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hrina · 4 years

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In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes!

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

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iconsumeheadcanons · 3 years

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hello, for the WIP game.... "fanfic in my google docs? its more likely than you :/" and "theater food" :)

bro...bro..BRO you are getting large chucks of these bc im not sure if these will be finished/posted anytime soon..<3 ive gotten a lot of love today thank u so muchhh asldkfjaslkdfj i hope u enjoy!! here is all of ‘theater food’ and half of the first one

fanfic in my google docs? its more likely than you think :/

May 30th - 16:33 - Afterschool

Ren was still in the middle of hastily reading Futaba’s texts from hours ago when he opened the door to his family home and found his mother pacing in the genkan.

“...Mom, wha-?”

“I got a call from your school,” she says instead of hello. Ren freezes. Mona shifts in his bag. There’s silence for a second too long, but his mother quickly catches his tense posture and readjusts her approach. There haven’t been any arguments in a week and she doesn’t want to make this a new one.

“The counselor said you were fighting with a first-year,” she starts in a more inviting tone, but she tenses when she sees how quickly Ren’s cautious neutral face shifts into a frown.

“I-I just want to know what happened,” she says.

Ren releases an angry huff instead of turning around and leaving because he recognizes that his mother isn’t trying to jump to conclusions--that she trying to hear his side--but he still has hours worth of bad emotions at the forefront of his mind, so he kicks off his sneakers without undoing the laces and haphazardly drops them on the shoe rack before he allows himself to say anything.

Of course, because he is an angry idiot, his first response is: “There was no fight. It was just an argument,” and he snaps his mouth closed because that is exactly what a delinquent guilty of starting a fight would say and Makoto would be so disappointed in him right now. Morgana delivers her phantom message with a disapproving really, Joker?

His mother guiltily shifts her hands, one eyebrow twitching at Morgana’s muffled meow.

“I just used the words of the counselor,” she amends, gesturing for Ren to enter the family room.

When they enter, she sits at one side of the rickety couch and pats the other seat. She smiles with some invitation, a dash of hesitance, and a sprinkle of uncertainty as if she has no clue how to speak to her teenage son. She looks at him sort of like he’s a child, but at least she doesn’t seem afraid of him like she was before Golden Week.

Ren joins her at the couch, releases Morgana on to the space between them so he doesn’t have to think about the distance, and conjures up how he can best explain the events of the morning in the least incriminating way (shouldn’t have to, he thinks, didn’t do nothing wrong in the first place) but his mother recognizes his thinking face before he can start.

“W-whatever you say, I’ll believe you, sweetie,” she encourages honestly. He can tell she means it because she tucks her hands in between her knees and tilts her legs in the picture perfect display of humble motherliness to hide how her legs would bounce otherwise. He turns to face her a bit, legs spread out and back slouched in a show of teenage indifference, despite his nervous right leg and the rhythmic flickers of light that bounce off of his phone case as he deftly spins his smartphone in his left hand.

“You mean that?” he can’t help but ask, belying his blase posture.

His mother nods with lips pursed, proving to her son that she has no intention of speaking over him. Emboldened yet reluctant, Ren begins the recount of his day at school.

theater food

Ren slides into his seat while Hamuko and Ryuji chatter away about beef bowl places. Their enthusiastic discussion about cheap, fast, good food is not helping Ren’s patience or hunger. Usually Ren’s been in charge of the food prep because he’s the only one who knows how to make something all of the Thieves plus Hamuko will eat, but when they left Kamoshitty City today, Theodore pleasantly requested if he could make a recipe he’s been working on, which Hamuko had endorsed immediately.

Ren agreed because Theodore is really hot and the thought of him buzzing around the kitchen is appealing enough, but around 40 minutes later, Ren is very hungry and is cursing his inability to disagree with tall hot people. To distract himself, he tries to brainstorm ways to free Haru and Makoto from Kamoshit-man’s unproportionately buff grasp, but his brain keeps snapping back to his teammates’ loud discussions and Theodore in a heart apron and himself in a cute pinafore sharing a festival smoothie--the romantic ones with the heart shaped straw--under the setting sun. He doesn’t even like smoothies.

From the other corner of the weird theater lunch tables Futaba sends him a blank look that implies that she can hear his raging gay thoughts. Ren sticks his tongue out at her, and to Futaba’s left, Nagi raises a thin eyebrow and points at herself as though she thought he was talking to her. Embarrassed but never one to lose, Ren sticks out his tongue again at her paired with a flirtatious wink. At the head of the table beside Ren, Akechi makes a face. Futaba gags. Unaffected, Nagi returns her attention to Yusuke’s analysis of Hamuko’s preferred color palette for her hypothetical thief costume.

Ren’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out, wondering how someone managed to text him while he’s in a magical dimension theater metaphor place. He quickly gives up that train thought when he sees Futaba’s SNS username. A quick glance up shows that she’s pointedly staring at her phone, so he swipes open the message.

wat did theo say he was making?

i hungr

idk

worried u wont like it?

duh

if hes anything like those tsuntsun twins he’ll probably poison it

...i didnt think of that

prolly not though. i mean hamuko trusts him

ur only saying that cuz hes a pretty boy

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

for real though he wouldnt

The twins would without a doupt

*akechi voice* haha it was merely a jest!

DSKLFASLDKFSD STOP HES RIGHT

HES RIHGT NEXT TO ME ASSHOEL

“Food’s ready!” Theodore announces over Ren and Futaba’s unsubtle snickers. Somehow, Theodore has acquired two shining serving platters.

“Theo, you’re the best!” Hamuko says, standing up immediately to help him serve because she (and Haru) is the sweetest person in the universe.

“Thanks,” Ren tacks on because he’s ‘in charge’ and he’s supposed to ‘set good examples’. He does not, however, stand up to help because he is lazy.

The rest of the group is already chorusing thank yous and crowding around the food like hungry animals. Makoto is not around to tell them that they’re acting like children. Akechi is patiently waiting for everyone to get out of the way before he serves himself, which is probably a smarter idea than Ren who’s walking around the table so he can insert himself between Ann and Ryuji, the most destructive eaters of their current group. Yusuke, another main offender however justified, already has a bowl full of what appears to be noodles, veggies, and chicken covered in a savory sauce.

#my writing #p5 #p3 #pq #the firsts a lil wordy but i like details so ykno #idk how to make text others colors on desktop but ren is italized text

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offaeandcreation · 3 years

Text

Sleep-Deprived College Student Becomes World's Strongest Cultivator By Bullshit Means

Summary:The last thing WanLi An (Ani) expected was to a) die in the most pathetic and ridiculous manner, b) wake up in the body of a villain destined to be beheaded in a war of their own making. Of course with Ani's luck, that's exactly what happened. Now Ani finds herself the ruthless, morally-questionable at best, leader of Qishan Wen, rearing two bratty children, while pretending that yes, she is absolutely Wen Ruohan. Nothing to see here! Everything is just fine. Except the universe isn't done making her life hell. "For fuck's sake, I just wanted my degree!"

Chapter 1: Holy Fucking Shit

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11+

Content Warnings: Death, Mourning, Dirty Jokes

AO3

On my gravestone, I want the following epithet: Murdered by heels via the eighth floor window. Gravity was a co-conspirator.

There she flew, like an outtake of 'It's a Wonderful Life', skirt flapping in the wind harder than a can-can dancer's. Ani, known to her angry mother as WanLi An, was NOT about to become the world's next human pudding if she had any say about it. She reached for the psychology department’s brick edges, anything to stop the fall that ended in concrete.

Supergirl, now’s your chance! Fulfill my lesbian dream!

As she waited for the inevitable hero to come swooping in, a familiar object flew past her like from the Rabbit Hole scene in ‘Alice in Wonderland’: the softcover book she’d been reading, glossy title flashing its Chinese characters, ‘Mo Dao Zu Shi’.

Oh ya, I could learn to fly on a sword!

She made a grab at it but missed, watching the wind sweep it away. Another possession flew into Ani’s line of sight: a pink tote bag with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it – for A-Li. His meringues packed inside, made just for him to stuff his face with with the intention of proving that yes, he can fit five in his mouth now, all came flying out. The wind clearly wanted to take them for itself.

Those are for A-Li you air-bag!

Waving her arms around, she tried to reach for the helicoptering meringues with much gusto and much failure.The whistle in her ear might as well have been snickering.

A photograph slipped into Ani’s line of sight taken back in China of her entire family: her parents, grandmother, A-Li, days before her father died.

The wind stole the air out of her lungs. Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could while having no anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small. She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter.

No! No don’t do this!

Ani screamed at the wind that tore at her, at the grey sky that looked at her with no mercy.

I’m going to die. I can’t die- Grandmother, I can’t! Not now. I have to take care of A-Li–

A single tear kissed her cheek before floating in the air, too light to fall, before she plunged into the concrete.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Ani’s eyes shot open, a gasp escaping her lips. Her heart pounded into the pillows she was lying face-first in, breathing as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare.

She was in bed. At home. Safe. Her muscles relaxed, sinking into the mattress beneath-

Something hard resisted against her body, as if the mattress was more akin to a wooden board then memory foam. She blinked, allowing her hands to wander the bed, pressing and feeling against silky bedding.

This isn’t my bed-

Wait.

She shouldn’t even be in bed.

Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could without an anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small. She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter.

She should have died.

I fell.

I fell eight stories.

I fell eight stories onto concrete.

Ani sat up, finally looking where she was lying. She was in a large bed with a thick, silky, maroon blanket – something that her grandmother would have owned.

What the fuck?

Ani looked up. Wooden beams criss-crossed above her, holding up a low ceiling made of an unknown dark wood.

Why was there a ceiling? Wasn’t I just seconds ago falling out of a building into the concrete, outside? Where no ceilings could exist?

Ani crawled towards the edge of the bed to take a good look.

It wasn’t a ceiling, but a wooden canopy, with ostentatious diamond and floral engravings, accompanied by transparent red and black valance.

Where am I?

Ani finally looked up from the bed. Her eyes bulged. Three college classrooms couldn’t have fit within this single bedroom.

Beyond the bed, a built-in nightstand had been covered in glass bottles, some small as pennies and others like glass blown art, and torn white sheets .

Bandages perhaps? I’m supposed to be in a hospital…? This doesn’t look like a hospital bed.

Beyond, silky red and woolen carpets decorated the dark floors. Across the room, a large table sat perpendicular to the wall covered in stacks of scrolls.

Some regular-old New York City hospital most definitely wouldn’t have this – a waste of space and money.

Ani blinked. Where was the IV drip? The heart monitor? White curtains? The sink? The putrid smell of alcohol and plastic? Flowers? She definitely deserved flowers. Especially after everything.

What sorry excuse of a hospital is this?! An alt-medicine hospital?Did they give me acid? Was the whole accidentally-falling-out-of-a-building-from-the-top-floor-because-why-not sequence a dream?

Ani rubbed her eyes to make absolutely certain she wasn’t indeed hallucinating. Except, her hand felt strange, as if someone attached weights to them without asking her permission. Ani pulled at them with more force, until she smacked herself in the face. She hissed in pain, glaring at her stupid hand-

What. The. Fuck.

This wanna-be-Micky-mouse-glove abomination was abso-fucking-lutely not her hand. She brought it close, staring at the long pale fingers, razor sharp nails –absolutely a lesbian hazard – and delicate wrist. It was at least twice the size of her face, and felt…foreign. Flexible, catching more air. Ani was pretty sure she could make shoes out of these hands and comfortably walk in them and with room.

She brought up her other hand in comparison. To her utter horror, they matched!

Ani closed her eyes, hoping that somehow to conjure up her smaller, tanner, lesbian-friendly hands. She opened one eye, her kernel of hope popping

Nope.

Either Ani was tripping very hard on acid to the point that her brain forgot the importance of clipped nails, or she’d fallen eight floors and needed a transplant and the only thing available were these man-hands.

Cold pooled in Ani’s gut. Ani tossed off the blankets, scrambling to her feet. She ran towards the golden mirror attached to a nearby vanity. Despite skidding to a stop, her torso continued its trajectory until she face-planted into the floor.

“Fuck,” she bit out.

The sound that came out of her mouth was not the familiar timbre of her voice. She coughed and spoke again.

“Hello.”

It sounded so wrong. Ani spoke a few more words– “Hewwo,” “Nya-Nya,” “Nico Nico Nii,” “Motherfucker,”– before taking a deeper breath. No matter what sounds she made, the voice remained low like a choral bass singer. As low as her father’s had been. Tears welled in Ani’s eyes as she slowly tried to get to her feet, head spinning.

What’s happening? Why are my hands weird? Why is my voice weird!

Even her feet were weird: pale and big like her hands. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, trickling down her back into the collar of white robes that fell to her calves. She never could afford something like this.

Nor did hospitals supply silk robes.

She brushed the robes aside as she got to her knees, her jaw throbbing, and faced the golden mirror.

The face that stared back at her wasn’t her own.

It was a face of man, with bright, unnatural scarlet eyes.

The mirror broke.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ani flinched at the violent crack. She looked behind her, searching for whatever had broken the mirror. Outside of the table and a sliding-door that led to who-knows-where, there was nothing that could have caused the damage.

She closed her eyes, counting to ten. Reopened them. She closed her eyes, counting to twenty. Reopened them. The same unknown male face stared back at her: long oval face, messy bed-head black hair, and vivid crimson eyes, tinted slightly by the color of the mirror. Not the round face, short dark hair and eyes that she has seen in the mirror every day for twenty-three years. Not the face she preferred.

Red eyes? Seriously? Red? Hardly realistic.

Not even albino irises were this intense. She backed away from the mirror, coming into the body’s full height. At least twice her height - which explains the sheer size of her hands and feet.

At least I’ll be able to reach the top shelves without being laughed at.

The thought quickly scurried away the longer she looked at herself. The mirror mimicked every move she made. The cracks distorted her figure– no, the man’s figure.

What’s happening? What’s going on? Why am I in this body? Is this a hallucination?

Ani mentally ran through all her psychology courses until she had an idea.

Wait, there is still one more test. People who suffer from delusions often attempt to use other senses to figure out if they truly are seeing what is in front of them. So if this is all a delusion-

Shutting her eyes, Ani stuck her hand between her legs-

Yup. That was most definitely not there before. I’m in a man’s body. Confirmed.

She groaned, sinking to the floor in defeat, resting her head on the table. Leaning her head back, she noticed the scrolls wrapped in beige ribbons.

Perhaps these documents will tell me what the hell is going on.

She pulled at the ribbons, looking for something, anything that could give her answers. She scanned the unfurled parchment, noticing a collection of vertical lines, occasionally underlined once or twice that made no sense to her. Dates?

She could understand the Chinese characters, except the style was clearly more archaic, with words that would never be used in any book that would be found at home. Except the older poetry books, because poets like to be pretentious know-it-alls.

Ani looked for writing utensils, except instead of finding pencils and pens that every self-respecting person would have, she found only bamboo brushes.

‘Want to learn?’ a memory itched at the back of her mind, floating to the surface.

Her grandmother had returned from Beijing, eyes crinkling with a smile that her bright blue face mask hid. Ten-year old Ani cried out in happiness, rushing towards the open door in only her purple floral pajamas. Her father grabbed her before she could topple her grandmother with an unexpected bear hug.

‘Ani, Ani, look what I brought you,’ she said with a familiar grin the moment she pulled down her mask under her aging chin.

From a plastic bag, she removed several shiny brushes, the bamboo wood birch-yellow, polished to a shine, and the bristles a variety of browns and white, pointy like a pencil.

Her grandmother handed them to her, ‘Now Ani, these are the brushes of our ancestors, they used to work with these so long ago to make beautiful calligraphy. Want to learn?’

With careful fingers, Ani lifted one of the brushes, running her finger over the bristles and the smooth handle. These weren’t the brushes her grandmother gave her – the handles weren’t as dark nor as smooth as the wood lacked the sheen polish that modern brushes had, and the bristles were more frayed – not supported by synthetic material. These weren’t her grandmother’s brushes but-

“Am I…in the past?”

She scanned the space around her, searching for any sign of modern technology. A fireplace, a wardrobe that most probably cost at least a quarter of her tuition, mats that most definitely were made of organic material, not the synthetic fibers of the modern age. There wasn’t a single modern artifact in the room.

“I’m in the PAST?” Ani cried out, tearing at her hair, “How did THIS happen?”

Her heart beat pounded in her ears. How? How? How? How!

“Sect Leader Wen!”

Ani yelped, grabbing a bronze candle holder as the door slid open. She backed up into the mirror, glad it hadn’t shattered earlier. Assuming whatever entered the room wasn't trying to kill her, the last thing she needed was to pay for broken property just because she stared too hard at the mirror.

A man with dull robes walked in on his knees. Their eyes met and he fell into a bow, face first into the hard wooden floors.

“We are pleased to see you awake Sect Leader!”

Yes, I’m sure you are.

“Physician Wen is being notified now,” he continued. “Is there anything that we can do for you in the meanwhile, Sect Leader Wen?”

Luckily, the servant was too busy digging his nose into the floor and quivering like a vibrator to notice the way her mouth dropped along with the candle.

Sect Leader…Wen?

The name was familiar. Too familiar. She looked past the servant, above the door to the banner that decorated the walls.

The sun symbol.

A stone dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t just traveled into the past. She’d transmigrated into the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi.

As Sect Leader Wen Ruohan.

Who was destined to die.

#oc #wen ruohan #wen xu #wen zhuliu #wen sect #mo dao su zhi #wen chao #my writing

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marvinswriting · 4 years

Text

Loud

prompt: my dog hates the fireworks on 4th of july, do you think tinies (cough, janis, cough) hate it too?

my poor bby, and yeah, probably ALSO I GOT THIS ASK LIKE, JULY SECOND BUT IM HERE POSTING IT NOW AND THAT'S CALLED PUTTING IN THE WORK TO FINISH MY WIPS INSTEAD OF STARTING A NEW ONE, its a rare occurrence.

Fourth of July is a shitty holiday if you ask Janis. Why do you need to set off loud fireworks just to brag about freedom? And why do fireworks have to be so loud? Surely you can design them to be just as pretty but a little quieter.

She was with Damian, Cady, Aaron, and the plastics. They were at the Heron's because Cady's neighbors did some cool firework shows.

Janis never left the house for the fourth of July. Some years she'd hang out with Damian, but he knew how much she hated the fireworks so most times she stayed home, in bed.

Unfortunately, this year she had been cornered by Regina and Aaron begging her to come. She doesn't know why she said yes, but as she sat in the palms of Damian's hands as they all watched the sky grow dim, she was mentally preparing for the worst.

Janis could tell Regina was nervous too. Something Janis distinctly remembered when she was plastic, that Regina George hates fireworks. Maybe as much as Janis. The two of them would hang inside together the whole day, earplugs in and music blasting.

But Regina for the most part seemed to have outgrown that.

Janis, on the other hand, did not. She had an arm wrapped around Damian's finger as the group watched the sunset.

Janis knew Damian was worried about her tonight. It had been a while since she had been with a group for fourth of July. And not to mention the fireworks were only across the street this time.

Janis tried not to think of it as she tuned into the conversation going on around her.

Aaron was complaining about how he should have gotten earplugs and the three tinies were gonna go deaf. Janis laughed a bit, nodding.

The group continues on with their talks and Janis only half listened.

The sunset slowly faded away to navy blue swirls mixed into dark clouds.

Janis watched Regina get tense and it made her feel a bit better that she wasn't the only one freaking out about this a bit.

The first familiar hiss took all of that confidence away as Janis ducked down behind Damian's curled fingers. He laughed softly, cupping his hands more, allowing her to sink down further.

There was a loud boom, followed by bright and beautiful colors, and for a second Janis though it would be okay. She lifter herself further out from behind Damian's fingers, watching the bright colors fizz away. From her house, all she can hear are the pops, no real beauty.

