#you can contact me if you wish but I will be very scared and jittery and my eyes are wet and stingy and i will segway to bullying you

[citronsblog]

Requesting because Tumblr is a bitch and ate my last one tf.

Teruteru, Ryoma, and Mondo proposing and/or getting married to their male s/o.

If this request makes you uncomfortable please do tell me and I can send in something different!!!

×Vex ∆

Notes: YES YES YES A MONDO REQUEST. I NEED TO WRITE FOR HIM MORE 😍 (also your request don’t make me uncomfortable, Although I do prefer writing for gender neutral readers so everyone can read it I enjoy writing for guys so I can feed all of my male audience and it gives me a small challenge)

Warnings: none

Characters: Mondo Owada, Teruteru Hanamura, Ryoma Hoshi

Mondo Owada

Mondo is normally able to be calm around you, that’s one of the reasons he fell for you in the first place, but right now he was stressing.

He is deeply in love with you, his wonderful boyfriend. You guys have been together for awhile now, through the thick and thin Mondo is so grateful for you.

Back to the reason on why he is stressed. He was planing on proposing to you. He was nervous, he didn’t know how his favorite person in the world, you, would react to all of this and frankly that’s what made him scared.

Mondo got snapped out of his thoughts by the lovely sound of your voice,

“Hey Mondo? You have a second?”

“Yeah? What is it hot stuff?”

Swatting at his hand you let out a sigh and continue.

“You said we have a date tonight, I just wanted to know if I should dress up in my tux or if it’s just a casual date?”

Mondo got flustered in the thought of you in a tuxedo. He’s seen you in them before, but oh man he would be lying if he said you never looked so sexy in them.

“Mmmm- huh?! Oh Y-yeah that works.”

Chuckling at your boyfriend you give him a kiss on the forehead and walk off with a ‘thank you.’”

It was later on that evening that you two had been sat down at your table. It was a beautiful view. The restaurant was an average size, you were seated outside with a view of the town.

“Wow I- Mondo I didn’t expect this. Thank you.”

“Tch, it’s nothing really. I’m just glad you like it.”

You two spend that evening eating your delicious meals and by the time the two of you were done the moon was in the sky. There was a soft breeze and the smell of fresh air blew around you.

“Hey, S/o. One more thing before we go…”

You took your hand in his,

“Yes?”

Taking in a deep breath Mondo mustered in all of his courage and started.

“S/o, the love of my life. You have been with me through just about every bad day I’ve had. You’ve never left me no matter what and I’ve always admired and loved that about you. God, what am I doing just rambling on-? S/o, will you give me the honor of being your husband?”

Pulling out a box, Mondo opened it and revealed a black wedding ring lined with silver on the outside and eight small diamonds in the middle.

Mondo, still on one knee, started to get even more nervous as anxiety bubbled in his stomach.

“You Can say no s/o..-“

“Are you kidding me?! You are the one I want to spend my time with Mondo! I love you.”

Mondo slid the ring one your finger and lifted up your chin to give you a sweet and loving kiss.

“I love you too.”

Teruteru Hanamura

Teruteru Hanamura, the most bold, flirtatious, funny, good looking man you’ve ever met, and possibly right now the most anxious.

He seemed to be walking around while mumbling stuff to himself. He seemed anxious about too many things so you decided to step in.

“Hey, Teruteru. Are you doing ok? You look, well um, stressed.”

“Huh?! Ahh- nononono Im perfectly ok love bug don’t worry about me hun!”

Rolling your eyes at him you Pat the spot right next to you on the bed.

“C’mere.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say no, so he sat down next to you and tried to relax. You could still see how tense he was so you started to massage his back slowly.

“Hey.”

“Hi…”

“Teruteru if you need to talk I’m right here. I love you a lot and I hate to see you taking the burden if something alone.”

“Thank you, sweets. I’m so lucky to have a boyfriend like you.”

Smiling to him you nod and stand up.

“Waitwaitwait! Do you mind if we have dinner later? I’ll make it and there’s this one really beautiful spot to eat it at?”

Chuckling you nod at his slightly jumbled words and walk out the door sending him finger guns.

“I’ll be there.”

Teruteru spent the rest of the afternoon preparing your favorite meals, he even made desert for you!

He went ahead and left before you to set up the spot. He put down the softest blanket he owned. He set out each dish and before he even knew it, it was time for you to show up.

You two had an amazing time. Sharing stories, an occasional kiss on the lips, compliments here and there.

The sun was setting and Teruteru knew he had to say it sooner or later. He stood up and gently placed a kiss on your lips and grabbed your hands.

“S/o, do you mind if I speak from the heart?”

“Of course Teru, I always enjoy it when you do!”

He gave you such a gentle look and smiled.

“S/o, you were my very first boyfriend. You never said anything bad about me, in fact you laughed when I made jokes or small comments. That always made my heart race, you’ve always made my heart race. S/o this is a big question and I want you to give me an honest answer,”

Getting down on one knee he made eye contact with you. Smiling to you he continues with the heartfelt speach

“Will you marry me? You make me so happy and I thought maybe we could take everything a step further.”

“Teruteru- Of course! Are you kidding me?! I love you!”

“Sugar- I love you too. Come here.”

Let’s just say you two had a fun and eventful evening.

Ryoma Hoshi

Ryoma was acting strange today. He seemed to be checking his phone a lot, getting some calls, and even acting a bit jittery around you.

You knew something was up but you didn’t want to make him anxious about everything. Deciding to lightly ask him about the topic you head to your shared room.

“Hey, Ryoma?”

“Gh! Oh, hey. Surprised me. Hey do you mind if we go to this restaurant later on? I know it’s last minute and such but- never mind… is it ok if we can?”

Cupping his cheek you give him a grin and a peck on the cheek.

“Of course we can sweetie. I’ll go ahead and get ready?”

“Yeah… I will as well.”

Ryoma checked his phone one more time. His friends were all texting him, wishing him good luck! He was really lucky to find such a supportive group of people to hold in his life. He was especially lucky to have you. You gave him a purpose again, you helped him to keep pushing through the worst days so he can find the better ones. He absolutely loved you.

“Hey ryoma im done-“

You saw him in the mirror looking at himself with a unreadable expression.

“Hey, if your worried about how you look don’t be. Remember I chose you to be my boyfriend for a reason. I really love you ryoma.”

“I wasn’t worried but thank you I think I needed a pep talk before we leave. I’m glad to have such a strong boyfriend.”

You both arrived on a restaurant that was overlooking the town. You could see just about everything, it was wonderful.

Ryoma and you had a very fun evening basking in each other’s company and just talking about what ever comes to mind.

You saw ryoma fiddling with something so you curiously asked about it.

“Hey, what is that?”

The question clearly caught him off guard. He took in a breath and looked at you with a loving look.

“S/o you’ve given me a purpose. You have helped me through my worst and I’ve never felt…. Happier. I wish to be in your life for a long time so S/o, will you be my husband?”

You couldn’t help the grin that seemed to settle on your face. Standing up you lean in to gently kiss him.

“I would love too.”

You two were happy, Ryoma texted all of his friends about the good news.

“Hmm… S/o Hoshi… has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?”

“Heh, it does.”

Bonus! Here are the wedding rings the guys would give to you!

Mondo’s ring for you

Teruteru’s ring for you

Ryoma’s ring for you

#danganronpa #mondo x reader #mondo owada x reader #mondo oowada x reader #teruteru x reader #teruteru hanamura x reader #ryoma x reader #ryoma hoshi x reader

[morganaspendragonss]

hiya. could you write a fic where tk has a panic attack from carlos’s pov? 😘🧡

i can indeed! this is combined with an idea jamie ( @silvarafael ) had and very kindly allowed me to write - i hope you both enjoy! the first section is also based on a vague idea i had after watching the ep.

ao3 | 1.9k | 2.10 spoilers

TK is silent the entire drive home, choosing instead to stare out the window with his jaw firmly clenched, his hands making fists in his lap. The silence extends all the way into the house, right up until the point when he flops down on the couch with a loud, frustrated sigh, burying his head in his hands. 

At this point, Carlos knows not to push when TK is like this; he’ll talk when he wants to, and not a moment before. So he simply walks over, sitting next to him and placing a hand on TK’s back, rubbing gentle circles. TK slowly relaxes under his touch, unfurling his body, and Carlos is all too happy to let him shift into his arms, holding on and pressing kisses on the top of his head.

I’m here, he’s saying - not with words, but he knows the message gets across regardless. It may have only been less than a year since they started dating, but already they don’t always need words to communicate.

“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable back there,” TK says suddenly. “I know my dad kind of dragged you into it all, and that must have been awkward for you.”

“It wasn’t my favourite interaction with your dad ever,” he admits.

TK snorts. “Understatement,” he mutters, and Carlos laughs, tilting his head in agreement. “I am sorry, though, really,” TK continues. “It was amazing of you to even be there; you didn’t have to be. I’m sure there are hundreds of places you’d rather be than an intervention session for my dad.”

“You mean supporting my boyfriend through something difficult and important?” Carlos corrects gently, shifting to catch TK’s eyes. “Because there’s nowhere I’d rather be than there.”

TK blinks at him, managing to hold his gaze for all of two seconds before he blushes and looks away. He takes Carlos’s hand, tapping restlessly on the back of it - a sure-fire sign he’s still worked up about something, so Carlos leaves him be, waiting for it to come out.

“Is it bad that I’m pissed at him?” TK’s voice is quiet, small, and it’s mirrored in his body language when he turns to Carlos, drawing his legs up and hunching his shoulders. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to connect with him, and it just feels like he’s constantly throwing it all right back in my face. And he’s… He’s such a fucking hypocrite. Ever since my first overdose, he’s been going on and on about how good it is to talk about my feelings and how I shouldn’t keep things bottled up, yet he insists on hiding this shit from me.”

TK laughs, short, sharp, bordering on hysterical. “He didn’t even tell me when he was fucking dying; I had to find that out by myself. And I’ve tried. I haven’t stopped trying.” He deflates, sinking back into Carlos with a defeated sigh. “But there’s only so much I can take, you know? I can’t… I can’t keep doing this, Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart breaks for his boyfriend. He wishes he could take the pain away; as it is, all he can do is hold him, and hope that he has enough words to at least dull the ache somewhat.

“It’s not bad to feel what you feel, TK.”

TK looks up at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think so?”

He shakes his head, kissing him again. “No. I think… I think your dad has treated you pretty unfairly, actually, and you’re well within your rights to be mad at him right now. But, I also think that you said it yourself; there’s only so much you can do. Before you can take care of your dad, you have to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re worrying over him.”

If TK’s eyes were any wider, it’d be comical. “But -”

“No buts.” Carlos smiles tightly, keeping his tone gentle. “TK, babe, you just led an intervention into your dad’s mental health, which I know was hard for you, yet you did it anyway because you love him. You tried, but if he doesn’t want to engage, then there’s nothing you can do.”

TK is silent for a long time, staring down at his lap. He’s still holding Carlos’s hand in one of his own, but his free hand is rubbing the material of Carlos’s shirt between his fingers; Carlos doubts he’s even fully aware he’s doing it.

“I know that,” he says eventually, voice little more than a whisper. “I do. I just wish he wasn’t so goddamn stubborn all the time.”

Carlos’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he speaks before he can stop himself. “Guess it runs in the family.”

TK stares at him, open-mouthed, and Carlos immediately regrets his words. He’s halfway through an apology when it’s like a dam breaks, and TK breaks out in giggles, his head thumping against Carlos’s chest.

“You’re lucky I love you, Reyes.”

Carlos grins and pulls TK as close to him as physically possible. “I really am.”

*

The call comes early the next morning, waking both of them up. TK grumbles as he smacks his hand against the nightstand in a blind search for his phone; the sight would be adorable if Carlos weren’t so tired himself. After the exhaustion of the past few days, he’d been desperately hoping to have a peaceful morning for once, maybe even - god forbid - to spend some quality time with his boyfriend without the threat of parents or work or sudden emergencies hanging over them. 

Clearly, though, it’s not to be, as TK suddenly sits bolt upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he promises to whoever’s on the other end, before lowering the phone and turning to stare at Carlos, terror obvious in his eyes. 

“TK?” Carlos asks when he doesn’t speak, sitting up and slowly reaching out for him. TK startles at the contact, but quickly leans into it, covering Carlos’s hand with his own.

He swallows once, twice. “Buttercup’s sick,” he whispers. “Dad had to rush him to the vet’s. Carlos, what if… What if…”

He trails off, shaking his head viciously, as though he can erase the thought from his mind. Carlos quickly moves to steady him, stroking his thumbs across his cheekbones to calm him down.

“Let’s get dressed, okay?” he says, knowing reassurances won’t mean a thing right now. “Then we’ll go, and we’ll know more.”

TK just nods, quiet as they go through the motions of getting ready. Carlos makes sure to press an apple into his hand before they head out; he knows it will likely go uneaten, but it’s the only choice he has, given he knows that TK will refuse to stop for breakfast without finding out about Buttercup first.

If the drive back from Owen’s yesterday was silent, today’s is far worse. TK’s hands are constantly moving in Carlos’s periphery, alternating between fiddling with his apple, tugging on his clothes and hair, and rubbing at his face. On the rare occasion he does try to stay still, his hands end up twitching in his lap, followed by a sudden burst of anxious movement before falling back into some semblance of a pattern.

Carlos presses his lips into a firm line, accelerating more than is technically legal; at any other time he’d make a joke about how TK’s turning him into a criminal.

They’re forced to stop at a traffic light, and Carlos curses under his breath, getting jittery himself as the drive extends. He turns to check on TK, then curses again at the sight of his boyfriend’s pale face, his wide eyes and trembling body. TK gasps, then again and again, a hand going to his chest, and Carlos knows what this is. 

A panic attack, but the second he reaches to help, the lights change and he’s forced to keep driving. He keeps one eye on TK the whole time, heart beating faster as he seems to get worse, and he’s thankful when he spots an opportunity to pull over, taking it immediately.

TK stares, shaking his head frantically and gesturing in a motion that Carlos takes to mean keep driving. His mouth opens and closes but he can’t form words, breaths coming short and fast. He folds in on himself when they stop, eyes closed and forehead almost touching his knees as his body heaves and shakes.

Carlos unbuckles himself and shifts as close as he can, placing one hand on TK’s back and taking his hand in the other, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. He’s had to do this a few times over the course of their relationship, shootings and kidnappings and disasters taking their toll on his boyfriend.

But that doesn’t make it any less difficult.

“You’re going to be okay,” Carlos says, pushing his own fears aside. “Just breathe slowly, in and out, that’s it; it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

He keeps it up, murmuring assurances he barely registers himself until the shaking lessens and TK’s breath slowly but surely begins to even out. He straightens in his seat, eyes still closed, and leans his head against the headrest. 

Carlos pulls back, giving him a moment before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

TK shakes his head, then immediately changes his mind and nods. Still, it takes him a few seconds to speak. “What if it’s the cancer, Carlos?” he asks, peeling his eyes open, despair written all over his features. “He could - He could die, he could be dying right this second, and I don’t know if I can handle that, not after everything else.”

“I know,” Carlos says. “You just have to remember that we don’t know anything yet, and you have to believe that Buttercup will be fine until we do know more. We’ll take it from there, and if it is the cancer - which, yes, it might be - then we’ll all be around to support each other. Buttercup’s strong, though, I’m sure he’ll fight whatever this is with everything he has. He’ll be fine.”

Carlos smiles, noticing how TK is pretty much hanging onto every word he says. He takes a deep breath, briefly looking away before continuing, “As will your dad.”

TK frowns. “Who said anything about my dad?”

“TK.”

He sighs, hanging his head. “You’re right,” he admits, “this is a little bit about my dad. The longer he puts off this surgery, the more scared I get that the cancer will come back and we won’t get as lucky this time. I know it’s stupid, and I know I should be focused on Buttercup right now, but…”

“But,” Carlos agrees, reaching out and squeezing TK’s hand. “It’s okay, and it’s not stupid at all, I promise you. Let’s just take this one thing at a time, okay? First, we’ll get to the vet’s and find out how Buttercup is, and then we’ll see about having another conversation with your dad - maybe telling him what you’ve told me?”

TK exhales shakily, then nods. “Okay. Okay.”

Carlos gives him a small smile, squeezing his hand once more before shifting back in his seat to keep driving. “I’ll be right by your side,” he can’t help but say. He’s sure TK already knows, but the reminder can’t hurt, especially after what just happened.

TK stays quiet, but Carlos doesn’t miss the mumbled, “I don’t deserve you,” from the passenger seat. 

“Wrong,” he replies, eyes on the road. “You deserve the world.”

And, in his periphery, TK smiles.

#911 lone star #911 lone star spoilers #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #tk x carlos #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #userkimmy #tuserpaige #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag #tuserjamie #anonymous

[inactive-sna1l]

stars

pairing: obi wan x jedi!gn!reader 

type: fluff

word count: 1,055

summary: You loved Obi-Wan and he was completely oblivious. On a trip to Naboo for negotiations, you can’t sleep. Conveniently for you, Obi-Wan can’t either. You find him sitting outside leaning against the pillar of a building and you join him.

warnings: fluff, slowburn, me not entirely knowing how naboo works or how to write obi’s character. i also dont know how constellations work and we’re gonna pretend the constellations from our world are in their world. typos.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You walked out of your temporary quarters in Naboo dressed in your pajamas covered by your Jedi robes. You didn’t want to wake anyone up by walking around. The soft tap of your feet against the floor echoed throughout the hallways. You didn’t bother putting on any kind of shoes, figuring it’d make too much noise. You just needed to walk around to clear your mind. 

Stopping at a window you looked out over the city. Lights from the buildings mixing together with the night sky. The world seemed peaceful, despite all the war. Looking over the gorgeous city was almost therapeutic. The sky was full of stars. The moon hidden behind a few stray clouds. Time seemed slow all of a sudden. You wished you could feel like this forever. “But I’ve got a place in this war..” You mumbled to yourself. 

I should get some air. The air in the hallway seemed stiff. You were really just looking for an excuse to convince yourself to go outside. This beautiful planet combined with the calm feeling of the night was exquisite. You’d always had issues with containing stress and emotions. The Jedi code forcing emotions down never made any sense to you. It seemed impossible. Being on this planet in the quiet calm twilight helped you destress; for some reason.

You walked outside, trying to be as quiet as possible. The silhouette of a tall masculine figure stood before you, leaning against a pillar silently. You stared for a bit, not wanting to disturb him. Though it was too late. A posh accent spoke, seeming too loud for the quiet atmosphere.

“I know you’re there.”

You flinched at his words, though not threatening in the slightest, it startled you. 

“What are you doing out here this late?” You didn’t think anyone would be awake at this hour.

“I could ask you the same thing, darling.” He turned to face you. “Well?”

The moon escaped the prison the clouds had trapped it in, illuminating Obi-Wan’s shape. His hair was messy, and he looked slightly disheveled. Not exactly a look you’d seen on him often. You don’t even think you’ve ever seen him look stressed. Regardless, he was just as amazing as always.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a small stroll around.” You shifted uncomfortably. You didn’t know how to talk to him alone. Would you get in trouble for being out? No, that doesn’t make sense, he’d get in trouble too.

Obi-Wan turned back around and sat on the ground. Patting the ground beside him he spoke again, “Come sit with me then. Tell me what’s actually bothering you.” 

You took the spot next to him, refusing to make eye contact and instead looking up at the sky. “The city lights drown out the stars.” You spoke softly. Starting a conversation without being awkward seemed difficult. Being this close to Obi-Wan made your heart race. One wrong word and you could ruin everything. 

Obi-Wan realized you changed the subject entirely. Though, that was expected. You weren’t exactly close to each other. To him, it seemed you avoided him. You had a nervous energy around him. The reason was difficult to pinpoint. 

“They may, but it’s still quite pretty.” He replied, looking at you. The moon shone against your skin. You looked gorgeous to him in this moment. Though he’d never admit it, he was very fond of you. More than he should be.

“So.. What’s bothering you? Why’re you up so late?” You noticed he was looking at you, but you ignored it. The thought of making eye contact with him was terrifying. You knew that if he found out your feelings for him, it would all be over. All the years of training, the memories, the experiences, would all be a waste. 

He sighed. You’d never seen him like this. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi. Always composed and focused. Yet falling apart right in front of you. “As Jedi, we’re supposed to be peacekeepers, but because of this war our reputation is declining. Jedi aren’t as looked up to as they used to be. Younglings are being taught to fight in a war.” He looked away from you, looking up at the sky.

“It’ll be over soon. It can’t go on forever.” You look at him and offer a smile. 

Obi-Wan hums in agreeance and continues to look at the night sky. 

“If you look hard enough you can see some constellations. I can see little dipper!” Trying to lighten the mood you continue the talk about stars.

He stays silent. Distracted by something you couldn’t see.

You continued your attempt. “I wonder what other constellations I can see..” Looking up at the sky intently, you try to make out shapes in the stars.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I think I’ll head back to my quarters now. Goodnight.” He stood and began to walk back. You followed and grabbed his wrist. “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

He looked at you in the eyes. For a second you see some emotion you can’t understand. You look at each other for a few silent moments.

Being so close to him made you feel jittery. The silence was terrifying. 

For some reason, you moved in, closing your eyes. You kissed him. 

His body flinched. He seemed to object this action at first, but kissed you back.

You pulled away. You were panicking internally but you couldn’t do anything now. Expecting him to tell you he was gonna report you to the council as soon as it was daylight. 

“Why’d you do that?” He asked quietly. Almost a whisper. He still seemed shocked at your action.

“I.. I’m not sure..” You’re already this far in. Just tell him “I just.. I love you, I guess?” You were crying at this point. So scared that your role, your place, your life, was compromised. 

He grabbed your hand and cupped it in his palms. He seemed soft. “I love you too, I really do.” 

“You’re not gonna report me-?” 

He shook his head quietly. You couldn’t read his expression. You didn’t understand what was going on. 

Holding your hand, he lead you back to the place you were sitting. 

“Shall we continue our little conversation about the stars?” 

You hummed in response, leaning against him. 

end

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan x y/n #obi wan fluff #obi wan star wars #obi wan fanfiction #fluff #one-shot #dripobi fics #no y/n #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader

[2manyfandoms2count]

Heartbeats

The famous “I-swear-it-gets-fluffier-it’s-just-this-first-part-that’s-a-little-angsty” one shot... Inspired by my brief ICU work experience and a reddit thread I read last week. Hope you guys enjoy! And special thanks @sd1970x for beta reading! 

---

Beep - Beep - Beep - Beep -

The sound of the heart rate monitor in the dark hospital room was driving Adrien crazy. It just seemed so slow, especially compared to the restless beat his foot was tapping on the ground as he waited. 

“Hey.” Alya layed a soothing hand on his jittery leg. “She’s going to be okay.”

Adrien raked a hand through his hair and looked at the resting body in the hospital bed. Alya couldn’t really understand. Sure, her best friend lay there, having been caught in the middle of an Akuma fight. But she didn’t know how.

She didn’t know it was the saviour of Paris they were watching breathe, making the sheets quietly rise and fall as she did so. His best friend, too. The girl of his dreams. He himself hadn’t known until the car had hit the chimney behind which Ladybug had retreated to feed Tikki while Chat held down the fort, their opponent having escaped their first Lucky Charm plan. 

He’d rushed to it and frantically dug out the rubble; he’d barely registered it was Marinette he was holding in his arms as he carefully extruded her from the pile of bricks. All he’d seen was the red blood that drenched her pink shirt. All he’d felt was the weakening pulse at her wrist. 

He’d dashed her to the hospital, ignoring the Akuma yelling after him to come back and fight.

She’d been rushed to the operating room as soon as they’d arrived, the doctors being afraid that she might sustain internal damage from her apparently broken ribs. Chat had just had time to snatch her earrings to avoid them getting lost. 

He’d then proceeded to kick the Akuma’s ass, fueled by the rage of it having injured his Lady. It was only after he’d purified the butterfly and everything had seemingly returned to normal that he’d realised he’d been crying. 

As he detransformed, two very concerned Kwamis floating in front of him, he’d been relieved to see a message from Alya in the class group chat saying Marinette was in stable condition, although still unconscious after her operation. He’d immediately volunteered to join her and Nino to visit their friend.

He stole another look at her. She looked so peaceful. Unhurt.

He knew the bulk of her injuries were concealed under the linen, though.

The monitor continued its incessant beeping. Adrien knew that it going silent would not be a good sign, but couldn’t help but be irritated by it nonetheless. Especially when the sound was superimposed with that in other rooms, as well as the bustling activity of the resuscitation ward.

“You’d think that with all this noise she’d be awake by now.” He mumbled. 

“Dude, relax. The doctors said she’s still sedated. She’ll wake up soon.” Nino wrapped an arm around his best friend’s shoulder. Adrien harrumphed doubtfully in reply.

“I’m more surprised that we haven’t seen Chat Noir around yet.” Nino added. “Apparently he’s the one who brought her in. He’s a cool dude.”

