymore. she has nothing to do this with and you're seriously pathetic for going this low by dragging her into this just to get back at me,” gwen asserted.

harry let out a mocking laugh, trying to mask his surprise. he carefully chose his words, well aware that the hallways were empty at this time.

“but toys are meant to be played with by definition,” he said, his voice dripping with coldness. “does it make you mad when you see her with me? when i get to touch her the way you’ve wanted for so long and you couldn’t? you call me pathetic, but you couldn't even gather the courage to tell her how you feel. holding her hand made you shy away like a little girl," he retorted.

gwen yanked him forward before forcefully slamming him back into the wall. her eyes blazed with fierce determination. "you are the embodiment of pathetic, harry. this whole mess started because i don't like you, and guess what? that hasn't changed. you believe yourself to be sophisticated and superior to everyone else, but all you do is push others down to get yourself where you want to go. you disguise it behind the glamor and the clothes but behind it you’re just a lowlife with no real friends. you aren’t entitled to anybody or anything. and i guess since you’ve been spoiled all your life it’s up to me to teach you that no amount of money or charm will buy you dignity.”

taking a deep breath, gwen eased her grip on his collar, releasing him from her hold. “you think life is one big party and people are just trends you can skip over, but mark my words, you’re in for a rude awakening,” she stated.

"and what are you going to do?" he jeered, mocking her. what could she possibly do to free herself from the drama harry has ensnared her in, purely for his own sadistic pleasure of watching her life crumble?

"you'll see. but next time you dare to pull a stunt like this, remember who you're messing with," she warned, giving harry a menacing glare as she walked away, accompanied by peter.

gwen wouldn’t let harry get away with this. to her, this wasn’t about revenge, this was about you. this was about her doing right by you and treating you how you truly deserved to be treated. she was going to make sure you know exactly how she feels.

the day of prom had arrived, and the anticipation weighed heavily on your shoulders. it was evident that harry's focus lay not in the outfits you both wore, but rather in the desire to be seen with you. perhaps he aimed to stoke gwen's jealousy, to make her realize what she couldn't have.

as you slipped into your dress, its flattering silhouette accentuating your figure with an open back and slit, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. the night you once eagerly anticipated now loomed before you with apprehension. the fallout between you and gwen had left a void, and the lack of communication had extended to peter as well. the thought of addressing the situation felt overwhelming, so you chose the path of avoidance, despite knowing deep down that it may not have been the wisest decision.

occasional conversations with peter only served to reinforce your initial doubts about harry. he told you that he was acting sketchy, his fight with gwen, and you also shared with him the things harry had told you in his little speech. you acknowledged the validity of those doubts, but a part of you couldn't help but harbor anger towards gwen. you longed for her to take the initiative, to approach you and express her true feelings. while you understood her struggle with vocalizing emotions, the prolonged silence of unspoken words and the feeling of being strung along intensified the tension between you. it was a painful realization that your feelings for gwen had no sign of fading away soon, yet they seemed to have no chance to blossom into something more either. the stagnation gnawed at your heart.

the internal conflict in your mind tormented you, a battle between your desire for gwen's love and the frustration of her fears.

as you stood in front of the mirror, the anxiety of the night filled the air. the sound of a car pulling up outside your home signaled the arrival of harry, who had graciously offered to be your escort for the evening.

taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and made your way downstairs to meet harry. as you opened the door, he greeted you with a charming smile, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

“aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” harry stated as he leaned against your door frame. he wore all black which included his blazer and khaki’s, but instead of a button up he fancied himself in a matching black turtleneck. his shoes were equally dark oxford’s that he sported casually.

“who are you, someone’s grandpa?” you asked as a harsh tease.

all he did was chuckle in response, not sensing your bitterness toward him.

"ready for a night to remember?" harry asked, extending his hand to you.

you hesitated for a moment, torn between your heart and your mind. yet, you were in too deep and it felt all you could do now was seize the opportunity to make the best of your prom. you took harry's hand, allowing him to lead you towards the awaiting car.

stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in luxury. the plush leather seats and the soft ambiance of the car created an atmosphere of opulence. as the vehicle glided through the city streets, you couldn't help but marvel at the passing lights and how beautiful new york looked transformed by the night sky.

you glanced absentmindedly at the raindrops trickling down the window, seeking solace in the gentle rhythm of the drizzle. it acted as a soothing distraction from the swirling thoughts that occupied your mind, thoughts that revolved around one person in particular— gwen.

harry, perceptive as ever, sensed the weight of your emotions.

"you know you made the right decision," he remarked as he edged closer to you, his voice having an untruthful undertone.

you gave him a glare from the side of your eye before turning to face him.

“why do you say that?” you questioned, growing frustrated with everything.

"well, with gwen, you would've never reached this point," he responded simply.

his words stung, it was a bitter realization, one that left a sour taste in your mouth.

a wry smile played on harry's lips as he reached out to adjust the corsage he had bestowed upon you, an accessory chosen not out of admiration, but as a symbol of his possession over you.

harry sensed your conflicted state and attempted to try and ease you up.

"i may have attended plenty of lavish events in this car since i was young," harry continued, a faint shadow of a smile dancing on his lips. "but tonight... tonight feels different with you."

the words echoed hollowly, devoid of the genuine emotions you had secretly yearned for. they were a stark reminder that beneath the glittering facade, harry's intentions were far from pure. you didn’t respond, instead you chose to nod at his words as you recognized you were near the school.

"here we are, mr. osborn," the driver announced, interrupting the tense atmosphere.

harry's face lit up with a triumphant gleam as he turned toward you, extending his hand. reluctantly, you accepted his hand, stepping out of the car, the light raindrops falling around you like a somber symphony. as you made your way towards the entrance, you steeled yourself, preparing yourself for whatever mess that you knew you were about to get into.

as you stepped into the prom venue, a wave of excitement washed over you. the energy was electrifying, with music bouncing off the walls and vibrant lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. the once crappy gym had been transformed into a breathtaking space, adorned with elegant decorations that made the room look so enchanting and full of life.

the makeshift dance floor was enticing, its polished surface gleaming invitingly under the soft glow of the overhead chandeliers. couples twirled gracefully, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the music. laughter filled the air as friends greeted each other and took pictures.

the walls were adorned with cascading drapes and shimmering streamers, creating a whimsical backdrop. tables were meticulously arranged, adorned with centerpieces of flowers and flickering candles, adding a special touch to the scene. everywhere you looked, the place was alive.

the dj stationed at the center of the room skillfully curated a playlist that blended popular hits and timeless classics. the beats throbbed through the speakers, encouraging everyone to take to the dance floor and lose themselves into the night.

as you made your way further into the so-called venue, you caught glimpses of friends and classmates as they passed by. yet, still no sight of gwen.

as the hours ticked by, you found yourself consumed by an unexplainable longing to see her. the mere thought of seeing her again stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you, leaving you restless on the dance floor and yearning for her presence.

throughout the night, you caught fleeting glimpses of her, mere fragments that left you wanting more. your attention was drawn to the distinct elements that composed her captivating image. her hair, cascading in waves, held a hint of mystery, teasing you with its untamed elegance. the sight of her donning a black leather jacket ignited a sense of rebellious allure, adding an edgy touch to her.

your eyes traced the contours of her neck adorned with a black choker, layered with multiple necklaces, each one a reflection of her individuality. beneath the jacket, a pink dress peeked through, its front short and the back long, while a layer of dark purple added on top.

black knee-length tights hugged her legs and as your gaze descended, you couldn't help but notice the black boots that completed her look.

as you swayed to the music, engrossed in conversation with your friends, harry slipped out of your view, claiming he was going to fetch drinks for the two of you. he made his way to the drink table, where an array of drinks and desserts awaited.

with a hint of mischief, harry muttered to gwen, "oh, don't mind me, just getting a drink for me and my girl." he poured two glasses, a calculated move to incite a sense of jealousy, knowing that gwen had been watching your interactions throughout the night, longing to be the one by your side. “enjoying the night, hannah montana?”

gwen, determined not to let harry's words affect her, initially brushed off his comment. however, his persistent needling proved too much to ignore. "wow, that was the funniest thing you've said yet! you deserve some applause for that one," she retorted sarcastically, her hands mockingly clapping for his attempt at humor.

he smirked watching her get riled up as he took it upon himself to stand next to gwen. he moved closer to her side, leaning in to speak softly into her ear. “sad to think that you thought you’d have the last word in this all, gwen. after this it’s off to college. you really messed up your chances. not even just with (y/n), but with me. we could’ve had something, but you only really care about yourself, huh?” he turned around fully, holding his two drinks ready to leave. “this is it. i have the last word.”

that was enough to do it for gwen.

gwen reached her breaking point. the music slowed down, the dj's announcement filling the air, urging everyone to bring their partners to the dance floor. the crowd surged, people jostling for space, with a few girls even approaching harry for a quick dance, eager to bask in his wealth and fuel his ego.

this was her time.

"hey, we need to talk," gwen said, her grip tight as she grabbed your arm. startled, you looked up at her, surprised to see her so close, determination evident in her eyes.

"yeah, we do," you agreed, allowing her to hurriedly guide you both outside, away from prying eyes and the bustling prom.

as you stepped into the open, the light drizzle that had fallen earlier transformed into a gentle rain shower. the lobby glistened with moisture, and a soft breeze rustled through the nearby trees. gwen's hand tightened around yours, helping you stay stable amidst the slippery ground.

"gwen," you called out, tone laced with concern, but she continued walking, leading you to a secluded spot beside the school lobby. "gwen, enough! you need to talk too," you exclaimed, feeling the urgency mounting within you.

she paused, her hand covering her face momentarily, trying to rein in her frustration. "i need to talk? you didn't even let me explain myself last time, and then i saw you here with him," gwen said, her words pouring out rapidly as she fought to control her emotions. "but that's not why i wanted to talk to you now. look, harry asked me to the prom, and i said no... because i had planned to ask you," she revealed.

your eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and realization washing over you. you had suspected harry hadn't been entirely truthful, but the revelation that gwen had intended to ask you left you speechless.

"what?" you mouthed, struggling to find the right words. "so when you came to my house?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling.

"yes! i was going to ask you," gwen affirmed, feeling relief as you finally began to understand. "i love you, (y/n). you've been my best friend, but i've fallen in love with you. i've been losing sleep over it. you're always there for me, understanding in ways i've never experienced before, and it scares me. i didn't want to tell you because i didn't want to risk losing what we have. the thought of you saying no and jeopardizing our friendship stressed me out so much. i would have rather kept my feelings hidden if it meant i could still have you in my life. but now, i just want to face my fears and say, 'screw it,' because i meant every word that i told you when i went to see you. i don't want to be just your friend anymore, i want to be more."

a silence settled between you, interrupted only by the sound of raindrops cascading down gwen's jacket. tears welled up in your eyes as her words pierced through your heart.

"you like me?" you simply asked, your voice almost breaking.

"more than like," she chuckled softly, running a hand through her hair. "you have no idea."

slowly, you closed the distance between you, your fingers fidgeting with the corsage on your wrist. "i like you too, gwen. love, even," you confessed. "i felt so foolish, thinking there might be something between us. part of me believed it was all in my head, and then harry started messing with me, planting doubts that you would never be interested. it hit me hard, and that's why i went with him. i felt trapped, but i also wanted to see your reaction."

gwen's smile grew, and she gently placed her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "you wanted to see if i'd get jealous?" she inquired, curiosity dancing in her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

"yeah, i guess... i felt this thing between us at times, and it made me overthink. i thought that maybe, if you saw me with someone else, you would speak up. and if you didn't, well, it would be a win-win because at least i'd still have a date," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have treated you like this. i just get overwhelmed and scared when i don't think things are gonna work out, so i just avoided it all outta fear."

"don't apologize. both of us got caught up in harry's stupid revenge scheme," gwen said softly, her thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

in the quietude that enveloped you both, you found yourselves staring into each other's eyes. the moonlight filtered through the dark night sky, casting a soft glow upon gwen's features. she looked effortlessly beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling, and her hair framing her face. up close, you noticed the delicate touch of makeup—a rosy red on her lips and smokey eyeshadow with a hint of blue.

before you could fully comprehend your own actions, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss upon her lips. it was too quick for her to kiss back.

her eyes widened in shock and you felt her gasp against your lips. with the unspoken tension broken, there was no more denying the feelings that had been building between the two of you.

suddenly, gwen’s lips crashed against yours as her hands moved to grip your waist and hold you close. she melted into you, a moan escaping her lips as she pressed herself

against you and kissed you hungrily. the electricity between the two of you surrounded you, a silent understanding passing between you that changed the dynamic of friendship was changed forever.

gwen parted her lips away from yours as they brushed up against each other in the small distance.

her eyes softened, her gaze searching yours. "you deserve better," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "and i want to be the one who shows you that."

her hands massaged up and down your torso gently as your arms found their way around her neck. “you are better,” you whispered to her.

it was like you and a magnetism to you that gwen couldn’t fight as your words encouraged her to kiss you again. it was like a switch was flipped inside gwen. she'd never experienced something so electrifying before. feeling your lips against hers was pure passion. her heart raced with excitement as she let herself be swept along in the moment. when your lips met hers and your mouths filled with the taste of the other, gwen felt there was no more room for hesitation now, and the two of you were lost in an incredible kiss that couldn't be stopped.

"you don't need this anymore," gwen's voice came out in a hoarse whisper as she reached for the corsage on your wrist, the one harry had given you. her eyes lingered on the delicate blooms, appreciating their beauty for a fleeting moment. then, in one swift motion, she tore the corsage clean off your hand, her grip firm and unwavering. the force with which she removed it almost stung. gwen flung it far behind you, casting it away.

gwen pushed you lightly into a nearby wall, her hand cupping the back of your head so you wouldn’t get hurt by the impact. she wanted nothing more than to feel you against her, to have your arms wrapped around her as you kissed her again and again. her heart was starting to beat in her chest, and you could feel her breathing quicken.

but still gazing intently into your eyes and keeping her lips inches from your own, gwen briefly backed away. "i think harry's an idiot," she purred, her tone dripping with confidence.

she pulled you close again, her body pressed against yours as if she was trying to collide with you. "he doesn't know anything about you. you're the most amazing, incredible, sweet, adorable..." she paused, her heart racing. "perfect."

a drop of water landed on her nose and slid down her face, causing her to giggle. her radiant smile illuminated the moment, casting a spell of enchantment.

the weight of her words settled upon you, leaving you blissfully captivated. "perfect?" you repeated.

“so perfect, you don’t even have to try,” she replied, her eyes softening as she sees how flustered you get.

gwen leaned in and nibbled your lower lip as she bit the bottom teasingly, just to see how you'd react. "mmm, " she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her lips against yours again. you felt her lick on your lower lip as she cocked her head to the side to deepen the kiss. your body trembled as gwen's tongue pressed into your mouth. her hands reached out and drew you closer as she gently slipped past your playful resistance and explored your mouth.

her eyelids drifted shut as your tongue stroked hers. this was heaven for her, and your moans were like music to her ears. she ran her hand through your hair, her fingers gently brushing against the back of your neck as she continued to kiss you deeply and passionately. you could feel her other hand running slowly down your back, her fingertips gently trailing your spine. her kisses grew more frantic, her breathing becoming more rapid. all she wanted was you.

gwen felt your cool, plush thighs clamp around her leg as she slid it up between yours through the opening in your dress. her hands slid down your body, one moving past your legs and coming to rest on your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze as she began to knead at your skin while the other put a firm hand on your hips. you winced at the sensation of her hand rubbing between your thighs as the opposite hand pushed you down onto her leg. in all the excitement, she had pushed herself closer, now grinding against you as she tried to find some sense of relief.

with the rain, the kiss became even sloppier. your mascara started to drip and streak, and you could feel it on your lashes. your and gwen's lipsticks ended up mixing and smearing up against each other as you were both kissing. gwen broke away from your mouth and started laying a trail of kisses down your jaw, leaving faint red lip prints in their wake. her red rose tinted lipstick was now much more faint and messy around her lips.

gwen lowered her mouth to your neck and began lightly sucking and nibbling. you almost went weak in the knees from the stimulating sensation caused by her lips leaving open mouth kisses on the surface of your skin that reached your collarbone and the curve of your breasts.

“(y/n)?” you heard a voice call.

shit, it was harry.

“(y/n), are you out here?” he called out once more.

gwen lifted herself off your neck and straightened herself as she glanced up at you with half-lidded eyes. peering from behind the wall that offered a semblance of concealment, you saw harry discovering the discarded corsage gwen had ripped off your wrist. he knelt down, his gaze fixated on it.

gwen's eyes met yours, a mischievous glint dancing within them. despite your scolding look, she leaned closer to you, undeterred by the risk of being overheard.

"he's going to hear us, gwen," you warned, aware of the potential consequences.

"so?" she replied, a hint of defiance in her voice. "unless you care, because i don't. let him hear."

her audacity caught you off guard, your face flushing as she returned to your neck, this time biting down hard on your skin as you felt the blood rush to the concentrated spots. you were sure they were gonna bruise and turn purple later.

“gwen!” you gasped loud, quickly covering your mouth to muffle her name. she went on, and her unexpected senses caught you off guard.

you made every effort to make sure you weren't too loud for harry to hear, but it was difficult to keep your whines under control.

but gwen knew. when he heard mysterious noises, noticed your discarded corsage, and realized he hadn't seen her go back inside, gwen knew he was aware based on the way she noticed in the corner of her eye how his face twisted. he ultimately stood up and turned around as he headed back inside.

with a soft pop, gwen pulled away from your neck. she stared attentively at you as you were breathing heavily against the wall. it was a gaze that held the power to captivate, like a masterful musician surveying their latest composition. in that moment, you felt like a canvas, waiting to be explored and transformed by her artistic touch.

“perfect and beautiful,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “i’ve wanted to do that for so long- not the makeout and hickey thing. i mean, don’t get me wrong, i enjoyed it even if it moved a little fast but uh… the kiss part. i wanted to kiss you for a while to see how it felt.”

even though gwen was touching you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear with complete confidence, you grinned at how nervous she had become. wrapping your arms around yourself, you shivered slightly, the rain casting a chill upon you.

“you’re cold? hold on,” gwen's concern was immediate as she swiftly removed her leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders. “here, much better than getting hypothermia.”

you chuckled at her teasing as you felt her cheeks heat up. "thank you," you whispered, hugging her briefly.

she smiled down at you, admiring how you looked in her clothes. "no need to thank me. you look stunning in it," she complimented, a mischievous smirk gracing her lips.

as you emerged from your hiding place, she seized your hand.

“what do we do now?” you asked her.

gwen turned to you, a rebellious glint in her eye. “well, i’m over this prom thing,” she admitted as she pulled you closer, her hand releasing from yours to wrap her arm around your waist and hold you snugly against her side. “wanna get outta here?” she asked.

a smile played on your lips as you nodded in agreement. "yes, let's do it," you replied.

just as you both contemplate your next move, your phone vibrates, signaling a new message.

“don’t tell me it’s him,” she groaned as you nodded, confirming her suspicion.

she extended her hand, silently requesting your phone. "can i?" she asked, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

handing her your phone, you watched as gwen opened the camera app and positioned it in front of both of you. "smile!" she declared, capturing the moment with a click. the picture was you smiling as gwen held you jaw gently, planting a kiss on your cheek.

with the photo now saved on your phone, gwen's mischievous side took over. she swiftly navigated through your messages until she found harry's name. grinning devilishly, she selected his contact and attached the newly taken photo.

"just gonna let him know you won’t be coming back," gwen remarked, her voice full of wicked delight. without hesitation, she composed a short message to accompany the photo, her fingers dancing across the screen.

harry : (y/n) where did you go? you missing out sent at 8:53

you : hey harry, it’s gwen. she’s a little busy right now.

you : me and (y/n) are kinda over this prom night so we decided to do our own thing so i promise you we won’t be missing much. hope you enjoy the photo tho!! sent at 9:00

"there you go," gwen told you as she giggled to herself. "let's see how he likes that."

‘it feels good to be petty’ she thought, handing your phone back. the sky stretched out above, an expanse of darkness that seemed to swallow the world below. it was a canvas painted in shades of ebony and indigo, adorned with the twinkling jewels of distant stars. the rain had dampened her hair, causing it to cling to her forehead in an alluring fashion.

“so, my place? i have food,” she suggests, a smirk forming at the corners of her mouth.

you laughed at how casual it was. you two, ready to go to prom and dressed up, would now rather just go to her house and eat whatever leftovers she had to offer.

"wow, how fancy," you jested, your tone filled with playful sarcasm. "please, take me anywhere but here."

together, you left, leaving behind the glitz and glamor of prom and harry’s drama to finally have the night you and gwen deserved. as you stepped away from the whirlwind of glittering lights and laughter, you felt a wave of comfort wash over you in her presence. for just an instant, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. although you had fully anticipated having the most miserable prom and an even worst summer, you were now fully content. you had gwen, and that was all you could ask her.

she was just glad she could steal you back faster than he took you.

A/N: it’s finally here….😽😽

© 2023 primaviva

#🪽— angel’s series #gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy x you #gwen stacy x y/n #gwen stacy #ghost spider x reader #gwen x reader #astv x reader #atsv gwen #ghost spider #astv x you #astv x y/n #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x y/n #spiderverse x reader #astv imagines #gwen stacy angst #astv fanfic #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #spider gwen x reader #spider gwen #across the spiderverse #spiderman astv #spiderman across the spiderverse #astv fluff #gwen stacy imagine #astv gwen #gwen spiderverse #gwen and miles

[autisticlancemcclain]

For all that Keith easily sees the strength in others, he struggles to accept just how much value he holds. He’s not like Lance, of course — Lance sees the good in every person he meets because as much as he hates to admit it, he’s gullible. But Keith looks at every person he meets and easily identifies their strength. Sometimes it’s with fondness, sometimes with wariness, but he is completely certain that everyone in the universe has a value to them.

He, however, struggles to see how he is valued by others.

It’s not that he thinks he’s useless. He knows he isn’t. He knows he’s skilled. But Lance has always observed Keith in any way he could, and that didn’t stop when they got married. Lance knows his husband can’t quite understand why he is loved as much as he is. He’s happy to explain why he values everyone else, from earnestly explaining to Allura that she’s the spirit of Voltron and fondly telling Lance to leave the math to Pidge — he loves metaphors, that husband of Lance’s, because heaven forbid he just says what he wants to say — but vehemently denies that he might be held in just as high regard.

But Lance knows. Quietly, proved over and over again through the years, he knows that Keith is who people turn to when they need someone. Keith is reliable, he’s dependable, he’s strong — a little tactless, sure, but when you’re scared and vulnerable and you don’t know what to do or who to rely on? You turn to Keith. Lance did it himself, years and years ago, when there were five lions and six paladins and he didn’t know where to go from there. The war may be behind them, but that didn’t stop their team from needing their leader.

1. Pidge

Lance really starts to clue in when Keith’s phone goes off, late at night, when they’re cuddling and watching a movie (but mostly cuddling).

“Sorry,” Keith mutters sheepishly. Lance just rolls his eyes fondly and digs around for the remote to pause the movie (he is not going to have Keith talk over Legally Blonde. That’s a sin). Remote search or no, though, Lance refuses to move even one inch away from his own personal space heater, so he feels it when said personal space heater tenses up.

Here we go.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just — don’t hang up. I’m coming, okay?”

Keith puts his hand over the base of his phone, looking at Lance urgently.

“It’s Pidge.”

“Is she okay? Does she need Voltron?”

“Not all of us,” he says, hushed. “She’s just — she messed around in the wrong server and got herself arrested in the Delrn quadrant. She needs someone to go get her.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. That’s not — that’s not good, obviously, but after years of Pidge needs help meaning Pidge is being ambushed by dozens of armed soldiers, it’s a lot less scary.

“You need my help?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, you stay here. I’ve got it. It shouldn’t take too long. Don’t wait up though, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek before untangling himself from the blankets, walking over to the front door and sliding on his boots.

“I’m coming now, Pidge, okay? Keep on, I’ll transfer your line to my ship in a minute.”

“Text me when she’s safe,” Lance calls as Keith unlocks the door.

“Will do.” He shoots a rueful smile in Lance’s direction. “Sorry for ditching movie night.”

Lance shakes his head fondly, waving him away. “Go, Oh Mighty Black Paladin. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Keith grins at him one more time before he ducks into the garage, locking the door behind him. Lance sighs, turning off the T.V. and folding the blanket, heading over to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He won’t be able to sleep until he knows Pidge is home safe, anyway. (And, he’ll be honest, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be able to sleep without Keith’s constant snores.)

By the time Keith gets home, Lance has finished three (3) coffees and has sewn the lining of the current project he’s working on. It’s something like 4 in the morning, but Lance stopped looking at the clock a couple hours ago.

“I thought I told you not to wait up,” Keith says, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Lance’s lips.

“Mm,” Lance mumbles, grabbing Keith’s shirt and keeping him right where he is (pressed close close closely to Lance, where Lance has selfishly and unashamedly decided he belongs). “Can’t sleep without you. I’ve unfortunately fallen victim to your conditioning, Pavlov.”

Keith snorts, kissing him one last time before fully scooping him up in his arms.

Lance, whipped as he is, does not protest.

“I think you’re maybe just in love with me,” he says, smirking.

Lance pretends to think about it. “I dunno. There’s this really hot guy, maybe you’ve heard of him. Leader of Voltron? Ex-Blade? He’s got this dreamy mullet. I kind of have a thing for him.”

Keith rolls his eyes, fully throwing him on the bed and crawling in after him, ignoring Lance’s indignant yelp.

“He sounds like a dork,” he says drily.

Lance grins. “He is.”

“Whatever, you butthead. Get over here so we can sleep.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Lance flops into Keith’s open arms, snaking his arms around his husband’s waist and tangling their legs together. He holds him closely, head over his heart, listening to it beat.

“Pidge okay?” he asks softly.

Keith hums, running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Yeah. Pretending to be less shaken up than she is. She got cocky and got caught and it freaked her out, so she started running her mouth. You know her.”

Lance laughs quietly. Sounds like Pidge.

“But it wasn’t that big of a deal. I went to the station and talked them out of pressing charges for spying. She’s banned from the quadrant for life, but nothing else. Dunno why she called me to help. Coran probably would have been more helpful.”

Privately, Lance thinks he knows exactly why Pidge called Keith. Why, when she was scared and alone and knew she had fucked up, she immediately called the one person who would drop everything to make sure she’s okay. Who has done it for her before and will do it again. Who respects her as a grown woman, now, who doesn’t need his guidance, but who will never stop providing his support.

“Bet she thought the big bad Black Paladin would win her some intimidation points,” he says instead, because he knows his husband isn’t yet ready to hear it.

They’ll get there.

2. Hunk

It’s not that Keith gets these calls often. Hell, definitely no more than once every five or six months. Few and far between, really. Staggered enough that the pattern might skip most people’s notice.

But Lance knows better.

So when Keith’s phone rings — and of course it actually rings, because Keith is the only person Lance knows who never, ever turns his ringer off, because even though he might not realise it he is constantly ready to help and would never put himself in a position where he can’t — in the middle of their mortgage meeting with the bank, Lance ducks his head to hide his smile.

He figured that might happen.

“Fuck,” Keith mutters, digging around in his pocket. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

The bank teller — a very serious-looking woman in her late sixties — does not look amused. She mutters something about professionalism.

Lance does her a favour and does not point out that Keith is one of five reasons that Earth is not currently a pile of space dust, and she should perhaps provide some lenience.

“Keith?” comes a nervous, teary voice from Keith’s phone (the bank teller’s office is real small, and there’s no room for privacy).

“Yeah, Hunk. You okay?”

“Um, sorry to bother you. You’re probably busy. But, uh. My car broke down? I tried fixing it myself but I don’t have the parts I need, and triple A says they can’t send a tow because of all the snow, and I’m wearing a coat but I don’t really want to be here for hours so —“

“Hunk,” Keith interrupts, “breathe, buddy.”

Hunk does, deep and noisy enough to be heard through the phone.