But then more came. One after the other loud bangs all around.

It was a lot.

Janis's head hurt.

She could vaguely hear Regina ask Karen to take her inside and Janis knew she should do the same, but she was too concentrated on the forever ringing in her ears.

The pretty flashing lights all around her suddenly meant nothing.

Too much noise.

Too many flickering colors.

Too many people cheering.

The hand beneath Janis shifted as Damian placed her silently in his pocket. She dipped into the pocket without protest, trying to escape the overload of noises and sights and-

Her head was spinning and her ears were ringing.

Sombody needs to invent quiet fireworks.

"Janis?"

It was quieter.

Damian had followed Karen inside.

Janis popped her head out, cringing as another bang sounded from outside.

Damian's hand scooped her out, placing her onto the table next to Regina. "You okay?"

Janis couldn't tell if it was her heart or her head that was pounding. It very well could be both. The counter beneath her felt cool, but not as cold as the airconditioning. It was a harsh contrast to the heat outside. Each boom made Janis curl up on herself a little more but- it was better in here by far.

"Yeah." She said after a while.

"Why did we do this." Regina groaned.

"It was literally your idea!" Janis said turning to the girl.

Damian laughed. "If they can still fight with each other, they'll be fine."

As if the world was out to directly contradict his point, a series of loud booms went off, one after the other.

Janis stiffened, trying not to jump with each noise. She knew she wasn't in danger, yet her fight or flight was kicking in hard.

It felt as though her brain was trying to concentrate on everything at once.

The ac had kicked on again, a cold breeze blowing past Janis.

Regina was mumbling something about a headache.

The front door opened, Cady's voice filling the room.

Janis was staring at the surface beneath her, trying to memorize the pattern in the counter. To concentrate on anything other than the noise.

Damian was talking, maybe to her, maybe not.

Aaron was placed on the counter next to her and Regina.

There were still booms.

The counter was tiled, small little pieces of polished stone sat underneath Janis.

Another boom.

The rocks were all warm neutral colors.

Three more quick booms.

They were all uniformly square-shaped.

Everyone was talking.

It wasn't working.

The room felt like it was lacking air. Every deep breath Janis took wasn't nearly as filling as it should be.

A familiar hand slipped underneath her. Janis didn't fight it. She knew it was Damian without looking up. She was worried about other things.

She shut her eyes, trying to will the headache to go away. She could feel Damian hold her close and walk somewhere, but the motion just made her nauseous.

This is why she stays home.

Fucking Regina, convincing her this would be a good idea.

Wherever Damian went was quieter, but the headache was still there.

Janis could hear a ghost boom echo through her head.

She should be in bed right now.

Texting Damian, under the blankets, earbuds in.

Janis leaned closer to Damian's chest, gripping his shirt tightly. She tried to concentrate on the fabric in her hands, ignoring the buzz in her head, the way the world spun when she opened her eyes. She focused on the shirt Damian was wearing. The way it felt gathered in her fists, and against her face.

Damian was humming.

Its the first thing she noticed once her breathing felt normal.

She couldn't hear the fireworks over the soft hum coming from Damian.

She didn't know what song or tune it was, but it was nice.

Janis looked around. They were in Cady's room, Karen and Regina were there too. Karen was holding Regina in her hands while sitting on Cady's bed. Damian stood by the doorway.

"Cady and Aaron are still downstairs," Karen says when she notices Janis looking over. "It's quieter up here, volume emoji, shh face emoji."

"You okay, Jan?" Damian asks, holding her up so she's eye level. "Things got unbearably loud for Karen and I, I can only imagine how you guys felt."

Regina groans in response. Janis let out a breath laugh. "Yeah, me too, Gina."

Damian smiles. "Wanna leave for the night? You can stay with me."

Janis thought about it for a moment. It wasn't late, but she was coming down from her adrenaline high fast, and the crash was inevitable.

"Sure." She said finally.

Damian nods before shifting Janis so she was cupped to his chest with one hand. They both said their goodbyes to Karen and Regina, who didn't seem to be doing much better than Janis, before Damian head downstairs. Aaron, being the lucky bitch, seemed fine, but both he and Cady were understanding as they left.

As Damian made way to his car, Janis already felt her eyelids get heavy. There were still fireworks going off, but they were in the distance, not directly outside. Damian was humming again and Janis couldn't help but smile.

Yeah, fourth of July sucks. And yeah, today was no exception to past years, but that didn't mean the night couldn't end great. The gang can find a time to hang out altogether when there's not an overwhelming amount of loud noises. For now, falling asleep with Damian didn't seem like the worst idea for the books.

not the best ive ever done but hey,,, its content lmao

tag list <3 @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#g/t mean girls #g/t writing #Giant/tiny #tiny janis #tiny regina #tiny aaron #giant damian #giant karen #giant cady #giant gretchen-mentioned #shes there but like- i forgot to give her lines #whoops #g/t

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fart-gate · 4 years

Text

SG1

Season 4 episode 6

"WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY"

Notes by me

- lovely set for the beginning. Vast wasteland

- jack using double sunglasses to look at the sun

- archeologist!Daniel is my favorite Daniel

- who is this guy

- no explanation as to who he is??? Hes just there???

- daniel had the opportunity to hear Latin spoken aloud a year ago??? I have a terrible memory when did this happen

- ok cool so Daniel is shot and we're having a good time but??? Still no explanation for this random guy

- when they all duck to avoid the vortex. Sg1 in sync

- LIGHTENING GATE

- "I have no idea, sir" some random side character got daniels line

- zapped back to breakfast!! This is what you get for eating cereal without milk!

- obsessed with how Daniel thinks Jack is the type of person to fake a blackout to get out of a conversation

- P4X 639 is the vast wasteland

- tealc remembers!!! Bc he also grabbed the dude as well as Jack right?? Im right

- "maybe he read your report?..."

Daniel:

- jack and tealc just listing things that are gonna happen

- watching this show in semi darkness always bites me in the ass fraiser shining a flashlight into the camera just made me fall off my bed

- malaki is the name of the random dude! Thank you for the info after 10 MINUTES INTO THE EPISODE

- nerd Daniel is cute❤ when he chases Jack to talk to him about the ancients

- apparently siler needs better glasses so he doesnt walk right into ppl. Daniel dropped all his notes!

- jack seems like he just does not care about anything at all in this ep . maybe RDA was having a bad day

- "it did send us back to 1969"

"Good year"

- sam: talks sciencey science

Jack and me: ??????

- LIGHTENING GATE

- "what do you think?" TIME LOOPS ARE ONE OF MY FAV TROPES YEESSS

- wait I need to pause the ep to put socks on my feet are cold

- when Jack predicts sg12 and hes off by like 8 seconds

- GODAMMIT fraiser and her stupid flashlight blinded me again

- daniel wrote down everything Jack said when he had ancient database brain damage

- *Daniel gets knocked over by siler a second time* "oops"

- *referring to tealc* "is this the face of a crazy man????"

- I dont trust this malaki at all

- "what kind of archeologist carries a weapon?"

"I do"

"......bad example"

- daniel ranting *time loops back* daniel ranting

- Jack getting more mad with every loop

- I was ready for the flashlight this time

- "I ask you....what could POSSIBLY be in my eye that could explain this??"

- jack going to find Daniel before Daniel finds him ❤

- if I hadnt seen gifs of this ep, I would think sams plan would work. But since ive seen gifs of parts that havnt happened yet I assume it doesnt work.

- what could be stopping them from dialing out 🤔 I'm gonna solve the mystery before they do

- "thats just how I feel about it" what is Daniel talking about I want to know

- jack: my recording didnt work :(

Tealc: TOLD YOU SO

- them getting out of the loop rests on Jack and tealcs ability to listen to Daniel

- tealc getting wacked in the face every loop I'm cackling

- okay why does everyone in the sgc have glasses huh??? Bunch of nerds

- *spinning in chair* *juggling* *both juggling* this is just adhd

- "if we dont find a way out of this soon I'm gonna lose it.

Lose it.

It means go crazy.

Nuts.

Insane.

Bonzo.

No longer in possession of ones faculties.

3 fries short of a happy meal!

WACKO!"

- daniel giving them the idea that they can do whatever they want without consequences and mischievous music starting

- hes gonna seduce Sam pls I want it

- why is the first thing Jack does POTTERY????

- anything on the board and you go for pottery

- tealc cruising along with whatever Jack is doing

- ok so far its been pottery, biking thru the sgc , hitting golf balls thru the gate

- I was right ! HE DIPPED HER💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖🚨JACK AND SAM KISS JACK AND SAM KISS🚨

- she totally went along with it too. I have eyes i saw it

- "what are you smiling at?" He be knowin how them lips taste 💋

- ancients caused this. So far all they do is start shit

- ok they invented a "time machine" and it failed and looped time instead so they just shut it off and left it on a random planet for some poor sucker to activate??? Why didnt they destroy it??

- all they have to do is press some buttons omg all that time with Daniel was pointless

- tealc: walks into a force shield

Malaki: 😎

- Jack is ready to murder

- "so you can be king of groundhog day?"

- HIS WIFE

- tealc ready to go home to BED

- no glasses daniel🤓

- sorry ur wife died bro but other ppl are in this loop too. Dont be selfish

- "I can.....touch her face again. Talk to her. Hear her laugh."

Jack knows how you feel bro but still

- "I LOST MY SON!" :(

- it was 2 buttons??? All of that????? And it was 2 buttons???? Smdh

- they ve been stuck in this time loop for 3 months!!! Jack missed so many simpsons episodes!!!

- daniel: what crazy things did you do bc you knew no one would remember ??

Jack: *silently stares at sam and eats oatmeal*

Tealc whump: repeatedly hit in face with door (only shown twice), walks into force shield, passed out

Daniel: stunned, passed out, dragged

🎶listening to Keep Me Crazy by Sheppard🎶 for jack slowly going insane but still using the loop to kiss Sam

🤓no glasses!Daniel for less than 10 minutes at end of episode

#stargate season 4 #daniel whump season 4 #tealc whump season 4 #no glasses!daniel

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warmau · 5 years

Note

hi! I was wondering if maybe you would please do a taemin best friends to lover au... or friends to best best friends idk whatever you feel most comfortable with !! (All of your taemin aus are amazing :3

some holiday season friends to lovers with taemin~

if there was one person in the world that all shinee gladly doted on,,,,aside from taemin

it was you

you’d met all of them in the beginning of their career - you were a novice directors assistant

and had ran around their music video set doing anything and everything the crew asked of you

minho had noticed your dedication and hardwork, instantly comparing you to the lively youngest of their team - taemin

and when there’d been a short break between filming, he’d invited you over to chat

mostly because he wanted to find out if you and taemin were same age friends

that’s how a friendship had bloomed - not just between you and taemin - who immediately clicked

taemin making some joke that only you ended up laughing at

as key and onew exchanged glances of confusion

but all of shinee

jonghyun had nicknamed you shinee’s favorite and used to call you it whenever you’d bump into them on sets

you were always happy to find out you were working with them - and they were always ecstatic to see you

especially taemin, whose energy and mischief could only be matched by you

you’d never really celebrated holidays with them before

afterall they were idols with busy schedules and you were working your way up from being an assistant

but finally, the year had come when taemin had sent you a text - excitedly announcing he’d throw a ‘new years party’ in honor of well,,,the new year and the fact that onew - who’d recently been enlisted - would come back for a short break

you’d agreed to come right away, but knowing that taemin wasn’t the most organized person in shinee

you also volunteered to come over early and help

and thank god you did

showing up to taemins apartment - you could already smell the burning food

the living room only half decorated, ribbons and banners abandoned on his floor

“taemin?”

you asked, cautiously and received a noise in response from the kitchen

quickly you made your way over - to see taemin

his hair all frazzled up in a mess, his sweater - three sizes too big with a corny new years design on it, and his face staring down into a pot

of obviously burnt ramen

“ho-how did you manage to burn it,,,,”

“i dont know,,,,,,,,,,,,but im sure we could still eat it -”

taemin grinned, but as soon as he reached out - you grabbed his hand

still amazed at how someone could think ‘oh i can just touch something that was just burnt!’

but it was taemin

and he would think that

“let me handle the food - we need to finish decorating before everyone gets here!”

he agrees - looking kind of dumb but kind of cute with his reindeer headband over his messy hair

you start by draining the pot and getting everything set up and just as you’re about to start

you hear an extremely loud thud from the living room

you freeze - but then hear a tiny, “ow”

rushing over you find taemin laid flat on his back - a broken step stool at his feet

and the banner he’d been trying to tape up, draped over his torso

his eyes are shut in pain and the headband has been thrown off his head

“oh my god - are you ok?”

you lean over, trying to check his face for brusies

“no,,,,i think im dead”

he responds

“if i become a zombie - take me out,,,”

he mumbles and you roll your eyes

“if you can talk, you’re not dead taemin”

he sticks his tongue out and then cracks one eye open

“but my head does hurt”

you sigh, moving a bit so you can put his head in your lap - you wonder if there’s any medicine you can give him

“i should call minho he’ll kno-”

but before you can finish, you feel taemin’s hand come up

and for a second it can’t find your face - probably because he’s still a little dizzy

but when his palm settles on the skin of your cheek

you drop your phone and blink

“taemin?”

“i can see two of you,,,,and both of them are super pretty,,,,”

he mutters

you feel your face get all warm where his hand is and you try not to look down at him

with his hair out of his face, you can make out every detail - from his dazzling eyes to his perfectly curved lips

there’s no surprise that he’s perfect - his job is to be perfect - and you’ve always admired him the most out of shinee

but being so close

and feeling his hand on your cheek

it’s so more intimate than watching him perform or sweat it out in front of a camera

“taemin, you hit your head really hard - maybe we should go to the hospital-”

you try to change the mood, but it’s already been made

and before you can get up or scramble to get your phone

taemin puts a second hand up to your face and pulls you gently down

you feel his lips on yours

and a million thoughts swirl through your head

how hard did he hit his head? does he think im someone else and that’s why he’s kissing me?

but when he lets you go, he says your name

and smiles - cringing a bit when a wave of pain hits him again, but then opening his eyes wdie to stare up into yours

“ive been waiting to do that”

he announces

and you don’t know what to say ,,,,, you try to come up with something

maybe tell him that you’ve also always,,,harbored a crush on him - always hoped to be more than friends

but instead of any of that

you lean down - pinch his nose

“it wasnt romantic to do it right after falling off a step stool and making me think you got brain damage”

he grins

“well i can do it again more romantically,,,,,, just give me a minute, the room is still spinning”

more taemin | more shinee | buy skye a kofi

#shinee scenarios #shinee imagines #shinee au #taemin scenarios #taemin imagines #taemin au #sfw #shinee #taemin #member: taemin

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ultsracha · 5 years

Text

Friends to Lovers w/ Eric (tbz)

Request: Anon - Ok uuuh I’ve never requested before so idk how to word all this but could you maybe write some Eric (the boyz) catching feelings for his best friend and him trying to ask her out ?? And maybe like the other 00 liners making fun of him for being all soft :( I’m sorry I’m trash at explaining stuff <3 Have a wonderful day A/N: Thank you for requesting! im sorry that this isnt the best but i tried ! Warnings: mild angst & swearing

*He looks so teeny tiny in this gif ouchies my heart*

you and Eric had been friends for literally your whole lives

all of your childhood memories had him in them

running around the back yard? Eric was right behind you

Learning how to ride a bike? This dude was the reason you had the courage to do it

So it was no surprise to everyone that all throughout school you stayed friends

Joined at the hip every second you could be

In class you would sit together and help each other with the work

Of course you had your other friends, 11 of them who were all part of Eric’s band they called ‘The Boyz’

They accepted you into their group with open arms

Most nights after school were spent in the practice room with them

Watching them dance and run around

Eric always tried to get you involved but that’s a big, fat, nope

But you literally had the best, best friend

So, like every other day you’re sat at the lunch table waiting for Eric to get out of his class while you sat with Sunwoo and Hyunjoon

“You coming stargazing with us tonight?” Sunwoo asks as he shoves a few grapes into his mouth

“Of course, I’ll bring some food if you guys want as well?” you replied

This wasn’t uncommon for you all, to go sit on Kevin’s roof with blankets and snacks and just look at the stars

“Is Eric coming too?” You ask because let’s face it everything's more fun with him around

“OoOOoooOOOOoooOOh ‘Is Eric coming too?’ oOOooOo” Hyunjoon teases, nudging your arm

“Ah fuck off you know it’s not like that, we’ve been friends forever! I can’t go anywhere without him now”

They both continued to tease and nudge you around until you saw Eric walking over

As per the routine, you got up and met him halfway across the hall for a massive hug

“Hey! What’s up? You’re bright red?” He asks after hugging you

“Ohhh nothing, just dumb and dumber trying to steal my last brain cell” you giggle as you both settle into your seats

Eric draping his arm round your shoulders like he always does

Sunwoo giving you a sly smirk like he a l w a y s does when you and Eric even look at each other

It wasn’t hard to understand why everyone gave you these looks

Most people assumed you were together

Even some of your family had suspicions because of how close you two were

but you could only dream...

This little crush you had started mid teens and had persisted ever since

Now it was nearing the end of school and here you were, hopelessly in love

Honestly it had just become a normal part of your life by now and that was okay, as long as you had him with you being your best friend. It was okay

“You’re coming to Kevins tonight yeah?” Eric mumbles into your ear

Resisting the urge shiver you simply nod and turn away and continue to listen to the bickering of the boys

After that the day goes on peacefully, Eric walks you to class and kisses your forehead before jogging to his own class

The bus journey home you guys sit together and share earphones, taking it in turns to choose a song

“I’ll see you later yeah?” You ask as you both get off the bus at your stop

“Yeah I might be a bit late though, I’ve got some things to get done beforehand” he replies, throwing his bag over his shoulders

“Alright, I’ll see you later then!” you start to wave goodbye and of course, as per usual he brings you in for a hug and to kiss your forehead

and yet again your heart swells and you inwardly scream because why not your lips hm?

Later that evening Sangyeon picks you up, with Sunwoo and Haknyeon already in the car

Sunwoo on the aux playing some random country music to annoy everyone

It’s an amazing night to stargaze, you get to Kevins just at the end of sunset where the sky is mostly dark but a lilac hue still coats the edges of the sky

The stars already sparkling

Kevins roof was your favourite place to be as he lived at the top of a hill, meaning the view of the city below could be seen

As well as the roof itself having a large flat bit for everyone to cosy up together

Most of the group are already there setting up blankets and pillows and the speaker

As expected Eric wasn’t there yet so you just dumped out all the snacks you gathered next to the speaker and went to speak to the host

“Did Eric tell you what he had to do tonight?” you ask, watching Kevin struggle to smooth out a massive blanket

“Yes but I’m not telling you, it’s a secret” he replies

“Why? What is it?” your heart starting to race

Did he have a girlfriend? Was he keeping her a secret? Was he bringing her tonight?

Yes, that’s where your mind goes because, well every girl in the school would be lucky to have him

“Y/N calm down he’s gone to get something for tonight, don’t worry he’s still your mans but not really your mans” he smirks, patting the top of your head and walking away

You just stand there blinking before realising what he even said, leading you to pursue him to where everyone was sat already

“He’s not my ‘mans’ Kevin we all know he’s got every girl in the school whipped for him” you sigh, plopping yourself next to Jacob

who was munching on some chips

“Y/N you’re kidding right?” Sunwoo smirks while Hyunjoon giggles lightly and nods

“No I’m not, I’m honestly surprised he hasn't got a girlfriend already...” you mumble

The sad truth being explained to your friends hurt but it wasn’t hard to see, he wasn’t in love with you

“He has THE biggest crush on you Y/N how do you not see it?”

