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#but I'm in a really weird bad mental place right now.

appocalipse · 1 month

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summary: you were way too drunk last night and said some funny things...so, of course, steve had no other option but take you to his place to take care of you. :)

read part 1 here

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Your head hurts.

Everything feels a little weird, in fact, but especially your head, spinning and throbbing and, when you try to pry your eyes open, the sudden harsh light streaming into the room feels like it's physically boring straight through your brain.

"Fuck," you whimper pitifully, eyes squeezing shut once more. Your ears are ringing, there's a coppery film lining the inside of your mouth and, for a terrible second, your stomach churns dangerously. "Fuck."

Someone hums somewhere near your right ear. A low, gravelly, vaguely amused sort of hum. There is absolutely nothing and no one alive on this green earth that would hum in that particular fashion except your best friend.

You peel your eyelids apart with great difficulty. When you tilt your head to the right, you see Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at you with a soft look on his face.

Naturally, you proceed to freak the fuck out.

"Jesus Christ," you cry, scrambling backwards until you feel the back of your head slam against the headboard with a resounding thud. The dull throb in the back of your skull intensifies, and you have to fight back the urge to throw up. "Ow! Shit, I—What—what happened? Why are you in my—"

Hold on a second...this is not your room.

You cast an anxious, furtive glance around the unfamiliar setting of Steve Harrington's guest room. Panic floods your veins and has your heart hammering in your chest when you notice that you're clad in only one of his shirts and sweatpants that definitely don't belong to you.

Oh, Dear Lord.

Did something happen last night that you can't remember? Did something — oh, God, no.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you as though he can read your mind. "Relax. Nothing happened, relax, come back down," he coos gently, placing a placating hand on your arm. "And I...I didn't see anything, if that's what you're worried about. Nancy and Robin, uh...they helped you shower and get changed last night. Not me."

You cover your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan as your memories come trickling back in. You don't remember every little detail from the previous night, but what you do remember is already more than enough to fill you with mortification and regret.

"...you said some pretty interesting things while you were drunk, though."

"Shut up," you mumble, peeking up at him through splayed fingers, "go away."

"Really, though," Steve continues, the teasing glint in his eyes a sure sign that he is very much enjoying your suffering, "who knew you found me so attractive?"

"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, groaning as you slide down to hide underneath the comforter, "where are my clothes? I want to leave now."

Steve snickers but makes no move to get up from his perch on the bed. You can hear the rustling of fabric, like he's adjusting his position as he waits for you to come out from under the blanket. "Clothes are in the wash, sorry," he says, sounding very much not sorry at all. "You, um, thought it was a good idea to lie down on the grass last night."

"Kill me now."

"Nope," he chirps, quite cheerfully so, "can't do that, because then who would watch Back to the Future with me tonight?"

You part the comforter just enough to peer up at him from beneath the thick layer of blanket.

"'Back to the Future'?" you echo, trying to ignore the fact that you feel a little lightheaded when Steve smiles down at you.

He looks nice. He always does, but even more so now for some reason — you're guessing it has something to do with the fact that you just woke up and haven't had the time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing him up close yet.

"Mmhmm. You up for it?"

"I'm pretty sure that my head is literally going to explode any time now."

It's really not that bad anymore, but Steve doesn't need to know that, does he?

He nods seriously in agreement. "Right, because you drank way more than you should've last night. Might have mentioned something about rules and...mhmm, what was it? Oh, yes, dying if I didn't let you touch my hair…?"

"No, I didn't."

"You really did," he tells you, leaning back on the heels of his palms, "but don't worry, it was cute."

"I am very much worried," you say miserably.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh and leans forward again, hands reaching out to tug the blanket down far enough to uncover your face completely. "Come on," he says, "do you need anything? Aspirin, maybe? Food? Water?"

You consider his offer, taking the time to mull it over while you avoid his gaze.

"Why did you bring me home with you?" you ask, curious despite yourself. "Why didn't you just take me home?"

"You, uh...really didn't want me to. Pretty much refused to let go of me all night."

"Steve."

"No, really!" he insists, holding both hands up in surrender. "It was like trying to pry a koala off a tree. You even asked—"

You let out a helpless moan of protest and turn away from him as much as you can, hiding your face in the pillow. Steve laughs, clearly delighted by the fact that he's managed to thoroughly embarrass you in less than ten minutes.

"You asked me if I—"

"I don't wanna know!"

"—would sleep in your bed with you."

"Nope," you whisper, your voice coming out a little garbled due to the way you've pressed your face into the pillows, "don't wanna hear it. Shut up, Steve, oh my God. Please."

"It was very adorable."

"I was drunk."

"Still. Cute."

You prop your head up on your elbow so that you can see him a little better, keeping the blanket held tightly around your shoulders as you do. "Sorry I called you. I don't even remember doing it, Tina just told me to and…sorry."

Steve looks down at his lap, shifting a little uncomfortably on the bed.

"I don't mind," he says, lifting his gaze up to meet yours briefly. "You said you missed me. At the party."

A dry, humorless chuckle leaves you and you cringe when the sudden motion sends a sharp pain lancing through your forehead. "Ow. Of course you would remember that," you say, cheeks heating up.

"Do you...remember everything?"

You blink, momentarily confused by the sudden change in conversation. "Everything?" you ask, more to buy yourself some time than anything else.

"You, um..." Steve trails off, clearly unsure of how to broach the topic with you, "you said I made you feel…stuff inside. That you felt stuff. Or something like that. Do you...remember saying that?"

You can practically feel all the color draining out of your face, leaving behind a blank canvas that hides none of your inner panic.

"Uh...no, no, I don't. Do you have a...I need to, um, use your bathroom, like, right now, if you don't mind."

Steve blinks. "Oh, okay. Sure. I bought you a toothbrush earlier, by the way. It's in the medicine cabinet if...if you want."

"Yep," you say, climbing out from under the blanket with as much dignity as you can muster (which is very little), "yep, okay, thanks. I'm...gonna go do that. Now. Okay, bye."

You spend a good five minutes inside the bathroom splashing water in your face while silently wishing for death to come claim you sooner rather than later. Then, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush Steve left out for you — which is totally not cute, it's not cute, why did he do that, ugh, damn him — before venturing out into the hall.

"Steve?"

"Kitchen," he calls out from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, "you want pancakes?"

You hesitate.

The idea of staying to have breakfast alone with Steve Harrington seems oddly intimate after last night, a dangerous prospect that will undoubtedly lead to awkward small talk and more teasing. However, he did go out of his way to buy you a toothbrush this morning...

You swallow down the nervousness you feel and pad barefoot down the staircase into the foyer, following the sounds of clinking utensils and soft humming to the kitchen.

Steve looks up from his place at the stove when you appear in the doorway.

"Hey," he greets, giving you a quick once over. "How's your head?"

"Feels like there's a little person in there hitting it repeatedly with a little hammer," you admit, grimacing a little as you come further into the room and sit down at the island. "Thanks, by the way. For helping me out last night. And today. I really am sorry for...um, you know, that."

"'That'?"

You purse your lips and Steve grins.

"Yes, that," you mutter, swiveling your seat from left to right while you watch him attempt to read a recipe on the back of a box of pancake mix. "Drunk me is like, twice as embarrassing as sober me."

"Embarrassing isn't the word I'd use."

"Please," you scoff, "I was pathetic. I could barely walk by myself."

Steve glances back at you. "I didn't think you were pathetic."

You raise an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Okay, maybe a little pathetic," he concedes with a little snort, "but mostly just…sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, sweet. Don't know if anyone's ever told you that before."

"Sweet," you say again, the headache suddenly no more than an afterthought. "That's how you'd describe me?"

Steve, apparently having given up on making sense out of the instructions on the back of the box, turns around to lean against the counter behind him and studies you with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head to the side a little. "Not the word you expected me to say?"

There's something about the way he's looking at you. It's warm and piercing all at once, like he can see right through you. It makes it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden, hard for you to do anything but gape at him like a goldfish that's been pulled out of water.

"Uh, I'm...confused."

"Me too," he admits with a little huff of laughter. "I was thinking about what you said."

"About your hair?"

"No, well, yeah, but—" Steve pauses, dragging a hand down his face with a weary sigh. "Look, what you said to me yesterday, about the things I make you feel, I—"

"I said I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Steve interrupts, shooting you an unamused look, "I'm trying to say something here, come on, give me a sec."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

"You're not supposed to apologize for apologizing."

"I'm s—okay, right. Mouth shut."

Steve purses his lips to stifle his amusement at your antics. You fold your arms in front of your chest and keep your gaze fixed firmly on the marble countertop as you wait for him to continue.

"I, uh," he says, pushing himself away from the counter so that he can wander over to the other side of the kitchen, where you sit, "I feel things too, you know. With you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he stops beside you, "'Oh'. Weird, right?"

You'd like to, but can't think of anything clever to say that would serve as a suitable response. You don't think Steve's looking for one, anyway, because he reaches out to tap his fingers lightly on the back of your hand, taking a seat on the stool next to yours.

"S'weird, 'cause I don't know if you meant what you said when you were drunk, or if it was just the alcohol talking, or what."

You shake your head quickly, and then wince because of the way the headache thuds behind your right eye.

"Robin says I'm an idiot and should stop being such a chicken," he continues, with a slight roll of his eyes. "And Eddie says if I don't 'shut up and tell you how I feel soon', he'll do it for me."

You nod, smiling despite your hangover. "Eddie's, uh, got a point, no?"

"Maybe," Steve allows, rubbing absently at the side of his neck.

He lets his hands slide down to the legs of your stool, fingers curling around the metal of each side. You don't quite understand what he's doing until he gives them a light tug, jerking you closer to him without warning.

You let out a little shriek of surprise as you reach up to clutch onto the first solid thing your hands find — his forearms.

"Ah! What—Steve!"

He's got an amused smile on his face, but his eyes are bright and nervous all at once. Steve pushes your stool even closer to him, until your knees knock against his own and he's forced to lean down to keep his eyes on you.

You hold his gaze steadily as he edges closer. "What are you doing?" you murmur, watching his eyes flit downward to track the movement of your tongue as it peeks out to wet your dry lips.

"Not sure yet," Steve hesitates when your lips are a hairsbreadth apart. He watches, half-dazed, half-entranced by the way you stare back at him, unblinking. "But I've got a theory."

"A theory?"

He lowers his head toward yours. You press your hands flat against the hard plane of his chest to steady yourself, fingers splaying over the soft material of his t-shirt as you curl them around the fabric. Steve exhales, and you can feel his breath on your skin, a soft tickle that raises the goosebumps all over your skin.

"Wanna hear it?"

You nod slowly, aware of the way his eyes darken as they trace your face. He's so close that you can make out the fine dusting of freckles and moles that litter his skin, the long fan of his lashes as they flutter to a close. If you moved even slightly, your lips would brush against his.

"What's your…your theory?" you whisper.

You can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest as he releases his hold on your stool, lifts both hands up to cradle your face instead. He slides the tips of his fingers along the side of your neck, lets his thumb trace your jaw.

"I think," Steve says, and you can tell he's struggling to string two coherent words together when you feel his thumb quiver against your cheekbone. "I think that, uh, you're—Christ, I—"

His nose brushes against yours and you tilt your chin up instinctively, chasing the brief contact. You smirk. "Christ, you...?"

"Shut up," Steve huffs out a breathless laugh. "I'm getting to it."

"Are you?" you tease, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, your turn to pull him towards you gently.

Steve goes easily, moving his hand from your face to brace the back of your neck. "I think," he starts, eyes crinkling at the corners, "that I might be in love with you."

It's such an unforeseen, unexpected confession that your heart almost gives out in your chest.

You gape up at him, at his crooked grin, at his rosy cheeks. "You think?"

He blinks and then squints down at you like he can't decide whether he wants to be annoyed at your antics or kiss you. You hope for the latter, but he says, "What're you, a parrot?"

Shrugging, you're unable to keep your lips from quirking into a grin of your own. "Rude."

Steve's head falls forward and he rests his forehead against yours. You can feel his pulse thundering wildly against the hand you've pressed flat against his chest, and it makes you feel a little better about your own pounding heart.

"M'sorry."

You smooth a hand over his shirt and hook a finger under the neckline. "Forgiven," you tell him.

"Good," Steve says, nudging his nose against yours playfully.

You want to say something else, maybe tease him about his hair or something equally as inconsequential, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he leans down and closes the distance between you with a slow, tentative press of his lips to yours.

Now, Steve's mouth is soft and warm, and he kisses you like he's got all the time in the world. You shiver when he drags his fingers up the back of your neck, tangling them in your hair so that he can pull you closer yet.

You only pull back when the need to breathe becomes too urgent, giggling at the little noise of protest he lets out as you do. But Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he pulls you back in almost immediately, the movement so abrupt that you nearly topple backwards off the stool.

"Steve—I..." you manage to say, between your giggles and the heated press of his lips against yours. "I still...need to breathe, mister."

He huffs out a little laugh against the side of your neck, nips at the sensitive skin in retaliation. You squeal in delight and jab him playfully in the stomach, laughing as he recoils in mock agony.

"Stop laughing," Steve complains, the warmth of his own laughter tickling the underside of your chin when he nuzzles his nose into your neck once more, "come on, you're ruining the moment."

"Wait," you breathe, right before his lips meet yours again, "so...no pancakes, then?"

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and shakes with quiet laughter."You," Steve mumbles into the side of your neck, "are something else, you know that?"

You grin. "Apparently, you like that. Love that...no?"

You can feel him smile, the stretch of his lips curving against the skin of your shoulder.

"Apparently...yeah, I do. I do."

851 notes · View notes

tetsumie · 8 months

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“𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘” — 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

read part 1 here!

pairing: kuroo x reader & kenma x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

a/n: hello !! sorry for being gone for soooo long D: i wasn’t doing well and was in a really bad place mentally.. (plus burnout 😓😓) but regardless tysm for all the love in the first part of this fic! i appreciate u all sm and i’ll work on getting asks in! thank u for being so patient w me !! luv u :D

kuroo tetsuro

you woke up late today and weren't surprised that kuroo had already left for work by the time you woke up. but he did leave you a post-it note saying he made breakfast leftovers for you in the fridge.

you smile at the thought that kuroo took the time out of his day to make some food especially in the morning. however, as you're getting ready for the day, your eye catches the lunch bag that's sitting on the kitchen bar countertop.

"this idiot," you mumble, shaking your head with a smile on your face. you pull out your phone and shoot him a text.

y/n: thanks for the breakfast it was really good

tetsu: im glad :)

y/n: also you left your lunch at home stupid

tetsu: oh shit

tetsu: can you drop it off for me? i cant come home to pick up, im in a meeting rn

y/n: yeah that's fine

tetsu: thanks baby ill kiss u when i see u

tetsu: love u 2 the moon and back !!

y/n: ur so weird

y/n: love u 2 the moon and back <3

a few hours pass by and now you're taking the bus to head to kuroo's office with his lunch bag in hand. before leaving the house, you decided to swap his current lunch which was some leftovers with his favorite food, grilled salted mackerel.

you enter his office floor and are greeted by the office receptionist from the floor. "i'm just here to drop off some food for kuroo-san."

"oh yes, right this way," she stands up and opens the office door for you and points out where his room is.

as you're about to knock on his door, you hear his voice from the other side. "i'm not sure if i can come out tonight to eat kenma. y/n probably wants me home, you know how clingy they get sometimes."

your heart sinks to the floor.

has he always thought of me this way? clingy? i didn't mean to act that way? i just like being in his company. i didn't mean to be clingy. i didn't know he felt that way...

"anyways, i'll call you back kenma. i gotta get back to work. see ya later" he ends the call.

you take a deep breath, standing in front of the door, thinking about kuroo's words to his best friend. before you could even knock, the door opens and you're greeted by kuroo.

"oh y/n! you should've texted me you were here!"

you let out a laugh that sort of dies in your throat. "oh um i just wanted to surprise you that's all."

"come in, let's eat together. you can see the beautiful downtown view from here," he tries to usher you inside his personal office room.

you're a little uncomfortable so you hold yourself back from going on, "maybe another time, yeah? i gotta head back. i've got a lot of work to do with college and work and stuff."

"no yeah of course, i get it. work hard! but first..." kuroo smiles and before you can pull away, he kisses you on the head. "i'll see you when i get home. love you!"

too ashamed to even look at him as you walked out of his office, you just wave to him with your back facing him as you walked away.

you're now sitting on the bus on the way home, thinking about the way he called you clingy. "you know how clingy they get.." has he always thought i'm clingy? has he just been putting up with my annoying habits? i thought he liked the way i treated him. i didn't know he thought it was clingy.

you're trying to look back at your actions and now it's all coming back to you.

you're always trying to kiss him, hug him, cuddle him. you're always talking to him about random things from an occurrence at the grocery store to some new show you're watching. literally last night, you both were cuddling while watching a new episode of kuroo's favorite sit-com and you were running your fingers through his hair.

it all made sense.

you were clingy.

and he wanted space.

you were going to respect that.

kuroo comes home later that evening and announces himself with an "i'm home!"

you're on the dining table with the computer open, working on some new assignment and you smile at him. "welcome home," you say with a smile.

he's expecting you to get up and come over and hug him like you usually do but to his surprise, you continue to look back at your computer.

he assumes you're just busy and doesn't think much of it.

kuroo heads into the shared bedroom to unwind from his hectic day at work. he takes a shower and changes into some pajama pants and is now heading back to the living room to see what you're up to.

you're still sitting on the dining table with all your notebooks splayed out and computer open, working on what seems to be some really big project. he plops down next to you and starts squinting at the screen. he starts poking you to grab your attention from the screen.

"the mackerel was really good today."

"that's good."

silence envelops the atmosphere between the both of you until kuroo decides to speak again.

"what are you working on?"

"college stuff."

"maybe take a break now?" he suggests.

"i can't. it's due soon," your voice flat. "if you want dinner, there's some leftovers i made in the fridge."

"alright," he replies, getting up from the chair to the kitchen to warm up some food.

his shoulders droop a little. he was hoping to spend some time with you. but he is aware that something is off with you. he's not sure what it is but he knows something isn't right. you haven't given him a single kiss or even a hug since he's been back and your usual sarcastic remarks are gone.

you've barely even acknowledged his presence.

"maybe it's just an off day?" is what he convinces himself.

but those "off days" are starting to become more consistent.

you're out of bed before he wakes up in the morning and you barely talk to him when he comes home. you always end up sleeping after he falls asleep and he can't even stay up because of how exhausted he gets after work. the amount of physical affection has declined from you and every time he texts or talks to you, your replies are barely existent.

it feels like he's living by himself. when did it get so cold?

on the other hand, you think it's going well! you haven't been all up in his business lately. you're giving him the space he wants. you're hoping that kuroo is feeling much happier since you're smothering him less. sure, you miss getting to hold and cuddle him but this is what he wanted, right?

now that the week is over, kuroo is hoping to spend the weekend with you.

that morning, kuroo sets an alarm to wake up earlier than you in hopes of spending some extra affectionate time with you. however, the moment he wakes up, the other side of the bed is empty and cold.

he has no choice but to get out of bed to see where you are. there's no way you're up right now. at 7 am on a weekend? no way.

he walks out of the room and he feels his heart chip. you're sleeping on the couch, slightly shivering because the blanket you're using barely covers you. have you been sleeping on the couch this past week? why didn't i notice? kuroo begins to internally berate himself right now for letting you sleeping on the couch for this past week right under his nose.

with no hesitation, he bridal-style carries you back into the shared bedroom and tucks you under the duvet cover and comes back into bed.

however, you've already woken up and you sit up on the bed, startled. "w-what? where am i?"

he scoffs, "i brought you in our bedroom idiot."

"oh," you're now grabbing your stuff and climbing out to go back to the couch but kuroo stops you by grabbing your arm.

"where are you going?"

"to the couch?"

"but this is our bedroom?"

"no, this is your bedroom," you emphasize.