Alya nodded. “He really is.” Adrien’s heart warmed a little at his friends’ kind words. Then had to refrain from letting out an ironic snort at Alya’s next comment. “I still don’t understand what Marinette was doing there. It’s not like her to roam around fight scenes. It’s usually my job.”

“Your birthday’s coming up, babe, maybe she was trying to get a surprise message from Ladybug.” Nino shrugged.

As the pair bickered about how little or how much it was in character for Marinette to have been caught in the middle of offensive fire, Adrien got up to avoid betraying anything from his facial expression. He wasn’t sure Marinette would appreciate it if she woke up and found that all her friends knew that she actually didn’t need to stalk around Paris to get an autograph, or anything from Ladybug. She just had to say three little words to summon her. 

He approached the monitor screen, taking a look at his friend’s constants. He didn’t know much about medicine, but none of the numbers were flashing, which he assumed was a good sign. The electrocardiogram traced a regular curve that looked like the ones in medical shows. He took a mental note of the values. 

There was a small knock at the door before a nurse came into the room. “Marinette’s parents have returned, I’m sorry but she can’t have more than three visitors at a time and family has priority.” She said almost timidly. 

“Of course!” Alya replied with a smile. “We’ll be off.”

Adrien’s eyes stayed glued on the monitor, so she went around the bed and took him by the hand to gently drag him out of the room. She repressed a smile. For someone who claimed Marinette was ‘just a friend’, Adrien really seemed worried about her.

Tom and Sabine were waiting in the hallway. Tom looked the most shaken Adrien had ever seen him. He could tell he’d been crying.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Sabine said with a brave smile. “Sorry we had to go, but we hadn’t closed the bakery properly in the rush to get here.”

“Anything for Marinette.” Alya hugged her friend’s mother. “You’ll keep us updated? And don’t hesitate to call me if you need a bit of a breather, I’m sure we’re all happy taking turns to keep her company.” She didn’t have to turn around to know the two boys behind her were nodding.

“Of course.”

The three teenagers waved goodbye as they walked towards the exit. When the parents had entered the room, Adrien put his hands in his pockets and felt the two little studs he’d borrowed. 

“I forgot something in the room, I’ll be right back!” He said hurriedly as he turned around. He would’ve kept them safe for her, but he knew his Lady would probably panic if she woke up and couldn’t find them.

Nino looked at each other confusedly and shrugged.

When he was sure no one was in sight, he transformed into Chat Noir. It wasn’t the most discreet he’d ever been, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse as to why Adrien would have Marinette’s earrings. He knocked on the door before opening it. Tom and Sabine were sitting on each side of the bed, each holding one of Marinette’s hands. 

“Hi, Chat Noir.” Sabine said, wiping a tear.

Tom got up and engulfed him in a bear hug. “Thank you.”

Chat Noir awkwardly patted him on the back. “Anything for Marinette.” He parroted Alya. Including die for her. The thought scared him. “How is she?” He asked even though he knew the answer as he stepped away from the big man.

“She’ll be okay.” Sabine said. “The doctors repaired what they could, the rest will heal naturally. She’s going to be in a lot of pain, which is why they’re keeping her here, but they started weaning the sedatives so she can call the nurses if it hurts.”

Chat nodded. “I’m sure we’ll all be relieved when she wakes up.”

“Would there be any way for us to reach you to give you news?” Sabine asked hopefully.

“As much as I’d like to give you my contact details, I’m not sure it would be a good idea.” He smiled sadly. “But don’t worry, I’ll be around.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Anyway, I don’t want to bother you during your family time, I just wanted to make sure Marinette got these back.” He delicately transferred the earrings into Sabine’s hand. 

“Her lucky earrings.” She commented with a smile. “Thank you.”

“They weren’t so lucky this time.” He said gloomily.

“Of course they were! You found her.” Sabine squeezed Chat’s hand. “And the surgery went well.”

“We’re very grateful, son.” Tom patted him on the back.

Chat was moved by their words, which made his heart flutter in his chest. “I was only doing my duty.” 

“But you made a difference. And that matters.” 

Chat Noir wished that his father could sometimes be at least quarter as supportive as Tom and Sabine were. It would avoid him crying in instances like this.

“Will you tell her I came by?” He sniffled.

“Of course!” Sabine dug a tissue out of her bag, which he accepted gratefully, and a pen and paper. “You can write her a message too if you want, she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

“Thank you.” 

He scribbled a quick word on the page, aware that he really needed to head back before Nino and Alya started worrying about his prolonged absence. 

Get well soon Purr-incess. I’ll be waiting for you. Love, Chat Noir P.S.: I might come back and borrow those earrings of yours again if I need extra luck.

“You took your time!” Alya greeted him with her hands on her hips as he finally walked out of the hospital.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Nino asked, noticing the puffiness of his friend’s eyes, but not wanting to comment on it directly. 

“I think so.” Adrien smiled bravely. My Lady, at least. 

Read more on AO3

#again i promise it gets fluffier #they're all happy in the end #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #adrinette #adrienette #half reveal #lovesquare #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #the real mvps #tw: major character injury #it's not graphic though #love confessions #ml #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #elle writes

[welldonebeca]

Home (Is Where the Heart Is) (XVI)

​WC: 1.1k words Warnings: Fluff, some tension, emotional hurt/comfort.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Their first anniversary together wasn’t glamorous.

With the mess of the lawsuit taking most of their time and Rey working behind Jannah’s back on Rose’s proposal, the months just went by, and she hadn’t really thought about their anniversary day. When she woke up that morning, Ben wasn’t in her bed, and she dozed off back into sleep, getting surprised when she woke up again with him placing a tray of food over the desk on the corner of the room, smiling in surprise when he blushed, realising she was watching him.

"I thought you were still asleep," he told her, setting the food down at the end of the bed.

It wasn't a lot. Waffles and some harsh browns, and a jar of orange juice.

“I was,” yawned. “I woke up, and you weren’t here, but I fell asleep again.”

Ben smiled, reaching for her and kissing her forehead.

“Good morning,” he caressed her hair. “Happy anniversary.”

Rey snuggled to him, laying her hand on his shoulder for a moment, kissing her temple.

“Got us the same food from our first day,” he smiled. “We can have breakfast before we go pick Kaydel up, but we don’t have a lot of time.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing as she realised their agreement with Kaydel was today and not tomorrow. After years of losing her glasses and falling asleep with her contact lenses in, and defining herself as blind as a bat, Kaydel had decided to get laser eye surgery, and her father was all over her for that.

“It’s us or Luke,” Ben pointed out.

They would never let it be Luke. Of course, he absolutely loved and adored his daughter, but he was also a big helicopter parent, and too overbearing. Kay’s mother had died when she was still too young, and he was always trying to overcompensate for that, and even Rey - who always wished she could have parents fussing over her - thought some of his actions were a little too much.

“We can go to lunch,” she sat up straight. “Or dinner. I don’t know how long those surgeries are supposed to last.”

Ben just hummed positively, and pulled the plate closer, picking up a waffle and taking a bite.

They ate cuddled together, silently enjoying each other’s company until it was inevitable that they should get up.

The two left to pick Kaydel up at her place, and her friend looked very nervous and jittery as they drove away and into the clinic where she would have her surgery.

“How are you doing there, Kay?” Ben asked, parking the car.

“If you give me a chance, I’ll give up,” she declared.

Rey snorted, stepping outside and opening the door for her friend to get out.

“Then we won’t give you any chances,” she reached out, hooking her arm in hers. “Come on, Kay-Kay. Time to get your eyes fixed.”

Kaydel groaned, dragging herself along, but didn’t say anything. They had talked about it before: Kaydel wanted to have the surgery, but was deadly afraid of it, which meant she was going to be sedated during it and needed someone to be waiting for her.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Rey offered.

Her friend looked at her with a serious face, and then softened up, looking away, as if she didn’t quite want to show how scared she really was.

“Please,” she mumbled.

She just smiled and took Kaydel’s hand, walking into the place, with Ben walking behind them and her boyfriend just sat on one of the chairs as he waited for her and Kaydel filled up some papers.

“I’m sorry for bothering you two,” she spoke gently. “But don’t worry, Phasma said they’ll spend the night at my place, you two can just enjoy your day after that.”

Rey smirked.

“Your own personal doctor, uh?” she teased.

Kaydel blushed. Her relationship with Phasma was going on the same rhythm as Rey and Ben’s, and her partner was slowly becoming part of their friend group.

They sat down to wait, and the couple exchanged looks as their friend just resigned to sit down and sulk.

“Kaydel C. Skywalker?” a nurse called, walking out from a corner door.

She stood up, still clenching Rey’s hand tightly in hers.

“Come with me, please.”

They watched her leave silently, and Ben moved quickly to the seat by her side.

“According to the internet, this is supposed to last about 15 minutes,” he told her. “I texted Phasma, and they are coming back from their shift with Kay’s favourite food and the list of instructions from their friend who is an eye doctor. We just need to drop her there.”

She nodded, humming positively, and watched as he pushed his phone into his pocket before resting against the seat behind him, long legs stretched far in the low spot.

“I was thinking,” he crossed his arms. “Maybe we can repeat the experience of house hunting for your place again.”

She turned to him, a little confused. Ben wanted to look for a new place?

“I’m selling my place,” he told her. “And officially moving out of Finn and Poe’s.”

Rey hesitated, watching his face. To be honest, Ben basically lived in her home now, sleeping there nearly every day of the week, and half of his wardrobe was mixed with hers and his car was the only one to ever occupy her parking spot.

“So you are looking for a new place to buy?”

Ben nodded, shrugging.

“Or to rent. I don’t know. I just need to move out quickly.”

She bit her lower lip, and tilted her head a bit.

“When do you have to go?” she asked.

“Before the end of the month, I think,” he told her, reaching for his pocket. “It’s time enough.”

Rey played with the hem of the top, and glanced at him, finding Ben typing something on his phone.

“We can start looking today,” she told him, fidgety and a little nervous. “Or maybe you could move in with me?”

Ben’s wide eyes and the long silence as he stared at her made Rey’s anxiety simply spike, and she could hear her heart beating fast in her ears.

Maybe it was too early? After all, they were together for just one year. Maybe Ben wasn’t ready to move in with her yet, he could need more time.

“Really?” he asked, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he stared at her.

“If you want to,” Rey mumbled. “I mean, if you are not ready to do it, then…”

“I do,” Ben said quickly. “I want to move in with you.”

…

Home (Is Where the Heart Is) is already completely posted Patreon! To read the end before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month!

…

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#Home (Is Where the Heart Is) Series #H(IWTHI) seires #Reylo #Reylo Fanfiction #Reylo fluff #Reylo imagine

[elizabeethan]

Time and Time Again

The jungle makes her uneasy. Everything makes her assume the worst. She hasn't felt this anxious in years. There’s one person who doesn’t make her feel that way, though.

One day I’ll cool it with the Neverland AUs... today is not that day.

So, while bored as hell, I was scrolling through my docs and I saw “untitled” and said hmmmm what are you? And I found something interesting! A short piece of this was written back when I was very newly working on It’s About Bloody Time for a scrapped plot that features a more anxious Emma and a more monstrous Neal. Some of this may be familiar in that case, if you read that one. I added some pieces to it and we now have some Neverland hurt(fear)/comfort posted for @neverlandnewyear. It’s a one shot and I don’t intend to add any more to this but that doesn’t mean it wont happen

Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly for being the best beta ever and hashing out this plot with me (but not for trying to get me to make this a MC 😡)❤️

Part 1/1 (complete)

Rated T for language

~3000 words

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64​ @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

~~~~

He says he wants what’s best for her, but he doesn’t even know what that is. She told him her feelings wouldn’t change, hell, she literally told him that she wished he had died, and he still said that he wouldn’t stop fighting for her. What makes him think she wants him to fight for her? What makes him think he had ever started fighting in the first place?

 So, when Neal says he wants to stop for water and to relieve himself on their way back to Tink’s, Emma doesn’t object to a short break. She feels as though she had worked off her frustrations with the arduous walk through the trees, leading the way and setting a fairly fast pace. She sits on a rock as Neal steps away from the group of three, leaving just Emma and Hook alone with the noisy, humid jungle.

 “I apologize, Emma,” he starts softly. “I realize that my foolish actions could have placed your son at risk, and for that I am truly sorry.”

Emma isn’t surprised to hear Hook’s voice through the sounds of the birds and insects surrounding them. “You put yourself at risk, too. That was stupid, Hook. How the hell are we supposed to get off this island without you to sail the ship back to Storybrooke?”

 He smirks slightly, breathing out a soft sigh and taking out his leather covered flask. “I’m sure you would have found a way. Bae was rather skilled at captaining, back in the day.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask when he offers it to her as he sits down on the same rock. “Well, that plan would have been foiled too if the both of you had your shadows ripped from your bodies. Then the only option would be to have the Dark One sail us home.” He narrows his eyes at her and takes the flask back. She can tell that he knows she’s joking but hopes that he can see her point.

 “The Dark One is lucky to have a place on my ship at all. There is not a chance in all the realms that he steps foot behind the wheel.”

 She scoffs lightly. “Remember that next time you want to try and impress me by doing something dumb.”

 “Your wish is my command, love.” She expects to see a smirk on his face, but instead is met with his eyes making contact with hers, looking serious under his dark brows.

 She stands up again, unable to sit still. She’s still keyed up from earlier in the Dark Hollow, and she feels herself getting jittery and restless after not moving for a few moments.

 Hook can apparently read her quite well, because he stands as well and offers her another swig from the flask. “You’ve got to calm down a bit, Swan. Perhaps I should go and fill your canteen as well?”

 “No,” she answers immediately, surprising herself. “I mean, I’m okay. I have enough water, just… stay here.” She’s not sure what the hell has gotten into her, but suddenly the thought of being left alone in the jungle makes her skin crawl.

 He smirks again, raising a brow before saying, “as you wish, Swan.” She half expected him to respond with some sort of brazen flirty comment, but instead he’s silent for a few moments.

 She nods, noting the anxiety still coursing through her, and he’s right. She does need to relax, but she can’t. She can’t get her mind off of Neal eventually making his way back through the jungle; keeps hearing him break through the trees and trying to talk to her again. The thought of Hook leaving for water and Neal coming back before Hook does sends her into a tailspin and suddenly, she’s nearly panicking. If Hook left now and Neal came back, he would absolutely try and have a conversation with her again, and she doesn’t want to even consider the fact that he’ll probably say something else about trying to win her back.

 “Swan? Emma, what is it, love? You’re turning white. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

 She’s nodding again, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… don’t go anywhere, okay? I don’t need water.” She feels like she can hardly breathe, her chest rising and falling painfully. Hook is in front of her quickly, placing his hand on her left arm and looking into her eyes so intensely she thinks her head might explode. 

 “Emma, what’s wrong?” 

 With her chest heaving, she responds, “I’m okay, it’s fine.” She feels his hand running up and down her arm, his hook making similar motions on the other, and the cold metal contrasts her hot skin nicely. 

 “Just talk to me, darling. What’s the matter?” Images of Neal coming back through the brush rush through her mind again, this time of him catching them in this compromising position and his possessive nature exploding out of him, and her breathing quickens. “Whatever it is, it’s alright. I’m here, I won’t go anywhere, love.”

 She feels herself relaxing slightly at his statements, knowing that she won’t be alone and in danger of facing her own thoughts in the next few moments. But then Hook says, “you’re safe now and we’re going to get Henry just as soon as Baelfire returns,��� and she feels a tightness in her chest again. 

 “I don’t want- I mean-” she feels as though she can’t make a coherent thought as her breathing quickens some more. 

 “Don’t want what, Swan? What’s on your mind?” His voice is so soft and soothing to her that she practically melts, almost able to let go of the steel grip her thoughts have on her.

 It’s the tenderness in his voice that sways her to speak and distracts her from the ache in her ribs as her heart slams against them. “Neal, I don’t… I can’t face him. I don’t want to face him alone.” Hook’s face twists up, his brows pinching together and his lips pursing as if he’s deep in thought. 

 “What do you mean, love?” She finally looks him back in the eyes and sees them swimming with worry. 

 “I just… I just don’t want to talk to him now. I told him everything and he barely listened, and I don’t want to go through that right now. If you leave, nothing will stop him from...” she knows she’s rambling and hardly making sense, but she gets a feeling like Hook understands what she’s saying. 

 “Is this about your secret?” She nods. “Because you told him how you feel?” Another nod. “But then he and I were idiotic, and you nearly lost him again, is that it?” His perceptiveness impresses her, but she can’t shake the feeling that something he said isn’t quite on the money. “He’s your first love, Swan. It’s perfectly normal for you to fear losing him.” 

 “I don’t think that’s it,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not scared of losing him, I’ve already lost him and come to terms with it. I think I’m just scared of him hurting me again.” Emma is astonished at how much she’s opening up to Hook, but at the same time, feels as though he’s the best person to have this conversation with. If one person understands getting over the loss of a loved one, it’s Hook. 

 “You don’t want to talk to him because you’re worried that he’ll hurt you?”

 “I know he will, eventually.” 

 “It must be difficult to have so little trust in the person you love,” he remarks thoughtfully, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t know just how wrong he is. 

 “I don’t love him,” she proclaims seriously. 

 “Oh,” he responds. He nods, folding his lips into his mouth and looking about as awkward as she thinks she’ll ever see him. 

 “I don’t…” she starts, but isn’t sure if she should continue. She isn’t sure when she let her guard down in front of him. Just moments ago she was shouting at him for acting stupid and now all of a sudden she’s spilling her heart for him? “I don’t know if I ever did.” 

 He nods again and looks to the ground, his feet shuffling uncomfortably as he says, “I see. So your confession, then…?” 

 She shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I must have loved him in my own way, back before everything happened between us, but… if not for Henry…” 

 “So what’s brought this on then, love?”

 His question shouldn’t feel so profound. She should know why she feels the way she does; why anxiety is ripping through her at the thought of being with the man she once trusted. But somehow, she has an answer. “He scares me. I know what he’s capable of, and I know… I know what he’s done in the past. He could do it again.” 

 “What did he do?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

 “He left us.” Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only person here who doesn’t assume she’s going to get back with Neal. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only person here who has known Neal before. There has to be a logical explanation to the fact that she’s opening up to him more now than she has with anyone else. “Me and Henry,” she continues. “He set me up for his crimes and I had his baby in prison because he abandoned me. What’s to say he won't abandon us again, here?”

 He’s looking up at her instantly, the intensity in his gaze nearly suffocating. His brows are pinched together in great concern, and his mouth hangs open just slightly, as if he’s shocked speechless. Before she knows what he’s doing, he’s stepping towards her and taking her hand in his. 

 “You will not be left on this island,” he says with ferocity. “I will never let that happen. You will have Henry safe in your arms if I have to lose my other hand to make it so.”

 She chokes over his words, her throat drying and her forehead hurting with how hard she’s pinching her brows together. She can’t help but to squeeze his hand back, suddenly taking great comfort in his warm presence. Appreciating the way his fingers squeeze hers, grounding her. “You really mean that, don’t you?” 

 “Of course I mean it. We’re getting Henry off this island the moment we’re able.” 

 The island is so hot and humid, but the warmth he’s bringing her with just her hand in his is intoxicating, and she can’t help but to lean closer to him for more. The closer she gets, the easier it is to let out the breath she’s been holding. When she lets her head drop to his bare chest, her forehead tickled by the coarse hair, he releases her hand from between their bodies and wraps his arm around her shoulder. 

 “It’s alright,” he whispers, relaxing into her as she does the same, his face pressing to her hair. “We’re going to get off this island. I‘ll keep you and Henry safe, I promise you.” She nods into his chest again, pulling herself into his hold. Their breathing steadies, matching in pace, and his hand slinks up and down her spine soothingly. 

 “I know,” she whispers against him, hugging around his waist tighter, although she isn’t sure why.

 No, she does know. What’s shifted in the short time since they’ve been here she isn’t sure— perhaps it’s his stifling honesty or the intense set of his jaw when he tells her how he feels. She knows that she trusts him. She can’t let him go. 

 “Emma, what the hell?!” she hears from behind him, and she startles but doesn’t release her iron grip around Hook’s waist. Her breathing quickens once more, and she’s panting now as he squeezes her tight before releasing his own grip on her.

 “I—” she starts, but he cuts her off. 

 “We’re in the middle of the damn jungle and I step away for five minutes, and here you are with him? What the fuck is wrong with you? The whole reason for us being here is to get our son back and you’re fucking shacking up with the pirate? Are you deranged?”

 She sees something flick in Hooks eyes and he turns suddenly. “Don’t speak to her that way,” he hisses, his voice low and menacing in his chest. 

 “I don’t need your input on this, pirate! You certainly don’t need to speak for Emma, I’m sure she’s capable of defending herself.”

 “Defending herself?” he booms, taking a step away from her and towards Neal. “She needs not to defend herself for anything she’s done. Can you say the same, Baelfire?” 

 She raises her brows in surprise at his words but says nothing, choosing to let Neal respond on his own. 

 He lets out an awkward chuckle and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, as if there was nothing else he could think to utter. 

 “Right,” Hook scoffs. “Let’s carry on, then. We’re but moments from Tink’s and I’d like to get off this bloody island.”

 ~~~~

 She’s crying. 

 No one else is awake, no one else can hear, but she’s crying. She’s sitting all alone on her mat and she’s crying. 

 Whatever it was that Neal did to her all those years ago— the abandonment, the betrayal— the impact that it’s having on her now is clear. She spoke of her fear of being abandoned again. Of being left on this island by someone she once trusted. She’s been failed by every person here, and the dread of being failed again is valid. 

 He just wishes she wasn’t crying. It pains him to hear her struggling so hard to hide her soft whimpers and involuntary sniffles. She agreed to keep first watch so the others could rest, but Killian finds sleep impossible to come by because of the poignant sounds coming from his right. 

 He’s certain she can’t be watching for much, her soft sobbing likely distracting from any potential threats, so he finally moves to stand, startling her and causing her to sit up straight and wipe at her cheeks. “It’s alright, love. Only me, I’ll take over watch,” he murmurs softly, making his way towards her and noting easily the way her shoulders drop again as she lets her guard down, somehow. 

 “Sorry,” she mumbles, as if thinking she woke him. 

 “There’s no need to be.” 

 They sit in silence for a bit, appreciating the roaring fire before them, and he pokes open another coconut for her to drink down quietly. He notes that she’s stopped crying, but that doesn’t rid her of the wrought emotion displayed on her face and the occasional deep gulps of breath she seems to take involuntarily. 

 “We’ve a good plan,” he tries to assure her after a beat of silence. “It’s going to be alright. We’re going to beat him.” 

 “I know,” she nods, biting her lip. “There’s just something about this island that makes me feel so…” 

 She sighs, unable to go on, so he supplies, “uneasy? Unwanted? Unloved?” 

 “Exactly,” she breathes out. 

 “I know the feeling, darling, but I assure you, it’s far from the truth in your case.” 

 “Just,” she continues brazenly, ignoring his sentiment. “Like earlier, for example. Mary Margaret talked to me about Neal, I guess she overheard us before.” He bristles at the thought of her mother overhearing their conversation, but lets her continue on. “And the whole time she was trying to make sense of what happened, but I couldn’t shake the feeling like she was, I don’t know, judging me. For not wanting to be with him. Like she couldn’t believe I wouldn’t want to be with my first love even though he ruined my life.” 

 Truthfully, he almost doesn’t doubt that that’s exactly what the young royal thought. If there’s one thing he’s learned about this crowd, it’s that true love is very important to them. The idea of her wanting Emma to be with Bae simply because they have a history together doesn’t seem too far from logical. 

 “So are you saying she doesn’t feel that way?”

 With a shrug, she answers, “I don’t know. But I feel like I took the worst possible message of what she was trying to say, you know?” 

 “Aye,” he agrees, though he thinks he may not actually know. 

 “But I never… I never have that feeling with you.” His breath hitches. Rather than responding, he turns to his right to face her and hopes that she elaborates. “I just feel like I can always take you at face value, I guess.” 

 He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face. He doesn’t try to stop it. Lifting his arm slightly in invitation, he rests it along the log they lean against and she tips towards him instantly. “I’m glad,” he murmurs once she settles. 

 “We’re lucky to have you.” 

 “And you.” 

 After a beat not quite long enough, she presses away from him and takes the heat with her and he tries to hide his pout. But he doesn’t need to pout for long before she leans towards him and captures his lips between her own in a soft, slow kiss. It’s less heated than the last, but no less passionate. It stirs no less in him than the last had. With her hand meeting his cheek and his sliding up her back and into her hair, he can say with certainty that this is the only part of Neverland he’ll ever enjoy. 

 She doesn’t pull away from him for some time, continuing to massage his lips with hers and eventually slipping her tongue to glide across his bottom lip until he grants her invitation. They tangle together but it’s no less gentle or tender as they sit beside one another and kiss away each other’s fears. 

 “Thank you,” she whispers against his mouth once she breaks away just slightly. 