(Lance thinks back to the first time he can remember that Hunk’s anxiety made itself known around Keith. He remembers seeing Keith, eighteen and still bitter and unsure but desperate to be part of a family, with wide panicked eyes and stuttering advice about ‘not worrying about it’, trying to calm Hunk down to no avail. It’s certainly something, he’s thinks, that Keith can now calm Hunk effortlessly through the phone.)

“I’m leaving now to come pick you up. We’ll come back later to get your car, yeah?”

“I don’t want to put you out —“

“Hunk,” Keith says firmly, “chill out. Or, er, don’t, I guess, since that’s the problem. Um, stay in your car so you’ll stay warm. I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

Keith hangs up, and looks apologetically at Lance.

“I’m sorry, babe, I know this is important —”

Lance squeezes his hand. “Go. I got this.”

Keith quickly gets up from the stuffy chair, presses a kiss to Lance’s temple, and rushes out without a word.

The bank teller sniffs. “High demand, your husband. Can’t even make time for one appointment. That doesn’t inspire confidence, you know.”

“Family emergency, ma’am,” Lance says with great amusement. “Besides, we’re nearly finished. I’ll make sure to relay everything you say to him when he gets home.”

Lance decides to walk home after the meeting, since Keith has their car. It’s nice. Despite the mishap, the meeting had gone rather smoothly, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t get approved for their mortgage within the week. That’ll keep things going nicely. Lance will miss their quiet little apartment, but he’s excited for what they’re going to build together next.

Besides, he thinks, when Keith gets home several hours later with a sheepish Hunk in tow, it’ll be nice to have a couple guest bedrooms.

He’s sure they’ll need them.

3. Romelle

The ring of the doorbell makes them both panic.

“Is that the social worker?”

“She’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Lance hisses, three steps away from freaking out. Keith is not far behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can we ignore it?”

“No, we can’t ignore it! It’s a home visit! We need to be home!”

“Fuck! Okay! I’m gonna answer the door, fix your hair!”

Lance does, frantically trying to pat it down so it doesn’t look like he’s been nervously running his hands through it for four hours (he has) or that he just had sex (he hasn’t). (Well. Not since this morning.)

“Here, let me —” Lance practically melts at Keith’s touch, his gentle hands through the knots in Lance’s un-straightened hair, even though it’s certainly not a new sensation.

But he always appreciates Keith’s hands on him.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith says, dropping a kiss on Lance’s forehead before stepping away. “I mean, if we fail we can just be assholes and pull the saviours-of-the-universe card, right?”

Lance flicks him on the forehead, unable to fight back a smile. “We’re supposed to be responsible now, Mullet.”

Keith grins, curling one hand in Lance’s and one around the doorknob. “Whatever you say, Kogane. You ready?”

Lance nods, squeezing Keith’s hand.

They’ve got this.

“Hi,” says someone who is decidedly not the social worker, looking at them nervously from their front door.

Keith and Lance blink at her, and then each other, shocked.

Well. At least this is better than Mrs. Kreft coming early, at least.

“Romelle? What are you doing here?”

The Altean’s face crumples, and she throws herself at Keith.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” she wails.

Lance sighs fondly, shaking his head.

He should have known.

“I’ll call Mrs. Kreft,” Lance says as Keith guides the sobbing woman to their couch. Keith nods gratefully, then turns his attention back to Romelle, so Lance heads to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

He quickly dials the social worker’s number, resting his hip on the counter and fiddling with a random pen he found.

“Lance! I’m about to leave for your place now. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he reassures. “Keith’s sister popped by unexpectedly, though. She’ll probably stay for a couple weeks. I was wondering if you could maybe do one of our character evaluations at the same time as the home visit? Two birds with one stone, you know.”

If there’s one thing Lance is good at, it’s rolling with the punches. He’ll handle this.

“You caught me at a good time, then,” Mrs. Kreft says jovially. “I’ll get the right paperwork. Is Keith’s sister prepared for the interview process? She’s not really meant to rehearse or anything — she’s supposed to provide an honest and timely assessment of your caregiving abilities — but it would be best if she knew it was coming.”

“I’ll make sure to brief her. Thank you, Mrs. Kreft. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Lance. I’m rooting for you two. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“Alright, thanks. Bye.”

Keith walks in to the kitchen just as she hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Lance says, reaching over to rest his hand on the side of Keith’s neck. He rubs his thumb over the tense muscles there, tracing over his clenched jaw and pursed lips. “I handled it, baby. She’s going to do a character interview with Romelle at the same time, so this worked out.”

Keith sighs in relief, tilting forward to rest his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance shifts so he’s comfortable, running his hands through Keith’s hair.

“Oh, thank God.”

Lance hums. “Told you it would be fine.”

“I know. It’s just — I feel like every time we try and do something for our future, something happens and you end up picking up my mess on your own. We’re about to — we’re trying to be parents, Lance. I want us to be on equal grounds.”

“Hey.” Lance tugs gently on his husband’s hair. “Look at me.”

Keith does, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frustrated pout. Lance reaches up to smooth the line between his eyebrows.

“Do you think I walked into this unprepared?” he asks sternly. “I know you, sweetheart. I knew exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be your right hand. Do you think that stopped when the war was won? Do you think I didn’t know that were were going to be doing this leading schtick our whole lives? I knew who you were when I married you, baby. This is not a surprise. You’re not leaving me to clean up after you. We’re a team, cielo. And sometimes a team means I stay home and hold the fort while you’re picking up our dumbass friends from a holding cell, or calling the social worker as you make sure everything’s okay. Okay?”

Keith exhales, pressing his forehead to Lance’s.

“Okay. Thank you, Lance. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lance presses a quick kiss to his lips before stepping away, grabbing a box of tissues and filling up a glass of water. “Okay, Samurai. Fill me in. What’s up with Romelle?”

“She’s worried she’s got no future. She’s been kind of drifting around between New Altea and the Rebels and the Blades, doesn’t feel like she fits in anywhere.”

“So she’s going through the emo Keith phase,” Lance teases.

Keith scowls. “Whatever. Technically.”

“She came to the right place, then. Your earnestly awkward life-coach ass will have her fixed up in no time.”

“You’re mean to me,” Keith says, pouting.

Lance laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Mhm, and you’d be lost without me. Let’s go make sure you’re sister is okay.”

Intermission

To Lance’s relief, there are no interruptions on the most important day of their lives — the day everything they’ve been slowly working for comes together. The day their family grows to four — two kids, siblings, lives uprooted by the war — there are no interruptions. No one calls, no one shows up unexpectedly, no one needs their help.

It’s just them, terrified and elated at the front door, meeting Mason and Keevah for the first time.

Keith is the first to react. He squeezes Lance’s hands three times in quick succession then lets go, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, eye-level with Mason. He looks at Keith warily, untrusting.

It makes Lance’s heart ache, for this little boy who had the worst thing that could ever happen to a kid happen to him while the entire planet was falling apart, who has learned to be jaded and icy to every adult he’s met, who only barely remembers what it’s like to live in a loving home.

“Hi,” Mason says eventually.

Keith smiles slightly. “I’m Keith. My husband’s name is Lance.” Lance waves. Mason glances at him, but does not wave back. “We have a room prepared for you and your sister.”

Mason blinks, surprised. “Me and Keevah?”

Lance smiles, finally losing the battle with his tears. (He’s doing everything he can to keep the smile on his face, keep himself from openly sobbing. He keeps imagining himself in Mason’s position, losing his parents before he could talk properly and suddenly desperate to stay with your infant sister. It’s heartbreaking. He already aches for this kid, and he barely knows him.)

(Yet.)

“Yes,” he says, voice cracking. “We figured that would make the transition easier.”

Mason hesitates a moment. Lance can see the emotions warring on his face — to trust, or not to trust — and he can hear Keith’s breathing shift, slightly, like he’s remembering feeling those exact same emotions himself, years and years ago, stepping into Shiro’s apartment for the first time and wondering if it’s worth it to hope.

“Okay,” Mason says eventually. He tugs on Keevah’s hand, wrapped tightly around her big brother’s finger, other thumb in her mouth as she stares at Keith and Lance with blatant curiosity. “Let’s go, Keevah. It’s late. Time for bed.”

Lance moves to guide them to their new room, but Keith stands, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“It’s the first door on your left,” he tells them. Mason nods once and walks off, superhero suitcase rolling behind him. (They hadn’t known if Mason liked superheroes, or Keevah, but Keith had been adamant that they buy a set of luggage before signing all the paperwork, quietly confiding that the worst thing about moving to a new home growing up was packing all your shit in a garbage bag, like that was all it was worth. Lance was quick to agree.)

“They’ll need time to adjust,” Keith murmurs. “I always hated the fosters that were too overbearing.”

Lance sniffles, nodding. “Good point.”

Keith’s smile is soft as he reaches over to brush the tears from Lance’s cheeks, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Everything will work out,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

The surety of his husband’s voice makes him smile. Keith’s strength is unwavering.

“I know. I trust you.”

4. Allura

By the time the fourth call comes, half a year later, Keith is starting to catch on. He’s in the middle of shoving their last duffel bag into the trunk when his phone rings, and his sigh is so heavy that Lance can hear it from the driver’s seat. He hides a smile in his hand.

Keith’s phone is connected to the car’s bluetooth, so Lance turns down the volume — high enough that he can hear, but low enough that Mason and Keevah, who are playing patty cake in the back seat, can’t.

“Allura? Everything okay?” Despite his exasperation, his voice is calm.

For a whole fifteen seconds the other end is silent, long enough that Lance would almost think that the Queen of New Altea had simply butt dialed them were it not for the faintest sounds of heavy, stressed breathing. Then Allura blurts out: “I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s another moment of silence as Keith processes that.

“Do what?” he asks hesitantly. He slides into the passenger seat, buckling up and flashing a small smile at Lance. Lance shoots him a thumbs up in acknowledgment, glancing in the rearview to make sure the kids are buckled too, before peeling out of the driveway, setting route for his parent’s house.

“Do this!” Allura cries, tears audible in her voice. “I’m — I’m quiznaking everything up! I can’t — I’m not fit to be a leader, Keith! I’m not you, I’m not Shiro, and I’m certainly not my father, and I am going to lead my entire people and our planet into a flaming pile of Weblum dung! I am the worst queen to ever be coronated! I’m a mistake!” She sobs, so loud the audio crackles with it. Lance exchanges a worried look with his husband.

He’s never heard Allura so upset — not even when they were facing the end of the universe and none of them had a hail mary to fall back on.

“You’re not a mistake, Allura.” Keith’s voice is quiet, but firm, full of undeniable conviction. He leaves absolutely no room for doubt. “Don’t insult my friend that way.”

Allura chokes on another sob over the phone. For a while there are no words, just the sound of her cries, long enough that Lance feels his own heart start to hurt and chin start to tremble. He hates hearing his friends — his family — suffering.

“I don’t know what to do,” Allura chokes out. “I’m not — every choice I make is the wrong one.”

Keith reaches over and plucks one of Lance’s hands off the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it, staring thoughtfully at his phone, like he needed to borrow Lance’s strength for a minute. He hates hearing any of them in pain, too.

Lance squeezes tightly, happy to lend it.

“What happened?”

It’s hard to make out everything she’s saying, intergalactic calls already so staticky on top of her emotions making her accent thicker than usual, but the gist is pretty obvious. Allura has been queen for half a decade, now, a little more — the honeymoon phase, so to speak, is starting to wear off. No longer are all her people just relieved to be out from Lotor’s tyranny — like with any nation, tension has arisen, and Allura is struggling to handle it all on her own. She can’t please everybody, and it’s beyond disheartening to have so many people, who were once completely happy with her and her leadership, frustrated with her.

Keith lets her vent until she finally stops for a moment to breathe. He takes a moment to gather himself, frowning deeply.

“I don’t understand why all of this is resting on your shoulders,” he says carefully.

There’s a pause.

“…Pardon?”

“You seem to be the only one putting out every single fire that’s popping up,” Keith repeats. “Where’s Coran? Or the rest of your council?”

This time the pause is much longer.

Guiltier.

“I don’t want to burden them.”

Keith sighs, but it’s not disappointed. It’s exasperated. Concerned, more than anything. Despite himself, Lance smiles; it’s the exact same sigh Lance would often heave when Keith was trying to do everything by himself, in his earliest Black Paladin days. It’s beyond a little amusing to hear it from the other end.

“Allura, that is their job. They are paid to take some of that burden from you, dude. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

“Still,” Allura says stubbornly. “It’s not — I’m the queen. ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’, as you humans say.”

Keith’s indigo eyes brighten. Lance groans, barely resisting the urge to slam his head on the steering wheel — he recognises that look. That’s his husband’s I just thought of an applicable metaphor look.

Keith gleefully ignores him, bolstering right on.

“And what happens if the head is too heavy, ‘Llura?”

Lance groans louder, so Allura can hear this time. It startles a laugh out of her, which brings a smile to Lance’s face and a scowl to Keith’s.

“…You topple right over,” Allura admits begrudgingly.

Keith nods, inordinately pleased with himself. “Exactly.”

“You’re infuriating,” Allura informs him. She blows her nose. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Well, good thing that doesn’t happen often,” Lance chimes in, because the opportunity was right there and the whole point of marriage is that he has the opportunity to mock Keith until they both finally bite it.

Allura laughs as Keith glares at him. Lance smiles primly.

“I cannot believe you two,” Keith mutters to himself. Lance kisses the tips of his fingers with an exaggerated mwah noise and presses the fingers to Keith’s forehead. Much to his own chagrin, no doubt, the action makes his lips twitch up into a smile.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says. “You too, Lance. I — appreciate it. And you.”

The softness bleeds back into Keith’s expression. Sap. “Of course, Allura. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’s quiet for a moment after she hangs up, contemplative.

“Isn’t it strange that she called me for — for leadership advice?” he questions finally, turning to face Lance. “I mean, I stumbled through every day as leader. Shiro was more of a natural. Hell, you’re better with pep talks, Mr. The Black Lion Chose You And I Trust It’s Judgement.”

The set up is there. Lance could spell it out for him now, gently explain what he’s observed over the years, what he knows to be true — Keith, even though he refuses to admit it or even let himself notice, is the cornerstone of their family, the one who grew up with so much change so constantly that he learned to find steadiness in himself.

But that’s a longer conversation. That’s a quiet conversation, for when Lance can give his husband his full attention, when they can face each other and be honest and work through the inevitable pain of Keith accepting that as truth. Not when Lance is driving, and their kids are in the back, very obviously listening in at this point.

“Oh, come on, Fearless Leader,” Lance teases. “She knew she needed a nice, cheesy metaphor to set her head on straight, isn’t it obvious?”

Keith scoffs, smacking him on the bicep. “Jerk.”

Lance gasps loudly, clutching the bicep dramatically.

“Mason! Keevah! Did you see what your evil, evil daddy did to me?! To your beloved Papa! Oh, how I am wounded! Betrayed! By the love of my life, my dearest husband, the man to whom I have pledged my heart —”

The kids giggle, Keith rolling his eyes so hard it has to hurt him.

Lance smiles to himself. Now’s not the right time, but they’ll get there — soon.

5. Sylvio

The truth finally starts to cement itself in Keith’s head by the fifth phone call.

Lance groans as his husband’s ringtone drags him from his sleep, glaring at the man who sleeps peacefully right through it. He smacks him with a pillow, waking him with a startled “Wha—?” and then hands him his phone.

“Hello?” Keith asks groggily, sitting up — dragging Lance, who was laying on his chest, up with him, much to his chagrin — and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

There’s a beat of silence, then a timid: “Tio Keith?”

Both of them shoot up in alarm. Lance hasn’t heard his nephew sound so close to tears since he was much younger.

“It’s three in the morning, kiddo,” Keith says, looking at Lance as if to ask what’s going on?. Lance shrugs, gesturing at the phone — find out!

“I fucked up,” Sylvio says in a small voice, and then he bursts into tears. Keith leaps out of bed immediately, frantically looking for some pants. Lance grabs them and tosses them to him, watching in concern.

“Woah — Sylvio — slow down, I can’t —”

But Sylvio keeps rambling, in a mix of Spanish and English so muddled that even Lance has no idea what he’s saying.

“Just please come get me,” he cries, the first clear words in minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, kiddo. Where are you?”

Sylvio rattles off an address, and Keith nods. “I’m coming, okay? Keep your phone on you.”

Sylvio says something in affirmation, then keeps crying, muttering to himself. Keith covers the phone with one hand, he other tugging on some socks. He looks at Lance in panic.

“Why is he calling me?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You should go,” Keith says nervously. “He’s your nephew, you —”

“He’s your nephew too,” Lance interrupts quietly. “You know that. Plus, he called you, cielo. You’re the one he needs right now.”

Keith doesn’t look any more reassured. In fact he looks more desperate and confused by the second. “Maybe we should both go.”

Lance is already shaking his head before he finishes his sentence. “Keevah’s sick, baby. One of us has to stay home in case she gets worse, or throws up.” He slides off the bed, padding over to Keith and cupping his face gently. “Go, Keith. Bring him back, we’ll talk to him then, okay? I’ll wait up. Luis and Lisa aren’t far from here, it won’t take you more than twenty minutes both ways.”

“Right.” Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, most of the panic is gone, replaced with the same determination he always has when things get a little dicey and hopeless. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s lips. Lance holds him there for a moment, trying to press a little bit more of his love into it than usual.

“I’ll be here.”

+1. Keith

A little less than an hour later, Lance hears their car pull into the driveway. He tugs his robe around him tightly, hurrying to open the door.

“Hey,” Keith says, kissing him quickly and then moving to let Sylvio come through. His face is creased in worry. Sylvio walks in after, silently, shoulders hunched and eyes puffy, face streaked with tears. Lance closes and locks the door behind him, reaching up to hug his nephew tightly.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Sylvio sniffles, face crumpling. He leans into Lance’s embrace, face to his neck, and Lance feels his face get wet with tears again. “Hi, Tio.” His voice cracks.

Lance guides them both to the living room, setting them down on the couch.

“I’ll grab some tea,” Keith murmurs.

Lance hums at him, leaning back onto the cushions and stroking Sylvio’s hair as he cries. Keith is back shortly, setting three mugs on the coffee table and sitting on Sylvio’s other side, arm over the back of the couch. He’s silent for a while, waiting for the kid’s cries to peter out.

“What happened?” he asks, once Sylvio has finally calmed down a bit.

“Dad and I have been fighting a lot,” he says quietly. Lance winces. He’s heard from Lisa and Luis, of course, but he would have figured it out even if he hadn’t — Sylvio has called Luis ‘Papa’ every day of his life, since he was a little boy. He’s only called Luis ‘Dad’ when he’s furious, when he’s deliberately trying to hurt Luis, when both of them can barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

Lance rubs his shoulder. “What happened?”

Sylvio’s chin trembles, and another tear drips down his cheek. “He never — no one I bring home is ever good enough. Nadia can bring home whomever she wants and it’s never a problem, but when I do it, suddenly he has a million faults and he’s bad for me or too old for me or just a shitbag.” He makes a noise of frustration. “He treats me like a baby, like I’m incapable of of making a fucking decision for myself.”

As subtly as he can, Lance exchanges a look with Keith. This is not the first time this situation has been brought up, by more than one person. Sylvio calls Lance to complain about his parents on a semi-regular basis, and both Luis and Lisa have confided in him on more than one occasion.

The problem is, Sylvio is…kind of in the wrong, here.

Privately, when they try and make light of the situation, they joke that Sylvio has the Lance taste — that is, garbage. Before Keith, Lance was very good at falling for people who were either really bad for him, bad in general, didn’t like him, or treated him like shit. A good portion of that came from his own insecurity and cripplingly low self-esteem, and Sylvio is no exception.

Every guy he has brought home has been, to Luis’ credit, not good enough. Once it was someone who made fun of Sylvio every other sentence, once it was a guy who was three times his age, once someone who was clearly using Sylvio as a rebound… Luis saw it, but he was incapable of handling it in any way other than outright banning Sylvio from seeing whomever the loser of the month was, which went about as well as you would think.

It’s been an ongoing problem.

“I’m sorry you guys are fighting,” Lance says, because it’s truly not his place to try and parent Sylvio. He’s tried to guide both his brother and his nephew into the right direction, but neither listen. “I’m glad you called us first, though. That was the safest thing for you to do.”

Sylvio bites his lip. Keith shakes his head slightly.

Lance’s face drops. “Oh, Sylvio…”

His nephew’s face crumples. “I thought the party would be a good distraction,” he whispers. “I didn’t think — he’s supposed to love me, why did he —” Sylvio interrupts himself with a sob. Lance holds him tightly again. He’s not sure exactly what happened, and he won’t know until he can ask, but he can make a pretty good assumption.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out.”

Sylvio cries on his shoulder for a while longer, long past when he runs out of tears, just dry-sobbing until his whole body shakes and his eyes must be burning. Lance holds him through it, and Keith keeps a steady hand on his back.

“Daddy?” comes a small voice, at least a half hour later. All three of them crane their necks towards the sound, seeing Keevah, eyes watery, standing in the low light of the kitchen with her stuffed lion clutched in her hand. “I threw up.”

Keith gets up immediately. “Oh, c’mere, sweetie.” He scoops her up, her head resting on his shoulder, then turns toward Lance. “I’ll put her back to bed, you get Sylvio to bed?”

Lance nods, and Keith heads back to her and Mason’s bedroom. Lance stands, gently pulling his nephew to his feet, guiding him to the guest room.

Once he’s got the bed turned down and Sylvio in some of Keith’s old pj’s, he tucks him into bed like he’s nine instead of nineteen, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“I’ll call your parents to let them know you’re safe, okay?” Sylvio nods, half asleep. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

By the time Lance hits the lights, he’s out. Lance watches him for a moment, smiling sadly.

He’ll figure it out. Lance did, when he was nineteen, even though it sucked.

He pads over to his and Keith’s bedroom, exhausted, but knowing that he won’t be sleeping for a while. Keith is already there, pulling off his vomit-stained shirt — poor Keevah — and pulling on a fresh one.

“She okay?” Lance murmurs, crawling under the covers and into Keith’s open arms. Keith nods, tightening his hold and pressing a kiss to Lance’s hair.

“Yeah. Fell asleep halfway through her bath.”

“Poor thing.”

Keith is silent for a while, fingertips tracing circles on Lance’s lower back, but he’s nowhere near falling asleep. He’s tense as a live wire, and Lance can feel his heart pound where their chests are pressed together.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. His voice is so quiet Lance can barely hear him.

Lance doesn’t need him to specify. “I do.”

The mindless shapes Keith is tracing shift to something more deliberate, tapping, seeking comfort rather than mindless fidgeting.

“…Explain it to me?”

Lance shifts slightly, so he’s still in Keith’s hold but there’s a bit of space between them, so he can look Keith in the face.

“People trust you, Keith. There’s nothing to explain.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Keith’s neck, the hollow of his throat — not to instigate anything, but to touch, to press his lips somewhere vulnerable and say I am watching out for you. “You are so deliberate, my love. So devoted. Everyone knows it, even if they don’t realise it outright.”

Keith’s breathing is laboured. “I’m not what they think I am,” he says, voice wrecked. Lance presses another kiss right on his adam’s apple, to his trachea, to the underside of his jaw, to his chin.

“You are more than you think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Lance kisses right under his ear, and he tastes salt, from where a tear finally escaped and trailed down his cheekbone. “I’m a mess, Lance. Nothing about me is stable. Why do they rely on me?”

“I rely on you.”

“That’s different. We’re — you’re my husband. We rely on each other.”

Lance pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, considering his angle. How can he explain the fundamental truth about Keith Kogane that is so obvious to everyone who knows him? That is the clearest part of him?

“When Pidge wanted to run from Voltron and find her family, who convinced her to stay?”

Keith is silent.

“When Shiro had flashbacks of his year of torture and couldn’t tell reality from nightmare, who sat with him until he could breath again?”

Keith’s chin trembles.

“When the Blades were out of ideas and out of luck, who changed everything?”

His breathing gets heavier. “Lance —”

Lance ignores him, barrelling on. “When Hunk’s panic attacks got so bad he was convinced he was having a heart attack, who squeezed his hand until he could breath again?”

Keith sobs. “Lance, that’s not —”

Lance reaches up to gently wipe the tears, staring at his husband until he finally looks back, until indigo meets brown and he knows that Keith is finally getting it.

“Who,” he asks quietly, determined, “was it that I came to, when there were five lions and six paladins? Who stepped down for me?”

Keith laughs wetly. “I gave you the worst pep talk in the world,” he protests, but Lance can finally hear the acceptance in his voice. He smiles.

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Keith agrees. He ducks down and kisses Lance soundly, hands cupping his face, lips moving like he’s trying to fuse himself to Lance.

“Thank you. For knowing and watching and waiting for me.”

“Always,” Lance murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Always, my star.”

#I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THE MOTIVATION TO FINISH THIS FOR 5 MONTHS #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #established klance #domestic klance #married klance #parents klance #keith & pidge #keith & hunk #keith & romelle #keith & allura #keith & lance’s family #tall keith #brown-eyed lance #hurt/comfort #longpost #fic #my writing #observant lance #devoted keith #keith is good with kids #post canon

[prying-pandora666]

Azula In The Spirit Temple

Okay okay! I have seen you blowing up my inbox asking for my thoughts! I honestly hadn’t had a chance to sit down and write down my thoughts.

The comic is pretty much confirmation of things we already knew.

⁠Azula wasn’t born a monster and doesn’t like being one. She was made this way and never taught any other way to be.

She’s made a lot of mistakes and has done bad things but is so overwhelmed that she would rather deny and avoid. She needs help. Is desperate for it even. But all she has is her pride to protect her for now.

While many Azula fans may feel some vindication over this, it also seems others are quite frustrated that this comic didn’t move her forward in either direction. And while I can understand that frustration after 15+ years waiting for a redemption or confirmation of her villainy, I think the trouble is that this story was never intended to add anything.

It was intended to subtract.

That’s why there’s no mention of Kiyi or Azula’s plan to make Zuko a better Fire Lord. That’s why the Kemurikage are gone now and Azula suddenly declares she wants the throne against everything she has said and done previously.

Because this comic, while a fascinating primer into Azula’s psyche, was never meant to further the story.

It’s mean to be a soft reset. A way to place Azula back to where she was at the end of the show so Bryke can ignore the convoluted and contradictory mess that’s been made in the comics and just pick up where the show left off.

This also fixes the issues that they have two different demographics to appeal to now: show-onlies (the bigger group) and extended material fans (the more dedicated group).

Now they can freely write new animated content without having to recap the show-onlies on what they missed or having the extended material fans feel betrayed if they completely ignore or decanonize the comics.

Cynical and unfair for fans? Yes.

Predictable business choice? Also yes.

Hopefully this means they have big plans for her in the animated content.

The art was lovely. Wartman continues to improve and deliver.

Just my take on it.

For fans of @book4air? We will continue working on our own content regardless. We have big plans for Azula, don’t you worry!

If the comics disappointed you and you’d like to help us create our content? Consider supporting us on Patreon.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar #azula #Azula in the spirit temple

[milolunde]

So, Sonic Forces! … again. Posts like this will be put under Forces!RW from now on, just so I can keep things together.

Following this post, I’ve been thinking about my reimagined Sonic Forces a lot. It’s high up on my list of things to rewrite, but… that list is quite long and is made up of stories that, for the most part, will live exclusively in my head. However, I had so much fun making my last post that I wanted to make another.

I wanted to touch on an aspect of the Phantom Ruby: how it’s able to make hordes of copies at Infinite’s will.

In my mind, the Phantom Ruby makes clones with the same attributes as any other illusion. Those made to witness the illusion will be unable to control feeling, despite reason, what they are witnessing is real. This enhances the Phantom Ruby’s powers, making its illusions able to affect the world as if they were real.

However, copies are different as they can perform most of the abilities their source can, but only if Infinite has a solid grasp on what those abilities are. For example, Chaos remains in his base state because Infinite does not understand his evolution, but he does understand chaos energy and chaos manifestation, so Shadow’s copies is able to harness Chaos Spear (though its nowhere on the scale of a true Chaos Spear. It gathers available chaos energy and turns it into a weapon, but without an emerald the copy has to draw upon the natural chaos energy around it). This is also one of the reasons Zavok is so… lame, for lack of a better word, and why Infinite resigns his copy to being Sonic’s jail keeper.