"y/n." his tone feels cold to you. "talk to me."

"we are talking, are we not?"

he starts scratching the back of his neck. "yes but you know it's not the same. what's going on baby?"

his hand to tries to reach your cheek to stroke it with his thumb but you turn away and immediately stand up from his bed. "it's okay kuroo, please go back to sleep. it's the weekend, you should rest."

his heart chips at the gesture. why are you avoiding him like this? what did he do? what happened to 'tetsu?'

"it's tetsu to you," he mumbles.

you open your mouth but shut it and cast you eyes away from his stare down at the floor.

"it's always been tetsu to you," he states.

you're still silent and he takes it as his queue to continue speaking.

"baby, everyday i come home from work and you barely acknowledge me. you're always busy doing 'college stuff' or something else. you barely hug me or even kiss me anymore. what happened? what did i do? did i do something wrong? did i overstep my boundaries? are you mad at me about something? please i wanna know what i did wrong so i can fix myself."

your heart softens at his words and you begin to immediately reassure him.

"there's nothing wrong with you... nothing has ever been wrong with you... i just want to work on giving you your space. i know that you think i'm clingy and so i wanted to work on just giving you room to breathe. i know i can be a little too much sometimes. i'm sorry for not realizing how clingy my actions were sooner. i'm sorry i-"

he immediately walks over to you and brings you to his chest, hugging you tightly. your eyes slightly widen. "don't you dare fucking apologize. it's not your fault. shit, it's never been your fault, baby. what made you even think that?"

in embarrassment, you mumble, "i heard you say i'm clingy to kenma. sorry i didn't mean to overhear."

"oh, my love," he pulls away and looks at you with a sad look in his eyes. "it's not what you think."

he sighs and he sits on the side of the bed and taps the bed space in front of him for you to sit down as well. "kenma's been trying to get me to go meet some new volleyball members to affiliate them with the jva and to be honest, i already have so much on my plate with the current affiliates, that i'm really trying to avoid going out for dinner with him. i'm trying to get one of my coworkers to go on my behalf to seal the deal but i can't find anyone willing to."

"i just used your name as an excuse. i swear on my life, i never really meant that. i never ever meant to hurt you."

still finding it hard to believe him, you mumble, "you don't need to lie.. i understand if-"

"y/n, i swear on my mother, i'm not lying," he interrupts. "every single fucking day, the only think i ever look forward to is seeing your beautiful face in my apartment. i look forward to your rambles about the new show you started watching or how the current professor you're shadowing is a douche. i love your bear hugs and i love the way you kiss me all over my face in the mornings. fuck, i love knowing that i get to go to sleep with you every night and i get to wake up to you every morning. i love you, just the way you are. please don't ever change yourself over some fucking lie i said."

"i'm so sorry y/n, so sorry for ever making you doubt my love for you," he intertwines his hand in yours and looks into your eyes. "i'll do anything to regain your trust.

he senses the hesitation in your eyes and honestly, he can't blame you. you've been harboring this guilt for a week and it makes sense that you're still feeling a little uncomfortable around him.

but to his surprise, you inch your way closer to him and hug his chest and the tears begin to fall. his body tenses and he feels so guilty about everything. he rubs reassuring circles on your back and kisses your head every few moments.

after you wipe your tears on his shirt, you look up at him and honestly kuroo hates to admit this but you still look gorgeous even with a tear stained face. he's grinning at you and begins to pepper your face with his kisses.

"love you to the moon and back," he whispers into your ear.

you chuckle and kiss him on the lips. "love you to the moon and back, tetsu."

in that moment, he swears to himself that he'll make sure that you never have to doubt his love for you ever again.

kozume kenma

as the ceo of his own startup company, a youtube streamer, and a college student, kenma can almost never find any time to himself. the only time he really feels at peace is either when he's asleep or when he's with you.

but sometimes things get so hectic and suffocating, he just wants to be alone, away from the world.

after a long day of classes, you walk into your shared apartment and you can hear kenma talking from his bedroom/home office. you try to keep quiet not disturbing him.

in hopes of cheering him up, you decide what better way to do so by making his favorite food: apple pie. you put down your stuff on the living room couch, grab the apron, and get to work.

kenma stays locked up in his bedroom for the majority of time that you're baking and a part of you just hopes that maybe he'll come out to just say "hi" or just accompany you to see what you're up to but unfortunately he doesn't.

after the pie is done baking in the oven and you've brought him a slice so he can get some food in his system because you're sure he hasn't been taking care of himself. you're hoping that maybe, just maybe, the both of you will finally get to spend some time together.

you knock on the door twice.

no response.

you knock once more and call out his name, "kenma, you busy still?"

still no response.

you sigh, realizing there was no hope in knocking, and decide to twist the knob and enter his room. you're greeted with the sight of him sitting on his gaming chair, knees to his chest, headphones over his ears, and slightly biting the eraser top of his pencil.

he must have felt the presence of someone else in the room with him because he looked away from his computer screen and his eyes widened. he slid his headphones off his ear and hung them around his neck.

"how long have you been home?" he bluntly asks.

"for an hour or two now, i think," you reply.

“oh sorry, i didn’t see you,” he mumbles.

you chuckle in response. “i didn’t think you would considering you’ve been cooped up in your room the entire time.”

“well yeah,” he says. “i’m busy.”

as he’s about to put his headphones back on and get back to work, you speak up. “i know you’re busy but do you wanna eat with me? i made-”

“can we talk later? i don’t have time for your clinginess right now.”

oh.

he puts his headphones on and indulges himself back in his work, not even registering the weight of his words.

you slowly walk out of his room, silently close the door, grab yourself a slice of apple pie originally made for the both of you, and plop yourself on the couch to watch some new show on the television.

after working for nearly hours on end, kenma finally finishes the load of work he had piled. now all he wants to do is just spend some time with you before going to bed. he walks out of the bedroom and is greeted by you asleep with the television humming in the background.

he can't help but let a small smile envelop his features. it's such a domestic sight and he wants to photograph this moment in time.

he knows he said some harsh words to you out of frustration but he hopes that you understand that he didn’t truly mean them.

he goes over and kisses your forehead and he smells the distinctive scent of apple pie and his heart softens at the thought that you made him his favorite food.

he goes over to his bedroom, grabs a blanket and lays it over you and goes under the blanket, snuggling himself closer to you. he hasn't felt this relaxed in a while and your presence is just so comforting to him.

he doesn't know what he'd do without you.

the next morning, you wake up and find yourself in an awkward position and your feel arms wrapped around your torso. you look to your left and are greeted by kenma's sleeping figure and you can't help but smile.

but you remind yourself of what he told you yesterday and you silently get up from the couch and begin to get ready for the rest of your day.

his words, "i don't have time for your clinginess right now", really had sent you into a spiral last night and you were too exhausted to think clearly. did you always come off as clingy to him? you were definitely a bit more energetic and enthusiastic than him but you never thought it was clingy?

you can't seem to think straight so you decide to maybe go out for a walk, just to take your mind off things. you just need some time alone, away from your apartment with him.

kenma wakes up only a few minutes later and he feels cold. his neck is sore, considering how he slept in an uncomfortable position because he wanted to sleep with you. however, to his surprise, he doesn't find you asleep next to him.

as he walks around the house, calling your name, a sense of urgency begins to form in the pit of his stomach.

he dials your number and it goes to voicemail.

he does it again. still voicemail.

he's about to call you one more time until he hears the jangle of keys and the door opening. a sigh of relief leaves his mouth and as you're about to turn your keys to open the door, he's a step ahead of you, opening the door for you.

"oh my god, i thought you went missing," kenma hugs you, catching you by surprise. "where'd you go?"

hesitant to reply, you say, "oh just went on a walk, that's all."

"you should've told me, we could've gone together," he states. "i feel like we haven't seen each other in forever."

"it's fine. don't worry about it."

there's something wrong and he can sense it in your demeanor. as you're heading to the master bedroom, he can see the way your shoulders slump as you put your keys back. he doesn't address your distant behavior, thinking that you're just having a rough morning and it'll get better as the day goes on.

unfortunately, it doesn't get better.

you seem to be fine but you just feel incredibly distant.

kenma's been playing games in his room all day and unlike usual, you're not in his bedroom watching him play or sitting on the bed scrolling through your phone. his gaming experience isn't the same when you're not there.

he pauses his game and goes out to the living room to see you lying down on the couch, scrolling through videos on your phone. he wants to ask why you're not staying with him but he doesn't want to make overstep your boundaries, especially since it seems like you're not in a good mood.

but that's anything from what you want.

you want him to ask you to stay in his room and keep you company. but because he hasn't done so, his word "clingy" began to scream louder in your head and to be frank, that's the only thing roaming in your head.

"do you want to do anything today?" he asks. "you know.. because it's the weekend and we can go out if you want? like going out to eat?"

a part of you began to feel guilty considering he was thinking about what you wanted to do and you hated feeling like a burden towards him. he already expressed his disapproval with you when he said he found you clingy so you didn't want to impose any further.

"no it's okay," you reply, eyes glued to your phone. "i don't want to annoy you or anything.. so i'll just go on my own or something..."

he hums in response but his eyebrows furrow as he doesn't seem to move from his spot. he can tell there's something wrong and you're obviously being very dodgy with him about the subject which is why he decides to take a seat on the couch and snatch your phone from your hands before you can even register what's happened.

"hey give me back my phone!" you sit up, stretching yourself over to grab your phone back from him in a failed attempt.

"not until you tell me what's wrong," he says flat.

you sigh, knowing that this conversation isn't inevitable. you can't avoid him forever "you called me clingy yesterday, kenma. sorry that i don't really want to hang out with you right now."

the words that leave your mouth have kenma in a state of shock. you took that seriously? you really thought he meant that? in order to ease his busy day of meetings back to back, you came home baked him some apple pie to ease him from his stresses.

and what did he do in return? called you clingy when you just wanted to spend some well-deserved time with him. god, he was being so ungrateful. his body fills with guilt when he he realizes you took his comment to heart.

“honey, i-” he starts and then is cut off with your words.

"i understand where you were coming from, i like to show my affection with you through physical touch and i know you’ve never been one to really reciprocate that," you begin to ramble. "so i’m really sorry for pushing your boundaries and i’ll give you the space that you need."

guilt is eating him away and he needs to clear the air now, otherwise you might be closed off forever and he’s not sure if he’s ever going to be able to reconnect with you.

“y/n, honey, don't apologize for this. it’s not your fault at all,” he starts. he puts down the phone onto the couch and grabs both of your hands and squeezes them assuringly. “i'm sorry for pushing you away and calling you clingy. you didn't.. you never deserve to be told that."

his hand finds its way to your cheek and he begins to rub comforting slow circles. seeing the sullen look on your face made him realize that he never wants to see you like this ever again. it was like you had lost the light in your eyes. kenma hated how he had diminished that so quickly by making you think that he didn't like your company.

he loves you so much; he could never imagine what life would be like without your presence.

a small smile begins to creep back on to your face and kenma finds himself in a slight sense of relief.

"it's okay," you finally utter out. "do you wanna watch that new episode? apparently there is so much drama now and i'm avoiding socials so i don't get spoiled..."

he chuckles, "i'll do anything with you."

he knows that he can't take back his words from before but as he's sitting on the couch with you in his embrace, he knows he can show you his love through his actions. he'll do anything to bring back that trust to you.

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rayraelleaizawa · 2 months

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There better be a part 2 of "they say something hurtful in an argument" where they realized they fucked up. I swear on God's name I will not stop crying if you don't.

P.s: very good writing keep it up! ❤️

Side Note: I didnt think that there would be so many requests on part 2, so thank you all for the requests and the support! It helps staying motivated to keep writing :) I hope you'll like this!

Making up after an argument

Part 1: They say something hurtful in an argument

Tags: hurt/comfort, slight angst, making up

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Dracule Mihawk

Shanks

He feels bad about what he said right after he saw that flash of hurt on your face, the sadness in your eyes and your quiet apology. Shanks immediately wanted to go after you when you left the room, but he was so wrung up in his blanket that he first had to untangle himself before he could go after you. He didnt care how he looked like, his shirt was all the way open, his pants were pulled up above his knee on one leg and on the other it hung down normally and his hair was a mess too. His shoes were completly forgotten somewhere in the room.

When he opened the door from his cabin with a rush and walked outside into the hallway, you were long gone. He instantly went looking for you, starting on deck and working all the way down.

His crewmembers, especially his closest friends, gave him weird looks and concerned stares, but he ignored all of their questions and just ran around looking for you. When he finally finds you, crying on the floor in a dark storage room, he felt a pang go through his heart.

He slowly came closer to you, not wanting to startle you, and started talking quietly.

"Hey, sweet cheeks" he said, sitting down next to you. "Is it alright if i touch you?" he said as he carefully laid his hand on your ellbow.

Seeing you in this state made him want to just wrap his arms around you, pull you close and kiss you all over and apologize to you a thousand times, but he held himself back. This wasnt what you needed right now.

When you didnt react to his touch, he laid his other hand on your shoulder. Shanks tried to catch your eyes, but your face was burried in your legs and your hands were shielding your head from him.

"Darling please look at me" he pleaded, and slowly you raised your head. He laid his other hand on your cheek and his warmth immediately comforted you, but you didnt want to give into his warmth. When Shanks saw your tear struck face and this unbearable sadness in your eyes, he mentally cursed himself for saying those reckless words.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I had no right to let my hangover frustration out on you. Please, forgive me. I love you, my sweet little dove" he tried to apologize.

"Am I really the reason?" you quietly asked, hiccuping from all the crying.

"What?" Shanks looked at you confused.

"Am I the reason why you keep drinking so much? Am I that insufferable?" you cried out, your body shaking at the thought.

"No, no! That wasnt what I meant, please, listen to me! You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I cant lose you. What I said was mean and a lie. Please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me that I didnt mean those words."

Shanks was on the verge of crying himself. The thought that he made his partner feel so bad made him hate himself, swearing to never get this drunk again that he would hurt his lover. He was scared you'd leave him. He wanted to make you feel better, but that was a difficult task when he himself was the reason why you were crying and shaking on the floor. He carefully put his arms around you and placed you on his lap and pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

"It's okay, cry how much you want. Be angry at me, hit me, let all your feelings out on me, I deserve it. But please" he swallowed hard "please dont be sad. Please dont leave me. Not because of my stupid mouth."

You looked up at him when he said that. You noticed his pained face and the fear in his eyes. A fear that he messed up for good. You still felt hurt, but you knew Shanks would never toy with your feelings like that. He was serious about this apology.

You pressed your head in his chest and your tears started to dry out. After a time of silence and him gently stroking your back, you murmered a "I love you, you drunk idiot" into his chest. Shanks felt a stone fall from his heart as he chuckled a bit, leaned down and kissed you on the head. "I love you too, so much pumpkin. I'll never hurt you again. I'll stop drinking so much. Pirate promise"

Benn Beckman

Beckman sighed for the seemingly hundreth time. He still stood on deck, leaning against the railing as he thought about what he had said. He didnt meant to hurt you, but he knew giving you a bit space for now was the right thing. When you calmed down he planned on talking to you, but right now he also needed to sort his own thoughts.

He regretted his words instantly after they left his mouth but the damage was done. He sighed again. Usually he would have smoked at least half a package of cigarettes by now, but he just couldnt bring himself to touch one. Those stupid things were the reason why he made his partner sad. No, bullshit. He couldnt blame anyone else than himself for this. He fucked up.

With one last sigh he left his place at the railing and went underdeck to find you. He had a guess where you were and what you'd be doing, so he went straight to your cabin. He calmed himself with a deep breath in and breath out before he knocked on your door and then slowly opened it.

He wasnt suprised at what he saw. You were at your desk, working away on whatever was laying on your table. Benn carefully stepped into your room and closed the door. You didnt give him any sign that you acknowledged his presence. He walked over to you and waited if you'd say something.

Benn wasnt sure how to approach, so he looked at the papers on your desk. When he saw how shaky your handwriting was and how the ink mixed with waterdrops at some places he sighed again, feeling helpess as he made his own partner cry.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. It wasnt right of me. I let out my stress on you eventho you were only worried about me. I'm deeply sorry."

Benn apologized, but you didnt respond nor did you look at him. He got restless, the uneasy feeling in him became stronger with every second you didnt say anything. You were just writing away on your papers.

"Buttercup, please. I am really sorry. I didnt want to hurt your feelings. You know I love you deeply."

There was a begging undertone in Benns voice by now.

"You dont smell like smoke" was the only answere he got, and hearing your voice immediately eased his anxious feelings a bit.

"I just...couldnt bring myself to touch them" he admitted.

You turned to look at him.

"Maybe i should be upset because of you more often then?"

He breathed out as he sensed that you werent that upset at him anymore. There was a joking undertone in your words, but it was clear that you still were hurt. He laid his hand on yours and leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Please no. I cant handle this. I cant handle seeing you upset. I'm sorry, princess, i'll really try my best to smoke less. Please, I want to make things right again, I-"

He stopped when you laid your hand on his cheek, softly caressing it.

"I know that you're sincer when you start rambling, Benn Beckman."

Dracule Mihawk

Mihawk knew he fucked up big time when he wanted to go look for you but couldnt find you. He noticed your belongings were gone, and then saw footprints leaving away from the castle. Your footprints.

It was starting to become night so he immediately ran after you, following your steps through the woods. He prayed the whole time that you were safe, that nothing happened to you, that you didnt get injured because of his inability to deal with his emotions the right way.

It started raining and it got darker and darker. He hoped he'll find you in time. The nights are cold and the animals in the woods can be even more dangerous at night. Mihawk ran even faster as raindrops hit him more frequently, and soon it was pouring down. His clothes were complety soaked, but he couldnt care less. All he could think of was to find you and bring you back to safety.

While Mihawk dashed throught the woods with experience, you on the other hand stumbled around without orientation. Now that the darkness started to rise, you couldnt see anything anymore. The trees were so close to each other that you couldnt orientate yourself on the stars, and barely any moonlight came through either.

You couldnt count anymore how often you tripped or fell down a slope. Your arms, legs and face were covered in small scratches as you continued to push trough. You werent even entirely sure where you were going, but all you knew was that you wanted to put as much distance in between you and Hawkeye as possible.

Tears still welled up at the thought of him. Those soft moments between you two all seemed like a lie. You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts and carried on. You kept on walking, but a root stood out of the ground and made you trip again. You fell and slithered down another small slope and just as you cursed to yourself you heard a noise.

You stayed quietly on the ground as you listened, not sure if you misheared. No, there were definetely steps. But they were too heavy to be from a human. And Mihawk wouldnt come either. So what was that?

Then you heard a sniffing sound and a roar. And that's when you also got your answer. It was a bear. You tried to stay as calm as possible, but soon you realized why the bear roared so much. You fell in between the bear and it's cup. Which was the worst thing you could do - get in between a mother bear and her child.

You slowly started to crawl backwards, but the mother bear roared again and you heard her coming closer. You tried to hold your breath as you saw her shadowy figure infront of you, and the moment the bear roared almost into your face, you tried to stand up and run away, but of course that didnt work with a bear in front of you. You fell on your butt and tried to ready yourself for the heavy impact with the bears paw which she had raised, when a tall figure was infront of you suddenly, holding a big sword you'd recognise everyhwere. Mihawk. He wielded his sword and cut the ground, and the bear mother and her cup both ran away.

When he turned to face you, you couldnt decipher what his facial expression meant. You sat there, on the ground, cuts all over you and wet from the rain as he suddenly quickly walked up to you. You wanted to stand up, to talk with him, but before you could even say his name he was on the ground with you, kissing you feverishly.

You were confused about what was going on suddenly, but Mihawk pressed you against him in a way you couldnt escape. Not that you really wanted to, cause you felt so many emotions in this one kiss. Fear, anger, sadness, relieve... it seemed like all of those pent up emotions he couldnt let out came through in this kiss.