 He isn’t sure if she thanks him for taking over the watch, or for the kiss, or for being here in general, but he knows it doesn’t matter. She need not thank him for any of it. Because when Emma Swan gives him a gentle smile and curls into a tight ball beside him, her head on his lap and her soft snores soothing him above the sounds of the eerie jungle, he knows he would do any of it and more for her, time and time again. 

 ~~~~

~~~~

#csnlny #neverland #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff

[thrillridesz]

our song ▫ changmin

➳ pairing: idol!changmin x producer!reader ➳ genre: fluff ➳ word count: 2.1k ➳ requested?: yes

a/n: tbh i wasn’t too sure how to go about this request so i kind of just tried to think of some sort of plot to go with it and hopefully this isn’t trash ><

“Hey, we’re here. Wake up.”

Elbowing the sleeping figure next to him, Younghoon rolled his eyes as the latter shifted in his seat. As the others began to remove their seatbelts and disembark from the vehicle, Changmin rubbed his eyes lazily and barely even noticed how messy the other members were softly holding back their laughs at his atrocious ‘bed’ hair. Bleary-eyed and still relatively half asleep, he peered out the car window to see that the car had stopped outside an unassuming office building. 

“Oh? We’re here already?”

“Obviously. Let’s go, sleepyhead,” Haknyeon chuckled, pulling him at his wrist as everyone started to make their way in the building. 

Grunting, Changmin practically had to peel himself away from the comfort of his seat and as he plodded heavily behind the other members into the building, he felt like a complete zombie. He was lightheaded from fatigue, his dark circles were darker than ever and his voice was raw from the previous night’s stage. All in all, he was in no mood to participate in any recordings of any sort today. Yet, here he was in the recording studio, feeling like he would rather be anywhere but right there at that exact moment. 

Lounging on the couch in the waiting room as the other members chattered amongst themselves, Changmin watched as Younghoon disappeared into the recording room. He could briefly hear faint voices engaged in conversation from behind the door, no doubt exchanging pleasantries before the recording. Resting his head on the wall behind him, Changmin tried to ease himself back into slumberland. This was going to be a long day. Recordings usually take days and having heard the general tune of the new track, this one was definitely no exception. If anything, it might need a longer time to nail.

As he sat, Sangyeon and Chanhee were at a corner; trying to harmonise for the nth time and the frustration was becoming apparent on their face with each passing second. Thank goodness he had already practiced the night before. While the others had been busy catching up on their much needed rest, Changmin had been up singing. He had the tune on loop and at one point, he could have swore he almost sang his voice raw. He never liked going into practice or recording clueless or unprepared.

In a way, it could be both a blessing and a curse. The producers never did take very long with him but it also meant that his own perseverance costed him his rest. Closing his eyes, he mentally recited the lyrics again in his mind, rapping his fingers on the table to create a beat.

“Just gotta follow the beat,” he muttered softly to himself. He barely even noticed it but it wasn’t long before he slipped back into a nap.

A particularly loud shriek pierced through the quiet afternoon and in the tiny waiting room, it sounded even worse. Awaking with a start, he looked around wide eyed at the source of the sound.

“Chanhee, do you plan to scare us to death?” Juyeon asked, picking up his phone from the floor.

“Sorry, you guys.” The culprit apologised, a reddish tint appearing on his cheeks.

Changmin rubbed his face with his palms before gazing up at the clock and did a double take. It’s been a whole hour?

“Who’s in there?”

“Younghoon.” Eric replied matter-of-factly.

“Still?”

“Yeah, not sure why either.” The boy shrugged before turning back to his phone.

Just as he said that, the door creaked open and out stepped Younghoon.

“Really sorry for how long that took! Thank you!”

There was a sheepish expression on his face as he trudged towards the rest and as soon as the door closed behind him, he plopped himself down on the couch with a sigh, causing it to dip down with his weight.

“You guys...”

“What is it?”

“Would you guys believe me if I say the producer is probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever met?”

There were several hoots that followed as someone threw pillow at his face which he blocked, a chuckle escaping from his lips. 

“I’m serious!”

“You better be,” Sunwoo retorted, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Changmin observed the banter between the other boys with a slight smile. Sometimes, he wondered how he got so lucky to be able to become band mates with these people. Sure, they may be crackheads but they were the best kind of crackheads he could hang out with. 

“Ji Changmin?” A soft voice called from the room.

As he stood up, Hyunjae said in a teasing tone, “Help us check if the producer’s really as pretty as Younghoon said.”

“You guys are such weirdos.” Changmin laughed, rolling his eyes.

Stepping into the room, he felt that same sense of awe he had right from the very first time he had entered a recording studio. The sight of the professional mics and sound panel in the room never failed to install a certain of excitement in him. It brought a surreal feeling which he thoroughly enjoyed and immediately, every shred of fatigue in him evaporated. 

“Hello! I’m Changmin. I’m really excited to be-”

When he looked up, he suddenly felt his words get caught at the back of his throat. His heart began to beat rapidly and he was almost positive that everyone else could hear it. His outstretched hand was frozen in place all of a sudden and he could feel a shiver run down his spine when you clasped your hands in his to give him a handshake.

“I’m y/n, the producer. Whenever you’re ready, just head into the recording room and we’ll get started.” You shot him a warm smile and he had to hold onto the table to prevent his legs from giving way.

Younghoon really wasn’t lying. You were a complete stunner. Everything about you is exactly his type and he didn’t even know he had a type to begin with. 

“Are you ok? You seem a little pale.” 

It took Changmin a moment to regain his composure and realise that he had been spacing out. Wishing that he hadn’t been staring, he shook his head quickly and stepped into the recording room. It was like he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way you swept your hair up into a neat, little ponytail was just about the most elegant thing he had seen. The way your fingers twirled the pen in your hand was suddenly extremely cool to him even though he had seen other people do it loads of time. 

“Whenever you’re ready, try singing out verse 3.” You said from the other side of the glass panel, flashing him a thumbs up cue.

Changmin stared at the lyric and music sheets in front of him as he placed the earphones over his ears. The words were starting to look foreign to him and he realised with a start that it was due to his nerves. His heart was still beating as furiously as ever and it was making him disoriented. 

He is acting like a teenage boy with a tremendous crush! He really thought he was above all of this but apparently not.

Lifting his gaze up to you, his breath hitched when the two of you made eye contact. He could really get lost in those eyes of yours if he wasn’t more careful. As Changmin began to belt out his part of the song, he realised to his horror that he was going completely off key. 

No, no, no. This isn't supposed to happen. He’s supposed to have had it in the bag. He stayed up all night for this for pete’s sake and now it is all out the window just like that. What made it even worse was when he dared to peek up at you and he felt his heart fall with a messy splat at the confused and puzzled expression on your face. The heat was quickly spreading from his neck and up to his cheeks and before long, they were burning. 

“Um... I think we should try that again? This time, maybe lower your pitch a little and maybe drag out the last part more.” You said encouragingly but all Changmin could think of was how much he wanted to bury a hole for himself to fall into. 

“Are you nervous?”

He whipped his head up to see you standing in front of him with a concerned look, separated by the glass. 

“I... I...”

“Take a deep breath,” you said softly, your voice soothing and comforting. 

Changmin isn’t usually one to believe in taking deep breaths to sooth his nerves but this time, he did as he was told. As he inhaled, he tried his best to calm his own nerves with his fists clenched at his sides and eyes closed. Exhaling, he opened his eyes to see you looking at him with a smile and immediately, he felt his heart jump. 

“Feeling better? Less nervous? You don’t have to be. I get that this track is a little harder to sing so don’t be afraid of making mistakes!”

How can I not be nervous when you’re here?

“Yeah, I guess I am.” A weak smile tugged at his lips.

“Awesome. Let’s get to it.” You chirped and began to reset the sound systems to start the recording again. 

As he waited, Changmin couldn’t help but let his eyes follow your every move. What is it about you that has him so smitten? The more he looked at you weirdly, the more he began to feel slightly less jittery. It was as if being with you felt comfortable. He may be anxious but fundamentally, he felt safe around you. It was unlike any of his previous recording sessions whereby the producer would usually stare him down with hardened gaze, always so ready to point out his flaws and criticise him instead of simply telling him. There was an odd sense of calm that suddenly overwhelmed him and when you gave him the cue to sing, he sang. 

This time, his voice didn’t waver at all, keeping its steadiness throughout. The words rang clear and crisp in the tiny room and flowed gently to the tune, each pitch brought to perfection just like how he had practiced and perfected. As he sang, he held your gaze and for a moment, it felt like there could have been a karmic connection between the two of you. It was like the two of you were exchanging something passionate just through your stares and it not only emboldend Changmin but it also sent a tingly sensation through his body. 

When he finished his verse, you had to look away quickly because of just how intense everything had felt. The way he had looked at you felt so intimate and affectionate that you didn’t know what to do. Sure, you’ve always liked him and he always was one of your favourite members from The Boyz and you may or may not have freaked when you found out you were to work with them but this was different. It felt like the two of you had something for a moment. 

“T-That’s great. I think we’ve got it.” You stuttered.

His eyes widened as he asked, “Really?”

“Yes.” You said hastily before adding, “You were amazing but now I think it’s Jacob’s turn.” 

Changmin could only smile at your words but internally, he felt a small tinge of paranoia in him. Were you saying that because you didn't want to be around him anymore? Did you think he was weird?

“I don’t think you’re weird at all,” you said in a surprised voice.

Crap. He must have been thinking out loud without even realising it!

“Ah, that’s... that’s good I guess.”

“You were exceptional. Don’t ever think otherwise.” You replied softly, looking away as if you were too shy to look into his eyes. 

It took Changmin a moment to register what you had said and when he did, a grin brighter than the sun began to spread across his face. 

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

There was a brief silence between the two of you and never in his life had he ever felt a tension so thick in the air. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sort of tension but rather one that made him feel all soft and jelly inside. 

You cleared your throat and said, “I’m going to call for Jacob?”

As you reached for the door, Changmin blurted out, “ Can we hang out after this?”

Once the words were out of his mouth, he felt in his heart that those were the very same words he had wanted to say, the very question that had been at the back of his mind the moment he laid eyes on you.

Your heart felt like it was soaring as you turned to him, your cheeks beginning to burn as a small spark of happiness bloomed rapidly in your chest. 

“Hang out?”

“Yes,” he smiled and those dimples could have been the death of you if you were a little more flustered. “Hang out together. I’d love to get to know you better, y/n.”

#deobiwritersnet #tbznetwork #kwritersworldnet #tbz #the boyz #ji changmin #tbz fics #the boyz fics #tbz scenarios #the boyz scenarios #tbz fluff #the boyz fluff #tbz timestamps #the boyz timestamps #tbz imagines #the boyz imagines #tbz q #the boyz q #tbz q fluff #the boyz q fluff #ji changmin x reader #the boyz changmin #tbz changmin #the boyz changmin scenarios #the boyz changmin imagines #the boyz changmin fluff

[mini-moongi]

My Lover, Love Letter || kth.

Genre: angst, fluff, pining?? unrequited love for a hot sec? EXTRA cheesy 

Summary: Being in love isn’t supposed to hurt so much, but you’d sooner roll over dead than confess to him. Your best friend. After a particularly rough break up, you decide to send Taehyung some additional love via love letters. What you weren’t expecting, however, was a letter back.

A/N: Not entirely proof read, so please excuse any inconsistencies lol

─────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ───────

“I just don’t know,” Taehyung sighs as he grabs his shoes from the company’s designated drawers. His name that’s scribbled onto a label is faded and worn, but he pays no mind as he slips his sneakers on. Frustration eats away at him, silently beckoning him closer. “How did I not see it coming? I’m so stupid like how could I not have seen--”

“--I don’t think anyone would’ve seen it coming.” Your voice lays low, uncertainty and concern bubbling up. “And I know what you’re thinking: No, this isn’t your fault. She cheated on you, and you’re doing the right thing, okay?” 

Taehyung doesn’t look at you like you so desperately wished he would, but what else could you do? What else could you say? “...You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, your best friend who knows that you deserve better. Besides,” you smile,” there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.” and oh how you wish you were a fish.

That night, your mind wandered to Taehyung’s predicament. He’s been your best friend for years and years on end, but along the lines somewhere, you’ve started to feel a little bit more than “just a friend.” It’s an ongoing pain, and you’ve known that for a while now. A breathy sigh escapes your lips as you glance down at your notebook. Minutes go by of you staring at nonsensical scribbles of lyrics and poems, ones you’ve written throughout the day. That’s it. 

The next day you get to the recording studio a bit early, early enough that there’s no one else in sight and no one to see you with a crisp white envelope. Your footsteps echo throughout the empty hallway, and with each passing second, you become uneasier and uneasier. Is this a bad idea? Is it too much? What if he finds out? Will he find out?

You’ve been standing in front of his drawer for the past five minutes contemplating. It stares back at you the same way it did last night, piercing through your soul and convincing you to step closer. If anything, you’re doing this to be a good friend, right? Before you can mull over it any longer, you hear chatter at the end of the hall. You can’t even convince yourself that it’s a horrible idea anymore when you slip the note in and hurry off inside the studio. Minutes later, Namjoon walks in with Jungkook.

“Oh!” Namjoon breaks out into a small smile,” You startled me, y/n. What are you doing here so early?”

The question catches you off guard and has you scrambling for an excuse. “I uh… I couldn’t sleep? I have a lot on my mind, I guess.” You shrug and spin around in an office chair. You didn’t like the fact that you just lied to Namjoon, but it wasn’t necessarily a lie. It just… wasn’t the whole truth. “I got us coffee?”

Jungkook and Namjoon don’t catch on to your jittery attitude, too excited by the fact that you bought them drinks. They mumble out their thank-yous and go off on their way. They’ve been working on Jungkook’s new single, so it’s not that big of a surprise that they’re also here early. It’s the fact that usually you’re never here early, and it irks you every time they look your way.

A heavy pair of footsteps trudge through the hallway, and your breath catches in your throat. This is it, the moment of truth. You hurriedly get up to greet taehyung outside. For a moment you catch yourself; you’re like an overly excited puppy greeting their owner, it isn’t too obvious, right? Nevertheless, Taehyung didn’t seem to mind too much when you said hello. He slips his shoes off and opens the drawer.

He sees the letter.

You watch as his eyebrow quirks up a little and how he gingerly picks it up out of his box. “I didn’t know we get mail in our cubbies now.” He jokes halfheartedly. When he looks at you, you shrug and look as shocked as he is.

“Does it say who it’s from?” You ask aloud. Your heart pounds so loud in your ribcage you wonder if he can hear it too.

Taehyung turns the envelope over to examine the front and back. It’s a simple white envelope with a red heart sticker sealing it shut. “...It doesn’t. Huh,” he ponders,” that’s weird.”

You wander back to your desk, but you can see him holding the letter in his hands out of the corner of your eyes. He follows you, and to be quite honest, you feel like you're going to shit your pants. You’ve never done this before, and rightfully so, but you really wish he wouldn’t try to read it in front of you. He opens it carefully, his fingers slipping between the lid of the envelope and pulling out the letter you wrote. You swallow thickly,”....what does it say?”

He’s silent for a while, eyebrows furrowed and focused on the tiny piece of paper in front of him. His deep voice reads,

“Dear Taehyung,

   I hope this letter finds you well. I’m scared, terrified even, as I write this. I heard that you were going through a rough time, and I thought to myself: it’s now or never, you know? I want you to know that I’m cheering for you! 

  You may not realize it now, but I promise you, good things are waiting for you. It’s not going to be easy, I know from personal experience that love hurts, but it’ll be okay :) I really like you, Kim Taehyung, so please cheer up! Your smile is really cute!! (´,,•ω•,,)♡

Love,

        :) “

As per the singular acting class you took, you widen your eyes and pretend to be shocked. You gasp,” Taehyung, I think that’s a love letter?”

“...yeah?” He nods. Suddenly his throat is very dry, despite being very hydrated seconds ago. A smile crept up onto his lips as he gazes at the handwritten note. “Yeah, I think it is.”

The next couple of times were just small sticky notes all signed with a smiley face; encouraging words to give him some extra love. And it works. He’s happier when he reads them, and you’re happy when you write them. 

The next time you give him a major note is on a whim. Written at 3 in the morning, where loneliness is felt and feelings are emptied out onto a page. You don’t even remember sealing it or sneaking out to slip it into his drawer for him to find. Eventually, the morning sun shines in your eyes, and your alarm is too loud for your liking. Grogginess envelopes you and pushes you out of bed, yelling at you to start your day, but five more minutes couldn’t hurt...

Taehyung’s contact buzzes on your phone, making your device shine brighter than it needs to be at this hour. You squint at the harsh light and unlock it.

Tae: ajsdjsjfdsljds

Tae: there’s another one

You: another what

Tae: Letter!!!!

You immediately sit upright in your bed. Wait, you actually went out last night? You look around frantically, trying to somehow prove to yourself that you didn’t. The jacket laying in the corner of your room taunts you: you did it again.

Hastily, you scramble out of bed. You’re wide awake now, eyes wide and crusty. You rack your brain for an appropriate response because leaving your best friend on read might be a little suspicious.

You: omggg

You: what does it say this time :0

You’re a little nauseous waiting for his response, but you throw on clothes and hope that you didn’t reveal too much about yourself.

Tae: “i miss you. i wish you’d look at me the same way i see you. Like my favorite color, or my favorite sweater, it’s always been you. You’re my favorite, but am i yours?”

Tae: they say other stuff too but that one hit deep yknow

It’s hitting you like an 18-wheeler, and everything you wrote comes back to you in waves. ugh, emo hours are meant to stay in 3 am, not shared with your crush via secret love letter.

You: woah that does hit different

You walk into the studio that day a little bit more paranoid than usual. Taehyung greets you, already starting his day with a smile stuck to his face. It’s softer today, one that comes with a huge sigh and big brain thoughts. You already know he’s going to ask you a question; which kind however is what you dreaded.

“Hey,” he starts off slow and unsure. A beat goes by, and he continues,” is it stupid to fall for my secret admirer?” The question comes out, loud and clear. You feel the wind is knocked out of your stomach, or is it your gut? You stare at Taehyung in shock; he’s in love with you? Well, obviously, he doesn’t know it’s you, but still--

You choke on the water you’re sipping and turn to face him. “You’re in love with.... the writer?” You’re trying really hard not to tremble in surprise, and he buys it.

“Yeah, I just wish I knew who they were..”

“--Woah, hold on,” you’ve officially thrown yourself into the deep end. “What if it’s someone you know? You could be crossing some sort of line here buddy.” You didn’t anticipate Taehyung falling for your love letters, so for him to now start reciprocating was a bit much. You had gotten comfy in the unrequited love section, and to ruin your friendship like this was going to be one hell of a rollercoaster. 

“Ugh,” he grumbles. He drapes himself on an adjacent office chair and twirls around dramatically. “You’re right, but maybe things will change? All I know is that this person is writing me enough love letters to actually be my lover.

“and not to mention the fact that I love handwritten notes? Like come on, y/n,” He gives you a lopsided grin that makes you fall for him a little too much. “You know I’m a sucker for this crap. Whoever this is should just marry me right now. I’m ready to be an old fashioned, romantic poet writing, sonnet sweetheart for you darling!” He calls out to the open air.

You chuckle at this, a prime example of why you love Taehyung. His hair falls a little on the sides of his face as his shoulders shake in laughter. Your face is starting to feel warm, but you pay no attention to it. “Oh yeah, that’s totally gonna get them to reveal themselves.”

The next time you go to deliver him a letter, you find that there is already a sealed envelope in his drawer. Carefully, you pick up the letter with a wax seal holding it closed. To my Lover, it reads on the top left corner in Taehyung’s handwriting. A short barely-there laugh breathes out of your nose, and a smile finds its way to you. Of course he’d do something like this; something so out of the blue and unnecessary, yet so thoughtful and sweet.

You slip in your letter in exchange for his, and gingerly put it in your backpack to read later in the confines of your home. 

[ ---I can’t sleep because I lie awake and think about you, did you know that? You could be anyone: my boss, the intern, the librarian, or even my best friend, and I’d still have no clue. Is our relationship really so fragile that we can’t meet in person? Or maybe, we always do? 

Have you listened to my friend’s new single? It’s called “Still with You.” Please think of me when you hear it. “When will it be when I get to see you face to face? I’ll look you in the eye and say I missed you.”--- ] 

It’s a small excerpt compared to the rest of the letter he’s written for you, but you can feel your heart beat faster in your chest. You find that your hands have already started writing a response. 

A month goes by since you’ve started exchanging letters with Taehyung in secret, but today shit hits the fan. “y/n?”

You’re in your kitchen fixing up some snacks for movie night when Taehyung calls out to you. “yeah?” you respond.

“Why do you have this?” He comes around the corner, holding up a letter that was once sealed with a wax stamp. You freeze. 

“--Why the fuck do you have all of my letters?” At this point he’s face to face with you, a pain etched into the soft features that silently cry out. You’re silent, the pop tarts in the toaster long forgotten.

Your eyes paint him like a movie; a film that you’d never get to see again. Everything is blurry except for the old letter and tears that fall to the ground. Love hurts, but never this much before. You clutch your chest— lungs aching for the sweet relief of fresh air. “Taehyung, I didn’t... It’s not—“

“Is this some kind of sick, twisted joke to you?” His voice reverberates in the kitchen. Dark, deep, bitter, like the coffee you used to drink. “I don’t need you to play pretend anymore; you can drop the act. I don’t want empty love letters filled with shit if it’s all fake anyways.”

Those words cling to you and rip through old scars. He’s leaving you with open wounds, bleeding out painfully slow. It’s not shit, it’s your feelings. You poured your heart into that! If any song could play right now, it’d be,” All I Ask by Adele.”

“...what?” He stops in the doorway, having heard a faint whisper fall from your lips. Had it been a nasty remark, he was ready to spit one back at you. But it wasn’t. He didn’t catch what you said, but he knows it wasn’t an insult.

You couldn’t have with the way you’re clutching the empty pop tart wrapper for dear life, looking so empty and lost and alone on the tile floor. An empty shell: nothing more than a vessel staring at him, soaking in his every detail as if it’s the last time you two will meet. Hurt and betrayal replays in his head, so no matter how much he wants to stay, Taehyung steps out the door.

You couldn’t bring yourself to write letters for a while. You wished so desperately to tell him that the letters were genuine: you loved him. You still do. There are so many things you want to say, but none of the poems or essays you’ve written were strung together correctly. They just didn’t convey your feelings the way you want them to: the pain, the regret, the love, it wasn’t good enough.

After many sleepless nights and a few phone call confessions with Namjoon, your last letter was written. The cute stationary you’d use reminded you of every other letter, but this will be the last one. Promise.

[—“if this is my last night with you, hold me like I’m more than just a friend... because what if I never love again?”—]

[—All I Ask by Adele played in my head when you left, like a soundtrack in a movie. Everything I’ve written to you is true; please forgive me for falling in love with my best friend.—]

That night it rained. How fitting, you think to yourself. The weight from the grocery bags pile softly to the floor, the annoying crinkle rustling from the plastic. You peel the wet jacket off of your shoulders, hanging them up to dry while you put away the food. Thunder rolls in from the distance, pellets of rain tapping on your window. You don’t bother with music or tv, the silence thick and heavy as you busy yourself in the kitchen.

A knock sweeps you out of the dull lullaby of chores and rain. You move to open your door, and the next thing you know, a pair of arms embrace your still figure. All at once the sweet scent of cologne and honey clouds your senses, a familiar sedation too powerful alone. He holds you closer to his body. The physical touch makes you crave more, leaning in to relish in as much of it as you can.

He releases his hold a little, much to your dismay, and your eyes catch his restless ones. They flutter shut, and Taehyung’s forehead touches yours. His hot breath tickles your lips, shaky but inviting all the while. “...I missed you, so much.”

Is this what it feels like to be held like a lover? Embraced so tenderly and gently, fingertips tracing along your jawline. He pours his love onto you like the rain outside, and the kiss he gives sparks like a strike of lightning.

You wonder how you could’ve been content with unrequited love when this was on the other end? Seeking mutual forgiveness, making up for guilt with praises and promises? You know from personal experience that love hurts, but now, you’re ready to learn how love heals.

─────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ───────

A/N: This originally was supposed to have a sad ending but I couldn’t bring myself to...... I had to be cliché, it’s my drug 😔mayhaps I’ll make an angst fic someday,,

#bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #fanfic #x reader #tae #taehyung #taehyung x reader #tae x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bts tae x reader #bts tae #bts taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung x reader #bts kim teahyung #kim namjoon #bts kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #jungkook #namjoon #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #angst #fluff

[edsbev]

where was the scene i said and then wrote it 

----------------

Richie only breathes once he’s staring into the murky water of the quarry.

A very faint, badly rendered image of his face stares back at him. A reflection that ripples and waves – makes him look as wobbly and small as he feels, all his parts coming undone. He can hear their words, the cruel angry snarls from Bower’s mouth. So jagged and sharp his lips are shaped like a cut. He can hear that word, over and over, slicing through the video-game gunshots, the dark, dreaded music of a game over. Tangling itself like barbed wire around Richie’s throat.

