#you have no idea how hard it was to narrow down what clip to post i just had to go with this one cus i watched it today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

Viral

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Requested by @hstyleswritten : you and Tom make tik toks on set that test your friendship

Masterlist

“Hi tik tok.” You waved to your camera. “I’m not sure who’s gonna see this but I wanted to announce that I’ll be playing Black Cat in the MCU going forward. I just saw that the news broke online and-“

“-and she’s my girlfriend.” Tom jumped on your couch and wrapped his arms around you. “Did she tell you she’s my girlfriend? I finally got one.”

“All right, relax.” You chuckled as you playfully pushed Tom off of you. “I’m his girlfriend in the movies. Tom and I are just friends.”

“Why’d you have to kill my vibe?” He teased as he hugged you again. “Who is this video for anyway?”

“It’s for tik tok.” You told him.

“Oh. Hi tic tac!” He waved to your camera, making you burst out laughing.

“No it’s not…you know what? It doesn’t even matter. Bye tik tok.” You waved goodbye.

“Bye tic tac! Are they sponsoring you?” Tom asked as you posted the video.

“Uh uh.” You said sarcastically. “Tic Tac is sponsoring me. I get free breath mints for life.”

“Really?” Tom gasped. “You’re so lucky.”

“I’m joking.” You laughed. I don’t think they sponsor anyone. Wait, look. I already got a few thousand followers.”

Tom looked at your phone and patted your back to show he was impressed.

“Wow.” He smiled. “Look at you.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “They’re following for you.”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous.” Tom tutted as he pinched your cheeks. “They’re following to see this pretty face.”

“No.” You giggled as you pulled out of his grasp. “It’s for you.”

“We should make more of these.” Tom suggested.

“Oh, trust me.” You told him. “I plan to.”

“Hi Tik Tok. I’m on set right now. I can’t show you anything or I will be smited but look who I’m with.” You grinned as you rested your head on Toms shoulder and panned the camera to him.

“Hi.” Tom smiled at you. “What’s this for?”

“Tik tok.” You told him. “Say hi.”

“Hi tik tok.” Tom waved. “What is tik tok anyway?”

“It’s a dating app.” You told him casually as you posed.

“What?” He stammered, his jealously getting the better of him.

“I’m kidding.” You chuckled, making him sigh in relief. “It’s kinda like vine. Remember vine?”

“Is that that thing you showed me with the “road work ahead” guy?” Tom wondered, always confused with changing technology.

“Yeah, that’s it.” You laughed again at his choice of references.

“Uh, I sure hope it does.” Tom quoted in the style of the vine. “Was that good?”

“That was perfect.” You complimented, smiling at how he looked to you for approval. “I’m so posting this.”

Tom leaned on his hand and watched you fondly as you uploaded the video.

“How many followers do you have, love?” He asked as he gazed at you.

“13 million.” You showed him your phone and shook it proudly.

“Wow.” His eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? They all want to see this pretty face.” You teased as you pinched his cheeks, just as he did to you.

“Unhand me, woman.” He laughed. “That’s seriously impressive. I can’t believe my best friend is the face of tic tacs.”

You rolled your eyes at his joke as he laughed at himself before checking the comments on your latest video.

“Okay I’ve been getting a bunch of comments to do more tik toks with Tom so I’m gonna pull some pranks on him.” You said as you set up your phone. “He should be coming to my trailer any minute.”

Soon enough, Tom opened your trailer door and set a package of baby carrots and some hummus on your counter.

“Hey.” You said stiffly, keeping your eyes on your phone.

“Hi beautiful.” Tom smiled at you. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing.” You mumbled. “Just sitting here.”

“Are you okay? You seem upset.” Tom noticed. You flicked your eyes to the camera and smirked a little before going in for the kill.

“You could have been nicer to be today.” You said quietly, still keeping your eyes down.

Toms eyes widened before filling with sadness as he took a seat next to you in the couch.

“I’m sorry, princess. What did I do that made you feel like that?” He apologized as he rubbed your back.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.” You said coldly as you turned away from him.

“Is this because I said my butt looked bigger in my suit than yours looked in your suit?” Tom asked, making you break.

“You didn’t say that.” You laughed as you turned around.

“But I’ve been thinking it all day.” He grimaced, resulting in you hitting him with a pillow.

“You think I didn’t see you camera?” He laughed as he pointed to your phone. “You’re making a clip clop.”

“It’s a Tik Tok.” You corrected as you hit him with another pillow. “And I hate you.”

“Guys. Send help.” Tom said as he grabbed your phone. “My best friend is trying to kill me.”

Tom let out a scream as you chased him but the video ending and perfectly cut off his scream. You burst out laughing when you watched it back and added some hashtags before posting it.

“How many followers are you at now?” He asked once you caught up to him and tackled him onto the bed.

“23 million.” You told him as you shook your phone in his face.

“Wow. All thanks to me.” He pretended to flip some hair behind his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You shoved him playfully. “I’m so gonna get you back for this.”

Your plan to get Tom back went into motion the following week when the two of you were hanging out in his trailer.

You set the camera up and gave it a thumbs up before putting your feet back in his lap. You watched him scrolling on his phone for a moment before letting out a loud sigh.

“Are you all right?” Tom immediately noticed your sigh.

“I’m fine.” You said flatly.

“You don’t sound fine.” Tom insisted as he rubbed his thumb against your ankle.

“I am.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If somethings bothering you, it matters to me.” Tom said gently.

“Whatever.” You grumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tom pouted for a moment when he realized he wouldn’t be getting through to you before an idea came to him. He sudden yanked you by the ankles onto his lap and began to tickle your sides.

“Are you fine now?” He teased as you burst into laughter. “Does this feel fine?”

“You can stop now.” You said between fits of laughter. “I’m okay. It was for a tik tok.”

“You’re making another tik tok?” He asked as he found the camera.

“Yup.” You smiled proudly as you reached for the camera. “Bye guys!”

Knowing Tom was in the eating area, you went to see him with another idea for a video. You discreetly set up your phone next to Tom before going through with your plan.

“Hi Tommy.” You greeted him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You placed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down.

“Hi. Aw.” He chuckled fondly and rubbed your back as you sat down. “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to kiss you.” You shrugged.

“Aw.” He repeated as his cheeks heated up. “Thank you.”

Just as you hoped, Tom leaned in to kiss your cheek. You smiled warmly at him before wiping the kiss off with your sleeve.

“Did you just wipe it off?” Toms smile fell when he saw what you did.

“Hm?” You hummed as you leaned on your hand.

“You wiped my kiss off.” He repeated, visibly offended now.

“Sorry. It was a little wet.” You shrugged.