Why, then, would Eggman have Infinite stop at making copies of Zavok, Chaos, and Shadow? Of course, it’s because he finds them worthy allies as they have all put Sonic in close life or death situations and all have beaten Eggman himself at least once. If they worked together, they would undoubtedly be able to take Sonic out without the need for more manpower.

But… why not copy Sonic himself after his capture? Eggman chooses to copy Metal Sonic so, with Sonic himself imprisoned, having Sonic’s speed and agility on Eggman’s side would be a valuable resource.

————

vvv Continuation + Close Ups/Textless Art vvv

————

Eggman told Infinite they should make copies of Sonic to torment the world they were conquering. Having their precious hero, or at least his likeness, working with Eggman would destroy their moral… Infinite proposed, instead, not only was it too soon to show their cards in Infinite’s full abilities, but that tormenting the world with their hero acting against them would be nothing compared to the psychological play of allowing the world to believe Infinite, a hand in the Eggman Empire, had taken him out for good. Letting a likeness of their hero wander around could work against them, influencing people to gain a “hope against all odds” approach.

While Eggman agreed, it wasn’t until after he had Infinite show him the Ruby could, in fact, make a copy of Sonic. Despite not wanting to, having the copy ended up working in Infinite’s favor. After commenting on the pest Sonic was, the Doctor agreed that, yes, looking at that hedgehog for too long was giving him a migraine; he didn’t want to imagine what having hundreds of him would do… Good. Because Infinite thought Sonic was too annoying to waste his power forging copies of him, anyway.

Infinite looked at the copy. He could appreciate the hedgehog’s indomitable spirit and his ability to ruin things. He could even acknowledge that, yes, he was enough to be the world’s hero.

Until now.

————

Five, closing in on six months after Sonic’s defeat, Tails found himself miles from his live-in workshop, the last one left after Eggman’s takeover. He managed to gather supplies before his home was invaded and made it out by his scruff on the Tornado, but she hadn’t gotten them out without taking severe damage. Still, she flew, and she landed, and Tails could start repairing her to the best of his ability. He didn’t need a plane since the sky had been put under lockdown, but the Tornado was Sonic’s. He’d hate for Sonic to find out he had wrecked the Tornado and done nothing to fix it.

While sorting out the damaged parts, Tails heard something scuff behind him… He tensed before he moved, much too caught up with the Tornado to remember he should defend himself first, worry later, when his eyes caught the source of the sound.

Impossible.

Tails didn’t think it was possible, but he tensed more at the sight of his brother, his big brother, the sight of Sonic walking idly past him. Something slipped past Tails’ lips, maybe it was supposed to be words, but he didn’t know which ones. His big brother stopped. And turned towards him…

————

Gotta cut myself off from my more story-writer way of telling this before I get carried away. Apologies! But, if I’m able to work on this more, maybe there will be a full scene in a full chapter in a full story for this? Perchance…

Shadow would appear and, before Tails could process it, would be fighting the copy down the street. Shadow’s been dealing with Phantom copies since day one of Eggman’s invasion, and he knows Sonic well enough to be able to spot a fake from anywhere.

Tails would, of course, chase after them, leaving behind the Tornado and all of his supplies. As far as he knows, it was Shadow who helped take Sonic down in the first place and he’s ready for answers as to why, and answers on how Sonic got back, and why they’re fighting again, and…! Well, a lot of answers!

By the time Tails gets there, Shadow would have already taken the copy down; it’s on the floor, lifeless, and starting to disappear. Tails would launch himself at Shadow, claws and teeth bared, kicking and scratching out of everything he’s thought and felt about Shadow for the last five months, but Shadow would easily subdue him. Tails is tired, and hungry, and most of all he’s devastated.

Once Tails is able to hear anything Shadow tries to tell him, he would tell Tails about the fact Eggman is generating copies. Shadow has a certain soft spot for Tails, especially in his current situation, so while the scene would be to get information about the Phantom Ruby to Tails, it would also serve to give him the comfort he needs, and closure that no, Shadow didn’t hurt Sonic and, no he’s also not looking for him but, if he hears anything, he’ll let the kid know.

————

I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I’ve got a biiiiig list of media I’ve rewritten entirely in my head for fun and that usually means I have the most barebones chapter layout for them and even some ‘first drafts’ for certain chapters; like this hypothetical chapter!

That’s it, really. I had fun talking about Forces and showing how I would do things! I tend to get carried away a lot when I’m writing about the things I like. I really didn’t plan to write this post out the way I did. Hopefully the difference between my presenting the concepts and writing them out for a more entertaining read of what I would do wasn’t too confusing.

#forces!rw #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic #sonic forces #shadow the hedgehog #my art #tails the fox #miles tails prower #unbreakable bond #ultimate bond #…technically. #oh man. how to I tag writing… better question how do I tag this accidental conglomerate. #solution; I won’t.

[bellewintersroe]

Band of brothers headcanons, how they react to accidentally upsetting you.

I just felt like writing something a little angsty because who doesn’t love that 😈

Eugene Roe:

This mf would be so confused, hear me out ok.

he’s so so smart and kind and caring, legit perfect, but humans do make mistakes! So in Gene’s case I feel like he maybe doesn’t understand why you may be frustrated/ hurt in a specific scenario.

“but I don’t understand, you said it was fine, like two secundz ago.” The boy is DUMBFOUNDED and then because you’re so frustrated and probably just tired for one reason or another, you burst into tears.

genes eyes widen and then he realised he’s probably messed up by not at least trying to understand.

ahhhh he’d spring off his feet, and kinda dither in front of you, a little confused. He’d be SO apologetic and his hands would kinda smooth over your hair, fixing it from where you’d messed it up slightly.

Gene would kinda click that he made you upset pretty quickly, so I think he’d be prepared to do anything he can to make you feel better as soon as possible. Lewis Nixon:

I feel like with Lewis his drinking settles massive when he meets you, he’s happy and doesn’t need alcohol as an outlet.

But maybe in the early days of your relationship, like you’re in Austria or somewhere, he gets a little too drunk and it completely ruins the plan you put so much effort in for you both.

the morning after is when I think Lewis knows he’s fucked up. He’d spring out of his bed, no hangover could set him back, and he’s hurrying to find you immediately.

turns up at your door all dishevelled and your friend is like ‘no you’re not speaking to her’ but with some pleading it works. She’s ballsy, because he is her superior after all.

apologises like crazy, asks what he can do to fix it? I think he’d genuinely feel such a strong sense of guilt, that whatever he did won’t ever happen again because the sad little look on your face sticks with him for a longggg time.

Babe Heffron:

“Babe, I think you upset her…”

“Wha’? What’d I do?!” Kinda baffled ngl, but either way all he cares about is that you’re upset. I think it would when the two of you were still friends, and he friend zoned you HARD after months of flirting and showing interest. Obviously he doesn’t mean to do this because you’re beautiful and so perfect, and he’s kinda in love with you.

chases after you down the street, well not literally, but he wants to see if you’re okay.

he’s so cute, and you’re so nervous to admit why it upset you, so he kinda takes a good few minutes just putting the pieces together until he’s like. “Oh… OH! You mean? You mean that ya’ upset because ya’ thought I only saw you as just a friend?!”

he’s in awe that you have the same feelings, he’s truly blind to it, but feels bad after because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He just honestly thought there wasn’t a chance on earth than you’d feel the same.

Joe Liebgott:

Probably says something in the heat of the moment that he doesn’t mean.

Panic immediately after when he realises what he actually said. But you’re so pissed off you just snap right back at him and storm off, getting the space you need.

now Joe can be rash in the heat of the moment, but he isn’t a fool, nor is he mean spirited or nasty. He genuinely cares about you, he hates that he said something just outta pure anger.

you bet he’d be lingering outside your bedroom door, sighing dramatically and knocking as he anxiously awaits your response.

cuddles you like crazy, apologises pretty soon, especially if the argument has cooled down. He’d make it up for you by taking you on a long drive in his cab, buys you flowers, anything you want because you’re his girl and you deserve it.

although Joe can be quite rash, he is a huge softie, so I don’t think it’s EVER a common occurrence when he says something hurtful to you. It’s probably a one off? People always make mistakes, Joe doesn’t take that lightly on himself however.

super gentle with you afterwards, wishes he could truly take his words back. Vows to never upset you like that ever again, and you best believe he sticks to it.

George Luz:

I feel like it would be a joke taken a little too far by accident.

he’d find you crying and he panics omg he’s like “what?! No, no, what’s wrong?!”

Then you’d be all like “is that what you think of me?!” And it takes a moment to click in his mind when he’s like- “oh SHIT!”

panics that he upset you, he’s upset himself for making you feel that way.

but he’s just a big ball of love and reassurance, you know from how genuinely serious he is that he didn’t mean to upset you.

maybe tries to crack another joke after, but this time it’s actually funny.

Ron Speirs:

Ron is a clever man, he really understands your emotions and what hurts them.

so when you’re upset in front of a group of people, Ron has no choice but to remain professional, no matter how much it hurts.

kinda can’t do anything other than just stare at you hoping you’re getting the message. He’s all wide eyed and flustered and wants to move on from whatever they’re all doing so he can attend to you.

it probably eats him up all day after that, more than it does you.

no matter how much you understand why he must act like that, it still stung just a tincy, tiny bit.

ron needs you alone. When he finds you he’s wrapping his arms around you immediately. I don’t think he’d be the best with expressing his emotions sometimes, so he’d mutter apologies into your ear, holding you close so you can’t look back and make eye contact with him.

eye contact would make him nervous- plus why does he kinda feel choked up?!

nah but seriously, Ron would beat himself up for having to act like that around you. He hates it. When he meets you you’ll 1000% see more of an emotional side to what the army does (obviously) so it’s upsetting for him when he can’t freely express himself in front of you.

Bill Guarnere:

“What’d I do?!”

“I think you upset her, Bill…”

“Ahhh, shit…” Bill is DUMBFOUNDED. he has quite a brash sense of humour, especially with his buddies. So when he maybe takes a joke too far in front of them all about you he doesn’t click straight away why you’ve left the table.

like you’d move to sit with some of your other buddies and he’d probably come over with a sigh, sitting down next to you. Lmao I feel like you’d just give him the cold shoulder??

he’s a head strong guy, right, but I think even he’d be a little bit puzzled on what to do. Just watches you in confusion whilst you completely blank him before removing himself from the situation.

probs gives you time and space to cool off before one of his buddies tells him he should get you some flowers or something.

“I ain’t doin’ tha’!”

turns up 30 mins later with a bunch of flowers and lots of hugs and kisses.

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x you

[miller-lookforthe-lite]

steps: part two

joel miller x f!reader

rating: M

words: 7k

tags/warnings: unplanned/(unwanted?) pregnancy, thoughts and discussion of abortion, UNSOUND MEDICAL PRACTICE/ADVICE, description of injury, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, not proofread i'm literally so sorry - please heed the warnings, as these may be triggering to some! MDNI

part one | read on ao3

There are no doctors in Kansas City. There’s nothing left of the QZ, in fact, besides a group of raging militants who have taken over and are hunting for the very two boys you happen upon. Henry and Sam don’t have much, but they have a relentless ambition, and Joel must see that as reason enough to go with them.

As you journey through the tunnels underneath the city, you get sicker. It’s clear to you now that this is not some nightmare you can wish away, not like one of your silent demons. This is real, and here, and now, and if you’re not pregnant, you’re dying. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Ellie finds out while she’s kicking a soccer ball with Sam, because Joel lowers his head to inquire to Henry about a pregnancy test and is a lot less fucking quiet than he ought to be.

Her head snaps towards them and you scowl at Joel, burning his entrails with your eyes, picturing his slow demise, then feeling even more sick at the prospect, taking it back, praying the Deity didn’t hear you think it so it won’t come true.

“What the fuck?” Ellie exclaims, her head whipping to you. “You —” Her head swings back to Joel almost cartoonishly. “And you? I thought — ew, gross, but holy shit — I thought Tess —”

“Ellie,” you warn quickly, trying to jump ahead of Joel’s ire, because that definitely also happened and you know he’ll never tell you why or why you happened after.

“Enough,” Joel snaps, and the room hangs still. Even Sam, though no one has bothered to bring him up to speed, can tell that the tension simmers low, and he abandons the soccer ball in favor of curling up by the far wall.

Joel turns back to Henry. “You know where I could find one or not?”

Henry shrugs. “All kinds of shit stashed in here, man. Take a look.”

Ellie’s gaze is burning into your skin, but when you turn to look at her, you only see a quiet understanding in her eyes, a Knowing too old to live in a body so young. She plops down in the seat next to you while Joel and Henry are off rummaging through the bins on the far side of the bunker, and her huff troubles a strand of her hair. You reach forward to tuck it out of her face. Her mouth is set into a grim line.

“Is that why you’ve been sick?” She murmurs, her voice betraying her fear.

Your heart clenches. You didn’t want her to have to feel the way that you were feeling. She shouldn’t have to shoulder it, shoulder you, but you don’t know how else to be with her but truthful. Her face so open, so honest, begs nothing less in return.

“Yeah,” you say, and she reaches out to grab your hand. You blink back sudden tears that choke your throat and crowd your lashes.

“It’ll get better then,” Ellie says, knee bouncing. “The sickness. I heard that it gets better after a while. And you won’t have to yack every time we think about cooking beans. So that’s a plus.”

You can’t help but smile, still feeling hot and slippery with shame, but hope shines through, minuscule and persistent. “I hope so,” you whisper.

—

When you leave the motel, Ellie’s the one to lead the charge. You follow her, leaving Joel gazing down at the graves he just dug. Henry and Sam are under those piles of dirt, and you can’t help but think that it’s some kind of curse that surrounds you, the same deadly spirit that befell Tess.

Ellie thinks it’s her fault, a strangled confession pulled out of her that she knew Sam had been bitten but tried to save him. You know that feeling, know the despair it leaves behind, but you’re not quite sure how to reach the place she’s gone to.

A plastic-wrapped stick sits in your pocket, has for days, but you’re too scared to do more than make sure it’s there, palming reassurance. Henry had slipped it to you before he died, not saying a word, but there was kindness in his gaze. There was a care you didn’t know people still had for other strangers. Your heart aches.

Along the road, it’s been hard to find food. Joel had shoved what he could from the bunker into his bag, but there wasn’t much in the way of nonperishables - the Kansas City militants had already taken care of that. He let you have the last of the crackers, but you can’t help the pangs of hunger that wrack through you late at night, curled up in a ball on the ground, your back to some tree or to him or to Ellie, one of them always wrapped around you, always watching. You can’t help the dread that follows either, that you swallow like the air that feeds you these days.

Joel feels it too. You know he does, but he’s better at hiding it. He’s acting strange lately — delicate — not something you’ve ever known him to be. He guards you when you’re sleeping, but can hardly look at you in the daylight. Where he’s started to let his eyes wrinkle at Ellie’s teasing jibes or stupid puns, he slams his lid shut when you deign to speak your piece. He offers you a hand to help you over a ridge, and always, always throws an arm in front of you when he thinks something sinister lies ahead, but then swiftly pulls away like the boil of your blood burns him too.

After six days have passed, you go behind a tree and pee on the stick. It’s not hard. All you fucking do is piss these days. What is hard is remembering the hands that touched the test before you - a dead man’s fingers before they pulled a trigger twice, him and another child. Is that the price you pay? One child’s life for another? What kind of sign is that — what kind of life is this? What kind of world to bring a baby into?

Two lines glare back at you. You muffle your sob into the heel of your hand.

—

Your teeth are clattering against each other, your violent shivering overtaking any autonomy you once had over your limbs.

You’ve set up camp underneath a rock overhang, and your breath comes out in puffs. Ellie’s pressed as close to you as she can get between the layers of your coats, the extra flannel that Joel had wrapped around her hanging loosely off her puffy-coated shoulders.

You’re in Nebraska, as far as you can tell, wide open plains stretching as far as you can see, the foothills offering little respite from the biting prairie wind, but you take what you can get under the boulder’s meager shelter.

Joel hasn’t stopped moving since you decided to set up here; he’s tearing up jerky pieces, distributing them to you and Ellie and only pushing one between his lips when you glare, he’s coiling some rope, he’s pushing a tarp under some stones to provide some cover from the ceaseless wind. You wish you could bring yourself to get up and help, but you don’t know how much help you’d be, not with the illness still permeating your veins, your trembling uncontrollable.

When Ellie figures out that she can’t fix it no matter how she lends her heat to you, she speaks up where you couldn’t.

“We need a fire,” she wheezes to Joel, eyes flicking to you even though she tries to hide it.

He sniffs, doesn’t look up from his tarp-maneuvering. “It’d blow out,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

Your desperation pushes you to chime in. “We could at least try. Under the tarp, or maybe the rock would shield it enough —”

“It won’t,” Joel snaps, and he still won’t look at you. He clearly intended to stymie your words, but now that you’ve started, you can’t stop.

You get up from your spot next to Ellie and wrap her firmly in the blanket from your pack. You stumble on shaky legs over to where Joel continues to fiddle, continues to fuss. “Let me just fucking try, Joel, we’re freezing, we can’t—”

You reach for the flint that you know is in the bag he holds. Your gloved hand brushes his, layers of cloth and unspoken and Too Spoken between you, and still he pulls away like he’s been burned. You freeze, watching him quickly shift to a different task, turning his collar further up against the wind.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You don’t know why it hurts so much to curl up next to the fire that night.

—

When you stop to make camp a few nights later, you decide you’ve had enough of this, this awkwardness and separation that your revelation had caused you. After Ellie’s been asleep for an hour, her soft breaths quiet in the dark, you push Joel behind a tree before he can protest, grab his face with your hands and pull his mouth to yours before he can remember that you haven’t spoken, haven’t talked about it, have only worried in silence. He grunts, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you, before pulling back, only a little, the slightest breath of distance. His eyes are locked on yours, so close that you can’t see straight, can only see brown brown brown, can only drown in it.

“I don’t…” he says softly, one hand on your wrist and the grabbing for your waist, turning you, pushing your back into the rough bark, but so gently, so gently it prickles and scrapes and wounds.

“Why not?” You say like you haven’t noticed how he’s been treating you differently, like he doesn’t know what to say to you, like you aren’t the same person you’ve always been before all of this. Like you aren’t praying praying praying that he won’t make you beg.

(He doesn’t.)

—

It’s dusk when you stumble upon a still-smoking pile of ash, the crisp wind spiraling it up to the conifer fronds above, dancing its warning like a specter. It makes Joel stop in his tracks. His shoulders, ever broad and imposing, are tense.

He spins on his heel and almost knocks right into Ellie, who trails mindlessly behind him.

“Dude!” She protests.

“We’re goin’,” he hisses under his breath, grabbing onto the handle of her backpack to drag her along with him.

You have to pick up your pace to keep stride with him, bounding through the trees. “Joel—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, releasing Ellie’s bag. She remains next to him without issue or question. “We gotta circle back to the road. Ain’t safe if there’s more people out here.”

“The road?” Your skin is warm, your breath coming short, but you keep your voice quiet as his, startled to stir the crunching leaves beneath your tired boots. “Joel, we got off the road ‘cause there were people —”

“I know why we got off the road.” His countenance is fierce, his resolve steely, but he still won’t look at you.

“It’s safer with the cover,” you insist behind him, a furious ire bubbling in the back of your throat. “Here we can — we can —” You’re gasping for air now, and Ellie notices, her steps faltering. She tugs on Joel’s jacket, wordlessly. You have to stop and brace your palm on the rough bark of the oak that shelters you, your vision narrowing to a tunnel of blurred, black edges and brown sodden ground.

You don’t know how he got there, but he appears in front of you, one hand gripping your bicep and the other pulling your own hand to his heart.

“Breathe,” he commands softly, and you try, you really do, but you know he sees the truth of it.

You’re fading, ability dulling quicker than an overused knife, and you can feel the panic crest in your mind, the sting of liability pricking at your consciousness.

“Sorry,” you struggle to say. He just takes an enormous breath, the cavern of his lungs expanding and exhaling underneath your hand. You follow the mountain of it, the in and the out and up and down, and it makes it a little easier to see again.

You drag your eyes up to meet his, shame and exhaustion omnipresent parents in your expression. He looks blown wide open, sad, maybe worried, but mostly so, so certain.

His grip on you tightens. “Let’s stay in the woods,” he whispers his acquiescence. You feel no kind of victory. You want him to argue with you, not the dark circles printed onto the skin under your eyes. That can’t be all you are now.

Joel tenses suddenly, eyes flicking from you up to the edge of the tree line. You think he’s about to grab you and Ellie and run when you hear a muffled shriek from behind him, his broad form blocking your sight. He whips around to reveal two women, one with golden-red hair and one with a knife to Ellie’s throat. Ellie struggles and swears and writhes. You freeze.

The golden-red-haired woman has a revolver pointed at the two of you. You can’t see Joel’s face, but you know that he’s furious. You almost hope it’s with you, hope it’s because you caused him to turn his back, to lose his focus. You want him to feel the way you feel.

“Quit it,” hisses the taller woman that has a hold on Ellie, like she’s speaking to an incessant fly rather than a young girl at her mercy.

“Let her go,” Joel says lowly, calmly. There’s no questioning a tone like that. “Then you and I can talk like adults.”

“We don’t want trouble,” the golden-red-haired woman responds smoothly, her fist around the revolver begging argument. “Just hungry. Just lookin’ for food.”

You don’t even think about whether you should, whether Joel has a plan. You keep your eyes on Ellie as she continues to squirm. She’s afraid, but maybe not as much as she should be. Her confidence in you crushes you. You dart forward to Joel’s bag, unzip it from where it rests on his back. You pull out the measly offerings - two more pieces of jerky wrapped in flaking paper. An old health bar. Some roasted acorns you had made that taste like bitter ash. You throw the food at their feet. Joel doesn’t stop you.

The woman holding Ellie narrows her eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you plead. “You can check.”

You shoulder off your own, lighter pack and toss it to them. Joel glares at you, his fingers clearly itching towards his own gun tucked in the back of his pants, but you glare right back. Not with Ellie’s throat under a blade, you try to tell him with your fear.

The golden-red-haired woman bends down slowly to rummage through your bag, revolver still pointed your way. Joel shifts his weight while the woman looks down and she cocks the gun without even looking up, clicking her tongue in admonishment. Once she deems your supplies as paltry as you had claimed, she stands up, kicking the bag over, and slipping your meager offerings into her pockets. “Fine. Elaine, let her go.”

Elaine’s eyes flash like she’s considering an argument, and you try to calculate the distance from your hand to Joel’s gun, from the bullet to the spot between Elaine’s eyes, and the speed her lithe wrist would need to flick the knife across Ellie’s life.

Your action is decided for you when Elaine relents, shoving Ellie out of her grasp and forward to the forest floor. You’re there to catch her in your arms, her gangly limbs knocking painfully against yours, her furious demeanor tempered by your trembling.

You pull her back with you towards Joel, scrambling on the ground, and look up to see he’s drawn his gun. “Get movin’, then.” He bares his teeth at them.

Elaine moves to back away, but the other woman hesitates. Elaine nudges her shoulder with her own and hisses. “Madison.”

Madison looks between you and Joel as he helps you and Ellie up like she’s trying to decide something. Ellie seethes with derision and you have to clutch her to keep her from springing back towards her captors, this time on the attack. She only settles when she realizes she can’t lash out without hurting you, her fury still spitting but her face turning into your collarbone, probably more for your sake than her own. You rest your palm on her head. Joel’s got his free arm wrapped around you, too, sandwiching you and Ellie tight to his side.

Madison seems to decide and opens her mouth. “You know the way to Jackson?”

Elaine halts her retreat, brows furrowed and eyes clenched.

Joel holds his gun steady. “Get out of here.”

Madison continues to speak like she didn’t hear him. “Settlement out in Wyoming. My brother was headed there with an old army buddy. Heard they take people —”

She cuts off at the click of Joel’s safety. His finger rests on the trigger. He doesn’t say another word, just bores into her with eyes of molten lead.

Madison nods, and before you can blink, she and Elaine are gone. You’d almost believed you’d dreamed them up if your stomach didn’t turn at the thought of your reserves, now depleted.

Joel doesn’t let either of you move for a good ten minutes, his gun still raised and his arm still around you both. Ellie’s breathing has evened out and she turns her head up to look at you. You run a hand through her ponytail. “Okay?” You whisper. She nods, lips in a hard line.

You let her burrow herself back into you and look up at Joel. His thoughts race too fast to hide from his expression, and when he finally lowers the gun, he steps forward to grab your pack and swing it over his own shoulder.

His jaw grinds itself to dust as he stares at the ground, and it occurs to you what he might be agonizing over.

“Army buddy in Wyoming? Joel—” Your breath catches before you can really ask him. He looks up at you with hardened eyes and nods.

You let out a shuddering exhale, still rocking, rocking Ellie in your hold. The word rolls acidic off your tongue. “Jackson.”

—

It’s Jackson you’re headed for when the first shots ring out. You’re following the faded lines of a dusty map, hoping for the best. It’s brought you to a small town, several wooden buildings lining what must have once been a comfortable main road.

It’s not even that your guard is down, either — Joel had been antsier than ever after the run in with the women, especially since Ellie’s life had been on the line. She grumbles against his insistence, but you think she’s secretly appreciative of this mangled care, this devotion that no one before has extended to her.

They still get the jump on you, though, because they’re trying to get the jump on someone else. You glean somewhere during the shootout that it’s two opposing groups, both vying for the others’ resources. One had been holed up in the last building in town, the last one Joel had to clear before giving the signal. The other had been over the hill, peering down, waiting for their moment to ambush. They had thought Joel, ransacking and searching, was their target. It probably hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t.

You hear the shots before you know any of this, before you see anything that happens, so you follow protocol and grab Ellie and duck down behind a crumbling outpost, pushing her head under your cover. You peek over to see a torrent of people flooding out of that last building, the one Joel had been headed towards. Their guns are pointed away from you, up towards the peek where the last shot echoed from. Their shouts are incoherent, and your eyes search frantically for Joel. There’s no sign of him by the building, but there is a blooming red scar on the ground where he had been standing.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and spin around, knife raised high. It’s Ellie who stops you, grabbing around your middle, and swearing under her breath when she sees who’s startled you.

Joel’s managed to sneak around the back of the houses towards you, clutching his arm to his chest. Blood pours from between his fingers. His jaw is set as solidly as stone, and he jerks his head back towards the foothill you came from. He wants you to sneak back unseen, you’re sure, but you can’t focus on anything but the red viscous that flows from him, the life force, the cellular beat, and you feel it in you, too, you have that same blood growing in you, in your body, in your stomach, eating you alive to keep itself growing —

You reach your hand towards him, and he jerks back. All you can see is your hand, frozen in the air. He and Ellie must exchange words, something, but you don’t hear, the pounding of your eardrums too raucous, the rushing of your own tremulous blood overwhelming. He turns and crouches in on himself, hunched in pain or stealth, you don’t know. He runs on sure and quiet feet back towards the trees. Ellie only goes when you start behind him, like she’s not sure you can be trusted to follow.

—

You make it about half a mile up the side of the mountain before Joel’s using the trees to keep himself upright, the heft of him only supported by the roots at your feet. It’s Ellie who ends up stopping him and sitting him down, back against a bristled trunk. You waste no time falling to your knees beside him, whipping off your pack. Your hands shake as you riffle through it for the tweezers, for bandages, for anything that might help him. If only he still carried around oxy.

You pull out a small glass bottle of amber, stomach-churning liquid. Joel finds it in himself to shoot a judgmental glance your way, before his eyes are rolling back in pain. He keeps his arm clutched to his side.

“What?” You hiss. “It’s not like I can drink it anymore, of course I still have some.”

You flip the cap off as quickly as you can and pry his good arm away from the wound. It’s still bleeding profusely, an ugly, obscured fissure in the perfect planet of his skin. He makes a high sound in the back of his throat when you pour the moonshine over the wound, but his lips stay pressed tight together. When you’ve got it as clean as you can manage, you grab the tweezers. You can see the metal still buried in his flesh plain as day. You’ll have to get it out.