Faggot.

Reflection Richie begins to tremble. Real Richie snatches up a rock and hurls it right through his face. The water explodes. The image breaks. Doesn’t want to see the way his breaths escape him in hitching gasps, bottom lip sucked in toward his mouth, like some kind of fucking pussy.

Instead, he sees the boy’s face. Looking back at Richie as he steps away. First a smile, then panic. Then his features cave in and his mouth turns over and he’s disgusted. Disgusted by Richie. Disgusted by this thing inside him that he wants to claw out. Richie hadn’t meant to make things weird. He really hadn’t. He had been so careful, kept his distance, all day. But then their hands had touched and the boy had smiled at him and Richie had thought…he’d wondered…

It wasn’t as though he had a crush on that boy, or anything. Richie didn’t even know his name. But something in Richie had been drawn to him, the curl of his fair hair, the sharpness of his smile, the way he had laughed, when Richie had told a joke, and said, with a snort, fuck off.

He’d reminded Richie of someone else.

The water of the quarry has smoothed back over and Reflection Richie stares up at him once again, a pale, shaken ghost of himself.

Richie hurls another rock through his face and then collapses onto the bank. Sits with his knees bent up, sneakers toeing the edge of the water, sun beating down on the back of his neck.

Fuck, he thinks. “Fuck,” he says, and worms his fingers under his glasses, presses against his squeezed-shut eyes until he sees bursts of colour, flashes of strange shadowed light, behind his eyelids.

Fuck this. Fuck this. He’s going to leave Derry, just you fucking wait. He can’t wait to get out of this shithole. He’ll just up and leave and never look back. And it’s not like the change of place will change him too but maybe it’ll better. To be in a place where no one knows him. He could change his name if he wanted. Could cut off all his hair and grow out a beard and replace his glasses with contacts and maybe cover his body in tattoos. It’d be better.

But, then, of course, that’d mean he’d have to leave –

“Richie?”

Richie can’t see, when he looks up. Because his vision is still swimming with colour and light from pressing down on his eyes, only made worse by the glare of the sun against the water.

But he knows it’s Eddie.

“Hey, man,” Richie says, tries for casual but his broken, watery voice betrays him. He clears his throat, wipes at his damp cheeks, blinks and blinks and blinks until his vision clears. “What – uh. Whatcha doing here?”

Eddie stands only a few feet away, his hair looking tousled and wind-swept, presumably from the ride over. He wears a baby blue Thundercats shirt, half tucked into the fannypack around his waist, and short yellow-and-blue shorts. One of his white tennis socks is hiked higher up his calf than the other. A small frown scrunches up his sun-kissed face – Eddie always tans during the summer – and he studies Richie like he can very much tell that he’s not okay.

Sometimes Eddie is painful to look at.

“I figured someone would be here,” Eddie says, and Richie’s really grateful that Eddie doesn’t prod, though he knows that Eddie’s probably itching to question him.

“Bet you were hoping it would be Bill. Sorry to disappoint, Spaghetti, but you’re stuck with me,” Richie jokes.

Eddie shrugs. “That’s fine,” he says. “Actually I was kinda hoping that I’d find you.”

It’s the last thing Richie would ever had expected him to say. He can’t find a single way to respond.

The rocks of the bank roll and clack together as Eddie makes his way over, Richie’s stomach twists and jolts as Eddie sits down next to him. His hand flails around by his side, blindly picks up a rock and skims it across the surface of the water. To try and distract himself from the fact that Eddie has the side of his sneaker pushed up against his own.

“Richie,” Eddie says, as Richie scrabbles for another rock.

Richie whistles, low, ignoring him. The rock skims over the water. “See that one, Eds? Bounced five times. Bet you can’t beat that.”

Eddie scoffs. “I can,” he says. But he doesn’t reach for a rock. Instead, he knocks his knee against Richie’s. Leaves it there. Golden skin against the stark white of Richie’s leg, all warm and sunbathed. Richie’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. Eddie says, a little firmer, “Richie.”

He’s asking Richie to look at him. So Richie does.

Richie shouldn’t be surprised to find Eddie’s face so close, to find Eddie’s brown eyes staring into his own. There’s a splattering of freckles across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, that you can only see when you’re close to him like this, or if you look hard enough. Richie wishes he could say that this is his first time ever noticing them. But it’s not. He’s noticed those freckles a thousand times.

A smile hooks at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to it; he calls Richie that the same way Richie calls him ‘Eds’. “You were hoping I’d be here too, weren’t you?”

The answer is no, technically. Richie had run here after being chased from the arcade. Had just run and run and run until he’d shaken Bower’s gang from his back. He hadn’t thought about Eddie as he scrambled down here; he’d just been thinking of finding a safe place.

But the answer is also yes. Because Richie hopes to see Eddie everywhere.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, my good chap,” Richie says, putting on his British guy voice. “I wasn’t hoping to see anyone. Thought I’d just pop down ‘ere and hone in my swimming skills, I did. I figured I’d practise my breast-stroke. All good men must practise that one.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he looks amused. “Ha ha. You do know I’m trying to have a conversation with you, right?”

Those words feel like oddly like a sucker-punch. Richie can’t even think of a joke. He asks, jittery, trying not to go cross-eyed from looking at Eddie’s freckles, “A…about what?”

“About, you know…” Eddie trails off, his cheeks going a little pink. It hurts to look at.

“I don’t know.”

“You know…”

“No, dude, I don’t.”

Eddie coyly ducks his head and looks up at Richie through his lashes. It hurts it hurts it hurts. “About the fact that you like me.”

Fear spikes so sharply through Richie’s heart that for a second he is certain he’s going to die.

“Wha – ” Richie’s throat closes up and he can’t speak. Can’t breathe. “I don’t – ”

In his mind he sees the boy at the arcade, his face screwed up in disgust. In his mind he hears that word. Over and over again.

God, isn’t this impeccable timing. What the fuck brought this on. Eddie looking at him like that, face flushed, a warmth in his eyes, like some sort of fucking daydream. Why is Eddie saying this.

“You do,” Eddie says. “I can see it. The way you look at me is the same way Ben looks at Bev.”

No it’s not. No it’s not, because Richie is so careful he’s nothing like Ben he’s so fucking hyper-aware he doesn’t look at Eddie at all not if he can help it.

Except he does.

He looks at Eddie all the time. He looks and looks and looks. Quick, stolen glances. Long, wanting stares. His gaze is pulled to Eddie like a magnet, he’d just thought Eddie hadn’t noticed.

A little crease forms between Eddie’s brows now, his lips purse in a gaze that is both sympathetic and very thoughtful. “You like me so much,” he says, “don’t you?”

“No, I – ” The words come out like a gasp. “I don’t know what – ”

And, god, Richie remembers the two of them on the hammock in the clubhouse just yesterday, Eddie half on top of him, his head leant back, chatting happily to Mike. Richie had watched him over the top of his comic, until Eddie had looked, suddenly, over at him, like he could feel his stare. And Richie ducked his head, quickly, behind the pages before their eyes could meet, before Eddie could see him looking. 

He thought he’d been fast enough.

“Chill, Richie,” Eddie says, with a small laugh. The words aren’t unkind. If anything, they’re affectionate. The next sentence is much softer, “it’s okay.”

But it’s not. Because they’re sitting here, in the open air. Exposed. The water reflecting onto the rocky cliffs around them, the water reflecting onto the smooth surface of Eddie’s cheek. Because they’re sitting here, and their legs are pressed together, and their faces are so close that Richie is dizzy with it, and they’re both boys, and it’s Eddie.

Because it was supposed to be a secret.

“I’m not going to say anything bad,” Eddie continues, voice still soft.

“N-no. Eddie, you’re…I mean, you’re wrong.” And this whole thing feels wrong. Like he’s warped Reflection Richie, not Real Richie. “What you’re saying isn’t true.”

“So, what, if I kissed you right now you wouldn’t like it?” Eddie asks.

If he – kissed – If Eddie kissed him –  Richie stares at him dumbly. “I…”

“…want to kiss me,” Eddie finishes for him. Richie can’t say anything in response. Maybe he’s frozen. Maybe he’s scared he’ll say yes. “I know. How many times have you thought about it? Sometimes I think you probably think about it a lot. You know, when I see the way you look at me.”

Richie swallows. It’s not something he wants to think about. But it creeps up on him. But it’s there when he closes his eyes. But it’s all he can fucking think about when Eddie laughs or smiles or frowns or does nothing at all. His mouth on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie’s mouth on his.

Eddie scoots even closer to him. “C’mon, Richie,” he says. He’s so fucking close that Richie can feel his breath on face. That Richie’s vision blurs when he tries to look at Eddie all at once, so he alternates, looks at Eddie’s doe brown eyes one by one. Eddie lowers his lashes. His gaze drops to Richie’s lips. Richie’s heart leaps into his throat. “Kiss me.”

It’s like every dream Richie’s ever had.

“Eddie…” he murmurs, uncertain.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers. He leans in, impossibly close. Richie’s whole body is on fire. “Just kiss me.”

So Richie leans in.

And the dream stops there.

Because a high, cold sound makes Richie pause before their mouths meet. Laughter. Eddie is laughing. Because Richie is immediately recoiling, and Richie is immediately so fucking scared.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, gasping for air like this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. “You thought I was serious.” Richie’s whole body feels like a thousand tiny shards of glass, breaking away. And then Eddie laughter dies, and his eyes pin Richie in place. “Did you really think I’d want to kiss a boy, Richie?”

“Eddie,” Richie starts, desperate. “I’m sorry, I was just – ”

“Did you really think I’d want to kiss a boy like you?”

Richie’s mouth works hopelessly over a word he can’t get out. And then Eddie is dead.

His skin melts right off; rotting pale flesh, cold lifeless eyes. It is Eddie’s corpse, that Richie is looking at. It is a Eddie who died years ago, and clawed his way up from the ground.

A horrified shout rips from Richie’s throat. He thinks he yells, Eddie.

“See what happens when you try to kiss other boys, Richie?” Eddie grins, in a voice that is much too deep be his own. “See what you’ve done?”

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie says, fumbles frantically to his feet. “You’re not real, you’re not fucking real – ”

“I was real enough for you a minute ago,” not-Eddie says. He doesn’t have half his teeth. “When you wanted to shove your tongue down my throat.”

It’s maybe the wrong time to think about this. But a cold dread trickles down Richie’s blood stream as he comes to terms with what this really means.

That wasn’t Eddie. None of that was Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t want him.

Richie snatches up a rock. Zombie Eddie’s face is changing, lips growing redder, forehead growing larger.

Eddie would never want him.

Richie launches the rock straight into Pennywise’s face. But It only laughs.

“I know your secret,” Pennywise sings.

But – and in that dread Richie also feels relief, and disappointment – at least Eddie doesn’t. At least it’s still a secret. And it will stay that way, until the day Richie fucking dies. Because It is right, as much as that sentence makes Richie’s skin crawl; Eddie would never want to kiss a boy, let alone a boy like Richie.

And for the second time that day, Richie swallows down a sense of fear, of panic, of self-loathing, and he runs. Runs and runs and runs until he’s all out of breath. And he doesn’t tell anyone. About any of it. Not the losers, not thoughtful, kind Ben, or strong leader Big Bill. Even when the topic of seeing It comes up, and they all glance at him, waiting for him to chime in, expecting that he’s had the same experience they have.

Richie says nothing.

And this time when his eyes are to drawn to Eddie, as they always are. He doesn’t let himself look.

#me: im on fluff lockdown #me: writes pure ANGST #this is supposed to be a replacement for the paul bunyan scene #just like 10 times more painful #reddie #my writing #its about the yearning

[http-skzhyuns]

be there | skz b.c

a bang chan scenario; heavy angst/fluff warnings: anxiety/panic, depressive themes, mild swearing, mentions of self-hatred, implication of self-harm words: 2k+

a/n: please tell me if there’s something i forgot in the warnings. this is unedited, i haven’t been feeling great for a while now, so i guess, this one is more of a self-indulgent/pep-talk fic or smth. if you have any request or would like to interact, my asks are open :) please remember that if you needed someone to talk to, i’m willing to listen. x 

―

you’ve been spending your whole week inside your apartment. most times, you allow the time to pass by laying on your bed, staring at nothing, or sleeping. you lost count of how many times your phone has rung in the last few days ― you barely even look at it anymore, except for the times you have enough energy to at least tell one person that you’re doing okay and that there’s nothing to worry about.

except, they all knew it’s a lie.

your phone has about 50 notifications from calls and messages you got from the members, your family, and friends. your heart is shattering knowing you’ve put them in great distress by making them worry about you ― hell, if you could just pick up the right amount of energy to communicate and let them in, you’d do so in a heartbeat, just to set their heart and mind at peace.

but, it’s been a long withstanding war between you and your mind when it comes to letting people in and seeing you weak. chan pointed this out to you long before you even entered the relationship, but you just can’t easily put your guard down, especially not when you’ve had it up for years.

your eyes zoomed into the little succulent placed on the corner of your room. it was given to you by chan when you celebrated your birthday last year. since then, it has made its presence known in your room, giving it a bit more personality and magnifying the air of calmness in your little nook. your chest tightened at the memory; you miss chan, you have been mentally beating yourself up since this episode started because all you wanted to do right now is to have chan by your side and have his arms wrapped around you, but your barriers renders you unable to do so.

lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice it when tears suddenly started dripping from your cheek… one… two... until it continuously flowed. your body felt weak, as your week flashed in your mind — the memory appears like a reel behind your lids. how you pretended to be cheerful in your workplace only to come home and be welcomed by the familiar emptiness as soon as you get home. you felt your body crashing on the floor as your chest began tightening. there’s not much room for air in your lungs but the floor is wide enough to fill up with your unrelenting tears.

if only i did things differently, surely, something must have changed? you thought to yourself.

stupid, so fucking stupid.

at this point, even you have no idea what you’re chiding yourself for. your brain will dig up all your memories, even the smallest, inconsequential things that you did — no matter how old it was. you bit your lip trying to reign in your cries, your hands crawled upwards and towards your scalp, tearing through it and locking your hair strands into a tight grip.

your clothes seems to be one of those bad decisions right now; the pair of shorts and ratty t-shirt allows your skin to be in your line of sight. the scars that marred your skin — on usual days, are faded and doesn’t bear any hold over you, for you have learned to accept them after a long warring within yourself. but, in times like this, they’re glaring reminder of everything you wish you haven’t done and a long line of insecurities.

looking down at the faded jagged lines, your eyes from your tears and at last, an anguished cry teared through your throat. fuck, i’m so sorry.

please, you whispered quietly into the empty room.

a loud, incessant ring pierced through your bedroom, making you flinch as it brought you back to reality.

your eyes wildly scanned the room, looking for the source of the sound. even the ringtone was unfamiliar, but as it continuously rang, you realized it was your work phone haphazardly tucked in one of your table drawers. moving sluggishly, you crawled your way near the drawer to get the phone. trying to compose yourself before picking the call up, knowing it’s probably a call from the office, you tried to stabilize your breathing. but, you were shocked to find chan’s name in the caller i.d.

this time, you picked up his call. you didn’t even bother hiding the fact that you were crying. as soon as his soft voice echoed through the speaker, you began to sob.

“y/n? hey? what’s wrong?” chan tried to keep his voice calm.

the ceiling looks empty, you thought to yourself as you tilt your head upward, “i’m sorry.”

chan felt like he was knocked out of air when he heard you apologize brokenly over the phone.

“no…no… you don’t have to be sorry, okay?” he whispered softly, his voice raspy with emotions as he anxiously paced around his studio, looking for his wallet, jacket and his car keys.

he knew there is something wrong the moment you dropped contact from almost everyone last week. he knew from experience that you prefer being left to your own devices until you feel okay enough to acknowledge it. but, even if you refused to let his visit you for long periods of time, he would still come knocking at your door from time to time or blow up your phone until he knows that you’re okay.

this was the very first phone call that you initiated after a week and you were crying, it was enough to bring alarm to chan.

his whole body felt cold, jittery even but he tried to calm himself down so he can safely drive to your place. he kept the phone call going, connecting the call in his car so he can talk to you while driving.

“i.. just… i don’t know, chan,” you whispered raggedly into the phone, the tears never stopping. your head began pounding not too long ago and your body felt tired. but, the tightness in your chest never eased, it’s just there, making you grow uncomfortable as each minute pass by.

“it was just a bunch of stupid decisions i made, but somehow, it still haunts me to this day,” you breathed, choking towards the end of your words. as you closed your eyes, you can almost remember how it felt, the familiar rush you felt — it was never the good kind, and it always fuels your self-hatred after every single line.

the walls and ceilings looks emptier than ever. you clutched  your shirt tightly in your fist, willing the tightening in your chest to ease and the memories to fade along with it.

while his voices appeared calm and gentle to your ears, his insides are on a turmoil, wanting nothing more than to be by your side this instant. he is scared out of his wits, he is terrified of the scene he might see when he reached your apartment. but, at the moment, the fact that you’re still on the line is enough to lessen his fear and nerves.

“baby, listen to me, alright?” his inquiry is met with silence, “y/n, baby, are you listening?” he tried one more time, his voice cracking from its calm façade.

your sobs and low hum was enough of a reply to him, so he decided to continue. “you don’t have to be sorry, okay? your scars are a reminder of a battle that you won and you’ll continue to win.” he trailed off, swallowing back his tears as he nears your place.

“just stay on the line… please… just until the pain subsides,” you whispered into the phone. shirt remaining clutched tightly in your fist with your breathing slightly labored.

he inhaled sharply, “of course, baby. just answer one question for me, okay?” when you replied with a quiet ‘yes’, he continued talking. “you’re not hurt?” there’s a silence between the both of you.

“…i think, i feel empty enough that it hurts.”

“okay,” he breathed in sharply. “okay, wait for me. i’ll be there, baby. for now, I want you to breathe through your nose. follow my counting, okay?” he parked his car before running through your building, being mindful not to alert you of the change in his breathing so he can assist you better during the breathing exercise.

“I’m right outside, okay? it’s okay. you’re doing great, baby,” he assured you before you heard the sound of your door opening and closing and there stood chan looking restless as his eyes frantically look over your body and around it, looking for any sign that you’re hurt. you heard a him dropping the call as your eyes raked over his features, as if it’s making sure that chan is not a figment of your imagination.

finding no sign of you being hurt, he began approaching you, he can’t help the way his heart clenched as he fought his own nerves. you both know it’s not physical pain that you need to be worried about right now. his arms slowly cradled you in a hug as he sank to his knees beside you. once again, your sobs echoed in the room as you desperately clung to him — both feeling relieved and scared; relieved, as you felt the familiar warmth and smell the scent of chan; scared, because this gaping hole you felt inside of you seems bigger than you’ve ever known.

his fingers went to your hair, gently stroking to offer you some comfort and kissing the top of your head.

“you’re doing great, y/n. you’re strong. this isn’t bigger than you. YOU are bigger than this, and if i have to run all the way here or call you every day just to remind you that, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”

chan moved the both of you to your bed. with your head placed on his chest, he continued his ministrations on your hair.

“… when i look at myself, i remember all the things i did in the past and hate myself for it,” you quietly whispered, staring at his shirt.

“…sometimes, when the self-hatred are fostered in my system, it makes me want to cut ties with everyone i love because i feel like i’m bound to hurt or disappoint them at one point,” you continued, occasionally clutching on to his shirt before letting it go.

“i know, i know i’ll always have you and everyone to count on. i know you’re willing to lend me that strength, chan. but, it’s been so long since i last did that, this is all i’ve ever known.”

chan’s hand slowed to a stop before he used both of his arms to hug you. “i know it’s hard for you and i know you’re trying your hardest to change that. but, we’ll be here to help you find your footing. hell, i don’t care how long it takes, progress doesn’t need to have a timeline, y/n.”

“… as long as you keep trying to move forward, that’s all that matters. your past? you’ve grown from that, haven’t you?” he said, his voice tickling your ears. you hugged him tighter, forcing your eyes shut as you try to will your tears away.

“i’m tired of crying,” you whispered.

“it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to let it out. it’s okay to lean on somebody,”

“-- i love you, i’ll always be here for you, okay? you don’t have to shoulder all of this on your own,” he said, kissing the top of your head. you looked up before placing a kiss on his cheek, the kiss lasting a little longer than usual peck. chan knew what the kiss meant – it was you acknowledging him and being grateful for him.

“i’ll pick myself up again,” you whispered, albeit unsure but when you felt chan squeezing your hand in assurance, your anxiety eased and the gaping felt like it shrunk. not by a lot, but enough to let the warmth of the person beside you to seep in. 

“i’ll be there to lend you hand, if you needed one,” and it was enough for you. back to square one, huh? you thought to yourself. maybe not, just a small mishap during the journey, i guess.

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids au #bang chan scenarios #bang chan angst #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #skz au #skz scenarios #skz bang chan #bang chan au #imsorrythisisamess #this took me ages to finish #i was too sad to write or smth #elle.masterlist

[magniloquent-raven]

for the I Love You prompts: harringrove, 20) “You can borrow mine.”

thank you so much for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy what i did with it lol

posted on ao3

--

It’s been two years since the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved to Hawkins, and Billy is still here. He never planned on staying this long—in fact, he started coming up with an escape route the second his boots hit the ground, and yet…

Well, plans change. He didn’t plan on getting stabbed through the chest by a thirty-foot-tall spider demon made of people sludge either, but shit happens. Life happens. Falling in love happens, apparently. Not that Billy thought it would ever happen to him.

But here he is. In Hawkins, Indiana, head-over-fucking-heels, hanging around like a pathetic stray hoping for table scraps of whatever Steve Harrington’s willing to give him. They’re friends now, and Billy’s savouring every moment he can, while it lasts.

Steve asked him, one afternoon, why he was still here. “Figured you’d take off after graduation is all. Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much worth hanging around for,” he’d laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Besides, uh, a lot of bad memories here. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

And Billy hadn’t known what to say. Muttered something about sticking around for Max, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t anywhere close to the whole truth.

He spends a whole lot of time in that grey area. Weaving just enough reality into his cover-stories to make them solid enough to hide behind. It’s fucking exhausting. And sometimes a dangerous line to walk.

Especially since Steve seems to buy into his bullshit less and less lately.

Maybe it’s the fact that dying and coming back changes your perspective a bit, or hanging around Steve so much is making him soft, or some combo of both, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he could let go of it entirely, and just…live honestly.

Which isn’t an option, not really. But sometimes, in the small moments when Steve smiles at him and the weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy, he thinks maybe, maybe, it could be. And it scares him a little. How much he wants it to be an option.

It’s a cold evening in mid-November the first time he really slips.

They’re at Robin’s house, of all places. Despite Billy’s jealousy over the closeness of her and Steve’s friendship, he gets along with Robin. Almost too well, according to Steve.

So, it’s a thing. All three of them hanging out at her place.

Her dad makes awesome mac n’ cheese. Her mom is friendly, but not too friendly. And they let Robin hang out in her room with two boys without making a huge fuss about it.

It’s nice.

Billy almost makes it through the whole evening without doing something stupid, but then Steve (somehow) spills an entire can of Coke on his jacket, and Billy opens his big mouth without thinking.

“You can borrow mine.”

The thing is…Billy doesn’t really get cold anymore. He gets warm still. Way too easily. Sometimes he’ll bundle up just to remind himself he can get warm without it hurting. Without the thing inside him dying of it and destroying him in the process. So, he still wears jackets, sweaters, whatever-- probably more often than he used to, actually-- but he doesn’t need them.

Sometimes he wonders if one day he’ll freeze to death without noticing, or if frostbite isn’t a thing for him anymore. He hasn’t had the balls to test it.

Either way it’s like the world’s dumbest super power. Just another thing reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to remember.

Steve is staring at him. At the jacket in his hand. It’s his leather one. The one Max bought for him after he came back from the hospital. She’d wrapped it up all pretty with a bow and note that said “glad you didn’t die” in purple ink. Susan was mortified when she noticed it but Billy laughed so hard he nearly busted his stitches. 

He’s worn the jacket almost every day since. 

Robin is staring too, with a weird, calculating look in her eye, and he doesn’t like it.

“I…” Steve’s gaze wavers, flickering between Billy’s face and his hand again, “I can just—”

“Just take it, Harrington,” Billy interrupts, hoping the gruffness covers for how pink his cheeks are. He tosses the jacket, and Steve catches it reflexively, still looking at it like he’s not sure it’s real.

“Are you sure?”

Is he sure. That he wants to know what Steve looks like in his jacket? Yes. That he wants anyone else to know that? No.

Billy shrugs, aiming for non-committal. “Not like I need it,” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “Not entirely human anymore, remember?” Bitterness creeps into his tone without his permission.

“Hey,” Steve admonishes. Quietly, softly, but still a reprimand. His eyes are wide, concerned. Billy tries to wave him off, but Steve shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t do that. You’re not a monster.”