“So are my eyes in two minutes if you don’t let me give you another one.” Tom pouted.

“All right.” You agreed. “Try not to soak me this time.”

Tom kissed your cheek again and you gave it a minute before wiping it off.

“Oh My God.” He gasped and got up. “I’ve never been this insulted in my life.”

“Wait.” You laughed as you grabbed his hand. “Come back. It was for a tik tok.”

“Again?” He smiled in relief as he sat back down. “How do I keep falling for these?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you do.” You chuckled. “You’re getting me a lot of followers.”

“I’m telling you and tik tok right now.” Tom pointed at the camera. “I’m never falling for one again.”

“Yeah right.” You snorted. “He so is.”

And he so did.

“Hey.” You said causally as you walked in to Toms hotel room and found his sitting on the bed.

“Hi.” He said back as you knelt down in from of him. “Oh? What are we doing?”

“Just sit back.” You smiled at him, his eyes widening as you spread his legs apart. He leaned over to see what you were doing right as you picked up a pen you had planted under his bed earlier.

“Thanks.” You held up the pen. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this.”

“Wait, what?” Tom sputtered as you got up from the floor. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” You asked innocently as you clicked the pen a few times.

“You were just getting a pen?” He gulped as he crossed his legs.

“What did you think I was doing?” You played dumb as you looked at him through your lashes.

“Nothing.” Tom said skeptically as he took a pillow from the bed and placed it over his lap.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” You tilted your head to the side.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tom muttered as he held the pillow down.

“Uh huh.” You nodded. “Is there a reason you’re crossing your legs?”

“No. For an unrelated reason, I have to use the bathroom.” He got up quickly, keeping the pillow where it was as he ran to the bathroom. You grabbed your phone and saved the video to your drafts, smirking to yourself as you watched it back. You posted it just as a very sheepish Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Good evening.” He said stiffly as he held his hands behind his back.

“Hey.” You chuckled. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “I do.”

“Good.” You smirked. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re sneaky.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You’re a sneaky little snake and I don’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged simply.

“Oh, don’t you?” Tom mimicked you.

“Tom, come on. This isn’t fair.” You sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop being so hard on me.”

“I hate you.” Tom said decidedly as you giggled shamelessly. “I seriously hate you.”

“Aw. But I love you.” You pouted as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed. “Was that for that stupid app?”

“Yep.” You popped the p. “Thanks for 30 million followers, by the way.”

“30 million?” He asked. “You’re gonna have to do something huge to get to 50 million.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” You told him. “I have just the thing.”

“Okay, Toms in the bathroom but he’s coming back any second. This has been the most requested one by far, so I’m gonna do it.” You smiled nervously. “This is the “kissing my best friend” challenge.”

Your hands shook as you set your phone up on the nightstand just as Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Come here.” You pulled Tom by the hand until he was next to you on the bed. “I wanna show you this song.”

Your thighs and shoulders were brushing as Electric Love played, a small smile resting on Toms lips as he listened to it.

“This is a nice song.” Tom said softly as he turned to you. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I really like it.” You mumbled as you pulled his face to yours and kissed him. Toms eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut. He kissed you back eagerly, placing his hands over yours to keep you close. He pulled away after a moment and rested his forehead against yours, sighing happily as the music stopped.

“Did you actually want to kiss me or was that for a video?” He asked suddenly.

“Both.” You giggled before kissing him again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. Tik tok just gave me a perfect opportunity.”

“So that was real?” He asked hopefully. “That wasn’t one of your pranks?”

“No.” You shook your head, your noses brushing against each other. “It was not a prank.”

“Thank god.” He sighed in relief and covered your face in kisses. “I was planning on kissing you, by the way. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Uh huh.” You humored him as you uploaded the video. “Sure you were.”

“I was.” He insisted. “I had a whole speech planned.”

“Really?” You looked at him. “Tell me your speech?”

“Something along the lines of you’re beautiful, you’re magical, and I want to be your boyfriend more than anything.” He shrugged casually. “No biggie.”

“Aw. Too bad you were too chicken to say it.” You teased.

“Shut up.” Tom laughed. “I was gonna get there.”

“Look.” You showed him your phone. “I posted that less than five minutes ago and it already went viral.”

“What did I tell you?” Tom sighed happily.

“You told me what?” You looked at him curiously. He chuckled a little and pinched your cheeks.

“It’s all because of that pretty face.”

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littlemisslipbalm · 3 years

Text

I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends, but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

2K notes · View notes

tobi-momo · 3 years

Text

Your Cupid

a/n: hihihihihidihgl;df im finally posting again!! so sorry to take so long! also- im so so so sorry if this is bad i really wanted to post so i kninda rushed the end, and ik its long im so sorry😭 also i hope you find out soon in the fic and interpret yourself but just to let you know the title is referring to Oikawa, not Iwa.

Pairing(s): Iwaizumi Hajime x reader | Oikawa x reader (PLATONIC)

Genre: Slowburn!!! Romance, Fluff, Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, i think that's it?

Word Count: 4k

Synopsis: Being childhood best friends with Oikawa meant you weren't going to hear the end of it when it came to volleyball, when you finally agreed to become the Seijoh manager, he suddenly started to regret introducing you to his other best friend, Iwaizumi.

It wasn’t your choice, being here. You were forced to come, Tooru practically dragging you to the gym while you whine and complain, his cocky smile and fake charm trying it’s best to convince you to stop resisting. You barely know a thing about volleyball, even though always going to Tooru’s games and helping him practice when you were little, you never really caught the whole jist of the sport. He vowed to help you, to always be there when you have questions about it.

So with an elongated sigh, and a pinch to the bridge of your nose, you agree. You would become the manager of the Seijoh Volleyball Club.

~.~.~.~

The first practice you had attended consisted of balls flying, smacking aggressively on the ground; your eyes not being able to keep up with them, instead finding entertainment in the players instead. Tooru had introduced you to them, each of them holding their hand out for you to grab and shake gently before letting go and subtly wiping your hands on your uniform. He had mentioned another best friend, one that he had been trying so hard to get you to meet, wanting to complete his holy trinity. When you refused to go anywhere he would moan in defeat, collapsing on your bed while fake pouting and turning around to pretend that “y/n doesn’t love me anymore”. You would always just hit him with a pillow after that, resulting in an all out war. You had assumed the other guy refused as well, as Tooru never mentioned if his poor friend desired to meet you.