After what seemed like eternity did he break the kiss, panting as he looked at you.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I'm so glad you're alive. I- I love you."

Was all he said and you looked at him in shock. It was a rare treat to hear those words from him, and you didnt expect to ever hear them again. But here he was, saving you in the middle of the night, telling you his feelings.

"I-I know that you're always worried when I leave. I just didnt know how to break it to you when i had to leave for so long. I not only see the disappointment and worry in your face, I also see fear and sadness whenever i leave. I just...I didnt know how I should tell you that I had to leave for months, fighting some idiots without seeing you all sad about the fact that I might not come back? That's why i left without saying anything. I know i hurt you, my love. I know I said something cruel back in the castle. But this castle is not my home when you arent in it. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didnt know how to express myself. Please, forgive me. I'll work on it."

You only stared in shock as Mihawk talked about his feelings so much. But then a small smile broke out on your lips.

"You're an idiot. But you're my idiot."

He didnt respond, he only blushed which you didnt see in the dark nights, but then he picked you up and started carrying you back to your home.

#akagami no shanks #benn beckman #red hair shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #beckman #benn beckman x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece #one piece shanks #beckman x reader #hawkeye

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rubberduckyrye · 24 days

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Okay in all seriousness. There's something that I REALLY want to talk about as an open discussion with the fandom, but. This is not going to be a very nice thing to hear/talk about.

It's about how Gonta is treated by the fandom.

As a fan of all the V3 characters now, and as someone who has always been a fan of Gonta, and as someone who has many mental disabilities and two diagnosed neurodivergancies... I'm tired of playing nice about it.

You all need to stop being ableist towards Gonta.

I've mentioned in the past that I don't like shitting on personal interpretations. I don't like saying something is or is not canon because narration is just a big web of text that you try to decipher with your own personal biases, experiences, and thoughts. That's why two literary analysts analyzing the same text with the same literary criticism rules can come to wildly different conclusions--why people develop different headcanons from the same canonical information.

But one of the things that challenged my integrity is just how many people view Gonta as this innocent, naive, ignorant, baby boy who can do no harm/never has a complicated/dirty/violent/sexual thought in his life ever.

This incredibly ableist interpretation of the character bothered me for, well, obvious reasons (See: It's fucking ableist, need I say more?) but I never challenged it as harshly as I am now because to be frank, it's not my place to tell people how to HC a character. It still isn't. But I've pretty much given up on my integrity on the subject and have decided to go all in on discussing why this interpretation of Gonta is just. Really bad.

First of all, not to promote my own analyses here or anything, but I think this analysis I did of Gonta explains a LOT in regards to the ableism the cast gives him in canon. I also think that this subtle ableism is why the fandom is so bad with Gonta's characterization in headcanons and fanfic--because they've seen how the cast treats him, and they think it's normal. They don't see the microaggressions, they don't see the subtle ableism in the cast--they just see this big giant idiot who speaks like Tarzan in the English version (which... I don't actually know why people assume Tarzan (Thinking of Disney's version) is stupid. Like as a boy he had to reinvent the spear with no one to guide him on how to do it. He was able to strategize and outsmart "civilized" men in the final showdown. Still I digress) and don't see the literal genius behind his social awkwardness.

There is also another very important point I'm going to make in addition to this, and it's going to be very uncomfortable to Gonta fans who insist he's nothing but a sweet baby who only has pure thoughts. Especially to the fans who insist he "can't be sexual" or think it's weird to ship him with his peers.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but... Gonta blatantly has sexual desire and gets horny right in canon.

This is further clarified here:

It wasn't a matter of Gonta didn't want to touch her because touching someone in their underwear was inappropriate, or being flustered because she was in her underwear which is inappropriate...

It was literally a "weird feeling" that made him unable to approach her or touch her. A "weird feeling" that Miu makes pretty obvious as to what it was--sexual arousal.

He literally was sexually attracted to and felt sexual arousal from looking at Miu in her underwear. He had sexual feelings and thoughts about Miu. Why?

Because Gonta is a young man.

Gonta is a brilliant, talented young man who has normal human thoughts for someone his age--sexual desires, upsetting thoughts, complicated thoughts, ectect. He is not a child, he is not mentally stunted (I've been informed that people have literally said this on Ao3 for the NSFW Gonta fics, please for the love of god stop that)

I think the reason why Gonta fans typically want to keep him as a "pure baby child who can do no wrong" is because treating him like the young adult that he is makes it harder for them to justify Chapter 4. Every time I've seen a Gonta fan that hates Kokichi, it's always followed by the sentiment of "Kokichi manipulated and abused Gonta into killing Miu, so it's all Kokichi's fault." They're afraid of nuance and liking a character with the grey morality of genuinely thinking Mercy Killing the cast is a viable option, because it challenges their own morals about the character they adore.

To those people who read this and are upset: You can and should like Gonta! Gonta is a magnificent character who showcases the subtle way microaggressions can manifest and hurt people, he's a good-hearted person and a literal genius, he cares deeply for his friends and loves everyone with upmost sincerity.

But.

You need to re-evaluate your stance on Gonta if you think he's a stupid, naive fool who Kokichi manipulated. You need to re-evaluate why you think those thoughts, why you think Gonta being shipped with anyone is "Kinda weird" or "has weird consent problems" or "give you the ick." You have to challenge yourself and ask yourself uncomfortable questions in regards to why you treat Gonta like a child when canon has proven otherwise, why you think he cannot have violent or sexual thoughts, why he can't think mercy killing his class is the only way to save them.

This isn't an attack on you--but understand that these specific takes on Gonta? They are ableist in nature. They belittle and dismiss him, they treat him like a child, an idiot who can't think for himself--and you have to come to terms with the fact that Gonta is a far more complex character with complicated thoughts and feelings who is a young adult. Not a child. A young adult.

So again, ask yourself this: Why are you treating this young adult like he's a toddler?

#Gonta Gokuhara #Miu Iruma #Kokichi Ouma #Danganronpa V3 #DRV3 #As an AuADHD individual who thinks Gonta is Autistic coded #do you understand how frustrating it is to see this shit #Do you understand how it feels to be infantized? To be told through the lens of a character “You're too stupid to be an adult”?#Worse yet is that I'm also constantly told that me being short and baby faced makes me “child coded.”#Do you understand how ableist this all is. Do you Understand?#Anyway that's one post down. Gonna go read a thing for Star #This does genuinely upset me though as an AuADHDer #Please stop. I am speaking on behalf of people like me--/Please fucking stop./#Tag Edit: Yes this is safe to RB and spread around #Please do RB this in fact

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moonchildstyles · 8 months

Text

s'entendre

élan part five: y/n's first night out since the gala couldn't be that bad. right?

wordcount: 14.4k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the frown that landed on her face as she looked in the mirror.

While her time in Paris had been the best she'd had in a really long while, it wasn't necessarily showing. At this point, she'd missed three of her facial appointments, her skin beginning to cry out from the lack of treatment. Her nails were barely hanging on, her acrylics grown out past the point of comfort. While her mental state was beginning to grow to a wholly positive place, the rest of her wasn't really catching up.

To top it off, her makeup wasn't cooperating either. Maybe she should really get a glam squad like Harry thought—at least then she would have a chance at being on time for events with a fully formed face.

With Emma joining them in Paris for the weekend, Francesca had insisted they go out and visit the nightlife. Of course, the one night she knew there would no doubt be photos caught of her just from the way her friends were still very active on their social medias, would be when her makeup cooperates the least.

Letting out a rumbling groan, (Y/N) was that close to calling off the night as another smudge of mascara blobbed on the crease of her eye.

Like always, Harry popped his head inside her bedroom, a pinch in his brows appearing as he took in the otherwise safe room.

"What's the matter, hm?" he asked, stepping inside her room. His reflection was made in the mirror, a clear view of his eyes stitched on her as she gazed at him through the glass.

It was a bit petulant, her reaction, with the way she puffed out her bottom lip with a pout. "My skin doesn't look good, and my makeup is only making it worse." Before she could even finish her statement, Harry was shaking his head, lips thinning as if he was bored with the fact she couldn't see facts right in front of her. "Harry, really," she argued against his silent protest, "My makeup looks so weird, right now."

(Y/N) watched as he settled in behind her, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flittered over the mirror, ever-observant.

"You're very funny sometimes, you know that?"

That only strengthened the frown on her lips and pinch in her brow. "I'm not being funny right now."

Dropping his gaze, his features facing the floor, Harry shook his head again. Down the slope of his nose, she swore she saw the edges of an easy smile. Looking up, only traces of amusement lingered on his lips.

"That's what you think," he countered cryptically, "Let me know when you're ready."

With that, Harry popped out of her room as quickly as he joined her. Sweeping her eyes away from the doors he exited through, returning to the mirror set in her vanity, she took in the planes of her face.

Though she could still see texture and bumps, pores and blemishes, it didn't bother her so terribly for a moment. Even the sight of her outgrown nails with dull edges didn't pick at her nerves.

If Harry didn't think she looked silly, even after he witnessed the glamour she preferred in New York, then maybe it wasn't so bad.

Even if he didn't say he thought she looked pretty, he thought her complaints against her features were outlandish enough to laugh at.

Suddenly, she didn't feel like agonizing over her skin anymore. She looked just fine, she decided.

—————

"Tell me again how you're going to tell me if you're uncomfortable or want to leave."

Outside the windows at her back, the underground of Paris whirled past, the train moving quickly under the treasures on the surface. The car was on the quiet side for the night, the hour still early before others drunk on champagne would be stumbling through.

Looking up at Harry through the fan of her false lashes, she repeated the same thing he told her at least five times before leaving the penthouse: "If I can, I need to come and tell you right away. But, if I'm in a situation where I can't reach you, I'm going to look at you and nod three times."

That slow blooming smile touched the corner of his mouth, sot lips curling as he gazed down at her. "Perfect," he praised her, adjusting his hands from where they were curled around the rail on either side of her, "Jus' remember that for me, please. You're going to have a really fun night, I jus' want you to be safe."

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded pliantly, gaze dropping down to the slope of his neck, "I—um—I also don't want to drink a lot tonight."

"Okay," Harry answered cautiously, voice trailing off.

"I know that's not a rule or anything, but I just... I don't want to get too deep tonight or anything," she explained in a small voice. While she wanted to unwind and play with her friends, she wasn't interested in stumbling around or blabbing things to anyone willing to sit and listen. She hoped she wouldn't have to worry about any photographers, but that didn't mean some couldn't pop up and take pictures of her with glazed eyes to feed into the narrative being spun back in New York.

Understanding, Harry nodded his head, the green of his eyes softening as he allowed his gaze to slide across her features. "Okay," he said, "We can do that. I'll keep an eye on you, but if y'change your mind, that's okay, too. Whatever is going to make you happy tonight."

Overhead the feminine French voice blinked over the intercom, arrival times appearing on the small screen at the head of the car. Harry looked over his shoulder taking in the printed times. As much as she teased him, he really was making progress in understanding the language, enough so that he was readily taking on the details of the night and keeping track of her.

Allowing her eyes to skip over the line of his profile. Dressed low-key as usual, dark colors to help him sink into the background, the softer tones of his skin were left to jump out. The brown shades of his hair made way for sun-dappled blonde strands to make their way through, highlighting the swirling curls. His eyes were bright and clear, framed by dark curling lashes. His skin was creamy and warm, a gentle tan from the summer sun being highlighted from the dotted freckles on his nose and the rosy flush on his cheeks.

"Thank you," she blurted.

"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to face her once more, brows raised.

(Y/N) felt her skin heat as she processed her action. She hadn't meant to say anything.

"Thank you," she repeated, "For doing all of this. Helping."

"It's m'job," he answered simply.

That was a fact (Y/N) couldn't forget, that thin veil between being a constant barrier. "I know, but," she swallowed, feeling a bit silly now knowing that he noticed that line just as much as she did, "It's just a nice feeling—like you care, and all."

The contact he made with her gaze was easy and open, unwavering. "It's because I do care."

Just then, as convenient as ever, their arrival was announced. The train slowed to a stop, passengers readying to exit the car.

Letting go of the rail, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon," he murmured, keeping her close as he guided them into the fray of the moving passengers.

(Y/N) followed absently wherever he needed, her heels hitting the ground in quiet clicks. She wasn't sure what the squeeze in her lungs and stuttering in her chest meant, but feeling Harry at her side made it that much more prevalent.

—————

Looking ahead, (Y/N) spotted the line leading up to Francesca's club of choice for the night. Waiting patrons were roping around the sidewalk, chattering with cigarettes in hand, impatient at the wait time. Even from where they were, out on the sidewalk leading up to the bouncing building, pumping music could be heard. (She's ninety-eight percent sure it was a Dua Lipa song, but she couldn't hear it exactly).

Harnessed in neon pink tubes was the name of the club: Rêve.

At her side, Harry ignored the end of the line, taking her to the front just as Fran had instructed.

A burly bouncer sized them up, already doubting them after they cut the wait. (Y/N) offered her tabloid bunny smile, Harry the structured pillar at her side.

"Salut! Nous sommes ici pour rencontrer des amis sur un stand VIP, l'un d'entre eux ayant réservé pour la nuit," she chattered, keeping her eye contact with the bouncer.

The bouncer didn't look entirely impressed as he listened. His gaze inched from hers to land on Harry. "Nom?"

"Francesca Polair—nous sommes deux de ses invités."

The bouncer's eyes tripped down her form, taking in her shimmery dress and lengths of skin on display. "Pièce d'identité?"

While she reached for her small bag with her ID inside, the bouncer unclipped a small tablet that was hung from his belt. Handing over her passport, she watched as he squinted at the American identification. Nonetheless, her name inevitably matched that of what was on Fran's guest list.

"Vous êtes prêt à entrer. Est-il avec toi?" He asked, eyeing up Harry at her side.

"Oui, cela devrait également figurer sur la liste. Harry Styles."

This time the bouncer didn't properly look at the tablet, instead, taking her word for it though he still shot Harry a suspicious look with the way he lingered at her side.

Holding open the door, he nodding at (Y/N) to push past. "Les tribunes sont au fond, derrière la piste de danse."

"Merci," she murmured, stepping past him with Harry just a step behind.

Inside, the bass of the music that could be heard outside was that much louder, lyrics in French that were too loud for her to focus on enough to translate in her head. The space was dark, leaving only strobing beams of multicolored lights to throb through the club, the only stable beacons being that of the bars lining some of the walls.

Concentrations of people were found on the dance floor and the bars, leaving walkways in between to travel through. Staff and bottleservice workers traipsed through, fluorescent drinks with herbs perched on the rims were stationed on trays next to full bottles of sparkling liquor and beers that probably had no business being as expensive as they were.

The VIP section was a straight shot down to the back, easy to spot given the second bouncer manning the entrance and the stream of bottle service staff making their way there. Harry reminded her of his presence with a hand hovering on the small of her back, over the glittering fabric of her dress.

"Alright?" he asked, dipping down close to her ear in order for her to hear.

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding her head with stray baby hairs tickling the borders of her face, "We just need to get back there to Fran and Emma."

Harry followed her line of sight towards the booths lining the back. In that way he always did, a reflex that had to have come from years in his line of work, he took inventory of the path to the back, noting the bodies in the way and the easiest route back.

"Okay," he murmured, looking determined when he positioned himself in front of her with his fingers looping around her wrist.

He took the lead then, ensuring her path was clear as she stepped behind him. She couldn't hear if he was speaking over the sound of the music, but she wondered if he was muttering something to those around them that had them parting, no one able to even brush against her as she slipped through the crowd. She could feel eyes landing on her back as she stepped through, but no one stopped her, no one raised a camera at the spectacle.

Before they could even reach the bouncer, a pitched scream that careened over the pumping music had (Y/N)'s eyes snapping up the raised level that the booths were situated on. Glowing like a mermaid with big waves in her hair and slinky blue dress adorning her body was Francesca, bright smile that much whiter under the lights as she spotted her best friend. The almost empty drink in her hand was perfect evidence of just how she was able to pitch her voice so high.

"(Y/N)!" she bubbled, racing out of her chosen booth on Bambi legs, "You're here! I missed you so much—come here, come here!"

She all but pushed the bouncer aside as she met them at the entrance to the section, the top of the small trio of stairs being where she stopped. The bouncer didn't stop them as Harry pulled her into the safety of the VIP area. Francesca barely glanced at her bodyguard before she had (Y/N) wrapped up in a hug, her glass precariously teetering on her shoulder.

"Emma brought Stavros so she's been all over him," Francesca whined, "I was scared you were going to leave me with her."

"I told you I was on my way," (Y/N) giggled, peeking through the fluff that was Fran's hair to spy Harry standing off to the side in wait of her. She shot him a look, widened eyes with a quiet smile as if to let him in on the inside joke that was her friend's drunken blubbers.

"I know, but I forgot. It doesn't matter, though, everything's okay now," Francesca rushed out, pulling away from the hug to pull (Y/N) towards the chosen booth for the night. Suddenly, she seemed to finally notice Harry was there as well, despite the fact that he had been the one leading her into the section in the first place. "Harry! Hi," she bubbled, waving at him with her drink in hand.

"Hi, Francesca," he said, giving her a nod in greeting before his eyes met (Y/N)'s. It was his turn to give her a small look, their own moment of amusement over her.

"Are you partying with us tonight?" she asked, eyes bright at the idea of Harry joining in on the fun.

Harry shook his head, features schooled away from that quiet look he shared with (Y/N). "Not tonight—'m on duty."

"That's a bummer," Fran pouted. Turning towards (Y/N), she seemingly forgot what had her bummed in the first place, instead replacing her sullen pout with a mischievous smile. "But, are you ready for a drink? We have a couple bottles at the table if you want to do shots!"

Before (Y/N) had a chance to properly answer, Fran led them to the secluded booth off to the corner of the roped off section. There, Emma and Stavros were canoodling away in the padded corner just as Francesca had complained, Emma with her hand sitting on the bare section of chest her boyfriend had on display with his barely buttoned shirt. He looked a little too satisfied with her attention, the way he was sinking into the leather booth and spreading his legs as if inviting Emma further. (Y/N) couldn't blame Fran for panicking at the idea of being left alone with the lovebirds for the night. As happy as they were for lovestruck Emma, the public intimacy was a bit much.

True to her word, on the round table in the middle of the half-moon booth were two bottles of expensive liquor. Tiny shot glasses were standing in a stack by the bottles, a pair already having been used.

Just as Francesca moved to pour (Y/N) one of her own small glasses, she was stopped with a hand on her arm. "I don't want to do too much tonight, Fran," she told her in her ear, hoping she could hear her over the music, "I have pilates in the morning, then I was going to hunt for a new nail studio."

"Oh!" Fran chirped, the remains of her drink sloshing in her glass, "Why didn't you say so? We'll just get you a vodka soda then, so you stay hydrated."

Before (Y/N) could even laugh at her friend's well-intentioned solution, Francesca was already flagging down one of the bottle service workers to place another order. (Y/N) didn't try to stop her, more than willing of this to be her drink of choice for the night instead of a round of shots.

Emma, suddenly breaking out of her love bubble, noticed (Y/N) for the first time despite having been standing by their table for a handful of minutes now. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, eyes glazed and lips puffy, "Look, Stavros, (Y/N)'s here!"

"Hi Emma," (Y/N) greeted, reaching across the table to give her a short hug, "Hi Stavros."

"(Y/N)?" Stavros repeated back to Emma, a confused pinch between his brows.

"You met her at the Gala, remember?" she answered, attempting to jog his memory, "She was in the pink dress with the little bag."

"Oh, yes!" Stavros perked up, looking to (Y/N) with recognition in his eyes, "The crying girl, yes?"

Underneath her skin, (Y/N)'s blood simmered with embarrassment. With Harry being the only person she'd been around since leaving New York, and Francesca being well aware of how unnecessary that night was to bring up, no one had brought up the Gala and the contents of the night to her face. She knew that was what many people in attendance were going to remember her for, but she didn't think it would be so blatantly broadcasted to her face.