“Can I help?” Ellie flutters anxiously at your side, her hands lifting and retracting with directionless adrenaline.

You nod towards your bag. “Grab the bandages, then cut them into three strips for me.”

She doesn’t waste any time, and you turn back to Joel.

His skin is sallow, and sweat crusts his brow. You reach up to wipe some away with your thumb and his eyes flutter. “I’m gonna take it out.”

He nods, breathing heavily, expression unreadable. “I know.”

You search his eyes for any kind of direction, anything that would help him that he’s too reticent to admit. When you find nothing but grim determination, you grab the strap of your pack and offer it up to his mouth. He understands, and takes it gingerly between his teeth.

Your hands won’t stop shaking as you level the tweezers with the hole in his arm, so you balance your forearm across his chest. His great, heaving breaths push you up and down. You place the two tapered points of the tweezers as best you can on either side of the bullet, having to dig through some flesh. Joel keens under you. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, over and over, a mantra that pulls you forward into the next several minutes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It takes several attempts, and probably a whole lot more damaged surface area than appropriate knowledge would have allowed, but you’re able to finally wiggle the bullet out of its warm home. The silver pelts to the ground and bits of Joel’s muscle, along with a whole torrent of blood, flow from the pulsing circle. Ellie’s there with the bandages and you throw your whole body weight into pressing them against his arm. His eyes roll into the back of his head, you think he might be shrieking through the fabric at his teeth. “Just have to stop the bleeding,” you tell Ellie, or Joel, or maybe the wind. “It’s okay. It’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, it does, or at least it slows. You remove the soiled, rust-colored fabric from Joel’s arm and wrap it up with the remaining bandages, but not before pouring more of the alcohol on it. He sobs, eyes squeezed shut, and Ellie clutches on to his uninjured shoulder, her eyes wild with fear.

“No sepsis, Ellie, that’s why,” you pant, breaking off another portion of the bandages with your teeth to secure it. His breathing calms when he seems to notice Ellie pressed up against him, her trembling fingers pulling the fabric from his mouth and pressing her face to his chest. His good hand holds her to him, clinging with a strength you’re relieved to see remains.

You go to wipe your filthy hands on the grass when you notice a spare bit of Joel’s gore on your thumb. You crawl as far away from Joel and Ellie as you can manage before spilling everything in you onto the bushes. You dry heave long after your stomach is empty.

—

You lie awake several nights later. Your back throbs against the unforgiving forest floor, your blanket wrapped around the top of you instead of padding the ground. Ellie snores softly on your right side, the tender puff of her breath singing through the frosty air. You wish you didn’t begrudge her the rest, a better person wouldn’t, but no matter how tired you get you can never seem to quiet the racing of your mind when the sun goes down.

You turn onto your side to see Joel lying next to you, flat on his back, eyes wide open towards the night sky above. He looks almost comical, bundled up to his throat and arm crossed across himself in an awkward approximation of healing. He spares you a brief glance, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing before he turns his gaze back to the branches that bow above you. He’s keeping watch best he can, but his injured arm is still in a sling, which means he can’t wield the rifle properly. He’s to wake you or Ellie if anything happens. You all know you’ll probably wake in the morning curled together like a three-pod cocoon, the greater threat to your person the chill of the wilderness.

You see your breath crystalize in front of you, even in the dull silver light of the moon, but you can’t see most of his face. He turns it from you, shrouded in shadow, like he does the rest of himself. You never know what he feels, never know where you stand. He had said he didn’t blame you, but it’s hard to believe him when he clearly harbors some kind of sorrow.

You don’t know if its the faux anonymity of the dark that gives you the courage or the delirium that your baby secretes into your bloodstream, but you almost feel inspired to ask him. Instead, you open your mouth and stick your whole entire foot into its waiting orifice.

“What did you think about abortions? Before the outbreak?”

The harsh of your whispering disturbs the tranquil blanket of night. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer. His eyes don’t even shift to indicate he’s thinking about it.

“Because,” you rush to cover your clumsy footsteps, “you were from Texas. Everyone always said — I mean, I’m sure there were people everywhere that—”

“I don’t know.” He saves you from yourself, his cool, clean baritone soothing your spiked and frayed nerves. The baby pounds its fists against your insides braying like it had heard the word you uttered. You feel sick.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No,” Joel continues, turning his head to look at you. “I mean, I don’t know because I don’t think I paid enough attention to that kind of thing. Sarah’s mom never even — considered — so I didn’t — ” His voice catches in his throat and he looks away.

You knew about Sarah, but not from him. Tess had whispered to you one putrid Boston night about his past, about Texas, about a daughter that hadn’t made it, which she only knew about from Tommy, but you’d never heard him say her name. You feel the scorching lick of shame about your heart, not having even considered what your current state would mean to him. One child, stripped away so cruelly from him, and here you were implying you’d thought about doing the same to another, but then again — maybe that’s what he’d want. To nip it in the bud, to end the pain before it could start.

You take a shuddering, bracing breath, but your voice still comes out meeker than you wish it would. “My sister told me about it. She said there was a place you could go in the QZ, some woman in the Fireflies. I don’t know how,” you admit, “but I kind of wish I did.”

“No,” he snaps, and you shrivel. “It never works out, especially not now. It would just kill you.”

You acquiesce. It makes sense. It seems too good to be true, a relic of medicinally sound days-gone-by.

“Sorry,” you say again, at a loss for anything more.

“Will you quit?” He huffs, and he surprises you, reaching out his good hand to latch onto yours. “Enough apologizin’.”

You can’t stop yourself from pulling his gloved palm even closer to you, into your chest, curling around it like you’re supposed to want to curl around this thing inside you, this parasite that eats away at you, this child you’ll evict from its warm, safe home, whether you want to or not.

He notices your reticence, turns on his side to face you, to coax your bile out of you.

“I feel sorry, though,” you whisper, blinking furiously, finding it hard to look right at him. “I don’t want it. I think I hate it, and I ought to feel sorry for that, right? That’s so awful, Joel. I’m so awful. But I’m so — I can’t —”

You shudder, and it’s like turning off. The tears you felt like crying halt their rise to the surface, and your breath slows. The blade of the hurt dulls, pricking instead of slicing, fading. It’s hard to hear him when he responds, hard to feel the gruff hand he lifts to cradle the back of your head. It only comes back into focus when he insists.

“Hey, listen to me.��� He shakes you a bit, and with Herculean effort, you lift your heavy eyes to meet his. His expression is intense, pinched, and so, so beautiful.

“You’re not wrong, you’re not bad. I know this is hard. I know,” he shakes you again when your eyes start to glaze.

“Joel,” you breathe.

“Listen,” he says, fingertips pushing into the firm of your scalp, and you notice faintly that he’s abandoned his sling, that he’s pushed his pain aside to reach for you. “You’re doing better than you think you are. I see it, I see you fightin’. You’re not failing, darlin’. Not on my watch.”

You feel yourself nodding, not knowing where the internal command came from. “I know, Joel.” How do you tell him? How can he not understand that you trust him, just not yourself and your rotten, black heart?

He exhales harshly, searching your eyes for doubt, for something other than this flatness you feel settling over you. He gives in when he can’t find it, but his hand keeps rubbing your head, and you lean into it, relishing in the prick of his calluses. “Okay,” he says, then closes his mouth, opens it, shuts it again. His indecision pulls you back to the forest, back into the body you now share with another.

“What?” You venture, and his eyes alight, enthused to have found you in there.

“You ever been to Texas?” He says quickly, and he doesn’t blurt things, but maybe he did just then.

A startled laugh escapes your lips. The world shifts into focus, and the world is just his eyes, boring into yours. “Probably not. I don’t think we travelled much before the outbreak. Boston’s all I remember, besides a few summers in Maine.”

He lets out a low whistle, eyes flicking over to Ellie to make sure his sound hasn’t bothered her. She remains still, burrowed in the confines of her dreams. “Pretty different from Texas, then,” he says, and you laugh again, realer this time, easier.

“Colder,” you agree, “Even in the summer. We always had to bundle up next to the coast, even in July.”

“Nice though?” He prods into your memory with an iron poke, trying to keep you awake, keep you alive. Guide you ashore. The granite slopes wade into your mind, crashing waves and evergreen needles, a creaking Cape and damp, mossy mornings.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Really nice. Pretty quiet. Not many people, mostly just the deer and the gulls.”

His eyes flash, some emotion you can’t name, but it feels like it fits in the still blanket of space between you. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad place for a baby.”

You think of a child, toddling through the sand, tossing rocks into the water at your ankles. You think of a quiet life in a cove town, small but big enough for the three of you. You think of scribbled drawings on an antique fridge, of fatherly pride and big hands sweeping up a little girl, throwing her over his shoulder. Her lovely laugh peeling through the dunes.

You can’t help but smile. “Maybe you could have built us a cabin or something.”

He grins then, a real, full smile lighting up the planes of his face. You want to reach out and stamp it into your skin, hold this moment, suspend it in simplicity. “Big order for that. Think the invoice would be pretty intense. You plannin’ on compensating the vendors properly?”

You snort, curling his still-captured hand under your chin. “What, the baby’s not enough? Plus, your memory’s shot. Rural real estate isn’t anywhere near expensive as those city slickers liked to run you for.”

“I guess a nine month gestation is payment enough,” he says, and you feign to smack him, beaming.

“Three beds, three baths,” you continue. “One for us, one for the baby, one for visitors.”

He sucks in through his teeth. “Steeper and steeper, these costs. And it’s oceanfront, too?”

“Balsam fir,” you babble, the picture forming so seamlessly in your mind. “So it always smells clean. High ceilings — and a skylight! So we can still see the stars.”

Joel’s nodding, eyes shining. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Whatever you want. I owe ‘ya that much.”

Your heart skips a beat. You feel a giant spark smolder in your chest, so you tuck yourself into Joel’s side to share it with him. He carefully folds you into himself, stretching around the subtle curve of your abdomen that’s recently manifested.

Something unnamable pulses through you, through the bump, over to him. Before you drift off, you convince yourself you might have seen it in his eyes, too.

—

One stormy night in Boston, you’re helping Tess pack a couple of bags. The thunder cracks and you shiver, mind wandering to Katie, to where she might be sleeping that night, if she’s wet, if she’s cold. Tess hasn’t said much to you, her mind on her next move, her next haul; she’s particularly preoccupied with Joel’s absence, you think, but you don’t say anything. When her grim determination sets the precedent, there’s no getting around it. You wouldn’t want to pry, anyways.

She’s the one to finally break the silence. “He say anything to you before he left?”

You had been here at their place earlier in the day, while Joel was packing up to leave. He hadn’t said a word, had just brushed by you on his way out, your shoulder buzzing from the brief contact.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t even know where he was going.”

Tess hums, eyes flitting from the door to the radio against the wall. “Well, whatever. We can’t wait around all night. You hungry?”

Your stomach gurgles in response, carving deeper into the hollow pit of your abdomen. “Yeah,” you say, like there was ever any other answer.

Tess heats up the green beans with ham you had brought that day from your shift at the pantry. The corner of the can is dented, which is why no one cared that it had gone missing, but Katie had started rejecting the dented ones recently, saying botulism was a silent killer the Fireflies couldn’t afford to barter with. Your palms sweat. You’ve eaten so many like that, it’s probably fine. But what if this was the time it wasn’t? What if Tess ingests your poison and you’re the thing that kills her, after all she’s been through?

She doesn’t seem to care, dumping portions into two bowls and leaving the rest in the beat up tin pot on the stove. You both slurp in silence, letting the wash of sodium rush over your gums. You should have thought to add pepper, but getting up again feels too much like an inconvenience, and maybe a slight on Tess’s preparation.

You’re both jolted from complacency when Joel bangs through the front door, throwing it shut behind him and shouldering into the nearby bathroom before either of you can stand up.

“Joel?” Tess calls warily.

A moment of silence, then he responds. “Just a minute.” His voice is strained, slightly raspier than usual.

Tess immediately knows something is wrong, and you know because of the look on her face. “Fuck,” she mutters, and pitches towards the cabinets underneath the sink. She tosses you a couple of rags. “Will you go hand these to him, or get him to sit the fuck down? Where’s the disinfectant?” She starts muttering under her breath while she rummages around and you stand there uselessly, rags flowing limp between your fingers.

“Will you relax?” huffs Joel, emerging from the bathroom and moving stiffly to the kitchen table. You can’t help but gape at his complexion marred with bruising, the ugly discoloration above his eyebrow and around his jaw swelling to a reddened burst. Blood drips down his nose, around the contour of his rugged angel lips, then down onto the rotten floorboards underfoot. He sits, unable to hide a wince and a grunt, or maybe not trying. You’re still frozen.

Tess whirls by you, slipping the rags from your hands and settling next to Joel with a bottle in her hand. She wets one of the rags, then starts to dab at his face. He halfheartedly bats her hand away for a second, until she glares, then relents and lets her clean his face.

“You wanna explain yourself?” She murmurs lowly after a minute. Her voice spurs you into action. You want to help, want to stitch him together with your own sinew, dull his pain with a drug from your veins, but you don’t think he’ll take kindly to it. Tess has clearly done this before; even if she hadn’t, she’s comfortable, certain of where she stands with him. You can’t step into the space she takes up.

“Not really,” he mutters, a childish impatience squirming through him. You feel his own restlessness in your own feet; useless, you can’t just stand here. You turn to the stove, grabbing another bowl from the cabinet and doling him a portion of the sad green beans and ham. You grab the pepper, flaking a kick into his food that you’re sure he’s said he prefers, and turn to quickly set it down in front of him. Tess is done, grabs the rags to toss in the sink.

Joel seems confused. “We’re outta green beans.”

You grin at him, the flesh on your face feeling tight and out of place. “Good thing you’ve got a supplier.” You don’t say that you had stashed him a can extra even above your smuggling quota. You don’t mention it because you know he likes them better than any of the other shitty cans because they remind him of home, because they’re made down south, somewhere, because he can’t know that you know that about him, that you study him like he’s something worth knowing about. You can’t wear your love so openly like that, but you think he might see it leaking out of your porous heart anyways, because there’s a stern gratitude in his nod, in the bite he lifts to his mouth. Tess knows too, and squeezes your shoulder as she walks you out later.

“Thank you,” she says, “for doing that for him. He’ll never say it, but he’s grateful. I’m grateful. You’re a good kid.” Your heart beats faster. You can’t remember the last time someone said something like this, told you you were good, saw the care you hemorrhaged, and gave it back to you. You nod and head back to your own empty place, counting down the hours until you can see him again, until you feel like there might be a reason you’re here.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝙸𝙸. 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: trauma responses disguised as life skills, angst, fluff, pining, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, girldad!Joel, lots of flirting, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, financial/mental/emotional/physical abuse, mentions/depictions of childhood trauma, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 9.7k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: All the progress you've made is jeopardized by a chance meeting. Joel begins to worry the nagging feeling he has about your home life might just have more truth to it than he knows.

Joel had a good feeling about you even before you started helping out Miller Contracting, but he’d never been so optimistic to think you’d be this quick on your feet with pivoting. He hesitated to call it embellishment or outright lying because it was never an ill-intentioned or malicious thing from what he’d seen. It was more along the lines of a finely tuned social skill, something that could be implemented to mitigate a client’s frustration or labile moods. It was a mastery of sorts that might be used by somebody to change the energy of a room or quell fits of chaos into a more orderly, civil atmosphere.

You’d surprised him with that line to Mr. Dillard about Jennifer having some mystery health concern that required a sudden departure. It was such a simple explanation – and not entirely false. Her mental health had taken quite a hit, and she’d made the decision to preserve what was left of it when she stepped away from the job. It was an understated but effective approach on your part, and possibly the best thing about it all was that it put the ball right back into the client’s court. They really only had two choices then: keep kicking up dust and silently admit you were an asshole or show a little empathy and save face.

Much to his delight and seemingly your relief, most clients chose the latter. After all, it didn’t require much mental capacity to understand that sometimes bad things often happen at the best times. It let Miller Contracting off the hook a little bit as to why there was a sudden hiccup in the daily operations. Even some of the more irascible clients had asked for general updates or news on if there’d be any improvements to Jennifer’s condition. Yet again you handled the conversation with devastating perfection by falling back on not going into much detail to “respect her medical privacy during this difficult time.”

Joel had picked up a few gems from you and used them himself. His go to’s were “it’s one day at a time” and “the prayers really keep her spirits up.” It addresses the situation without saying much of anything, and he gets to move on with his day swiftly.

He wonders where on earth you learned to be so quick on your feet with the perfect thing to say at the perfect time with the perfect delivery. He wonders what sort of life experiences you’ve had that gave you enough practice to hone such a skill. Maybe one day he’ll learn enough about you to fill in the blanks, but for now he’s just grateful you’re here to help him.

Your heart slams into your stomach when you round the corner to your street. Your dad’s car is parked in the driveway. He’s home early. You were going to get all the housework done with the couple of hours you had ahead of you before he got off work. His unannounced, premature arrival meant you had to think of something to tell him about why you were out somewhere on your day off instead at home tending to things. You park your bike and keep a steady pace to the door in case he’s looking through a window somewhere. If you acted out of sorts, he was going to wring you for every last detail. You slip inside the front door and gently close it. You flick the lock just as his voice breaks through the dead silence.

“Where were you?” The question comes out calm like a snowdrift creeping along the edge of an avalanche.

“Just around the neighborhood,” you reply plainly. You can’t sound too evasive, but you most definitely can’t sound too indifferent. He has to know you aren’t just carefree and lazy on your days off. You earn your keep around here and then some. You can’t give him a reason to think you’re not taking things seriously.

“Just around the neighborhood?” he parrots. “You have friends in the neighborhood?” The dubious slant in his tone is meant to be cutting, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop it from being hurtful. You hear what he’s really saying: you don’t have friends in the neighborhood or anywhere else for that matter.

“Well, sort of. You’re home early. Is everything okay?” Maybe directing the conversation to him and his day will nimbly refocus the attention off of you, your whereabouts, your comings and goings . . . 

He sighs and stands from his irritated slump in the plush living room recliner. The nearly empty bottle of beer sways in his hand. “Denise got into a fender bender. Called me in fucking hysterics. You’d think the whole front end had come off her car.” He pauses to take a swig of beer and shake his head with a derisive tut. “Typical woman driver, though. At least you know it’s better to stick with the bike instead of terrorizing the road with your driving.”

You swallow past the words in your throat and ignore the flood of thoughts about why you actually have anxieties about driving. One too many times of getting into his car as a kid while your mom turned a blind eye or was just altogether out for the night. Your legs were barely long enough to reach the pedals from where you sat on his lap, and it was nerve-wracking to help him “keep the wheel steady” while he drove to get himself something else to drink because he’d run out. All those times he’d run into the store and tell you to sit tight and wait felt like centuries. Being alone with your thoughts meant your mind wandered into full blown paranoia, making you feel so sure you could hear sirens and that the police were going to catch you. 

The cadence of your inhales would outpace your exhales, and soon enough you were in tears trying to strain your ears to hear all the impending catastrophes coming your way. Your brain would race to formulate an explanation you could offer law enforcement so you wouldn’t get in trouble or your dad wouldn’t get arrested or they wouldn’t think a home visit was warranted. You were always so, so afraid that you and Calum would get separated, and then who would he have to protect him?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out in a deceptively collected tone. “Where were you?”

You freeze up. Oh god, you can’t freeze up. Not now. He’ll know something is different. He’ll know you’re lying. He’ll—

The steely grip of his fingers across your lower jaw anchors you in place for closer inspection. “You keeping something from me?” His nostrils flare at the mere idea of you having the gall to lie to him. You try to shake your head, but his hold tightens on you. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” he seethes.

You try to speak, but it’s garbled around the cage of his hand. He lets up just enough for you to form words. “I-I didn’t want to get your hopes up yet until I–until I knew I had gotten the job,” you plead.

His eyes narrow with interest. “What job?” he demands.

“It’s–It’s a customer at the store. Their secretary quit, and I’ve been helping. I’m trying to get the full time maybe, but I didn’t—”

He covers your mouth with his hand. It reeks of beer. “You quit your job at the grocery store?”

You shake your head, and he drops his hand. “No! No, of course not!”

“Well how THE FUCK am I supposed to know what bullshit you’re getting up to when you’re running around hiding it from me?” he bellows. You flinch when he raises his voice and his arms to the side in a gesture of righteous anger.

Tears start to pool at the corners of your vision. “I wanted to surprise you when I got good news. I wanted to try to get this job, but I didn’t want to get anybody’s hopes up yet!”

He stares at you with empty, cold eyes. “So, what? You’re doing secretary stuff? How much are you making?”

Of course that’s his first concern: how much more money could you be feeding into the joint account? You lie and tell him it’s a dollar less than the grocery store. Before he can lash out too much, you emphasize the long term growth an opportunity like this could offer. There’s more room to go up, and the experience is something that could translate to a lot more stable, higher paying jobs. His brain isn’t wet enough with alcohol to keep him from considering the validity of your statement.

“I want to see your pay stubs.”

“I-I don’t have it set up yet. I’m not in their system yet. I don’t technically have the job yet.”

His eyes thin into scrutinizing slits. “Fine. Write down your hours so I can compare it to your pay. The last thing we need is you getting swindled because you’re too fucking stupid to keep track of your finances.”

“Okay,” you choke.

He juts a finger out and pokes your shoulder with it. “Next time you want to make a big choice like that, you come to me first for permission.” He leans in closer to tower over you. You drop your gaze to the floor. “Do you understand?” Each word is accentuated with a stabbing finger to your shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” you utter. “I’m sorry.”

“Now quit your crying and get the hell outta my face,” he snaps.

Without a word you turn on your heel and rush to your bedroom. You fumble with your door, hands trembling so hard you feel like they’re not even a part of you. You still and listen to your dad go into the garage for another beer.

“Oh, I got somethin’ for ya,” Joel announces as he stands and starts rooting through a desk drawer. His home office is a mess as he’s transitioning everything back into the actual office now that things are back on track for the most part. “Forgot to charge it, but Jenn finally returned her work phone. Figured you might have some use for it since you’ve sorta taken over her duties.” He hands you the nicest phone you’ve ever held in your possession. You look up at him, thinking of how you should turn it down because you couldn’t possibly accept such a nice thing, could you? You don’t even have Jennifer’s old job, so what would make you entitled to Jennifer's old phone?

“I–Are you sure, Joel?”

“Yeah, of course. It just makes your life easier, really. You can forward calls from the office to it if you need to. You know, like if you’re working from home or somethin’ one day. And then if I’m texting you I’m not usin’ up all your personal data plan, you know? Work related things means the company should cover it.”

He explains it simply enough, but you still feel uncertain about him entrusting you with it.

“I mean, I know it ain’t the newest on the block, but–”

“What? Are you serious? This phone is amazing.” You barely hold back a laugh as you pluck your dingy old flip phone from your bag. “Literally, this thing is, like, a million times nicer than this thing.”

“What’d you lose a bet or something?” Joel snorts as he takes your phone and turns it in his hand. You are distracted for just long enough by the difference of how small the phone looks in his hand compared to when you hold it that Joel clears his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t— it’s a fine phone, is what I meant. Perfectly functional.”

Oh. He thinks he said something to make you feel bad. “It’s a piece of shit, I know.” Your lopsided smile and shrug probably aren’t enough to entirely convince him that you aren’t embarrassed about your ancient phone, but it would have to do. There’s no way you’re explaining to him that it’s all you’re allowed and that your dad won’t let you get anything nicer because it would “just be a waste of time and money.”

“Well, it’s…. Yeah, it’s a piece of shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so rude about it.”

“Not rude. Just stating the obvious.”

“Well, still.”

“Besides, it’s nice of you to let me use this phone anyway seeing as I don’t even have the job to justify it. Doing some real charity work there, boss man.” Your cheeks plump up in a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, about that….” Joel clears his throat again, but this time it’s a more hopeful sound. “What if you did have the job?”

“Ppffftttt yeah. Real funny.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Would you– Are you interested in it? You’ve taken to it like crazy, and you’re already gettin’ things closer to how they were. I mean, I know it’d mean stepping away from the grocery store, but—”

“You can’t be serious.” You sit there, staring at him like he’s grown a third ear on his chin.

“Well, I know it’s a bit of a leap, but I mean… I don’t wanna pressure you, and if you need time to think–”

“You want me to have the job? Jennifer’s job?”

“It’d be your job if you say yes, but, yeah, Jenn’s job.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Joel laughs.

“Oh my god! I– Are you sure? You’re sure? Tommy’s okay with– you really — you mean–” You jump to your feet with a burst of energy and try not to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe you heard him wrong. Maybe he’s playing an elaborate joke on you. So many other things would make more sense right now than what you think he’s saying.

“So is that a yes?”

“I– Of course! I would – oh.” Your shoulders slump in disappointment. Of course this was too good to be true. “I just remembered that I don’t exactly have a, um, have a way to get– I mean, I have my bike, but–”

Joel waves you off like it’s no issue at all that you don’t have a way to get to the office except for biking a long commute. “I’ll take ya with me. I live just around the way. It would actually be kinda silly if we didn’t carpool.”

“You mean you’d take me to work?” You can’t imagine why someone would go out of their way to be so kind to you. “You’d drive me every day?”

“M’already goin’ that way anyway,” Joel points out. “It’s not like I’m goin’ outta my way.”

“It just doesn’t seem…. Are you sure? I don’t want to put anything on you. It’s still a big commitment. You don’t have to, um, you know – I was sorta joking about you doing charity, but I don’t want you feeling like you have to—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop your running dialogue. “It ain’t a big deal, and even if it was, I’d still do it. You’re good at the work, good with the customers, a fast learner. You’re reliable and a hard worker. Seems like a pretty fair exchange to me.”

You practically strain your eyes trying to keep the hot pinching feeling from blooming into full on tears. “Joel, this is so– I can’t thank you enough for — this is so… thank you. Yes, I would love to have the job. And thank you for taking a chance on me. I won’t let you down.”

Joel grins at you and shakes his head like he’s thinking through some inside joke with himself. “Same to you, sweetheart. Took a chance on me when you agreed to help out, so I think we’re in the same boat here.”

“Here’s to taking chances then, I guess,” you giggle after a loud sniffle.

“Here’s to taking a chance on each other,” he agrees with a wink.

The more downtime Joel has, the more opportunities he has to sit and think about you. It’s one of the reasons he’s been trying to keep himself busy, to keep himself from blurring that line between professional and personal with you. He’s your boss for chrissakes – officially now that you accepted the job offer. Not to mention he’s much older than you but apparently missing the wisdom that was supposed to come with that. 

It was his responsibility to set clear boundaries and make sure he was fostering professional relationships with his employees. The problem when it came to you was it felt personal no matter what he tried to do. The more you two got to know each other, the more you eased into conversation and opened up. The more you opened up, the more greedy he got to unravel some other tangled string about who you were and what made you tick and what things you liked and what he could do to make you smile.

It was a death knell in his delusions that he didn’t feel anything for you when it became clear that you shared the same dumb brand of humor, taking delight in the small, nonsensical things that cropped up everywhere and anytime. You’d surprised him a few times when you’d have some smartass little quip out of the blue, looking nervous for a moment that it would be taken the wrong way, but of course it never was. He loved those random moments where you’d come out of left field with something and make him laugh in the sort of carefree way kids do when they’ve stayed up too late and had too much sugary soda and junk food.

And just when he’d gorge himself on those little moments, there was an undeniable, unsettling feeling he got sometimes when you’d talk about things. Carrying yourself in a way that seemed like you anticipated censure even when you’d done nothing wrong. Acting surprised when he’d compliment something you did, even if it was simple. You had a hard time accepting and believing all the good things but no difficulty whatsoever in assuming the worst about yourself. He couldn’t understand it, especially when you were so easy to get along with and so good with people.

Sure, your old boss Jeremy was a jerkoff, but you hadn’t seemed fazed too much the handful of times Joel was aware of his mistreatment towards you. There was something else going on there, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t exactly close enough to you to ask about your mom leaving all those years ago. He’s wondered more than once if you struggle with feelings of being unwanted or not good enough – things that Sarah had struggled with when her mom up and left without so much as a backwards glance.