You guessed even after the ace met you for the first time the desire still never came up, his nonchalant nod and monotone greeting of his name showing proof of that, even before he turned around to walk away without a care in the world. He never took your hand, he never even looked at you; must have been too busy, throwing the ball in the air before running and leaping upwards, smacking the ball on the other side of the court, a loud grunt bleeding through his throat when he misses his target, running to and under the net to receive the ball. You watched him, pupils stuck on the way his body moved so flawlessly through the air, the way his rough, calloused hand hits the ball, making it mold around his palm and forcing it through the air without resistance, the loud slap that echoed throughout the gym when the ball made contact with the polished floors, the annoyed glare he made when the ball didn’t go where it was supposed to.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Y/nnnnnnn,” Tooru mewled, his fingers waving in front of your face, his fingers snapping together to grab your attention. His head turns, eyes widening dramatically when he finds what you were so distracted by.

Only regret ran through his mind at that moment.

~.~.~.~

You had attended most of Tooru’s games, but you had never really paid attention, as your eyes kept drifting towards the scoreboard and the clock, impatiently waiting for the final whistle to be blown. This game however, was different. Your attention was nailed to this game, your hair pulled back and your hands gripping the rotation sheet ever so tightly, your breath coming in hitches when the score rises, the atmosphere becoming so much more intense than you remember.

Awe was painted all over your face as you gaze at your best friend setting the ball so beautifully among the court, it flying towards the wing spiker just in time for him to strike it down on the other side of the net, gusts of wind following after- the hair of the libero on the other team fluffing up as they stare at the number four player. You watch him smirk in victory and his hands balling up in congratulating fists. The rest of his teammates whooped and cheered, patting him harshly on the back, a shared smile between him and Tooru before their knuckles joined in a tiny bump before returning to their sides.

Then, his eyes went to yours. The sweat dripping down his heated face and his heaving chest disappeared after you caught a glimpse of his green iris’. They were piercing; cutting into your brain and engraving themselves in your memory. How were you ever going to get them out of your mind?

You didn’t notice him walking towards you, his arms slightly swaying back and forth as he walked, his quiet footsteps picking up speed only a tad towards you. Then, as your mouth opens in an attempt to speak, the light of his green eyes floods your pupils when the words catch in your throat. “I- you were-”

“Y/n-chan! How’d you think of the game? Being so up close and personal like that has to make a difference from the stands, right?” Tooru’s voice bleeds straight into your hearing, interrupting your stutter. This was one thing you’d have to thank him for later.

~.~.~.~

“Wait, I’m confused, what’s that for?” You point to an arrow on your clipboard, looking up in confusion towards anyone who would listen. The captain was busy announcing whatever he wanted to the team, making them groan in annoyance and roll their eyes, Tooru only continuing with his story.

“What’s what for?” You heard from beside you, the low grumble of his voice seeping into your ears, making you jump backwards. The palms of his hands move to grip your arms firmly so as to not let you lose balance, his rough fingers wrapping around the flesh of your arm to pull you back up. He only stares, more of a glare, if you were being honest. He looked madly confused, or it may have been his resting bitch face, you don’t know. It wasn’t until you were back on your feet when you decided to speak up again, subtly avoiding eye contact by letting your eyes zip from random item to item, finding purchase on the metal clip of the plastic board you were holding.

“Uhm, I’m just confused about what play this is,” you say, your finger pointing towards the specific circle and arrow you were questioning. His head tilts downward, his eyebrows furrowing as he narrows in towards your problem, a hand on his chin.

“That’s a back row attack.”

“A what?” You question, looking up towards him for an explanation, only finding his eyes still stuck on the paper.

“A back row attack. It’s when a hitter from the back row jumps up towards the ten-foot line and hits the ball on the other side,” he abbreviates, a little hand gesture making its way through the air.

“Oh, really? How would that work? Why wouldn’t the setter just toss the ball to a front row player?” Volleyball gets more confusing everytime you think about it. He glimpsed up at you, took a short breath, then shifted his feet, like he was getting ready for a long conversation; you just stood there, waiting for him to explain a little bit more before taking a quick look around the gym, the cart of balls standing out to your line of vision. You hold a smirk, his head following your movements as you turn around to set the clipboard on the bench and walk towards the cart full of balls, picking one up and bouncing it on the floor.

A single eyebrow raises, but he still follows you to the court. “So, if I were to toss...to,” you put a finger on your chin, pondering, “back there,” you point to middle-back, taking a step towards the spot, “where would I be over here?”

He understood immediately, nodding his head as his legs made their way to you, scaling the court with narrow eyes once he halts beside you. “Well, depending on the play and the rotation, you could be anywhere on the court, so you could toss to them from pretty much any position.” His explanation sounded brief, vague. It was just enough for you to get the idea, though.

“Uh, go stand over there,” he urges, pointing to the middle back position. “Do you know how to hit a ball?” You look at him incredulously, feeling a little embarrassed to say you barely know how to do your approach.

“Not...really?” You compromise, shrugging as you backpedal to the back row position.

“Here,” he jogs up to you, handing you the ball, “take this and go to where I was just now.” You comply, heading over to that position, shifting the ball between your hands. “Give me one.”

“What?” You question him as he pulls his ankle back up towards his back, stretching his quad.

“Toss me one and watch me.” Oh.

You do as told, under-handingly tossing the ball up towards the ten foot line, studying his footwork. His form was perfect, you thought, his right foot leading his approach until he jumps into the air, practically flying flawlessly as his arm comes up behind him at a perfect angle to shoot the ball straight down one of the back corners.

The setter on the other side of the court could see the sparkle in your eyes, the glistening of awe in your face as you admire his best friend. He had a feeling you would like him once you met him, but not like this. The idea of you two suddenly being fond of each other ate away at him, like he was about to lose someone. Maybe two.

~.~.~.~

Away games were the worst. You hated sharing a small bus with smelly boys who don’t know a thing called “boundaries”. They hover over you, their arms flailing and their mouths running. You were annoyed, to say the least, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes at the boy's antics, crossing your arms to separate yourself from them. You didn’t even get the chance to sit next to Tooru, who got stuck on the inside of Kindaichi, messing around with Matsukawa and Makki.

You were uncoincidentally stuck with the captain’s best friend, Iwaizumi. You didn’t mind him of course, as he would put Tooru’s ego in place and tell everyone to shut up before you explode on them. You didn’t know if he noticed your irritation, your bugged eyes staring out the window, your head leaning against the glass. His head was also turned your way, you guessed to doze off to the moving trees outside, but you didn’t notice the way his eyes focused on your hair, subconsciously trying to count the strands while you look away, your eyelids drooping downwards ever so often.

Your dreary state was interrupted by a plastic water bottle being caught in the air, your nose coming face to face with a hand- the hand of the man sitting next to you, you infer.

“Guys, what the hell did I just say? Stop throwing shit around!” He yells towards his teammates, their playful demeanor turning pensive, their heads rotating away guiltily.