You look up from your lap to see everyone nodding in agreement

Who knew your friends would play such a prank on you

“This isn’t funny guys, you’re just teasing and it’s painful so please can we just change the subject?”

lets be real it would always hurt knowing how everyone could see how in love you were but how obviously he wasn't

“Seriously, everyday we see him he talks about how cute you look or how smart you are and how he can’t wait to show you this dance because he wants to impress you” Hyunjoon giggles while Changmin over dramatically nods

“and how you smell nice all the time” Sunwoo adds rolling his eyes

“they boy’s whipped for you” Hyunjoon continues

“It’s almost annoying how literally no one exists when you’re around because he’s so focused on you”

Your heart has literally stopped

Because ??? Eric???? liking you????

“Right let’s quit the teasing because we weren’t even meant to tell her so now you’re gonna have to explain to him about this” Sangyeon scolds the younger ones

You just lay back into the pillows still not computing

They have to be lying? He’s never shown any interest in you?

You hear them still laughing about how your face looks when you’re shocked

Jacob leans over to whisper “just ignore them, they’re rooting for you”

You’re just lying on the roof, looking up to the sky with butterflies bursting your stomach and your heart beating like crazy in your chest when you hear Kevins bedroom window open

“Hey guys, sorry I was late” Eric bursts through the window “I was just getting a few things”

Everyone greets him but you stay silent, looking up at the sky because you were just TOO nervous to say anything

“You okay?” He asks you, laying down next to you and propping his head on his arm

“Yeah! Just looking at the stars” your voice betraying your panic

He just nods and rolls over to lie on his back next to you

The night goes on as normal, everyone chatting, listening to music and enjoying the view

You hop in the conversation every once in a while but the others seem to understand why you’re being more quiet

Eric hardly speaks to you but never leaves your side, just lying next to you also in his in thoughts

“What’s up?” You whisper to him after a while

“Just thinking about stuff” He whispers back shifting to lay on his side to look at you

You look into his eyes and he looks,,, nervous?

“What you thinking about?” you ask, shifting to mirror his position

“It’s nothing don’t worry Y/N” He replies shaking his head

“You know you can tell me anything Eric we’re best friends...”

At this he sighs even more and stands up

“What? What did I do?” You also stand

He’s already climbing back through Kevins window

Naturally you follow, heart beating out of your chest at the thought of Eric being upset with you

“Seriously whats wrong? Why can’t you tell me?” You follow him into the room

“Because if I tell you we can’t be friends and it’ll all go wrong so it’s better if I don’t say anything”

“Why? We’re best friends we’ve always told each other everything whats changed?”

“Will you please stop saying that?” He almost shouts and spins around to face you

You’ve never seen him this upset before

Sunwoo and Hyunjoon were wrong, he doesn't love you he doesn't even want to be friends anymore

“Y-y-y-you don’t want to be friends with me anymore?” You splutter out, tears already brimming in your eyes

They were so wrong and they couldn't have said what they did at a worse time, giving you that small bubble of hope in your chest for it to be crushed an hour later

“It’s not that I just....” he trails off, wringing his hands nervously

“Then what Eric?” You burst into tears, heart almost breaking in that moment

“Y/N I love you. Fuck. I’m sick of hiding it and being teased all the time for not having the courage to tell you. I fucking love you”

The tears didn't stop when you rushed over and wrapped your arms around his neck

Standing on your tiptoes to hug him you felt his arms wrap around your waist

You both just stood there holding each other

His erratic breathing indicating he’s crying too

“I love you too Eric, so much, for so long”

You just stayed put in his arms, him stroking the back of your head

“I didn’t believe them when they told me...” you giggle while pulling away to look at him

His eyes just go so wide

“They did what?” He yelped

“Oh they told me all about how you talk about me all the time and how whipped you are” you giggle even more

The look on his face just makes you laugh harder

“I’m going to kill them” he growls and charges back through the window

You just smile and follow him onto the roof where everyone was just laughing and nudging Eric around

“So he’s finally confessed!” Jacobs asks you grinning from ear to ear

“It’s about time, now we don’t have to spend every dance practice brainstorming ways to get him to do it” Sunwoo laughs, earning a slap from Eric

Once the teasing died down Eric joined your side leaning against the wall by Kevins window

“So does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” He asks

And despite the dark you can tell his cheeks are dusted pink

“Of course I will, but what did you need to go get earlier than meant you were late?”

“Oh,” he wriggled to grab a small packet from his pocket “I was going to confess to you tonight and I bought you this”

Handing you the packet you open it to find a dainty necklace

Silver with a small heart pendant on it

“Eric this is so cute but you didn’t have to buy me something to confess to me” you blush, heart feeling so full it could burst

“I know but I thought it would help” his smile is so bright and warm

He helps you put on the necklace and the night ends with you falling asleep cuddled into his arms admiring the view

#tbz #the boyz #eric #tbz eric #eric fluff #tbz fluff #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagine #the boyz fic

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wolfqueen-is-here · 5 years

Text

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten (Jonsa Secret Santa 2018)

Dearest @moonchildslife, I am so sorry for my delay, Christmas was crazier than I expected, and I didn’t finish my gift on time. But it is here now, and I hope you don’t find it too terrible ;). I wish you a wonderful year with Jonsa becoming canon in April and our fandom wishes coming true. Be happy, be healthy, be yourself! <3

Many thanks to @jonsasecretsanta2018 who made all of this happen, you truly are amazing!

A/N Don’t be alarmed by a brief mention of the Hound. I promise you, it has nothing to do with SanSan in any way except mentioning The Un-Kiss. Book!canon, but mostly show!canon, can be interpreted both as a filler and an AU. 2300 words

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten

Every now and then Sansa remembers, even though she has tried so hard to leave the past behind. The Hound was rough and scary, but the kiss that he took left a lingering taste on her lips—it was as soft as snow, almost familiar, she’s caught herself missing the shy affection that came with the kiss, a wary touch so vulnerable it felt almost childish. She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it.

Every night feels longer and darker than the former ones. It isn’t until she jumps from Winterfell walls that she remembers how to feel warm again, but the road north is as cold as ice and covered in snow. “His lips felt warm”, she thinks as she runs towards her freedom. “The kiss that he took, it felt warm.”

There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

—

“You look cold,” Jon says after staring at her in silence for a good half an hour. It would annoy her beyond reason, were it anyone else, anyone less trustworthy, anyone less… Jon, but coming from him it’s almost flattering. No one has ever cared for her so since she’d lost Father. Not once until this very moment has she felt safe since then.

“I’m okay,” she smiles. His unblinking eyes refuse to leave hers even for a second as if she’d vanish otherwise. Sansa leans towards him and strokes the inside of his palm with her thumb. It’s the most innocent of caresses, but it makes Jon stiffen and finally lower his head. She misses the stare instantly. “I’m okay, Jon.”

She tastes his name on her tongue. It feels rough—when was the last time she used it? —but sweeter than all the cake she’s ever had. She wants to swallow it, possess it, make it hers. “Jon,” she muses. “Jon. My Jon.”

If it’s something more primal than sisterly affection, she doesn’t recognise it in time. It may occur to her later, but it will be too late.

—

The first night that she spends at Castle Black is a sleepless one. The shadows are long when she paces aimlessly around the room, too exhausted to fall asleep, too cold to lie still. Knocking at the door alerts her at first—she’s not used to feeling safe yet—she whispers: “Who’s there?” so quietly as if she were hoping nobody would answer.

“It’s me,” Jon says.

She lets him in.

“Do you have everything that you need?” he asks, looking at her with a strange longing.

Had it been more fitting, she’d say: “I have you,” but in their current situation she’d stumble over the words for certain. Instead, she just invites him to stay—just sit next to her and not talk until the sun rises and the shadows go back under her bed. They repeat it every night after that, it seems to comfort both of them.

—

Jon’s eyes follow Sansa as he tries to find something—anything—that would remind him of a little girl she used to be. Her skirts dance when she rocks her hips, walking around Castle Black like she’d lived here all her life. He wants to avert his gaze but finds it impossible. She’s grown so tall, so slender—so beautiful.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks angrily, hiding his face in his hands. “You are not allowed to look at her like that.”

There were times, many lives ago, when they were only children. Sansa’s hair was more orange than auburn, Jon’s face—smooth, not a trace of beard or scars on it. They both called lord Eddard Stark their father. They both walked around holding Robb’s hand. They both watched Bran fall asleep while they were singing lullabies. Both, yes, but not—together.

When he tries to think about their lives before everything happened, before he went north and she went south, he keeps coming back to that one particular memory. And he’s not allowed to remember it. Not ever.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks, but as her lips move while she’s telling him another story, he watches. The redness of them almost provocative, they look like she’s been biting them for the past few hours. It’s a mesmerising set of colours: her lips with a raspberry tint, screaming to be tasted, licked, devoured; her eyes, deep blue almost exactly like the ones that used to follow him with disdain when he was nothing more than a bastard boy, but there’s no disdain in Sansa’s eyes, only hope. Her fair complexion contrasts with the dark streaks of her auburn hair, almost brown in the dimly lit room. Jon quashes the need to cup Sansa’s cheek and stroke it with his fingers, to check if her soft, unwavering beauty isn’t only a product of his hallucinations. He wouldn’t dare.

—

Sansa enters the dining room when there’s barely anyone left. A few wildlings share a horn of ale, laughing. There’s also Edd sitting in the furthest, darkest corner, and he looks really down—Edd always looks down, that’s an inherent part of his personality, “The defining part”, Tormund insists, but Sansa doesn’t care, because Edd, albeit rather shy, is kind and caring, and that’s more than she could expect from a stranger. The wildlings terrify her still, she doesn’t know their customs, they’re far too loud and bold for her taste, so she chooses to cross the room and take a sit in front of Edd.

They don’t talk, there’s no need for it. Sansa eats her soup, wondering whether Jon has already eaten, and Edd just keeps staring at the ceiling. Weirdly, his silent presence comforts Sansa more than any words could.

When everybody leaves, Sansa reaches for Edd’s half-empty horn and moves her hand up and down its uneven surface. It’s become apparent these past few days that sleep refuses to come easily for her at Castle Black, and when she finally drifts off after hours of rolling over from side to side, her dreams are filled with memories—but are they real? Are they hers?

She doesn’t think about the Hound that often. He’s been a big part of her life when she was a prisoner in King’s Landing, but her fascination with his tragic story faded and went by long ago. She cannot remember his face anymore, only the scars, she doesn’t even know if she’d be glad to see him again. The memories of him and the torments from the Lannisters became too inseparable in her mind, and that’s why she doesn’t want to think of him or imagine their meeting.

Not now. Not ever.

Then why is her brain so set on bringing back the memory of the kiss? She can feel a sweet breath on her chin every morning when she wakes up from her blurry dreams—why is it sweet? Wasn’t the Hound monumentally drunk that night?—she can taste it, again and again. Her first kiss, that one thing she knows for sure. She’d gotten a few pecks from Joffrey, yes, they should probably count as first, but somehow it doesn’t feel right.

She closes her eyes and clasps her hands around the horn.

“I thought you weren’t fond of our ale,” Jon says, suddenly very close—how did he get so close without Sansa hearing his steps? Did she black out again?

“I heard it helps to forget.”

“It does,” his voice sounds worried, “for a while. It doesn’t make your past go away.”

Sansa raises her head and their eyes lock immediately as if they’re a couple of lovers always on a mission to find each other.

“For a while,” she repeats. “Sounds better than never.”

The ale tastes much worse than she remembered it—it’s bitter and stale, and reeks of old, damp barrels—but her lips don’t leave the edge of the horn until it’s empty. Jon’s eyes move to her throat as she swallows and stay there even after she’s finished.

At first, she doesn’t think anything’s changed—the same emptiness fills her, the same desperation—but minutes pass as they sit opposite one another in silence, and her head finally starts to feel both lighter and heavier, her thoughts stir inside her brain, but never fully form. It’s a bliss. It’s a curse.

She sits in the middle of a meadow, it’s late summer. The winds got chilly but she’s got a blanket around her arms. She’s knitted it herself. She’s content. She’s happy. She’s Queen Naerys Targaryen.

“Are you alright? That’s quite a lot of ale you just inhaled,” Jon murmurs, gently touching her arm. Sansa looks up and smiles at him.

“I’ll be fine,” she answers. “I’ll be fine, Jon. You can go to sleep, you look tired.”

He laughs hoarsely and it makes Sansa’s belly tighten.

“Not until I see you safely tucked under your furs.”

He approaches her with his back straight and a sword at his side. Where did he get that sword, she thinks briefly but continues to look at his beaming face.

“I’ve come to rescue you, my Queen.”

“You can’t, my love,” she says, remembering to dress her face in the deepest, most regal shade of sadness. “We’re bound to our fate forever. You’ve made your vows, as I have made mine.”

He kneels before her. He’s brave, he’s gentle, he’s strong. He’s Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

Sansa tries to stand up all too quickly, her head spins violently and she has to hold on to the table to avoid falling. She can barely feel her legs and her arms—how strong was that ale?—but the burning hotness of Jon’s hand on her lower back, oh, that she feels.

“Careful,” he says, pulling her closer and throwing her arm around his neck. “You’re still much too weak to start drinking so heavily. Don’t let go, alright? I’m going to walk you to your chambers now.”

And he proceeds to do just that.

When Sansa lies in bed feeling truly sleepy for the first time since she’s reached Castle Black on her dying horse, she suddenly remembers everything.

His face is just inches away. He’s wearing his hair pulled tightly in the back like a true adult, but he’s been playing with swords all day and a few strands have escaped the knot, hanging loosely around his face. She feels the urge to curl one of them around her finger but before she decides to make a move, he leans in and kisses her on the lips.

It surprises her—the lightness of it as much as the act itself. “It’s not wrong as long as I’m Queen Naerys and he’s Prince Aemon,” she tells herself as she involuntarily moves closer and exhales into his warm mouth. His fingers wander up and down her sleeve, curious but never inappropriate. The kiss doesn’t last long, a few heartbeats maybe, but before it’s finished, she can hear him whisper: “Sansa.”

And instantly he’s Jon again, and she’s Sansa. And they’ve done something unforgivable.

—

Jon’s almost asleep when he hears banging at his door. He jumps out of bed and rushes to open it only to find a breathless Sansa on the other side. Her eyes are wide, and she looks absolutely terrified. If she’s still a bit in her cups, it doesn’t show.

“What happened?” he asks.

She’s shivering. He wants to put his hand on her arm but she jumps away.

“You kissed me,” she hisses, her tone accusatory.

Jon blinks. Not that he hasn’t thought of it, because of course he has. He won’t admit it to anyone but though he tried extremely hard to see his long-lost sister in the beauty that has brought him back to life, he failed miserably. The truth is—she was never a sister to him, not even before they parted ways.

“I assure you,” he answers quietly, “I did not. I didn’t even enter your chambers, I asked lady Brienne to help.”

“Not tonight,” Sansa sighs and Jon realises she’s standing before him barefoot, dressed only in some old sleeping gown, but somehow she’s never looked more queenly with her demanding expression and fiery glare. “When we were children. A few months before we left Winterfell. We played… we played, and you…”

And he kissed her.

He kissed her and he never regretted it once until she came to him, crying, and ordered him to forget it ever happened. He didn’t want to, it was too precious a memory, but he obliged. For Sansa.

“I thought we weren’t speaking of it,” he whispers carefully.

She was really shook when she came to him that day, he never wanted to see Sansa cry, and to be the reason for her despair—it was too much for him to bear.

“We aren’t. I just… I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he asks, feeling hurt. It was his only kiss before Ygritte and he wasn’t even allowed to savour that memory. How could she have forgotten?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What we did… it was wrong. I didn’t… I couldn’t… I think I repressed it. I made myself believe it happened with someone else.” She lowers her head and he’s afraid to spook her by asking who that person was, but he’s certain it will haunt him forever. Was it Joffrey? Gods, he hopes it wasn’t him. Jon couldn’t bear it. Sansa makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “But I remember now.”

He doesn’t know what more to say, but Sansa doesn’t seem to expect any kind of explanation. It happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And it changed things between them.

Sansa finally dares to look at him. Her lips are parted, ready as they were in that meadow years ago. He doesn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. When they win back Winterfell, when the war is over—she will come to him of her own volition.

And he will have that second kiss, gods be damned.

#jonsa secret santa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsasecretsanta2018 #jonsa #jon x sansa #got #a gift for moonchildslife #secret santa #gift

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shadows-echoes · 6 years

Text

The Logic of Emotion - Pt. 7

(This beautiful gif doesn’t belong to me!! Gif source here!!)

Pairing: Connor RK800 x fem!reader

Summary: Connor’s just trying to complete his mission but he keeps running into the emotional roadblocks of those around him. You’ve been assigned to the deviancy investigation along with Hank and Connor, but you’re starting to ask questions no one seems interested in listening to. The investigation becomes more difficult for everyone involved as it progresses, and for vastly different reasons.

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: *finger guns*

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 8 // Masterlist

The room is three degrees colder than it should be, the air staler, and the lights dimmer.

The muted overhead lights created long, blurred rectangles on the semi-reflective, spotted beige tiles that covered the floor. The rooms had been sterilized since its last user but traces of them still remained: their handprint lingering on the windowsill, a strand of hair in the corner of the room. Even the nurses and doctors, as rigorously clean as they tried to be, had left their mark. Scuff marks and thin, dark streaks from faux non-marking sneakers dotted the ground along with barely-there footprints.

With his elbows braced upon his knees, Connor cataloged them all as he absently tossed a coin between his fingers. He picked out every possible piece of evidence scattered along the floor and followed them, found what they were from and who they belonged to. He hadn’t found anything of interest over the last three hours and fourteen minutes since he and Hank had been allowed entrance into the hospital room, but his mind needed to work.

He needed to process something or he would go insane sitting here. Doing nothing. Waiting.

You had become his mission in an instant, but now there was nothing he could do for you.

Connor had wanted to track down Martha himself; it would be another mission. It would be objectivity. It was what you’d wanted him to do in the first place. But Hank had been… insistent that he stay.

And so he had.

At first, Hank offered some distraction from the misery of the slowly passing time, but he eventually fell into an uneasy sleep in the chair next to Connor’s. Connor contemplated entering stasis mode himself, just to pass the time, but he was worried about what he would find there. He wasn’t sure if he’d come back.

Connor had a vast arsenal of questions pestering his mind and a list of objectives he needed to meet, but the two people he most desired answers from were both asleep and his targets had been as unreachable as they always had been.

Every so often, his gaze would inevitably be drawn back to where you lay and he would quickly resign himself to staring at the floor once again. It was safer that way.

Twenty-seven minutes and ten seconds after he last looked up, the rhythmic beeping emanating from the machine monitoring your heart rate broke its steady pattern.

It was accelerating.

Connor was out of his seat and standing beside your bed before your eyes finished adjusting to the light and your unfamiliar surroundings.

Dark crescents sat beneath your eyes and your skin held a sallow tone to it, but you were out of surgery, beginning the healing process, and unrefutably alive.

Your shifting ceases as your disoriented gaze catches on him. “Connor?”

It was barely a croak, nearly inaudible, but there was a probability of zero that he would miss it. He was too highly attuned to you.

A wave of- of something, of multiple somethings, washed over him. He didn’t particularly care to name whatever it was, he had better things to ponder at the moment, but he felt like he’d been restored. Like his key biocomponents had been switched out and upgraded versions had been installed. A shroud of darkened, heavy thoughts still clung to him, but at least now he felt he could properly function again.

The corners of his lips curl upwards fractionally. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets, the words acquiring an unexpected softness he hadn’t consented to.

Connor watches as you attempt to blink away the daze from your eyes, a squinting grimace crossing your features.

“What happened?” you rasp, eyes sluggishly darting from him, to Hank’s sleeping form in the corner of the room, to your own stomach in confusion. “I… I don’t remember coming here.”