“I—” he can’t hold eye contact anymore, not with Steve looking at him like that. He stares at the ugly yellow carpet beneath his feet instead. “Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve responds immediately, tone firm and direct. Because he knows. Knows Billy better than anyone has in a long time. Which is saying something, because Billy is friends with a girl who’s literally been inside his head.

It makes Billy want to curl up in a hole somewhere and never speak again. Run as far as he can. Cry ‘til he can’t anymore. Break shit. Blow up his life and start over. Being known feels so foreign, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

But under that there’s something delicate, warm and fragile, tentative. He’s afraid to get near it. Like it’ll disappear if he looks too closely. Shatter into pieces if he tries to bring it out of hiding.

“Alright. Alright, fine,” Billy mutters weakly. “But just… wear the jacket, okay? Really. I don’t need it. Besides, it’d look good on you.”

Whoops.

Somewhere off to the side Robin makes a small, amused sound, and alarm bells go off in Billy’s head. But before he can completely panic, backpedal and pretend he was joking despite sounding entirely sincere, Steve grins.

They’ve been friends for over a year now and Billy’s world still stops for a moment when Steve smiles at him.

And then he puts the jacket on and…

Wow.

Okay.

Billy has always liked looking at Steve. He’s never really hidden that fact, just banked on nobody figuring out the why of it. He’s aware-- painfully aware-- that Steve is incredibly gorgeous. 

But this is...

This just isn’t fair.

Steve looks a little sheepish, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head. And he’s blushing. It’s faint, barely-there, just a light pink tinge to his cheeks that nobody would’ve noticed if they weren’t paying close attention, which. Well. Billy is. 

He wants to feel it under his palms, feel the warmth of it. Wants to know if he can make that blush spread, see how far it would go, chase that heat with his mouth, drop to his knees and watch Steve come undone. He wants--

So much.

He’s sure it’s written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well?” Steve raises his eyebrows, grin turning teasing as he spreads his arms, glancing down at himself pointedly. 

Billy clears his throat. Blinks. “Suits you,” he answers after a too-long pause. 

“Can we go now?” Robin interjects, rolling her eyes. Her tone is more fond than exasperated, but Billy still flinches a little.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze flicking over to Steve for a second before he looks back at Robin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He “forgets” to ask for his jacket back before he goes home that night. There’s no guarantee that Steve would wear it again, but Billy can hope. 

And for once in his life, he gets what he wants. Steve starts wearing it all the time. But Billy’s starting to see why people say “be careful what you wish for” because the whole situation is a very mixed blessing. 

He keeps catching Robin giving him weird looks, and, really, he can’t blame her because he’s been so unsubtle lately, it’s embarrassing. And terrifying. Because it’s going to get him noticed by the wrong person someday. 

But he can’t fucking help it, not when Steve’s walking around looking like that. 

Though, Steve’s been acting odd too. Staring at Billy when he thinks no one’s looking, face all pinched and thoughtful. It’s getting worrying. 

Then one afternoon Billy walks into Family Video and Steve pulls him into the back room. No hello or anything, just a hand around Billy’s wrist and a determined set to his jaw. 

He locks the door behind them.

“Steve?”

“I talked to Max this morning.” 

“O...kay?”

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still wrapped around Billy’s wrist. “She said. Um. That jacket was a gift?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Yeah, so?” Billy flinches at his own tone but Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. His grip tightens, fingertips pressed to Billy’s skin hard enough to feel his pulse pounding. 

Steve takes a step forward. They’re close enough that Billy can see the purple shadows under Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t get enough sleep. Always asking Billy if he’s still having nightmares, never worrying about his own. Billy’s heart aches, and he hopes Robin will take care of Steve if this conversation ends his and Steve’s friendship. Someone needs to look after this boy if Billy isn’t there to do it. 

He hates that thought.

“So, I… Billy, why’d you give it to me?”

“Because…” Panic hits him hard, belatedly, as he tries to imagine actually answering that question. His stomach clenches, flips, and he curls in on himself. “Because you needed it,” he finishes lamely. 

But of course Steve sees through him, of course he does. “Really?” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy snaps, nervous energy making him jittery, he feels cornered, caught up in all the ways this could blow up in his face, trapped. He calms down a smidge when regret hits him, and he takes a breath, hates himself a little for snapping. 

“I want you to tell me it meant something, asshole.”

Billy freezes. 

He looks up at Steve, really looks at him, sees tension in his shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth, uncertainty in his eyes. 

Oh.

“You...really?” Billy breathes, quietly, terrified of shattering the moment. “It does--it--it did, I--” Words have never failed him so completely. He used to be good at this. It would be utterly mortifying if not for the sweet smile spreading across Steve’s face. He’s strangely okay with making a fool of himself if it means Steve looking at him like that. “I wanted…” he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, “I wanted to take care of you. I always...want that. You needed something and I--I’d give you anything--” 

Steve’s hands are warm. He cradles Billy’s face gently, so careful, and tilts his face upwards until Billy meets his eyes. 

“Anything?” 

Well. No turning back now. Might as well embrace this whole honesty thing. “Yeah, pretty boy. Anything. Besides, you look hot as fuck in leather.”

Steve grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he lets out a huff of a delighted laugh. “In that case, I’m gonna need you to kiss me--”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before Billy lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s messy at first, desperate, Billy’s fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. A whine escapes him (that he would deny later) when Steve pulls back, but he’s only gone for a second. He presses forward again, but gentler this time, slow, one hand falling to Billy’s waist and the other sliding to the back of his neck. 

Billy could’ve stayed like this forever, but a loud, insistent knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Steve, I don’t care if you’re mid-BJ right now, it’s my break, and you locked yourself in there with my stuff!” Robin yells through the door. 

Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and he muffles a laugh into his shirt. “Goddamnit, Robin,” he mutters, and lifts his head to glare at the door, “Alright!” he calls, then turns to Billy. “To be continued?” There’s a question in his eyes, more than what he’s saying out loud.

Billy brushes a lock of hair from his face, and grins, “Count on it.”

#harringrove fic #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #a raven's writing desk

[jomarchlover]

Heather

Hi guys! This is my first fanfic that I have ever posted, so sorry if it’s a little cringey or something. I hope y’all enjoy! Love you guys<3

Summary: You are a new member of the stranger things cast and you are getting interviewed with the rest of the cast.

Lots of fluff and gender neutral.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of anxiety and feeling less than.

—————————————————————————-

“So y/n were you scared to start working with your other cast members since you came in on the third season?” The interviewer asked looking over at you expectantly.

“Um yes I was extremely scared. I felt so anxious the entire casting process and then I was so happy to get the role, but then I started feeling really anxious again thinking about how I was going to be acting around some really talented people and of course I didn’t want to mess up and ruin the production. Before I first met the cast I cried for like an hour and finally my mom told me just be the best you can be and so I walked in there with my head held high and immediately went to the farthest corner away from everybody. I was so shy for about the first three weeks of filming but I realized it was affecting my acting so I decided to just completely go for it and be myself and I am so glad I did, because I have made some of the best friends possible.” You rambled on. Slightly blushing after realizing you had just revealed a lot about yourself.

“Oh y/n/n you're going to make us cry” Finn said wiping away fake tears. The heat instantly started rushing into your cheeks. You had liked Finn since the first time you met. He was so cute and nice and also liked similar bands to you. You guys instantly bonded over your love of vinyl.

“Yeah y/n was so shy when they first came on the show we all thought at first they just didn’t like us, but it didn’t take much for us to realize they were just nervous to talk to everyone. The duffers even came to us and told us that at first y/n would probably be very shy but would slowly begin to open up to us. I remember the first time they laughed at a joke and everyone just kinda stopped and looked at them. They have one of the sweetest laughs.” Milly said.

Your heart warmed to Millie’s compliment and you gave her a little kpop heart while blushing. You should really get this blushing under control. It was getting ridiculous at this point.

“Oh y/n/n don’t get all embarrassed on us.” Caleb says laughing reaching over to pinch one of your now inflamed cheeks.

“Sorry I just get so embarrassed remembering how shy I was. I have grown so much since then, and the cast has really helped me gain so much confidence.” You said honestly looking at the interviewer.

“Y/n is like the cast���s baby.” Finn says looking over you.

“I am not.” They reply sassily. Everybody busts out laughing.

“Okay now the next question is for Finn.” The interviewer says looking over at Finn with an evil glint in his eye. You began to feel nervous. He was going to get a bad question wasn’t he.

“Shoot,” Finn says nonchalantly.

“I heard a rumor that you had a crush on one of your castmates while filming. Is this true?”

Now it was Finn’s turn to begin blushing. You had never heard of him having a crush on someone before. Was it Milly? You had thought you and Finn were pretty good friends now why wouldn’t he have told you?

“Man where do you guys get this info? You gotta tell me your source man.” Says Finn jokingly.

“Oh come on now don’t be shy Finny, tell the nice man the truth.” Milly said in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah come on Finn,” said Noah in the back. “Don't be shy.”

“Umm well I guess I may have had a small crush on one of the cast members.”

“Can we hear any details?”

“Well I’m not going to give any details but they are one of the sweetest, most beautiful people in the entire world and I still can’t believe that I was so lucky to even work in the same room as them.

“Wow that doesn’t sound like a little crush that sounds a lot like love my friend.” The interviewer says jokingly to Finn.

After that little escapade the interview seemed to end quite shortly after. It had actually been a lot of fun. You had never been interviewed on tv before, but still even amidst all the excitement you couldn’t help but think back to Finn's crush. Who was it? Was it Natalia? Maya? Sadie? Gaten? There were so many options each of your castmates were extremely beautiful and talented and smart, in a way that you could never be. Your mood immediately dampened thinking of that. In the words of Conan Gray “I wish I were Heather,” right about now. You continued walking along with the cast back to the suv that had taken you to the interview. You were first to the car so you did the courteous thing and climbed into the very back row. Finn right at your heels. Noah and Millie sat in the next row and Caleb sat in the front seat. Each of you had a lot of space since Gaten and Sadie didn’t come to this interview due to scheduling conflicts, yet Finn still sat so close to you could feel your leg touching against his.

Not five minutes into the ride everyone except you and Finn were immersed into a very loud and heated discussion about their thoughts on whether or not the french fries from McDonalds tasted better than the french fries from Wendy’s. Personally you didn’t like french fries so you just continued to stare out of the window to look at the scenery.

After a minute or two you felt two eyes boring into the side of your head, you turned slightly to your right and saw that finn was staring at you. Why was he looking at you? Dang you had a booger didn’t you? Oh god if you had a booger and finn saw it you would probably die from embarrassment.

“Okay I can’t handle not knowing do I have something on my face? Please just tell me.” You said turning fully towards finn and looking deep into his dark brown eyes.

“You.. uh. No..you don’t.. I just.. ugh. “

You sat patiently waiting for him to finish. Still staring at him expectantly he visibly sighed and looked back towards you.

“I mean no you don’t have any thing on your face other than your facial features.”

You laughed a little noticing his odd wording.

“Well that is good to hear because I thought I saw you looking at me and wasn’t for sure If I did or not.”

Finn let out a small jittery chuckle “No. Nope. You're totally good. Everythings good. I'm good. YOu're good. You look goo-.”

Your eyes widened, was he just about to say you looked good? Did he think you were pretty? No get that out of your head he clearly likes someone else, someone you're probably friends with and like too. Now that you couldn’t get your mind off of the topic again you decided to be brave and ask him about it.

“So..” You said turning your head towards him. He looked back at you looking nervous about what you were gonna say next. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because I know it’s none of my business, but how come you never told me you had a crush on one of our cast mates?

“Oh so you heard that.” He said, turning his head to look down at his feet.

“Well yeah I think everyone heard that.” You said sarcastically. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to tell me but if you wanna talk about it I can keep a pretty good secret.”

“Oh I know that. Remember that one time Sadie whispered something to you and you couldn’t stop laughing for like three hours straight? Filming literally got pushed back a day, and you wouldn’t tell anyone what she had told you because she asked you to keep it a secret.”

You felt yourself giggling thinking about what she had told you trying to get a reign on yourself you forced yourself to stop focusing on the joke and start focusing on something else. “Wow I’m surprised you remember that if I'm being completely honest. I mean you weren’t even in that scene.”

“Yeah but I like to watch you.” His eyes widened and he suddenly turned to look at your reaction. “I mean I like to watch you act because you’re a great actor/actress.”

Your cheeks began to redden at his words. He likes to watch you. He liked to watch you. He thought you were a great actor/actress. You kept repeating his words in your head and you felt yourself get more giddy each time you rethought of his previous words.

“You’re a pretty good actor yourself Mr. Wolfhard.”

“Thank you.” Now Finn was blushing. He looked so cute when he blushed. Well really he looked so cute when he did anything. You suddenly felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Gosh you wished you could just kiss his freckled cheeks. Sadly, you thought that might give away that you have a crush on him. You knew you were staring but you just couldn’t make yourself stop. He was so gorgeous.

You both quickly made eye contact and looked away at each other. He likes someone else you had to repeat to yourself. You felt nauseous thinking about Finn with someone else but you wanted your friend to be happy. You were so curious so you decided to bring it up one last time.

“So do I get to know who the lucky person is that you have your eyes set on? I’ll even guess and you can tell me if I get it right or wrong if you are comfortable with that.”

“Yeah I don’t think you’ll guess correctly but you can try.”

You sat for a second and tried to think of everything that was said about this person. “Okay well apparently they are one of our cast mates and they’re very sweet, beautiful and talented. That could really be anyone now that i’m thinking about it.” You began stroking your imaginary beard.

Finn was just watching you with an amused look on his face.

“Okay I have my first official guess.”

“And who would that be my love?”

“The only person who I truly believe matches that description is David.” You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself.

“OMG how did you know?!” Finn says dramatically.

Tapping your forehead you whispered in your best british accent, “Just a brilliant mind I guess.”

“You are so close yet so far away from the correct answer.” Finn said in mock disappointment.

“Hmm who could it be. Who could it be.” As soon as you finished talking Millie's joyful laugh ripped through the van, and as you turned to Finn as he turned to Millie. You immediately knew who he liked. He liked- no loved Millie as the interviewer had put it. You could never compete with her. Milly was confident, gorgeous, kind and smart. All things that you seriously lacked.

Once everything died back down Finn turned to you and said, “Okay final answer. If you get this one wrong I guess you'll never know who The Finn Wolfhard likes.” After seeing the loving look he gave Millie you really didn’t want to keep playing this stupid game. It was clear to you now all the moments that you had ignored between them but you couldn’t continue to do that. There was clearly a lot of chemistry between the two, and who were you to stand in between that?

“Okay but for real I know who you like.” You said suddenly leaned closer to make sure not to give away the secret to prying ears. As much as you loved them you wouldn’t tell Finn’s secret no matter what.

“It’s Millie.”

Finn suddenly gave you a baffled look. “Wow for a second I thought you were going to say the correct answer, but clearly not.”

“Don’t be rude and you don’t have to lie to me anymore. Jokes over. I know the truth and so do you.” You turned back away the second you felt the tears begin to burn at the back of your eyes. Oh no. This was just great you were going to start sobbing next to your crush just because he doesn’t like you. You felt so pathetic. You never thought a boy would have this much hold over you. How had you even let this happen? This is absolutely ridiculous.

Almost as if he could sense you getting upset Finn leaned in close to you and whispered into your ear, “I don’t like Millie. I only have eyes for one person and they’re sitting right next to me.”

You didn’t turn around but you knew he saw your back stiffen as soon as he said the words.

“If this is a joke I will never speak to you again.” You said slowly turning towards him wiping the tears away from your eyes.

“I would never joke about something this important y/n/n. The first time I saw you, I immediately knew I wanted to be your everything. You make me feel a way no one else ever has. I get all tongue tied around you and I get butterflies in my stomach, but it’s so worth it if I get to be by your side even for a second. I have loved you and will continue to love you for the rest of my life.”

You were in disbelief at his words. You would've never imagined he could have ever felt this way about you.

“I feel the same way about you, Finny. You’re the sweetest person I have ever met.”

And then you were both smiling like fools at each other. You probably stared at each other for ten minutes straight before you each turned away. But you let out a happy sigh when Finn’s hand found your own and you intertwined your pinky’s together.

That's how you sat for the rest of the ride. Neither of you spoke or looked at each other. You both just continued to look out of the windows and revel in the fact that you both liked each other.

#finnwolfhardimagine #finn wolfhard #strangerthingsimagine #strangerthingscastimagine #fluff #imagine finn woldfhard #stranger things #stranger things cast imagine #stranger things imagine

[three-drink-amy]

A Walk in Time

Thank you to @outlanderlush​ and @iamnottrisha​ for putting this fun challenge together! My beautiful moodboard was made by @gastairfad​!! I hope this story is worth your creation! 

“You can’t be serious,” Joe said to me. 

I shrugged and insisted that I was. 

“That’s insane, Claire.” 

“Lamb did it,” I reminded him. Somehow, my uncle had become the standard for both of us. 

“Lamb’s dead.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Not because of this.” I crossed my arms. “If you recall, he did the same thing when he was around my age. That’s how we know it works. I can’t believe we found it again.” 

“I can’t believe you actually want to try it. It’s crazy. You could die. You could get stuck there. What would you do if you were never able to come back?” Joe asked. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a risk I have to take.” 

“You don’t have to take it. You could just be a normal, rational person who doesn’t try to go hopping through time for their own pleasure. You could just stay in the 21st century where you belong.” 

“I mean, you have to understand where I’m coming from,” I appealed to him. “Imagine getting to experience history firsthand!” 

“I wish Lamb had never told you it was possible,” Joe sighed. “I knew once you tracked it down again, you’d never let it go.” 

“If you weren’t so scared of the unknown, you would be doing the same thing,” I argued. 

“It’s not that I’m scared of the unknown, it’s that I don’t want to take the risk.” 

I sat down in my chair with a sigh. “Well, Lamb was the last family I had, and he’s been gone for over a year now. I guess it’s not as big a risk for me.” 

“And what if you get stuck there and you can’t get back?” 

I was silent for a long moment before I answered. “I know a considerable amount about that time period. It’s a perk of being a historian while also having been raised by one. I think I could theoretically handle it for a time.” 

Joe looked skeptical. “It’s a totally different thing to be familiar with the conditions and actually living through them.” 

“Well, obviously. But, Joe, it’s two days. I can make it through two days. The space opens between time for forty-eight hours. I’m going to go through at midnight and be back by the time it closes.” 

“And if you can’t get back in time?” 

“Then I suppose I’ll spend a year there and return the next time it opens,” I said, far too casually. 

“What if the portal moves again?” Joe asked. “If I recall correctly, your uncle went through the portal and came back in Scotland. And then it shifted and he never found it again.” 

“We aren’t going to have to worry about that, because I’ll make it back in forty-eight hours,” I retorted. I had secretly wondered about that possibility, but I couldn’t let Joe know I was concerned. From the other stories I’d heard of people who used the portal for short time jumps and came back, it took years before it shifted again. But when it did, there was no telling where it would be. I’d used all of my luck tracking it down in Venice. After hearing Lamb’s stories, I was desperate to have my own chance with such a phenomenon. 

The idea of going back to another time was far too enticing to let it go. 

“So, you think you can steer yourself back to a specific time?” Joe asked, seemingly finally accepting that I’d made my decision. 

I nodded. “Yes, that’s what Lamb told me.” 

“And you have the proper clothing for the time you’re attempting to get to?” 

“I do.” 

“When is it open again?” 

“Tomorrow at midnight,” I said, the excitement building up in me. 

Joe sighed. “I don’t approve, but I’ll be there.” 

“I know you don’t, and I appreciate your physical support,” I told him with a smile. As my colleague, Joe and I had been through a lot together. I knew how crazy he thought I was — because he told me constantly — but he was still there, ready to help me. 

Once I’d tracked down the portal, I’d had a single-minded focus of how to get through it, how to dress, how to survive in a time so different from my own. I’d made preparations for the two magical days where I was going to walk through time and be a part of history for forty-eight hours. It would be a short sample of time, but it would be extraordinary no matter what. I could barely contain my excitement about this upcoming trip through time. Joe was the only person I could share my giddiness with and he was less than excited for me. 

It didn’t matter though, I was doing this and I couldn’t wait. I had a mere thirty-six hours left before I got to go through. Joe, ever the practical pessimist, insisted that I make sure things were square in this century in case, somehow, I couldn’t return. I hated his cynicism, but he did make a good point. I didn’t have much and I decided to leave it all to him just in case. There wasn’t any family left for me in the world. Joe was the closest thing. So he gets it all if I get stuck. But I won’t, so it would all have been for nothing, anyway. 

I started to feel jittery as I put on layer after layer of traditional dress in the eighteenth century. I took in as deep a breath as I could, given the tight corset I was wearing. My hands started to shake as I finished tying laces and fixing skirts. I was excited, but I was also nervous. This wasn’t just an ordinary research trip. I’d been on plenty of those throughout my entire life. This was certainly riskier. I could understand why Joe was nervous for me. But I’d made up my mind and I was doing this. It was the chance of a lifetime and I was about to embrace it. 

Joe knocked on my door at 11:00. He knew I wanted to get to the portal early so I didn’t miss a minute of my time in the past. Joe, of course, kept insisting that I go through at a normal hour so (theoretically) I wouldn’t end up in the past at night, in a time and city I was less than familiar with. I wouldn’t risk losing any time I had to explore the past, so I ignored him. 

I opened the door, smiling faintly, and gestured down to my attire. “Think I’ll do?” 

Joe returned my smile, though he looked a bit sad. “I think you will. You look stunning.” 

I brought him in for a hug before he could protest. “Thank you.” 

“I may be escorting you to the actual site where you’re going to do this, but don’t mistake this for support,” Joe said as we walked down the empty streets of Venice. I was sure I stood out like a sore thumb. It was a good thing there were very few people out and about. 

We’d tracked down the portal to a random alley off the Lagoon. It was early, yet, but we paced nearby, unable to sit still until the time came. Joe had an alarm set on his phone that went off five minutes before midnight. Our eyes locked, both of us growing increasingly nervous. Joe pulled me in for a long hug. 

“You’re smart and you know what you’re doing,” he reminded me. I nodded against his shoulder. “So keep being smart and keep your head up. Don’t be caught off guard.” 

“I won’t.” 

“And I better see you in two days time,” he said. Pulling back, he shot me a significant look. 

“You will,” I promised him. 

We hugged one more time and I turned toward the portal. It was a small fountain that hung on the wall. By all accounts, it looked old and rusty, dirty and unimportant. But for me, it was so important. Joe watched the clock on his phone, counting down for me as we got closer and closer to midnight. 

“Good luck, Beauchamp,” he said, flashing me an encouraging smile. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, Joe,” I replied. “And even so, I love you.” 

He rolled his eyes, a smile following after. “Love you, too. Five, four, three, two, one.” He took a deep breath. “Be on your way, Claire. And be careful.” 

“I will!” I gave him one last look before reaching my hand out and laying it against the fountain. 

It started to glow as my hand made contact. I could hear Joe gasp behind me, but I couldn’t pay any attention. My mind flashed to the time period I hoped to go to. I said the year over and over again in my mind, willing the portal to steer me there. The glowing became stronger and stronger til I was surrounded by it. I could see nothing behind me but light and the only thing I could see in front of me was the fountain. My body felt like it was starting to constrict. Everything felt tight around me and inside me. I started to fight for my breath and then it was over. The light was gone and I was standing in the same place I’d been standing before. I took a deep breath, feeling sad that the portal must not have worked. I turned to Joe to lament, but he was gone. It was my turn to gasp. I looked around and noticed that any modern touches of the 21st century had disappeared as well. 

With a laugh and a gasp, I turned back to the fountain. “It worked,” I sighed. I walked back toward the canals, looking up and down the road. I couldn’t believe that it had actually worked. I started walking off in the direction that Joe and I had come from in the 21st century. Joe had been insisting that I shouldn’t be out at night. My main goal was to find a tavern to grant me a room. It would still count as experiencing history, even if I wasn’t out on the streets. 

I knew I wouldn’t sleep, but I could plan. 

I wandered down the streets, keeping my eyes roving for both historical significance and potential dangers. Following the same path I’d walked before, I came across a tavern in a very special place. It was the same place my hotel had been standing 275 years in the future. I stared up at it in awe for a moment before a sound down the road grabbed my attention. It sounded like a scuffle breaking out. Half of me was curious and wanted to go investigate. The other half of me — my sense of self-preservation — told me to go inside. Somehow, my inner protective voice sounded a lot like Joe. Listening to the clearly wiser voice, I went inside. 

A kind older woman looked up at me as I walked in. There was a taproom off to one side and a desk where she sat off to the other side. “You wouldn’t by chance have a room for a traveler,” I asked. The woman seemed surprised by my British accent. 

“Why, you’re no’ Venetian,” she remarked. 

I picked up her Scottish accent. “Why, neither are you,” I replied, a smile growing on my face. 

She shook her head. “My husband moved me here years ago. There are but a few of us Scots here in Venice. And they find us an odd bunch.” 

“I’m sure they’ll find a solitary English woman just as odd.” 