It was painful enough to see Sarah go through it, and he wasn’t sure watching it happen to someone else would be much easier to witness. You seem sensitive and ironclad all at once, but he’s not sure if that’s just the protective shell you’ve built up over the years. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to contribute to any notions you have about low self-worth or lack of talent.

And then even after all that, the more he learned about your home life, the more muddy the waters became. You’d mentioned your brother – Colin? Calum? Calvin? – had moved out several months ago with stars in his eyes and dreams of living a bigger life than what he could ever make here. It all sounded a bit too much like those perfectly curated responses you always had – like the one you’d skillfully delivered to Mr. Dillard to get him to warm up to you.  Joel didn’t like to press you too much about your brother, and you didn’t say much about if you two had a good relationship or a relationship at all. But you always seemed a little sad whenever it came up.

He knew your dad still lived in the house with you, and that was maybe the most perplexing piece of the puzzle yet. Joel had seen his newer car parked in the driveway before, knew from what you’d told him about his job title and where he worked that he must have a pretty decent salary and selection of suits and ties, and he had a house in the same neighborhood as Joel. All signs pointed to doing pretty well in life, at least enough to be financially comfortable, but then why didn’t you seem to have those things? 

You didn’t have a car. Maybe you didn’t have any interest in driving? But it didn’t seem that way. And regardless, your bike had certainly seen better days. At the very least you and your dad could pool finances together for a newer bike? And you wore a lot of the same clothes over and over again. He hadn’t said anything about the business casual that was loosely encouraged for the job you just accepted. Maybe you just had a few clothing choices that made you feel the most comfortable? He didn’t want to risk stepping in it by mentioning something other than the plan t-shirts and jeans you often sported.

Joel glances at the clock on the wall of the car shop – 11:30. His mechanic buddy was supposed to be done with the company truck by now. Not wanting to sit and mull over every tiny tidbit about you and your life, he got up and headed for the front desk to check with Susan about how much longer she thought it might be. Before he got there, she called out for someone else. A someone else with your last name. It was a unique enough name to make him wonder if there was some relation, but the man’s face confirmed it. There was that stony, cold face Joel had conjured in his mind’s eye a few months back. He hadn’t just imagined that distinct lack of warmth after all.

The woman with him seemed impatient and jumpy, following behind him like a petulant shadow. The cut of your dad’s voice to Susan made Joel’s head clock to the side. He hadn’t said anything rude, but he didn’t need to. The tone there expressed all the disdain and irritation left unspoken. Susan responded with something about the cars getting backed up because someone called out sick, and your dad’s companion rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I can’t attest to the reliability of your staff, but I hope your work on her car is more promising,” he says plainly. His posture was so rigid and lax all at once. Everything about him was a bit of a contradiction. Joel noted the clean, shiny watch on his wrist where his pressed dress shirt grazed against it in a crisp, starched line. His hair was groomed without a single strand out of place. His shoes looked freshly polished. Between the attire and his demeanor, he certainly commanded respect and attention.

“Again, I apologize for the inconvenience,” Susan replied in a bored tone. She had never been one to take anybody’s bullshit in all the years Joel knew her. “If you would like the mechanic to review the work with you, I would be more than happy to call him in.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but I appreciate the offer,” your dad says without sounding much like he means it.

“Alright then. I’ll call you up shortly once I print out the paperwork and detail. You can take a seat. And you can come on over, Joel.”

Susan waves him to the desk. Your dad meets his eye and seems to vaguely recognize the name and the face together. Joel puts his hand out for a shake. “Yeah, hi there. Joel Miller with Miller Contracting. Unless I’m mistaken, your daughter has been helping us out these past few weeks.”

Your dad gives him an up and down before offering a tight handshake. “Mr. Miller, yes. Joel. Nice to meet you. I’ve been wondering who this mysterious side job had come from.”

“You’re lookin’ at him,” Joel laughs low with a shrug. He waits for him to introduce his companion, but he doesn’t. “And, uh, nice to meet you….?”

“Denise,” she sniffs. She takes his hand in an awkwardly pinching grasp before tucking her arms across her chest again.

“Denise, nice to meet you.” The insincerity in his voice came through, but thankfully Denise didn’t really seem to care regardless.

“So Miller Contracting is doing pretty well these days?” your dad asks.

“Yeah, can’t complain. Projects are steady. Customers are good.” Joel tucks his hands into his pockets, calm and friendly.

“Good, good. Maybe a bit more growth and that starting pay could get bumped up a little, huh?” your dad chuckles. His tone is light, but the underscoring message is clear that he’s serious.

“Uh, definitely like to share the success of the business with our employees, for sure,” Joel answers back stiffly. How did your dad know exactly what you made? Had you talked to him about it? Were you upset at the amount? Did you think it wasn’t enough? It was more than the grocery store, and you didn’t have any experience in the field. He was covering transportation for you and setting you up with a better work situation than what you’d had before, right? And he and Tommy always did their best to show appreciation to their staff with things like holiday or hire date anniversary bonuses.

Most of all, you hadn’t ever seemed concerned or upset about your pay. Was this just another example of you tamping down a reaction or thought to something just to keep the waters smooth?

“She’ll never ask for it. Probably wouldn’t occur to her,” your dad laughs at your expense. “Never been too financially savvy. Takes after her mother, unfortunately.”

Joel doesn’t know your mother and doesn’t know the circumstances of her leaving, but it’s clear a comparison to her is not in any way intended with kindness. A burning hot impulse to stick up for you rolls in his gut.

“Well I don’t know about not bein’ savvy. She’s been doin’ a knockout job so far. Got a good head on her shoulders for sure.” It’s a harmless enough claim to vouch for you, but Joel feels a bit at odds with himself trying to balance the instinct to defend you with the logical, benefit of the doubt sort of way he usually handled things. After all, your dad was a finance and economics guy. He probably thought most everyone was lacking in that area of finesse and knowledge. He probably didn’t mean to single you out specifically.

“We’ll say that’s where she takes after me then,” he laughs with a tight smile. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Joel. We’re gonna go take our seats now.” He glances back at Denise, who immediately turns to sit down.

Joel shakes your dad’s hand again and waves at Denise when she makes no move to interact with him again. He doesn’t miss the unimpressed yawn that Susan does while watching them go sit back down.

He doesn’t mention meeting your dad at the auto shop. He wants to see if you bring it up first or at all. He wasn’t sure he’d do very well communicating all of his thoughts and feelings about it, anyway. It bothered him to imagine you being upset, feeling taken advantage of, and then not feeling comfortable enough with him to say anything about it. Every imagining of it always ends up with some saddened version of you badmouthing him to your dad. Now your dad thinks you’re being underpaid by some random asshole, and Joel knows how he’d feel if Sarah was ever in a situation like that.

But then he couldn’t stop thinking about how there was something peculiar about your dad. Maybe it was the stress of haggling for a fair price over the repairs? Maybe he was feeling like he had to act like a strong, stand up guy for Denise and handle business? Maybe maybe maybe. There was still something so detached in the way he spoke about you. 

His plan to not bring it up falls through halfway through the week. He can’t take the idea of you seeing him as unfair or cheap or deceitful. “Hey, uh, so I ran into your old man a coupla days ago.” He clocks the way your entire body freezes for a moment before stiffly sitting up straight and chewing hard around your bite of sandwich in the break room. 

“Oh?”  

His brow pulls together at your forced casual inflection. “Yeah. Yeah, he was, uh, he was giving my mechanic friend’s shop a bit of a hard time. Think he was just tryna impress his, er, lady friend that was with him? Denise?” Joel cringes at his bumbling explanation, but your split second sneer tells him he’s probably on the right track thinking it was a girlfriend. Maybe one day you’d get to know each other well enough for him to ask about whatever happened with your mom. When the neighborhood gossip had made the rounds about her abrupt departure, leaving behind two teenaged kids with her husband of 16 years, he’d been so curious to know what had happened there.

“Yeah, I guess she was getting her car repaired. She was in an accident a little bit ago. My dad is helping her out with it.”

“That’s nice of him,” Joel supplies with a pleasant but neutral tone, searching your body language or expressions for any tells or clues.

“It is,” you agree. Your answers always veered into this curt, factual sort of expression whenever your dad or family came up.

“And, uh, well he mentioned somethin’ to me that’s been sorta buggin’ me if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your eyes snap up to his, panic swelling and being forced back so quickly he almost misses it. “What did he say?”

“Just somethin’ about the pay, and I guess– well, I’ll just come out with it. Do you feel like you’re not bein’ paid fairly?”

That quelled panic now cannonballs back into the picture. “What?! No! Of course not! I’m very happy!”

“Now listen, it’s okay if you don’t. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to know you can talk to me about that sorta stuff, and—”

“I’M VERY HAPPY!” You say it like you’re begging him to believe you, so he does.

“Okay, alright alright. It’s okay. I’m not upset with ya,” he assures you. That seems to take some of the edge off. He hated whenever he got you into these little destabilized whirlwinds. You had several tripwires of interaction that he’d come to learn and try to maneuver, but he was trying to get better at figuring out what made you feel calm again, too.

“Listen, my dad is just— he’s protective or whatever, okay? He’s just very— he takes— he wants to make sure the money goes into the account like it should,” you flounder. “He keeps tabs on it because I’m just–I’m just not good with that stuff. I’m not— I just make stupid choices. I’m stupid about stuff a lot, so he just– he wasn’t—”

“Hey now, whoa whoa hold on,” Joel interrupts with a partially raised hand. He turns to face you at the table and makes the bold choice to cradle your bicep in his hand. A part of him sings and swells with delight when you don’t pull away and actually look a bit comforted by it. “You aren’t stupid. You’ve got to quit with that shit.”

You stare back with a deer in headlights look. “I’m– what I meant to say was that he’s– I’m not a finance person like him, is what I meant. So, in comparison or whatever, you know? That’s what I meant.”

“Well then say that instead. Don’t call yourself stupid because it’s not true. Okay? You hear me?”

You nod, eyes dropping down to your lap, and fiddle with the fabric of his jeans taut against his knee. “Okay.”

Your deliberate choice to make physical contact with him overwhelms him with a sense of pride he doesn’t fully understand but recognizes nonetheless.

“Listen, I gotta head out in a few minutes to meet with a client, but I’m gonna call to check in on you after when I’m on my way back, alright?”

You smile a little at that. “Okay.”

He can’t shake the strange feeling about your dad and your pay and why he’s apparently managing your money for you. His words come out before he’s really even thought about what he’s saying. “I think if you’re okay with it, we’re gonna keep doin’ the cash payroll for the time being. Might switch over after tax season is done.” He doesn’t even know if that’s a thing or what it even means, but it’s all he can concoct on the spot to keep your finances in a gray area until he gets a better hold on what the dynamic is between you and your dad.

Your face brightens and relaxes. “Oh, okay. Yeah. No, that’s fine. I’m fine with that.”

Way to fucking go, you idiot. 

You’re practically seething at yourself after Joel leaves to meet with a client. Why why why had you given your dad such a low number? You got greedy, that’s why. You could’ve just said it was a 50 cent pay cut instead of a whole dollar. Now Joel thinks you’re an ungrateful employee after he hired you even though you weren’t qualified whatsoever, and now your dad has made some point of contact with Joel. What if they run into each other again and your dad confronts him with the number you gave him? What would he do when Joel corrected that he in fact did pay you a whole two dollars more than what you were claiming.

You can imagine it now, the way your dad would go back through every timelog and bank statement to calculate how much you’d diverted. A cold snap runs up your spine when your mind starts to wander into the “how would he reprimand you for your dishonesty and disregard for his rules?” territory. You grab your flip phone to distract yourself for a moment in the hopes you can shove all this mental disequilibrium to the side until you have time to process and deal with it. 

You mindlessly read through Kenzie’s texts about meeting up with a classmate last night to study, only for it to end up with “lots of not studying oops lol” and a winky text emoji. She goes through her usual Dicking Down Rubric as she liked to call it, and ultimately gives her “study buddy” a 2.9 out of 5. Any hopes of getting your mind to a clearer spot have gone out the window. You wish your biggest life issues right now were how to grade someone’s sexual presence and prowess. You hadn’t been laid in forever, and you briefly wonder if your pussy could wither away permanently if the dry spell was long enough.

Maybe you could still become a nun or something one day if things don’t work out.

You sigh and shake your head. This wasn’t helpful, and it was keeping you from getting your work done. So, you force yourself to open an email, return a voicemail, open another email, double check the calendar for next week, open another email…..

Joel’s picture is taking up your phone screen before you know it. Your heart does a little leap just seeing it. “Hey,” you answer in an unbothered, collected sort of way. You hope, at least.

“Hey, just checkin’ in,” he says.

He remembered to check in on you after he said he was going to. The notion is enough to make you feel a tad too emotional for a work setting. Pathetic. Get it together.

“What a good boss,” you hum – light, bubbly, playful. Definitely not still reeling from your earlier conversation. Definitely not spiraling into the abyss. Definitely not panicking. Definitely not wishing you could feel him wrap his hand around your arm again or anywhere else he pleased.

“Just a perk of the job,” he chimes in with a hearty chuckle. He clears his throat. “So, uh, you’re doin’ alright? You feelin’ okay from earlier?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you exhale.

“You’re doin’ it again,” he gently chides.

You aren’t sure what he means at first, but then you realize you must’ve apologized. At this rate you were downright curious as to what he deemed apology worthy because anything you’ve ever felt bad for thus far hasn’t met the criteria. “I guess I shouldn’t say sorry for saying sorry, huh?”

He breathes a little laugh over the receiver, and you want to melt into your seat. “And you have the nerve to call yourself stupid?”

Ever since that afternoon discussing his run in with your dad, Joel has been doing his little check ins more frequently. Chats in the car. Calls to and from clients or job sites. Little texts here and there over the weekend when he didn’t see you. You’d always regarded attention on you as a harbinger of corrections and judgements, but this sort of attention was different. It was nice. It made your chest feel more open, like you could breathe a little easier. It inserted a strange sort of hard stop to your day no matter what was going on, and it provided a clear moment of pause for you to check in with yourself.

You’d never been good at checking in on yourself. You were always too consumed with taking the temperature of everyone else around you. It was always harder to gauge your own thoughts and feelings without someone else’s mood and mindset acting as the measuring stick.

The entire month passes with these threads of outreach and gentleness and concern and support. Before you know it, the threads have woven into a tapestry of care and a true connection with somebody you might’ve never expected it from. How is he so soft and solid at the same time? How is he so commanding and comforting at the same time? How is he so steadfast and sympathetic at the same time? How is he so action oriented and receptive at the same time?

How was he so many things that your whole life you thought you had to pick one or the other when apparently you could be both without contradiction?

“You keep starin’ at me like I got barbecue sauce on my mouth or somethin’,” he laughs. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but his grin is so broad it bleeds into his entire side profile.

“Maybe you do,” you laugh back with a nonchalant shrug. You fix your eyes ahead now, too. Caught red-handed.

“I told you after y’all let me walk around with that booger in my nose for pretty much the entire day last week you’re required to tell me if I got somethin’ goin’ on.”

“I didn’t even see the booger,” you giggle.

“Liar,” he huffs. “Kept lookin’ at me so much I got to thinkin’ I musta looked real nice that day. Then I go to the bathroom and see that giant bat in the cave. Crushed my heart. Ego up in flames.”

“If you want me to say that you’re handsome even with a booger hanging out of your nose, you’re gonna have to promote me to CEO.”

He chuckles at that and fake pinches your leg. “Better read your contract again, ma’am. It’s right in there: employees must lie to Joel about how handsome he is.”

“Hm, sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” you muse.

“The only crime bein’ committed is y’all hurting my feelings by letting me walk around with delusions of grandeur,” he charges. “And I think that deserves jail time, honestly. County jail. None of that cushy stuff.”

You whistle low and cock an eyebrow. “Judge, jury, and executioner?”

Joel pulls into your neighborhood, and your heart sinks a little bit. It was always too short of a drive, always too short of a day. It wasn’t fair.

“Shame, isn’t it? And all you had to do was lie and tell me I’m handsome,” he tuts.

You angle your body towards the driver’s side and prop your elbow into the headrest. You rest your head against your hand and prop one leg on the seat. “So you go out of your way to hire liars then?”

He glances at you now with an impish little grin. “Sweetheart, if they’re as good as you are, I don’t care if they’re a liar or not.”

“Well in that case, you are devastatingly handsome.” You bite back a smile and pray to god he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks radiating off you.

“Knew it,” he declares in mock vindication.

You pretend pinch his leg back, and he grabs you before you can pull it away. His hand is so warm and big and safe.

“You better quit it,” he warns. You have a moment of internal shock when his words – words you’d heard spoken a million times in a million different variations, all intended to elicit compliance out of fear – don’t make you afraid. Nervous? Yes. Nervous in the stage fright sort of way. Nervous in the first day of school jitters sort of way. Nervous in the first kiss on a first date kind of way. But there’s no fear here. Just heady anticipation.

He drops your hand to make the turn onto your street, and your heart plummets through the floor. Everything with him always ended too soon.

Joel: Paul Revere here to tell you the trick-or-treaters are out and about.

Joel: The kids are coming! The kids are coming! 🐎🕯️Ready the candy bowls!

You: what’s with the horse and the candle lol

Joel: Paul Revere’s midnight ride. It’s not midnight, but you get the idea.

You: wow I’ve never met an emoji artist before

Joel: Ha ha very funny.

Joel: You get any trick-or-treaters yet? I don’t know what half of these costumes are.

You aren’t sure you want to tell him you’re currently sitting by yourself in a pitch black house so no kids come to your door thinking you have candy. Because of course your dad was out with Denise and her two kids, so of course he didn’t give a shit about putting out candy or what your plans were. He hadn’t even bothered to invite you, but you suppose that’s fair because you probably would’ve declined anyway. He was just saving you the extra step, really.

You: yeah funny enough we didn’t get any candy so I’m hiding out in a dark house so the kids don’t get mad at us

Joel: You’re by yourself?

Your heart did little flips every time he showed a modicum of protectiveness and thoughtfulness.

You: yeah it’s no biggie though I can just live vicariously thru you

You: you can tell me about the best costumes tomorrow morning and I can try to guess what the character is based off your terrible descriptions 🥲

Joel: Or you could just pass out candy with me? Unless you like sitting in the dark by yourself.

You: lol you tryna con me into passing out your candy for you?

Joel: Yes. 😎

Joel: Is it working?

You: be there in 5

His heart leaps into his throat when you cruise around the corner on your bike. God he hadn’t in his wildest dreams expected that texting you that stupid Paul Revere joke would result in you spending the evening with him. In truth, he’d just wanted to talk to you again. He couldn’t count how many times over the past several weeks he’d picked up his phone to send you a message and thought better of it at the last second. Can’t cross another line when he’s already crossed too many. 

He’d usually just stare at your contact picture for more time than was appropriate – a little consolation prize for barring himself from sending inane messages and calls your way – before shoving his phone back into his pocket. But now he didn’t have to settle for a static image of you. Now you were here in the flesh and going to spend a couple more precious hours together. He knew he shouldn’t make his giddiness too obvious, but christ was that becoming harder and harder the longer he knew you.

He takes your bike and props it against the porch railing. He makes a mental note about getting you a new one or at least letting him fix this one up for you. You settle onto the bench where he has the candy bowl already set up. He kicks himself for not knowing your favorite candy so he could’ve dumped a few bags of it into the mix.

“You want a beer or anything?”

You scrunch your nose and wave him off. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He settles onto the bench and can’t quite muster enough genuine regret about the tight fit it is for you both to share. You don’t lean away or adjust in your seat, so he takes it as good a sign as any that you don’t mind your thighs touching. You draw your legs up and place them criss-cross, apologizing for how your knee rests against his leg, and he takes a deep gulping swallow. Nope. Certainly no regrets about not building this bench bigger in the first place.

The first few trick-or-treaters come springing up onto the porch with their sights set on candy acquisition. You keep laughing at him trying to ask the kids what their costume is or who they’re supposed to be, only to have them flying off the porch in search of the next house.

“Quit it,” he laughs with a prod to your side. You squeak and nearly fold in on yourself towards him. “Oh, ticklish, huh?”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. You sound like you might really mean it.

“I would never,” he huffs. “I’m the handsome gentleman boss, remember?”

“You’re just adding adjectives now, huh?”

“Caught me,” he concedes with a wink.

You’re icy when he asks about why you were holed up at your house by yourself. You tell him your dad is out with Denise and her two kids. There was that same odd energy from you whenever your dad cropped up in conversation. Trying to change the subject and lighten your mood, he asks about what sort of costumes you wore as a kid. You give him generic, vague answers — princess, witch, princess again, witch princess — and don’t seem all that nostalgic about any of it. 

“What about Sarah? What sort of costumes did she have?”

He loves talking about Sarah and all the things she’s done in her life and all the places she’s going next, but other people weren’t always as invested so he kept it simple. He laughs as he recalls the one year she insisted on being a hot dog for some reason but ended up stomping around and crying when all the other kids kept calling her a wiener. “It wasn’t funny, but shit… I mean….” He breaks into another round of laughter, and you join in.

“You’re a really good dad.” It’s a gentle remark, a tender observation. It makes Joel’s throat feel tight how delicately you share the sentiment, how soft it is on your tongue. It almost sounds wistful the way you say it. You reach over and squeeze the hand not holding onto the candy bowl. “Sarah’s really lucky.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Well, I’d say the same about her. Hard to not try for a kid like her, you know? She was better to me than I deserved most of the time. The least I could do was show up for her.”

Your sad smile goes tight as you look off into the front yard at the dwindling number of kids. It’s almost time for you to go home, and Joel knows it. He hates it. Every time he’s with you, the clock goes too fast and the time is up too soon. It’s always over too soon.

“Well, I’d better head out,” you announce. Your eyes drop back to your hand in his. He nearly slots his fingers into yours when you gently rub his hand with your thumb before standing up.

“Let me drive you,” he blurts out. Anything to make this last longer. Anything to spend more time with you.

“Oh, that’s silly. It’s just around the corner. That’s really sweet, but I—”

Joel hops up and abandons the nearly empty bowl of candy on the bench. He’s grabbing your bike and putting it into the bed of his truck before you can talk him out of it. “Just grabbin’ my keys,” he says as he skirts around you to the front door and swipes them from the console table.

“C’mon,” he insists. He places a hand on the small of your back. Your lashes flutter in a syrupy haze at the contact. He ushers you to the passenger door. He opens it for you and shuts it behind you.

“You really don’t have to,” you contend. It’s a weak appeal. He knows you don’t mean it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe you like spending any spare second possible with him, too.

“It’s dark out, and who knows what kinda weird pranks some teenagers are tryna play. Gonna get yourself hit with a water balloon full of pee or somethin’ if you bike home.”

You exhale a shocked laugh through your nose. “A what? Is that the sorta thing you and Tommy got up to as kids?” You lean closer to him in the front seat.

He laughs and swears he never did more than TP a house or two or play ding dong doorbell ditch. He drives as slow as he can to your house, but it’s not very far. He’s helping you out of the car and unloading your bike for you before he knows it. Your dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. He hates thinking about you being in the house by yourself late at night like this. You walk him into the backyard where you store your bike in the shed. 

You walk so close to him side by side that he can feel the heat coming off you. He jokes that he really just wanted you to come over because he’s a big scaredy cat on Halloween. You snort and give him a light bump with your body. He gives you one back, and you grab onto his arm with the claim that he “could knock you flat on your ass” if he wasn’t careful. Joel lets himself be delusional and believe that you just want to hold onto him the way he wants to hold onto you.

“Ya know, talkin’ about being scared of things. I’m so fuckin’ glad I didn’t scare you off when I came with that offer to work in my house out of the blue.” He shakes his head and chuckles at how odd it probably was for you to be approached with it. “It was a weird situation, but I’m glad you don’t spook easy.”

You shoot him a soft, wistful smile from the porch steps where you turn to meet him almost eye level. “Spook me? No, hardly. Not when it’s more like you’re the one keeping The Scaries away.” Your eyes glance down to where your hand eases into his. You look up at him again and give his hand a little squeeze. “Get home safe. Don’t get yourself pelted with piss balloons.”

Joel grins and shakes his head instead of what his body is compelling him to do because he knows it wouldn’t be right to snatch you up right now into a kiss. “I’ll text you when I get home to let you know my fate.” He reluctantly drops his hand before he does something stupid that he can’t take back. You wave him off and head inside. 

Joel’s tail lights disappear around the corner, and your entire body feels like it could collapse under the taut band of whatever your relationship with him was turning into — or had already turned into weeks ago.

No. No. This isn’t a relationship. It’s a work relationship. It’s professional. 

He’s your boss.

The house is empty. Your dad is still trick-or-treating with his ready made, play pretend family. You thought you’d be used to it by now, the nauseating sensation of someone else always being picked instead of you, but it still feels like a scab being ripped up every time. Even during his love bombing phases, he never showed up for you like that as a kid. He was almost always putting most of his energy into keeping your mom complacent enough to stay.

There wasn’t ever any leftover energy or motivation after he charmed and conned your mom into believing this time would be different. You’d always felt even as a child that she’d been the one who wanted to have kids and that he obliged but resented her for it, even all these years later. Kids were a means to an end, a bandaid on a broken relationship, and you wonder if it ever occurred to him that you and Calum were actual people with actual feelings and individual hopes and dreams and thoughts and aspirations. More often it felt as though he regarded you much the same as some household pet or other dependent thing that was more trouble than it was worth.

It always seemed so obvious that he cared mostly about the projection of family life rather than the actual family unit. Appearances were something him and your mom could actually agree on, and they both exacted their demands to fit the mold in different but equally excruciating measures.

You feel like crying, but you aren’t sure why. You don’t want your mom to choose you. You don’t want your dad to choose you. Not when all the destructive, dysfunctional aspects come with it. It’s a package deal you never truly want, even if sometimes your heart tried to tell you maybe it was okay if you did want to be chosen by your parents just once to know what it felt like.

The gleam of light from your work phone illuminates your room. It’s Joel.

Joel: Made it home dry. Didn’t get hit by any pee balloons either.

You: is that a double pee joke??? 😭

Joel: Yes.

You: wow all I can say is that urine luck that I like you so much because otherwise 😐

Joel: Please never tell Sarah I was bested in a toilet humor joke-off. I have so little, and I can’t lose this.

You: oh you want my silence huh what’s in it for me?

Joel: My undying love and gratitude.

Your heart swells at his words, and you allow yourself to slip into the fantasy of it. The alternate universe where Joel Miller truly does wish to give you his undying love and gratitude. In text land, though, you play it cool. Or try to.

You: hmmm idk anything else on the table?

Joel: Breakfast tomorrow morning on me?

You: ok now we’re talking

Joel: See you bright and early. 😎

You: lol ok see you in the am

Joel: Night. 🎃💤🧸

You: what’s the bear doing?

Joel: That’s his favorite stuffed animal, thank you very much!

You: the pumpkin?? 

Joel: Yeah. Because it’s Halloween. Get it? Goodnight? Jack-o-lantern with his favorite teddy bear going to sleep?

You: wow you should write books

You feel a rush of excitement and nerves when his contact picture takes up the entire screen. You answer almost immediately, eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his breathy chuckle on the other end.

“Well, hello, Joel,” you hum.

“You makin’ fun of me?” he demands in feigned indignation.

“No, not at all. In fact, if you wrote that book I’d read it one hundred percent,” you assure him in an over the top sweet voice. “I’d be first in line at the signing and everything. I’d have on my jack-o-lantern and bear t-shirt with my matching wristband and baseball cap. I’d be decked out. Totally. Your number one fan.”

He scoffs and fakes offense. “You mean you aren’t already my number one fan?”

“I dunno, where are you buying me breakfast?”

He laughs hard now and mutters under his breath about you being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You tug your lower lip under your teeth and stifle a giggle. “Wherever you want, princess.”

“Oh, now who’s brown nosing who, huh?” you lob back with a tiny titter, trying with all your might to not scream into your pillow and the way his voice dropped with that last line.

“So what if I am?”