“Thanks,” you mutter, the words barely leaving your throat when he pulls away.

“No problem,” he dismisses, forcing himself to not glance up at you when he shoves the bottle in Makki’s hands.

“Hey- what the hell?” Makki whines.

“It’s yours, dumbass, take it.”

~.~.~.~

The red marker covering the white page gawked at you, showing you how you weren’t good enough for anything better. You couldn’t look at it any longer, the bottom lip of your frown quivering before you bring the inside of your elbow up to your mouth, muffling your sniffles and absorbing the steamy tears that scurry down your raw cheeks. You were better than this, what the hell is wrong with you?

Hiding in the storage closet wasn’t a good idea, The initial plan was clever, sneaking in there to calm yourself down before practice, needing to keep an optimistic mindset. That plan was ruined as soon as you broke down though, slow, and quiet but clear footsteps closing in on the door, like they were leaning their ear in to listen. Your mind hadn’t kept up with the time, as you hiccupped and sobbed even after the door was opened and light shined through the dark.

“Y/n?” You whipped your head away, refusing to look at them as you deal with your mortification. They scoot in, shutting the door until only a little line of light cracked through. “Y/n, what happened?” They sat next to you, closely you may add, dipping their head down to try and see your face. You avoid them, trying your hardest not to cry in front of them. “Don’t turn away from me, look at me,” they hush, placing their fingertips on your forearms, gently pulling them towards their direction, your head hanging down as your arms are removed from your mouth. “Look at me.”

You sniffle with exhaustion as you drag your head up, finally letting them inspect your glassy eyes, tears continuing to run down without fail. They had felt the hot liquid stream down their thumb as they wiped it away from your face, caressing your cheek as you fret.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head.

“Do you want my help?”

You nod. And you don’t move away when you find the vice captain’s hand reaching behind your head to cradle it as you whimper in his shoulder.

~.~.~.~

Study sessions with Iwaizumi became a regular thing. Whether it was him coming to your house and staying for dinner, or it was you falling asleep on his desk, you two never stopped doing it. Even after your grades went back up, the red marker leaving your memory almost completely when you get your new tests back. He gave you a look of approval, nodding his head a single time to show his acknowledgement. He wasn’t surprised when you came up to him and tugged him into a tight embrace, his large hands coming to hold your figure like second nature. He was used to this, your excited hugs and your bursts of energy and your lack of an attention span and your bright and sunny nature. It was funny to him how much other people burn you out, like a dying fire that needs more gasoline.

The second your body hit his, a breath slipped out, creating a little chuckle that filled your ears, the cozy warmth of his chest slightly leaning into you.

“Finally! I finally did it. Proud ‘a me?” You smirk at him, feeling a little full of yourself at the moment.

“Sure, sure, yeah,” he replies, slowly shoving your body off his, your feet stumbling as you let go of him, struggling to find balance. The hands wrapped around your arms keep you firmly planted on the ground, gently letting go the moment you stop moving around. They dive straight into his pockets, his head lifting to see your cheery expression. “You did good.”

You only smile in response, opening your mouth before a hand was planted on your shoulder.

“Y/n-chan! How’d you do? I heard trusty Iwa-chan helped you study!”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“I did really well, thanks to trusty Iwa-chan,” you emphasize, a glare shooting your way once the sound of your voice finds Iwaizumi’s ears. He didn’t like that. Tooru giggled, his hand half-covering his mouth to ‘try’ and stifle his laugh.

“Well, I did amazing too, in case you guys wanted to know.” A cocky grin made its way through Tooru’s face.

“We didn’t.”

“That’s awesome, Tooru!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m amazing.”

“Shut up, Crappykawa,” you and Iwa both chant in unison.

“Aw, c’mon, you guys!”

~.~.~.~

“I have to admit something, Y/n,” Tooru blurts in your room while he sits on your bed, his head hanging low while his fingers trace the thread patterns of your blanket. You spin your chair to face him, the atmosphere brought down when you see his quiet expression. Oikawa Tooru was never quiet.

“I thought letting you two meet was a good idea, I wanted us to be the power trio,” he strained a chuckle. “I just didn’t know that you two would become more than friends.” Your eyes expand, your breath immediately slowed and your movements coming to a full stop.

‘What do you mean by that, Tooru?”

“You know what I mean,” he waves you off dismissively. “I see the way you look at him, Y/n. I see the way he looks at you. I’m like the biggest third wheel in the world.”

You were confused, shocked. Was what was coming out of his mouth true? Did you really have different feelings about him than anyone else? Did he have them for you?

“I was mad, at first.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Like, really mad. I didn’t want you guys to have all that lovey-dovey stuff together when I’m right here, you know,” he gestures to himself; your head tilts in understanding, nodding. “I guess you could say I was jealous. It just irked me that you two never wanted to meet and then when you do you immediately fall head over heels for each other, completely ignoring the fact that I was the one to bring you two together.” He didn’t feel left out, like he did before, though. He had watched you two for a while, realizing that you two need him just as much as he needs you and you two need each other. He felt as if this was really who he belonged with. You guys.

You just stared at him, the cogs in your brain trying their best to process his words, your fingers coming together into a fidget. Your wide eyes landed on his, and although his pupils were nailed to the bed, you could see the sadness that didn’t belong. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that made him look like he was worried, regretful, yet his lips stayed thinned together as his hair dangled in front of him. You could tell he was trying really hard to say this. Even if it was The Oikawa Tooru, he wasn’t invincible.

You try to recall all the times you’ve met with Iwaizumi, all the conversations you had, all the tiny contact you made when your fingers had mistaken each other’s arm or fingers for the textbook, all the times he caught your lingering gaze, but refused to let it go, the times he caught up with you after practice, slightly jogging towards you and stopping once he reaches the same spot as you- you naturally having to speed up every once in a while as his legs were much longer than yours.

“You’re right,” you mumble, your words coming out slow and smooth, your eyes focusing back on him from the blurry space you just dropped yourself in. His eyes have a double-take on your face, moving back and forth from the blanket to your face of realization. “I do like him more than a friend. And it’s because of you.” His back stretches upwards, sitting up straight. “So, thank you, Tooru.” It was now his turn to be utterly stunned- thank...you? “I’m glad you convinced me to join the volleyball club, to meet Iwaizumi, to allow us to have these experiences together, thank you.”

What could he say? “Your welcome”? It seemed unfit for the situation, he figured. So instead of plastering on a confident smirk and showing his “Great King”, he exhales deeply, looking straight into the holes in your eyes. “Just don’t break his heart, yeah?”

You nod in assurance, returning a determined eye. “I can do that.”