“Likely so,” she said with a knowing smile. “So ye’re needing a room?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Well, luckily, we do have one available. Let me show ye the way.” She stepped out from behind the desk, grabbing a key, and leading me up a set of stairs. I marveled at the building and it’s antique (though not at this time) structure. It was incredible to be experiencing such a place. 

The kind woman opened the door for me and showed me what I needed. I nodded with a smile to her. “Thank you so much, uh…” I trailed off, not knowing what to call her. 

“Ye can call me Mrs. Fitz,” she said. 

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Fitz.” 

I spent a few hours writing down things in the journal I’d smuggled in my skirts. Things I’d observed, things I planned to find once it was daytime. I noted the kindly Mrs. Fitz and the fact that I’d found a Scot in Venice. My jitters had been keeping me awake for the past few days. Even though I didn’t want to, I succumbed to sleep, hoping it would only be for a few hours. Without an alarm clock, I was risking a lot. 

The tolling of a bell tower woke me hours later. I sat up, breathing hard, unsure of what time it actually was. The lack of clocks was my first frustration. The sun did not seem to be very high in the sky as I peered out my window. I assumed it was still early enough in the morning and I hadn’t missed prime exploring hours. 

I straightened my skirts and ran down the stairs, eager to go outside again. Mrs. Fitz stopped me at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought ye’d be hungry,” she said, pointing me to a small breakfast ready on one of the tables in the taproom. 

Her kindness was astounding to me. I knew most Scots in this time hated the British. I couldn’t really understand why she was being so generous to me. Perhaps she missed her home, even with the British creeping into it. I thanked her profusely and sat down to eat quickly. Eating at my usual, far too fast pace, I threw back the breakfast, taking note of the eighteenth century meal, while also trying not to taste it.

I left right after my breakfast, telling Mrs. Fitz I was off to see some people. She didn’t ask more than that and I was relieved. Wandering around the city was breathtaking. While some buildings looked familiar, others did not. The mixture of architecture that would stand the test of time and buildings that looked like they were already in disrepair was astounding. Its citizens were already bustling about their days. I tried to keep pace with the people walking around me, instead of stopping every few steps to take it all in. Even if that was what I wanted to do. 

After walking for an undetermined amount of time, I found myself in front of St. Mark’s. I breathed out in awe. It looked the same, and somehow different. In this time, it had already been standing for hundreds of years. Another couple hundred must not have altered it all too much. I’d spent weeks in Venice in the 21st century, tracking down the portal. Standing at St. Mark’s felt like finding a friend in a crowd of strangers. It was comfortingly familiar. 

I turned around to the square behind me, looking at daily life unfolding before me. My hand was itching to take out my journal and note my findings. Of course, I couldn’t. 

Turning from the basilica and the square at large, I tried to rejoin the bustle. Everyone had somewhere to be. Well, everyone except me. 

As I kept walking, my foot caught on a cobblestone and I pitched forward. My hands flew out in front of me, preparing to catch myself. Instead, a strong set of arms grabbed around my abdomen, keeping me from hitting the ground. I looked up in shock, meeting a pair of striking blue eyes. A gasp escaped from me before I could stop it. My hands gripped his arms as he continued to hold me. 

“Are ye alright?” he asked me. 

Another Scot. How was this possible? 

“Yes, thanks to you,” I replied, trying to catch my breath. I wasn’t so sure if it was the fall or the stranger that had made me lose it in the first place. 

“But of course, lass. Happy to help,” he said, his tricorn tipping slightly. He removed his hands from around me. I realized my hands were still on his arms and I slowly removed them. I could almost feel the loss. 

“You saved me from marking up my face, so I greatly appreciate it,” I added, unsure of what to say. All I knew was that I didn’t really want to part ways. 

He smiled, glancing at my face before meeting my eyes again. “It would be a real shame to let a face such as yers be marked.” 

I felt my cheeks grow warm and knew a (likely embarrassing) blush was spreading. “Well, thank you.” 

“Ye’re a sassenach,” he remarked. 

I looked up at him, recognizing the word he used. I’d spent time enough in Scotland with Uncle Lamb to know the insult. “Excuse me?” 

“I dinna mean it as an insult,” he quickly covered. “Just surprising to find an English woman in Italy.” 

One brow raised in reply. “Imagine my surprise to find a Scot.” 

There was a long silence between us, neither quite knowing what to say. Finally, he cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. “Weel, I’m afraid I must be going. I’ve business to attend to.” 

I almost felt disappointed. It was silly. He tipped his hat to me and started to walk past me. “Wait!” I called impulsively. He turned around and gave me a confused look. “You haven’t even given me your name.” 

He almost looked amused as he took the few steps back toward me. “Of course. Where are my manners?” He nodded toward me. “The name’s James Fraser.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, James Fraser,” I replied. “And thank you, once again.” He shot me an expectant look. I laughed when I realized I hadn’t given my name in return. “I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.” 

“Pleasure to meet ye as well, Mistress Beauchamp.” He smiled at me, though it held a hint of sadness. “I really must be off.” 

“Of course. Until next time,” I said, knowing regretfully that there wouldn’t be a next time. 

I watched him leave, his tall figure just visible over the crowd. Never in my life had such a simple interaction left me feeling so many things in such a short time. Perhaps it was the past that was messing with me. Or perhaps James Fraser was just a captivating man. 

Or perhaps it was both. 

I spent the rest of my day wandering around the city, taking breaks here and there to rest. My mission was to absorb as much history as I could in the short stay I had in the past. Somehow, no matter where I went, my eyes locked on any particularly tall person, wondering if it was Mr. Fraser. His blue eyes and striking smile had been stuck in my mind all day. 

When I returned to the tavern late in the evening, Mrs. Fitz was ready for me. She quickly began interrogating me about my day, making sure I’d eaten and had taken care to avoid bad parts of the city. I regaled her with my explorations, happily telling her about the things I’d seen and experienced. I left out the part about meeting James Fraser. For whatever reason, I wanted to keep it to myself. I half-wondered if she’d know the fellow Scot. 

“Now, did ye hear anything about the ball tomorrow?” she asked, pushing a bowl of some sort of soup at me.

“A ball?” I asked. 

“Well, a masquerade, really,” she corrected. “It’s to be a large to do. Ye should go.” 

I watched her, trying to make up my mind. It would be quite an experience to attend an eighteenth century masquerade. I would need to be quite aware of the time though, so I didn’t miss the portal before it closed. Joe would kill me if I had to spend a whole year here. 

“It sounds intriguing, but I wouldn’t have anything to wear,” I told her. 

Mrs. Fitz smiled mischievously. “Not to worry. I’ll find something perfect. I know people.” 

Her comment worried me slightly, but not enough to ask her not to try. A thrum of excitement passed over me as I thought of what could happen at an event like this. 

The next day started in almost the exact way. I wandered through the city again. My travels ended earlier as I needed to return to the tavern so Mrs. Fitz could help me get ready for the masquerade. She seemed all too giddy to dress me up in a big, elaborate, and beautiful gown. I glanced down at the black dress with gold accents and was mesmerized by it. I’d never worn something so ornate in my life. Giving me a once over, she seemed to deem me masquerade-ready. With a proud smile, she handed me a mask. 

“Ye’ll need that for the party,” she said, nodding to it. I held it in my hand, noting the white mask with the gold trim. It would work well with my dress for sure. 

I’d never been to a masquerade party in the 21st century. I remembered that a friend in college had gone to one and said she’d found it creepy. It would be an interesting function, no doubt. I didn’t know a soul in Venice except for Mrs. Fitz. My brain was all too fast to supply the image of Mr. Fraser as well. I rolled my eyes at myself and picked up my skirts, ready to head to the masquerade.

My plan was to be as aware of the time as possible so I could get back to the tavern and grab my original dress before heading to the portal. Theoretically, it would all work out. 

Mrs. Fitz and I walked through the streets of Venice til we reached a beautiful, palatial building. We both stared up at it for a moment before looking back at each other. With a nod, we started climbing the steps and following the procession of people entering the building. 

It was an incredible sight. The ballroom was breathtaking, outfitted in marble and sprinkled with gold statues. I was in historian’s heaven. I looked around at the other people there. The dresses were all as elaborate as mine, all faces covered with intricate masks. The skirts swirled as the ladies danced, fabric flowing around them in a dizzying array of colors. 

I watched the dancing from afar. The steps were foreign to me and I did not want to stick out. I held my mask dutifully in front of my face. I’d lost Mrs. Fitz a while ago when she found people she knew. Every now and then, I peered around, trying to see if I recognized the dress or mask she was wearing. Most people’s masks were tied around their heads. Mine was a handheld mask. I was grateful for the ability to remove it when I was growing overheated. 

I was standing near the door to the courtyard when a man walked past me, bumping into me slightly. “My apologies, Madam,” he said quickly. 

“Not to worry,” I replied immediately. My brain was focused on his voice. I knew that voice. “Mr. Fraser?” I asked, hoping I was right. 

He’d stopped as I spoke and watched me. Slowly, he reached up and removed his mask. With a heartstopping smile, he greeted me. “Mistress Beauchamp.” 

“Pleasure to see you again,” I said. 

He grabbed my hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. “And ye.” His eyes looked over my shoulder, to the room at large. “I was just stepping away from the…merriment for a moment. Would you care to join me?” 

I felt a smile overtake my face. I nodded. “Of course. Unless of course you have other business to attend to,” I teased. 

He rewarded me with a laugh. “None tonight. Thankfully.” 

His hand was still around mine as he started out the door and I followed him. He walked into the courtyard, the moon beaming down at us. Looking almost regretful, he released my hand. 

“It’s a beautiful evening,” I remarked, looking up at the stars. 

“Aye.” 

My gaze turned to him. “So, what is a Scot doing in Venice?” I asked. 

He cleared his throat, looking back at me. “I have an uncle in France who runs a wine business. He wanted to expand it to Italy and asked me if I would run it for him. I would have been a fool to say no.” 

“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity.” 

“Indeed,” he agreed. “I came here after I left the university in France.” 

“Do you miss Scotland?” I asked. 

“Every day,” he told me. “But this is where I need to be right now.” I nodded in understanding. “And what about ye? What brings a sassenach to Venice?” 

I laughed at his term this time, hoping a plausible answer would present itself as I laughed. “I don’t have much of a home. I was raised by my uncle and he traveled everywhere and took me right along with him. It was unusual, of course, but I enjoyed it. I suppose I’ve tried to carry on some of the same life.” 

“Ye dinna wish to settle down?” he asked. 

“Maybe someday.” I shrugged, my arms crossing at my abdomen. “But not just now.” 

His eyes lingered on me. “That’s mighty brave for a lass to travel the world by herself,” he remarked. 

“Some might call it dangerous.” 

He stepped closer to me. “That they might.” 

I felt drawn to him, just as I had yesterday. My suspicion had been correct — he was just a captivating man. “But you think it’s brave, James?” I asked. 

He nodded to me. “Aye.” Taking a breath, his hand found mine again. “And ye can call me Jamie.” 

A smile spread across my face again. “Okay then, Jamie.” 

Jamie led me over to a bench in the courtyard and we continued talking. He told me of his upbringing in Scotland and how proud his father had been when he’d gone to school in France. His father had encouraged him to take the job his cousin had offered him. In turn, I talked as much as I could about my life. The places I’d gone with Lamb, the life we’d lived on the road. 

I had no way of knowing how long we’d been talking. It had felt like minutes and hours at the same time. Looking up at the surrounding buildings, I found a clocktower. I still had a few blessed hours before I had to leave. 

“Where is the most fascinating place ye’ve been?” he asked me. 

Looking up at him, I couldn’t help but stare. We were sitting close, his beautiful eyes boring into me. Under his gaze, I felt my breath grow short. I shrugged in reply. “I don’t know. This might be it.” 

A hushed silence fell over us as he stared back at me. I knew what my body was telling me to do. Instead, I sat still. Jamie, on the other hand, leaned slowly toward me. He was giving me the chance to move away. But I wouldn’t. We inched closer to each other. His eyes flickered down to my lips seconds before his pressed against mine. 

Our kiss was tentative at first. With a sigh, I leaned in, pressing my lips more firmly to his. I felt his hand cup my cheek as he deepened the kiss. My lips parted and his tongue found mine, dancing together delightfully. We were wrapped up in each other, in a passionate, wonderful kiss. While I was with Jamie, I seemed to forget that I was from another century, that I was due to return in a few hours. With him, I was just there, happy and alight. We broke apart slowly, just as we’d started. His eyes opened and looked at me almost nervously. When I smiled at him, his thumb began to stroke my cheek where his hand still lingered. 

The sound from the ballroom grew louder as the door to the courtyard opened again. Jamie and I scooted further apart, though his hand grabbed mine. We weren’t alone in the courtyard any longer. He squeezed my hand, standing up and staring down at me. “Would ye like to dance with me?” he asked. His head inclined back toward the ballroom. 

“I don’t know how to,” I confessed. I stared down at my lap. 

He squeezed my hand again, pulling me to my feet this time. I looked up at him in surprise as he drew me close. “Dinna worry. I willna let ye fall,” he said with a knowing grin. Both of us were clearly thinking of our first meeting.  I nodded to him in agreement and he led us back to the ballroom. 

Our masks had been forgotten in the courtyard, leaving us as the only two dancing without covered faces. He could see my nerves as he drew me close, closer than the other couples. I didn’t mind the proximity. His hand was at my waist, guiding me and keeping me close. Instead of looking around me, I stared only at him, utterly transfixed. Jamie Fraser was a marvel to me. I knew when I returned to the future, nothing would leave such a mark on me as he would. 

My eyes closed as I remembered how soon I had to give him up. It was the first time I’d looked from him since we’d started dancing. His hand at my back pressed more firmly, encouraging me to look up at him. I did, noting the question in his eyes. I shot him a small smile and shook my head. He didn’t look convinced. Still, he continued dancing and never actually asked me what had been wrong. 

Eventually, we retreated back by the door where we’d met the second time. I didn’t want to part from him. The sound of the clock tower caught my ears. I counted the chimes. My time was running out and I desperately didn’t want it to. I wanted more time with Jamie. 

He led us back out to the once again empty courtyard. We reconvened on our bench. My eyes flitted to the clock far too often. I wasn’t as present as I had been before. That was, until Jamie started telling me an impossible story. 

“Twas when I was a lad,” he said. “I was in Scotland. I’d journeyed to Inverness with my father. While I waited outside a shop for him to take care of some business, I met a man dressed very peculiarly. He fit in enough, but his clothes still looked odd.” I stared at him, wondering where he was going with this story. 

“I asked the man why he was dressed so strangely. Ye ken how wee bairns are. No manners to speak of.” I laughed with him and encouraged him to keep going. “The man bent down and knelt in front of me. He asked me if I could keep a secret. I promised the man I could. So he told me that he was from the future. That he’d traveled from two hundred years from now just to come see Scotland in all its beauty.” 

I gaped at him. “How long ago was this?” I asked. I’m sure it wasn’t quite the question he was expecting. 

He looked a bit surprised, but answered anyway. “It would have been about twenty years, I think.” 

I gasped softly. Lamb, I thought to myself. Could it have been possible that Lamb and I had met the same person in our travels — him meeting a boy in Scotland and me meeting a man in Italy? It seemed impossible. But time travel is seemingly impossible too. 

“Ye must think I’m mad,” he said, pulling me from my thoughts. 

I shook my head at him, my hand cupping his cheek. “No, actually, I don’t.” 

Jamie smiled at me. He leaned back toward me, bringing me in closer. His lips were back on mine, kissing me soundly. I clutched to him, knowing this would be my last chance. 

When we broke apart, I glanced at the clock tower. If I didn’t go back to the tavern for my things, I could spend a bit more time with Jamie. My journal would be abandoned there. It could alter history, but at the moment I didn’t really care. I knew that when I got back, my memories would be sharp enough to write it all back down. 

I could feel it all slipping away and I felt desperate. My hands held onto Jamie’s tighter. My eyes tried to drink in every detail of him. I didn’t want to lose him, but I had to. 

The time came when I knew I had to part with him. He stood up, reaching out to me. “Should we go back inside? We could dance again.” 

I wanted nothing more than to dance with him again. I stood up and stepped into his arms. I kissed him with all the desperation coursing through me. His arms came around me and held me. He returned the kiss with an equal amount of fervor. It almost seemed like he knew the end was coming as well. As we pulled apart, we were both panting. I felt tears building in my eyes. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I told him. He looked confused. I took advantage of his confusion and gave him one more kiss before I ran from him, the courtyard, and the palace at large. 

I tore through the city as fast as I could. Tears spilled over my eyes, running down my cheeks. In all the times I’d imagined coming back to the past, I never imagined meeting someone like Jamie. He’d taken my breath away. I knew when I returned to the future, a small part of my heart would be here. 

The clock hadn’t chimed over the city yet. I still had time. And there it was — the alley, the fountain, the way back to my home. I held my hand out to the fountain, but I hesitated. It was stupid, really. There was nothing for me here and if I didn’t catch the portal now, there was a chance it would be gone by next year. But still, my hand wouldn’t touch it. Seconds ticked by as I wasted my precious time. 

The sound of footsteps caught my attention. He threw himself into the alley, moving so fast he almost fell. I looked over, shocked to see Jamie righting himself and staring at me. “This is where ye had to go?” I nodded. His eyes narrowed in my direction. “Ye’re like him. The man from my past.” 

“I am.” 

Jamie walked slowly closer to me. “What would happen if ye didna go?” 

I shook my head at him. “I don’t know.” 

He closed the space between us and held my face in his hands, staring at me, imploring me. “Would ye risk it?” 

“What?” I couldn’t believe what he was asking. 

“I ken I’m no’ much,” he said, “but I’ve ne’er met anyone like ye, Claire Beauchamp. And I canna imagine letting ye go just now.” 

I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off. His mouth crashed against mine, kissing me deeply. My body responded as it had every time this evening. Without really meaning to, my arms came up and wrapped around his waist. He held me tighter, turning me slightly so I wasn’t right next to the portal. 

Breaking apart with a gasp, he urged me, “Dinna go. Stay here. Wi’ me.” He was pleading and I didn’t know what to do. Any moment the clock tower would chime and my window would close. My eyes tore from him to the fountain behind him. They bounced back to him, noting the desperation on his face. His arms tightened around me. “Please,” he begged. His forehead touched mine as he stared at me. 

I felt his touch at my back. I looked into his eyes. I could feel his heart racing underneath my hand on his chest. His body surrounded mine and somehow, my body knew I was safe. 

And in that moment, there was no doubt in my mind. 

My hand moved from his chest to wrap around his neck. “Okay,” I whispered. He gaped at me for a split second before I pressed my lips back to his. He held me impossibly tight. We were tangled together, kissing each other with abandon. I felt my back hit the bricks of the wall behind me at the same time his tongue found mine again. 

The sound of the clock chiming pulled me from our embrace. I looked toward the sky for a moment, listening to the number of hours chime in the distance. My eyes found the fountain, noting for the first time that it wasn’t quite as dingy in this time. Now, it was surely back to being just a fountain. 

I looked at Jamie, realizing the gravity of the decision I’d made. He looked just as nervous as I felt. His hand reached up and stroked my face, his thumb moving against my cheek. We stared at each other, both of us at a loss for words. A huge, life changing decision had been made and we both knew it. 

Jamie leaned his forehead back to mine with a small sigh. “Thank ye,” he breathed. I gave him a soft kiss in reply. 

Suddenly, he stepped back from me. “I still remember how he said it worked,” he told me. I must have looked confused. “The man I met from — well, from yer time. He said it opened once a year.” 

“That’s right.” 

“There’s this tradition in Scotland,” he told me, still staying away from me. I nodded for him to continue. “Tis called handfasting. The couple is marrit for a year and a day and at the end of that time, they can either separate or get marrit officially.” 

I smiled at him, taking a step closer to him. I reached out and grabbed onto his coat. “Are you suggesting we handfast?” 

He shrugged, a shadow of a grin on his face. “The timeline would be right. Live wi’ me, be wi’ me. And if at the end of a year, when yer magic door opens back up again, ye wish to part from me, I’ll bring ye back here myself.” 

My arms wrapped around him. I paused with my lips a breath away from his. “I accept,” I whispered. I could feel his smile against my mouth as his arms wrapped back around me. 

There was so much uncertainty, so much we didn’t know about each other — so much I didn’t know about living in this century. But as I felt the solidness of his arms around me, the surety of his kiss, I knew I would be alright. 

One Year Later

Joe paced in front of the fountain as he’d done the year before. He’d cursed Claire for going and worse, for getting stuck there. Watching her disappear in a beam of light had been terrifying. And for two days, he’d worried about her constantly, even though she’d assured him she’d be back. But she wasn’t. 

For a year, he tried to carry on with his life. He went back to Boston, back to his family. So many times, though, he found his mind on Claire, wondering what she was up to or how she was faring in a different century. More than anything, what he wanted was answers. Even history hadn’t been able to provide that. 

So he was back in front of the fountain, praying that it was still where the portal would be. For the better part of a day, he camped out by the fountain. He ate there, accidentally slept there, and read a book as he waited for her return. 

A flash of light caught his attention, drawing him from his book. He shot out of his chair and raced to the fountain. Just as the light was starting to flourish, it went out. Joe was about to yell when he spotted something sitting in the empty fountain. It was an old piece of paper with his name on it, wrapped in a ribbon. He couldn’t open it fast enough. 

My dear friend, Joe, 

I’m sure you’re camped out in front of the fountain, ready to tell me off for missing the portal closing last year. I’m hoping this letter will actually make it through and can tell you my story. 

The eighteenth century was (well, is) brilliant. It truly is a historian’s dream to be here. I find myself marveling at ordinary things. Those in my life (particularly those who know the truth of me) keep shaking their heads at me. 

I should tell you why I didn’t come back last year, and more than that, why I won’t be coming back at all. The night I should have returned, there was a masquerade. I was encouraged to attend by a kind scotswoman I met upon my arrival in the eighteenth century. While there, I (re)met the most wonderful man. His name is Jamie Fraser. He is a Scot, running his uncle’s wine business in Venice. He was so captivating to me and as I watched the hours tick away at our time together, I dreaded leaving him. I know how unlike me it must all sound — giving up my life for a perfect stranger in a different century. But more than anything, I wanted a chance to be with him and a chance to see what we could be. 

He knows the truth of me. Actually, when he was a child, he met Uncle Lamb in Scotland. I still cannot wrap my mind around that fact. Jamie found me at the portal and begged me to stay and somehow, I couldn’t say no. He promised me if after a year, I wanted to return, he’d bring me to the portal himself. 

It’s now a year later and I’m afraid I won’t be coming back. I’m writing this letter next to the fountain. Jamie brought me here so I could try to send word of my life to you. 

So here it is. Jamie and I are so very happy together. Our lives have been wonderful for the past year. Life is so different in the 18th century than it was in the 21st, but with him, I can’t seem to mind the differences. I love him so completely that life without him would feel meaningless. We discovered just last week that I am with child. It was faster than I would have planned in the 21st century, but I find myself absolutely thrilled. He talks of taking me back to Scotland someday, but I’ve assured him that for now, we’re safer in Italy. I won’t tell him why, but he seems to heed my warning well enough. 

I shall miss you, Joe. I have treasured our friendship. Your voice is the one in the back of my head telling me to be careful. And I hope it always will be. Thank you for your silent support, even if you didn’t actually support me. I have found a life here that I never could have imagined, but wouldn’t trade for the world (or even a toilet). I hope you are well and happy. I promise you I am.

With all my love,

Claire Beauchamp Fraser

#moodboard challenge #outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #my writing #a walk in time

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Love me, love me not ~ pt.1

01: When Grayson meets Y/N

Summary: Y/N meets the twins, leaving a lasting impression on both of them.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Word count: ~ 2k

Love me, love me not ~ Series Masterlist

Grayson looked himself up and down, one last check up to make sure he was perfect.. as perfect as he could be. After all, he was about to meet a girl, someone who had the power to both make his career and destroy him entirely. To make the matters worse, she looked like an angel who had her wings clipped by the world and she was to be his companion for the next few months, at least.

He couldn't leave a bad impression.

"Ready, bro?" Ethan leaned on the door-frame, pressing his lips together as he gave his brother a pointed look.

"Just opened the gate for her." Ethan added, sighing as his brother kept up the silent treatment. While Ethan understood his brother's predicament and that this situation is far from perfect, especially to a romantic sap like Grayson, he lacked the feeling of guilt for giving him this opportunity. He had opened a door for him, the door he clawed at for a year now and hadn't made a dent, so yes, Ethan didn't feel even the slightest bit of guilt for getting his brother what he wanted, despite it being a less than perfect way. And yes, in this moment, Ethan felt grateful he chose college before acting, unlike Grayson who wouldn't even consider trying the academic way to his dreams.

"And you better get a smile going because she's doing us a bigger favor than we could ever do for her. You're the one benefiting here." Ethan glued himself from his position, walking over to the door he knew would be knocked on any second now, leaving Grayson to deal with his feelings a moment longer.