Maybe he hadn’t meant to come across so charged and weighted, but it landed like a lead brick in your lap. A beat of nervous silence and then–

“Well, then I’d say it’s working,” you tease. He breathes a little laugh, a relieved exhale more than anything. “And I don’t care where we get it. Just some random drive-thru would be fine with me, honestly.”

Joel tuts in disapproval. “C’mon now, you can do better’n that.”

“I’ve never been a huge breakfast person, so I don’t know all the good spots. I mean, why don’t you just pick whatever your favorite spot is, and we’ll do that?”

He considers this for a moment before agreeing. “Yeah, alright. I’ll figure somethin’ out. I’ll pick you up about 30 minutes earlier tomorrow. You get some rest now and don’t let me keep you from it, alright?”

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” you softly correct. When the quiet passes between you two again in that weighted, charged energy, you add, “Tonight was really nice. Thanks for letting me pass out candy with you.”

“It was nice,” he agrees. “And I enjoyed the company and conversation. Brought up lots of good memories for me all while makin’ some new ones.”

Your heart feels like it could burst at any moment.

“Definitely some wholesome piss balloon memories made,” you joke.

He laughs again, a sound you’ll never tire of hearing. “Absolutely. Now on that wonderful note, I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

trying to do the tags even tho they didn't work last time:

@witchy-and-persnickity @tuquoquebrute @ellenmunn @akah565 @goodwithcheese @koshkaj-blog @umnitsa @jupiter-soups @pastelnap @fadajnaoqkzalq @confusedpuffin @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @cumberpegg @persephone-girl @lovelyjess69 @verybigvag @nutterbitter @sunshinehaze1 @beelzebeth87 @bizarrelove-triangle

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Jujutsu Kaisen!

Why can I picture Sukuna and Gojo fighting each other over who’s ‘Papa’ for Eri? (They’re smiling sadistically at each other because there’s “Not enough room for 2 Papas”)

Sukuna is actually intrigued by Eri’s abilities and is only willing to give her praise if she does something interesting (As Healing is rare, it’s even rarer to heal others yet Eri can do it with ease despite her age?)

I can see Eri being considered a Hybrid (A Half Human and Half Cursed Spirit Hybrid) because her abilities are unnatural

I can see Nobara or Yuji mention that Eri has white hair like Gojo and red eyes like Sukuna and wonder if she’s possibly their ‘Secret Love Child’ (I love you Todoroki so much for that!) the look of HORROR and DISGUST on their faces!! 🤣

I love Jujutsu Kaisen, it’s so broad and unique

-Sakuna would definitely square up with Gojo over Eri, as he does find her abilities unique and worthy of his attention.

-Sakuna will never admit and if anyone asks, he will just laugh, but he is quite protective of her, as she seems so gentle and sweet, but naïve- someone needs to protect her. And he feels that he’s the only one worthy enough to do so, but he will say things like, ‘Eri’s power is for me to use!’ when in reality it translates to ‘Nobody is going to use her again’.

-It wasn’t until Nobara said something about Eri being Sakuna’s and Gojo’s secret love child, as they were both so adamant that they were going to be her papa, that they both crumpled, completely disgusted about the idea, which started a whole new fight that Eri didn’t really understand.

-Eri of course, was adorably innocent, just beaming up at them, loving the idea, ‘I have so many papas now!’ they couldn’t stand how cute she is!!

#eri #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #sakuna

[raayllum]

happy pride month featuring. demisexual rayla and mayhaps some aro spec vibes too

Rayla has never really felt the stirrings, before, as other elves call it.

 Her training ramps up when she’s twelve, but the other kids her age are starting to be consumed by crushes, blushing and making fools of themselves unnecessarily. It’s hard to understand, and even more annoying to watch. Can’t they just focus on what needs to be done? They’re the future warriors, defenders and protectors, of their village. They don’t have time for silliness, never mind the time consuming foolishness that comes with often short lived romantic (or even sexual) entanglements she sees the older assassins in training partake in. 

She supposes she’s just much more mature than they are. It’s the only explanation. 

Then she meets Callum. 

It’s not that they suddenly start, exactly — but for the first time, it feels like there’s potential for them to. How else is she supposed to explain this want to always be close to him, unable to resist from placing her hands on his shoulders, getting all up in his face as she teases him with her human impression? This maddening need to see him smile, to lift his spirits on the rare occasion he’s the downtrodden one (a situation that becomes less and less rare once he learns the truth about his father)? The racing of her heart and incessant thoughts in her mind that she can’t lose him, her fingers hesitantly touching his cheek, because she’s felt so many things since she ran away with two human princes and a dragon egg, but this — this is something else. 

His hand in hers makes sparks buzz in her chest, their interlaced fingers before the blind Sol Regem wholly for their own benefit. Her heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest with fondness and affection when she catches him blushing, when she catches him staring at her the way she imagines she’s been staring at him for quite a while now.

Once the embarrassment of the Oasis has faded, Rayla curls into his arms that cool night on the back of the ambler, and lets herself chase that warmth, a blanket draped over their laps and his lips firm against hers.

They explore a little more at the Nexus and the castle—kissing in dark alcoves and pressed against walls, pulling him close by his scarf, exploring more confidently the further they go, as far as his shirt being off one unbearably hot summer night, anyway.

Then she leaves, and is achingly cold. 

It’s not as though there are no offers while she’s away. The pubs and inns she frequents as she crosses through Xadia, when she can afford to and when camping isn’t an option, are home to many travellers looking for a good time. When she breaks her leg falling from a stupid tree, the clerk at the apocathery is very sweet, and asks if she’d stay a little longer once she’s healed up. His eyes are so green it’s almost tempting, but Rayla knows what she knows, and especially knows her heart.

There’s no one else. There never will be.

The jitters grow worse the closer she gets to Katolis when she finally turns around, Stella doing her best to soothe her nerves to little avail. 

She misses his birthday by one night and spends most of the next day crying, pacing outside the city walls till it’s almost nightfall. What will he say? What will he do? How has he changed, and what if he hasn’t? What if he still...

She climbs through his window, catching sight of the back of him first—broader, taller, with shorter, spikier hair swooped to one side—and then he turns around, gasping.

Still her Callum.

Boom. Stirrings. 

She spends most of the night admiring him once he’s relaxed enough to fall asleep, basking in the fact she’s by his side again, that she can do this—that he didn’t leave.

She thinks of the time one of the other Moonshadow kids had made a face when she didn’t have a crush on anyone, calling her strange.

Runaan had taken her aside and explained that sometimes, falling in love works differently for people, if they fall in love at all. That it was the same for him with Ethari. “Sometimes you fall in love only once,” he’d said.

She watches the way the sun catches Callum’s hair, illuminating a face that’s only grown more handsome since she left. In spite of everything, or perhaps precisely because of everything, she smiles.

This is it.

#aspec rayllum #headcanons #rayllum #happy pride 🌈 #ace tag #asexuality #tdp #my fic #fic #ficlet #tdp rayla #pining!rayla #arc 1 #arc 2 #canon compliant #the dragon prince

[watchmegetobsessed]

❄️DEAR HARRY❄️

A/N: how crazy that we are on week 3 already?? i hope you guys are seriously getting into the holiday spirit!!

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

SUMMARY: You become penpals with a cute boy in middle school. You fall for him while he becomes an international rockstar, but will you ever actually meet him?

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

This fic is part of ❄️ FANFICmas 2022 ❄️ Read more about fanficmas here!

“Y/N! You got a letter!”

You have never sped down faster than at that moment. You’ve been anticipating that letter more than anything and quite frankly, you never thought receiving a letter would ever feel this exciting.

But it does. And it’s all because of a boy you have never even met.

“Gimme!” you exclaim as you run up to your mother, grabbing the letter from her before she could even hold it out for you and you are already on your way back to your room to read it and probably memorize every word of it.

Throwing yourself onto the bed you take a look at the handwriting on the envelope, your smile growing wider before you open it and pull out the paper.

Dear Y/N,

I have news for you! But I will only reveal them to you at the end of the letter. And don’t cheat! Don’t read ahead!

This week has been boring so far, we had a math quiz and I didn’t do too well, but it’s okay. If only you lived here, you could tutor me, but I’m left with my sister who is definitely not fit to be a teacher. She is so impatient and gets angry when I don’t understand something.

How did you do on your science project? I bet yours was the best and I’m convinced you’ll be a scientist one day. A scientist with a coffee shop. That’s an awesome pairing, don’t you think?

It’s been raining a lot here so I haven’t been out that much. Mum said it probably won’t change for a while.

And now the exciting news… Drumroll please! Are you ready?... I’m going to be on the X-Factor! Crazy, right? But I finally applied and I got a date for my first audition. It’s not the one you see on TV just yet, I only get there if I pass this first round, so wish me luck. Don’t worry, I won’t stop sending you letters even when I’m a big star. You’ll always be my favorite penpal!

I can’t wait to read your next letter!

Love, Harry

You read it over and over again until you can recite the whole thing almost word to word. Then you grab a paper and write your letter right away, putting it aside when it’s done so you can neatly fold Harry’s letter into the box that has all his previous ones. Eighty-seven, to be exact.

You’ve been penpals since last year. Your teachers were friends in college and they loved matching up their classes every year, turning them into penpals and making them send a few mails as a task so kids experience what it was like when there was no internet. You didn’t think much of the task and never expected to make a friend out of it.

But then you got paired with a boy named Harry, who lives in Holmes Chapel.

The first few letters were awkward and both of you just wanted the task to be over. But then you started sharing more and more with each other and kept up with the letters even when the task was over and they haven’t stopped, not even over a year later.

You have no idea what he looks or sounds like, you haven’t exchanged phone numbers, you both agreed you wouldn’t do that until your 100th letter, which is now approaching. Still, you feel like he is your best friend, better than the ones you see every day. And maybe it’s starting to feel more than a friendship, but can you fall for someone you have never even met?

 

You finish the drink in your hand, wait for the girl next to you to get to the end of the story she’s been telling your group. You came down to this little dorm party willing to socialize and make new friends, but you feel like a total outsider and you really don’t want to stay any longer. There are other things you’d rather do right now. Or at least one thing.

Trying your best to stay unnoticed, you slip out of the basement where the party is being held and head up to your room on the third floor. Your college experience hasn’t been like the ones you saw in movies, if you’re being honest, but you’re hoping it will get better in time.

The building feels empty outside of the basement, everyone is down there, having a blast while you can’t wait to return to your room. You’re roommate is either at the party too or maybe she is out with her friends, whichever it is, she’s not there when you get back to your room.

Throwing yourself down to the bed you grab your phone and type out a quick message to the only person you always want to talk to.

Y/N: What time is it where you are? Are you up?

You don’t expect him to answer right away, but his reply comes just moments after your message.

HARRY: Call?

You smile at how he ignored your questions and then start a call. He answers after the first ring.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?” he asks instantly.

“I didn’t like it,” you shrug.

“You said that about the last three parties you went to. You’ll never meet people if you just sit around in your dorm room, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know I called my mother,” you mumble under your breath, which makes him laugh.

“Sorry… I’m just… worried. I want you to have fun.”

“Let’s talk about the fun you’re having. Tell me, where are you today?”

“New York. But I’m leaving tomorrow to LA. And don’t think you successfully changed the subject, we’ll get back to your social distancing.”

“LA, wow!” you pretend to be so into it, even though he’s been there a million times before. “Work stuff?”

“You could say that. There is this thing…”

You listen to him talk, he could be saying anything and you’d have him talk for hours, you wouldn’t get enough of his voice. After all, he’s a singer, it’s no surprise his voice is so soothing, though deep down you know you like it for a different reason.

It’s kind of ridiculous. You’re in love with a guy you’ve known since you were fourteen, but you’ve never met and in the meantime he also turned into an international rockstar, so the whole world knows him. It took the two of you almost two years to have your first phone call instead of sending letters. You still remember the first time you heard his voice over the phone, how he said your name and how you could barely get a word out at first. Now you text and call all the time though you’re still yet to meet.

You like to say it’s just how things turned out so far, that you could just never match a date to meet up, but in reality, you’re too scared to meet him, it would make it all too real and you fear he wouldn’t like you if you stood in front of him. So you remain in this bubble, where he is your friend far away who is also a celebrity. But to you, he’s just Harry, your old penpal.

“Promise me something, Y/N.” His tone turns serious and you bite your bottom lip before answering him.

“Okay.”

“Make at least one friend by the end of the semester.”

“Is that my homework?” you try to joke.

“I’m serious,” he breathes out. “I hate knowing that you’re there all alone.

“I do have friends. You’re my friend.”

“But I’m not there. You need someone to go to the library with, have lunch together and all that stuff. Please, promise me you’ll try, okay? Or I will have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Uh, what’s that supposed to mean?” you frown.

“I will fly over to you, no matter what and show up with you so people will want to get to know you.”

“Oh, so you’ll use your fame to get me friends who are only interested in you?” you laugh.

“Exactly, so you better get a friend yourself!”

“Okay, you got me. I will… try.”

“That’s good enough. I gotta go now. Talk to you later?”

“Sure. Call me whenever your schedule loosens up,” you tease him, hearing his laugh on the other end of the call.

“Will do.”

 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Because I could come over, make a woodoo doll for Mark and poke the shit out of him.”

You chuckle at Hilde’s suggestion as you sink further into your couch.

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Okay, but I’m taking you out for lunch tomorrow. I’m not letting you lock yourself up in your cave just because a dumbass with a receding hairline dumped you.”

“God, Hilde, will you ever run out of the mean comments about him?” you laugh in disbelief. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him, but she’s been extremely, aggressively mean towards him since the two of you broke up two days ago. You can’t believe you thought her to be an angelic, shy girl when you met her in college. It must have been those Scandinavian features, her blonde hair and blue eyes tricked you for sure when you sat next to her at the cafeteria. Hilde is the friend you made because Harry forced you to meet someone and you hate to admit it, but your life wouldn’t be the same without her. She’s the only friend you made in college and luckily, she’s still in your life, three years after graduation.

“I have a whole notebook full of them,” she proudly says. “Alright, I have to go now, but call me if you feel like you want to cry after Mark. He doesn’t deserve your tears, so we have to prevent that.”

“I promise,” you smile softly.

“I’ll be at yours tomorrow at one. Bye!”

The smile fades from your face as soon as the call ends and you settle back into your loneliness. If anyone saw you, they would think it’s because of the breakup, but deep down you know it’s not the reason.

Yes, it’s shitty that you dated someone for almost an entire year and they dumped you over the phone, but that’s not what hurts the most. You’re alone. Well, Hilde is always there for you, but you can’t turn to the person who was your biggest support in the past decade. Your failed relationship is just a reminder that you will never have the same kind of feelings for anything like you had for Harry. No matter what went down with Mark, you always knew he wasn’t the one.

Because he wasn’t Harry.

Unlocking your phone you scroll down in the messages until you find the last one you sent to Harry. It’s been over a year and you still miss him.

There was no fight, no one hurt anyone, you just had a fall-out around the time he started dating some model. The messages came less and less often, he missed your phone calls and took a long time to respond whenever you sent him a picture of something you thought he would appreciate. His actions spoke loud and you didn’t want to be the annoying friend who doesn’t get a hint. He just started his solo career, things were going great for him, he didn’t have time to keep in touch with the penpal he had when he was a teenager.

So you stopped trying and eventually, everything stopped.

And you miss him probably too much, but you can’t help it. You keep catching yourself wondering if he thinks about you too, if he sees something and it reminds him of you, because it happens to you all the time.

You’ve wanted to text him a million times since the radio silence has started, but talked yourself down every time. He is a celebrity, he has way too many things to do than to catch up with you, that’s if he even answered your message. His number might not even be the same.

You regret never meeting him. Now you’ll never know what it feels like to hug him, to see him smile in real life, to smell his scent. He’ll remain just his letters you still have under your bed and the memories you have of your phone calls.

Seeking closure you grab a paper and pen and write one last letter to him.

Dear Harry…

 

You can’t mask your shock as you stare down at the letter you just took out of your mail box. You recognize the handwriting right away, but you never thought you’d ever see it again, not on an envelope at least.

It takes you several minutes to snap out of your initial shock and rush up to your apartment, holding the letter to your chest as if it was your most precious treasure and in the meanwhile you think back at the date you sent out that last letter to Harry.

It’s been six months.

It took him six months for him to reply to a letter you didn’t even think he would ever read. What happened? Did he only get it now? Or did he hesitate for this long before deciding to reply? You have so many questions and you might get a few answers from the letter.

You drop down to your couch and open the envelope with shaking hands, pulling the neatly folded paper out.

Dear Y/N…

 

“You look disgustingly happy, have I told you that?” Hilde comments and you roll your eyes at her.

“Yes. Like a million times before.”

“Okay, then I will just keep saying it.”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me like this, you’ve been nagging me about him for years!” you tell her off teasingly.

“I am happy! But I didn’t think you’d radiate like this! Though I should have expected, you are so hopelessly in love with that man,” she sighs. “I can’t believe it took you guys fourteen years to finally arrange a meeting, what the fuck?”

“It’s not that dramatic,” you tell her, finishing up putting the mugs away. It’s the 23rd of December, you’re just an hour away from closing up so it’s just two customers and Hilde left in the café. Soon everyone will be gone and Harry will arrive to meet you for the very first time in real life.

It’s been a long journey up to this point. After your farewell letter you didn’t think you’d ever talk to him, but then six months later you got another letter from him. Since then, you figured out what took so long. You sent the letter to his old address, but his mum has moved away for a while now. Luckily, the new owner was kind enough to track Anne down and give her the letter, but it took some time for that to happen. Then it took about two months for Anne to give it to Harry, she kept forgetting about it until he was finally home and she could just hand it over when she remembered she still had it. Then came some hesitation, but it was just a week before Harry decided to write to you.

And then you started talking again.

He apologized for being so distant, he said his then girlfriend didn’t appreciate the tight friendship he had with you and it didn’t take long to get back to where you were before the fall-out.

Now it’s been a year and the moment has finally come. It’s time to meet in person and you feel better about it than ever. Probably because the two of you have definitely passed being just friends.

The flirty texts started about a month after you reconnected and they’ve been building up ever since. All your doubts that Harry could never see you as more than just a friend has vanished and now you’re just patiently waiting for the big moment to happen.

“We can’t change what happened now,” you shrug.

“Yeah. Now he’ll have a great story to tell at talk shows about how he met his girlfriend!” she snorts out a laugh.

“I’m not his girlfriend!” you protest, but your heart skips a beat at the word.

“But you will be when you leave this place tonight, hopefully with him, heading up to your place to make up for all the sex you missed in the past decade.”

“Hilde!” you chuckle, throwing a rug at her.

Soon the café empties out, Hilde helps you closing and she heads out to give you some peace before Harry is set to arrive. As you’re left alone, you take a look around the place and you can’t help but feel content with your life.

You opened the café last year, an old dream of yours that’s now finally reality. It’s small and took almost all of your savings to start the business, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments, one of your employees, Krissy did it, she’s obsessed with the holidays so you let her go all out. Now it looks like a tiny winter wonderland, setting the perfect mood for your first time meeting Harry.

You can’t help but feel nervous. What will he think of you? Will he think you’re just like on the photos he’s seen of you? Or are you different? Is he nervous too?

You arrange a little setup on one of the tables, some freshly baked cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Everything looks perfect and he could be here anytime.

A car pulls up in front of the building and your heart skips a beat when you see him get out of it with a bouquet of roses in his hands. He doesn’t notice you through the windows, so you can have a good look at him before he comes inside.

He seems to take a few moments to himself, checking his hair in the mirror before taking a deep breath and nodding to himself. Seeing him like this, nervous like you makes you smile.

Then he turns to face the café and he spots you through the glass of the door and your eyes meet for the first time. For a few seconds you just stare at each other, bask in the moment before you both break out in smiles and he walks inside, stopping by the door, a few feet away from you.

“Hi,” he breathes out and you swear his voice sounds a million times better than on the phone or any video you’ve seen of him.

“Hi,” you chuckle and your legs start moving before you could even think.

You throw yourself into his arms and he catches you with ease, holding you tight and suddenly, you know this is where you belong.

“God, it’s so good to hold you, Y/N,” he chuckles, burying his face into your neck. You want to say the same, but it’s so overwhelming that you can just laugh and hold him tighter.

You have no idea how long you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, hours could have passed by and you wouldn’t have noticed. All you feel and see is Harry.

“It’s really you,” he chuckles when you pull apart at last and he can take a better look at you.

“I should be saying that, I was the one talking to a celebrity! You could have been a catfish all along!” you laugh as you soak him in, standing in the middle of your tiny café. “Um, come sit. I made cookies and… hot chocolate.”

“And I brought you these,” he holds out the roses for you that you take with a lovesick smile, placing them onto the counter before the two of you settle at the table you set.

You sit and talk and talk for hours, tell each other everything you’ve written about and the things you didn’t. Words and stories flow so easily, it’s like you’ve spent every waking moment by each other this past fourteen years. You cherish how you’re able to touch his arm and hand and he barely looks away from you, as if the sight of you has put a spell on him.

“Oh wow, it’s past midnight,” you snap out of the bubble you’ve been sitting in, realizing just how late it has gotten.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.” His eyes widen, but you just chuckle, shaking your head.

“You didn’t. It’s just that I have to be here by six thirty to open.”

“Oh shit, then… we should get going?” he suggests. “I can drive you home.”

“That would be great, thank you. Let me just bring these back to the kitchen,” you gesture at the empty mugs and plates.

“Let me help,” he offers, but you shake your head no.

“It’s alright, I can do it.”

You stack them all together and then bring them back, just tossing them into the sink. You’ll deal with them in the morning. When you walk out, you find Harry inspecting the place with a tiny smile.

“You really made this happen,” he says. “I remember when you wrote about wanting to start your own business when we were sixteen.”

“Well, it took me over a decade, but yeah,” you chuckle softly.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, his gaze meeting yours as he steps closer to you. “You’ve achieved so much. I just wish I could be next to you on the way.”

You catch a hint of disappointment flashing through his expression, but you don’t want him to blame himself. The fall-out might have been his fault mostly, but before that, it was you who avoided meeting him at any cost. Maybe things would have turned out different if you just met as soon as possible.

You’ll never know. But it’s alright, because you have a second chance now.

“You can be here from now on,” you quietly say and you can feel the atmosphere change in an instant. “If… If you want to,” you add.

Harry steps closer again until there are only inches parting you from him. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand, his eyes snapping down at your lips when they part.

“There’s nothing I would want more,” he replies, his lips pressing against yours finally.

Suddenly, you’re a curious teenager again, whose heart threatens to jump out of her chest seeing a new letter. The excitement of opening the envelope, reading his words and then writing back to him as soon as possible, it’s all here now that there’s no distance between the two of you.

You belonged to him even before you met and you belong to him now that he is closer to you than ever before.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#fanficmas #fanficmas 2022 #fanficmas2022 #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas 2022 #harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

[thecuriousquest]

You Know You Love it Part Five

Yandere!Bully KiriBaku x Reader

Warnings: Sex, bullying, sadism, masochism, nudity

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Six

Checkout my Master List here.

————————————————————————

Trips to the electronic store in the mall are always your favorite. You take pleasure in looking for new gadgets, seeing what the latest products are. You roam around for quite some time, holding a few items, not exactly sure what it is you want to buy yet.

Curiosity isn’t in your favor, however. You bump into a hard chest. Turning around to apologize, you look up at Katsuki. Images of being pumped by him and Kirishima simultaneously run through your mind.

Blushing like a rose, you stutter a weak apology. “S-sorry…”

His grin shows just how much his day got better by seeing you all weak and pathetic. He pulls on your chunky braid. “Little Mouse, what are you doin’ here all by yourself?”

Your fingers fumble to swat his hand away from your hair. “Let go. I’m just checking out the new products they have out. Was gonna buy something.” You feel like everything you’re saying just sounds incredibly dumb, and you can’t help but cringe inwardly. “What are you doing here?”

“Kirishima broke his phone, so he’s here to get a new one. I just wanted to get off campus.” He looks around for his best friend. “Hey, Kirishima! Look at what I found,” he calls the redhead over.

“Did you find one that’s cool looking?” he asks, thinking Bakugou is talking about a phone. His eyes land on you, and a devious smirk forms on his lips. “What’s our little nerd doing here? You’re not stalking us, are you?” He teases as he pinches your ear and gives it a quick tug.

“What? No! I’ve been here for about an hour now. I didn’t even know you two were going to be here. Would you guys quit touching me like that?” Your spirit heightens in brave defiance, but you secretly hope they’ll shut it down.

They don’t leave you hoping for long.

Kirishima puts a hand on one of your shoulders and pins you against a wall. He looks you dead in the eyes. “Trying to tell me what to do? Such a brat. If you have any plans for the rest of today, they just changed. You’re coming with us, so buy your shit and stay close to Bakugou while I finish looking for a phone.”

Pouting and crossing your arms earns you nothing but another tug on your ear from Kirishima. Squirming under his sharp grip, you nod in understanding. “I’ll do it. I’ll stay close.”

It’s not like you had any plans anyway. Whatever superhero movie you wanted to watch could wait.

Katsuki drapes an arm over your shoulder and keeps you by his side for the next twenty minutes. After shopping in the electronics store, they force you to go to a place you never dreamed of stepping foot in. A lingerie store.

You always buy your bras, panties, and socks online to avoid this exact thing. You shake your head as they both drag you inside by your wrists.

“Quit dragging your feet, slut,” Katsuki warns, daring you to keep it up.

God, it feels so good to be defiant sometimes. Hearing the degrading name, your panties start to become wet.

You still insist on being a little shit and go semi-willingly into the store with them.

An employee approaches you and your two tormentors. “How may I assist you today?” She has a kind smile on her face.

“She needs to get measured,” Kirishima says, really wanting to know what your accurate bra size is.

“She also needs some new panties and bras.”

The employee nods in understanding. “I’ll get a room started for you right away.”

Bakugou and Kirishima push you towards the woman as she heads to the back. You glare at them over your shoulder as you walk with her. They trail behind you with shit eating grins on their faces.

Despite trying to explain that you don’t want the boys outside your room to know what measurements you have, she simply waves you off and tells them anyways, thinking they’re the ones with the money and assuming correctly.

“She’s a (your bra size). Now, let’s get a collection started, shall we?”

———

You just want to eat and go home. However, you can’t help but like the attention they’re giving you. Jeans on, top off, new bra hooked, you have to show them each one you try. It makes you feel…good. Special in a way.

You’ve never really felt you were the sexy type with your glasses and struggling sometimes with just remembering to wash your face. These two, ever since they fucked you out of your mind, have done nothing but make you feel like a naughty little minx. Bakugou and Kirishima specifically go out of their way to not just bully you, to dominate you.

Showing off the black bombshell bra, Eijiro gives you a whistle. “Look at those jugs. You’re definitely getting that.”

“I told you already. I can’t afford these.”

Bakugou cuts in, “Didn’t we tell you not to worry about it? Shut up and try on that lacy one, slut.”

You obey immediately, and you can’t help the smile forming on your lips, stretching your cheeks. They’re buying something for me. Even if it is lingerie, it still makes you happy.

———

They take you back to U.A, and the three of you end up in Bakugou’s room this time. They take you in all kinds of ways. This time, the blonde takes you in the mouth while Eijiro fucks your tight cunt, but the duo doesn’t stop there.

Your bullies’ heightened stimulation and teenage horniness do nothing but push you into further exhaustion. If Kirishima comes inside of your pussy, then Bakugou is pulling out of your velvety folds and beating off on you, covering your ass and back. Some even gets in your hair. It’s borderline cruel what they’re doing to you, but you take every inch of their cocks because it’s what you fucking want. It’s what you’ve been begging for every time you defy their wishes, every time you fight back. They’re making you submit, and you force your legs open even wider, even if it is painful.

As you lay on the bed on your stomach, you can’t help but look over your shoulder at them as you raise your hips a little bit. “Is that all you’ve got?” you challenge wickedly.

———

You are a sopping wet mess by the time the two men finish with you. Dried and fresh seed coats you from your face down to your thighs. You have no energy left. A daze creeps upon you like the night. You stare ahead at Bakugo’s cock with a dumb look on your face, tongue hanging out while panting slightly. His cum dripping from the corner of your mouth along your chin.