Emma shifted her gaze to (Y/N), most likely knowing through Francesca that the Gala was a topic that was off limits for the time being. The silence between the trio lasted a beat too long for (Y/N)'s comfort. She swallowed down that prickling embarrassment, instead giving a smile.

"That was me," she laughed it off, "Hopefully I'll stay out of trouble tonight."

That seemed to be enough to quell the lovebirds' nerves, allowing Emma to smile and laugh along while Stavros gave a peal of laughter that was too enthused for (Y/N) to believe he actually understood what she said. Nonetheless, the awkward beat had been extinguished and now only lived in (Y/N)'s head for the time being. At least no one else was listening, Francesca too busy with her ordering and Harry just a few too many feet away to catch specific conversations.

"How have you been, (Y/N)? I've barely been able to talk to you since you left," Emma started up, leaning forward to give (Y/N) all of her attention.

Though she was sure it was a way to fill in the gaps of the conversation and pave over the bump Stavros left in the night, (Y/N) was grateful for the change in subject, recounting her time in the city. Francesca eventually settled in beside her in the booth, giving her own commentary on the things (Y/N) had already shared with her over dinner. Harry was stationed a few feet away, allowing her some space and privacy for the night though she could still feel his eyes landing on her every now and then as she gesticulated through the story of their day of sightseeing.

Soon enough, drinks arrived at the table along with a wish for their group to have a fun night. Her vodka soda bubbled in hand, the first sips holding the aroma of the rosemary sprig that was lanced through the cubes of ice. Francesca and Emma on the other hand downed a pair of shots while Stavros cheered on his girlfriend.

By the time the burn had left Francesca's throat and she unclenched her eyes, (Y/N) had only made it through a couple of short pulls of her light drink. Francesca looked at her with bright eyes, the strobes from the dance floor tinting them a vibrant blue.

"Let's go dance, c'mon!" she bubbled, already standing on her wobbling legs before she finished speaking.

Peeking around her, she found the dance floor crowded but nowhere near packed in the way some of the spots in New York could get at this hour. The music was good enough, and she didn't plan on wasting her first night out with friends over a throw away comment from Emma's boyfriend and the fear that she might embarrass herself again.

Allowing Francesca to sweep her away, Emma and Stavros unsurprisingly staying back for a moment, (Y/N) found Harry's eyes for a moment. He looked at her with that solid eye contact he never wavered on when it came to her. A slight pinch lingered between his brows.

She shot him a small smile and a single nod.

She was going to have a good night. Harry didn't need to worry.

—————

"I love this song!"

(Y/N) let out an easy, boisterous laugh at Francesca's bubbling comment, throwing her head back with her eyes closed. Did she even know this song? Given the fact Fran's French was nowhere near as refined as (Y/N)'s, there was a high chance she didn't understand a single syllable pumping through the speakers. Nonetheless, (Y/N) kept dancing along with her friend, hands twisting high above her head with her hips swaying.

More than one drink had passed through her hands, a couple passed the limit she set for herself at the start of the night. She would be fine, though, she was sure. She was barely even tipsy, she thought. The Cosmo in her hand was slick against her palm, having replaced the vodka soda she started with.

Across from her Francesca was having the time of her life with Emma and Stavros rounding out their group. Harry was somewhere in the distance, keeping an eye on her. More than once, he checked in from across the room, even sending for another drink for her when he heard her complaining of needing another. He treaded around her carefully, ensuring he didn't infringe on her night while doing his job to the best of his ability.

At the top of the night, she noticed a few eyes on her, some whispering with those wandering eyes landing on her a few too many times. Though she would love to assume they were only speaking of her dress or sharing comments about the state of her dancing, her years in the light pushed her to speculate these were people who recognized her. As more drinks started flowing, her inhibition for the night waning, she let it go when she caught glimpses of phone cameras trained in her direction, a few people even daring to make their way closer to her on the dance floor.

Harry kept a careful eye on the situation, watching her movements and keeping track of those around her. (Y/N) was sure a few of the times he stepped in to grab her another drink or check in on her, it was nothing short of a tactic to separate her from the others on the floor, reminding them that she wasn't a gazelle to be preyed on.

Suddenly, a pair of hands slid around her waist. She jumped in her skin for a moment, her heated skin erupting in goosebumps. Though her dancing lagged for just a moment, she honestly didn't really care about the touch. With her eyes closed, and head trained towards the sky, she halfway figured it was Emma who was dancing with her, having abandoned her boyfriend to cuddle up for a moment.

Until she heard Emma's tittering laugh from a space away. In front of her.

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) took stock of those around her. Emma was stretching up to her tiptoes as she sealed her lips to Stavros', her hands locked in his hair, only pulling away when he whispered something to her that made her laugh. Francesca was off to the side of her, making moony eyes at an unfamiliar man in front of her, there chattering silent under the thrumming music. On her waist was the hand of someone she didn't know.

Stumbling in her spot, she tried to whirl around in an attempt to see who exactly it was that was behind her. The hand on her waist tightened, steadying her as he leaned down with his mouth by her ear.

"Sorry, chérie," an accented voice said over her shoulder, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Unable to help the peal of laughter that fell from her lips, (Y/N) realized something just then.

She was drunk.

In a different moment, with a different drink in her hand (probably water), she wouldn't have been quite so welcoming to having someone touch her and use a pet name so casually.

Instead, she didn't really mind. She could only laugh and hang onto his hand, keeping herself steady as she tipped her head backwards to see him.

"It's okay," she slurred, "I just wasn't expecting that." Blue eyes stared back at her, topped by black brows. He smelled like smoke and vodka Red Bulls. "Who are you?"

The man laughed at her blunt question, the sound mixing with the music. "I am Marc," he told her, eyes shifting over her head to where Francesca was standing, "And that's my friend, Alain. We thought you and your friend were beautiful, so we wanted to introduce ourselves."

"Oh, okay," she sounded, matching his line of sight a little too quickly with her hair fluttered around her face. Much more stable on her feet again, she spun on her heels, facing her mystery man—Marc—properly. "Nice to meet you," she bubbled, taking an absent sip from her drink, "I'm (Y/N)."

Dipping down, Marc pressed a swift kiss to the soft of her cheek. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I've been having to work up the courage to come talk to you since I first came in here."

While in the back of her muddled mind, (Y/N) knew well that he was feeding her nothing but lines, she wasn't sure if she cared. There had been enough times she had been seduced by a French accent and enough wine to know that this was just one of those things. French men were much more romantic in her experiences, their lines matching the intimacy they were seeking from her.

Was it such a bad thing to revel in the niceties, though? The last time someone had openly flirted with her now ranked in the top five worst nights of her life, so it felt a little more than nice to have someone piling compliments and cushioned flirting. Was it such a bad thing to indulge herself? To soak in a second of outside validation?

Though the standard wasn't that high, at least he wasn't grabbing her face and demeaning her.

Letting her hesitations go, drifting to the back of her mind with the help of the alcohol train running off the tracks, she leaned towards him with a giggling smile. "Well, I'm happy you did," she beamed, her eyes hooded.

Taking another pull of her drink, her straw hit the bottom with only ice clinking against the glass. She almost wanted to whine at the sight. She had been hoping for more.

"Do you want me to get you another?" Marc asked, nodding towards her drink when she looked up at him.

"Um, hold on," she told him, already craning her neck to look around him in hopes of spotting someone else.

(Y/N) scanned the blur of bodies for Harry. It didn't take long to see the only sober person in the crowd, his gaze sharp and commanding through the strobing lights. He stood off the dance floor with his arms across his chest. Raising his brows, he matched her gaze. Canting her head, she raised her glass over her head as if that was enough of an explanation.

Harry gave her a small nod before she was looking back at her new friend.

"One of my friends has been getting me drinks tonight, actually. So, thanks, but I've got it." A hiccup punctuated her words.

Marc looked over his shoulder, surely spotting Harry who was making his way through the crowd to her. "You said he's your friend?"

"Uh-huh," (Y/N) sounded, wanting to see Harry herself but instead opting to sway to the sound of the music. He'd be here soon enough. "He's technically my bodyguard, but he's my friend.

"Bodyguard?" Marc repeated, looking back towards (Y/N).

Even though her vodka-soaked thought process, she noted the way he didn't seem too put off by the fact she had any kind of security detail. Maybe, that was that French disposition—the inability to care that much—but that wasn't something she was able to think about for very long.

"Uh-huh," she answered nonetheless, a hiccup making her pause, "It's a long story. I'm from New York, and there's been a lot of stuff going on, so, yeah, he's my bodyguard."

Speak of the devil, Harry popped in then, having elbowed his way through to stand at (Y/N)'s side. He didn't pay Marc a single moment of attention, looking only to her with his secure gaze.

"Y'want another, or water?"

While she couldn't deny she was reveling under Marc's attention, it was also very clear to herself how much she preferred Harry's eyes on her opposed to her new companion. There were sparks of relief upon seeing him within touching distance again, knowing that he was right there. If there was anything she needed, he was there now to remedy her situation. She knew he was taking note of everything, uncaring of whether or not her makeup was intact, assuring that she was safe and taken care of.

But, Marc actually called her pretty. He won for the night, (Y/N) decided.

"I think I want another, but then I want water," she shouted over the music, giving Harry her glass for him to discard at the bar.

Raising a dark brow, Harry gave her that amused look. "That's what y'said last time."

She laughed easily at his prodding, her grin stretching wide over her lips and head dropping backwards. "I know," she sang, "But I mean it this time."

"Whatever you say," he teased, "But I'll get you another. Jus' stay right here and wait for me."

"Merci," she crooned to him, suddenly remembering Marc's presence when he squeezed at her waist.

Before (Y/N) could offer for Harry to grab Marc a drink while he was at the bar as well, Harry was already off. He made a quick detour, checking on her friends then sinking into the thick of the crowd once more.

She hadn't even known she was watching the space he disappeared into until Marc snaked his hand up the line of her spine, palm flat against her back as he pushed her into him. (Y/N) turned her attention to him, mouth in a small gape as he matched her gaze head-on. His eyes were a lot icier than she remembered.

"Do you maybe want to go sit down for a second somewhere?" he asked, dipping down to press his cheek against hers with his lips by her ear, "It's hard to hear you out here."

"In a second," she answered, hiccuping against his chest, "I need to wait for him."

"You have a booth for the night, though, right? Up in the VIP section?" he pressed, seemingly not catching her caveat in sneaking away.

"I-I do, but Harry—my drink."

"I'm sure he'll be able to find you up there, don't worry," Marc insisted, herding (Y/N) off the dance floor and towards the sectioned off dais.

Though her footing wasn't the most stable at the moment, (Y/N) still attempted to dig her heels in and stay put. Harry told her to stay here. She had promised him she would keep his job easy while in Paris, and she knew that sneaking off wasn't something that would abide by that promise.

Out of nowhere, Francesca's hand clasped around her shoulder. In her other hand was Marc's friend's arm, her eyes hooded and glazed.

"Let's go up to the booth," she drawled, words a little slurred.

"Are you sure?" (Y/N) asked, the slightly more sober of the duo, "Harry is supposed to come back over here; he told me to wait."

Francesca shook her head with her fluff of styled hair. "He'll"—hic—"He'll be able to find you. It's okay."

It wouldn't be so bad if Francesca and Emma were up there with her. Harry wasn't stupid either, the next place he would look after the dance floor would have to be the booth, right? it would be okay.

Giving a nod to Fran, (Y/N) allowed her to lead their small group towards the VIP area, Marc and his friend happily intermingling with the group and Emma and Stavros bringing up the rear.

Despite her hesitancy, she did feel a bit better by the time she scaled the small set of stairs. She was nowhere near sober and the music wasn't much quieter than down on the floor, but at least here she wasn't stuffed between bodies. She could open her eyes and see stretches of the floor, her body touching non-humid air again.

She was happy to see the booth once more, grateful to take a seat and get the pressure off her feet and the heels she had strapped around her ankles. Though Marc didn't slide in beside her like she expected. Instead, stood at the head of the table and lent down to speak to her.

"I have a couple of other friends I brought tonight. Do you mind if I go get them? I'm their ride so I don't want them to worry," he told her, looking innocently with icy blue eyes.

"Friends?" (Y/N) asked, unsure if it was the alcohol or the outlandish request that wasn't computing.

"Yeah, just a few. They're down there," Marc recited, casting a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay?"

With that, he was heading back down the entrance of the VIP area, leaving (Y/N) and the girls behind.

Fran, little black straw in her mouth with water finally having been poured in her glass, lent across the booth, gently touching (Y/N)'s shoulder. When she turned, she caught the woozy smile on Francesca's face.

"Your guy is really cute," she said, her words dissolving into laughter.

"Yeah," (Y/N) answered absently, "But, did yours tell you that they're bringing friends over here?"

"Yeah," Fran simply repeated, taking another long sip of her water.

While it didn't particularly soothe her that Francesca didn't seem to care about the new uninvited guests, she figured there wasn't much else she could glean about her thoughts while in her drunken state. Instead, she let Francesca insert herself into Emma and Stavros' conversation, while (Y/N) searched for Harry. Soon enough, she spotted him approaching the dais, pink drink in hand and water in the other. There was a particularly stern set in his jaw, clearly disappointed.

Coming to the booth, he ducked down to place the duo of drinks in front of her, the water closer to the foreground. He looked at her through the fan of his lashes, lips a stern line as he lent across to talk to her.

"I thought y'were going to wait for me down there," he told her, lips by her ear.

"Um, yeah," she responded, dropping her gaze to the cranberry juice heavy Cosmopolitan she ordered, "That guy—my friend—, he said he wanted to talk to me here so it was a little bit quieter. But, now he's getting some friends he said he didn't want to leave behind."

(Y/N) didn't have to see Harry to know he was particularly unimpressed with this new information. "He said he's bringing friends? To come and sit up here with you?"

"Yeah," she told him, voice small with a nod of her head.

The more she said it out loud, the less and less of a good idea it sounded to her ears.

"Okay," he sighed, pulling away to match her eye contact head-on, "'M going to be right there, then." Behind him, he pointed at the glass railing that reinforced the boundaries of the VIP section, a good place for him to take up post and keep an eye on her. "Make sure y'stay with Emma and Francesca, okay? Don't let them get separated from you. Remember what we talked about that I need you to do if you're uncomfortable."

Swallowing, (Y/N) nodded her head, looking at him with wide eyes. Though the scene around him blurred a little too much, vodka-tinted vision, she made sure she locked eyes with him. "Okay. I remember."

That seemed to quell him enough, though that set in his jaw never loosened. "Good. I'll be right there, just grab me if y'need me."

With Harry blending into his post, his eyes unwavering on her form, (Y/N) attempted to settle herself with sips of her water. Soon enough, a larger group of people infiltrated the VIP section, their access to get through having been the fact two of the members had been previously seen with (Y/N) and Francesca.

The group of friends looked a lot different than what (Y/N) had expected. Two more men had joined the fray, along with three women. The entire friend group being that of seven people, adding into the group of four that were (Y/N) and her friends.

"Thanks for letting me bring them up here," Marc said, sly smile on his lips when he slipped into the booth beside (Y/N), "They really wanted to meet you guys."

"Y-Yeah, of course," she stuttered out, though Marc clearly stopped listening before she even started.

His eyes wandered to one of the women he brought up, watching as she flagged down a bottle service worker. (Y/N) could hear her rattling off orders in French, pointing back at Francesca and (Y/N) settled into the booth. While she was busy, the others had descended upon the liquor already on the table, draining the bottles.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked, voice a tad too sweet. As if he didn't have a single idea of what she could be bothered by.

"There's just a lot of people," (Y/N) answered, clutching her glass of water tight. If she had the attention to spare, she would have looked towards Francesca for assistance, to see if she was the only one thrown off. But there was too much happening, and she couldn't even see Harry through the new mass forming in their booth.

Marc waved her off carelessly, "Don't worry about them. Just have fun, chérie. The night is still young."

Around her, she saw the maelstrom that had begun. Drinks were flowing, Francesca happily distracted with Alain, Emma and Stavros in their bubble, and a few of the new additions to the table pairing off with affectionate hands. There was only one woman left—the one that had initially flagged down the bottle service worker—who was carefully watching Marc at (Y/N)'s side.

Everyone was having fun, she figured. The two bottles they had on their table had been drained with Francesca a moment away from catching her man for the night in a kiss. Even the woman with eyes on Marc was swaying to the music, empty shot glasses in front of her.

(Y/N) did want to have fun.

"C'mon, dance with me," Marc persuaded, standing up with his hand held out for her to take.

After a beat of hesitation, (Y/N) took his offered hand and joined him, paying enough attention to the music above to let everything go just a hair. With Marc egging her on, a hand landing on her waist, she swayed along to the beat, hanging more fun the less she thought.

It wasn't until she took a sip of her water that Marc interrupted her.

"No, have fun, chérie," he pressed, taking the water out of her hand and reaching for the abandoned Cosmopolitan.

"I don't know," (Y/N) started, intending to reject the drink until it was shoved into her hand.

"Don't be boring, chérie," Marc chided, as if he were close enough to her to tease, "Don't let it go to waste, at least."

While it wasn't solid logic considering (Y/N) was the one paying for her drink, it was enough of a persuasion to work on her muddled brain. She pliantly fit the thin black straw between her lips, allowing herself to drift into the moment. It wasn't so bad, she decided. The extra people weren't so bad in their sanctioned area. It didn't even bother her that much when three more bottles were delivered to the table, sparklers and all with a procession of excited staff fueling the fire.

"I told them it was alright to order some bottles for the table," Marc sounded over the music, looping an arm around her shoulders to press her to his chest, "I can pay you back though if you want, I just kind of figured it would be okay since you're from New York and all."

Looking to the table, she saw as the rest of his friends swarmed the table, Alain even abandoning Francesca to join in the rounds of shots. (Y/N)'s name wasn't even officially on the table, but they'd still managed to put things on her tab.

Floundering over her response, (Y/N) could feel her mouth gape before closing once more. In this moment, more than anything she wished she hadn't drank so much. This wouldn't be much of a struggle if she could manage to focus or not dredge through miles of muddy tracks in her head. It was easier to let things go at the moment instead of allowing the bubbling blow up that would have transpired earlier in the night.

"Um—Just, don't order too much," (Y/N) conditioned, her brows coming together in a loose pinch.

"It'll be alright," he assured her, that arm around her shoulders tightening to get her eyes back on him, "C'mon let's finish our drinks."

Marc's free hand came up to urge her drink up to her mouth. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, contemplating for a split second. While it was annoying, the extra bottles ordered in her name at the table, but it wasn't so bad. The night was going fine enough, and Marc was nice. She didn't want to ruin anything or make any kind of scene in the middle of the club. Harry's eyes were no doubt trained on her.

Even with her father countries away at the moment, she was sure he'd find a way to punish her accordingly if Harry had to report anything unpleasant back.

Pliantly, (Y/N) pulled the thin black straw between her lips, taking down her Cosmopolitan.

—————

Unsure of how she got here, (Y/N) couldn't help but to stare wide eyed at Marc and his—surprisingly enough—girlfriend dancing on the table.

At least she assumed that was his girlfriend, with the way his tongue was down her throat and hand was on her ass.

Honestly, she couldn't be that surprised, considering this woman was the same one that had been staring possessively the whole time Marc was interacting with her. But, how they ended up on the table, dancing to some French song she was not sober enough to understand, (Y/N) did not know.

Around the table, the rest of that friend group had grown just as rowdy. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, the waitstaff offering dirty looks from the amount of times one of the couples had attempted to smoke, and the neighboring tables were beginning to lose patience with their chaos.