Ethan wouldn't let him fuck up.

And right on cue, Ethan was there just in time to open the door for her, moments before her fist connected with the wooden door.

"Oh, wow. Hi!" Ethan had seen her photos, many interviews and her previous work, but she never looked as beautiful on the screen as she did right before him. He stumbled over his words, secretly wishing he had gotten himself a sweet PR deal with her instead because he would love nothing more than a taste of her dark, pink lips - her signature lipstick.

"Sorry, I'm excited!" He offered a hand to shake, noticing her cold smile finally reach her eyes as if he had managed to melt a few inches of the iceberg inside her soul, even for a moment.

She gladly accepted his hand, her smile widening as he shook it vigorously.

"It's no problem really. I'm Mercy." She felt herself cringe with the use of the nickname they've pushed on her, trying to claim her as theirs - the public's doll for entertainment. But she figured it would be best if she kept her distance, after all, this was just a business arrangement...nothing more.

"Oh, Gosh, you're so nice." Ethan giggled to himself, certain he's completely red in the face and too eager looking. He had to reel his inner fanboy in and stop overwhelming his guest.

Y/N cocked her head to the left, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she still held onto his hand, not minding the contact because the one thing you have to get used to in Hollywood is touching strangers, way too long and way past your preferred place. So, with that in mind, a hand-hold lasting a bit long because someone got a little excited didn't seem as bad. She's had worse.

"You're not Grayson." She stated plainly as if it's so obvious and unimaginably unmistakable to her.

It was Ethan's turn to realize he's still holding onto her slightly smaller, much colder hand in his for too long, but also to admire her observation skills. Not many people could tell them apart, much less when they've never met before.

"And you're right. And I'm holding your hand for too long, so I'm just gonna let go and go get my brother." Ethan smiles awkwardly, getting a nod on her behalf before letting her hand go - hers a little warmer than before and his a little colder. He walked backwards, sending her a weird wave, adding:

"Make yourself at home."

So, as Ethan left, nearly hitting a wall, Y/N looked around. First thing she noticed was the large wall painting right across from the door front, finding the blend of a cityscape and colors modern and appealing. That's until she gasped once her eyes found the expensive looking panther in the corner, scaring the life out of her.

In the meantime, Ethan had rushed into Grayson's room, finding him buttoning up a different shirt, a little sweatier than before and quite jittery.

"Bro, she's here! She's pretty and she's nice and her hands are cold!" Ethan listed, making Grayson stop, frowning deeply as he turned to look at his brother and the starstruck look in his eyes.

"Her hands are cold?" Grayson deadpanned, wondering what the hell is he talking about, and if his brother needed a good slap back to reality.

"Yes, Grayson, her hands are cold and you are always running warm, so go and charm her and hold her hands until they're warm." Grayson shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh as he nodded, refusing to keep questioning Ethan's sanity right now when his ticket to success was all alone in their living room. And apparently, her hands are cold.

"Take a chill pill, bro." Grayson whispered as he passed a crazed Ethan, feeling his legs turn to lead closer he got to where Y/N waited for him.

He tiptoed, stopping at the wooden barrier, silently watching her through the cracks. Never before had he seen the use in those wooden stacks between the hall and the living room, other than decorative, that is, but now he understood as it allowed him to take a quick peak and assess the situation without making himself too obvious and her too uncomfortable.

She stood with her back turned to him, her hand running along the shelves he built and always boasted about being earthquake proof. She wasn't overly dressed, not like most celebrities he had met. She looked almost...normal? Human? Something other than a pretty doll or a wicked witch the media painted her as.

"You know, I can tell you're there, right?" Her voice caused his heart to start an unhealthy pace, feeling it skip every few beats as if it's stumbling over itself.

"How did you know?" Grayson breathes out, stepping out and around the wooden mock wall, rubbing the back of his neck, hence showcasing his sweaty pits. She frowned slightly at the boy before her, taking in account that he not only scratched his neck and sweats like crazy, but avoids eye contact and talks like a frail old lady as well. He's nervous and jumpy and that's not what she needs right now. And while most people would tiptoe around the subject or ignore it entirely, Y/N wasn't the type.

"You're a mess and what I need right now is a man who can put on a convincing show and use his acting skills to make the public believe I'm an angel sent from above and that he's madly in love." She stated, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes unblinking as she waited for Grayson to look at her.

Which he did, right after he tensed up as if she was a cold shower he desperately needed - blunt and unforgiving as the cold.

"Can you be that man or do I need to go somewhere else?" She asked, not blind to the way he had swallowed thickly nor how he gave her an awkward nod.

"Words, Grayson. I need you to say it and I need you to mean it." She insisted, placing her right foot a few inches forward, finding a balance to give him the proper scrutinizing look.

Grayson cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep eye contact with this girl who had an incredible presence, an undeniable charm and very sharp claws. Some women talk a lot and still don't say enough, but Y/N needs only to look you in the eye and you know exactly what's on her mind.

"I can do that. I will do that." He emphasized, making sure there's no mistaking his intent. He isn't the type to back down from a challenge and most certainly not one that would benefit him so greatly. His father always taught him to keep his word and never give empty promises. And he gave her his word already.

She smiled with his underlying promise, clapping her hands together only to clasp them and bring them under her chin as if to support the smile on her lips, as if she's not used to a simple, lighthearted kind - only the heavy, ice dripping smiles that had a particular effect on people. Some were chilled by it, others mesmerized, but Grayson? He saw through it, through her. That wasn't a smile from the heart, but one from her head and people who are ruled by their mind were always much more dangerous and calculating that people like him - people who trusted their heart.

"Great! So, I suppose you're familiar with the terms of our agreement?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stepping closer to him with a raised eyebrow, but Grayson seemed oblivious for that step closer had lead her right into the one spot in the entire room the sun reached, giving her an ethereal glow and he finally understood his brother's erratic behavior - she looked like magic, like art - a true beauty, despite the lack of her usual glam she had in all her photos. She wasn't what he expected - a little colder, brittle like glass and perfection incorporated, just like one of those artifacts with 'Do Not Touch' signs placed in front of them. But glass is only brittle until it breaks, changing itself into something much more dangerous - something sharp and ready to draw blood.

"I'm fucked." Grayson mumbled under his breath, incoherent for her to understand, but clear enough for his heart to feel the pain breaking through time and space - all the way from the future. He knew he'd have a hard time saying goodbye when the contract was up, certain it would be as easy as breathing for her.

"Excuse me?" She interrupted his inner turmoil, stepping out of the sunlight and taking his warm hand into hers.

"Your hands are cold." Grayson stared at their hands, clasped together as if it's the only way it should be. He stared at the way her lips parted with that notion next, only to allow himself the gift of looking into her pretty eyes.

"They always are." She shrugged, trying to pull her hands out of his, awkwardly looking away only to look back with a sharp intake of breath once she found resistance to her attempt to create some distance.

"Think we should practice." Grayson mussed, smirking as her cheeks turned a shade darker, knowing he had made this doll blush.

"For the public? Plus, I promise to keep your hands warm." Grayson winked, carefully studying her face for any signs of discomfort, finding none but a blank canvas with dark pink cheeks matching her lips.

"Sure. I suppose it will do us good considering we need to go on our first date now." She offered him a shy smile, one so out of character in comparison to the woman-in-charge facade she put up at first and Grayson just knew...if he could only melt her heart, nothing - not heaven, nor hell Hollywood is comprised of, would keep them apart.

Tags: @xalayx @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @peacedolantwins @maybgrayson @nowheredolan @graydolan12 @beautorigin @justordinaryjen @starrydolan @pitreshawn

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fic

[choupichoups]

Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.11

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

Lucas watches the numbers on his notifications blow up. Ten, fifty, a hundred— mostly messages from curious strangers inquiring about the status of their relationship. Lucas doesn’t understand how any one of them would think that Lucas would spare them an answer. 

He messes with the settings until his direct messages are only open to the people he follows. 

Eliott’s been silent for so long, even on social media, that everyone’s frantically latching onto this update on his story— Lucas included. But he doesn’t understand. He listens to the song over and over, looks up the lyrics to make sure his English isn’t failing him, and ends up back on Eliott’s story. 

The song can’t be directed at him, right? Lucas can’t think of anything that went wrong the last time they were together. Well, everything went wrong but nothing between the two of them. 

Honestly, it’s evident that something suspect is happening when he saw Idris post something on his account the day prior. Idris had told him before that both he and Eliott shut off their technology whenever they have to seriously work on a project so why is Idris available for contact but Eliott is not?

lucallemant Is your project going okay? 

idrisomd What project?

lucallemant The one Eliott said you guys need to work on? His phone’s been on airplane mode no?

idrisomd Oh yeah, that project Uhhhh  Maybe it’s better if you ask him?

lucallemant Haven’t seen him since Saturday

idrisomd  oh

lucallemant Was there even a project at all?

Lucas isn’t dumb, he’s had a bad feeling about this whole project thing three days into Eliott’s abrupt silence. There’s just something very strange about the fact that he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him despite Lucas orchestrating ‘chance meetings’ by hanging around his boyfriend’s building at the most convenient times. It’s like Eliott’s gone airplane mode not only with his phone, but with life as well. 

All he needs is confirmation before he can allow himself to get angry at the sudden disappearance— and what a confirmation it is when Idris doesn’t respond to that simple question. 

His jittery legs begin bouncing under the table. What did he do to drive Eliott away now? Lucas runs a hand over his face, chewing on his bottom lip. He wasn’t too clingy last Saturday was he? He didn’t say anything scary either like, wanting to adopt two babies or something so he doesn’t know what’s—

Ah. His mother at the clinic. The shouting match with his father. 

Did Lucas scare his boyfriend off with his fucked up family? 

He gets up from the lounge, determined to get to the bottom of this. There’s nothing he can do to fix it, sitting around making assumptions by himself. 

When Idris gets out of class sans Eliott, Lucas steps into his way and Idris jumps about a foot in the air at the sight of him. 

“Jesus!” Idris has a hand to his chest, steadily looking more and more afraid for his life the longer Lucas stares unblinkingly up at him. “Shit, I’m innocent, I swear!”

“So there really is something wrong then?” Lucas’ eyes narrow and he moves closer as Idris very visibly struggles for words. There’s something comical about the way the larger boy is trying his best to cower away from Lucas’ gaze but the latter isn’t in the mood to laugh at anything until he figures out what the hell’s up with Eliott. 

“Listen, Lucas.” Idris takes in a breath, glancing down at his phone in the same movement but the screen’s already darkened by the time Lucas instinctively looks as well. “Things are a little rough right now.”

“That’s not helping. Why did he lie to me?” 

Idris grabs his arm and moves them to a more secluded area, noticing the stares they’re beginning to attract. Lucas doesn’t know what he does but Idris lets out a pained groan when their eyes meet again. 

“Stop looking like that,” Idris says, fidgeting restlessly with his phone. 

“I can’t control my face,” Lucas retorts. “Did he say what I did?”

“Dude…” If conflict had a photo, it would be Idris’ expression right at this moment. “Talk to him. Please. It’s not,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Just talk, okay?”

“He’s not responding.”

“Fuck, make him respond.” Idris types something on his phone before he looks back out to the hallway. “I have to go. Talk to him, please,” he repeats his own words before leaving Lucas with no choice but to contemplate those obscure words by himself. 

And fuck, yeah, whatever, he’ll just go for it. Talk to him it is. 

lucallemant Look, I know your project excuse is bullshit And even if it’s not, you kinda gave yourself away with that story  Can you fucking respond to me already? I know you can read these

srodulv Sorry, I just needed time to think

lucallemant About? 

srodulv Us I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for now 

lucallemant You’re kidding right?

srodulv No Sorry

lucallemant Don’t fucking ‘sorry’ me Where the fuck are you we need to talk

srodulv I don’t think that’s a good idea

lucallemant I don’t give a shit Eliott I’m serious  Either talk to me properly or there’s no ‘for now’ We’re not seeing each other again ever

srodulv I’m at home

Lucas can’t remember the last time he’s felt this livid. 

When Eliott opens the door to his apartment, Lucas shoves in without preamble. He’s a little startled to bump into Emir as he does so— Omar’s also at the side, slowly putting his shoes back on. The two boys don’t say anything, throwing acknowledging nods in Lucas’ way as they put on their jackets. On his way out, Emir shares a look with Eliott and it lasts the entire time it takes for Eliott to close the door back up.

An uncomfortable silence surrounds them once the lock clicks into place. 

“So?” 

Eliott turns to face him— he looks like shit. Or as shitty as Eliott can look anyway. Lucas still thinks he’s beautiful because of course he’s fallen in love like the massive dumbass he’s always been. 

“I already told you over the phone.” 

“Well I don’t agree. I think it’s a stupid thing, not seeing each other and all. So convince me.” He’s trying his hardest to sound as confident as he wishes to be. 

“I’m just… not sure if we’d work out together in the long run.”

And no, no no no. This isn’t happening to him. Not with Eliott. 

“No?” Lucas asks, ignoring the prickle in his eyes. He swallows once, twice— desperately hiding the catch in his breath, the shiver in his voice. “Cause you seemed pretty sure of it when you were fucking me last week.” His voice fails him, cracking in the middle of the sentence. “Is that just… did you just…?”

Eliott’s head snaps up, meeting his gaze finally. But Lucas isn’t sure he wants the contact any longer. Even so, he doesn’t turn away, desperation to fix whatever the fuck is happening between them right now takes priority over the anger simmering in his blood. 

“Lucas.” Eliott sounds wrecked by the implication. Good. Lucas hangs onto that last thread of hope. “Lucas, no. It’s not— fuck it’s not that at all. Please never—” Eliott cuts himself off, hands waving about in front of him. “Never think I— you’re more than that. To me, you’re so much more.” He shakes his head, stepping closer to Lucas. “It’s not you.”

Lucas laughs, harsh and humourless. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you’re over here, using that it’s not you, it’s me bullshit? We’re not in one of your films, Eliott. I’m real,” he almost shouts the last word, wanting and needing Eliott to understand. “So please, if you’re going to leave me, at least have the decency to give me a real reason.”

Eliott goes silent, eyes wide like a child caught in a lie. Lucas’ mind swirls at the raw emotion he sees there, doesn’t know what to think anymore when Eliott stands there looking at him like Lucas is holding his whole heart in his clumsy, unstable hands. And yet. And yet.

“I’m only going to hurt you, Lucas,” Eliott whispers, frozen in position just out of Lucas’ reach. “I’m the exact kind of person who can hurt you real bad.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that. “You don’t think you’re hurting me right now?”

“Not like this.” Eliott swallows. “It’s better to end it now before I…” He trails off, looking away, moving only to clasp his hands together. His thumbs run restless circles over the back of his own palms. 

“Before you what?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.” 

Eliott stops his fidgeting, looking at Lucas with eyes so devastated he looks away, almost takes back his own words if only to remove that look permanently off of Eliott’s face. “I’m bipolar, Lucas,” he says, voice trembling as he continues, “I’ll never be able to give you the normal life you deserve.”

Once, when he was a kid, Lucas had jumped into a pool of water six feet deep, out of sheer misguided courage, in order to prove to himself that he was no coward. The way his world had shrunk into that little bubble of space underwater, and all he could hear was the endless nothingness of the water around him as he recalled everything he’d said and done that led up to that exact situation— it stuck with him. He can still feel it, intensely, the memory clinging to the tips of his fingertips. 

It’s strange how he comes back to that place, right now. He’s in Eliott’s apartment and he’s drowning. 

“Eliott,” he gasps out, forcing his head out of water, everything around him coming back to life. His own words from the last time they were together haunt him. The way he’d wished, out loud, for a normal family. For normal people in his life. “I didn’t mean it. God, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“But you did,” Eliott says, his tone remaining kind. It kills Lucas inside. “And you’re right.”

“No.” Lucas wants to cover the distance between them but a conscious part of his brain tells him he no longer deserves that privilege. “I swear, Eliott, I didn’t mean it.” 

Eliott doesn’t look convinced. “Please, just go.” 

“No, not like this.” Lucas forces his feet to move forward, barreling past the invisible wall that’s begun to form between them. His hands slowly raise to cup Eliott’s face in between them, his touch the most gentle it’s ever been. “Please understand. I… when I said I wanted a normal family, it’s got nothing to do with my mother, I swear. I would never trade my mama for anyone else but I would give everything to have a— my dad,” he says in a rush, needing Eliott to get him but he’s not sure he’s expressing himself clearly enough. He doesn’t know how to explain himself. “When I said I wanted a normal life I meant that—” He chokes on a hiccuping sob, barely able to keep his tears at bay. But no, he’s not going to start crying now. It’s not about him. “If I could go back in time, I would change so much of my decisions from the past couple of years.”

Eliott softens but still shakes his head. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be a burden for you eventually. I didn’t think it through before. You make me feel so good,” Eliott pauses, leaning into Lucas’ hands. “I was on such a high, I forgot I can’t keep you forever.”

“Why not?” Lucas tries to move closer but Eliott leans back. 

“Because everything is temporary,” Eliott says, removing Lucas’ hands from his face. “I don’t want to ever end up being one of the things you regret.”

“You’re not. You won’t be.” Lucas reaches for him again but Eliott brushes him off. 

“You only say that cause you’ve never seen me at my worst.”

“I don’t care.”

“How can you not care?!” Eliott pulls away completely, pacing the small space from the kitchen to the living room. “I can’t stand the thought of you crying and hurting like that every time I’m down or manic or whatever the fuck my brain decides to force on me without any fucking warning. You know this shit gets ugly, right? I’m not just going to lay down and sleep it off for a couple of hours. Sometimes it takes an entire week, Lucas. And I won’t always be quiet, I’m going to go off on you for no reason, I’m going to push you away—” Eliott stops for a breath, looking over at Lucas. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? Your mom does similar things sometimes, right? And the thing is your mom isn’t even with you all the time and it still affects you so much. How would you react when I’m the one losing my fucking mind?” 

Lucas shakes his head, stepping forward in a desperate bid to get through to Eliott. He doesn’t reach out this time, wringing nervous hands into his sweater sleeves as he shifts around trying to make Eliott look at him. “I can handle it,” he says when their eyes finally meet— Eliott’s gaze is steel but Lucas isn’t easily cowed. “We can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to handle it!” Eliott shouts back, sounding increasingly flustered by Lucas’ persistence. “You should take this as your warning and leave!”

“Well I don’t want to!”

“Why?!”

“Because!” Lucas takes time to breathe, closing his eyes as he reels his temper in. They’ll get nowhere, screaming at each other like this. “Because I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he says in a whisper. “Because I’ll also yell at you, I’ll also do stupid shit, also shut you out sometimes.” Lucas shrugs, looking up at Eliott helplessly. “But all I know is that everything inside me is telling me to keep you and I’m willing to fight for that. I want to fight for that.” He runs a hand through his hair, running out of steam. “So if you think I’m giving up all of this. You. Us. Just because you think you’re not good for me, then you’re wrong. Relationships are a two way thing, Eliott. You can’t just make a decision like this for the both of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

A heavy silence follows. Lucas sighs softly, unsure of what else to do to get his point across. 

Until Eliott mutters the most quiet, “I need time to think on it.” 

And okay, he’ll take that. He’s got time to spare. 

Lucas nods, moving towards the door. He’s pretty sure their conversation ends here. But before he leaves, he lingers by Eliott’s side, taking in his hunched shoulders, the way his eyes are trained on the floor. Everything about him screams defeated. 

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” he says, soft in the wake of their loaded words from earlier. “But know that I still want you in my life, Eliott.” He pauses, taking in a shuddering breath. “All of you.” 

He leaves it at that, walking out the door, out of the elevator, out of Eliott’s building. He doesn’t look back until he’s standing outside, breathing in the chilly evening breeze. He doesn’t realize he’s hoping for something to happen until his eyes are greeted by the empty foyer. There’s a stillness around him that could possibly be peaceful if not for the turmoil knotting in his chest. 

If anyone had told Lucas years ago that he’d be standing in front of a boy’s apartment building, hoping for a scene straight out of a romance movie to happen to him, he’d have laughed in their face until tears streamed down his eyes. 

And yet here he is, waiting. 

But Eliott doesn’t come to chase after him. 

Eliott misses school for two days the week following their talk, and then another two days the next week after— he only knows this because Idris takes it upon himself to keep him updated. On a Wednesday when Lucas doesn’t even have any classes to attend, he sees a glimpse of Eliott around campus. He’s surrounded by people, shoulders covered by that signature brown jacket that Lucas infuriatingly misses. 

Lucas wishes Eliott would see him, wishes so hard that they’d meet eyes across the field and for Eliott to smile that genuine smile of his, eyes crinkling at the corners. He wishes Eliott would look at him like Lucas is the only thing that matters again. 

“You okay?” Arthur nudges him with an elbow, following his line of sight. “How’s it going with you two?”

He shrugs, instinctively unlocking his phone. Eliott hasn’t sent him any messages for the past two weeks. Lucas wants to send something, of course, but he thinks Eliott should be the one to break the silence once he’s ready to go forward with their relationship. If he still wants to that is.

Lucas is starting to have his doubts. “Nothing.”

Arthur sighs, raising an arm to tug Lucas close. “He’ll come around.”

“Sure.” 

On the third week of silence, Lucas isn’t sure Eliott would ever come around.

“Lucas!” Erin rushes inside from the front house, startling Lucas from his gloomy thoughts. 

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone asking to see you.” 

His heart skips a beat, and he almost stumbles out of his seat in his haste to get up. It’s Friday and he’s only here to cover for someone else’s shift but it’d be the best day ever if Eliott’s decided to end his suffering today. 

Marco, their pastry chef, barks out a laugh. “Careful, kid.” 

“Yeah,” he responds absently, jogging forward to peer through the glass window of their kitchen door.

His heart plummets to the ground when he sees the person waiting by the counter. “Did you tell him I was here?”

Erin’s budding smile drops. “No, I only said I’d check, didn’t know if you went out for snacks or something.”

“Okay,” Lucas breathes out, bidding for his heart to slow its beating. “Okay. Please tell him I’m not here.” 

Marco shifts closer. “You okay? You want me to get rid of him?” 

“He’s a paying customer,” Erin mumbles, apology all over her features when her gaze meets Lucas’. 

Lucas appreciates the offer either way. 

“Damn.” Marco grumbles, running a hand over his chin. “Can you handle the front alone? I’ll keep Lucas here to help out with the baking.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” Erin interrupts before he can even finish his protest. “I’ll tell him you’ve gone home. He should go away in a few hours, right?”

Lucas isn’t sure about that but he doesn’t want to worry them. “Yeah.”

Erin pushes the door open and Lucas can faintly hear her lying to Raphael for him. 

God, what’s Raphael doing in the cafe? How does he know Lucas works here? 

He walks back to the couch with surprisingly steady steps, sitting down as his mind reels with possibilities.  What the fuck is Raphael doing, trying to barge back in his life like this? The rest of his break is spent panicking in silence but thankfully, it doesn’t bleed into his work when Marco tasks him with frosting the chilled cupcakes. They turn out pretty good, considering his experience in that area is nothing but sometimes watching Manon decorate her stress baked goodies. 

At eight o’clock, he has to reassure Marco that he doesn’t need to wait an extra two hours to give Lucas a ride home. The guy has been there since early morning, working overtime to complete a gigantic preorder for an event their customer has the day after. Besides, Lucas knows Marco’s children are waiting for him to get home before falling asleep, as Marco likes to very fondly remind them all the time. At ten o’clock, Erin lingers, kindly offering to take the bus with him until Lucas reminds her that he walks home and urges her out with a simple reminder of that assignment she’s been procrastinating on for the past week. 

Alone in the cafe, Lucas doesn’t bother to hide the tremor in his hands. 

He calls Yann twice and gets voicemail for both before he remembers that his best friend’s taken off to Bordeaux straight after classes for a family reunion celebrating his grandmother’s birthday. Basile’s fallen asleep hours ago, according to their group chat, after having stayed up three days straight studying for an exam. Arthur would probably come for him but Lucas knows he lives too far away to arrive in time. Champ is waiting for Lucas back home, he can’t possibly waste more time hiding inside the cafe.

But standing at the welcome mat right in front of the door, Lucas gives in, admitting to himself that he’s scared out of his fucking wits. 

lucallemant Eliott, I know I said I’d give you all the time you need And I mean it, you can have more right after this  But please, can you pick me up at work? I need you please Please

He walks around aimlessly, barely registering his own movements as he cleans up everywhere, making sure everything is sparkling clean and wiped down at least three times before he gathers his things so he can lock up. He makes an aborted move towards the curtains which he’d flipped shut earlier, resisting the urge to check if Raphael is out there, waiting. 

It’s ridiculous, it’s been hours.

But he knows. He knows it’s not irrational.

His phone remains silent and a quick check on the app tells him he has no new messages waiting. 

Okay, fuck, that’s fine. It’s fine. He’ll be okay. 