You feel Kirishima pull out from your folds, and you shudder from the feeling of him slipping past your walls. A raspy whimper escapes from your lips. The redhead walks around the table to stand next to Katsuki as they both fix their clothes; you, however, lay naked on the bed for their delight.

“I think that oughta keep her out of trouble for a while. What do you think?” Eijiro asks his friend.

“The slut’s worn out as hell. Should probably get her to bed.” Bakugou crouches down to look you in the eyes. “How does that sound, Little Mouse? You gonna be a good girl for us and go to sleep, or are you gonna be a brat?” He puts a hand on your head condescendingly.

The threat hangs on the end of his sentence. You are too tired to resist anything, so you nod your head.

“Can you walk?” Kirishima asks in an amused voice.

You say nothing. You’re beyond exhaustion. There’s nothing left, not a single ounce of energy, not even a single spark of feistiness.

Kirishima grabs a small washcloth and wipes the cum off of your face. “I like making her this tired.” He rubs the towel against your sticky thighs as he talks.

You can’t help but moan under his careful hand as your eyes begin to close. Exhaustion tickles your brain into a deep trance, and within seconds, you’re asleep on Katsuki’s bed.

#my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #yandere #yandere katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere kirishima #eijiro kirishima #yandere kiribaku #bnha eijiro kirishima #kiribaku #bullying #triggering content #mha kirishima #mha kiribaku #katsuki bakugo mha #mha katsuki bakugou

[echo-bleu]

shine still brighter (1/?)

On AO3. Deaf!Artanis bullet-point fic.

Here is yet another fic that I started thinking it would be 2k tops (I have almost 5k and haven't even started the main plot). It started as a mix of this art prompt I did, and a post I can't find now that went something like "it's a good thing that Galadriel hated Fëanor's gut, because if they had pooled resources they would totally have taken over the world." And I wanted to write Fëanor being a passionate linguist. The AO3 link has a Quenya name primer if you're confused.

(cw for mentions of difficult birth and post-partum, and mentions of ableism)

Artanis is born in pain and fear.

Her spirit is nearly as bright as Fëanáro’s. She’ll grow as strong and smart and stubborn as her half-uncle, but her birth also takes almost as much of her mother’s vital energy.

Eärwen doesn’t die. But she doesn’t recover very well, either. She’s very, very tired, too tired to really connect to her daughter for a long while.

Everyone is comparing it to Míriel and Fëanáro, and nobody is happy about that, Fëanáro least of all. Eärwen isn’t anything like Míriel. She shouldn’t get to have the spotlight like that.

Finwë is understandably focused on taking care of his youngest son and granddaughter for a while, which just makes it worse.

Arafinwë is very scared for Eärwen and overprotective of Artanis. Her brothers are already enamoured of her but also a little traumatized by the whole thing.

The baby is very cute and very awake, grabbing everything within reach in her tiny hands and pulling. Especially if it’s bright or moving.

Because of all the complications and worry over Eärwen, no one realizes that there’s something distinctly different about her.

Finwë is the one who sees it first.

Mostly because everyone else is dazzled by the strength of her fëa, but Finwë raised Fëanáro and he knows how to look past that.

Artanis has many of the same traits as Fëanáro that everyone worried about when he was a baby: she won’t look people in the eye, she sometimes screams when they pick her up, and sometimes screams even louder when they put her down (and her screams are the loudest since Makalaurë). She’s extremely picky about eating, and it doesn’t help that her mother doesn’t have the energy to feed her.

Those are all fine, Finwë knows how to handle that. Half of Fëanáro’s sons were and are like that too, and his other granddaughter.

No, the thing he notices is that singing entirely fails at settling her.

Fëanáro had a hard time falling asleep, but he would always settle with his favourite lullabies.

Artanis doesn’t even seem to hear them.

Actually, Artanis doesn’t seem to hear. Anything.

By that point she’s old enough that she should be starting to speak, but the only sounds she produces are wordless screams and laughter.

No music at all. Even the most tone-deaf of elflings know how to carry a tune before they learn how to speak.

Deafness is pretty much unheard of for the Calaquendi. There are some hard-of-hearing elves, but they mostly get on fine with speaking louder.

(The Moriquendi have Deaf elves. There have always been Deaf elves, but there’s something about Valinor’s perfection… Well, it’s partly that there haven’t been that many births in Valinor yet, and most of the disabled elves didn’t make it to Valinor for various reasons, from dying on the way to being scared that they weren’t welcome (the Valar were maybe not as clear as they should have been and some things got lost in translation). And some of that misunderstanding carried over into elves taking babies who are a little too different in Lórien to be “healed”. They’re never heard of again. So the number of visibly disabled elves in Tirion is very small.)

(Estë and Irmo take great care of the disabled elves and they find their own community together, but they don’t quite understand why the Calaquendi just leave babies on their doorstep. Some of them need medical care, yes, but many don’t.)

(Fëanáro would probably have ended up in Lórien if he hadn’t been the Crown Prince. And he knows it. The one time someone suggested that some of his sons might benefit from Estë’s help, he threw a fit so violent that no one ever spoke of it again.)

Survivor’s bias (the elves who made it through the Great Journey were the strongest one, and thus we, as a people, are strong and cannot be anything else) led to a good deal of ableism. Finwë has rather vague memories of disabled elves he knew growing up, but mostly as “they weren’t strong enough to make it”.

He’s already certain that Artanis, like Fëanáro, is absolutely strong enough to make it through anything. Also Míriel’s death after she made it with him through the Great Journey rather skewed his own perspective on that.

All this to say that he has some cognitive dissonance there, but his reaction to discovering Artanis’s deafness is more of less the same as his reaction to Fëanáro’s autism:

“Hey, Arafinwë, so your daughter can’t hear, but the good news is that she’s really smart and strong and also a princess, so all we have to do is teach her to be great at everything so people won’t notice.”

Arafinwë, blinking: “What.”

He’s not at all sure about this, but he’s also very much in over his head wrangling four kids on his own and caring for his ailing wife (Maitimo babysits when he can, and Findaráto is old enough to take care of himself most of the time, but it’s still a lot).

He agrees wholeheartedly that he won’t take his daughter to Lórien, because he’s very much not over being terrified of having to visit his wife’s body there and he’s not losing his daughter.

But it’s also a lot to take in and he doesn’t know what the right decision is for Artanis.

He’s also not entirely certain that trusting his father with it is the best idea.

Eärwen is not really well enough to help, and Olwë is definitely not helping by making remarks about Artanis’s strangeness every time he sees her, and maybe it would do her good to seek out help, and also Arafinwë should move their whole family to Alqualondë, can’t you see how much good it would do to Eärwen?

Ñolofinwë has enough work trying to wrangle his absolute terror of a daughter, who is barely more than a toddler and has taken a liking to Tyelkormo of all people.

Fëanáro won’t talk to him. Not that Arafinwë values his opinion. He’s not Ñolo, forever chasing after their half-brother who hates them. He’s not.

Findis thinks he should take Artanis straight to Lórien because a baby taking so much energy from its mother is not natural, and just look at how Fëanáro turned out, is that what you want your daughter to be like? (Arafinwë thinks that it’s unfair. Fëanáro’s a little intense, sure, and his dislike is hard to bear, but he’s not that bad.)

Lalwen really hates babies.

He is not close to his sisters-in-law.

As the youngest son of the King, he doesn’t really have close friends.

Maitimo is incredibly good with Artanis, but he’s barely an adult, he definitely can’t help with this.

Findaráto unconditionally adores his sister and is very distressed about it all.

“But Atar, why does it matter if she can’t hear? She’s perfect as she is!”

“How are we going to communicate with her, though?”

Findaráto takes his hand and leads him to little Artanis, who is playing with blocks on the floor.

“Hey,” he tells her, sitting down across from her. “Are you hungry?” Saying that, he pats his belly, and then mimics eating with his fingers.

Artanis claps her hands and nods, squealing. She puts her fingers in her mouth, twice, and then holds up her arms to be picked up.

“See?” Findaráto says, turning back to his father. “It’s easy.”

These words stay with Arafinwë. Artanis doesn’t go to Lórien, Eärwen recovers little by little, and it is, indeed, easy enough to find out when Artanis is hungry or sleepy or wants something with simple signs.

Osanwë with little children doesn’t really work past sharing basic emotions, it’s not really communicative.

Finwë valiantly tries to get her to speak. Arafinwë isn’t actually sure if she can’t or if she just won’t.

He feels like trying to speak when you can’t hear yourself, and you don’t even know what words sound like, is probably very hard work. Playing with blocks in understandably a lot more fun.

Findaráto is Artanis’s favourite person by far, and they’ve become good at communicating without words, though no one else can understand them when they do. They’re using a mix of basic hand signs and facial expressions. She follows him everywhere, and he lets her ride on his back when she’s tired.

Maitimo, who has five brothers and a father who regularly have silent days (Makalaurë has never had a silent day in his life), is also very good at figuring out what she wants and needs, though they don’t really communicate beyond that.

But Artanis is growing up, and increasingly frustrated at not being able to communicate her thoughts. Her system with Findaráto is good for simple things, but she’s having complex thoughts now.

She’s also old enough to know that she’s different, and to know that everyone else is talking over her.

She’s not going to take that affront lying down.

She turns into a terror.

Not an Írissë-style terror, running away and climbing trees and biting people. No, she’s an Artanis terror. A very focused terror.

She rejects anybody who doesn’t understand her. And since she has no real mean of expressing herself in an understandable way, that’s everybody.

She’s figured out that screaming very loudly in someone’s ear is a good way of getting them to go away.

The Arafinwëans start wearing earplugs while at home.

It gives them a new appreciation of Artanis’s plight, when they try to speak to each other over her screams and can’t understand anything, but it’s also very tiring.

Artanis, in her child’s logic, rejects Findaráto the strongest. Because he’s the one who makes the most effort and he still can’t solve this for her and it’s so unfair.

Findaráto takes it very hard and is depressed for two years straight. He’s been so focused on Artanis that he never really reckoned with the trauma of his mother almost dying and his sister nearly being given to Estë, so it suddenly hits him and now Arafinwë has two children to worry about.

Angaráto and Aikanáro take to spending a strange amount of time with Carnistir and Arafinwë doesn’t like much the sounds of Maitimo’s reports on his sons’ behaviour. But he doesn’t really have the bandwidth to deal with it.

Eventually Arafinwë has had enough. Everyone is trying to give him advice and absolutely none of it is useful. People in Tirion are whispering about Artanis’s behaviour, and what it says about her parents.

(Fëanáro, for all his intensity, was actually a very quiet child, and his eccentricities were dismissed as a result of his motherlessness. Finwë’s capabilities were never put to doubt.)

He only wants the best for Artanis, it’s just that he can’t figure out what that is. His daughter is hurting and it tears him apart.

(Eärwen agrees with him, but she’s gone to stay at her parents’ for a while because all the screaming and stress were making her relapse.)

What he knows is that a) the problem is mostly communication and b) what has worked the best so far was Findaráto using gestures.

What they need is some way to make the gestures more complex.

They need a language made out of gestures.

Who do we know who’s into linguistics and invented their entire writing system?

Arafinwë takes his courage in both hands, fully anticipating a disaster, and goes to talk to Fëanáro.

“You want me to invent an entire language of gestures for your daughter,” Fëanáro blinks.

“Yes. And then I want you to teach it to me.”

“...do you have any idea how much work that would be?”

“Probably not, but I know you’re the only one who can do it.”

He expects Fëanáro to say he’s too busy to do anything for people who aren’t even really his family, or to go on a rant about Arafinwë’s thoughtlessness or his entitlement or something.

Instead, all he says is, “Come back in three weeks. And bring her along.”

Stay tuned for part 2!

All of my Disabled Tolkien Characters posts.

#galadriel #feanor #finarfin #finrod #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #tolkien fic #echo's fanfiction #I don't actually know where I'm going with this xD #disabled tolkien characters #shine still brighter

[mime-the]

Hi fellas. I wrote something, teehee.

It’s shadow milk time, boo yah!

I’ve gotten reports of strange behavior from Burning Spice Cookie. Reports of them being more destructive in their ever-changing nature. I have planned to see him in a few days, just to check in and have a friendly chat. After all, we’ve not seen each other in quite a while!

***

Burning Spice Cookie’s behavior has only grown more destructive, I have also noticed him speaking to Silent Salt Cookie more often. They’ve both grown stranger and stranger with the passage of time… I can feel something within me stirring.

***

I was sifting through one of my books when I heard of the joint attack by Silent Salt Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie. I tried to confront them, to bring them back to reason, but there was little to reason with. “They’ll never understand our power, Shadow Milk Cookie, you out of any of us would know that best,” Burning Spice Cookie told me. I didn’t like the fact I agreed.

***

I talked to Mystic Flour Cookie about all of this. She expressed very little concern… For the one carrying the virtue of volition, there was very little will to act. I’ve turned to looking through my library for a possible solution to this. Burning Spice Cookie is completely gone, dragging Silent Salt Cookie with him.

I fear that Mystic Flour Cookie is next, I have heard nothing from Eternal Sugar. I have missed a few of my plays because of this ordeal.

***

Cookies keep coming to me and asking me what is going on, I can only ever tell them that I don’t know. It’s growing increasingly irritating and tiring, a few have resorted to turning their anger towards me. “You should know what to do! Isn’t that your job?”

I’m not a magic problem solving machine, you brats.

***

Mystic Flour Cookie has remained relatively apathetic to this, Eternal Sugar Cookie has also shown no signs of wishing to help, deciding to sleep in the clouds instead. I don’t fault them, not at all. Us five meant to be friends after all.

I’ve resorted to lying to the Cookies that keep coming to ask me about the destruction on the East of that cursed continent, it keeps them busier for longer. Part of me feels nauseated because of it, but it’s… exhilarating at times. I’m certain this isn’t the wrong choice though, it lifts their spirits.

***

A few of the Cookies I’ve talked to have begun fighting amongst themselves. It’s surprisingly entertaining to watch! This work is starting to exhaust me, and the light within me starts to feel as if it is in vain. Heh. Maybe it’s right…

I’ve started to use my power to convince all these little cookies that the destruction and chaos just beyond their homes is mostly just rumor, that is is not nearly half as bad. They believe me.

***

I’ve begun to instigate a few of the more violent conflicts purposely, putting my studies aside just to watch. There’s something fun in all of this, I can see why Burning Spice Cookie is doing what he is doing, and why the others just observe and help it happen.

***

I have decided to pick back up my playwriting, and use my gifted power to make the audience watch. Ha! How kind of all these little cookies to just obey! It makes my life so, so much easier. Why hadn’t I used this strength before, to stop them from being so… annoying? No time to regret the past though, only time to bask in the present.

***

The other four have had their own fun for such a long time, and all without me! No fault of their own of course, I was too blinded by “being nice” to see it. It’s almost sad how much I rejected my own comrades. After all, we’re the ones with this strength, we should get to use it how we please, not just for good. We are the only ones that can understand each other, why have I been so ignorant to that fact? Hah!

The witches placed us here, and it was about time we took advantage of it. Maybe it wasn’t their intention, but they’ve rolled the dice, and these are the results.

Fun fact: there’s technically a continuation to this! Have a good day.

#shadow milk cookie #fanfic #cookie run kingdom #first writing I post on this cursed site #okay maybe not that cursed #I could post it to ao3 #I love shadow milk cookie #very silly guy #this is mostly just a brief headcanon of his descent

[justauthoring]

the bond - chapter eleven.

*bond: a relationship between people or groups based on shared feelings, interests, or experiences.

word count: 6177

based off of: 2x09, 2x10, 2x11 & 2x12

a/n: finaleeeeeee of seasonnnnn twoooooooo

tag list: @ernyaeger - @luvelyxp - @urfictional - @decaffeinatedtealover - @ange-lica-3 - @midzuumi - @leiriswhore - @urfictional - @frasheliza - @echothy​ - @usernamehere91​ - @happygirl5798​ - @dwarfnip​ - let me know if you’d like to be added!

“Mikasa!”

The sound of your horses racing through the forest is loud, pounding through your ears as you strain to focus, fingers gripping the reins of your horse tightly–enough that your knuckles have turned white and the muscles in your fingers ache. But you don’t let up, your body tilts forward to keep the pace of your horse fast and so that you don’t stray behind the others. The exhaustion of the past few days is creeping up on you, but you refuse to let it win.

Not now.

You needed to talk to Reiner and Bertholdt yourself, you needed to know why and most importantly, you needed to get Ymir and Eren back.

“Hey, Mikasa!”

It’s Hannes calling for Mikasa, and you know for a fact that she can hear him. She’s quite a far bit ahead of everyone else, a little more desperate than anyone and far more determined. You understand why–but it’s hard to ignore the fact that she’s blatantly disregarding orders given to you all in her drive to save Eren. 

“Mikasa!”

Hannes is able to reach Mikasa, falling next to her as you glance ahead, eyeing the back of their heads, noticing the way Mikasa finally seems to register Hannes, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips as she glances back at him.

“Stop pushing so hard,” he advises, “you’re drifting near the vanguard. It’ll ruin the whole formation. I know how you feel, but… didn’t I tell you? Eren won’t get taken away without putting up a fight. Don’t you agree?”

Feeling your nails dig into the palm of your hand, you let a small smile slip onto your lips.

Hannes was right, even if he wasn’t talking to you. You like to think you know Eren, even if not as much as Armin or Mikasa did–you felt the two of you understood each other in ways maybe others didn’t. You understood his drive to kill the Titans, you understood his desperation to join the Scouts when you all were training. Most importantly, you knew that if there’s one thing Eren would never do it was give up.

And he certainly wouldn’t let Reiner and Bertholdt crush his spirit like that.

He wouldn’t let them win.

“So,” Hannes continues, “it’s up to us to stay calm and be there when he needs us. Just like we did back then.”

Your eyes flicker to the back of Mikasa’s head, trying to think about what she must be feeling now. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that she was in love with Eren (and you’d argue, the same went for him, but Eren would never admit to it). You couldn’t imagine what it’d feel like to know the person you cared so deeply about has been taken by people you thought were your friends… not knowing if he was okay, where he was, when you’d see him again…

As if on instinct, your eyes flicker to your right, gaze drifting across Jean next to you. It’s unconscious, you barely realize you’re looking at him before you blink, snapping your head back ahead of yourself, feeling your cheeks warm, just faintly, despite yourself.

You’d looked at him without thought, your head had moved on your own, the thought of how you’d feel if it was Jean and not Eren… and how that had scared you so bad you didn’t even want to think about it.

It comes a slow, startling realization that you think you understand Mikasa a little bit better in that moment – because if it was Jean who was the Attack Titan, and it was Jean that had been taken by Reiner and Bertholdt, you think you’d be out of your mind with worry. You’re not sure when your feelings for him grew to be so strong, strong enough you don’t even really know how to describe them–or rather, are too scared–but they’re there and it’s striking enough that you realized you’d do anything to make sure Jean stayed out of harm's way.

Anything.

-

“Straight ahead! There’s a light ahead!”

Lips parting, you raise your head, following the direction Armin’s pointing at. The light is gone, but you have no doubt about Armin’s words – if there was a light, that means…

“It’s the light that appears when a Titan transforms!”

“Then we’re just in time,” Commander Erwin mumbles, before his back straightens and you watch as his face hardens with determination. “Soldiers, disperse! We believe the enemy has already transformed! Locate Eren and recover him!”

You turn left with Jean and Connie, trying to ignore the racing of your heart as you race forward.

A scream catches your attention, head turning to the right as you watch one of the Military Police get grabbed by the surrounding Titans, crying out for help, but nobody can do a damn thing as the Titan opens its mouth and rips him in half. Frowning, you watch as the blood comes spurting out, body tensing and muscles freezing at the sight, before slowing your head turns forward, swallowing thickly.

“Another one of the Police!” Jean cries.

“Battle is not our objective!” Erwin cuts in, voice carrying over the crowd. “Prioritize recovery and retreat!

With a single nod, more to yourself than anyone else, you stand from your horse and click your ODM gear into action, zooming through the forest, feeling the rush of the wind blow through your hair, keeping a clear eye out as you maneuver your way through. You’re looking for any sign of Reiner and Bertholdt, and more importantly, Eren and Ymir. You didn’t have very much time left, everyone knew that, so every moment was of the essence. Saving your friends was the most important thing.

A sudden bellowing scream cuts through your thoughts, loud enough to feel the trees rumble as you zip through, and enough to make you feel like it’s shaking you yourself.

That was…

“A titan’s scream!”

“It came from ahead!”

Never faltering, you race forward, eyes peeled for a single sight of the Titan – you couldn’t let it get past you, especially if it was Reiner or Bertholdt. You don’t you’d miss it, it was more of a case of if you’d be able to stop them or not. This might be your only opportunity to find Eren and Ymir.

You zip through a foliage of trees, and when you come out the other end, your eyes widen at the sight of a Titan right across from you. Only, it’s not just any Titan; it’s not the Armored or the Colossal, and it’s not Eren’s Attack Titan either–it’s Ymir’s! You’d recognize it anywhere. You still remember clearly when she’d leapt off that castle, in a fit of bravery, could still hear Krista’s cry for her as she shifted into a Titan and fought off every Titan that had had you surrounded.

A cry catches your attention, gaze snapping to your left where you see one of the Scouts preparing for an attack. Instantly, you rush forward, Connie who’d been beside you getting the same idea as he cries out for him to wait, the both of you landing on either side of her Titan.

“Don’t attack!” You bellow, voice screeching as you hold your hands out before yourself.

“This is Ymir,” Connie explains for you, “she’s the one they took! In Titan form!”

“Please just wait!” You add when you see the look of uncertainty on the Scout’s face, him shuffling in the spot, as if unsure whether he should trust you both or not.

“Hey, Ymir!” Connie calls to her, “why are you the only one here?!”

She doesn’t answer, just simply turns her head.

Your eyes widen at her silence, turning to her; “where’s Eren?! What about Reiner? Bertholdt?!”

In the next second, Jean catches up, landing on the tree to your left. Your eyes fall on him, and he gazed back at you confused.

“So that’s Ymir?” Armin asks.

Mikasa shakes her head; “did she turn into a Titan and fight with Reiner?!”

“Ymir?” Jean calls in disbelief, “did you get away from Reiner?! Where are they?!”

You turn back to Ymir, lips left parted. There’s something… something wrong. Why isn’t she saying anything? Why isn’t she doing anything?

Why is she alone?

“Tell us anything, Ymir!”

Her head turns, left, then right, she’s looking for something.

Someone.

“Hey, say something already!” Connie cries, frustration bleeding into his tone as he moves to land on her head, harshly kicking at her. “Hey, ugly! We’re in a hurry!”

But she just continues to glance around–looking at everybody one by one.

When her eyes turn to you, you shake your head.

Something’s not right.

“Ymir!”

It’s Krista. A quick glance behind you tells you she’s making her way here fast, and instantly, Ymir turns in  the direction of her voice.

“Thank goodness!” Krista smiles softly, “you’re all right!”

In the next second, Ymir’s leaping off the tree next to you, nearly crashing into you as you lean back, narrowly missing her shoulder into your head, and as you turn your head, disbelief floods through you when she… eats Krista.

“No way…”

“She ate Krista!”

She’s racing forward, not with a single care towards any of you, getting further and further away.

“Don’t just stand there!” Jean calls out, racing forward, “chase her!”

Blinking, you follow his lead not a second later, zipping forward with a single click of your omni gear. This is your chance, whatever was happening with Ymir, you… know she’d never hurt Krista. Something was wrong, something happened. If you reached her maybe you’d finally get some answers.

You’d have to.

“She’s fast!” You bellow, glancing back at Mikasa and Armin, “we’re losing her!”

“Why would Ymir do that?” Mikasa calls out, confused.

“I can’t be the only one who could’ve guessed it would turn out this way!” Jean argues.

“Yeah!” Armin agrees, “she’s clearly hostile to us now! Looks like she’s cooperating with Reiner! She lured us right in!”

“But Krista!” You cry, pulling their eyes on you briefly. “She would never hurt Krista!”

And nobody says anything, because nobody knows anything anymore.

A bright light stuns you, causing everyone to pause, landing on the trees, unable to see anything before a loud thud hits the ground, rumbling all the way up to the trees, and a blink later and suddenly–it’s the Armored Titan!

It’s Reiner.

A small figure follows after him. You squint your eyes to confirm it’s Bertholdt, but on the back of him… strapped to him, it’s… it’s Eren!

Bertholdt lands on Reiner’s back, Ymir still in her Titan form following not a second later, whilst Reiner never stops. Never falters.

Getting further and further away.

“Oh, no! Eren’s being taken away!”

You all stay there, watching in disbelief.

“Don’t stop!” A new voice cries, pulling your attention behind you, only for your eyes to fall on Hannes. He comes to a stop behind all of you, voice bellowing; “get on your horse and chase!”

It’s all it takes.

Everyone moves without hesitation, not wasting a second or uttering any words as you all get onto your horses, racing in the direction Reiner had gone.

You were getting Eren back, no matter what.

-

Reiner is a lot slower than Ymir. he doesn’t have the speed or the litheness to race ahead like she had.

Slowly, you can see yourselves gaining up on him.

“He’s not fast enough to escape! We’ll catch up!”

“This time,” Mikasa speaks up, voice low and you’re not sure if she’s speaking so much to herself or everyone else. “I won’t hesitate. I’ll kill them both, I swear! And if Ymir gets in my way, she’s asking for it, too. No matter what it takes… I will!”

Glancing ahead of yourself, you frown.

-

Landing next to Jean, you swallow thickly, glancing down at Bertholdt who has yet to notice any of you.

“Quit it, Eren!” He cries, face pressed against the back of Reiner’s Titan form. “Don’t struggle!”

“Good luck with that, Bertholdt,” Jean calls out, pulling Bertholdt’s attention on him and thus, everyone else, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of everyone surrounding him. “It’s impossible to get him to calm down. He’s the most irritating guy there is! I know better than anyone! I hate him as much as you do. So let’s beat him up together.” And slowly, as his face falls, before he adds; “why don’t you come out of there?”

“Bertholdt!” Mikasa bellows, voice pitching as she glares down at him, sword held threateningly before her. “Give him back!”

“Hey…” Connie speaks up, voice wavering as he glances down at his hands. You turn to him, frowning, as he still wants to believe that this is all one big misunderstanding. “You’re kidding, right? Bertholdt? Reiner? This whole time… you kept quiet and deceived us? That’s so cruel!”

“You guys!” Sasha finishes, “Tell us it’s all a lie!”

Biting your lip, you shuffle forward, meeting Bertholdt’s gaze with something you hadn’t thought was left – hope. You’d seen it yourself, watched them turn even if you hadn’t heard what they said. The proof had been there, plain for you to see, but maybe… maybe it was just one big misunderstanding.

“It has to be,” you cry, feeling your vision blur as you let yourself fall, “this can’t be real, right?”

Bertholdt doesn’t say anything.

Reiner keeps running.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Jean calls, shaking his head. “You think you can just keep running away? That’s not gonna happen! For three years, didn’t we sleep under the same roof as comrades through thick and thin? Bertholdt… your odd sleeping positions were truly an art form. After a while, we all looked forward each morning to seeing your pose… and tried using it to predict the weather. But you… to think you, the invader… could sleep like a log… right next to your victims…”

Jean’s head falls, a curse leaving his lips as you lean forward, shaking your head; “we worked together for three years! We laughed and joked… and complained about how hard it was… together! So, please…”

Hands clenching shut, you feel yourself give in, a small sob breaking past your lips.

“Was everything just a lie?” Connie utters, eyes wide, disbelief still flooding through him. “Remember we talked about surviving this together? And that we’d grow old, and someday we’d all go out for drinks together? Was everything… all a lie? Was it?!” Connie screams, frustrated by Bertholdt’s lack of response. “You guys… what were you guys thinking this whole time?”

“What’s it even matter anymore?” Mikasa cuts in, and you turn to her, lips left parted in disbelief. “Just focus on cutting open his neck. If you hesitate for a moment, we won’t be able to get Eren back. They are enemies of humanity. That’s all there is to know.”