Francesca was definitely out of her head for the night, every sip of alcohol definitely hitting her system heavily. While she may have had qualms with the etiquette of their unwanted guests if she were sober, she definitely didn't with the way she was willing to ignore as much in favor of dancing and playing with Emma when she wasn't busy with Stavros. Emma's boyfriend, being the most sober of the group, was less than impressed, whispering something into Emma's ear that (Y/N) hoped was a game plan to get out of here.

Searching through the mass that had been created around the table, (Y/N) tried to spot Harry. She wanted to get out of here. There was no reasoning with the way these people were behaving, and she wanted to get out of here before she was pushed too far.

Suddenly, a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Turning on her heel, she startled at the touch.

Harry stood behind her, his jaw set and brows in a furrow. Dipping his head down, he told her, "We need to leave."

Even with her head swimming, (Y/N) jerkily nodded her head. "I don't want to be here anymore," she answered, "Th-They're being crazy."

"Yeah." His answer was simple and stern, flicking his gaze up to the couple dancing on the table. His eyes blazed at the sight of Marc, definitely having played with (Y/N) through the night to get up to this section. "C'mon," he prompted, using his hand on her shoulder to help guide her through the booth before meeting him on the other side.

Despite her drunken legs, she dug her heels in. "But, Fran and Emma."

"I'll call them a car, we jus' need to leave before this gets any more out of hand. Tell them we're leaving."

Nodding, Harry let go of her before she tried to swim across to catch Francesca. Even when she grabbed her hand, Fran kept dancing, on a different planet that kept her eyes plugged and head drowning.

"Francesca!" (Y/N) shouted, trying to be heard over the music.

"(Y/N)!" she answered, barely glancing at her with a flip of her hair before she was dancing on an odd rhythm.

Attempting to catch her attention once more, (Y/N) was stopped as Marc leaned down, his lips swollen and eyes glazed.

"You're not leaving, right?" he yelled over the music, his words watery and slurred, "You're supposed to stay and party with us, New York!"

(Y/N) stammered over an answer. "I—um—"

"We've seen those pictures of you, we know you like to have a good time! You can't leave yet!"

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, part of her chest felt a little too tight. Of course, they knew who she was. Of course, they'd seen photos of her.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel good," she responded, uncaring if he could hear her over the music anymore.

Something shifted in Marc, then. His features morphed almost before her eyes, his eyes darkening and brows tightening. "How are we supposed to pay for all of this, if you aren't here?!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not staying here," she affirmed, shaking her head, "I'm grabbing my friends and—"

"Wow," he spat, cutting her off, "You really are a bitch—just like everyone says,"

Stepping up behind her, Harry placed a stern hand on Marc's chest, pushing him out of (Y/N)'s space.

"Back off, unless y'would prefer to have a problem," he started, his rough voice heavy over the music. Marc teetered off balance, the woman at his side having to steady him as he looked at Harry with offended eyes.

"Who a—"

"We're leaving," Harry cemented, ignoring whatever Marc was going to try to say, "You are going to find a way to pay for all of this, or you'll be hearing from me again. You're not going to be taking advantage of her."

There was no room left for Marc to argue before Harry wrangled up the girls, Stavros helping to guide both Fran and Emma out of the booth.

"C'mere," Harry said, offering (Y/N) his hand to help her climb over the back of the booth.

She happily took his hand, carefully stepping over the faux-leather with Harry grabbing her waist to help her over the structure. Tottering on her heels for just a moment, Harry didn't linger for very long before he was rushing her out of the VIP section. She could feel dirty looks on her back from the staff, but she didn't care at the moment.

Instead, she clung to Harry as they caught up to Francesca and Emma, Stavros heading their line on his much steadier feet. The closer they ventured to the exit, the more and more drunk she felt. The more removed she became from the pumping music and the other alcohol-soaked bodies, the more the real world was not suited to her current state.

"Careful," Harry murmured in her ear, righting her from a stumble she hadn't realized she made. Slipping an arm around her waist, he curled his hand around her hip.

"Sorry, sorry," she answered, fixing her gaze on her feet in hopes of staying cautious like he asked. Absently, she grabbed his hand on her hip, laying her palm against the top of hand with her fingers curling in-between the gaps of his.

Harry pulsed his hand, both her hip and fingers cradled in his hold.

Stavros pushed the exit door open for everyone to follow, the first light of the outside world glimmering into the otherwise dark club. Even with the alcohol muddling her thoughts, (Y/N) still caught the way Francesca stumbled back when she stepped out, her hands blindly reaching up to cover her eyes.

(Y/N)'s steps slowed, bright flashes pinging out on the sidewalk. Those people—the ones who stole their table and tacked (Y/N)'s name on the end of their bill—they wouldn't have posted about her, would they? While she might not be as hugely followed out here compared to New York, there were definitely international publications that enjoyed snapping her photo and selling it off.

Heading up the rear, Harry continued to pull her towards the exit, even when (Y/N) saw another round of flashbulbs go off when Emma made her appearance out on the concrete. Shouted questions in French could be heard, bubbling just over the sound of the music.

"Stay with me," Harry murmured to her, "There should be some cars waiting, jus' stay steady, (Y/N)."

She wanted to listen, she really did. But, the shuttering cameras and bright blinking bulbs was enough to get her hesitating just enough that she couldn't keep up. She didn't want to be seen like this, not after the way this night had turned out.

As attentive as Harry was, always observant, he was on a mission and that didn't include (Y/N) dragging while he tried to get her to a safe place.

As he tugged her over the threshold of the door, Stavros still holding it open, she stumbled against Harry's pulling, her heel catching just right. Flashes twinkled in her face, cameras blinking as photographs were taken of her stumbling outside, clinging to Harry with her breath caught in her throat. The toe of her pump dragged over the concrete, her lost balance weighing her down until Harry righted her, steadying his grip around her waist with his free hand reaching for her hip.

"Y'alright?" he murmured to her, suddenly breathless as he helped her back onto her feet.

"I'm okay," she told her, voice a peep under the bright attention.

Pressing questions were spewed in her direction, many asking who Harry was, why she was in Paris, and how drunk she was. (Y/N) ignored them all, focusing on following Harry who now led the group towards the waiting cars.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice low for her ears only, "I didn't mean to trip you."

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's okay," she assured him, eyes on her feet to calculate her steps, "I just want to go home."

"We will." Harry's simple answer was just that before he quickened his pace, allowing (Y/N) to keep up as they pushed through the throng of photographers waiting outside the club.

With Stavros heading up the back of their procession, many of the paparazzi were unable to follow any of the girls without getting through him first. As kind as he was, she could tell he used that Greek glare to his advantage, acting as if he couldn't believe they were following him while being an oblivious block in the road.

That extra distraction allowed Harry to lead the group somewhere safe, around the side of a building a little too narrow for anyone else to follow. Two black sedans were parked against the curb.

Without hesitation, Harry adjusted his grip on (Y/N), practically hugging her to his chest. She curled into him, fitting her forehead against the column of his throat with her arms a bundle between them. Harry cradled her with his arms around her waist, keeping her safe with him after the chaos that erupted.

She could hear him speaking over her head to Emma and Stavros, ensuring they were going to take care of Francesca and that he had taken care of the fees of their reserved vehicle. She wanted to participate, tell Emma she was sorry for the night's turn and assure Stavros that every night (Y/N) was involved in didn't dissolve into a scrambled mess, but instead she kept herself warm against Harry's chest and let him do the talking for them. She would call Emma later she decided—maybe text her if her hangover didn't allow phone calls in the morning.

"That one's yours," Harry directed, (Y/N) noticing his words only when he unlinked an arm around her to point, "It was nice to meet you. Get home safe."

Stavros answered back in broken English while Emma was busy herding Francesca along with them. Muttered discussion could be heard with the driver of their vehicle before car doors were opens and slammed shut. The sound reverberated for a moment, before silence settled.

"Our turn?" (Y/N) asked, pulling away to look up at Harry holding her.

His lips were thin, eyes downturned as he gazed at her. "C'mon," he responded, loosening his hold in exchange for leading her towards the single waiting sedan

He took charge, speaking to the driver through the rolled down window, even if his French was less than stellar. Once all the details and verifications are figured out, Harry helped her in the backseat, pushing her in first before leaning in and helping her buckle up. While (Y/N) had anticipated that cushion of space to be between them as usual, he surprised her by sliding in right at her side, a long arm laying across the top of the seat behind her head.

Peeking through the rearview mirror, (Y/N) caught the driver eyeing she and Harry, her brown eyes fluttering with recognition. (Y/N) curled into herself then, dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap while Harry's dropped to the cuff of her shoulder. In French, he reiterated the address of the penthouse when their driver didn't immediately pull away from the curb.

Once the road was under their tires, the sound of the gear shifting and setting them off away from the club, (Y/N) felt herself begin to relax. Even if their driver knew who she was, it was a less daunting experience than waiting outside of a paparazzi litter club while waitstaff inside were no doubt spinning rumors about her low class and patrons were spitting over the fact they had to foot the bill they ran up.

Casting her memory back to the front of the night was enough to exhaust her into slumping against Harry's shoulder.

"I want water," she blurted out, nestling into the divot between his shoulder and chest.

Harry pulsed his arm around her frame, keeping her warm against his chest. "I'll get y'some water as soon as we're back, yeah?"

"I want to take my makeup off, though," she mused, a pinch appearing between her brows though her eyes fluttered closed.

"We'll take your makeup off when we get back, yeah? First thing."

"I want food, too."

A breathy laugh disturbed where she was cuddled into him. "I'll get y'something to eat when we get back, yeah?"

Mulling it over for a lingering second, (Y/N) agreed with a nod of her head. "Yeah," she parroted, pleased enough with his operation.

The gentle motion of the turns and slow stops the car made was enough to settle (Y/N) into a light trance, her head filling with sleep-puffed clouds. She forced herself to stay awake, hoping the elapsed time was as long as it felt.

"I didn't get to say bye to the girls," (Y/N) said, hoping to keep herself awake enough for Harry to get her water, food, and her makeup off like he promised.

"I told them you'd call, or you can text them later," he explained, shifting over the leather of the seat.

"You don't think they're mad, right?" she pressed, voice quieter, "That I ruined everything with those guys?"

A pause of silence sat as the third passenger for a moment, heavy before Harry spoke. "Of course, they're not. 'S not your fault any of that happened—you're jus' too nice sometimes, that's all."

"No one's ever said that about me before." (Y/N) couldn't help the short smile that tickled the corners of her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"That I'm too nice," she beamed, snuggling closer to Harry, "Usually it's the opposite."

Perfect timing came in the form of their cab stopping outside of the building, easy French words coming from the driver as she turned to talk to Harry. (Y/N) could vaguely hear him thanking her and sending payment off through his phone, before he was sliding across the leather with her in tow.

"Careful," he crooned, offering a hand as she followed in teetering steps.

(Y/N) laced their fingers together without a second thought. Harry solidified the hold in a pulse of his fingers around hers.

She was a step behind him with a blinking flutter of her lashes, forcing her eyes to adjust to the world once more after being shuttered for the duration of the drive. The warm lighting of the building helped her find her footing in the real world, no longer neon like the club or fluorescent like the flashbulbs of cameras. Harry kept a steady grip on her hand, taking her to the leisurely paced elevator.

Staying stuck to his side, huddled into a single corner of the whole cubicle, soft music filled the space between them while (Y/N) recounted the night. While she definitely was not sober, stepping away from the high paced environments allowed her mind to iron out some of the details she didn't think twice about earlier.

"I don't like when people talk to me like that," she murmured, the number on the carousel just blinking past two.

"What do you mean?" The warmth of his gaze landed on the side of her face, his hand heavy in hers.

"That guy," she started, her breathing stuttering through the beginning of a hiccup she swallowed down, "The one at the club. He was mad that I wasn't going to be there to pay for what he and his friends ordered. I think he knew who I was even though he pretended he didn't. He called me a bitch." A beat passed. "I think that girl was his girlfriend, too—the one on the table with him."

Harry stood quietly at her side, the ever-sturdy pillar. He listened, observed. Took everything in, as he always did.

That silence stuck with them as the elevator chimed as they reached their floor. The doors parted for Harry to usher her through, taking her to the door before unlocking the knob and helping her forward. It wasn't until they were alone, in their private space, that he spoke again.

"I did hear him say those things," he murmured, his voice tight.

"It was mean, wasn't it?" she asked, kicking her shoes off by the front door, her toes aching after holding her weight for the night.

"It is," he affirmed, waiting for her to grow steady on her feet before he started towards the kitchen. True to his promise, he started with a glass of water for her, setting it on the counter before he was raiding the cabinets for a snack. He didn't look at her when he spoke again, keeping his attention forward. "You know none of that is true, though, right?"

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, sipping her water with her eyes trained on his back.

Returning with leftover gougères from the day before (Harry had become really fond of bisqué now that she showed him it didn't matter the season, soup was always a good choice), he set the cheese-baked pastries as her side before he leveled her gaze.

"No matter what he said,'' Harry started, his words slow and deliberate, "You're not a bitch,"—he all but choked around the word—"It's not up to you to pay for him and his idiot friends. He was trying to take advantage of you."

"I know," she swallowed, the words hitting a soft part of her muddled brain, "B-But now there's another person that thinks I'm bad."

"I don't think that, though," he said after a beat, his voice considerably softer, matching the moss of his eyes, "Fran and Emma don't think so—neither does Sully. We all know who y'actually are, and I think that counts for something."

Standing quietly, bare feet against the tile of the kitchen, (Y/N) allowed his words to swim in her brain. She soaked them in as much as she could, the weight of them heavy.

"You really don't think so?" she pressed, dropping her gaze to the collar of his fitted shirt, "Even after... everything, and all the stuff my father told you?"

Harry shook his head, a loose curl splaying across his forehead. "What your father says, means nothing to me. Everything I've seen, is y'trying your best. You're put in hard situations, and then expected to know how to handle them on your first try, all while everyone watches. It's not fair."

Overloaded, (Y/N) tried to cling to every word he was saying. She dearly hoped she would remember this in the morning, or at least the feeling of it all. The feeling of that light hope in her chest, brighter than that of whatever French bisqué she made or fanciful purchase could inspire.

Harry understood her.

"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," she confided in him, blindly reaching out in hopes of catching the hem of his shirt before he did her one better and bundled both of her hands in his own. "I love Fran, I do," she told him, letting his gaze with her own soft eyes, "But, she doesn't understand me like that—like you do."

"I wish more people understood you," Harry murmured, his words quiet enough (Y/N) wasn't sure if she heard him right.

"You're like my best friend, now," (Y/N) responded, hoping he could catch her sincerity even if she was a little plastered.

Those searching eyes traipsed around the planes of her face, skipping along every contour and highlight. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, what thought he had when he catalogued her like a fine gown.

"C'mon," he beckoned her, unlacing one hand from hers only to grab the plate of gougères, "Let's eat, then we'll get ready for bed."

(Y/N) pliantly followed, the Eiffel Tower glimmering through the windows of her balcony.

—————

Slipping out of her bedroom, (Y/N) cast her eyes around in hopes of finding Harry lounging about.

Last night was a whirlwind that ended with her snuggled in her bed, makeup off and hair braided back but still in her dress. She woke with a half eaten gougère on her bedside table, alongside a glass of water and a small bottle of aspirin. While parts of the night were muddied, many things were still clear—including the way Harry handled her and helped take care of her friends.

That also meant she remembered the small string of photographers that had waited outside the club, cameras flashing as she stumbled over her own feet.

Against her better judgement, she couldn't help but to check her phone after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, wanting to see what exactly—if anything—was being written by her.

The photos were the first things she saw, many of them favoring headlines featuring a specific shot of her clinging to Harry as she almost fell, the hem of her dress riding up and Harry's grip strong around her waist. The nature of their relationship was once again called into question, as if his hold was anything but protective. Some even captioned the photos of him whispering to her, apologizing for tripping her, as him whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

Honestly, many of the articles were on the tame side, the headlines being nothing more than clickbait. The worst they spoke on was her "leg-baring dress", while much more of the pieces were spent speculating about Harry once more and recounting the 132 Gala news.

She'd definitely seen worse about herself. While none of this was the preferred outcome, it was one she could get through. Hopefully, with the time zones, her father wouldn't see the news just yet.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she left her phone on her bed while venturing outside the suite. Instead of finding Harry like she hoped, she was instead left with a view of an empty apartment, a single glass of her purple smoothie left on the counter.

A smile bloomed on her fatigued cheeks when she noticed the dirtied blender in the sink, scraps of fruit having been tossed in the trash with a freshly wiped down countertop. Harry had to have made this one.

Maybe that was why it tasted that much sweeter when she took the first sip. Even without the matcha and collagen she usually requested, she felt much more awake.

Straw tucked between her lips as she sipped her smoothie, (Y/N) debated tracking down Harry to his bedroom, wishing so badly she could see him again in the right-frame of mind.

Those reassurances he uttered to her the night before were sitting in her head, perfect like a present waiting for her to wake up to. Perhaps that's what had made the sensationalized stories about her much more palatable. What did it matter what they and anonymous blogs said when Harry reiterated how many people in her life knew her and cared for her.

Turning back towards the living room, she spotted him through the crystal windows on the balcony doors, coffee in hand as he made a home in the lounger. She tried not to overthink it all as she crossed the room, gently knocking on the door before pushing it open.

"Morning," she murmured, stepping out onto the balcony with him.

Harry's posture straightened, his sleepy eyes gazing up at her through the shadow of his lashes. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

Taking a long sip of the smoothie, she hoped he caught the way almost a third of it was gone already. "Definitely been better. So much for not drinking, right?" she joked, taking a seat beside him in her own lounger.

"Y'weren't too bad," he answered, his own amusement leaking through his words. "Y'don't feel sick or anything?"

Turning her gaze towards the city, she watched the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower, remembering what it looked like with all the twinkle light just hours before.

"No, I'm alright. Thank you for getting me food and medicine and everything."

"Of course," he answered simply, taking a sip of his own coffee.

From the corner of his eye, his gaze lingered on the smoothie in her hand. The ghost of a dimple touched his cheek.

For the first time in a while, especially after everything she had read being posted about them—about him—, she didn't feel the need to explain or apologize.

Harry knew her. He knew her enough to know the difference between tabloid features and facts. Even knowing what would undoubtedly be said about him if he were pictured so closely with her—whether it be because of his job or the fact she felt she could call him a friend—he didn't shy away from holding her tight and making her feel safe in the midst of everything.

Instead of offering any kind words, (Y/N) scooted her chair that much closer to his, eyes on the Tower.

—————

"(Y/N), how many times do we have to talk about this?"

Without missing a beat, (Y/N) kept cleaning up the kitchen after having made lunch for she and Harry, her father's voice nothing more than dull background noise as she left the call on speaker. The mute feature was being utilized as he raged at her, not a second thought in her head being spared over his grilling.

It was a waste of time, she decided. That was the kind of mood she was in today, and that was the kind of daughter he would be getting. Though, to notice at all, would mean that he would have to actually pay attention and let her speak instead of spilling off rhetorical questions before hitting her with insults once.

It'd been a full day since the articles had been posted about her, more and more photos resurfacing of her stumbling outside and being led away with Harry, while blogs were posting grainy photos from the inside of the club before things went downhill. She knew a phone call like this was coming.

The only new addition to this particular berating, was the silent audience that was sitting on the couch.

Harry, leaning against the arm of the couch, had his arms crossed, one hand at his side in a heavy fist with the other cupping his chin, elbow bent to rest on his other wrist. His gaze was unfocused, a piece of flooring holding his attention while he listened to whatever it was that her father was serving up for the day.

From the way his features pinched and this fist as his side progressively tightened into a white-knuckled grip, she could only imagine the kind of things her father was sharing. He didn't even know there was an audience there to listen in, let alone that it was Harry. No filter was being applied as he spoke.

Wringing out her washcloth in the sink, (Y/N) tuned in just enough to hear a question that had her hands stuttering.

"Is Harry not enough for you?" her father asked, disappointment dripping from his tone, "Do I need to find someone else to look after you? Do you need a whole team to keep you in line?"