He doesn’t know the correct procedure for this, he’d never done it before, there had never been a need for him to visit someone in the hospital. But a question? A question he could handle.

“We were investigating a deviant named Martha. She was hiding out in a different apartment as we searched through hers and you found her,” Connor informs, an unknown weight forming over his chest at the memory. “She stabbed you twice. You passed out from the blood loss shortly after we reached your car, that’s why you don’t remember arriving. It was difficult getting you here alive but even unconscious you were quite stubborn. Upon arrival, you were rushed into a successful surgery six hours ago. The doctors said the prognosis for your injuries was-”

The back of your hand tiredly brushes against his side and what’s left of the sentence dies on his lips.

You’re shaking your head. “I meant- wait… Were you… rambling?”

“No,” he refutes, the barest hint of defensiveness entering his tone and posture as he straightens his shoulders. “I was just answering the question.”

The fog must be lifting from your mind for the look you give him is more observingly shrewd than should be possible given the quantity of drugs being fed into you through the IV in the crook of your elbow.

Connor waits, unsure, as he watches the result of the synapses firing in your brain. Confusion was etched into the hard, tired lines of your face as you stared at him. He could see the question forming, dawning in your mind, and he had a high suspicion he knew exactly what it was you were trying to work out.

“But you… Didn’t I…”

The full question is left unsaid but he can see it in your eyes, he can hear it in his head. He’d assumed it would take you longer- hoped it would take you longer- to reach, but it seemed even in an incapacitated state you could find a way straight to key turning points. To questioning the foundation of things and the reasoning behind them.

Didn��t I order you?

“It was the only way,” he quietly relents. Closely observing the further furrowing of your brows. He wondered whether his explanation was too vague or if you simply didn’t want to accept it. He grew increasingly uncomfortable with the uncertainty as the seconds ticked on.

It wouldn’t take you long to figure out, he may as well help, but the prompt felt thick leaving his mouth. “You ordered me to leave you behind, Y/N.”

The confusion gradually drained away from your face. As your expression went slack and you paled, Connor realized his mistake. Perhaps uncertainty was preferable.

“Are you… Are you saying-”

You couldn’t finish the breathy question; there was too much dread pooling in your stomach.

Dread and guilt and hope and pride and delight and something that warmed your heart a dangerous amount.

But worry came out of the hailstorm victorious and clear.

Because if Connor was- if he- then Cyberlife would-

Connor says nothing, his gaze holding yours as resignation filled his eyes.

An unspoken confirmation.

As you stare up at him, agape and speechless, some idle, non-spinning part of your brain registers the tightening of his jaw.

Whatever painkillers you were being given were certainly doing their job, there was only a slight soreness radiating around your stomach. Though, your body did feel like it hadn’t moved in days. Every part of your arm felt heavy as you reached out to grab Connor’s hand in a speechless thanks, in acceptance, in a small act of comfort.

But you stopped short, hand hovering centimeters from reaching his, as another realization hit you like a semi-truck.

Your hand falls.

One of the machines beside the bed unhelpfully announces your once again spiking heart rate. It made you more nervous than you already were. “Connor, there’s- there’s something you should know.”

The smallness of your voice isn’t lost on him. The resignation is quick to fall to calculation; a speculating look overtakes his features and you swallow back the lump in your throat.

You were covered in blankets and a stiff blue hospital gown, almost completely covered, but you feel wholly bare before Connor.

Would he hate you after this? For the lies you had been feeding him? For the cases you’d made him fail? For the suspects lost? Or would he begrudgingly accept everything you’d done now that he too was a-

You look to Hank’s form for assistance, unsure whether you're praying for him to awaken of remain asleep, but he remains hunched over the side of his chair. Sleeping.

You force yourself to meet Connor’s now concerned, wary eyes.

If he was- if he was a deviant now, then... Then there were things he needed to know.

You steeled your resolve. “I… I’ve been working with them. With Markus.”

Connor watches from across the hall as a friend of yours climbs onto the foot of your bed, finding a comfortable position there while animatedly speaking about something. The tone was slightly chastising from what he could hear, but he noticed a small smile creeping onto your face regardless.

It had been difficult enough for Hank and Connor to skirt the regulations regarding visiting hours. So, when your wild-eyed friend had practically busted into the room after somehow making it past the now hissing receptionist, they both respectfully excused themselves.

“Have you told her yet?” Hank asks, glancing at you through the room’s open door before turning back to Connor.

“She knows I’m a deviant,” Connor states. The firm words are quiet enough not to be overheard by the few staff members pacing the long hall.

Hank scoffs. “Not that. That you like her.”

Connor turns, his brows furrowing as he looks up at the man beside him in confusion. Hank’s shoulders were pushed against the wall he was leaning into, a cup of cheap, vending machine coffee in hand, exhaustion lining his features.

“Hank-”

“Look, I don’t know jack shit about the technicalities,” Hank interrupts, cutting Connor off before his dismissal is even voiced. “But I do know that androids don’t deviate over nothing -even if it was a stupid fuckin’ order.”

While the last sentence was grumbled with frustration and lingering disbelief, the rest of the statement was spoken with a knowing tone.

Connor pauses.

Before, back at the apartment building, Connor had been startled out of his processing when he first heard the muffled gunshots being fired on the floor above him. He’d been worried for your safety as he charged out of the room and through the building, and he’d been terrified when he saw you slumped against a wall, bloodied and far too still.

Panic had overridden his systems.

Warning signals flared and roared to life before his eyes, but he’d shoved them all aside. He knew he shouldn’t have, he knew it was wrong, but he did it anyway. Without hesitation.

He didn’t care about his system instabilities. He cared about you.

And the one thing he knew with an alarming amount of clarity was that he couldn’t abide by your command, he needed to ensure your survival.

When the wall of coding appeared, listing his instructions, his mission, Connor had taken one look at you -at your bloodied, fragile human body and your eyes that were so desperately clinging to determination and resolve like a lifeline- and tore it down. He had kicked and punched and pulled until the wall between him and you, between his mission and saving your life, fractured into pieces.

Was that what it meant to like someone? To disregard what should be done for what emotion dictates one should do? What a… human notion.

Though he had had his suspicions about your commitment to solving the investigation long before today, he had severely underestimated the scale of it. Of you. Despite what he had erroneously assumed to be poor detective work and interfering, trivial emotions, however, he had still enjoyed your company. To the extent that he could, at least.

You were one of the few who had always treated him as an equal, even- especially through his screw-ups. Only now he knew the lengths you went to for his kind, and the rather stupid risks you took considering who you were partnered with.

In hindsight, it was painfully obvious what you were doing. Your skittish nature, your drained eyes, the oddities in your reports, the number of deviants that had gotten away when he was so close to catching them. It was so obvious, in fact, that it made him wonder...

No matter what he felt about everything else and how much it ate away at him, you seemed to be ground zero. He couldn’t deny the emotions you were able to conjure within him. The relief, the happiness, the affection, the additional guilt, the nervousness, the want to protect… It all swirled around him in a cloud.

But is that what it boiled down to? That he liked you?

Emotions were new, overwhelming, and far more disorganizedly irrational than he’d assumed, but the term didn’t feel particularly accurate.

Not that it mattered.

“I… I might be a deviant, but I am still an android,” Connor reaffirms, a fixed reminder to both himself and Hank. “Even if I completely understood what I feel now, nothing could ever come of it.”

Hank hums, nestling into the wall. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Again, Connor pauses. The words catch him, a small, precise lure. Something in him begs to rise to the bait, to inquire, to learn more-

But it doesn’t matter.

He had fulfilled Hank’s request by staying as long as he had. Now, Connor has places to be. Or rather, one place in particular.

You’d divulged Jericho’s location; it was time he went there.

A/N 2.0: To everyone who was worried: Ily but it had to happen.

But guys. Guys. This is like… the second to last part??? There’ll one more part after this and I’m not entirely sure how to write endings so we’ll see how it goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope the POV switches came out alright. I rewrote this scene so many times to try and make it work.

Let me know what you thought!! Hmu with that feedback! I’m not even joking when I say it gives me life. It’s what I most look forward to <3

Tags: @aya-fay @mamamemequeen @layinglonely @robin-rokossovsky @simplysaying @superanonymousreader @aririna1412 @marinettelafayette @purpstraw @tinycyberhacker @lunarlexycon @littlemsrantsalot @bibbo-boggerns @lost-and-found-jc @fuckthatfeeling @avispate @audiblehush @grievance-s @i-resent-this-hellsite @kylobien @fandomfreakgod @colddeadeyes @ctvrty @fineactually @wadeyouwitch @dragonempress123 @queerfandomtrash @mldivers

#connor rk800 x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor dbh x reader #connor rk800 x fem!reader #connor x reader #connor rk800 #connor dbh #dbh connor #detroit: become human #the logic of emotion

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essiefreds · 6 years

Photo

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

Word Count: 2752

Tagged: @hotemotionalmess, @justtolkienabout, @uservalkyrie, @writing-for-a-chance, @hufflepeople, @alexfayer, @guaibi, @cptnrogerssteve

Your arm hurt. That was the first thing that your cloudy head made sense of when you regained consciousness. The second thing was your location, which was not in the middle of a street in Manhattan. It was in a bed, in a faintly familiar looking space. White walls, a big window, and, very faintly, the beeping of… some type of machine.

You winced, struggling to sit up, to get a better view of wherever it was that you were. Your shoulder screeched in protest to this movement, but you ignored it. Something tugged at your arm, and you glanced down at it. Below a white bandage that was wrapped around your shoulder and bicep, was an IV tube, stuck into the joint of your elbow.

You huffed a little, and followed the tube of the IV to the bag that hung from a rack near the bed that you were laying in. The liquid inside of it was clear, and you determined it was probably morphine. Not that it was working very well.

After a moment, you realized that you were incredibly thirsty. You licked your lips, found that they were dry. You tried to say something, deciding on something simple, your name, and found that no noise was capable of emerging from your vocal cords.

You cursed, internally, of course, and slumped back down against the pillows behind you. Where were the nurses that SHIELD’s medical bay (since that was where you were positive you were) made sure kept an eye on the agents that were being taken care of day and night? You just wanted some goddamn water.

You allowed your senses to extend past yourself, and the things that were immediately being affected by you. Bed, check. IV, check. Giant window looking out on… Washington D.C.? Well, that was different. You supposed that most of SHIELD’s business had to have been transitioned there, however, considering that New York had been wrecked.

Shit. New York. The aliens. What the hell happened?

The good guys must’ve won, if you were here. Obviously, you’d been transported, which boded well for the overall outcome of the battle. Still, the very fact that you were in D.C. rather than New York was not good. It meant that the destruction of the city had affected SHIELD’s headquarters there.

God, I hope nobody died.

You turned your eyes away from the window, to look around the rest of the room. They scanned a table that was against the foot of your bed, where there was a jug of water and a glass. Your throat ached at the sight, but you weren’t going anywhere with the IV in your arm.

Your eyes kept going. They skimmed over a chair that was in one corner of the room, and the figure that was seated on it, arms crossed and chin resting against their chest. The door was closed, a clipboard sticking out of a pocket on the back of it. It probably had your vital chart on it.

Your gaze returned to the chair, and the figure that was sitting there. After a moment, the slowly moving cogs in your brain started to spin faster, and you recognized who it was.

You looked around yourself for a moment, unable to call out a name, but not unable to throw something. You decided on a pillow, and grabbed it in the hand that was not attached to your injured arm. Unfortunately, it happened to be your non-dominant, which meant that the throw was not the strongest.

It was, however, strong enough to send the light pillow across the room to the chair. It did not hit the person, as your aim had wanted it to, but it hit the wall next to them.

Steve made a noise as he was startled awake by the sound of impact, the pillow settling down on his lap. He frowned down at it for a moment, and then his gaze lifted and settled on you. His eyes brightened.

“Thank God,” he breathed, standing up and moving towards the bed. You made a face at him, and pointed towards the water on the table.

Steve, bless him, understood at once. He quickly filled the glass for you, and carried it over. You downed the water, probably more quickly than you should have, if the coughing fit you were thrown into as a result was any indication. Steve rested a hand on the bed, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The coughing spell passed, you finished the water, and then licked your lips again. Still cracked, but no longer dry.

So, you gave speaking another shot.

“Hey.”

Steve exhaled, his expression relaxing, and he managed a small smile. “Hi. How’re you feeling?”

“My shoulder hurts,” you said, and you wiggled the fingers on your injured arm, “but otherwise, I think I’m okay. Why’re we in D.C.?”

“Everybody is here,” he responded, settling down on the edge of the bed. “New York wasn’t really stable, so D.C. is the center of aftermath clean-up, for now.” His eyes darted over your face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been in and out for a couple of days.”

“Alien energy must be something else,” you replied, grinning a little. “No wonder SHIELD wanted to harness it. Let’s hope they learned their lesson.”

“I think they have,” Steve said. He was silent for a moment, his gaze turned towards the window. Your smile faded, as you realized that his demeanor had shifted.

“What?” you asked, softly, touching his arm.

He shook his head. “I should’ve - I don’t know. You shouldn’t have been with me, in the middle of that fight.”

“Where else was I supposed to go?” you queried, attempting to keep your tone light. “With you was the safest place for me, at least, accessibility-wise.”

“But it wasn’t,” he said, “because you got hurt. So many people were hurt. If I couldn’t protect them, I at least could’ve protected you, and I didn’t.”

“Hey.” You sat up, or at least tried to. He frowned at you, but helped you into a better position. When you were upright, you looked at him again. “You protected me as best as you were able. Really, I should’ve been taking better care of myself. The entire city was being destroyed. Besides, you got me out of there, didn’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have let you stay in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes upwards. You should’ve been expecting him to feel guilty about this, when he shouldn’t have. It really was all your fault. Actually, it was Fury’s fault, since you’d only been on the street because he’d asked you to check out Stark Tower.

Well, pointing fingers didn’t change anything. It had happened, you were here, and you were getting better. It wasn’t as though you were mortally wounded.

“Steve,” you started, squeezing his arm. “I’m fine, all right? That’s all you need to think about. What happened afterwards?”

Steve, although he still looked upset with himself, went on to explain that Stark had flown a missile into the tear in space, and had barely returned to Earth as a result. He had, however, and he was in better shape than you were. Loki and Thor had returned to their homeworld, Asgard, with the Tesseract in tow. Thor had said that Loki would stand trial in Asgard for his actions. You silently hoped that they kept him locked away for centuries.

Other than that, things were as expected. New York was facing clean-up. Tony Stark had worked with the government to create a new cabinet position, the Department of Damage Control, that was overseeing recovery efforts after the battle.

Well, at least something was being done by the government.

Steve didn’t seem to understand your reaction to this news, and you didn’t have the energy to explain it to him.

He seemed to realize that you were starting to get drowsy, because he shifted, and stood. “You should get more rest,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

“Wait, wait.” You grabbed for his hand, managed to latch onto it. He looked at you, and you struggled to find something to say. “My cat.”

He blinked, and then he sighed to himself. “I should’ve brought this up earlier, I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s fine. I brought him to my apartment here in D.C., and I’ve been taking care of him.”

Your shoulders fell. “Thank God. Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry that you have to do that.”

Steve smiled. “It’s my pleasure, really. I - it’s the least I can do.”

You tugged on his hand, and he leaned over you until you could kiss him. He grinned through it, and when he pulled back, he said, “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back.

Over the next few days, you slept, and healed. Nurses, and a doctor, paid you visits, but they were not as frequent a presence as Steve was. You thought that maybe he was spending too much time with you, considering he’d just helped saved the world, and most assuredly had plenty of debriefings to sit through, still, but he did not seem bothered whenever you brought the idea up.

“I wasn’t the only one there,” he said. “If there’s something important that I need to know, I’ll find out what it is eventually, right?”

“Sure,” you sighed, but you knew that Director Fury was probably getting grumpier and grumpier with the fact that Steve’s focus was on you, rather than on the aftermath of the mission.

This much was confirmed, when Fury came and visited you himself. Granted, he never looked happy, but this particular morning, he looked even more disgruntled than usual.

You did your best to pretend not to know why, and thanked him for the flowers that he set down on the table at the foot of your bed.

“Uh, how’re things?” you questioned, flexing your hand. Your arm was still stiff, but the size of the bandage had decreased, so you thought your injury was improving.

“Not great,” Fury answered, his hands in his pockets. “The council is still pissed that Stark diverted their missile.”

“That’s not good,” you said, and he eyed you.

“It doesn’t help, either, that Captain Rogers refuses to be present for the meetings in which we talk about what it means for him, now that the world’s been saved,” he said. “It would be a lot less stressful if I knew at least that was taken care of.”

“Well… he isn’t here right now.”

“Y/LN.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Director, but I’m not… I’ve tried to convince him to pay more attention to what’s happening outside this room, but it hasn’t worked. He feels responsible for what happened to me.”

Fury’s expression did not shift. You closed one eye, and examined your bandage very closely. “And… it probably doesn’t help that… we’re… in a relationship.”

When he did not speak, you spared a glance upwards at him. He was still watching you, the same look on his face.

You scowled. “What else do you want me to say?”

He shook his head. “Something that will make it less difficult for me to remove you from your position.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

“You can no longer work with Captain Rogers on helping him adjust to the 21st century.”

Well, you’d been expecting that.

“But you’re not firing me completely, right?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not. From a professional standpoint, though, it would be inappropriate for you to continue your work with him while also being in a romantic relationship.”

“Right, that’s… that’s fair,” you admitted, leaning back against your pillows. “My other job?”

“You will still hold your position as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries,” Fury replied, and you relaxed your shoulders. “However -”

“Why does there have to be a ‘however’?”

“You’re going to have to live in New York.”

“Wait, what? But SHIELD’s centered here in D.C.”

“New York is closer to the Stark Industries headquarters.”

“Technically, I think their headquarters is in California, so -”

“Y/LN.”

You made a face. “But that… if Steve lives here -”

“Yep.”

“That isn’t very fair of you, sir.”

“I say we’ll have to give Captain Rogers a choice,” he responded. “He can choose to live here, in D.C., under the continued supervision and support of SHIELD, or he can return to New York, and start his own life there. He’ll still work for SHIELD, contractually, but he won’t have that same live-in support that he has had.”

You frowned at him. “Why are you telling me this?” you questioned. “Shouldn’t this be a discussion that you have with him?”

“Considering I haven’t seen him,” Fury replied, “I thought it would be a good first step to tell the person he spends most of his time with.”

“I guess that’s… that makes sense,” you admitted. “All right, I’ll mention it to him, and say that he should talk to you.”

“Good,” Fury said, starting towards the door of your room. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

And that was it. He left. You rolled your eyes to yourself. Didn’t even ask how I was feeling.

Later on that day, Steve arrived, lugging a tote that was filled with some things to help keep you entertained.

“I brought you those books you asked for,” he said, unloading several novels onto the bed, “and that DVD player, and the movies that you said you wanted to watch.”

You smiled at him. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You shuffled through the DVDs for a moment, debating on how best to bring up the subject that you needed to discuss with him. “Uh… Fury visited me, earlier.”

“That was nice of him,” Steve said, and he nodded towards the flowers.

“Yeah, it would have been, except he didn’t seem interested in how I was doing.” You paused, gazing down at Walk the Line. “Uh… I’ve been removed from my job position as your liaison to the 21st century.”

Steve glanced at you, his eyes wide in clear disbelief. “He can’t do that.”

“He can, actually. He’s my boss.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Steve decided, shaking his head to himself. “That isn’t fair.”

“There’s more, though, so don’t… get your panties twisted, yet,” you sighed. He looked at you again, and you hesitated a moment longer. “Uh, I still get to be the liaison to Stark Industries, but… I have to live in New York, because it’s closer to the main headquarters.”

“That makes sense,” he said, and then realization settled on his features. “Oh.”