~.~.~.~

The next few weeks passed slowly, like the clock gave an extra two minutes with every second that went by. You had barely seen him, as he walked away from you every time he noticed your presence. He refused to look at you, the back of his head being the only thing to face you during practice. Why was he avoiding you?

“Iwa.” He doesn’t look up at you from putting a ball back in the cart, shutting his eyes before turning around. He stops when your hand grasps his arm, pulling him into a stop. He tugs his arm back, your grip hardening on his flesh, your sharp glare not letting him leave. “Iwaizumi.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while screwing his eyes shut. “What.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” You bring your hand up in the air with question.

“Why have I been what?”

“You heard me. Now answer me.” Your tone was strict, firm. It annoyed the hell out of him that it made him want to confess.

“I haven’t been doing shit. Stop following me like a lost puppy,” he growls, side eyeing you.

“Excuse me?” Your head bucks back, surprised. With one last tug, his arm is out of your reach as he walks away with his dark demeanor.

Then, he was gone.

~.~.~.~

You had spent a couple days thinking about it. How the conversations were so short, how he just completely dismissed you. Tooru watched you two go back and forth between bickering, you usually being the one to start the conversation before he tells you to fuck off. He was curious as well. You mean, that’s what you assumed from the conversation they were having in the gym before practice, ceasing your stroll when you hear their voices echo throughout the room, your body hiding behind the door so they wouldn’t notice.

“Iwa-chan, we talked about this, she just wants to be your friend, stop being so mean to her!”

“Whatever.”

“Iwaizumi, I’m serious. Stop being so cold to her,” the captain’s voice changes, his playful attitude gone in a swift motion, replaced with a scowl when Iwaizumi’s wide eyes find him. “What did she do to make you like this, huh? Such a meanie, Iwa-chan.”

“I’m not,” the number four defends, looking Oikawa up and down before taking a step back.

“Oh, I think you are,” he taunts, “you too were getting along so beautifully, it looked like. What happened? Scared?” He smirks.

“Of what?” Iwa’s eyes twitched, his face flushed.

“Of her not liking you back.”

The ace stammers, his mouth not knowing what words to spit out as he looks his best friend in the face.

He was serious, wasn’t he.

Iwa stood there, gaping at Oikawa’s satisfied expression while stumbling on his words, trying to find the best one to respond with. But he couldn’t. There was nothing he could say at this moment that would change the way Oikawa thinks, because Iwa knows he’s right. He knows.

~.~.~.~

You were frozen in place, your heart seemed to stop working, you couldn’t tell. Your nerves had stuttered a couple times- you weren’t sure you were even alive at this point. The hand that placed itself on your mouth had fallen to your side, leaving your silent gasps less silent now. Thankfully, they hadn’t heard you, but once you rushed inside with purpose and resolution, the gym door slamming shut, their heads had whipped your way.

“You’re telling me you liked me this whole time?!” You shout to him, walking closer and closer until you arrive right in front of him. His eyes stayed glued to you, confusion stirring back and forth throughout his whole system. He was scared. “Is that why you’ve been a dick to me?”

“I didn’t-”

“Now, now, Iwa-chan, let her talk.”

“Tooru,” you lour, “stop talking.”

“I’ve liked you since I saw that jump serve you did at my first practice, and you’re telling me that you like me too? Even though you’ve been avoiding me and pushing me away and telling me to leave you alone and-”

“You what?”

“What? I like you? Yes! I do! Now can you finally stop acting like an asshole?”

Silence.

“Uh…”

“He means yes, Y/n,” Tooru cuts in while patting the vice captain on the shoulder, laughing it off.

You take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair as you sigh. “Okay,” you exhale, “well, then...are we? Do you-”

“Mhm! He would love to,” Oikawa answers again.

You look at Tooru once more, biting your lip to hide your smile before nodding once towards him.

Thank you, Tooru.

im so sorry for this mess oh my god

general taglist: @combat-wombatus @toosharkinternet @alpha3113 @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @solar3lunar @hitosushi @zerohawks @katsuhera @awmahleebkg @thisnoodlewritesao3 @realcube @f0leysgurl

haikyuu taglist: @pies-writes-and-more @luvrboykento

REQUESTS: OPEN

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averykedavra · 3 years

Text

A Vision with Nowhere to Go

Hi, yes, the Roman skirt pics watered my crops and healed my soul, so I wrote a quick drabble in their honor! This was entirely unplanned. But. Hi. Yes. The Roman skirt picks watered my crops and healed my soul, so--

(Title is from Ready to Go by Panic! at the Disco. This fic is on Ao3 here!)

Pairings: platonic DLAMP

Words: 1742

Warnings: a bit of insecurity and anxiety

“I’ve gathered you here,” Roman said, “for an important consultation. Thank you all for coming.”

Patton grinned back. Logan looked confused. Virgil blinked blearily, having been just dragged from his bed and plopped on the living room couch with the other Sides. Janus stifled a yawn with one gloved hand, another drumming on his knee.

“Do we...” Logan paused. “Am I alone in being confused?”

“Oh, no, you’re the only one who doesn’t get it,” Janus drawled. He examined his nails. “I had important things to do. This had better be worth it.”

“You owe me,” Roman said. He squared his shoulders and prepared his speech. “And this is extremely important. Life-threatening! A dilemma for the ages!”

“Yay!” Patton said, clapping.

“Wait, wait.” Virgil squinted suspiciously across the couch. “Deceit is here?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Janus is here because, as I said, he owes me.” Roman paused and braced himself. “Also, although I’m loathe to admit it, he is skilled in the dramatic arts. Such as--fashion.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Virgil leaned back into the pillows. “He wears gardening gloves from the nineteen-fifties.”

Janus looked offended. “You threw random squares of flannel onto your hoodie, and you call me lacking fashion sense--”

“Kiddos,” Patton said firmly. “This is about Roman right now. Shush.”

Virgil grumbled but went silent. Janus gave Logan a knowing, annoyed look. Logan didn’t return it.

“It is about me,” Roman said, beaming. He was jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. “Now, as you know, we’ve been having some lovely photoshoots. Patton looked adorable--”

“Aw, kiddo!”

“Logan looked like a librarian who would tell me to shut up--”

“How dare you.”

“And Virgil somehow managed to be more edgy than ever.” Roman talked loudly over Virgil’s hiss. “And now, it’s my turn.”

“Oh, are you finally doing your photoshoot?” Janus sighed in relief. “You’ve taken forever. I can’t go until you do.”

“I’ve taken my sweet time, as a sweet prince should.” Roman gestured dramatically at them. “However, I must admit that I’ve hit a--roadblock of sorts. Namely, I can’t decide on a skirt.”