She rushed to pick up her phone, taking the call off speaker and mute as she pressed it to her ear.

"No, no," she interrupted him, uncaring of the snap that would be given back for cutting him off, "Harry's doing a good job, just... You know how I am."

Turning her back to Harry as she spoke, she attempted to find some kind of privacy as if she weren't the only one speaking in the room. He could hear every word—every plea she was about to make to ensure he kept his job with her.

While she took it as a positive that her father wasn't suggesting to replace Harry, she definitely didn't want anyone else added to the mix. Harry is more than enough for her.

On the other end, her father scoffed. "Don't I," he mused, (Y/N) able to imagine the rolling of his eyes through the phone. "I don't know what to do, (Y/N)," he started, heaving a sigh, "I've reached out to publicists and handlers, and anyone in the industry to help. No one wants to touch your reputation. It's preceded you at this point, no one wants to work with a brat. I don't have many options left."

Grateful for the fact her back was facing Harry, she felt a warmth hit under her skin. It was a humiliating thought—knowing that others all around her had spoken so lowly that even publicists that deemed any publicity as good publicity wouldn't touch her.

"I know," she conceded, swallowing around her dry throat, "But, I don't think any more security is a good idea. It would look bad, don't you think?"

She was grasping at straws a bit, hoping to dig into the image he held so dear. The one thing he cared about when it came to her.

A beat passed before he spoke once more, his voice distant and musing. "Now, you're thinking. I think I might have another idea, then."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I think I have an idea," her father perked on the other side, "Let me make a few calls and then I'll get back in touch."

"Okay, u—"

"In the meantime, (Y/N)," he cut her off, "I'm going to make it especially clear—again—that you need to have your head on straight. You're not making anything easy on anyone when you act like this—myself and Harry included. Stop being selfish and think before you act."

His tone was definite. Everything he said was nothing more than a slightly different variation of everything he'd already told her. She needed to try harder not to make everything her fault.

"I know," she answered, a detached response that had been drilled into her, "I'm working on it."

"Good. Talk to you later."

With that, before she had a chance to utter her own goodbye, her father hung up. Dead air filled the kitchen as she pulled her phone from her ear, slipping the device into her back pocket.

"What was that?" Harry asked, not waiting for her to face him before firing off.

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) turned to look at him, fiddling awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchen. "He said he wanted to get you more help—like, more security—, but I was able to get him off that idea. Now, he says he has another idea, but he won't tell me about it until he calls later. He said he had to talk to a few people first."

Unimpressed, Harry hummed in response. His gaze finally focused when it landed on her face, his pupils exacting and calculating. "Does he always talk to you like that?"

That wasn't what she expected of this inquisition. She suddenly felt uncomfortable under his eyes.

"Sometimes," she answered, trying to keep her features a blank slate, "Only when I mess up, though. It's not a big deal, I never listen anyway."

His gaze was unflinching, unwavering. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said automatically, no longer wanting to speak of her father or his words. "Anyway, I feel like he's just going to open a foundation in my name or something—that's his big idea. He does it every once in a while, just to make us all look charitable."

Harry traipsed his eyes over her form, taking in every detail of her body language and every minute frame of an expression. She felt exposed the longer he watched her.

Eventually—finally, finally—he released her, standing from his station on the arm of the couch with a sigh. "Whatever he comes up with, I'll be there, yeah? We'll work it out together."

Even Francesca, her best friend and closest person, hadn't been able to promise what Harry was giving her. She knew he really would be there with her, every step she took now coming with a pair.

(Y/N) allowed a gentle smile to bloom on her features, watching as he softened some.

"Yeah."

—————

Unable to help herself, still curious to the fact this person had found her Paris address, (Y/N) opened the flap to the newest letter that had been dropped in her mailbox.

The admirer's newest perspective came in high quality photos from the club. There were photos of her dancing with Marc—though his face was marred with markings she was too scared to investigate further. There were photos of her sipping drinks with Francesca and Emma before the night devolved, Harry noticeably cropped from the shots though (Y/N) knew he wouldn't have been that far away. Similar markings to what had marred Marc's face reappeared, this time sketching around her face in rudimentary hearts and shapes. Those made her feel the most queasy.

On the backside of some of the photos, it seemed this person felt they had inside information, claiming to know she hadn't wanted to dance with Marc. They apparently knew she hadn't wanted to go out at all, that she was much too private for this kind of scene and someone had to be forcing her to do this for some reason. It hadn't been her fault that she had stiffed the table (a fact that was far from the truth, seeing as how no one from the club had contacted her or Francesca. Something had to have been worked out). It hadn't been her fault that she left with Harry the way she did, curled into his arms and clinging to him like a vine. She would have never touched him if it was up to her own accord—at least that's what the admirer claimed.

Everything was written in short, messy sentences, barely legible as if written with the author's non-dominant hand. The rest of the story lay in the typed letter she knew was tucked inside the envelope, the musings of someone determined to fit her into the box of their liking.

Her palms felt sweaty as she looked at a photo of her face, the lens having zoomed in to catch the pucker of her lips around the cocktail straw, eyes glazed in alcohol.

How someone had snuck a camera in and Harry hadn't noticed—or at least mentioned it to her—she didn't know. And a part of her didn't want to.

It was easier to ignore this whole thing, she decided. Bundling the pictures back into the envelope, (Y/N) rushed to place it in her room, the bottom drawer of her vanity gaining a new addition.

—————

Staring at her phone, (Y/N) couldn't feel anything but dumbfounded as she reread her father's messages.

Dad

I have a friend from the country club that is interested in taking you out on a date. He's planning on flying out to Paris by the end of the week, and I expect you to go out to dinner with him, to show him and the world why a man like him would be willing to go out with you.

He's a successful philanthropist with a good reputation. I think he's the perfect person for you to get to know, and learn how to behave with. It will be good for you to be seen with him.

Be on your best behavior.

This was not at all what she could have ever imagined his big plan would be. More than a little far off from the suspected charity Gala that would be thrown in her name.

She'd been set up before with the sons of investors and introduced to men he thought would help further him in his dealings. All of those instances had been made in the name of his business—made for his best interests. Never had he set her up with the intention of strengthening her reputation or showcasing her for nothing other than publicity.

Though, from the way her father spoke, she doubted the other man knew it had anything to do with her reputation. As far as he knew, he was being set up with a friend's darling daughter for a romantic evening in Paris.

The thought had (Y/N) cringing.

She was supposed to go on a date? To convince people she wasn't a bitch?

(Y/N) was angry. Uncomfortable. Upset. Anything that was the opposite of happy was pulsing through her veins. What was her father thinking?

Did Harry know anything about this?

Heavy in her middle, (Y/N) wanted to rush to Harry's side, ask him if he knew anything about these plans. If he did, she wanted to assure him that she had no feelings tied to this man or this date—that he was nothing to her mind. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to go on this date, that she was being forced to see another person despite having purely opposite feelings.

She wasn't sure why exactly she felt it was so important to make that much clear, but it was enough to get her off of her bed and out to the living room.

Sitting on the couch, was Harry with a book in his hand, the cover showcasing the name of a famous French designer. He bookmarked his place with a finger as he looked up at her, taking in her shower-softened form and silky pajamas on her form.

"Going to bed?" he asked, the gauzy curtains having been dropped around the windows to the balconies.

Suddenly, she felt a bit silly having bustled out of her room the way she did. What did it matter if Harry thought she wanted to go on a date with this man? Why would he care about who she dated? All he needed to know was where she was going and if he would be needed for security.

"In a minute, but—um—" she started, fiddling with her phone in her hands.

Shifting on the cushion he'd taken up, he narrowed his gaze with a pinch to his brows. Properly marking his spot, he left his novel to be placed at his side, the full of his attention placed on his client.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" His gaze skipped over her form, examining for any bit of her that needed his help.

"I'm okay," she assured, shifting on her feet, "It's just..." Harry waited patiently-impatient, unwavering eye contact. "My dad texted me," she blurted.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his elbows setting on his knees as he leant towards her, "What did he say?"

Swallowing, she tried to shrug in nonchalance. "You know how he said he had an idea after those pictures of us at the club?" she questioned, listening for Harry's hum of acknowledgment before continuing, "I guess his side was to set me up with someone he knows from the country club. For a date. This weekend."

Forcing the words through her throat, she watched and waited for Harry's reaction. Though he was much better than she ever would be as keeping a poker face, everything internalized.

"Yeah?" was his only response.

"He said this guy has a really good reputation, with charities and all. He's hoping that being seen with him will help make me look better—PR and all." She struggled around the next bit of information, unwilling to say it out loud as if it would make it real. "I think he really wants me to date him, though—this friend. I don't think he knows my father's setting it up the way he is.

Contemplative and deliberate like always, Harry waited before pressing, "Do you know this man? Or would this be the first time you meet him—for this date?"

"I-I'm not sure who it is, but if I knew him already I think my father would have said so. I think this weekend would be the first time." She was more than embarrassed the more he asked. What kind of child had to be set up on playdates so they learned how to behave?

"This isn't the same man that made you uncomfortable before, then?" Harry's voice suddenly held an edge, recalling Barron at the 132 Gala.

"No, not him."

"Okay," he mused, the gears in his brain almost visibly grinding away as he thought through every and any scenario. "Do y'want me to be there with you?"

The edge of her phone case became the most interesting thing in the room then, her fingers picking at the molding. She swallowed, remembering that trapped, angry feeling she had when she read his messages the first time.

"I don't want to go at all," she started, fitting her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know, maybe we could go out this week, and I'll make a scene or something? It could make him mad enough that he calls the whole thing off, and we won't have to deal with it at all."

"No, we're not doing that," Harry immediately intervened, frustration lacing through his tone, "'S not worth him getting upset with you over."

"I know," she told him, a defeated slope to her shoulders, "But, I don't want to go. Especially not with him—whoever he is. I-I'd rather stay with you."

The air softened around them as the words hung between them. Peeking through the fan of her lashes, she caught the easy stare he gave her.

"It's going to be alright, (Y/N)," he assured her, his frustration having melted into something soft and pliable, "I'm going to be there with you."

"I'm sorry," she reflexively shared, her tongue working before her brain.

"What for?"

For going on a date with someone that isn't you.

"I don't know," she answered, "For taking up your weekend with something stupid, I guess."

"And what else would I have done instead?" Harry countered, his tone anything but biting, "Y'act like I'm not here jus' for you."

While she knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, there was a small hand in her heart that clutched at the idea.

"Don't worry about it for now, yeah? Jus' sleep on it, and we'll take again in the morning. If there's anything else we can do, we'll figure it out then. Okay?"

He was always so in control, the voice of reason she lacked in these moments.

"Okay. Thank you."

"I've got you," Harry answered simply, reaching for his book once more. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

Sparing one last glance at her bodyguard huddled on the sofa of her Parisian apartment, fashion book in hand, (Y/N) inched towards her bedroom feeling a touch lighter.

"Goodnight, Harry."

—————

s'entendre is a French word for the feeling of understanding someone; to get someone

only a few more parts! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or whatever please send them in!

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webslingingslasher · 8 months

Note

i wanna bite peter. no. i NEED to bite Peter.

his skin looks so yummy i crave it😁😁

it's been a long three days and you've missed your frat boy past the point of insanity.

mentally, you were scratching your arms and had a twitchy eye. physically, you were power walking to frat row. the second, and you mean the second, peter texted you and told you he was back from his weekend trip, you dropped everything to see him.

he wasn't even done unpacking when he heard your soft stomps up the stairs, he knows it's you just by the sound. peter had missed you more than he would admit, he couldn't wait to give you a bruising kiss to prove it.

'petey!' it's loud and he doesn't care one bit. his girls in front of him.

'trouble!' opening his arms wide, he's ready for the hug of his lifetime. you're nearly bouncing over to him before pulling his arm down. peter's eyebrows furrow, he thinks you're going for an awkward wrap around, until you tug his shirt sleeve up and sink your teeth into the meat of his bicep.

'ah! you vermin, get away!' he's doing the world's weakest job at pulling away, you smile into his skin before shaking your head like a dog with a bone.

peter had expected you to jump on him and kiss over his face. you had done nothing but tell him how much you missed him and his 'strong arms' and the second you can be in them again, you treat him like a chew toy.

you missed his arms alright, missed eating them, that is.

'hey, c'mon, i missed you too! i want a hug and a kiss, then you can nibble as much as you want.'

you dot kisses over the skin you had under your teeth, 'i missed you so much.' peter's whiny this time, 'then give me a hug!' he wants his arms around you so bad.

you wrap your arms around him and tuck your head under his chin, you can tell how much he really missed you when he fully relaxes into your hold.

'slept like shit without you.' kisses on your forehead has you happily sigh into his chest. 'liar, you hate sharing a bed with me. you always threaten to kick me out.'

peter didn't realize how much he missed you waking him up in the middle of the night for some bogus reason. it made him feel loved, it didn't matter what time it was, you wanted him to be the first person you told anything to, even if it was just a weird dream.

he won't admit that though, instead he says, 'you're right, it was nice not being woken up to cold feet and philosophical questions.'

'knew it,' that means you know he missed you more than he'd ever tell you. 'can i please have a kiss now?' if you'd ever say no to that question, especially when he asks it as soft and hesitant as he just did.

but that doesn't mean you can't give him shit, you let out a pretend groan, 'fine, i guess so.' revealing your face, you blink at the overhead light in his room.

instead of grabbing you passionately, he cups your cheeks and smushes your lips together in a pout. peter takes his time looking you over, he's silent and it makes you feel shy.

While you look down for a second, peter whispers out to you.

'my baby.'

his lips are on yours, a sense of home and peace envelops you. clenching at the waist of his shirt, you lean up to fully melt into him. peter's thinking the same way, wrapping an arm around your lower back to pull you flush into him.

peter pulls away for just a second before he's back on you, placing three quick pecks before breaking out in a smile.

'i have no fucking idea how i'm going to survive the summer,' you bite down on your lip, summer is months away, he's not able to imagine a future without you and it makes you ultra giddy.

'easy, i come stay with you for a few weeks. i think may and i would get along.' you expected him to roll his eyes, instead he nods his head. 'i think she'd love that, she's always hinting she needs another woman around her.'

you kiss your teeth at him, 'three days without me and you're planning the future. i love to see it.'

'it made me realize how much i like having you around me, even if you're biting me.'

you gasp, eyes widening at the forgotten idea. 'oo, thanks, petey!' you swing your head to clamp your teeth into his arm, a hiss follows.

'you're a fucking rat and so uninvited from my aunt's house!'

#frat!peter drabbles

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unfortunatebrainfarts · 2 months

Text

After working with your friendly neighborhood intergalactic space cowboy for quite some time, you've managed to become pretty damn good at understanding the gist of what he means to say

Boothill x reader

A/n: OK SO, first fanfic in like 6 years and it's for an intergalactic space cowboy

Tbh I have no idea why I wrote this, my ipad apps are constantly monitored by the teacher and I really have nothing better to do than go on my notes app and pretend I'm writing notes

HAVE AN AMAZING DAY = I HOPE YOU GET FUCKED BY THE IPC AND ROLL IN YOUR OWN DEBT AND SUFFERING (or something like that)

BLESS YOUR HEART = FUCK YOU

PRAY FOR ME = FUCK ME

LOVELY = FUCK

YOU WONDERFUL PERSON = YOU BITCH

Well ain't you just a sweetheart? = Well you're just a little bitchboy aren'tcha?

God love him = He was fuckin' underdeveloped as a fetus wasn't he (Something along the lines of 'he's dumb as shit')

"Hm. Seems about right."

To others, your furrowed brows, tense posture, and concentrated gaze at just one singular page of your notebook may make it seem as if whatever was on that page was something life changing. And honestly, they might as well have been right since you were one step closer to understanding what the hell Boothill was spitting out more than half the time.

You recall the first time you were assigned a mission with him — "BLESS YOUR HEART YOU WONDERFUL PERSON," cue you snapping your head towards the gruff voice seeing the cowboy in all his glory easily decimating the dozens of grunts in his vicinity with a toothy grin no less, which you note are very, very sharp.

His long, flowy hair caught your attention. How was it so white and clean even with all the fights you know gets into? Does it ever get yanked? What shampoo does he use?

"Now I don' mind some ooglin', but wouldn't ya say we should keep our eyes on our enemies darlin'?"

His voice snaps you out of your trance and you come to to a shovel nearing your head. You instinctively cover your face with your hands anticipating the pain, the pain which never came since when you put them down, you see that Boohill had already left a bullet in his head.

"Spacin' out at a space cowboy? Ain't that rich."

Ignoring the fact that he saved you from having to get facial reconstruction surgery, the reason you almost got a face full of shovel in the first place was because of the ridiculous curse on his synesthesia beacon.

That's why you've been devoted to trying to decode the albeit hilarious, rather inconvenient in a battle things he says. You've tried asking Boothill to write them down, but his handwriting could have him assigned as a doctor in no time so you gave up on that idea quite quickly.

"Whatcha starin' at so intently darlin'?

Your train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the man of the hour mindlessly snatching your notebook right out of your hands. "Aren't you supposed to stop thieves, not act like one," you ask half heartedly. It was nothing less of what you'd expect from Boothill of all people — no, cyborgs??

"Heh, this ain't thievery 's sharin'! Er, what's that one sayin' again... share to care, care to share, sharin' to carin'? Eh whatever ya get what I mean don'tcha sugar?" He retorted, you roll your eyes mentally as he put his focus back onto the notebook. To be honest you were surprised he could even read considering his handwriting was that bad.

As Boothill read each and every one of your 'translations', his grin only grew wider and wider showing the spiky teeth you don't know how are natural but have grown accustomed to seeing. Just then, a burst of unhinged laughter randomly filled the entire lounge room you were sitting in. The weird glances and whispering were already starting but Boothill didn't care, he was Boothill.

Not wanting to be associated with the man at that very moment, you stand up to leave him comically rolling on the floor. However, you couldn't even do that because the moment you stood up, Boothill snatched your leg and dragged it so that you would fall back down. This time, onto the floor with him. "Well ain't you something sweetcheeks, ya got me alll figured out huh?" .

It's been two months. Ever since Boothill realized that you had actually tried to figure out the true meaning behind his words — and actually got them relatively right — he's been using you to spew out insults overtime. Honestly it was like you had become a pokemon, you could just picture it in your head.

BOOTHILL BROUGHT OUT ____

____ USED SWEAR! IT WAS SUPER EFFECTIVE

Either way, it wasn't that bad since though you might be imagining things, it feels as if you've grown ever so slightly closer to the eccentric space cowboy.

You continue to observe boothill and add more and more onto your list of translations, but apparently you fail to notice that he no longer uses any casual pet names like 'darling' or 'sweetcheeks' anymore. At least, not for anyone but you.

#I'm actually gonna krill myself😭#please ignore any mistakes or awkward parts I wrote this in 30 minutes #you can tell I can't write any southern stuff I literally had to search up 'cowboy insults' and 'how to speak like a cowboy'#li actually writes🤯#boothill x reader #hsr x reader #boothill hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail

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emersonfreepress · 27 days

Text

help i'm alive

So! Long time, no see. 2023 was a whole goddamn lot lol

I don't have a demo update to share yet, but that's because I had to scrap nearly everything I managed to write during a very, very, very bad stint of writer's block last year. I hadn't even realized it had been a block like that until I went over my work so far last month and realized it was bad -- like, trust me; a slog to read that didn't even sound like me. It's been extremely frustrating but I've finally broken free of that and it's been easy and actually fun to write again for the first time in actual years. I just hate giving updates that have no actual news in them. And I really had nothing to share other than: I deleted thousands of words and feel so much better now 😅

Anyway, little about my demo plans have changed: I'm still putting out the Chapter 3 demos in Choicescript/on Dashingdon and then will be going dark to move things over to Twine. Where I am in the process right now is... feeling like 35% done with the overhauled version of this chapter and 50% done for the next demo update.