You nodded. “Uh… which means that… if you stay here in D.C.,... it’ll be hard for us to see one another on a regular basis.”

“Where are you going with this?” Steve asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Uh… well, Fury gave me an ultimatum, to give to you,” you said. “He said that you can either stay here in D.C., under SHIELD’s supervision and support, or you can move back to New York. You’ll still work for them, but you won’t have that same support that you’ve been living with since you were defrosted.”

“Really?” You nodded, and Steve shrugged. “Fine.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think I’m ready for that, to live on my own again. I can… it isn’t as though I can’t take care of myself. I - I’ve kind of been hoping for an opportunity to move out from under SHIELD’s watch, anyway,” he responded. He looked at you, his eyes softening. “And being near you is just an added bonus.”

Goddamn. You smiled at him, unable to stop yourself from doing so. “I - are you positive?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I think I am,” he said, and then he smiled as well. “I’m an adult man. I should be supporting myself.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed with a laugh, and then you held up Walk the Line. “I want you to watch this movie. It takes place… well, mostly in the fifties and sixties, but it’s about a musician.”

“Oh, which one?” Steve queried, pushing the rest of the things he’d brought out of the way so that he could move up the bed, and make himself comfortable beside you.

“His name is Johnny Cash.”

“... interesting.”

You chuckled, and tugged the portable DVD player closer. “I think you’ll like it.”

#drabble #steve rogers drabble #marvel drabble #step by step #steve rogers #nick fury #marvel #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #history has its eyes on queue

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all-hail-the-witcher · 6 years

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my feet don’t dance like they did with you

ship: race x albert genre: angst ;) warnings: implied breakups and people leaving, also like 3 curse words editing: eh word count: 1560 this is inspired by ghost of you by 5sos ive wanted to write angst based on that song since the first time i heard it _______________________________ The gravity of the situation didn’t hit Albert until he was at rehearsal the following day. The director had paired him with Elmer until she could figure out how to fill the perfectly Race-shaped space in the show. Albert struck the opening pose for the duet, a crouch in the downstage right corner, and Elmer took Races place, a lunge at center stage. The opening notes of the song began and Albert felt his body go on autopilot, completing every leap, jump, and turn with practiced fluidity. That is, until about 32 counts into the piece when he and Elmer stood downstage center. This was the moment where they made eye contact and acknowledged each other for the first time during the piece before doing a complicated lift and turn sequence. Some part of him had known, very deep down, that it would be Elmer’s, not Race’s eyes that he would be meeting. But somehow he was still shocked. Maybe it was the jarring difference of seeing Elmer’s brown eyes as opposed to Races luminous blue ones, or maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t met by Races familiar smell of laundry soap and cheap cologne that caused Alberts brain to short circuit. His dancing become choppy and disjointed. He barely had time to recognize the sudden difference before Elmer morphed into Race and the walls of the studio closed in around them, transporting him back in time to the hallway outside their apartment and the events of the night before. Albert had just ran up the five flights of stairs to their apartment - curse this old building and its lack of an elevator - and had been rummaging around in his dance bag for his keys when he had been greeted by Race exiting the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind him. “Hey Race,” Albert had called out, abandoning all hope of finding his keys, “going somewhere?” Race had turned abruptly and stiffened slightly at the sound of Albert’s voice, almost like a kid who had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Albert hadn’t noticed that originally, but now every detail came back to him, screaming that something was terribly wrong. Race had been wearing one of Albert’s old sweatshirts - the big green one he had a penchant for stealing - and a pair of adidas track pants with his sneakers. His big black dance bag had been thrown over his shoulder and he had a navy backpack on. Albert remembered thinking that he must be going to rehearsal. But, if he had pondered that question a little bit longer he would have remembered that Race never had rehearsal on Thursday nights. “Hey, Albert.” Albert, not Albie or Albo or Al: Albert. Race never called him by his actual name. Why hadn’t he picked up on that? “Romeo wanted to rehearse with me tonight for a few hours, not sure when I’ll be back.” His voice sounded fake, scripted, almost. And, of course now, Albert remembered that Romeo was out of town at an audition so there was no way Race was going to meet up with him. “Okay,” Albert remembered saying, hand on the door knob ready to go inside, “I’ll see you later.” Race had turned to walk down the hall, but stopped at the last second. He had turned around, and strode back toward where Albert was standing. Then, without any warning, he threw his arms around Albert’s neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you, Albie,” he had said. “Don’t forget that.” At the time it had all happened so fast, but now the whole scene played back almost slow motion. Albert could see the tear tracks on Races cheeks and the slight tremor in his hand as he ran his fingers absently through his hair. He could see the glint of sadness mixed with regret and hopelessness in his beautiful blue eyes. If only he had seen it then. “I love you too, Tony,” Albert had whispered back, opening the door to their apartment and stepping inside with a small wave at his boyfriend. Race had given him his trademark lopsided smirk before wandering back down the hall. If only he had known that was the last time he would ever see him. Back in reality, Albert could feel Elmer’s hand on his arm as they moved into the partnering section. He couldn’t help but notice that it was smooth, not callused like Races. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong. Elmer caught Albert’s eye for a second. The look he gave him let Albert know he could tell something was off. Albert knew that Elmer would understand if they stopped, but he willed his body to keep moving in time with the music as his brain drifted back to the apartment. Albert had stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of one too many sugared apple candles - courtesy of Race - and thrown his bag on the floor before heading to the kitchen in pursuit of a snack. He had pulled out several bags of chips from the cabinet and was reaching up into the cupboard for a bowl when he had noticed an old pair of Race’s black canvas ballet shoes with holes in the toes laying on the counter. Race was always leaving his things in strange places, so Albert had been about to move them aside when he saw the note. That was when everything had come crashing down. In present time, Albert could feel Elmer spinning him around and around and around and he thought that that was fitting seeing how his head was spinning from remembering the letter Race had left him. Dear Albert, it had said. I’m terribly sorry, but I won’t be coming home tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any night after. You didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, you were the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. But it’s become too much for me. I can’t really put it into words, but I need you to understand that nothing you could have ever said would have changed my mind. Elmer stopped spinning him, and Albert flew into a switch split, but he landed weirdly, a sharp pain running up the inside of his ankle. He winced. He had never had a problem with that jump before. I love you, the note continued. More than I love myself. Which is why I have to go now, when things are good before I screw everything up and we fight and break up the hard and painful way. I’ve been through that too many times Albie, and I don’t want to fight with you. I’m not very good at this love stuff, no one has ever wanted me in that way before, and I can’t fathom that you would be any different, nor do I have the mental capacity to get broken up with again. Albert did a seat roll into a fish flop, but his knees banged the floor painfully. And there was Elmer’s hand, right where Races should have been, pulling him up for the last 8 counts of the dance. I’m leaving you my old ballet shoes. They were what I was wearing the day I met you. Remember that day? It was the first time we ever partnered. It was so magical Albie, we just worked together so well. Everything suddenly made sense the moment we touched. Did you feel that way too? Probably not, I’m being stupid. I knew in that moment I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But I can’t. So maybe you’ll consider taking these shoes in place of me, or maybe you’ll throw them out, I don’t care. Whatever happens, Albie, never stop dancing. Albert heard the music cut out. He barely registered that he was in his final pose, hugging Elmer, although it should have been Race, it should have been Race, goddamnit. He backed away quickly, like Elmer had burned him. “Are you okay, Albert?” Elmer asked gently. “That run was a little...rough.” “Yeah, I’m okay,” Albert lied, fighting to meet Elmer’s gaze, reminding himself that this was who he had to dance with now because Race wasn’t coming back. Race wasn’t coming back. He was gone, nothing but a mere memory. A memory that would never be brought back. “I’m just not used to dancing with you yet.” Elmer nodded. “Okay, we can work through it. You’re a good dancer, we’ll make it work.” He offered him a smile, which Albert was hesitant to return. “Yeah, okay,” he said, looking down at his feet, which were wearing Races worn out ballet shoes. They were a size too big on him, but he could still see the tips of his toes poking through the holes. He remembered when those shoes had begun to get those holes in them and he’d teased race endlessly for it until he had gotten a new pair. Was the reason he had hung onto them so long because they reminded him of when the first met? He forced down tears as he willed himself to work through the dance with Elmer. He’s not coming back. Race had told him to never stop dancing. Oh, Race, he thought, how is that even possible when my feet don’t dance like they did with you? _______________________________ im kinda low key proud of this ? i love hurting my bois angst is my specialty, so if there’s anything anyone wants to see feel free to hit up the ask box !! feed back is always appreciated !!

#saphie scribbles #newsies fic #newsies #race x albert #ralbert #ractrack higgins #albert dasilva #elmer kazprzak #why does everyone in this fandom hurt race #im not complaining im just asking #i love hurting race

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courtorderedcake · 6 years

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LIMBO 2/3

I’m per usual, late. But, I had this queued up originally and it didn’t go through so I made a pretty art thing so I didn’t kill someone. Yay.

Here is my first finished big piece for @cssns, a dark and gritty romance with heavy CaptainSwan, FrozenJewel and ScarletBelle themes. The second part will be posted later today, and the third late this evening. I have 2 more MCs to present and then I am blessedly finished.

Will Scarlet is dead, stuck in a plane of existence where all redeemable souls with unfinished business end up. Each soul is assigned a Guardian: A guide to help them navigate The Realm of the Living and to avoid pitfalls there. To Will’s great displeasure he is assigned the mirthless Emma Swan, who’s indifference to his pain infuriates him - until he finds that she harbors her own. Rated: M TW: Child death, Death in general, Angst with a… intrepretation of a happy ending? Idk, just be warned, don’t read this. I’m the Lemony Snicket of fic writers, look away.

Killian was vaguely aware that something was very amiss, if not downright wrong.

His last clear memories were celebrating his new position, one he’d painstakingly worked for years to achieve, his friends around him and Emma by his side. He had refused to drink at his own party, much to his friends’ consternation, but he wanted to remember everything about this night, every detail. Hopefully it was the last night Emma Swan would go without knowing she was to be Emma Swan-Jones in his ideal future. That is, if she’d accept, which with the way she had rested her head on his shoulder he was pretty sure wasn’t an issue.

“Things are good,” she’d whispered, leaning across the passenger side of their car to kiss him.

“Things are only going to get better.” He grinned and she laughed, poking him under the armpit, his body jerking. “Oi, that’s enough of that, now -”

“Tall orders, ‘only better’. Are you sure you can live up to that promise?” Her eyes had gotten darker, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“I am up for the challenge.”

“Then hurry home, sally forth, and all that - I have a present for you that you couldn’t unwrap here.” Her voice had gone husky and Killian felt for sure his pants were suddenly too tight.

They were driving home when Emma had screamed, he thought it was prank at first, but the lights were bright and they were right in their windshield as pain enveloped him. The roof of their car buckled as they rolled, he felt the crack against his skull and for a moment things went black. He could still hear, sounds of the crunch of metal and her strangled cry, and then his head throbbed, bringing back sight; gazing out, lights flashed into the dim. The back of his skull felt so wet and warm, and the top of his head was dripping as he tried to inventory his surroundings. They'd come to a stop at an angle and he'd noticed hazy smoke filling the car, Emma slumped forward with glass across her face. He dizzily noted how pretty it was in the light. Confused revulsion came next.

He unbuckled himself, surprised that the device still worked, and marveling at how squishy the air bag was, before trying to focus as spots spun in front of him. His brain felt wrong and infantile as he narrowed his thoughts, to come fighting the strange feeling of his body wanting to simply stop, exhaustion creeping up on him. Why couldn't he sleep?

Emma. Get Emma out. One of his arms was useless, a bloody mess he couldn’t get to follow commands. With his good arm, he undid her belt and grabbed under her armpits as well as he could, her head lolling as he dragged her over his seat. She was dragging something under her knee. He gathered her body close, and with sudden clarity understood as he touched her shattered kneecap - Her leg that had been bent in the passenger’s seat was crushed completely. Even through his stunted brain he knew this was bad.

Stumbling back, everything spinning, they fell to the cold asphalt. He saw Emma’s eyes open as what he realized was his scalp flopped over, his hand reaching up to touch wet bone. She reached for him as his vision burned away to darkness, his hand meeting hers the last touch he felt.

When Killian came to, he was alone in a hospital room sitting in a chair, noise filling the empty space. Part of his brain registered that this was eerily strange, unable to rationalize while the other soothed, calming him. This was normal. Things will make sense, everything will be fine.

Emma.

He stood, bare feet cold on the tiled floor. Beeps, whirrs, whispered voices and footsteps swirled around him although he was alone. If he focused, he could make out misty forms of people, like a flickering projector. Nurses roamed the halls, he could see their brightly colored scrubs now, the forms becoming clearer. Rubbing his eyes, he saw another chair next to the hospital bed where Liam sat, head in his hands.

He heard Liam’s sobs and apologies, how he should have given him the ring for Emma.

Bloody well right you should have, you great dolt.

Liam didn’t hear, and he only came back angrier. He talked about working extra hours, about how this was Emma’s fault, about incompetent staff and bad tea. Killian began to pace, the strange peace he had once felt fading. What was Emma’s fault? Certainly not this, whatever this was. Emma would never.

David’s voice. Asking if Liam was coming to the funeral, Liam telling him to get out. Killian raged in unheard fury, he was going to punch that bloody git in the face for talking to his brother-in-law like that - er. His almost brother-in-law. David had left and Killian caught a glimpse of him, his hair unkempt and eyes red rimmed. Who had died? David only had very little family, and Emma… He’d know if Emma was hurt. He felt a pang of uncertainty, the strangeness of his situation breaking through. Liam flickered in and out, standing and pacing, cursing under his breath.

“Why did you choose her? Why did you let her do this to you brother?” Liam slammed his fist into a cabinet, flickering out as his cries echoed in the room.

What is happening to me? Where am I?

Emma finally came to see him after he felt like he’d been there for months, wandering through the empty hospital when his room was quiet. He’d thought he may have heard her voice before, but like tuning for a frequency on a radio, he could never make out her words. He snapped back to his room the minute her words were in his ears. He couldn’t see her as well as his brother, falling to his knees in front of her. She laid across the hospital bed, unaware of his presence.

“Hi, babe.”

Emma, where have you been? Gods above, I’ve been worried sick about you, you’ve had me-

He could hear her voice hitch, and the small sniff of her nose.

Why are you about to cry, love?

“I don’t know if you can hear me -”

Of course I can, sweet, I’m right here, it’s alright —

“I just… I’m so scared and I miss you so much. I keep having dreams about the accident now that I can remember, I can remember you pulling me out. I wish you would wa-”

Her voice fizzled out as her shimmering form snuffed out like a candle. Killian desperately tried to... looking for her, looking for anywhere her voice would ring louder, or to find her strange smoky silhouette. He had no such luck. The strangeness of his new realm was now overwhelming, his inability to speak to anyone or get acknowledged maddening. A woman named Elsa whispered secrets about women he’d never met, and another woman named Ariel hummed softly filling the room in soothing music. He liked them.

Someone named Tremaine, and another, Ursula, he didn’t like. He hadn’t felt anything physically but a numbness that reminded him of when his feet fell asleep; when those two flickered into being he felt pain. Killian realized finally that he was somehow outside of his body and something was preventing him from understanding this situation.

Emma came again. He could see her better, his clarity of people and things much clearer as time had passed. Instead of a smoky haze, she was a faded photo negative, a washed out sepia. When he tried to touch her there was no resistance as if she was air.

“I’m supposed to let you go. That’s what Regina says, that I should ‘move on,”

Well, tell ‘Regina’ to bugger right on off then, love.

“And I know that’s what you’d want, you wouldn’t want me to wait for you,”

Whoa now, wait a minute, of course I want you to wait for me, I just need to get ! Move on? Emma, what the bloody hell are you on about woman, are you mad?

“The thing is, I can’t, Killian. Just…” her voice broke and she sobbed, he found himself longing to hold her. “I love you so much. Please, don’t hate me for wanting you.”

I could never hate you Emma, please, don’t cry. It’s alright, I could never tire of you wanting me.

It became a cycle, Liam, Elsa, Ariel and Tremaine with Emma popping up here and there.

Killian began to understand, even if he didn’t want to believe.

“That brother of yours is a real asshat,” Elsa hissed, wearing blue and fiddling with an IV bag. Killian read a magazine left open, enjoying any stimulation he could find. “I hope you can’t hear the bastard.”

You don’t even know. He’s an insufferable stubborn git on his best days.

“If I could move you to another hospital I would. Best in the country, bollocks. Can’t even make a proper cup of tea.” Liam thumbed through a book, sipping out of a styrofoam cup. Killian wished for a moment he could enjoy any cup of anything. He’d started to feel thirst, a strange heat and chill that came without warning, and pain in his abdomen.

Liam, I wish I could move that giant head of yours out of your ass.

“I miss hearing your voice, Killian.” Liam let out a small laugh, rubbing his eyes. “You’d be telling me where to shove it right now.” His voice wavered, eyes becoming watery. “I don’t know how to be without you. You were my balance, my levity. Even during this feud... I’m so sorry, I just wanted you to make the right choices.”

I miss you too Liam. I missed you when you were convinced my happiness was too risky. I just wanted you to be proud of me.

“I wish I could tell you how proud I am of you. I went by your home, I saw your designs and the proposal for the restoration of that frigate. It was… I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.” Liam cried openly, and Killian felt the walls of his reality crumbling slowly. He was pulled, a strong yank of some force he could not fight that sent him spiraling into darkness. A shrill beeping alarm sounded, Liam yelling as footsteps flooded in, a fire filling him with agony. There was a light, and he reached for it, begging for help as he was pulled further and further away.

He woke again to Emma’s gentle cries, the darkness dissipated. He sat in the bed, confused.

“You almost died, and I… I was happy for a moment. I’m so sorry, I just wanted…” Her sobbing was uncontrolled, her shoulders shaking. “I am so selfish, Killian, please wake up. Meet someone else, live your life, have children, please.”

Emma… You wanted me to…?

Killian’s reality crumbled into dust. He had almost died? A force compelled him to look behind him.

Turning to look at the bed, he saw himself, or what was left of himself. Tubes ran through his mouth, his hair was shaved to the scalp, as artificially steady breaths were pumped into his system. His frame was smaller, chest almost concave and bandaged.

Emma, you’re…?

“I just want to see you happy. I don’t want this for you, I want you to live, to open your eyes.”

You’re alive, you’re alive, Emma, you’re alive and we’ll go back home, we’ll go back and everything will be -

“I wish I hadn’t died. I wish you and I had lived the life we deserved.”

No. No, Emma, how can you be - What are you?

“I’ve decided to wait, regardless of anything. I’m not giving up on you. You’re a survivor.” He watched her stroke his body’s face, slender fingers he tried to hold without success. “I’m going to become a Guardian. I’ve already started training, and it will give me more time to visit you. I love you, more than anything.”

She disappeared where he could not follow, leaving him alone in limbo.

Killian began to walk, aimlessly exploring while lost in his thoughts of Liam, Emma, and - surprisingly - his mother. Threading his memories and what he’d heard from stray bits of conversation together, a picture appeared. There had been an accident. Emma had… He struggled to even think about it, but she had died. He had survived, if you could call it that. Chained to a bed by encroaching brain death, his freedom lost to machines holding him in stasis.

A stasis that created this world of watching. Killian was a spectator as his body fought, wondering if he’d live or die as he suffered through infections and experimental treatment.

Liam willed him to live, Emma willed him to live, and Killian… he simply wanted to be heard.

He talked to Emma, answering her and wondering what he’d do if she answered back. She never did. Hearing her voice was enough still. He loosely tried to keep track of time, but he noted the date when she brought a man with her. He’d noticed her appearance changing with sadness, her loose curls pinned tight and her posture going prim. She’d reverted to her walled state, untouchable and unable to be hurt or abandoned.