You meet her gaze, and you want to argue… but you can’t.

“T-Tell me who!” Bertholdt suddenly screams, eyes flickering to him in disbelief. “Who the hell would want to kill people by their own choice?!”

Shoulders falling, you feel frozen in place.

“Who the hell would like doing this sort of thing?! Do you think I wanted to do this?! People hate and despise us… we’ve done such terrible things, we deserve to die. Things we’ll never be able to take back… But… we just… couldn’t come to terms with our sins.” He’s crying, you realize, somewhere along the way – there are tears streaming down his cheeks. “The only time we had some respite… was when we pretended to be soldiers. That’s not a lie! Connie! Jean! Y/N! It’s true we may have deceived everyone, but it’s not all a lie! We really considered you comrades!”

Then…–

“Neither of us have any right to even apologize. But… someone… Please… someone, please… Someone find us!”

Silence follows for a moment. You don’t know what to say.

“Bertholdt,” Mikasa mumbles, “give Eren back.”

“It’s no use,” he whispers, “I can’t. Someone has to be the one to do it. Someone has to be the one to stain their hands with blood.”

What–

“You guys! Get away from there!”

It’s Hannes. Screaming at you all. But why…

“Guys!”

Following where Connie is pointing, your eyes widen.

It’s a hoard of Titans heading right for you and Commander Erwin is leading them.

“You guys! Jump and get out of there!”

You follow without another second of hesitation, turning in the same direction as Jean, Connie and Sasha, landing on your horse as your head turns, eyes widening as Reiner turns, bracing his shoulder as he barrels his way through the Titans. He only makes it two steps before he’s surrounded, Titans climbing their way over him, knocking him to his knees.

“What the hell,” Jean utters, “is this Hell?”

“No,” Erwin bellows, racing forward and past all of you. “But it will be. All soldiers, charge! The fate of humanity will be determined at this very moment! There is no future where humanity can inhabit these lands without Eren! We recover Eren and immediately retreat!”

He turns his body towards you all, bracing his right arm across his chest, saluting in Scouts honour.

“Give your hearts!”

He takes off, sword held before him.

Mikasa then takes the initiative, racing forward instantly after Erwin and your eyes fall on her in momentary disbelief before you realize–this is it.

This is your last chance.

Kicking at your horse, you race forward in the next second.

Because of the Titans surrounding him, Reiner is forced to remove his hand which had acted as a barrier around Bertholdt and Eren, providing the opportunity you’ve all been waiting for.

It’s just all the Titans…

“Advance!”

Your eyes follow Erwin as he races past you, watching with disbelief as he races forward almost with no fear, only for your eyes to widen in disbelief as a Titan comes barelling towards him, it’s mouth wrapping directly around his right arm and lunging forward. It takes Erwin with it, stumbling forward as Erwin is carried off by the arm, every single soldiers attention following his body with a mixture of disbelief and fear

“Commander Erwin!”

He…–

“Advance!” Erwin screams, despite the Titan holding him by the arm leading him off, despite the blood that flows around him, despite the fact that his arm is now being bitten by a Titan, his determination never wavers. His goal never changes. “Eren is just ahead! Advance!” 

That’s all it takes. Despite the disbelief, everyone’s resolve is hardened then, the realization of what he and everyone else is sacrificing reminding you of why you’re all there. You grip your reins tightly in your hands, kicking off as you race towards the herd of Titans. There’s screams that follow, cries of pain, people being grabbed, stomped, but you don’t let it stop you, don’t let yourself get lost, you refuse for this to be your final moment.

Mikasa breaks through first, not wasting a second as she leaves her horse, heading straight for Bertholdt and Reiner. She’s able to reach the former, him just narrowly missing her hit as he dodges, flipping the two of them around, and your eyes widen when you see the Titan looming behind her, hand stretched out towards her.

“Mik–!”

She’s grabbed in the next second, the hand of the Titan wrapping around her as it squeezes, pulling a cry of pain from her lips. You move to help her, but a body zips by you before you can, and a single blink in its direction tells you the body is Jean, crying out for Mikasa; “let go of her, you piece of shit!”

He reaches the Titan in time, effectively slicing the back of it’s neck so that it lets go of Mikasa. She’s able to catch herself, but your eyes flicker to Jean who’s stumbling about, having lost his balance in his rush to aid Mikass. Clicking your ODM gear, you race forward, weaving your way around a Titan that lunges towards you, just managing to grab Jean before he crashes to the ground, arms wounding around his waist as the both of you hit the ground with a loud thud, a cry leaving your lips in response. 

It takes the both of you a moment to land, skidding across the ground, before you finally stop, breathless as you try to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your chest.

“Are you okay?” You turn to Jean without a second of hesitation, wild, concerned eyes falling to him as he stares back at you in disbelief. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Slowly, he shakes his head; “no, no… thanks to you.”

Relieved, your shoulders fall, the momentary fear that had flooded your body fading as you glance around, just realizing what a vulnerable spot the two of you are in.

“Is your gear broken? Does it still work?”

Eyes widening, Jean shifts, glancing at his gear and you watch him carefully, before he shakes his head; “no… it’s still good. I just lost my balance.”

You nod, standing up. “We have to get off the ground before–”

“Look!”

Turning, you follow the direction Jean’s pointing, eyes widening when you see Eren flying down towards the ground, Bertholdt nowhere near him, only for Mikasa to catch up before he crashes into the ground head first.

A smile curls onto your lips – that was it! You had Eren!

“All soldiers, retreat!”

Turning to Jean, you meet his gaze, nodding.

-

You couldn’t retreat yet – Reiner, still in his armored Titan form, had started throwing the Titans that had swarmed him off of him and towards everyone. Mikasa and Eren had been left stranded without ODM gear, and you and Jean had regrouped with Armin to try and reach them and provide backup. It was hard to focus on what was happening, and part of you is not even sure if you’re heading in the right direction towards Eren and Mikasa, not to mention you and Jean had gotten separated from Armin moments prior and you weren’t even sure where the rest of your comrades were.

It had all, quite simply, turned to chaos.

One second you’re racing towards Eren, Mikasa and Hannes and then you notice a shadow falls over you.

You notice it too late. It’s flying over your head, soaring above you, and then just as your eyes lower, falling ahead of you, you realize–

“Jean!”

But it’s too late. He doesn’t hear you, and even if he had, he’s not able to react in time. The Titan’s body comes soaring into him, knocking him straight off his horse with enough momentum it sends him spinning, before he harshly crashes into the ground, body twisting unnaturally. Something painful twists inside you, your breath getting caught in the back of your throat as you watch blood come flying from his nose and the cry of pain that leaves his lips.

When his body falls, limp and unconscious, you move without thinking. His name leaves your lips in a desperate cry, abandoning your horse as it goes racing the other direction at the sight of all the Titan’s surrounding you. You skid to a stop in front of Jean, burning your knees but you hardly care as you gather him in your arms, heart pounding madly against your chest, turning him over so you can look at his face.

“Jean,” you cry, voice pitching, “wake up! Jean!”

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t – he’d smacked his head hard enough on the ground, you’d watched it happen, he probably has a concussion. Maybe something worse. Feeling your eyes water, you brush your fingers across the blood pooling from his nose, fear striking you, before a distant groan catches your attention and you glance up.

There’s a Titan heading straight your way.

Glancing around, you try to look for someone–anyone that can help you. When you’d both gotten separated from Armin earlier due to a previous near collision, you’re not sure what direction he’d ended up going in. It was just as possible he was stuck somewhere stranded himself. And you haven’t seen Connie or Eren or any of them since you first saw Mikasa grab Eren. You had no idea where any of them were.

And there wasn’t a single scout in sight.

Let alone your horses — they’d ran off the second you left because of everything happening.

The Titan’s growing closer by the second–if you don’t figure something out it will attack you. It will…

No. You refuse to let that happen.

Pulling Jean up by his arms, you get to your feet, dragging him with you to the nearest tree. You let yourself fall against the trunk of it with a huff, falling to your knees as you pull Jean closer to you, trying to keep him as least vulnerable as you can, an arm wrapped securely around his chest as you pull your blades out with your free hand, held protectively in front of you as the Titan gets closer and closer.

It’s pathetic, really. For someone who had ranked so high in training, you felt utterly and completely useless in this moment. But you refused to leave Jean. He needed your help or else he’d die, and you refused to let that happen–you’d give yourself up first before you ever let a Titan grab hold of him.

So, desperately, pitiful cries leave your lips as you wave the sword in front of yourself, trying to keep the Titan at bay in any way you can.

“Please!”

But it’s getting more and more hopeless by the second. Other Titans grow closer, swarming around you as you press your back desperately against the tree, your grip on Jean tightening as the terror makes everything freeze.

You feel like you're ten years old again, watching the Titan’s destroy everything you’ve ever known.

Blade dropping, you wrap your other arm around Jean, pulling him closer as you press your head against the crook of his neck and shoulder. The Titan that had first swarmed you leans in close, smiling wide and eyes crazed as it looms closer and closer, and you stare back at it in fear, realizing this is it.

This is the end.

You’ll never see your home again.

You’ll never get revenge for your mother.

For Ms. Schneider.

You’ll never find your father.

You’re going to die here, utterly and completely helpless, without even being able to save Jean’s life.

The Titan’s mouth opens and your body tenses, bracing yourself as you press your head into Jean’s neck, angling your body so it’s the first thing the Titan grabs, unable to stop the whimper that slips past your lips, waiting.

Waiting for your death.

But…

But nothing ever happens.

A moment passes, it feels like eternity, before you slowly peel your eyes open, unsure, only to see the Titan facing the other way. Like its attention has completely lost its focus on you. 

A second later and it’s running off, the opposite direction, getting further and further away from you.

“Ugh…”

Body startling, you sit up as Jean moves in your arms, shifting slightly. You watch as he slowly flickers his eyes open, blinking, dazed, and his vision is distant, hazy as he tries to register what’s happening. Your hands move to grip his cheeks, pulling his gaze on you as you hover over him.

“It’s okay,” you whisper gently, “I've got you. You’re okay.”

His face twists in pain, and your lips part to say something more, positive he’s not even aware of what’s happening around him, before;

“Y/N!”

Raising your head, you’re more than relieved to see Armin racing towards you, an extra horse in tow. Slowly shifting Jean, you move so you’re standing, grabbing hold of the horse just as Armin reaches you.

“What happened?” Armin breathes, glancing from you to Jean in concern. 

“Jean got knocked off his horse and he’s hurt,” you explain with a shake of your head as Armin jumps off his horse, moving towards Jean. “We were surrounded and I didn’t know what to do. I thought we were about to be eaten but then…” and you trail off; mainly cause you’re not even sure what happened.

Armin nods; “I think it was Eren,” he explains as you climb onto your horse, moving to help settle Jean behind you.

“Huh?”

Armin meets your gaze; “I think he was controlling the Titans.”

You want to say more, but there isn’t time. This was your chance to retreat, and thanks to Armin, you and Jean weren’t stranded. Wrapping Jean’s arms around your waist, you let him lean his waist against you, making sure he’s stable behind you before grabbing your reins, sending one last Armin’s way, before kicking off.

But not without sending one last glance behind you in the direction that Titan had run.

-

You still couldn’t believe what Section Commander Hange was suggesting.

After the expedition for the retrieval of Eren Jaeger and Ymir, with the success of only retrieving Eren, everyone had been left in dire sorts. Namely, and specifically for you and your friends, you all were reeling from the betrayal you’d all suffered from three people you’d thought had been close comrades and people you could trust. Having to hear about Annie from a nameless Survey Corps and then to witness with your own eyes as both Bertholdt and Reiner betrayed you all, it had almost been too much to bear. The goal of saving Eren and Ymir had provided the necessary distraction and the sight of seeing Jean alive and well had been encouraging enough to put your entire focus on the mission – it had allowed you to push away your hurt and feelings and focus on the task at hand.

But now? There was nothing distracting you. You’d been assigned cleaning duties that morning, and honestly, you were finding it hard to keep yourself on task without letting your mind wander. The betrayal, Ymir leaving with Reiner and Bertholdt… and now this? The possibility of the Titan’s, the same Titan’s you’d sworn to eradicate and have been actively killing since you’d joined the Survey Corps (and even before that), were actually people?

That’s what Hange believed.

That’s what she told Connie – that it was very likely that the people from his village, including his mother, father and siblings, had all been turned into Titan’s.

The same Titan’s you’d all just killed trying to rescue Eren.

Everything felt different. It was one thing to know that people could transform into Titans, like Eren or Annie, and a different thing to think people were being turned into mindless Titans… that you’d murdered.

You just couldn’t fathom it and every part of you hoped it wasn’t true – but realistically, in the back of your head, it felt like it was. At this point it was no longer logical to argue for sound logic – if anything, everything you’ve experienced has taught you that nothing is the way it should be.

A knock on the door pulls you away from your thoughts, head slowly glancing over your shoulder towards the door of the room you’d been cleaning lips parting in surprise when you realize it’s Jean.

Despite his fall, he’d been pretty unscathed–just a mild concussion. A few days of rest and he was okay, and ready to join you and the rest of your friends on the mission that was being set up for Eren to plug up Wall Maria and of course, trace down Bertholdt and Reiner. You were relieved he wasn’t too hurt, nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises to show for it, and so the sight of him manages to bring a smile to your lips – despite everything – turning to face him before making your way over to him.

“Jean?”

His eyes meet yours, and his lips part, as if to say something before hesitating. Your eyes widen momentarily when a soft blush floods his cheeks, before he’s tucking his chin into his neck and glancing away from you; “I understand you were the one who helped me after I got knocked off my horse.”

Eyes widening, that hadn’t been what you were expecting him to say. If anything, you had expected your topic of conversation to be around Hange’s theory as it seemed that’s what anyone (those who knew) were talking about nowadays. Also, you hadn’t told Jean that you’d been the one to help him given how dazed he’d been when he’d regained consciousness. It just hadn’t seemed important, so… mildly confused, your head tilts; “who…?”

“Armin told me,” he explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Stressed that I should thank you and that he was really worried when he found you and me.”

“Oh,” you flush slightly, glancing at your feet. Of course Armin had been the one to say something – you could only imagine what you’d looked like to Armin when he found you. Seconds prior to that, you’d thought you were going to die, so you figure you’d looked rather worse for wear and that was putting it mildly. “It’s not a big deal. I wouldn’t leave you behind no matter what, and thanks to Eren, we made it out alive.”

“Still,” Jean stresses, pulling your gaze on him with a blink. “Thank you. You could’ve died. And that’s twice you’ve saved my life now.”

Biting your lip, you’re unable to stop yourself from the small smile that curls on your lips. You shuffle on your feet, fiddling with your fingers as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, shaking your head. “It’s no problem, Jean. I… I don’t want to see you get hurt or… anything bad to happen to you for that matter either.”

Tentatively, you meet his gaze, the air thickening as a bout of awkwardness floods the room. It was quite vulnerable what you’d confessed, but honestly, you couldn’t be bothered to care at this moment – you two had nearly died. He might as well know the truth. Who knows when your life might be threatened like that again. Or his… which is a thought you don’t even want to give attention to.

“O-Oh,” he breathes, shoulders faltering as silence falls over the two of you. Then, a moment later, he gathers the courage to speak. “Me neither. I–I–! I don’t want anything bad to happen to you either,” he confesses and you can't deny the way it makes your heart start and your stomach to erupt into butterflies. “I was really worried when I heard what was happening to you… And-!! And the rest of our friends of course!” It’s added as an afterthought, his words stumbling slightly as he turns to you.

You falter slightly at that, swallowing thickly. “Me too,” you nod, “with you and um, Eren and Mikasa and everyone.”

There’s a pause, both of you unable to deny the disappointment that floods you both at the mention of your friends – something in any other circumstance wouldn’t, of course, disappoint you. You just… liked the thought of Jean being concerned for you. 

Thinking of you.

It was weird and oddly selfish, but you’d hoped Jean would express the same kind of focused attention on you that you’d been trying to give him.

But it’s clear he wasn’t. At least not in the way you wanted him too. It was enough he’d come to thank you, when in reality he didn’t have to. Regardless of anything, it was sweet.

“Well, I should…” you trail when a moment of neither of you saying anything passes, gesturing over your shoulder, “...finish.”

Jean starts at that, taking a step back; “of course, I’ll let you finish. But… I'll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah,” you nod without hesitation, mustering up a smile, “see you then.”

He steps back, offering a small wave that you reciprocate with a small one of your own and a smile, before letting the door shut softly behind you. Pressing your back against the door, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the way your heart patters madly against your chest, pumping loudly as your skin feels hot and your body feels tingly.

God, just what was wrong with you?

Why did Jean make you feel that way?

And why couldn’t you get rid of this disappointment that he hadn’t expressed his emotions in a way you’d hoped?

You were friends. But not the only two. Of course he’d been concerned for everyone else – it was silly of you to think he’d only ever be concerned for you.

But, still, your mind screams – it wasn’t that he hadn’t been only concerned for you, and rather that you hoped that in some way, maybe he’d thought of you a little more than the rest. Gods knows he’d been on your mind the entire time the two of you had been separated… and you’d hoped he’d felt the same.

It seems you’d been wrong.

#aot #aot x reader #aot imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirschtein x reader #jean x reader #eren jaeger #eren jeager x reader

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 16

Summary: Meeting the imprints.

Warnings: fluff, angst

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

————————————

Sitting in the corner of what she could best describe as an all-girls sleepover, Y/N sipped on her tea trying to ignore the drying tear stains on her shirt. Her lower lip quivers each time she releases it from her teeth formed prison, the flesh bruised and swollen after her merciless, anxiety induced chewing.

Emily catches her gaze every now and then, but Y/N is quick to avert her eyes. She had been given some space to gather her thoughts, but how can she do that when her mind is far too engrossed in the very real possibility of losing Paul before she even had a chance to call him hers?

Would destiny be so cruel? After all the time she spent ripping him apart for things that happened so long ago, she would deserve this. 

But he wouldn’t. 

Paul wouldn’t deserve to die just to torture Y/N, or so she hopes.

“They’ll be fine”, one of the girl speaks to her. Her hair is short, down to her shoulders – black as is usual in La Push. Her face is wide, mainly in the cheeks thus making her eyes seem smaller than they are. The dark eyes reflect empathy, a kindness of spirit that allows Y/N to relax. She remembers her from high school. She was one of the few girls that hung around with the guys. 

Y/N used to be so jealous of her,

At least she understands now.

“You’re Kim”, Y/N states. “Jared’s imprint.”

Nodding, Kim smiles softly. “One of the first imprints in the pack.” Reaching for Y/N’s hand, her smile widens. They’ve seen each other quite a lot, but they’ve never really spoken. When Paul was stuck to the bed, she barely paid any mind to anyone else and Kim understood that. She wouldn’t be interested in making new friends if something happened to Jared either. “I’ve done this quite a lot. It’s almost never anything more than a few scrapes and bruises.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N frowns. “I haven’t done this a lot, but mine came back with a lot worse last time.”

“Paul is strong. One of the strongest in the pack.” Looking around carefully, she leans in and whispers. “Don’t tell Jared I said that.”

Pressing the tip of her thumb and pointer finger, she runs them over her lips and locks them before throwing away the imaginary key over her right shoulder.

“Does the worry and constant fear fade away?” Placing her hand over her heart, Y/N lets out a shuddered breath. “I don’t think I can survive many more nights like this.”

“It’s always there”, a blonde speaks up. “Just as your love for him is. It’s like a phantom limb.” Shrugging, she manages a small smile as she looks at her hands. “Ever since I met Embry, I’ve felt it. I didn’t know the truth for the first few months of dating and I still felt it.”

She’s stunning. Shaking her head, Y/N suppresses a chuckle in disbelief. All those years ago, Y/N was so certain she’d marry Embry and they’d have a perfect life…like most young girls do. It never occurred to her they’d stop being friends at sixteen, or that their lives would be so different.

This girl is the epitome of beauty – as if the sun itself kissed her hair golden and the skies reflect in her eyes. She’s all Y/N never was nor can be. It’s silly, but the teenage girl that harbored those feelings for Embry is genuinely stumped at how dumb her crush was when this is his type.

“Embry never told me he imprinted.” Y/N admits.

“I’m Daisy.” Her eyes lighten up. “I’ve heard so much about you. Feels like I know you already!” It doesn’t look like she knows Y/N’s history with Embry and Y/N has no plans on changing that. Stirring drama isn’t good for anyone involved.

“I look forward getting to know you.” Y/N offers a friendly smile and for once, she means it. She can’t help but look around the room.

Next, she met Claire – Quil’s imprint. She’s still in high school and they’re friends. She’s dating her best friend – Andrea, who is also present.

The other girls were rather young as well, imprints of those who joined the pack as mere children at a time when vampires were frequent in the area.

They told her about Leah and Owen who live in Los Angeles, and of their daughter who is starting kindergarten.

Seth is one of the rare wolves who has yet to imprint on anyone, or so they said.

“What about Jacob?” Y/N furrows her eyebrows, confused. “You said almost everyone has an imprint. Does Jacob?”

Emily clears her throat. “He does.”

“Oh”, escapes her. She didn’t know if she was more hurt about the fact he didn’t tell her himself or about the way he talked to her as if he was interested in starting a romantic relationship with her when he came back.

Sure, not all imprints are romantic, Claire and Quil aren’t, but she didn’t believe Jacob would be able to resist a connection like that. It’s cosmic, all consuming. At least it is for her. So what happened to have him acting the way he did with her?

Before she can ask for details, the door opens and in an instant the room is overcome with joy. She watched as the girls leapt from their seats and into the arms of their loved ones. Emily kissed Sam, Claire and Andrea embraced Quil, Daisy nearly knocked Embry over as she jumped from the couch and straight into his chest.

Lips parting, she grips the hem of her skirt as Paul moves past Sam and pauses in front of the coffee table. Shirtless, the muscles on his chest move up and down as his breathing quickens at the sight of his imprint.

She’s curled in a chair, her hands shaking as she grips the hem of her skirt, pulling it down to make sure she’s appropriately covered. Her eyes are glossy, tied to him as if he’s the anchor she desperately needs to hold on to. His eyes flicker to the quivering chin and it’s enough for him to smile – she cares. Moving to her side, he falls to her knees before her.

Most would assume she’s indifferent, but they’d be blind. She’s tired, fighting tears and likely can’t even feel her legs to actually stand and run to his arms and he can feel it in his heart and soul that’s what she wanted to do. He didn’t need her to do that, he didn’t even see it worthy of a second thought. All he wants is to hold her hand and remind her he’s there – that he always will be.

And that’s exactly what he does.

The moment the palm of his hand rests over her pale knuckles, her hands relax and without a moment to waste, Y/N’s arms are wrapped around him, her face hiding in the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay”, he whispers as he pulls her closer and lifts her up only to sit in her place, allowing her to remain in his lap, wrapped around him. “I’m here, dove. I’m here.”

“I hate that nickname”, she reminds him meekly and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Might grow on you”, he insists.

“You know, we are here too?! We deserve a hug, don’t we?” Embry exclaims, earning himself a middle finger from Paul.

“Oh, nice! Real mature!” Jacob remarks.

Inhaling sharply, Y/N pulls herself away just enough to rest her temple on Paul’s shoulder. “As mature as neither of you telling me you’ve imprinted”, she sasses back and Embry glances at Daisy nervously.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’ve already been pushed off a cliff and into the ocean of madness you’ve got going on here. Meeting your soulmates would be a vacation compared to everything else”, she deadpans. “And Daisy is pretty amazing.”

“I know, right?!” Embry smirks as he pulls Daisy into a half embrace.

Raising her brows, she looks to Jacob. “And where’s yours?”

“Probably best we leave that for later”, Paul warns her gently.

“Why? What could be worse than Quil imprinting on a little girl?”

“Hey!” Quil pipes up.

“Well, she’s right”, Claire remarks and he quiets down.

“A newborn”, Seth spills the beans instead.

Wide eyes, she looks to Jacob. “No frickin’ way.”

“Mhmm”, Jared laughs. “Bella’s one minute old vampire baby!”

Opening her mouth to speak, Y/N stares at Jacob without a single word leaving her lips.

“Oh, come on! I didn’t exactly have a choice!” He reminds everyone. “If I did, I’d have imprinted on you!” Jacob points at Y/N.

Gripping her hip tighter, Paul narrows his eyes at Jacob. “Better watch that finger as well as your mouth, Jake.”

Tapping Paul’s shoulder, Y/N pecks his cheek. “We should probably go before you decide to eat Jacob for dinner.”

“He can try”, Jacob snorts, further angering Paul.

Realizing he’s shaking, Y/N swallows thickly. Placing her hand on his cheek, she turns his head to look at her.

The anger is burning in his eyes like a bonfire, spreading through his veins like a forest fire and yet, the moment she presses her lips against his, it’s as if a wave has washed over him, putting the fire out instantly.

It doesn’t take long for him to return the kiss, pulling Y/N closer until they can hardly breathe.

“WE CAN SEE YOU”, Seth reminds them, causing Y/N to laugh and pull away sheepishly.

“Thanks a lot, Seth”, Paul grimaces.

“What? I’d rather not barf the delicious cupcake I just had!”

And though the night didn’t quite end the way Y/N planned, she enjoyed the dinner they shared as a big family. She enjoyed hearing their stories and while some scared her to the core, being with Paul helped her heartbeat calm to a reasonable pace.

“You do realize I’m wearing an extremely sexy pair of red, lacy panties and a matching bra?” She whispers in his ear as the rest of them all seemed to be lost in their own conversations.

“Heard that”, Quil whines.

Throwing her head back, Y/N groans. “Get up”, she orders Paul who chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender.

“There is no way I’m going anywhere with you.”

With hands on her hips and raised eyebrows, she looks at Paul. “Do you prefer everyone here hearing all the dirty things I’d do to you, or would you rather have me skip theory and go straight to a practical approach?”

Paul hisses, “Temptress!”

“3”, she begins.

“What?”

“2”, she places a hand on her zipper and his eyes widen.

Jumping to his feet, he looks at the amused looks from his brothers in shock. “This is why I never wanted an imprint!”

Raising a brow, she takes a step back. “Excuse me?!”

Embry explodes with laughter, while Quil exclaims. “I GET YOUR HOUSE WHEN SHE KILLS YOU!”

“Not that I regret it”, Paul tries to coerce her to smile, but her eyes narrow at him. 

“Sure”, she swallows thickly. “You’re right. Stay here.” Turning on her heel, she waves at everyone. “And I’m going home. Enjoy your night everyone.”

Watching her walk away in confusion, Paul rubs his forehead.

“What the fuck did I even do?”

“You basically told her that you didn’t want to imprint”, Daisy exclaims. “Which translates to: I didn’t want to be with you, but I am because a magic bond has made sure I can’t leave.”

Huffing, he shakes his head. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re a bigger idiot for standing there instead of running after her.”

“I was gonna!” Paul insists. “Just needed to know what to apologize for.”

Shaking his head, Jacob grimaces. “And this is the part where you run after her!”

“RIGHT”

_______________________

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @ireadthensuetheauthors @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia @venusdelaroix @avadakadabra93 @tearsforhan @a-marie-a @lendeluxe @seagulls-corner @jdbxws @kitabestboy @rottenstyx @itsmytimetoodream @dreamerwasfound @avis15 @whatevenisthisname @julia13123 @convolutings @rachelccollier @prvncessvibes @thingfromlove @jennyamanda8 @havecourage-darling@luvr-exe @alittlejudgemental @bugerie @turningtoclown @vikingsheart12 @emptydoorsandpaintedwindows 

A/n - Anyone not tagged has either changed their @ or deactivated their account. If you haven’t and the tag didn’t work for you, let me know. I’d like to apologize for a relatively short chapter after waiting for a while, I’ve been having a lot of personal issues - work, health and especially the overwhelming depressing that’s been trying to win this little war we’ve been having for the past five years. So, I’ll try to be more active and write, but I really can’t make any promises. 

PART 17

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote series #twilight #Twilight series #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #twilight saga #twilight renaissance #jacob black #embry call #sam uley #Quil Ateara #seth clearwater