As far as asks, I'm... not really sure what to do?? I believe I've read them all (I love you guys), but so much time has passed since getting most of them that I'm not sure if it's, like... still pertinent??? To go back and answer them?? I suppose some of them like character asks could be, but all the nice messages of support -- that feels weird since I've practically ghosted this blog since August! Idk. Y'all tell me what to do with 'em and I'll do it. Maybe I should make a poll.

Uh... that's really all there is to say regarding the game! I've added some personal stuff after the cut, but if you're done here: Thanks for reading and sticking around. It means the world, for real.

So what has occupied my time all this time? Doctor, therapy, money, and friends. And improv! But especially the first two. There was a lot of non-writing related stuff fucking up my ability to focus and write, so hopefully with my mind and body both feeling a lot better, I can get back to being present and active with the game. I didn't realize how physically unwell I was until last year and it's been like... life-long issues I've been treating. It turns out it's not normal to feel exhausted enough to sleep at any given time, at all times, for your whole life! wow!!

I also uninstalled Tumblr from my phone back in February, so you could say I'm sort of generally focused on offline life. (And what an interesting coincidence that my writer's block dissipated shortly after that...) I also just moved!! The last two weekends have been so expensive and stressful -_- But I can't even compare the old place to the new. We're basically paying the same price for idek how much more space. The cats are so happy; which means the house humans get to be happy.

My schedule is finally freed up from constant medical shit (there was a 3-month stretch this winter with multiple doctor appointments literally every fucking week 🙃🙃🙃). My mental health is doing a lot better -- literally incomparably better compared to where I was this time last year. There's live comedy now (which I dabble in, to be clear lol), but I've finally found myself able to like... balance it all. The physical and creative energy that goes into it all, anyway. The lovely thing about improv is that you kinda just show up and do your thing -- it doesn't cut into my writing time so much as it costs energy. Unless I end up in this comedy debate show thing next month, which I am very excited to give up writing time for

So like... Life is life-ing and I'm just vibing. Or something? I'll be around.

Thank you all again so much for your interest, support, patience, and readership <3

#oh and if anyone knows where i can stream mob wives uncensored without paying any extra money i'd love you forever lol #that is unimportant- unless y'all find it important that i have access to all of my most influential pieces of media at all times IJSAYING!#jk jk ofc <3 thank you for reading #conspiracy in emerson #if cie #progress #cie ch 3

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banamine-bananime · 2 months

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AITA for trying to save my friend and keep the rest of my asshole friends safe from their bad decisions?

I (M26) just went through this real shitty breakup. So basically, my ex C (M lmao man fuck if i know his age idek if knows it. or has one i guess) has this god-fucking-awful habit of deciding to solve every problem by dying about it and/or fucking off without so much as a word to the people unfortunate enough to give a shit about him, except maybe his sister (unhelpful for the rest of us because she also inherited the "fucking off without a word" gene. man fuck this whole family for making me care about them. whatever). Also, killing himself inside peoples brains thats like a whole hobby for him. like okay either ghost us OR kill yourself in front of us altering the trajectory of our lives forever PICK ONE like a NORMAL person.

Okay wait im not explaining this well. So years ago C and W (M37 now) were partners but C was, uh, in a really bad place mentally (S is telling me this is more diplomatic to say than "crazy af") and that situationship ended as badly as a situationship can end. I mean W's told me he pretty much had his sense of identity as someone separate from C totally destroyed by that for a while, which like, in hindsight its kinda an accidental dick move that our team made him take C's legal identity, but in our defense a) the fuck were we supposed to know?, b) tbf he really did need it not to go back to prison, c) it's not like C was using his identity, on account of the fucking off and effectively-dying-as-a-solution habits, and d) i mean. i gotta admit it's also pretty funny in a really fucked way.

aw shit derailed on a tangent again

recently its just like, we just get so focused on one thing its hard to remember anything else, you know?

S is so good at getting us back on track though. thank god because you would not believe the number of irons weve got in the fire to keep track of, its ridiculous. (i love making my partner be the planner in the relationship lol. highly recommend being a passenger princess in the body sometimes. fuck massages, i'm telling you THIS is what you need after a long day getting shit DONE and taking care of everyone else's messes)

So I met C 6 years ago, right out of basic, when we were privates stationed at the same base. middle of nowhere. shit, this is gonna be hard to explain, just realized i should use different names for C to keep them straight. I knew "A" and W knew "E", i didnt meet E until years later. theyre alters and also the same guy but also not the same guy. dont worry about it if you dont get it bc ive dated both of them and i dont think i do. my life is stupid.

Bunch of bullshit happened, A ghosted (lol. you'd be high-fiving me if you knew him) and then found a problem to solve by dying. you get it by now.

Then i meet E, E encounters a problem and tries to die about it round one (i guess round two, after exploding in W <- LOL. you should be high-fiving me right now), E's sister drags him back to the land of the living, E ghosts, W and i start dating, W tries to martyr himself and disappears because i guess E rubbed off on him (dude i am on a fucking roll. you should be high-fiving me out of pity for my glamorously miserable soap-opera life if nothing else. homophobic not to), our team gets W back, E strolls back like he has no idea why im mad at him, we fight about it, makeup-makeouts about it, and E tries to die about it round two: in my brain boogaloo.

So thats how S and i meet. oops, guess i never introduced S? Feels weird to have to introduce ourself twice, people dont really meet us separately anymore LOL. S (M, ageless) is also C's alter, my partner in life and badassery and brain and body. and obviously freaky sex stuff, that goes without saying but i'm saying it anyway to brag. the swish swish to my stabbing people who really deserve it. Not really interested in your opinion on our relationship, it's not what i'm asking about. we're aware its not conventional, because we're not fucking braindead. Im so sick of all the "oooohhhhh this isn't healthy", "he's a male manipulator and youre codependent i know bc i learned psychology from tiktoks by girls with green hair", "why are you wearing your ex-boyfriend's armor colors while wearing his dead ex-boyfriend's armor while dating and sharing a brain with your dead mutual ex's alter", "have you considered going to therapy instead of a quest against death itself" blah blah blah. If youre so bored you need to judge our life then just get your own 🙄🙄🙄

we've been really on that sigma grindset the last few weeks. S has got our sleep optimized down to a tight triphasic 3.46 hours and we're minmaxing the fuck out of the rest of every day. Biohacked to shit over here. too much to do, so we have to make there be enough of our time to do it. who else is gonna? my teammates? the REDS? we're half batman half babysitter to a gaggle of idiots who can barely be trusted to wipe their own asses, let alone fight their own battles and make decisions like "wah wah wah A is dead let's just give up and cry about it or whatever".

Don't even get me started on W. Oh youre all about character-building wake up and grind self-improvement and taking leadership until we're making decisions you dont like, i guess. WHATEVER. this is why we dont listen to you.

its hard, okay. like, you cant understand the sheer fucking stress were under trying to keep all our plans going smoothly while keeping these guys safe while they're basically actively trying to unravel every carefully-laid thread and also strangle themselves in them. im probably going prematurely grey and also losing some time. its hard to remember when we need to hold back and use the kiddy gloves. i really didnt want to come to holding - uh, we'll call him MC (M25) - by the throat, passed-out. he's like a brother to me, been through thick and fucking thin together, so yeah, i feel really bad about that, my bad, we were the asshole there, but like, maybe stop throwing yourself in the way? like run out into the road you're gonna get hit by a truck no matter how hard they slam the brakes. mfw the conses quence. but im NOT asking about that. everyone's been on our dick about "please god stop doing all of this" and abandoning A and trying to break us up way before that, and THAT'S what im asking about

Anyways tl;dr are we the asshole for getting shit done when it takes methods that all our monday morning quarterback friends dont like

_____

OP has offered the following explanation for why they think they might be the asshole:

it really was a dick move to dangle my teammate's limp body in a chokehold even though it was basically an accident and also not even directly relevant to the question

OP has offered the following explanation for why they think they might not be the asshole:

okay but we're right

#red vs blue #rvb restoration #lavernius tucker

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 8 months

Note

atlas do you think you could write a platonic BAU reader piece with hotch on fathers day? reader is he/him and disowned by parents and just doesn’t want to think about his old man that day but then he realises that hotch is his sort of surrogate dad at work? and they just have a nice day together while jack and Haley are in witsec and it just really heals both hotch and reader to be able to do something nice that day. I love your writing but no pressure. 🤍

This was such a cute idea! Thank you for sending it to me!!! I hope you like what I did :)

Warnings: mentions bad dads, Jack and Haley being in witsec

It doesn't hit you until just before your lunchbreak that you have a dad. Well, a sort of dad. One that didn't disown you or make you feel less than the shit on his shoe. It was one that gently guided you in the right direction, one that gave you small smiles of encouragement despite his usual stern demeanor. It was one who would always buy you a muffin and a coffee in the morning because he knows you wake up late and always miss breakfast and he knows you won't be able to function without a coffee. It was one who made sure you knew he cared about you through extending report deadlines, making you take mental health days, driving you home after work because he wanted to make sure you got home safe.

It didn't matter if Hotch wasn't your dad by blood, because he was in every other way. You take an earlier break, making sure that it's okay with Hotch before you rush off to the store. You browse the cards, trying to find the perfect one - you didn't want to overdo it, he already had a son anyway. You just wanted to show him that you cared.

You fill it out before you even start eating your food - you wanted to get it done. So you write down your thoughts, how despite being your boss, he was also like your father.

When the card was finished, you ate. Now that the main task was over, you could relax and enjoy your food and not worry about his reaction to the card until you had finished eating (although, based on your shaking leg and nervously looking around, the rule didn't really stop your body from getting anxious).

When you had finished eating, you made your way back to the BAU. You gave everyone a small nod of acknowledgement but headed straight to Hotch's office, giving the door a small knock.

"Come in," You take a deep breath before entering the room, giving Hotch a small smile as you walked in, holding the card behind your back.

"Hi," You gave a small nod.

"Is everything okay?" He asked gently.

"O-oh, er yeah," You nodded, brushing your hand over the back of your head, "I just- I wanted to give you something and I really hope it's not weird but-"

Hotch gave you a small smile, "You're okay, (Y/N), everything's fine, what was it you wanted to give me?"

You hand over the envelope silently - hoping that Hotch doesn't notice how your hands are gently trembling (he does but doesn't comment on it).

"What's this?" He asks quietly, turning the envelope over with gentle hands as he opens it, starting to pull out the envelope.

"A Father's day card." You said, cheeks beginning to tint pink. "I, er, I know you have Jack and I'm not actually your son, but you're my work dad, so it felt fitting,"

Hotch looked at you, a smile ghosting over his lips. "Thank you," His voice was genuine as he spoke, "This means a lot to me."

"You mean... you're not totally freaked out by it?" When Hotch shook his head, you relaxed, "Oh thank God... I had gotten it into my head that you were gonna completely freak or something - no offence,"

Hotch gave a short laugh, "None taken." There was a small pause, "You should probably get back to work, (Y/N), but... thank you for this, really." He gave you a smile (which you returned).

"Yeah, okay," You gave a nod, exiting the room.

When you had left the office, Hotch gave a small smile to the card, before he placed it on his desk, next to a photo of Jack and Haley.

'To Hotch, I know you're not my dad (by blood at least) and I hope I'm not overstepping here, but you're the closest to a dad I've had. Ever. I just thought that maybe it would be a good thing to let you know. I know you're having a hard time with Jack and Haley being gone for a little while, but we'll get them back. I know we will. Until then, we've got to keep our chins up because we will get them back. I know it. I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me (and the team). So: Happy Father's Day. (Y/N) - your (favourite) agent P.s. can we keep this from Morgan and Prentiss? They'd probably tease me for life if they ever found out about this.'

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clauii · 4 months

Text

This is the right date, right?

(⁠・⁠∀⁠・) .❥

Wonyoung x F!reader

Word count: 1.519k

Synopsis: Going to another blind date your dad set you up with, you find yourself liking the girl your dad set you up with or was she really the person your dad set you up with?

Who would have thought that my dad isn't as homophobic as I thought he was? My whole life, I have watched my dad complain about the movies we were watching whenever LGBTQ is involved yet here I am sitting in front of the same sex in a romantic cafe that my dad apparently set me up for.

"Do you drink coffee?" She asked, her eyes fluttered to meet my gaze and I felt my whole mind and body freeze. But before I could stare any longer, I snapped back onto reality making sure I'm not making any weird like impressions on the lady.

"Oh yes, I drink coffee." I responded.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I mentally facepalmed myself. I don't drink coffee! How am I supposed to go on now?

Before I could even go back on my words she cut me off. "Wait here." She smiled before standing up and going to the counter to place our orders.

"Yes, good morning. Could I get two americano, please. And I'd also like two of your gigantic cookies. That's it thanks." I heard her saying nicely at the lady behind the counter.

What the absolute flip does Americano taste like? No, seriously, I have no idea.

A soft pull on the chair in front of me pulled me away from my thoughts. "Wonyoung, you didn't have to pay for me." She simply chuckled softly at my antics. "Oh don't worry, it's not such a big deal, you know. This is, after all, my first ever blind date that my parents set me up for."

A soft gasp escaped my lips. "Well if it's your first blind date then I should've been the one that paid then." The concern lingered in my voice as each word escaped my mouth.

"No, it's fine." She waved her hand in front of me while she smiled sweetly at me. I nodded as I understood her while my eyes averted on the ground but then a thought slipped in my mind and my head snapped back at her, earning a small warm chuckle from her.

"Should we do an ice breaker?" I asked her.

"To get to know each other?" She asked with one eyebrow raised while her head tilted to the right.

I felt my lips quiver by her subtle pose. So, I simply smiled at her and nodded. "We already know each other's names so let's just skip that part."

She raised her head up subtly, thoroughly thinking about what question she should ask. For once, and finally, my dad has set me up on blind date with someone who's actually really pretty, both inside and out.

For the past couple of months, my dad has been setting me up with some males who clearly do not even resemble the ideal man my dad was talking about. They were either boys, dudes, and guys, you know what I mean? I mean, they're not men, but who would've thought that the man I would like and adore would be in a woman instead, particularly, this woman in front of me.

Her eyes seemed to have lit up when she finally thought of something. To be honest, she did take her time to think about the question, but surprisingly I find myself waiting patiently for her. If this were someone else, would I have acted the same?

"Earlier you told me that your father set you up for this blind date, am I right?" She said while her elbows were propped on the table, her fingers intertwined against each other all while supporting her chin that rests on top of her fingers.

I nodded eagerly, encouraging her to continue.

"And then I told you that my parents set me up for this blind date." I nodded in agreement but then a smile appeared on her lips, then she chuckled awkwardly or was it nervously? "I'm sorry, I'm bad at starting conversations. Could you start it instead?" Her face looked apologetic and her cheeks turned red as she gazed at me. I couldn't help but burst out giggling at her adorable demeanor.

Soon our laughter died down and I finally opened my mouth to talk, but before any words could form, our orders were delivered by a waiter and left.

We talked for what felt like seconds as it ended too quickly. I find myself lowkey sulking because we need to go our separate ways and call it a day.

"Thanks Wonyoung, I really enjoyed today. It was definitely top tier compared to my other dates." She laughed at my statement. "Yeah, I had fun too."

As we walked out of the cafe, the chilly night air collided with my skin and a shiver trailed down my body. I brought my hands around my exposed arms.

A good day to wear a sleeveless shirt, my ass.

But soon, the coldness was replaced with warmth, as a warm brown coat enveloped my upper body, fully protecting me from the cold. My eyes gazed at the person who put it on me; it was her, obviously.

Her hands gripped the lapel of her coat and she gently crossed them, one side above the other, securely keeping me from the cold.

"Don't underestimate the power of spring. It may be warm by daylight, but it's unbelievably cold by night." She smiled down at me before leaning in slowly to leave a chaste kiss on my cheeks.

As she leans away, her soft eyes meet mine and I don't know if it's because of the cold why her cheeks were red but I sure hope not.

"I know it may be sudden, but I felt like I've known you for so long and I hope that we can continue seeing each other." Her hands never left the lapel of her coat as one of her eyebrows were raised again with her head being slightly tilted to the left. I guess it's one of her habits, her habits that I could adore all so effortlessly.

Speechless, I just nodded eagerly. Of course I want to keep meeting her again, I want to keep hanging out with her often— I want to live the rest of my life with her.

She handed me her business card and smiled at me before turning around. I grabbed her wrist before she could leave her spot. "Wouldn't you get cold?" I asked her, my voice was leaking with concern. She immediately faced me with a smile on her lips.

"You'll keep my heart warm though, won't you?" She smirked at me sheepishly before laughing at my blushing state.

I'm absolutely going feral. My mind is going crazy and my heart is trying to win an imaginary racing competition.

"It's fine, you need it more considering what you're wearing beneath that." She said before turning around.

But then she turned to face me once again, she leaned closer to my ear. "You can return it on our next meeting. Also, next time let's have tea instead of coffee." She whispered, a giddy smile never leaving her lips, before leaning away and then finally taking her leave.

A few minutes later, I entered our house after taking an uber to go home. I slipped off my shoes and set foot on the white tiles.

"I'm home!"

My dad immediately rushed in getting a view of me, it was as if he was waiting for me; he was.

"How's my favorite daughter?" He said teasingly and I rolled my eyes at him.

"I'm your only daughter..?"

"Exactly! How was the date? Did you have fun?" He said waiting for my answers excitedly.

When he mentioned about the date, a smile immediately crept on my face, my hands instinctively hovered over the lower half of my face to cover my red cheeks.

My dad's eyes widened at my flustered state and a proud smile appeared on his lips. "So..?"

"It was perfect!"

"It was perfect?" He echoed, repeating what I've said but with a much more questioning yet amazed tone.

"She was perfect, dad!"

"She was perfect-." He echoed excitedly once again before stopping upon realization. He stares at me confusingly while I was busy trying not to fall on my quivering knees as I remember her smiles.

"What do you mean 'she?'"

"What do you mean? The girl you set me up with? Jang Wonyoung?" A confused gaze met another confused gaze.

"I set you up with no girl.." He said slowly.

"So, she wasn't my date?" He shook his head. Ohh that makes a lot of sense now.

Instead of making a big deal out of it, I shrugged it off. So what if she wasn't supposed to be my date? We enjoyed each other's company, so what?

"Whatever, dad. I like her, I think I'm going to keep on seeing her." I walked past his speechless state and went directly into my room.

I plopped myself down on my mattress and hugged my pillow, the giddy feeling never escaping my nervous system.

"Jang Wonyoung.." I muttered under my breath as I took in a deep and content sigh.

Y'all, Im thinking about whether I'll make a part two of this. Lowkey really enjoyed making this one even if it means I just ruined my sleeping schedule lmao. ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ

🌈masterlist🩷

#wonyoung x fem reader #lesbian #lgbtq #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung imagines #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #ive #kpop #kpop gg #kpop imagines #ive imagines #ive x reader #fem reader #fluff #wlw #izone

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happypotato48 · 2 months

Text

List of Thai BL dramas i've watched with short opinions about them i guess :P

Thai BLs that i finished:

A Boss and a Babe. It's cute for what it is, i loved the gaming friendships and i'm a sucker for forcebook. 7/10 need more unhinged energy from book.

A Tale of Thousand Stars/Our Skyy 2 : Bad Buddy x A Tale Of Thousand stars. this show reminds me a lot of early to mid 2000s lakorns. it's a beautiful by the book love story, i appreciated that a bl got to take a spin on this kind of quiet thai story. 8/10 loved it but still too vanilla for my taste.

Bake Me Please. Guide Kantapon is the cutest man alive and CAKES! that it, that all i have for this show. 6/10 it's a show that exist.

Be My Favorite. damn fluke gawin is so pretty what was this show about again? :P i'm kidding, i actually really liked this show. i watched it when i had zero knowledge about bl industry, i was oblivious about krist's controversy and i find krist acting to be charming and think kawee is very relatable as a cringe fail human myself. 8.5/10 this show made me want to collected weird thingies.