The man - she’d called him Will - opened the drawer of photographs Liam had hidden away. Killian loved their pictures. He’d taken millions of photos of them, millions more of Emma as he mapped her body in every way possible. One of his favorite rattled in the drawer, a timed picture on a ship he rented, them kissing on the deck standing still with lips pressed together at dusk for what felt like ages.

The resulting photo was gorgeous - a silhouette of them against moving stars and sunset colors. Laying under a blanket they’d talked for hours. She had turned to him, a serious look on her face that at first scared him.

She said with a serious look they needed to talk, and he’d panicked, terrified of what she’d say. The words left her mouth and his heart flip flopped in his chest, until her laughter bubbled over as he hugged her closer.

She’d told him she’d changed her mind - having a baby wouldn’t be so bad.

This Will closed the drawer, and Killian watched as he returned to talk to Emma.

"When I first started coming here, after understanding I'd have to move on, I thought he responded to me. I thought," she looked up and swiped at her eyes and cheeks, "I thought he could hear me and I was some savior that would bring him back to me.”

Oh, my sweet Swan. I do hear you. I’ve never left you, and you’ve never left me.

“I wanted, sometimes I still want..." she let out a sob and looked at the plug near him where wires ended in thick black plugs.

In some ways he wished she would unplug him.

He watched as Liam trashed Emma again and again, his brother’s pain pinpointed into hatred for someone who couldn’t defend herself. Emma, in her grace, pushed Liam together with his nurse, and Killian watched his brother’s hatred melt away into love, a man Killian had never seen emerging from his pain.

Their pictures went back up, Killian marveling at Emma and his smiling face out in the open again. Emma always lingered near one he knew was her favorite, autumn leaves bright as they laughed.

They stood next to each other, one unaware of the other. He ached. Even after she left he ached, the ache turning into worse pain. Another nurse came in, finding the problem. Tremaine had left a bandage unchanged.

Emma stayed with him as pain continued to return, and his nurses fought to keep him stable. She murmured about staying too long, and he watched her move like clockwork making sure things were in order. For the first time in ages, she flickered. Days went by and she continued to fade, staying longer with him.

She disappeared shortly after, Liam gone as well. It was quiet, the nurses’ footsteps and scratched pen to clipboard the only noises he heard. His body began to burn. The familiar feeling of infection running wild through him, but somehow worse. The familiar snap back into darkness was an unwelcome guest, his veins made of fire that lit to an inferno. Machines began to beat off the chart, the familiar light showing up in his peripheral.

He heard Liam’s yells, and then there was brightness, brightness that blinded him and dazzled his eyes, pain taken away in an instant of light flowing through him.

When he blinked, he sat before a smiling man in a tweed suit, a cricket pin on his lapel.

“Hello Mr. Jones. Welcome.”

“What - I died?”

The man blinked, scratching his ginger hair and adjusting his glasses. “Well, um, yes. Most people don’t remember -”

“I need to find someone. I think she’s here, I -”

“Mr. Jones, calm down if you will, please. We have to talk about -”

“I don’t give a damn, I need to find her, I need to find her now!”

“Mr. Jones, that’s not how things work, there’s rules and procedures -”

“What part of ‘I do not give a damn’ did you not understand, mate?” Killian’s voice rose and the man cowered slightly. A door behind him flew open, Killian turning with his jaw set.

“Oi! What’s this then, trouble, Hopper? Listen here -” Recognition crossed both the faces of Killian and the man before him, sudden understanding blinking into existence. “You!”

Killian actually laughed, a grin starting on his face. “My reputation precedes me, I see. Will. Finally I get to say hello.” Will glanced down, and when he looked up gave him an uneasy look. “Where is she?”

Turning to the man still clinging to his chair, Will nodded towards Killian. “Hopper, uh, this is… This is Emma’s…”

Hopper’s face paled more, his lips pulling down. “Oh no.”

Killian repeated himself, anxiety rising in his chest. “Where is she? Where is Emma?”

Will sighed. “It’s a long story, and… Look, ‘ave a seat. We’re going to be here for a bit.”

“Is Emma alright?” Killian felt his anxiety grow into full blown fear, fists clenching as his body tensed.

Will looked at him with pity, and Killian could feel his heart breaking. He sank into a chair as Will wrung his hands, eyes becoming glassy.

“No. I’m so sorry, but Emma… Emma is gone.”

Elsa took a week off, using her rarely touched vacation days and citing a family emergency, causing her sympathetic friends and coworkers in the ward no surprise. For the first time in what felt like decades, the patient room on the corner was empty; a stark and vacuous reminder of how fragile things were. Tremaine had been fired, much to many nurses’ relief, and when Liam had not come back to collect many of Killian's items, they were put down to be boxed up and put in a cabinet for pickup or eventual shipment.

The nurse that had the sad task of preparing Mr. Jones’ room for a new patient was Ariel, her heart heavy as she packed picture after picture away. She was surprised how cold it was in the room, checking the thermostat and finding it set to a normal 71°; the cold made no sense. That would need to be checked, she noted. When she reached for a particular frame of the patient carrying a blonde haired woman on his back, both laughing, she felt an intense feeling of someone watching her, boring holes through her being. She touched the frame, and it shot out of her reach towards the empty bed, landing squarely in the middle as the lights flickered.

She shrieked, running out of the room, and to the nursing station.

“Ariel, what the heck -” another nurse, Ella, hissed at her.

“That room- room 305! The lights and that- a picture! It flew!” Ariel was obviously shaken, and refused to go back in there even as her boss was called to press her.

“I'm down two nurses already, please just get someone to take care of it,” he'd intoned in his nasally voice.

By the time he came in the next day, none of the nurses would go in the room, even with the pictures removed. By the time Elsa returned the next week, it was a hospital wide rumor. Elsa had immediately laughed, as at precisely 4:07 pm on the dot the lights flickered, her immediate belief that it was an insensitive joke the team was playing. Solemn faces met hers.

“Watch, Elsa.” Whispered Aurora, pointing to the door. “In three minutes, that door is going to fly open by itself.”

Elsa looked around for a clock, noticing only now the small groups from other departments milling around and watching. Even some patients had joined to watch, and she felt her stomach turn uneasily. The clock showed time passing in the slowest of measure, and for a moment the ward was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Nothing happened, but as she turned to tell Aurora off, the door slammed open as lights flickered, papers on the nursing station fluttering around in an icy breeze.

“The paper thing is new,” Aurora commented, casually. The lights above them flickered, along with a few down the hallway as people gasped and in a few cases (one being Dr. Whale) screamed curses. “So… is that...” Aurora said more nervously. When the nursing station’s cabinet doors ripped open with a clatter, spilling contents, Aurora yelped along with a majority of the Ward's staff, Ariel almost in tears. “That is definitely new,” Aurora hissed.

Elsa could only gape as the lights returned. She had a sudden memory come to mind, snapping her fingers, and turned to Aurora.

“There's a nanny cam still in that room, from before when Li…” she paused, took a deep breath and collected herself “When the last patient was here. I'll grab it and we'll see if this is actually a haunting.”

Before she could be convinced otherwise, Elsa walked into room 305.

It was cold, dark and empty, nothing amiss as far as she could tell as she walked to the shelf she'd tucked the camera behind, in between rolls of paper towels and extra gowns. Pulling the camera down and carefully removing the memory card, she turned back to the door. As she made her way back, an item caught her eye on the bedside table. A photo frame. Squinting, she walked over to it. A picture of Liam's brother and his girlfriend? She picked it up and left.

“I thought all of these were taken out to give to his family?” Elsa asked, placing it on the nursing station’s counter.

Aurora blinked at her, and Ariel became caught in hysterics again. “Elsa, we did. Where did you get that?”

“You couldn't have. It was in there on the bedside table.” Elsa was exasperated at this point. She tried to check Aurora's face for any sort of tell, but only got a look of fear.

“Elsa… I taped that box up myself, and half the people here watched. None of us were or are going back in there. Go look, it's in the bottom cupboard.”

Elsa walked to the cupboard, opening the door to find a sealed box with Liam's name on it. The seal was unbroken.

Logging onto her computer, she plugged in the memory card to look at the video files. The camera had promised “120 days of continuous video!” when she bought it, and she had changed the cards right before the Fourth of July so it had plenty of memory. She opened the files, noting that they were separated by month. July was first, and she clicked through a few, watching Liam and her until it became too painful.

She skipped to August, to the night… She took a breath, and clicked on the night the patient had passed. A video of the nurses rushing in, and his furious progression into organ failure. Liam's frame making it just in view for a moment before he was pushed out. Their team working frantically until slowly, they trickled out leaving Liam, his brother and the doctor alone.

Finally the doctor left, and Liam sat alone for hours until his brother was taken to the morgue, leaving only then. Elsa refused to cry, tears spilling over anyway as she wiped them away. This wasn't what she was here for. The next day began automatically. Nothing. An empty room. At 2:45pm, a breeze moved the bedsheets of the cot slightly, but nothing was amiss.

The next day, the same, the bed sheets moved slightly around 2:45pm, and Elsa presumed rationally that is when the AC kicked on. That day however, the bedsheets moved more forcefully, as if an unseen hand was pulling them.

The third day, Ariel stepped in around 1:00pm and began collecting personal effects. She moved to pictures on the bedside, and looked around shivering. When she reached for a photo, the lights flickered and when they turned back on Elsa could see the picture on the bed just as she described as she ran out of the room. At 2:45, the bedsheets on the bed smoothed around the picture frame. Elsa blinked, and rewound. As if by magic, the wrinkles and any crooked corners smoothed around the picture frame.

The next day, an exhausted looking Hans walked in, coffee in hand at 8:15am to collect the picture on the bed, shaking his head and calling towards the door. When he touched the frame, the bed shook as the lights flickered, his coffee spilling everywhere. A janitor arrived at slightly after 9 to clean up the spill and remove the picture, only to have every drawer thrown open. Finally, Dr. Bell stomped in, took the picture and stomped out at 4:07, the door to the room slamming itself open and shut several times as the camera’s picture distorted.

Elsa watched in fascination, confusion and terror as she fast forwarded to today's date, watching as the bedside table remained empty. Silence for days besides the door slamming, until she came to where she walked into the room. As she picked the camera up with her face taking up most of the shot, a dark, shadowy, form sat on the bed, placing a picture frame on the bedside table.

He was halfway through a glass of amber liquid when the email appeared in his inbox, Liam almost deleting it on the spot. His phone was set straight to voicemail in hopes of aiding his ambition to drink, unable to think about the quiet burial on a rainy morning. The bottom of a bottle was soothing, the only noise the clink of glass or the sound of things he’d broken. He’d forgotten the ping of emails on his laptop until the noise broke through a hangover.

“Please respond - Killian’s belongings” from a hospital email, the nurse who had called him the night that… He pushed the memory from his mind, not opening the message. The next day, another email arrived. “Urgent!!! - Please get these items!!!” again from this Ariel, desperate for him to answer. This time he did delete the messages, watching as they populated in his trash folder.

He didn’t hear from her again for a few days, when another message appeared. “Viral Video - In case you see it online first: rm305 ghost?” His confusion was only matched by his anger. He opened the message to find a short message, followed by a video link.

“Mr. Jones,

I hate to reach out to you like this, but your brother has some items here that are causing some issues and we have unable to reach you by phone. We recently have had some problems in rm 305, and while it was only a hospital issue, a video regarding the situation has leaked to YouTube. You are not on these recordings, but considering the nature of them, I wanted to let you know.

We don’t know who leaked them, only that the things in this video cannot be disproven. There may even be an investigation with how much of an issue these occurrences are causing, and they have closed down our ward. The hospital is working diligently to find who leaked this, but we have no leads yet.

I know this may sound crazy, but I think you should watch this and consider coming by.

-Ariel Maidon”

Clicking the link took him to a video called, “ROOM 305 GHOST MERCY HOSPITAL”, and he felt his eyes narrow. The video started off with the blurred face of a nurse gathering photos into a box as she looked around the room anxiously. He recognized them immediately: Killian’s prized collection of photos once displayed on his mantle. The nurse reached for a frame, and the lights flickered, the picture appearing in the hospital bed.

Liam was beyond livid. This was a mockery, some fool’s insensitive way to make money off of his brother. He went to grab his phone and call his lawyer, when Elsa’s face came into frame, blurred out but unmistakable. Circled behind her was a black shadow figure, holding a framed picture. Elsa was in on this? His rage boiled over, speaking to his lawyer in clipped tones.

Slamming his thumb onto the red end call button, he hung up, feelingt more anger than before : The video showed nothing of him or his brother, nor was it his own intellectual property. There was nothing he could do except talk to the hospital. After another tumbler or two of rum, he resigned himself. Sending an email to Elsa, he asked her to tell him what she knew about this ‘ghost’.

When Belle went home, it was as if nothing had changed, like she’d decided to turn around instead of heading to school. Will was waiting at the bus stop where she’d left him years ago. The best friend who she’d abandoned forgave her instantly, his crooked smile everything she needed. Even when she sobbed into his embrace, he let her be.

Will at first simply protected her, and she helped him come up with ideas for businesses. Where he felt his skills were limited, Belle saw potential. He picked their lock for fun one night after they had drinks, showing her how insecure her place was, and she’d suggested locksmithing. He’d smiled over his beer.

The first time Gold sent someone for Belle she’d been terrified. The ogre of a man had broken down her door, locks and all, yelling at her about squealing to an informant. She’d denied it, screaming for help. Luckily her landlord had called the police and the distant sirens had scared the stranger off. The first person she’d called was Will. He’d set her up in a different place, until she was found again, and then again in a hotel she’d rented. Finally after she noticed someone following her, she’d begged Will for help. His business in town was having no success due to his reputation so he made her an offer.

“Let’s move away. Come with me.”

If her heart warmed for the first time since she lost Gideon, she pretended not to notice.

In a new apartment, in a new town, they settled into a routine. Belle had saved a large sum of money in a hidden bank account for her and Gideon to escape if they needed to, planning on running years ago but always being too scared. She purchased a small shop space, devoted to books, becoming quite the collector of old or discontinued print items. Will’s locksmith business was also taking off, and they found themselves happily eating dinners together or sitting and watching a movie together after long days.

Belle made the first move, tentatively laying against him and bring Will’s arm over the dip in her side, snuggling into him. A soft kiss on the cheek came next as a thank you for a birthday cake and a framed picture of Gideon and her together. A full kiss that left them both breathless after his team had won the World Cup, which turned into a long and slow session of kissing on their couch.

Things went slow. Belle’s heart healed and reset, a friendly love turning into something more. His hand found hers at the movies, hers snaking into his when they found time to go for walks. Will listened to her cry and comforted her through bouts of sorrow so deep and dark she could not see an end. Even then, he’d waited patiently without pushing anything a all until she sought him, laughing when she told him why they shouldn’t be together: because love is terrible.

“I dunno. I’ve had unrequited love since 6th grade or so, and it’s hard, but never terrible. The only pain I ever got from it was watching her suffer, but watching her heal has helped a lot.”

There was warmth in her chest like when she first kissed Gold, but this time it had dimension, layers, a foundation without cracks. At night when she thought more about it, she remembered Will running to her, or his promises when she would visit him and stare through the glass at his guilty face. Crawling out of bed and laying next to his body, Belle watched him stir, holding her breath. Will’s surprised blinks through grogginess are at first in shock, then happiness, as he gathered her into him.

“If this turns out to be a dream, I’ll be right pissed off,” he mumbled sleepily, and she laughed, falling asleep with him.

Her old room was bigger with an ensuite, but his bed more comfortable. After what felt like a day of torture, his bed now in her room and her lumpy mattress rested on the curb, they had purchased a desk for a new home office where Will could run things run things instead of from the living room. When he suggested a date to celebrate, they ended up dancing through the aches left from moving furniture all day and medicating with a Long Island special that left her drunk.

She’d begged him over sloppy kisses to touch her, and heard his groans as needy as hers. When she woke up clothed, Will greeted her with coffee.

“You’re going to have one helluva hangover, love.” He smiled sympathetically.

“We didn’t?”

“No. Until you’re ready, and can tell me when you’re sober to the point I believe you won’t regret it, I’d never.” He sipped his coffee on the edge of the bed. “I’m an idiot, and probably a fool, but not a monster.”

She’d cried, smiling like an idiot and confusing the hell out of him as he went to put his arms around her.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright -” rubbing her arms with his hands, as she shook her head.

“Will, I love you.”

Regina, Ruby, and Ruby’s charge made their way to Hopper’s office at a run, his call to them punctuated by bursts of yelling and the breaking of the various ceramics he had collected. Regina had no patience for this sort of thing. If she had a choice, she’d be sipping a martini while being fanned by a number of muscular men - but this was The Inbetween, not Paradise.

Ruby, on the other hand, was annoyed for an entirely different reason, watching the student she’d traded Hopper files and a week’s worth of pay for buttoning his fly as they ran to Hopper’s aid. Graham, a zoologist and nature filmmaker. They’d bonded over a love of wolves, the outdoors, and dying woefully single while still gorgeous. She liked the way his name tasted on her lips, and he just liked the way she tasted. Whatever this call was, it had better be good.

It was.

Will stood, red faced and panting, facing a dark haired and half crazed looking stranger. The stranger chucked something at him with a snarl, before launching himself at Will who was busy dodging. Regina’s eyes went wide, a muttered swear before she dragged the stranger back.

“What the hell,” Regina pulled back on the dark haired man’s form as he struggled against her chokehold, “is going on here?” She thought for a moment he looked familiar, but could not place where.

“Will! Are you alright? Who is that?” Ruby ran to WIll, noticing a trickle of blood beginning to disappear on his forehead. “Jesus, how many times did he hit you?”

Archie chimed in, poking his head up over his desk chair. “A lot, they’ve been going at it blow for blow, and my mediating isn’t working, because Will -”

“It’s my fault, let him hit me.” Will spat blood, and Ruby’s eyes turned back to the stranger. “I told him he could, and I deserve it.”

Escaping Regina’s grip for a moment, the stranger lunged again rasping out words in his rage.

“Bloody right it’s your fault, she’s not here and she waited! Emma waited for me, and you let her…” He let out a sound of anguish. “You bastard, you should have noticed -”

Regina’s eyes widened as she pulled the man back into a head lock, recognition finally lighting her eyes. “Oh, shit.” She leaned her arm back, tightening on his windpipe. “Well. It is you, isn’t it? Killian?”

Killian wheezed in her grasp. “Bad form to hit a lady, let me go so I can -”

Ruby blinked, finally putting the pieces together. “Wait, is he? You’re Killian? Like, Emma’s unfinished business?”

Will nodded. “I told him I’d take him to her, but we can’t fix it. We can’t fix…” His shoulders dropped, fists balled as he looked away. “He can take it out on me. It’s not like I won’t heal from it. He can push me off rooftops as far as I’m concerned at this point.”

“Don’t you dare cry for her!” Killian snarled again, shaking with rage.

Ruby’s face fell, Graham moving over to wrap an arm around her waist. Regina’s grip softened, but as Killian moved to lunge again, she grabbed his wrist twisting his arm. He was forced to a kneel, her grip a vice that he couldn’t escape.

“Don’t you dare tell us not to cry for her.” Regina spoke in a low voice, wavering at the end of the sentence. “I watched as she sat with you for hours. Will was her charge. Ruby and Hopper tried to make her laugh. We were her friends. Emma told us everything there was about you.”

“He ate so healthy, when he wakes up the hospital food will drive him insane.” Ruby imitated in a pitch perfect imitation of Emma. Killian turned, a glare softening. “And she’d imitate you: ‘How dare you give me bloody gelatin,’ with a smile.”

“She said we’d be fast friends, more than once. Should ‘ave known it’d come to blows.” Will looked up, crying. “She was my best friend here. Her home is right next to mine -”

“Emma had a home here?” Killian interrupted in a quiet voice.