“Oh!” Patton nodded. “I’m sure you could search up one on Ebay--”

“One, Padre,” Roman said, raising a finger, “no one uses Ebay anymore.” Virgil nodded in agreement. “Two, the problem does not lie in finding possible skirts. I have found plenty. I simply cannot decide on one.”

Everyone on the couch suddenly winced. “I know where this is going,” Virgil muttered. “Don’t say it.”

“So,” Roman said, bravely muscling on. “I’ve enlisted you to help me choose the perfect skirt.”

Virgil groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Come on, Princey. I trusted you.”

“That sounds like fun!” Patton said. He looked around for support. “Aren’t you guys excited?”

“Ecstatic,” Janus said, pulling his bowler hat over his face. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Hey, no!” Roman pouted. “I need your help on this! It won’t be so bad!”

“Much as I hate to admit it,” Logan said slowly, “this is hardly my area of expertise. Surely you can make the choice yourself?”

“No!” Roman threw up his hands. “No, I can’t! I’ve tried for days, and I’ve narrowed it down to a few dozen, but there are just too many! I don’t know what shade of red I’d like, or what accents, or whether it should be a skirt or a dress--I haven’t decided on frills, or trimming, or lace, or layers, or anything!”

“Just wing it!” Virgil shrugged. “I grabbed the first skirt that looked cool. I know it sounds weird coming from me, but dude, don’t overthink it.”

“How can I not overthink it?” Roman raised an arm into the air. “I am posing for an audience of thousands! I have the single spotlight! I don’t wish for blemishes to be burned into view!”

“I have skin cream, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Janus blinked at everyone’s surprised look. “Self-care includes skin care!”

“Figurative blemishes,” Roman corrected, and Logan huffed smugly. “I want to look perfect. I need to look perfect. Except I don’t know what skirt to pick!”

“I dunno, kiddo.” Patton looked hesitant to contradict him. “I hear what you’re saying, but maybe Virgil’s right? This isn’t such a big deal. Have fun with it! Pick whatever skirt makes you smile!”

“I’ll smile with whatever makes me look like a prince.” Roman sighed. “It’s hard to focus on that when everything else is happening. It is a big deal. I know it is.”

“You don’t have to post your picture right away,” Logan said. “If you’d like, you can take your time, or not post one at all.”

“Janus is waiting for me to finish!” Roman gestured almost violently at Janus. “And I can’t just quit, that’s worse!”

Logan raised a hand in surrender. “Fine. You simply seem...agitated about the prospect. I don’t wish for you to feel undue stress.”

“Easy for you to say,” Roman snapped. “You looked great.”

“I--” Logan blinked. “I did?”

“Yeah! All of you did!” Roman waved his arms. “And I--I have to be at least as good as you guys, or better, because princes are extremely photogenic! They have the best outfits! They look good, and so must I!”

Virgil frowned and gave Patton a look. Patton shifted back and forth on the edge of the couch. Janus fingered his gloves again, pulling the edges across his skin, like he was considering whether to take them off.

“You’ll look good no matter what.” Logan coughed. “You are...nearly identical to us, so if we do, so will you. Objectively.”

“Yeah, you’ll look fine.” Virgil gestured at him. “You always do.”

“I know,” Roman said, and there was a weight to his words. As if Virgil hadn’t actually reassured him.

Janus’ fingers tightened around his gloves.

“It’s okay.” Patton’s voice came out as a whisper. He was staring at his knees. “I--I know you want something good right now, Roman. I get that. Just--this doesn’t need to be your...redemption, or whatever you’re trying to make it. It’s just a skirt. It really just should be fun.”

Logan’s mouth formed a small o. Virgil nodded.

“Patton’s right,” Janus said, his voice clipped. He was avoiding Roman’s eyes. “In my honest opinion, all pictures look better when the subject is enjoying themselves. Haven’t you seen those dull Victorian pictures? If you’re happy--smiling, even--I don’t think anyone will care about the minutia of your outfit. I certainly wouldn’t.”

Roman was quiet.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “What--what Janus said. We’re rooting for you, no matter what.”

“If this upsets you, I highly encourage you to take a pause.” Logan drummed his fingers on his tie. “Or...find a way to make the process more enjoyable.”

Roman shifted from foot to foot, pulling at his sash. "I--I tried. I wanted to.”

“You did?” Patton frowned. “When?”

“With...you guys.” Roman’s voice faltered. “I thought it would be--fun. If you helped. We could just--have fun. It was stupid.”

Logan’s eyebrows raised. Virgil sucked in a breath.

“That’s not stupid,” Janus said.

Roman sunk into himself, just a bit.

A clap of hands startled them all. Patton had sat up, looking determined. “So. What do we do? Do you have anything narrowed down?”

“Oh, I--” Roman stepped back. “You...you don’t have to, Padre. It’s okay.”

“We want to.” Virgil looked around. “Right?”

“Right,” Janus said. “It would be a shame to let you look like a complete fashion disaster.”

“I would be...amenable to helping.” Logan shot Roman a small smile. “It is not my area of expertise. However, I do know much about the process of creating fabric, and I--would appreciate the experience.”

“We want to do this for you, kiddo.” Patton looked up at Roman. “If it’s this much of a big deal for you, we’re gonna help.”

For a second, Roman’s eyes shone with tears. Then he blinked, and they shone with excitement. “You’re sure?”

Four thumbs up.

“Alright,” Roman said, beaming. “Let’s do this! Research time! Grab your stuff!”

Patton jumped up and ran to the kitchen, probably to make a batch of dress-up cookies. Logan pulled out his notebook and pen. Virgil started tapping at his phone. Roman stood and watched them, still smiling, smiling brighter than he had in days.

“That,” Janus said, pointing at him. “That’s what you do. Perfect.”

“What?” Roman laughed. “What do I do?”

“Smile like that for the picture.” Janus shrugged. “It’ll work spectacularly, in my humble opinion.”

“Oh.” Roman looked around and waved at Patton, who waved back. “I--I might not smile that wide. I’m not sure if--you know, it’s not exactly regal and princely. Besides, I’m not sure if I want--” He glanced at Virgil, who saluted him. “To be so...open. Not just yet.”

Janus watched him with an unreadable expression. Then he nodded, his lips lifting in a smile of his own. “That’s more than fine.”

“Really?” Roman asked.

“Of course.” Janus gestured at Logan, who was knee-deep in paper, and Patton and Virgil. “It will look great regardless. You have yourself a skilled design crew--with a talented fashionista at the reins, also known as myself.”

“Thanks,” Roman said. “For all the help. And for--yeah.”

Janus looked taken aback at the sincerity. His smile softened. “It really will look great, Roman. It’s you, after all.”

“It is,” Patton agreed, with a nod from Logan. “Any picture of our kiddo is a great one.”