Cherry Magic (Thailand). oh boy this show. it's was everything to me also the only show so far that i've written extensively on this site. here is my personal feeling about this show. 9.5/10 would kill for taynew.

Cooking Crush. what! the fuc$! look look, i just learned that both offgun are older than me. when i first saw the show i thought they were some rookie actors with how young they looks. watching cute bl is gonna be the death of me. anywho this show is supercute don't have a lot of thought about it though. 7.5/10 cutting half a point cause of no samsee x metha.

Cutie Pie/Naughty Babe. what a fuckin legend of a series. all the characters have zero braincells and somehow all the rich pretty boys are engaged to each other and by arranged marriages nonetheless. wtf is this fanfic version of thailand and where can i get hit by a truck and get isekai to it. 7.5/10 still haven't watch Cutie Pie 2 U, i hope it get dumber.

Enchanté. this show is so dummmb it should've go full camp reverse harem yaoi nonsense but it didn't and ended up being kinda boring. 6.5/10. meh, i'm still a sucker for forcebook.

Last Twilight. UGHHH!! i'm still so mad. this show was going to be THE SHOW for me then ep 11-12 happened i legit mentally check out halfway through ep 12 and i basically blocked the ending from my mind. this show came out at the right place and the right time for me, the first 9 episodes helped me through a very tough time in my life. the story of two people helping each other finding their way out of the dark was very compelling to me. ughh. 5.5/10 (9/10 for ep 1-9) P'Aof why are you like this!!

Laws Of Attraction. yassssssss this show slay(literally :P) the show is a breath of fresh air for me despite how very lakorn of it is. i'm glad that there is a bl that feel this soapy and campy cause like i do love my angsty and innocent school bls but the industry really need show like laws of attraction. jamfilm also were very great in their roles espically film, charn is the most babygirl corrupted cute evil lawyer of all time. 9/10 no note headempty only charn's evil smirks in my mind

La Pluie. now, this is a romance. this show is one of the most romanctic media that i personally have experience. i loved that the show took the cheesy premise of soulmates and work it so well to do both deconstruction and exploration of the trope. i think using rain, thing that isolated people as a narrative tool for love connection is absolutely brilliant. last but not least pat is just the perfect bl love interest, he's an very idealized character but he do feels like an actual person. i want to give a shout out to Pee Peerawich the way he said "มันหนาวอ่ะ" in ep 8 sent me, the raspy voice, the eye twich and combo those with a back cuddle, sir! you just commited a mass murders with that move. 9/10 plz i need season two with my baby boy tien.

Love in Translation. the unhingendness of that first meeting is probably my favorite bl meet cute. look if you don't get into a fistfight with the guy you destined to be with then what is the point of life. this show fake date is very well done it's doesn't feel forced like in a lot of other bls and it make the growing attraction feels very genuine and it pay off in one of the best sex scenes in all of bl, yang is such a freak and i loved him for it. 8/10 the last two episodes did got slightly off the rail for me but i still enjoyed the show.

Moonlight Chicken. one of the most beautiful shows i ever watched. when watching this show i can feels, smells and tastes everything it depicted. from the comfort khao man gai to jim's loneliness, from alan's heartbreak to liming and heart's midnight motorcycle ride. this show gave me all the feels and i still can't completely shake it off. 9.9/10 this show is a healing.

My School President. These boys!!!! i can't, i loved these boys so much, all the boys, YES ALL OF THEM! this show is on the opposite spectrum of Moonlight Chicken for me. while MC give me the good heartaches this show give me unbridled joy it's like heartstopper on cracks. i absolutely adored tinn and gun and the show relentless optimism about thier first love. love is awesome no matter the romantic, familial or platonic kind and i think this show hit the marks with all three. 10/10(i'm super bias but fuck it idc i even liked the singing) this show made me started watching thai bl and it always will have a place in my heart.

My Ride. this show is lacking in intimacy but making up by being all heart. could this show be better if they fleshed out and explore more of tawan and his cheating bf's relationship, maybe but i'm happy for what we got. 8/10 mork and tawan were very cutie patootie, i don't remember much about the het and the side couple were just st ok.

Step by Step. man trisanu is exactly the same height at me and i want everyone to know that is the only reason i started this show🤣 . i feels like this show have a lot to say about stuff but i kinda got lost staring at man trisanu while watching. one thing i really loved is the very fem *ตุ๊ด coworker who got to be a real character not just a jokey sidekick and having a loving relationship with a hottie. 7.5/10 can i get more man trisanu in bl plz.

Triage. asshole doctor stuck in a timeloop for him to find the meaning of life, yes plz give it to me. i loved stories about assholes who need to better themself for love and other junk. tinn and tol are both grumpy bitches and i just loved that the show use the timeloop to soften these nerds. at the end i just want to wrap them in blanket and let's them cuddle each other forever. 8.5/10 the last ep is bit convoluted but i forgave the show for that cute clocktower kiss.

You're My Sky. i started this show for my boy suar and he did not disappointed. the pining and the longing for an older boy who been there for you most you life, chef kiss. this show also very beautiful to look at. 8/10 i'm kinda meh about the side couples, i do think they all got the "good ending" for their stories.

Thai BLs that i didn't finish or gave up and skipped to the ending:

Bad Buddy. Oh boy, am i gonna get murder for this??? sorry but idk why i didn't wholeheartedly love and give this show my undivided attention. i watched this show very weird and out of order, i started with the last ep than just watch other episodes in bit and peice. i think i've seen 70% of this show. plz forgive me this is the first thai bl i tried to get into but can't. maybe i need to give this show another chance and watch it properly. or idk maybe cause the way i watched it, it's ruined for me forever. 6.5/10 i loved the rooftop kiss plz don't kill me.

Dangerous Romance. this show is trash and not the good kind, how this show depicted relationship between a rich asshole and a poor boy feels very gross to me. i fast forward a bunch and gave up after the not just dumb but very cruel breakup. 4/10 it's watchable if you ignore the plot and the chatacters.

Hidden Agenda. wow this is the most nothing show that ever nothing for me. it's a perfected white noise while playing chill video games. i stopped watching after ep 8 cause look like there going to be a dumb break up, i have no desire to revisit this show. 5/10 joongdunk were kinda cutes.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear. this show is too god damn long with too many side plots the one and a half hour per episode killed the momentum for me. i liked the show and do think i want to revisit and finish it one day. 6/10 for now.

Vice Versa. why are they giving jimmysea this show. this show is so boring for me, i gave up in episode 6. 4/10 gmmtv give my babies better shows!!

Thai BLs that i've watched all the sex scenes and have no intention of watching the actual show:

Kinnporsche: heheehehhehehe everyone were so hot, too bad i don't like rich mafia story. mile being a nepobaby also significantly killed the mood for me. 55555/dead bodyguards (idk how many there are but i don't care) the ost are bangers though.

Venus in the Sky and Love in the Air. cringe gay sex for the wins. 69/420.

ok, whoo that was a lot. gonna pin this cause i don't think anyone want to read all that in one sitting. i think i'm gonna make another post for non thai BLs in the near future. thanks for reading my unhinged opinions hope i'm not gonna get moider for it 55555555.

#thai bl #bl drama #bl meta #bl shows #dumb boy rambled #i think i got all of them #but idk maybe i'm missing one or two shows #i shouldn't written and posted this at 5 am after staying awake all night but fuck it

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getvalentined · 1 month

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hi! i'm actually really interested in the "is cait sith reeve" debate and was fascinated by your post since you firmly believe cait sith is his own person.

i'm playing through dirge right now so i can't comment fully on what transpires there, but based on rebirth alone i'm having trouble believing cait sith isn't controlled by him. i know your post said rebirth excluded a scene that made it clear cait sith is his own person, but I'm not sure what you're referring to exactly. The only thing I can think of is the original game, where Cait Sith sacrifices himself and says not to forget him even if another Cait Sith comes along...which is a good point, though one could potentially argue that Reeve is just sentimental.

Anyway, what I want to know is: if Cait Sith has a personality separate from Reeve and can move independently while Reeve is busy, then why does Cait Sith repeatedly go offline in Rebirth while Reeve is busy? This is the main argument I see and one of my favorites, so I think answering that could help your own. The only arguments I can think up are either that the devs wanted to give players clear hints that Reeve controls Cait Sith, or that he wants to make sure he's monitoring Cait Sith when the cat interacts with the party. But besides that, Cait Sith really doesn't act like a different person. Sure, he has an accent and is silly, but he doesn't make any comment whatsoever (as far as I know) that indicates he isn't Reeve himself. In fact, the party treats Cait Sith and the Shinra employee controlling him as the same person, and Cait Sith doesn't attempt to rebuke it. (Outside of maybe lying that he's a mere amusement park attraction?)

i do admit, if dirge seriously contradicts this interpretation, it's weird for the devs to go against it...but as someone who once believed cait sith and reeve were separate and changed their mind after rebirth, I just don't think there's enough evidence based on rebirth alone to claim that cait sith is his own person.

on that note, you mentioned cait sith has his own likes and dislikes separate from reeve and i'm actually really curious about that! do you have an example of that? :D It sounds like fun trivia lol (i really like reeve and cait sith...)

anyway thank you for reading till the end! sorry if this is unwelcome

There's a scene in Dirge where Reeve and Cait walk out of the same room together, reacting to one another independently:

Further, Cait Sith only goes into stasis twice in the entirety of Rebirth as far as I can recall? Once at the end of a board meeting that Reeve was active in, but seemingly not for the entirety of the board meeting, as Cait Sith appeared to be mid-conversation and trailed off when Reeve got bad news—this makes sense if he's connected to Cait Sith and has the capacity to control him directly as needed, but not if he had to do so actively 100% of the time. The other time is in Cosmo Canyon, because he's clearly not interested in their woo-woo metaphysical nonsense, and he cites it as taking time to recharge his batteries.

Reeve is still working as Director of Urban Planning during all of this, so I find it super hard to believe that he's spending 99.9999% his time at a computer or mentally controlling and speaking through a doll while also running the department that is trying to put Midgar back together after the plate drop—particularly not since we have official meta stating that he's an Inspire, which I cited in a reblog.

Beyond that, there's this bit in the OG, which Cait Sith says to himself, in an empty room:

There is no explanation for this if Cait Sith is entirely remote controlled. There's no one else here to hear it, no reason for him to express these feelings—or even have feelings in the first place!

In Rebirth it's even more clear, because he expresses physical strain as he's literally holding the Temple up by keeping himself wedged under the platform. He's uncomfortable, he's physically taxed, he's in pain. Again, most of this occurs in an empty room, and would not happen if he was just a toy that Reeve had to control directly like a complex RC car or something.

The concept of likes and dislikes that are independent is less solidly shown in-canon, but they have distinctly different personalities, and Reeve is very clearly not interested in things like prophecies and the Promised Land and all that—he is a scientist at the end of the day, a civil and mechanical engineer—and yet Cait Sith's whole shtick is to tell fortunes! This is also something that he seems to enjoy doing quite a bit, even if he's not very good at it. (He gets better. Kinda.)

Cait Sith is obviously connected to Reeve, but it's equally obvious that he's not analogous. Presumably Cait Sith doesn't care when he's equated to Reeve because he is Reeve's eyes and ears in the field, even when he's not in direct control. The fact that he only really talks about himself as an individual when he's alone kind of implies that he'd rather the others not know, because he doesn't want them to be upset about what's going to happen to him; if he were nothing more than a glorified RC toy, this wouldn't be a concern, because he wouldn't have concerns at all.

#reeve tuesti #cait sith #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #final fantasy 7 rebirth #ff7rb #ff7r #dirge of cerberus #ff7 rebirth spoilers #fandom ramble #hashtag cait sith is not reeve 2k24

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poetrysmackdown · 5 months

Text

some informal thoughts

hello! hope the holiday season has been kind to all of you. and i hope all my jewish followers had a lovely hanukkah! anyways, since i said a few months ago that i’d pick poetry smackdown back up sometime around this time of year, i thought i should make a post. the gist of it is that i’m still quite busy, i have a break that’s about three weeks shorter than I was planning on, and i don’t currently have the mental bandwidth required to read, contemplate, and sort through poem submissions in a way that does justice to them, even if i were to recruit some friends to help out. since running a tournament format requires at least five weeks of continued engagement once it’s underway, and since i’m not at capacity to offer that right now due to the change in my schedule, i’m gonna have to bow out for now. sad bc i was looking forward to it!

my hope is that i’ll have some more time over the summer to hunker down with it, in which case you’ll be hearing from me. it’ll frankly depend on the kind of job i land in for the summer, but i find that my unemployed spirit can typically keep me doing stupid shit regardless of workload...to a point. i don’t want to make any promises because i don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just to let them down again LOL. i do admit the amount of exposure the first tournament got has made me feel like more of a perfectionist this time around, doubly because i don’t feel that i’m very suited to being a public online presence (even a relatively quite small one)—i’m bad enough at responding to emails for my own real life responsibilities, let alone tumblr asks for the silly responsibilities i invent for myself lol. that’s not to say i no longer want to do it, or i don’t enjoy it, or even that i don’t feel capable of making a really interesting bracket—just that if i am working to put something new together, and if people are taking the time to submit poems they care about, then i don’t want to half-ass it.

my second admission is something like this. I made the original bracket as a celebration of poetry and our relationships to it. yes it was silly and competitive, and the poems were very tumblr, but still, celebration was the intention—I wanted to have conversations about poetry. I stand by the bracket format as a fun and valuable way to foster conversations about poetry, but truthfully, the poems i’m wanting to have conversations about right now—the poems that we should be talking about right now—are ones that i'm not comfortable putting in a bracket. I reblogged The Baffler’s Poems from Palestine collection on here earlier, and Najwan Darwish’s “Who Remembers The Armenians?”, which I still often find repeating through my head when I'm traveling from one place to another, walking home or riding the bus. I came across this beautiful thread recently where people have been translating Dr. Refaat Alareer’s “If I Must Die” into their own languages (this just makes my translator's heart sing!!!!!!). @havingapoemwithyou has been posting some great poems from and for Palestine as well—check out their tag here.

There's always more to add, and I'll be posting more on here as I come across it, but that's what I feel anyone should be focusing on right now when it comes to poetry. i think poetry can be an escape but it should never be a distraction. does that make sense? i wouldn't be against doing a one-off poll here or there, but it feels weird to be making a tournament for poetry right now, or anytime soon. i feel like what free time i have right now is still best utilized helping my friends with organizing in the real world. and god, a bit off-topic but while I'm talking, fuck poetry foundation—I have so much respect for all the poets keeping up the boycott, because while i think it's a simple decision, it's not always an easy one (Aurielle Lucier discussed that here).

anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for your time!! I could go on and on, but really this was just meant to be a message telling y'all that there won't be another tournament for a while lol. even so i'll be trying to use this small silly platform as best i can until palestine is free because that's the absolute least i can do.

#not a poll #also i'm closing my ask box for now because i know i don't have the bandwidth to answer anything rn. sorry :(#but feel free to reply here with your thoughts and any resources and i'll do my best to respond #or even messages might be fine. something about the ask format just gives me anxiety sometimes lmao #cannot stress this enough i am so so so bad at responding to things #even when i want to or enjoy doing it

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vichanma · 10 months

Text

Yandere Miguel O'hara Saviour Part 1: Coffee date

Tw: Stalking, Obsessive, memory loss, blood, lowkey murder, toxic ex (not him)

Also reader gender neutral, if I do mix it up by accident I'm sorry-

_________

The feeling of being followed, behind you as you walked towards the coffee shop. It had been like this for a few weeks, anywhere and no matter with who you felt you had a pair of eyes on you.

The pair of eyes developed into a pair of footsteps but when you'd turn behind you'd be greeted with a group of people pushing past to get to wherever they need to be.

Ignoring the feeling, you walk quicker and open the door: it's not like you can do anything about it if no one is following you actually. Entering the establishment you smile at the smell of the different scents, fresh coffee and herbs in the air. People reading, talking, writing or simply enjoying their beverage and treat or lunch.

Usually you'd come with a friend, but today she was unable to since her car had gotten a dent and a few scratches and she and her roommate tried making it normal again, not wanting to pay for the damage she wasn't sure how she had gotten.

You make a mental note to get her and her roommate drinks later. Standing in the short line it's quickly your turn as you look at the man "I'll have a cappuccino with a cinnamon roll." You smiled at the man. He nods his head with a smile, "I'll get that right up for you."

You walk to a table and set your bag. It was strange that there was a small line at this time and only one person working on the till. This meant your things will take longer then you had hoped.

"Here is your order." Your thoughts were interrupted with the sound of the man earlier. He had placed your coffee and snack on the table.

Turning the cup to yourself you smile at him, "thank you it tastes great." It was just how you loved it. He continued smiling at you but you didn't question him.

"You don't remember me?"

"Pardon?" You looked at him slightly shocked, shit did you manage to forget someone, what if he is a collegue or something. "I'm sorry I can't remember, I'm Y/n."

"Miguel." He looked down at her, he looked intimidating from this angle, but also attractive. He noticed her expression and stepped back a little. "We work in the same place, well used to. I had left recently."

Looking at him you do feel bad for not remembering him, "Nice to meet you, why did you leave?"

"Did you really forget me?"

You start to feel uncomfortable now, you genuinely didn't, and it was weird he continued to stay here and no one was asking him to go back. He let's out a sigh, of relief? "I'm sorry about that, I just remembered your face and wanted to approach you, can I have your number?"

Your last break up was messy, and he seemed like a nice person just a little strange. You nod and he hands you his phone, as you started typing it your number appears but isn't named. "Wait we called before?"

He shakes his head and takes his phone from your hands, "must be a mistake." He furrows his eyebrows before looking back at you, "I'll get back to work, I'll give you a call after." You wave your hand and say bye.

That was weird maybe you shouldn't have given him your number... he did really seem strange. But something felt so familiar about him. The comforting smell of his cologne, the kind smile as he spoke. But his eyes, they gave you shivers. You couldn't place a finger on it, but he made you nervous, even if he held kindness in them.

Shaking your head of any thoughts you enjoy your little treat for today and took out a book. Maybe you felt nervous because he was pretty damn hot.

___

After finishing you go to the counter again, placing two orders for your friend and her roommate, Kristine and Abigail. You looked around but you couldn't see the man you had spoken to, maybe he was at the back? Wait if we worked together why was he at a coffee shop working? You dismiss that thought when a man places your order muttering an enjoy.

You walk to your friends place, wondering when he would call you. Getting to her house you laugh as you see her outside still on her hands and knees, now trying to minimise the scratches, "how did you even manage that?"

"UGH I don't know! It was fine this morning, someone must have hit and run!"

"Or you didn't check from last night, you drive like a freak." Her friend joins in.

You shake your head, "whatever it is, here I got you some drinks.

The roommate takes her drink and says her thanks, your friend frowns at your, "Did something happen?"

"No everything okay Kris, you should be worried about the cat that scratched your car this morning." You chuckle as she smiles.

"Maybe it was a cat."

"No it was you girl, it was you."

"I wouldn't do something this bad! Also the cat was a joke okay? Still Y/n, you seem bothered?"

You smiled at her, "Nope I'm fine, I also got a fine number." You didn't have his number but at least she'd stop worrying.

"Thank god you are moving on from that psycho, about time!" The roommate nods her head. Your ex was abusive, would bring you down whenever he got the chance, would try to distance you from your family and friends. It became physical but shortly after that he disappeared. Not that you complained, it has been peaceful.

___

Miguel returns home. He opens the door and changes to his normal clothes. Walking to his basement he calls a number, grabbing a bloody body with a uniform, dumbing it in to a bathtub with some strange liquid.

"Hey Y/n, how have you been?" He smiles gently when he hears your voice.

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse #yandere spiderman #yandere #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #x reader

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