Will nodded. “I don’t know if it will stay up, though, I’ve been watching for looters or anyone poking around. I won’t let anyone take the last fragments of her.”

There was a pause, heavy silence falling over the room.

“I’ll take you, if you want.” Regina bent down laying a hand on Killian’s shoulder and releasing her grip. He shook her off, glaring ahead at Will.

“No. He can take me.” Killian nodded at Will, who walked to the door without a word before turning to look at Hopper, sitting in his desk chair.

“Hopper, have his file on my desk. I’ve got this one.” Will left, and Killian followed behind, shoes crunching on shards of ceramic. They headed for the residential area in silence.

Emma’s home was undisturbed, one of Will’s charges sitting on the porch.

“Hey Will!” She waved, red hair falling everywhere. “I didn’t expect you to be back so early, but no one has tried anything.”

“Thanks Merida. I’ll see you later.” He waved her off, even as she cast strange looks at the man behind him. Looking back, Killian’s jaw was set, face set in quiet anger, softening as he saw Emma’s home. He stared ahead at the small house, and Will approached, touching the sea glass windchime near the door.

“She said it was for good luck,” Will said quietly. Killian nodded, his face crumbling.

“We had one at home.” Joining Will on the small porch, he gently touched a piece of sea glass, listening to the chiming pieces. “I guess they didn’t work.”

Will opened the door, and as soon as Killian stepped inside his anger was replaced with longing and grief. Leaning in the doorway, Will watched Killian take a few steps, breathing in the cinnamon and vanilla scent of her, breaking into tears. Touching her things, soft blankets on a red leather couch, paintings of the sea under the stars or a VW bug the color of sunshine. A buttercup growing in a pale blue pot, closely guarded, brought sobs through a smile, but a sketchbook filled with scratched kohl drawings of him brought actual laughter.

“She never liked to draw. Only painting, and even then she didn’t like me to watch.” Killian’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Things get boring here if you don’t find new hobbies. She started that because…” Will looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“What? I’m done punching you, mate.”

“She started that because she said she was forgetting you,” Will murmured. The sentence filled the room, stretching into guilt so heavy it ached on their shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s… It’s alright. Can you take me to her? I’m ready.” Killian pulled a pillow into his embrace, closing his eyes.

“I can, sometimes time moves funny here, so a few weeks have past. I’m going to tell you though, we can’t fix this. So are you planning on staying with her?” Will cast his glance down, already knowing the answer.

“If that’s what it takes to be with her.”

“You won’t be with her though, you’ll be looking for her for eternity. Haunts don’t react to one another unless it’s drastic - Like a murder or trauma.” Will’s voice rose. “Emma wouldn’t want you to -”

“Don’t tell me what Emma would have wanted.” The dangerous low growl was back, Killian’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not here, because of you. Take me to her.”

Will sighed. A puff of gray smoke and they were in a hospital hallway, Killian feeling sick from the pull in his navel. The lights were off, yellow tape on his old room and the ward doors, but someone was there and yelling.

“What did you do!”

Liam’s voice? Killian blinked. What the hell was his brother doing here? Peeking around the corner, two figures sat in the empty nurses’ station. Liam looked a right mess, his hair unruly, dark circles under his eyes, and the beginnings of a beard growing.

“I didn’t do anything. I promise you.” Elsa’s voice pleading. “Liam, you look terrible. You shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake on my part, When I got your email I thought you…”

Liam grunted. “You thought I what? Was coming to take you back on a date after you showed me proof of a ghost? A ghost that you made up just to garner sympathy?”

“Liam. Please. I thought -”

“Stop thinking and show me the damn ghost like you said you would.”

Killian could rip Liam’s head off, someone caring for his stubborn arse more than anything only to be pushed away by pain.

As if on cue, Will whispered, “Your brother is a prat and a damned asshole.” Killian actually managed a small sad grin at that and nodded.

“If you only knew.” A light flickered with a shower of sparks, and Killian could see something building into a shrouded figure within his old room. Emma. She was here.

“Here we go,” whispered Elsa.

At her words, everything in his old room trembled like an earthquake had hit. Killian turned to Will, extending a hand.

“I’m not sorry for punching you, but thanks. For everything. You were there for her when I couldn’t be, and I can’t be angry at that. Goodbye,” Killian said with a nod, and Will shook his hand. He walked into the chaos that was ensuing in the room, listening to his brother’s protests of fake effects.

Emma stood in the middle of the room, a silent wail coming from her mouth as she shuffled towards the nurses station. A mixture of white and grays, faded to an opaque mix of mist that curled like a thick fog rolling in made up an image of her. There was no color, no blonde hair or green eyes, no flush of pink on her cheeks; her lips once a pale rose lost. Her face contorted in fury instead, tendrils of the haze that surrounded her pulsing out as things shook, knocking anything near her over. Pictures of them littered the floor, broken glass everywhere.

“Emma, oh, love.” Killian tried to embrace her, but a cold chill entered his being like being dropped into ice water. She moved through him and he could hear her scream of grief. She was unfazed by his appearance, unable or unwilling to see him. Making her way out the door towards Liam and Elsa, the world shuddered around her. The tape covering the room broke as the nurses’ station’s contents flew everywhere, pelting Liam and Elsa. Liam yelled, a computer keyboard ripping off the desk as drawers and cabinets flying open and shut. Killian could barely hear him above the noise, watching Emma in her wrath. Emma cried, neck straining and cabinet doors fell off their hinges, yanked free as the contents exploded.

“Liam! Look out!” Elsa was screaming about something as she pushed him out of the way, a light shattering where he was before, the piece splitting to hit her in the back of the head. Her body went limp over his.

“We need to get out of here, damn it all, what even is this?” Liam tried to clear a pathway, protecting himself from the hurricane-like debris that rained down on him. “Elsa?” He shook her and she let out a moan without opening her eyes. “No, Elsa, c’mon love.” Liam pulled her further into him, shielding her with his frame.

Killian reached through Emma again, desperately trying to grasp her. “Emma, you’re hurting people, you need to stop!” The roar he heard from her was like an oncoming train. He was thrown away, his own form roughly hitting a wall. Will tried to approach Emma’s form but was thrown as well, her anger practically an electric current running through the air.

Emma only stared at Liam, gently shaking Elsa’s shoulders. She raised a finger, pointing at him. The nurses station and cabinets began to rock, Liam trying to scoot away while being battered from all sides. Killian fought through whatever force surrounded her, arms out to protect himself and reached for her hand. The cabinets rocked harder, brackets splitting the drywall that held them in place. A filing cabinet fell, trapping Liam and Elsa in the nurses’ station, Liam pulled her tightly into his chest, pressing her into him.

“Emma!” Killian reached again, moving closer. “Emma I’m here, I’m here to stay with you!” His hand caught hers, finally grasping something corporeal. Her eyes were on his suddenly, cabinets still rocking but wind lessening. “It’s me love, Killian. I’m here.”

“I couldn’t find you. I was alone, again.” Emma’s voice was the quietest whisper, everything stopping and going still as she looked at him.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Taking several steps forward, he kissed her forehead. “I’m here now. I’ll stay with you, it’s alright.”

“Always?” Warmth met his palms, once cold and stiff. Emma’s fingers wove themselves into his, interlocking. “You’re really here?”

“I’ll never stop fighting for us. I would follow you to the end of the world, and obviously the next.”

“Killian, it’s really you.” Emma let out a laugh, the noise beautiful to his ears. She peppered his face with kisses, laughing at the smile that crept on his face. Her body felt solid in his arms, mist fading away until her eyes were the green he dreamt about.

“Aye, it’s really me.” They laughed, and he spun her in a circle. Will watched in awe at Emma cupping Killian’s face, laughing through tears. He glanced to where Elsa and Liam had been, watching as Liam pulled them out of the nurses’ station now that no debris was flying. A cut on his forehead dripped, and Elsa stirred.

“Liam… You’re bleeding?” She touched the scrape, and he brushed her hand away.

“It’s fine, I’m more concerned about you. Are you alright?” Liam touched the back of her head gingerly, and she winced. “If it’s any consolation, I believe you. That was insane -”

“It’s not normally this bad. I don’t know what made it worse this time…”

Killian smiled. “They’ll be alright, I think.”

Emma returned his knowing look. “I missed you so much.”

Pressing his lips against hers, they kissed, white light blinding in the room. They glowed as the world disappeared, along with all the pain that had been sitting for so long. Emma’s lips moved in perfect sync with his, hands feeling her waist; pulling her closer, making the kiss deeper, more passionate. A gentle golden sparkle and they were gone, leaving a bewildered Liam, Elsa, and Will.

Elsa and Liam glanced at each other, still sitting in his lap. She moved to crawl a few feet, staring at the spot where two very clear figures had embraced passionately - one, for sure, being Liam’s brother.

“Did you see that?” Liam whispered. “Please tell me you just saw that and I’m not imagining things because I’ve gone mental -”

“Your brother and his girlfriend? Either that or we are hallucinating due to a multitude of factors.”

“What the hell just happened?” Liam shook his head, rubbing the heel of his palm firmly against his forehead.

“I don’t know, honestly.” Elsa laughed, looking up at him. “I may have a concussion, but I feel like they - or something - found peace. I don’t know, I guess. This room is just suddenly filled with so much love. It feels like...” Her gaze turned downwards and away.

“I’m sorry.”

Elsa looked up at him, her head cocked. “For what?”

“Where should I start? Elsa, I’m an idiot and I miss you -” She raised a finger to silence him.

“Liam, I can’t. I loved you. I still…” Looking away, her fingers picked at her braid. “I can’t be like we were.”

“I understand.” Liam stiffened, nodding with a mask of indifference to cover his disappointment.

“I’d like to start over. Maybe we can try again? You just got over losing someone, and I’d love to be there to help you get through it.” Elsa smiled, and Liam’s heart began to pound.

“Pending concussion and or gas inhalation, would you like to get dinner tonight?” He began to stand, helping her up. She picked debris off of him, running her hands down his chest.

“Italian?” Elsa looked up and met his eyes, seeing the same feelings mirrored there.

“Anything you want.”

#3rd #August #2018 #August 3rd 2018 #LIMBO #limbo 2/3 #CSSNS #cssns fanfic #cs supernatural summer #courtorderedcake #tumblr hates me #dammit #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #frozen jewel #bah humbug #I'm so close to being done #I can taste it

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shawnmend-yes · 7 years

Text

Relapse (Bittersweet part 1)

You get to the party late and under strict instructions to protect Becky from drunk Josh, you’re apprehensive to say the least because you always seem to end up alone at these parties, wishing you could crawl into a hole and die but your hopeful that tonight could be different.

It’s not long before India leaves you to go and ‘chat’ to the guy she’s been talking to for the past few weeks, and you know you’re not going to see her for the rest of the night. Luckily for you, becky spots you and drags you over to talk to the people you haven’t seen in years, not since you moved schools.

Everyone’s already kinda drunk so you feel slightly more relaxed knowing that most of them are incapable of overthinking how awkward your about to be, “Alright?” you murmur fiddling with the cuffs of your sleeve.

They barely have time to respond before you hear a shout from across field “BAILEY? Is that you?” you can barely contain your laughter as you watch ellie, who is hosting the party, attempt to run towards you with a giant cast over her leg, deciding to be a good person you jog over to meet her half way crashing into a hug that results in you holding her up.

You spend a couple of minutes catching up with her before you spot Becky sat on the floor with josh, who appears to be trying to make out with her knee while she tries to push his head off. You exchange glances with ellie before heading over to the pair on the floor calling out, “Beccs, come on a walk?”

You wait for her to push herself up and begin walking as she loops her arm through your, “What the hell was that?” you ask incredulously.

“I told you, he’s weird when he’s drunk” she titters pulling you sideways, “oh…Shawn!” she calls causing him to look up and wave from the group of people he was with. “Let’s go say hi!”

You didn’t have to walk far because it turns out shawn had the exact same idea, crossing the garden to talk to the two of you. You stand awkwardly to the side as they hug and exchange quick small talk, eyes flitting over him and taking in his new appearance, he looks so different from the 3 years ago when you saw him practically everyday, because that’s what best friends do right?

You check for the same cheeky grin and scruffy hair, but this time its accompanied by arm muscles that definitely weren’t there before. “And you… i havent seen you in ages!” he says, pulling your eyes back to his as you go in for a handshake, but he startles you wrapping his arms around you and squeezing. Your eyes pop and you catch sight of Becky out of the corner of your eye trying to stuff her fist in her mouth to prevent herself from laughing.

“Long time no see” you wheeze out as he steps back and you draw in a deep breath rubbing the edge of your ribcage casually.

Other people come and join the three of you and you decide that socializing is far too draining to do standing up so you sit down on the floor, the others following suit quickly. General conversations flit around between people and you’re happy just sat observing when Alfie reaches the group. “Becky, i need to tell you something”

She brushes her legs of standing and nudges you with her toe, “Back in a sec, bails”. You just nod at her and watch her walk away with him. A few moments shawn slides closer to you, taking it upon himself to involve you in the conversation and soon the whole group is chatting about one thing.

People come and go, as the sky darkens and Becky still hasn’t come back from her ‘deep meaningful conversation’ with Alfie, but your not worried because your with Shawn. It’s so easy to settle back into old patterns with him, playing and joking around as if it hasn’t been 2 years since you had drifted apart.

Soon the only thing illuminating the sky is the large bonfire at the end of the garden, and your tempted to go and sit beside it due to the cold. The drinks keep flowing and soon they start to get the better of people honesty coming in ways you didn’t expect.

“I wish we could go back to year 8” Shawn blurts, turning to face you, drawing the group’s attention, you nod along thinking that its just a general statement before he continues. “Not all these people…no offense” he mutters gesturing to the rest of the group. “Just us.”

“You’re drunk shawn” you laugh awkwardly at him, not entirely sure where this swift turn is headed.

“I mean it, i don’t know what i would have done without you, i wish we could be like that again” he says and your lips part as you rack your brain for a suitable response. “I know you think im only saying this cause im drunk but im not. I promise, in fact im more honest when im drunk”

The boy next to him, who happens to be one of his best friends decided to pipe up, “S’true, he’s told me this stuff before. He genuinely means it.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this now” you mutter patting his arm, “Maybe not when your drunk.”

“No” he insists, “Just listen, i miss talking to you so much, i remember i used to sit outside my room charging my phone so that i could talk to you all night” and you remember doing things like that too, pressing your back against the wall and texting him as quickly as your thumbs would allow and it was almost as if he was what was supporting you, not the wall. “I dont know who i would be without you, you gave me confidence and your the first person i’ve ever connected with, i wouldn’t be the person who i am today without you.”

You go to interrupt him but he just talks louder over you, words spilling from his mouth, tumbling over and over each other, but you know your never going to forget them, or the way they make you feel.

“You’re the person who made me think about anything, talking to you made me think deeper, especially about love. I wish i had tried harder to stop us drifting apart and if all the other boys would just shut up and give you chance they would realise what a cool girl you are.”

You’re gobsmacked that he’s rambling and all you really want to do is hug him, so you squeeze his arm gently and whisper “I miss you too. So so much.”

You can see becky walking towards you and expect that your time with Shawn will be over shortly, and he will forget about this in the morning, especially as Becky is in the spot of Shawn’s life that you were two years ago.

“I love it when you randomly message me about stupid things like problems because i know you trust me. I trust you too, more than anyone ive ever met.” At this point Becky is stood almost directly in front of you but shawn doesn’t seem to notice. “I miss talking to you all the time, you are and always will be the closest friend ive ever had. No one comes close.” You catch Becky’s eye and you know she heard him, a part of you feels terrible but the larger part of you is so overwhelmed by the thought of getting your best friend back that you dont realise the entire group of people you are with are glancing between you , Becky and Shawn.

You half expect Becky to throw something but she doesnt, instead she forces herself into the space between you telling you to “budge over” so she can sit with her two best friends. Your awkwardly shuffling over as far as you can without climbing into the guy next doors lap when shawn speaks again, sounding somewhat confused. “But im talking to Bailey?”

Your jaw practically drops off with shock and you shrug at her when she turns to glare at you, “Your drunk” she states, plopping herself down.

You barely notice when Shawn and his friend leave the group, your mind still reeling as you try to process all your emotions, it’s as if every feeling you have ever felt for him is rushing back to you, you cant help but wonder if it is possible to rekindle the friendship and you resolve to text him tomorrow.

One by one people head off to dance or mingle but you and bella stay put as she fills you in one the details of her chat with Alfie, recounting it sentence by sentence while you produce generic responses, hoping Shawn is coming back because you didn’t get to tell him how you felt, you didn’t want him to think it was all one sided, because it definitely wasn’t. All you wanted when you moved was to talk to him. To message him and be his best friend again. You would have given absolutely anything because he was home to you, everything you had ever wanted or needed, but he wasn’t yours anymore, he was Becky’s.

It’s not long before yet another boy comes and pulls becky off to ‘talk’ to her, and you shake your head, it was always like this at parties, she thought that they were just friends, but as soon as they get drunk there are misplaced kisses flying everywhere that Becky tries so hard to avoid. You wander around looking for India because you don’t feel like sitting alone in the dark.

“Bailey? That you?” You turn your head to the group of boys sat near the fire and quickly spot the one who called you over.

“Jacob?” you ask, squinting in the darkness, before he reaches for you, pulling you into a hug and spinning you round. You laugh breathlessly and start singing your signature song “You spin me right round… baby right round…”

The two of you had become friends during food tech class and formed a fast bond, you stopped him burning his cakes and he helped you out with DT projects. He had always been a cuddly person so you weren’t surprised when her slung his arm over your shoulder and rested his head on top of yours.

The two of you danced together abit before plopping on the floor chatting about all the things you had missed,you spotted shawn sat directly across from you and smiled quickly as he involved himself in the conversation easily. You decided that you would just wait with these guys until Becky was done and ready to leave, or until India came back to the world of the singletons.

Eventually it was just you and shawn again, but you weren’t sure how it had even happened, one moment you were talking to him and the next everyone else was gone. You nibbled on your lip debating whether or not now was a good time to talk about all the things he said earlier when he interrupted you.

Sit with me” he mumbles patting the space next to him, eyes bright as he searches blindly for yours in the darkness.

You laugh at him, head tilting upwards to catch his eye, because even sitting down he was so much taller than you. “I am sitting with you shawn.”

“No,” He mutters, brows furrowing in confusion as he looks at the spot next to him, “right here. Sit here. Closer to me.”

A blush creeps over your cheeks and you’re finally glad that it’s almost pitch black outside, you reach your hand out and brush over the grass in front of you. “Its prickly.” you giggle at him, feeling slightly drunk even though you hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

He swipes a large hand across the floor next to him. “S’not, it soft, softer than where you’re sat now.” You shake your head at him in amusement, “Bailey, sit here.” He pleads grabbing your hand in attempt to make you listen to him.

You glance down at his hand, wrapped around yours before relenting, “Fine.” you whisper scooting over to him, taking in his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, you settle yourself comfortably on the grass, “Alright?”

“Better” he sighs, shifting slightly so your knee is resting on his thigh, “I miss this” he mumbles, struggling with to keep his words clear with the amount of alcohol coursing through his veins, the truth is you’ve never been drunk telling people it was because you like to remember what happens in your life, tonight is the first time you’ve meant it. Moments like these are the things dreams are made of. “Us being close,” he continues, “just like old times, like history” he continues, “Remember?”

“Of course i remember Shawn” you mumble, leaning into his side.

(Continued)

#oh my god I've hit maximum letters apparently #like what?#I'll have to make a continued #hold on #shawn mendes fic #Shawn Mendes series #Shawn Mendes #Shawn #Mendes #imagine #shawn mendes imagine #shawn peter raul mendes #bittersweet series

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diyunho · 7 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “The Bucket List”

Two months after breaking up with The Joker, you found out the bad news. You didn’t have a choice but to ask for his help and J didn’t even show up for the meeting. Of course he didn’t care, but now that he heard why you wanted to see him so badly, it might be too late for any amendments.