“Amen.” Virgil smirked. “Pictures are crap. We know how cool you really look, no matter what you do.”

“Besides, we’re here to help.” Logan looked up and held out a pen. “Would you like to show us some of your ideas for the skirt? We could use those to find a good match.”

Roman paused. Then he took the pen.

“This is gonna be fun,” he said, "and it’s going to look so good.”

And it was. And it did.

And Roman loved the dress they chose, but he knew he wouldn’t remember the photo in the end. He’d remember the hours spent sprawled on the couch with his friends, sketching ribbons and lace, laughing and planning and eating Patton’s cookies. The photo came out great. The memories came out better.

The photo looked good. Roman looked good.

He felt good. That was more important. That was the part that made him smile afterwards, off-camera and off-stage, out of the spotlight.

Maybe the photo wasn’t the big deal, after all. Maybe Roman was.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

@chaospersonified

@thatoneloudowl

@jungle321jungle

@mistythegenderqueermess

@k1ngtok1

@joylessnightsky

@elizabutgayer

@ohheavenlylord

@enby-ralsei

@remy-the-lemon-berry

@drarrymalecsolangelo

@riptide-123

@fander-fic-recs

@multi-fandoms-posts

#sanders sides #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman angst #sanders sides fic #averywrites #good evening i'm here i'm queer and roman's skirt pics made me shed a tear #so uh yeah here's a litol fic for u good people

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stormblessed95 · 3 years

Text

My Thoughts While Watching Memories 2020 Discs 1 - 3

Had multiple people ask me to post my thoughts and feelings about moments from memories as I make my way through the DVDs. Here are my thoughts condensed and definitely not all of them or over everything from the first 3 discs! 💜💜 Like I said before, I typed most of this out as texts to @1imstillme3 and I'll mostly be copy/pasting over here with some refinements and adds in. If you are not wanting to see spoilers for things in the memories DVDs and talk about moments that happen, please just skip over this post!

Disc 1

BangBangCon The Live

Track list:

Dope

Boyz with Fun

Just One Day

Jamais Vu

Respect

Friends

Short snippets of UGH and Zero O'clock

Black Swan

Boy With Luv

GoGo

Anpanman

Spring Day

This whole first Disc was just the concert performance. It was amazing, as we should all know. My favorite performances personally were Boyz with Fun (Tae and Hobi! And they were all just having fun!), Just One Day (Jin and JK with the rose! the smiles!), the previews of UGH/00:00 (their voices, their engery, Jimin! Yoongi!), the units (i love them so much. Namjoon having a blast in particular and Vmin giggling at the end), Boy with Luv (the umbrellas!!) and Gogo (Jungkook! Their energy!). I'm bad at narrowing things down. Sue me. Also Jungkook laying directly in front of the TV with a giant smile watching Vmin perform friends and then comparing his pinky to Jimins as soon as Vmin get back to the group makes me SOFT. Hobi making bracelets for all the members over Vlive and then giving tbem out to everyone in between songs was the sweetest freaking thing. He is the sweetest man in the world. Protect him. Including ARMY in the group hug at the end was insanely adorable.

Disc 2

BangBangCon Behinds, including VCR, Rehearsals, Dance Practice and D-Day making films:

It was the absolute cutest. Bang bang con morning of interactions and how they all showed up to the set were almost separated by unit which was funny. The 2seokkook unit with Jamais Vu. And then NamGi and Vmin showed up at varying times together too. It was cute.

Hobi, Jin and JK are eating before they get ready for Bang Bang Con and they are 100% parenting the hell outta JK 🤣 worried about his sleep, how he is eating, if he is getting enough sunlight. "I told you to get 30 minutes of sunlight a day, it's good for you" JK just smiling and nodding along.

Hobi leading dance practices and giving advice is one of my favorite things to watch. Like 100% absolutely. And Jin worked so hard, relearning the choreo on his own time since he had to miss group rehearsals the first 2 days.

Jimin took charge a lot during practice with the umbrellas, it was really nice to see him working so hard to get the details right. Hobi stayed later than everyone to review details of their practice all the time and remember what they needed to work harder on the next day. Just main dancer things

Jimin praising Tae for his idea to do BWL with Umbrellas and the different things he came up with for the performance. And then both Jihope reaching over to touch on him and praise him. It was so sweet and cute.

NamJin saying that their families were watching BBC together too 😭😭 all so precious. It is obvious they all worked so so hard to give us the best show they could. It was clear that it was odd and weird for them to do this performance for the first time without ARMY but they made it work. Yoongi kept saying make some noise anyway and Jin kept trying to include us in their conversations regardless. JK kept reading the comments and being so cute. I love them so much!

Disc 3

MOTS7 Dance Practice Film:

Remember the clip of JM teaching Tae cartwheels and how soft it was? What they didn't include was JK being junping when he saw them and teasing V by saying HE can do cartwheels and being like I can even do it on both sides. And then did some cartwheels and almost kicked Jin in the face 🤣🤣🤣 Suga also was so perplexed. He was asked what are you doing like 3 times and finally was just "No really. Why are we doing cartwheels right now? What is happening?" And JK was doing his cartwheels and vmin totally ignored him to continue doing their own thing. Namjoon also was asking why they are doing this right now and was confused. Lmao just Maknae line things I guess. But still that was such a cute moment with Vmin.

Jimin is so hardworking. So talented. He took charge so much with helping the members with things and with his solo dances here

Everyone complaining about being stiff and needed to stretch more because of so much practice. Everyone expect 3J, dancers extraordinaire.

MOTS7 Jacket Shooting Film:

Jin should be illegal omg. He bodied this whole shoot. Every single concept. But Especially the first one. My goodness.

3J have so much fun together. It's not stop laughs every single time they do anything and they slay it at the same time. One of my favorite units ever. There was SO MUCH jihope in the MOTS7 jacket shooting video as a whole. Hobi was all over Jimin quite often.

The pyramid photo shoot was the most chaotic thing I witnessed through this whole jacket shoot. They could not stop giggling. There was so much ass grabbing. JK laying his whole body on top of Jimin connecting at every body point, literally don't think he was on anyone but JM lol. Tae looked like he grabbed Jimin's ass at one point. Tae with his hands all over Jins hips. Hobi literally grabbing and shaking Jins ass. All the hands going everywhere. All the guys teasing each other, Jin yawning. Honestly was this just an excuse to touch each other? You don't need one! 🤣 Suga just peacefully perched on top of everyone else with no worries of being squished

Honestly this whole shoot was just them having fun and sharing their positive energy with each other.