He fishes the cafe keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door from inside. It’s dark when he steps out, almost pitch black in the late hour. The quiet around him is disturbing, the streets abandoned on a typical Friday night. Locking the door back up proves to be a hassle as his shaky fingers fail to slot the key in twice. Irritably, he swats at his forearm— he doesn’t know if his brain is playing tricks on him or if there are really ants crawling up his sleeves at the same moment. 

A couple more tries and the latch finally gives a satisfying click. Lucas stands there, breathing out slowly. It’s still quiet. So, so quiet he almost convinces himself he’s been freaking out over nothing.

Until he turns around and sees the worst mistake of his life. 

Raphael shakes his head, tall and imposing in his fucking suit. “You know I hate it when you lie to me, baby.” 

Lucas shutters, turns around quickly so Raphael doesn’t get a whiff of his effect on Lucas. If the bastard realizes how Lucas feels right now, it’s over for him. He tries to leave without acknowledging Raphael, wanting to sprint back home but that won’t be a very good idea won’t it? With Raphael on his tail and all. His mind, slow as molasses, can’t come up with anything he can do to get away without revealing anything.

He hears footsteps coming up behind him, leisurely, like Raphael knows he’s got nowhere to go. 

“Come on now, Lucas. Don’t be so rude.” 

“What do you want?” If he’s going to be stuck here, he might as well deal with it. He gathers all the courage he can muster and turns to face Raphael, but his own voice sounds distant to his ears, as if he’s separated from his body somehow— a spectator of this hellish scene rather than a direct participant.

It’s been over a year since they’ve ended things, on a terrible note, so Lucas doesn’t understand why Raphael would bother to come back. 

The man shrugs, standing a safe distance away, hands in his pants pockets. “I thought we could revisit that talk from before, you know?”

“No,” Lucas scoffs, his answer hasn’t changed and it would be a waste of their time.

Raphael rolls his head backwards with a deep, showy sigh. “Stop acting like a child. You’re in college now, Lucas, can we have an adult conversation about this?”

How fucking dare Raphael talk to him like that? Lucas won’t rise to the bait, he’s long been over this. He’s worked hard to fix everything Raphael tore down and yes, it’s a work in progress, but he’s healing. “Fuck off.” He starts walking again to god knows where— he’ll go back to campus or sleep in a fucking church if needed. 

It makes Raphael chuckle. “I see. That’s how it is now, huh?” He doesn’t seem to be following so Lucas ignores him. “Careful there, you’re turning into your mother, all mean and moody like that. I heard crazy can run in the family, you know?”

Lucas has fireworks for temper. He’s learned to tone it down as he got older but the one thing that can set him off like nothing else is when people talk shit about his mama. Raphael knows that. Lucas knows Raphael knows that. But he falls for it hook, line, and sinker.

He rushes back to where Raphael is standing, gripping the neatly ironed collars of his dress shirt to pull him down to Lucas’ eye level. “Don’t talk about her like that, don’t talk about her at all, don’t even think about her, you fucker,” he hisses into the space between them, to which Raphael responds with a smile— unkind, predatory. Lucas knows what’s coming but he can’t seem to reign in the anger that makes him act on his most foolish thoughts. 

“Ah.” Raphael’s eyes light up like a demon in the night. “I knew you’d come to me.” His hands easily engulf Lucas’ wrists then, close as they are, and starts dragging him towards the parking lot. Lucas stumbles at first, unprepared for the change of pace but he forces his limbs to cooperate after a few heart stopping seconds. He digs his heels on the pavement, pushing back against Raphael with all his strength. The resistance only frustrates Raphael and Lucas barely has time to catch the angry look Raphael throws over his shoulder before he’s being pulled to the side of the building and slammed unceremoniously on the wall so that his back presses painfully against the rough bricks of the cafe exterior. “Stop making me angry, Lucas. I’m serious.”

“Then stop talking to me!” He yells back, impact behind his voice while also hoping for someone, anyone, to pass by and hear him. “Let go!”

Raphael shushes him, soft and amused. Lucas’ stomach lurches and if he’d eaten anything at all he might’ve thrown up right then and there. The grip around him tightens, heavy shackles of flesh digging into delicate wrists and Lucas just about manages to hold back a whimper. “You know I don’t want to hurt you but you’re making things very difficult right now. Do you understand me?”

Lucas wants to cover his ears— he can’t deal with those words. Not now, not ever again. Not with that same gentle, warning tone. A familiar bout of panic takes hold of him, all that time spent rebuilding himself flies out the window and suddenly he’s back to being sixteen, terrified but helpless under Raphael’s control. 

“You don’t…” He swallows, knowing he has to be brave. No one will protect him but himself. No one. His breathing picks up, vision darkening around the edges. No one, Lucas. Fucking save yourself. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” It comes out as a whisper, too weak for what he’d been gunning for but the fact that he’s able to get the words out gives him strength. His vision’s no longer fading but he wonders why everything around him looks so damn blurry.  

“Shh,” Raphael hushes him and Lucas strikes his head against the wall behind him to get away from the warm breath near his lips. The movement should be painful but he feels numb to his core. “Oh come on, I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t cry.” Raphael uses one finger to brush against the wetness on Lucas’ cheek. Fuck, fuck, fuck, when did that happen? “Come with me, I’ll make it better, okay?” 

No. He’s going to say it out loud. Once he works up the courage. He’s going to. He’s going to. 

He doesn’t have to.

“Get the fuck off of him.” That cold voice is a welcome distraction from the suffocating conflict in Lucas’ head. Hearing it brings forth so much relief he barely registers everything that comes after. Through tear blurred vision, he watches Raphael stagger backwards as Eliott roughly pushes himself in front of Lucas, shoving Raphael towards the opposing wall.

“And who are you?” Raphael sneers, tone dripping acid. Lucas leans his forehead on Eliott’s solid back, desperately in need of an anchor. 

“None of your business,” Eliott responds, equally venomous. “Leave.” 

“I don’t think you understand, pal, but this is none of your business,” Raphael intones, trying for a calmer approach. “He’s mine and he’s not feeling well right now, so can you please move and let me take care of him?” Lucas hears footsteps approaching but he closes his eyes, unwilling to see any more of that man.

Eliott stands his ground. “Nice try, pal,” Eliott practically growls out, and when Lucas opens his eyes again he sees Eliott’s hands clenched into tight, shaking fists. “You can fuck right off or I swear to god.” 

Lucas doesn’t hear anything else— he brings his hands over his own ears and squeezes his eyes shut , waits it out until Eliott turns around and wraps him in his arms completely, so tight and all encompassing as if trying his utmost best to hide Lucas from the rest of the world.

“I’m here, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m so sorry, I have you, I have you,” Eliott whispers into his hair, barely audible above Lucas’ gasping sobs. He clutches onto Eliott’s jacket and tries to regulate his breathing but every attempt goes down the drain, washed over by the torrent of emotions rushing out all at once. For a single moment he wishes for that numbness from earlier back, if only so he doesn’t die of oxygen deprivation on the spot. 

Eliott tilts Lucas’ head sideways and presses him against his chest, taking slow, deep breaths that Lucas instinctively matches. Under the carefully timed breathing, Lucas can hear Eliott’s erratic heartbeat.

His wheezing tapers off, leaving him sniffling and coughing a little as a strange sort of calm takes over. Eliott, painfully gentle, runs his thumbs across Lucas’ face, wiping all traces of his tears. Lucas doesn’t know how to explain what just happened and he doesn’t think he wants to explain, as a matter of fact. 

Thankfully, Eliott doesn’t ask. “I’ll take you home,” he says, glancing at Lucas carefully before the latter offers him a nod in response. 

Lucas pulls himself away from their embrace, missing the safety in Eliott’s touch but with his head slightly clearer, he remembers, acutely, the status of their relationship. After everything Raphael’s return has brought back, Lucas’s now hyper aware of what he’s asked of Eliott. God, the other boy must think he’s such needy garbage, sending a message like that. Isn’t that considered emotional blackmail? Even if Eliott’s lost his feelings for Lucas, reading a text like that would still make Eliott rush to the rescue. Lucas knows Eliott’s heart is just soft in that way. 

He’s glad the walk home is fairly short. He doesn’t want to keep Eliott later than he has to.

“Thanks,” Lucas says, walking numbly towards the building. Champ must be bored out of her mind. He hopes she ate well— she’s usually good at pacing herself even when he leaves a large amount of food outside when both he and Yann will be out for a long period but sometimes the dumbass gobbles it all down in one go. Hopefully there’s no vomit for him to clean up once he unlocks the door. 

Locks on the door.

How did Raphael know where Lucas works? Why did he leave without much of a fight when Eliott arrived? Is it because he also knows where Lucas lives?

Lucas unlocks his door, fiddles with the mechanism a little, and decides he’s going to go out and buy some extra locks just for good measure. Tonight, in fact. He has to do that tonight. He’ll take Champ with him so she can have a little walk as well. 

“Hey, how are you?” He murmurs into Champ’s fur when she wobbles over to him, not bothering to switch on the lights. She’s the only one he needs to see anyway. “Sorry, I know it’s late now but we’ll go for a walk, alright? I’ll buy you a snack too.” He clips the leash on her collar but bundles her tight in his arms as he goes back out. 

When he gets to the entrance, Eliott is standing right where Lucas left him. 

“Why are you still here?” He’s surprised he’s able to string together a proper sentence around Eliott, seeing as his heart has been shattering anew for every time he catches even the slightest glimpse of the boy for the past few weeks. Maybe there’s simply nothing left to shatter. “You should go home now.”

“Lucas,” Eliott’s voice sounds shaky. Lucas can feel Champ’s tail sleepily wagging at the sight of him. “Why are you not inside?”

“I have to buy something.”

“What are you buying? Can’t it wait til tomorrow?”

Lucas shakes his head. “I need new locks for the door.”

“What happened to your lock?” Eliott’s stepping closer, slowly, like how one would approach a spooked animal. 

“Nothing, I just want more.” Lucas has his eyes trained on the ground, counting the cracks on the cobblestone as he grapples for something, anything to occupy his mind with. He can’t let it run empty or he’s afraid he’ll stop breathing. 

“Where’s Yann?” Eliott’s close enough to touch by now and he lifts a hand to pet over Champ’s little head. 

“At his parents’.” Lucas distantly notes that Eliott’s hand is trembling and he wants to hold them, keep them warm, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “You should go home, it’s only gonna get colder.” He thinks Eliott says something after that but Lucas misses it— everything around him seems so strange and muffled. He’s inside a glass container with only one eye peeking out. “What?”

“Lucas.” There’s a desperate note in the way Eliott says his name and Lucas isn’t sure what to make of it. He follows the way Eliott’s hands stutter midair, hovering close on either side of Lucas’ face but Eliott doesn’t touch him.  “Come back to me.” 

What does that mean? “I’m right here,” he responds, meaning for it to be a question but his tone falls as flat as everything else he’s been saying. 

Eliott shakes his head, distress loud in his eyes. There’s a voice inside Lucas’ head screaming for him to reach out and comfort Eliott, to erase that pained expression and to try his damnedest to make him smile. The glass around him shrinks protectively and Lucas doesn’t move a limb.

“Okay… okay, you’re sleeping over at mine tonight,” Eliott says, one of his hands flying up to run through his own hair while the other goes to his mouth, biting at his nails. 

“But Champagne…”

“She’s coming too.”

“Her stuff’s upstairs.”

“We’ll go get it.” 

Gathering everything Champ needs is a quick and quiet affair, with Lucas floating around grabbing anything that looks remotely like something a dog would own. Her food and water bowls are last to enter the bag. Lucas leaves feeling as if he’s forgotten something but the thought doesn’t stick, so he lets it go.

They walk to Eliott’s flat mostly in silence, partly due to Lucas missing half of what Eliott tries to tell him. He can see his lips moving but Eliott has to repeat twice, three times, before Lucas understands what’s being said. It’s a tiring exercise and Lucas doesn’t have anything to respond with anyway, much more content with burying his face into Champ’s soft fur, cuddling into her warmth despite of how small of a space she takes up. 

Once inside, he lets go of Champ to let her familiarize with the place while he stands immobile at the doorway, staring at the plant Eliott’s placed beside his bookshelf. It looks like it’s dying. Lucas would laugh but the notion dies before the thought even completes itself. 

“Hey.” Eliott’s close again and Lucas lets his eyes fall shut at the comfort of his presence. “Lucas? Lucas, are you with me?”

He’s exhausted. The walls around him are thickening, until he hears nothing but his own breathing.

Eliott sighs, and Lucas feels him brush the hair away from Lucas’ forehead before he shuffles off elsewhere. When Eliott comes back, it’s with a bundle of clothes in his arms and a gentle hand guiding Lucas to the bathroom.

Behind the closed bathroom door, Lucas is forced to face himself in front of the mirror. It’s a relief to find nothing outwardly amiss; his hair’s a little messy and his eyes a little red. But when he removes his clothes and sees the finger shaped bruises forming on his wrists, stark against the otherwise unblemished skin, the bubble around him breaks— sharp pieces of cracked glass lodge themselves under his skin, and he bleeds and bleeds from the inside. Everything around him is suddenly too loud, too bright, too much.

Come with me, I’ll make it better. 

“No,” he whispers, hands sliding up to cover his ears, albeit futile, against the phantom words. He stumbles backwards and falls to the floor with a thud but Lucas barely notices the pain that shoots up his tailbone.

Stop acting like a child and listen to me.

There are footsteps thundering from outside the room and a small part of him, the one that hasn’t completely lost its mind, recognizes it immediately. “Eli—” he begins to call out but a nagging thought stops him. No, he can’t ask for Eliott. He’s got enough to deal with without Lucas adding on his own pile of bullshit. 

Where’s his phone? He needs to call his mama— wait no, she’s having a rough time already. She has to get better first and worrying about Lucas won’t be of any help. 

Yann. He’s probably not asleep yet, Lucas can try calling him again and—

Except Yann doesn’t know the entire story. Lucas had swept it all under the rug after telling his best friend a heavily edited version of how much Raphael had fucked him up. 

Fuck, he’s alone. He’s alone. How does he manage to always end up alone?

I’m the only one you have.

“Lucas?” Eliott slams the door open and it startles Lucas enough that it silences the ugly memories running through his head. He looks up to the sight of Eliott frozen by the door, looking wholly unsure and slightly terrified and god, Lucas can’t help it. Just a little bit. He just needs a little bit of Eliott to survive the night. 

“Eliott,” he croaks out, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought when tears fill his eyes and spill out uncontrollably like a flooded dam. Eliott rushes to his side, gathering Lucas up in his embrace. In turn, Lucas latches onto him. He’s going to regret this tomorrow, he knows, but for now, he crawls into the space between Eliott’s arms and hides in the crook of his neck, searching for safety. “I don’t wanna go back,” he gasps out. “I don’t. Please don’t let me go back.” 

Eliott holds him that much tighter— the strength in his arms juxtaposes the waver in his voice as he says, “I’m here now. I got you. You’re never going back, I’m here. I’m here.” 

Are you? Lucas’ tears pour heavier, though he guesses that empty promises are better than no promises at all. 

#skam france #elu #elu fic #fictag #slams hand on timer #sorry im late #but look clowns #dedicated to everyone who thought they knew what was coming #chapter warning: mild violence + ptsd symptoms #elu insta au

[too-many-baes]

The Almost Divorce

Pairing: fem!reader x Mycroft Holmes

Warning(s): injury, mentions of blood and death

Word Count: 2.3K

Request: Could you do a very angsty one where the reader gets hurt saving her ex-husband Mycroft from danger? They were married for almost five years but they decide to break up since Mycroft only married the reader as an arranged marriage but the reader is in love with him. When the reader saves him and almost dies it makes Mycroft realize that he loves the reader and it might not be too late. - by Anon

* request edited for length and clarity *

A/N: Whippee, my first request for this blog! Thank you so much anon for sending in a request, it made me so happy. I hope you like it 💖

                                                     ***********

“Mycroft get down!” Bullets are flying everywhere in a blur of silver and black. You rush to where Mycroft had been standing stunned but was now crouched behind stacked wooden boxes. They were thick enough that the bullets weren’t piercing them yet, but the amount of wood shards flying off let you know it was only a matter of time before he was in serious trouble. You had to get him out, and fast.

You crouch down beside him to share his cover. You check your gun to see you only have half a clip of ammo left, not enough to hold everyone off. “Fuck!” You exclaim, your frustration spilling over. You chance a glance at the man beside you. He’s scared, you can tell. Sweat travels down his face and he has a small shake that can only be attributed to adrenaline. He turns his head to look at you and his eyes plead with you, almost begging for help. Mycroft is a brilliant man with a brilliant mind but conflict to this degree wasn’t his territory, it was yours. And right now, looking at this brilliant scared man all you wanted to do was hold him. Reassurances wouldn’t do, he was too much of a logical man to need empty words of comfort. What he needed was contact. You wanted to intertwine your fingers with his and have his body so close against you that you could feel his heart beating against yours. That was what he needed, contact. Right now though you had to focus on what he really needed and that was for you to get him out of here, safe, with not a hair on his head harmed. That you could do.

“Mycroft, you have to listen to me.” His eyes that were scattered and unfocused now look at you. His breaths are sharp and short and his shakes haven’t subsided. “There’s a door to your right. Turn around and look at it.” You instruct, knowing that if he had a chance to visually take in the information you were about to tell him he’d take it on much better. He quickly glances towards the door then turns back and frantically nods at you. “We’re going to run to that door to get out. I’m going to cover us on the way.”

This time his head is shaking at you incredulously. “The chances of making it out there are below 5%, there’s too many men. We’re completely outnumbered, if we just surrender there’ll be men coming to get us”, he rambles, “best in the country”, he says out to the air rather than to you. He’s looking around again, eyes darting with no real direction and head calculating numbers he pulls from hidden rooms in his mind. Even now with bullets ricocheting off the walls and pummelling into the boxes acting as cover, his mind was running at a million miles an hour. He was still analysing and assessing, figuring out statistics and likely outcomes. His mind has no limit and no matter how much you admire him for it, it was now your job to convince that brilliant mind of his to follow your lead. You’d struggled with this in the past but now you had to force him to see things your way.

You reach over and grab his hand, which is clammy and jittery. He looks confused down at the movement and then back to you. “You have to trust me on this one. I’m going to get you out of here.” No matter what scenarios and numbers were flying through his head one fact stuck out to him that caused him to nod his head in agreement with your plan. You love him. Well, you loved him, that much he knows for sure. That’s enough to slice through all the other logic he could use to debate alternate plans. You loved him, and you’d never let anything happen to him.

This time it’s your turn to glance down at your hands, for one last boost of confidence before you brave the storm of shots. Your right one is holding his left at an angle that makes you notice a thin gold band encircling his ring finger. He’s still wearing his wedding ring. That little gold token gleaming at you filled your frontal lobe with flickers of happiness from the past five years, and that sudden rush of emotion is enough to drive your plan into action.

You release his hand and give him a curt nod with steely eyes. He knows you well enough to know that means prepare yourself. You mime a silent countdown from three on your fingers and when you drop the last finger with your hand balled in a fist you both leap up and into the line of fire.

As you make a dash for the door you make sure to have your body in front of his the whole time. With what few bullets you have left you must be strategic, only firing one off when absolutely necessary.

Mycroft is out of the door and you turn to follow him. The wave of triumph you feel lasts but a second as a piercing pain shoots through your abdomen. You cry out in shock, placing your hand over the injured area. It comes away red telling you all you need to know.

Mycroft is at your side, throwing your arm over his shoulder to get you to the car.

“Keep pressure on it, don’t stop holding it”, he instructs as he helps you into the back seat.

As he speeds you down the motorway your adrenaline starts to wear off and the pain starts to overcome you. The entire time Mycroft is speaking to you, urging for you to stay awake and stay alert but his pleas fall on deaf ears. All you know is pain and all you feel is blood slipping past your fingers. Against Mycroft’s wishes you let your eyes slip shut to get some reprieve from what has become unbearable light. It feels good. So good that you find you can’t force them open again. You feel a black warmth start to take over your body, and with Mycroft’s pleas fading in the background you embrace the dark. You surrender your consciousness to the unknown as you feel your pain alleviate.

When you awake you feel as though you are being weighed down by a large smothering blanket. You can’t move under it’s weight and you can’t open your eyes. A loud, steady beeping fills your ears. If you’d had control of your limbs you’d have swatted at the source, instead you are forced to endure the continual mechanical beeps. You realise that it feels as though someone has your hand in theirs. You try to remove it but succeed only in the smallest movement of your fingers.

“Y/N?” It’s Mycroft, his voice hoarse and desperate. You try to speak to him only for small grumbles to escape your lips. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” His hand not locked with yours is at your shoulder rubbing soothing circles on your covered skin. “You got shot in the back. The bullet went right through but they had to put you in theatre to stop all the bleeding.” He speaks as if he can read your mind, answering the thoughts that were zipping through.

Finally the weight lifts enough that you manage to open your eyes, little by little, until you have full sight of the room. Everything is stark white and sanitary, the only distinguishing feature being the beautiful man sitting beside you. You glance down and catch a glimpse of that little gold band once more.

“You’re still wearing your wedding ring”, you say, your voice scratchy from hours unused. His eyes quickly glance at his finger before looking at you and awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Yes, well you haven’t signed the divorce papers yet so we’re actually still married.” The papers sat on your desk in your apartment, tear stained and awaiting your pen upon it. Many nights you’d sat down and desperately tried to finalise what your husband wanted yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It seemed final, like once you put pen to paper you’d be signing away any chance that was left for you and the man you love. You were strong, but not that strong. “So are you.” He points out, motioning to your left hand where your ring laid. You move your thumb and lightly adjust its position. “You know why.” He has nothing to say sitting there all poise and logic, for it’s true, he knows.

He knows when your wedding was arranged both of you were following orders, neither of you wanted it. He knows that you were open and genuine while he was cold and calculating. He also knows that despite this you fell in love with him. He watched it happen before his eyes, helpless to stop it. He didn’t want any part of it, he didn’t want a wife to begin with let alone one that was falling for him. He let it go on for five years before compassion got the best of him and he filed for divorce. He didn’t want to carry it on any longer, the hope and longing from you too much to bear. It would have been cruel to let it continue.

He broke your heart regardless of his intentions. The day the papers arrived you were inconsolable because it was over. Your time with him and any chance he might feel the same was over and finished and it has been eating away at you ever since.

“You nearly died on that table”, he says, “if we’d arrived any later you wouldn’t be here now.” You simply shrug your shoulders at him.

“Does widow not have as good a ring to it as divorcee?” You say in bitter humour. His movement on your shoulder ceases and he removes both of his hands from you.

“You could have died Y/N, now is hardly the time for jokes.” His voice is stern and almost angry. He never did take your jokes very well.

“If not now then when?” You question with a shrug of your shoulders. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m still alive and we’re still getting a divorce.” You can’t look him in the eyes as you speak for if you did you know you’d cry which is the last thing he’d know how to deal with. The room is quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time which made you wish you could pluck your spoken words from the air and shove them somewhere deep and dark, away from the light of day.

“When you were in the back of the car”, Mycroft begins hesitantly, “and you passed out, I thought you’d died.” The way he speaks his sombre words shocks you, emotion you’d never heard from the composed man seeping through. He takes in a large shaky breath before continuing, as if he had to steady himself. “When they took you into the operating theatre I thought you were gone. It made me realise something.”

You almost daren’t ask but your heart beating eagerly in your chest left you no alternative. “What?”

“It made me realise that I, that I l-, I”, he speaks while trying to articulate his emotions, “I love, I love you.” Even though it was stuttered and scared, as far as you were concerned he’d spoken in prose. This was all you’d ever wanted. He loves you too. In reality you could barely move but you felt like you could fly.

“You love me?” You croak, your tears getting the better of you and escaping their ducts. “You don’t love anyone like that.”

“I never have”, he says in agreement, “until you. I realised if you never came out of that theatre I’d never be the same.” You desperately reach your hand out for his and squeeze it tightly. He brings his other hand up so yours is nestled between his.

You stayed there, looking at each others faces and soaking up the pure unadultered joy that filled the room. “Does this mean I can get rid of the divorce papers?” You ask hopefully.

“Burn them for all I care.” You laugh at his eagerness before reaching your free hand and placing it on his cheek.

“I love you Mycroft.” He stands and closes the distance between your lips, placing a gentle and tender kiss upon them. He rests his forehead on yours, not yet ready to separate from you.

“I love you too. I was afraid I was too late, that I’d pushed you too far”, he admits to which you shake your head lightly against his.

“Why do you think I hadn’t signed the papers?” You say with a cheeky grin. You lean in to capture his lips once more before he shifts away.

“You have to rest”, his says with his hand on your shoulder, “I’ll be back when you wake up.” You watch his retreating form wondering how you got so lucky as to have one of the best minds on earth fall in love with you.

You laid your head on your pillow resolving it’s not worth wondering. His was in love with you, and it’s all you could have ever wanted.

#sherlock #bbc #mycroft #mycroft holmes #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #imagine #mycroft x reader #i hope i did this justice #writing #me #mine #too many baes