Part 2: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161379886591/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-2

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/161645099431/the-joker-x-reader-the-bucket-list-part-3

“I’m out of here…” you announce, lifting your bag and taking a few steps towards the door. The Joker doesn’t reply, he just watches you in silence, leaning on the back wall of the master bedroom.

“That’s all you want?” he speaks up in a bitter tone when you are almost out of the quarters.

“Yes, that’s all…” you whisper and don’t turn around, continuing your walk. After a few moments, J wants to add something but gives up when he hears the elevator. He knows you’re already gone.

****************

Things went from worse to worst until both couldn’t take it anymore. You were aware he’d never leave the penthouse so you decided to break it off sooner rather than later. You were actually surprised he didn’t try to stop you when you told him about your decision: after all, he doesn’t like people to leave until he says so. You were determined to continue with the plan even he would have attempt to disagree. But he didn’t. Probably happy to get rid of you in such a timely manner. The Joker must have really hated you if he didn’t bother with any kind of reaction.

Oh, well, serves you right for thinking you meant something to him. Lesson learned.

****************

The first time he got a sign from you was after about 2 months. You called and he didn’t answer. It came through as “unknown number” because you weren’t in his contacts anymore, but he had the digits memorized. After about one hour, he received a text message: “Could you please meet me tonight around 10pm at the corner of Spencer’s and North Avenue? It’s really important. Please…I really need to talk to you.”

J deleted the message, upset you bothered him. For some reason though, he decided to go and see what the hell you wanted. He waited in the shadows behind the apartment building, watching you nervously pacing under the street light. You held a few papers in your hand and seemed distressed.

The Joker regretted coming so he stayed hidden, but didn’t leave. You waited for an hour and it began to rain. He could see you were soaked to the bone, still waiting on the almost deserted sidewalk. He was drenched also and didn’t move. You started to cry when you realized he won’t show up, holding up those papers to your chest. After another half an hour passed, you signaled a cab and one saw you right away. J decided to come out, thinking that if you notice him, he’ll talk to you. If not, oh well…

Of course you got into the taxi and didn’t see him approach. He had the perfect excuse for his indifference and you swore never to get a hold of him again. You bawled all the way back to your house, mad at yourself for being such an idiot. Yet, not too many choices at the time. You erased his phone number from your cell and as soon as you got home you smashed the phone to pieces, crying your eyes out since The Joker didn’t want to at least meet you when you really needed his help for once.

******************

After 7 months, J is in a meeting, planning a heist and some transactions on the black market with his old business partner when the conversation steered towards your absence at the negotiation table. Everyone knew you were gone, but Jasper still ran his mouth.

“That’s too bad about what happened to Y/N, hm? How old is she, 35 ? I hope she makes it… Hard to tell with this kind of stuff…”

Your ex is not excited to hear your name. He would love to blow Jasper’s brains, but he’s still needed.

“Don’t push it,” J growls, annoyed, clenching his jaw. The guy lifts his hands up in surrender, not having any desire to irritate the Clown Prince of Crime.

“No disrespect, sir, I was just talking without thinking.”

J keeps on marking locations on the map, absent minded.

“So…what happened to her?” he utters, not lifting his eyes from the important project.

“You don’t know?!” Jasper replies, intrigued.

“No,” J simply answers, sniffling.

“Do you really care to find out?” “No… But tell me anyway!”

*** He debated for a week if he should call you or not. When he finally dialed your digits, the flat message made him roll his eyes: “This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

It took J about 3 more weeks to find your whereabouts. You can easily make yourself disappear under fake identities. Thankfully, The Joker has several ways of using his numerous resources when necessary.

********************

Oh, no! you think when you hear the doorbell. You slowly get up from the couch, dizzy from the monthly IV medication dripping in your veins, one of the treatments you do at home. You grab the IV pole, rolling it towards the door. You bought this house outside the city, not wanting to be bothered. No neighbors around. And you didn’t order any food or supplies to be delivered like you usually do.

“Coming!” you announce, holding on to the wall with your free hand. “Who is it?” you inquire before opening the door.

“Pizza delivery,” the muffled voice answers.

“I didn’t order any pizza,” and you crack the door open. “Shit!” you gasp when you see J standing there and you shut the entrance immediately, locking it.

“Really?!” you hear him and you back out, alarmed. Surprisingly, no knocking or pounding. And it clicks: the sliding glass door on the back porch is opened! You force yourself to walk as fast as you can, difficult since you are hooked to your IV.

“Dammit,” you mumble when you get to the living room and see he already got inside.

“I wasn’t aiming for this reaction,” J frowns, taking a few steps towards you.

“What…what are you doing here?!” you demand to find out since you’re not pleased about his presence. You really don’t need whatever the hell this is right now.

“What’s wrong with you?” he cuts to the chase, not in the mood for chitchatting. Those piercing eyes urge for an explanation.

“Nothing,” you grumble and squeeze the pole harder.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he points towards your IV. You sigh, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“It’s only…only something to slow down the process…”

“What process?” The Joker barks, biting on his cheek.

“The process of me dying too fast,” you serenely admit. He keeps on staring at you, kind of stupefied at how you look: skinny, pale, dark circles under your eyes and he can notice it all since you have no make-up on. Your hair is dark blonde now, still long yet visibly thinned out.

“Nonsense, you’re too young,” he drops on the chair closer to him, crossing his legs.“Who helps you?” he begins another tirade of questions.

“Nobody; I leave alone, away from everyone. I don’t want to be seen like this and I can take care of myself,” you swallow the bitter taste on your tongue, nauseated. All the drugs you take have such awesome side effects. “Is this an interrogation? Because I don’t want to talk nor see anybody. So if you would just leave…” and you nod towards the sliding door he sneaked through.

“Nonsense,” he cuts you off, bouncing his leg on top of the other, impatient. He reaches for the papers scattered on the table in front of him, reading the names of the numerous vials with tablets, capsules and lozenges, aggravated. “Do you have a list of all the stuff you take?”

“Wh-what?! Could you just…just leave please?!” and you gag, almost vomiting, rushing to snatch a container from the kitchen counter with anti-nausea medication. You swallow one tablet with a few sips of water and go sit down on the couch, exhausted. J watches your every move without any comment.

“If you don’t leave I’ll call the cops,” you close your eyes, feeling the room spinning.

“Please do, I would love to tell them who you really are,” he scoffs, rattling some of your pills, amazed on how huge they are. Crap, the police threat didn’t work.

“Go home to your girlfriend and leave me alone,” you encourage him, hoping he’ll get lost.

“Go home to your girlfriend,” he imitates you, giving you a mean glare. “Do I look like a fool in a leash to you?! Don’t insult me! Plus, I hate her!” he snarls, finding what he came for in the documents pile: an inventory of all the things you take for your condition.

“You hate everybody, “ you whisper, biting your dry lips.

“A skill I take a lot of pride in,” he cracks his neck and finally gets up.

“Why are you here?” you tilt your head to the side, fighting to keep your raging sickness under control. “ Where…where were you when I needed you so badly, hm? I asked for a meeting and you didn’t even bother to come…I was scared and seeked your help. How stupid of me…,” you sadly smile and even if you don’t seem to cry, J notices tears rolling down your face. “Of course you are too busy to be bothered with someone so insignificant as your ex that wanted to tell you she found out she’s dying…” you wipe your tears, not breaking eye contact. Him adding to your misery doesn’t aid.

“Shut up, you’re not dying!!! And don’t talk to me like this again!” he growls at you before slamming the sliding door behind him.

“I AM DYING!!” you yell, taking deep breaths to cool down.

My God, what in the world was that?!!! Do you have to move now?! You are in no mood to do so, but probably you’ll have to pull yourself together and vanish once more. How did he find you?

******************

You didn’t hear anything from him in a while and you are relieved: probably forgot about his little project involving you and lost interest like he usually does when he gets bored. It’s better this way; you don’t need to be stressed out about more problems, you don’t need your life turned upside down more than it already is.

You are coming back from your weekly check up at the clinic and you notice a black car in your driveway. You groan when you see Frost coming out of the vehicle, waiting for you. No choice but to park next to him and meet him.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Frost,” you cautiously greet. “Is J here?”

“No, but boss wanted me to give you this,” and Jonny hands over a sealed box.

“What is this?” you check, curious to hear about it. What is he up to?!

“Mister J says the directions are inside: take one of the red pills three times a day and the blue one just once daily. He also said to stop taking the three meds he crossed over on your med list. All in the box,” Frost blurs out, getting ready to flee. He sure is uncomfortable; knowing you, you’ll certainly decline.

“I don’t want anything from him!” you raise your voice.

He was afraid this will happen.

You place the box on the hood, heading towards the porch.

“I can’t tell him that! Please take it!”

“I don’t know what the hell those pills are and I don’t need his help. Just tell him I said that!”

“He’s not gonna like it…” Frost grumbles.

“So? I want to be left alone!!”

****************

You are getting ready to go to sleep when you hear a loud bang: your front door is being opened and slammed. Must be J…and you are correct.

“Y/N?! Y/N! Where are you?” The Joker shouts, looking around for you.

“Ummm…here,” you get on your knees in bed, covering yourself with the comforter and bracing for the worst.

He storms in your bedroom, holding the box he sent earlier.

“I understand you refuse to take this?” his low voice echoes in the whole house.

“Yes, I don’t want it. Please leave!”

“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past 3 weeks since I last saw you? Hmmm? Do you?!” he starts unwrapping the seal around the box, tossing it by you. “I broke into 3 research facilities, about 5 hospitals, kidnapped doctors and blackmailed others in exchange for information and treatments. Showed your med list to all of them and they came up with some new options for your disease!” J is so mad he’s slamming all the vials around, taking a red tablet out of one. “Take this!!” he shoves it in your face and you hesitantly move your head backwards.

“It’s a new experimental drug!!“ he roughly grabs your jaw.” I’ll get rid of the stuff you don’t have to take anymore.”

You sniffle, intrigued by his behavior and escape his grasp.

“Why are you tormenting me? Are you that bored? Why don’t you go back to Gotham?” You wipe your forehead, already tired from all this crap. “Do you feel…guilty?” you touch his hand, moving it away. He brings his face very close to yours, panting with indignation:

“I’m fucking buying you more time!! So take this goddamned pill or I’ll force you! I mean it!!”

You sigh, weighting in the options.

“Fine…I’ll take it…Are you happy now?” you reach for the bottle of water on the night stand and swallow the given medication.

“Ecstatic!” J grinds his teeth, vexed. “They told me you should expect nasty side effects, but it will get better.”

You shrink under the cover.

“Well, I took it, so…you don’t have to be here anymore.”

“Are you kicking me out?” he goes on the other side of the bed, starting to pile up pillows.

“Please go back to Gotham,” you beg, uneasy at the thought of him spending the night.

He stretches, fed up with the conversation, wanting to relax after another long day.

******************

One hour later you started feeling the aftermath of your new drug. You are used with being sick and yet it doesn’t make it easier. You shiver like a leaf, moaning in pain, adding 2 painkillers when the aching becomes unbearable. You try to get comfortable but it’s useless.

“Are you cold?” J asks, moving closer to you. “You…need… anything?” he struggles to offer, not really knowing how to react to the situation. You nod a faint yes, reaching your hands for him:

“Y-you…” the weak response comes, making him scoot over without hesitation. A strange warmness washes all over him, making his heart beat faster and it’s not a pleasant emotion. You curl up in a ball against his body while he covers you with his blanket too.

“J…” you whimper when his arms go around you, “ O-one of these days they’ll find me dead in here. C-can you take my things? I would hate for s-strangers to come in here, stealing what doesn’t belong to them. You know how much I care a-about my things… Y-yes?”

The Joker believes you’re delirious; he was warned about this common side effect of what you’re taking. Maybe you are…

“No, I won’t!” he emphasizes his refusal, inflexible in his decision.

“W-why not?” you lick your dried lips, getting even more upset.

“I only provide my services to people I like. You’re not on the list,” he makes sure to remind you.

“N-nobody’s on the list,” you crack an awkward smile, squinting your eyes when the muscle spasms hit again.

“Exactly,” J acknowledges, wondering how the hell you manage on your own when you are so ill. He caresses your hair and he notices so many strands left around his fingers.

“Jesus, Y/N!“ escapes his mouth before he can stop the words.

“I k-know I should shave my h-head and I just keep on p-postponing,” you tremble, praying you can rest for a little bit. So many sleepless nights, twisted thoughts and therapies took their toll on you.

After about 2 hours you finally fall asleep and he dozes off also, worn out and fighting with himself about what should happen next. J is not sure how long he’s been out, but when he wakes up it’s still dark and you are in his arms. It seems you didn’t move at all and he notices you’re not breathing.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, wake up!” he softly slaps your shoulder and there is no reaction. “Hey! Wake up I said!” he gets up on his elbow, terrified for once. “Open your eyes! Wake up!!!!” he shakes you, feeling he’s starting to sweat from the anxiety.

“Mmmm,” he hears your mumble and you cuddle more to his chest, keeping your hands under his pillow. “What is it?” you whisper, yawning.

He puts his head back on the cushions , truthfully admitting:

“Shit, I thought you died…”

“Not yet…” you calm him down, not wishing to wake up yet. “Go back to sleep, I’m fine…My blood pressure gets really low sometimes, I’m still here…” you kiss the skin in front of your lips, not realizing what you’re doing. You fall back into your dreamless daze while The Joker is unable to do anything else but repeat in his mind the simple sentence you used to let him know you’re still alive: “Not yet.”

*******************

You don’t go to the clinic anymore. A lot of your old meds are not needed according to the new care plan in place for you. New stuff is being added and some doctors are even brought to your house so they can assess you. Tests after tests, trial and error of all the drugs that The King of Gotham is able to smuggle and steal for you. You have such bad days you seriously consider giving up, which was the main idea before he showed up at your home that day.

You have no clue why he’s putting so much effort into it and he gets mad when you fight him, refusing to take your meds.

“Nothing is really working, they make me feel worse!” you sob, having a really bad day while being hooked to your new IV.

“Tough it out, Pumpkin, could be worse,” he grouchily snarls, moving some of your books around.

“You can’t buy me life, it’s too late,” you wail on your couch, depressed and ailing in every single fiber of your body.

“I’m not buying you life, Y/N, I’m buying you time!” J aims towards all the vials, bottles and containers containing the remedies you actually need.

“What does your girlfriend has to say about this? I bet she detests me since you spend so much time here,” you want to mention, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“I told you I hate her so I don’t care about what she thinks!” he barks and shoves the books around when a piece of paper folded in two flies out from one of them and lands on the floor. He picks it up and opens it, reading your note:

Bucket list

-go to Japan

- a family

- see J one last time - no, no, no!!

-meeting my knight in shining armor (he huffs)

-kidnap Commissar Gordon again (he smirks)

-see J one last time – no!!!!!!!!!!

-find out Batsy’s identity (he grins)

-steal more diamonds

-see J one last time - NOOOOO!!!!!!

“What are you doing?!” you jump off the couch when you see the paper in his hand.

“A bucket list Doll ?! Really?” he laughs because he has no better idea of how to get rid of this awful feeling in his heart.

“That’s private, give it back!” you barely drag your feet to go to him and yank the list out of his hand, placing in a drawer. “This is very personal stuff, you have no right to…”

“I do what I want!” he interrupts, giving you a high and mighty gaze. So typical.

“You can’t just…”

“Tell someone that cares,” he turns his back on you, returning to his task and you sit there with your mouth open, outraged. You forgot to cry. “When are you going to shave your head? The new IV med will really make you lose more hair, that’s what they told me,” The Joker chatters, turning his attention towards you again. “Want me to do it for you? I’ve seen you have the electric hair clipper in the bathroom. Don’t be a chicken and do it!” he distracts you from your tirade.

“I’m not sure if…” you try to negotiate, but I guess he has a new assignment on the horizon. You are conscious you’ve been delaying this forever; your hair is so thin and limp it’s gross.

“Nahhh, I think we should go on with it! No better time than the present!” and he takes your hand, guiding you towards the bathroom while you steadily roll the IV pole with you. “Sit!” he pushes your shoulders down on the chair and brings over the tool, turning it on. You nervously gulp, watching chunks of your locks piling up on the marble flooring.

“Done!” he announces and you touch your bald head, getting up so you can see yourself in the mirror. It looks terrible and you start weeping.

“Ahhh, it’s not that bad kid. You’re still fairly pretty. To be honest, you’re uglier than before but I can still look at you,” J cheerfully concludes.

You elbow him through tears, appalled at your reflection.

“You suck at making people feel better, you know that?”

“Another skill I take great pride in,” he winks, grinding his silver teeth and you cry harder.

“My hair…it’s …just…gone,” you stammer, saddened beyond control, stroking your shaved skin.

He sighs, softly pushing you away from the mirror, still holding the trimmer.

“You know, Princess, I’m starting to get sick of my green hair, I had it for a while,” he passes his fingers through it, turning his head left and right.

“Huh?” you whimper, sniffling.

Before you can react, he turns on the trimmer again, starting to shave his head. You stop bawling, shocked, watching his green locks falling to the ground.

“What are you doing, J?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? Getting rid of something I’m bored with. There, done! Com’ere!” he urges you to return in front of the mirror with him. “I think we look pretty good, won’t you say?” he puckers his lips and you start crying so hard it makes him cringe. “Would you stop it??!! I didn’t do it for you, I’m too selfish. I was really tired of my toxic green hair, got it?”

You nod a yes and hug him, squeezing him in your arms as hard as you can since your IV line doesn’t permit a wide range of motion.

********************

Later that evening

“Are you ready?” he peeks in the bedroom to see you dressed up. “Told you some make-up will do the job, you’re much prettier now. Still not up to my standards, but…”

You walk towards him in your floral summer dress, sulking.

“Horrible person…” you mutter, elbowing him. “Where are we going?”

“I need your help with something and since you didn’t get out of the house in forever, I have plans for today.” “Where are we going?” you insist, stepping outside and observe the silver car on the driveway, probably dropped off by his men because he didn’t have it there this morning.

The Joker gets dresses with his silver jacket, taking a deep breath before laying it down for you:

“The silver jacket is the most I can do for the shiny armor, ok? Plus the car,” and cracks his fingers, a bit uneasy.

You seem puzzled.

“Your stupid bucket list, Doll: the knight in shining armor thing. I’m not wearing a dumb armor, this is the most I’m willing to do.”

You stare at him, speechless, on the verge of crying as he can see your lips quivering.

“Uhhh, give me a break!” J growls, giving you a nudge towards the car.

******************

“What are we doing at Jasper’s hideout?” you step out of the car, wondering what he has in mind.

“Some business to attend to and I need your help, OK?”

“OK,” you agree, hesitant.

When you both walk in with the new bald looks, everybody at the meeting instantly stops talking and glances, astonished.

“Wha’? “ J guides you to your seats, “You didn’t see two beautiful people before?!” and the tone in his voice makes them all aware they shouldn’t make it so obvious they’re perplexed at the change.

They all start talking in the same time, apologizing and attempting to fix their mistake.

“Shut the hell up!” he addresses the crowd, irked. “Wrong spot, Y/N!” he signals you to get up from your chair and you do as asked, confused. “Here!” he pulls you in his lap and you place your hand around his neck, smiling. “We are negotiating with this fine…gentlemen; I’m too exhausted for this, you do it.”

Wow, they didn’t see you in more than a year and now you show up here with Mister J, back to what you used to do. What’s going on? they all ask themselves, knowing they won’t get an answer.

The Joker rests his head on your shoulder, listening to the sound of your voice resonating in his ears.

He might not be able to buy life for the girl he hates so much, but he can buy her time. As much as he can.