Shadow and Ego Making Films:

When Jimin visited Hobi on the Ego set he said he drove 3 hours to see him. And got all shy when Hobi was telling him how good he looked and he was dressed so nicely. And Jimin said he wanted to look nice to see Hobi 🥺 All the other guys were recording for the album so Jimin couldn't stay long because he wanted to also visit Yoongi and then he also had to go and do some recording. They work so hard and Jimin still made sure he went to see Sope on their sets and you can see how much it meant to both Hobi and Yoongi to see him and get that visit. They both perked up and had more energy after Jimin left and they continued shooting. Jimin gave them so many compliments and told Yoongi how cool he was and the set was when he watched him shoot for a bit. And he brought them both ice cream treats. An angel

Sope were also so sweet and clingy even though they weren't together. Talking about each other and wondering how they were doing for their shoots since it was at the same time. Video calling each other during break. Getting videos from the staff of what the other was doing AT THE MOMENT on their set lol just the most precious bond 🥺🥺

Black Swan MV Making Film:

Remember how everyone was saying jimin was jealous of the taekook backhug at the end of the black swan MV shooting? Or that JK was trying to make him jealous or that they broke up. Or there was some kind of tension between KM? Yeah, we get like an extra like 3 or 4 minutes of them talking during that part in memories and through that whole time, TK are just looking at Jimin like he hung the moon and the stars as he laughs and talks about the MV. How they shooting in LA and how cool Hobi is for shooting CNS internationally here in LA before. And him smiling and looking fondly back at the both of them. Jimin was laughing and having a good time but also he was exhausted. When it wasn't his turn to talk, he wasn't as animated, he was tired. If he made eye contact with TK, he looked so fond at them, and if someone else spoke to him, he responded with smiles. He was so obviously not upset and TK weren't doing anything wrong and JK wasn't trying to be petty. He looked so in love with JM honestly. We know how much he liked Jimins black swan look.

I talk ALOT about my other favorite parts of the black swan memories stuff in previous posts. You can find them on my masterlist under "Jikook posts" and then "memories 2020" topic. My favorite moment from the black swan MV making is definitely the overly flirty way they were speaking to each other when Jimin was teasing JK about getting to go home before he found out that he had to stay late with JK to be his shadow. The way he used honorifics with JK and their tone of voice. The flirt level was intense. Lmao

ON Kinetic Manifesto Making Film:

Tkkrs speading a clip around of JK checking out Tae and making it seem like a sexual thing from On Kinetic Manifesto shooting film. Cutting out the before and after bits that are actually 3J all checking out and complimenting Tae on his temporary tattoos and outfit for the shoot since he just finished getting them done and finally joined the rest of the guys 🤣🤣 He was the last one out and made a wonderful entrance. His tattoos and outfit were striking and deserving of compliments. It wasn't a sexual check out it. It was a hype up session between the dance line. I loved seeing it. It also highlights yet again, the important of context. There was no full body "I want him" check outs. It was a check out of his new tattoos down his neck/chest and face. Which, understandable. Hobi also told him that he was bringing out his inner demon for the song. Loved it!!

Jhope while reviewing footage for ON, why did all the clips I see cut it before Jhope went "wow that was hot Jimin" after they saw his shoulder move. Jimin just yes, yes thank you. And them all saying that Jimin exposing skin would bring them in more views. Lmao the ARMY call out was NOT necessary.

Jins jacket was not silver?! They decided they had too many members in black jackets so they spray painted his black leather jacket on the set!

ON MV Making Film:

Jin acted out his feelings of despair during the ON MV with the dead Dove by imagining he had worked super hard to get to max level 100 on a game and then his account was deleted and he had to start over 🤣🤣 Why are they like this? I love them.

Jin, JK and Hobi were the only ones shooting on Day 1. Hobi scolded JK teasingly to make sure he lays down and plays dead properly during his scene. When JK got to leave first, Jhope asked him to wait for him and JK just was like "what?" No idea if he waited or ditched him for home. Lol

Tae being the sweetest boy while everyone else ate snacks during JKs solo shoot, Tae went and delivered and hand fed snacks to the crew that was around and camera men and fhen fed JK a snack as soon as the camera stopped rolling. He was making sure everyone who still had to be working still got to enjoy the tasty snacks 🥺 An Angel. We don't deserve him.

Vmin dancing and being so sweet together to show the young girl on set with them how to dance so that then she could do it with Tae too. He dipped Jimin and then dipped her and I melted. They are so good with kids. The smiles were SO BIG.

SBS Inkigayo Making Film:

Vmin accounts posting Tae tapping Jimins ass as they get ready to perform black swan. Jikook accounts posting JM tapping JKs ass in the black swan pose. Reality: JM tap JK ass, Tae tap JM ass, JM tap JK, Tae tap JM.... JK confusion 🤣 Vminkook ass tapping chain

Jin and Jimin bickering over the black swan inkigayo stage. Jimin teasing that he got a lot better but he needed to move back in time so thay JM could get in. Jin saying it was the stages fault because he can communicate with the stage and it told him to dance longer. Why are they like this?!

Please. Yoongi said the stylists dressed him up in a space suit and asked if they were sending him to NASA 😂 his outfit for Inkigayo week 2 performance lmfao

Taekook being silly with the choreo before practice and then convincing all the hyungs (with Jins help) to do finger hearts during the ON bridge part since it's the last performance for the show they are filming to show ARMY love. Everyone was trying to convince Hobi to do the heart thing on stage officially since it was technically their last performance for the show. And Hobi didn't truly get on board with it until Jimin did. And when I say Jihope main dancers and the unofficial performance directors for the Tannies, this is what I mean!

When they did the hearts for the stage, everyone laughing super hard at Tae's cute heart. Namjoon told him to do it the same way for the offical recording. And then giggling over JKs dramatic heart while he sings HIS heart out on the bridge. Everyone, except Jimin. Jimin looks so freaking endeared and fond watching that playback during JKs heart part 🥺 I melted. He loves him soooooo much.

Namjoon and Jimin talking about how sad they were that they weren't performing with ARMY is taking me out 😭 Yoongi giving Jimin his signature comfort smile as he passes by knowing Jimin is sad 😭 and JK coming up to rub his neck/shoulder briefly to comfort him. Omgggg.

Wow! Okay, so that's it for the first 3 discs. Obviously this isn't even close to everything that happened. I mostly just discussed what personally stood out to me. For more in depth stuff over some Jikook moments in memories, be sure to check out my masterlist. I'll post more parts to this as I make my way through memories if people want me too! Thanks! I hope you all have a wonderful day!

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1990jeevas · 3 years

Text

Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

#dream smp #/dsmp #dsmp #sleepy bois inc #sbi #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #fic #fics #fanfic #fanfiction #the dream smp #shit self #dami writez #/rp #dsmp fic

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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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