#Also i just realised FUCKING SECRET LIFE FINISHED LIKE A MONTH AGO????

[azamonvoid]

I somehow managed to watch 6 full episodes of Limited life in one sit... how tf-

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (29) Hero

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 29)

Summary: Rosie lets us get one more glimpse of the wedding, before the tale of new beginnings for all of them are revealed.

Twenty-Nine Years Old

Papa had of course composed a waltz for our wedding, and after I’d danced with my husband, still strange to call him that, it was Dad’s turn. Papa still played but had switched to the waltz from Dad’s and his wedding now, and the waltz I’d danced to with Dad all those years ago. It was such a precious moment, and when it was played again, by the string quartet this time, I found myself in Papa’s arms.

“Thank you for making us a new waltz,” I said and looked up at him.

“You’re welcome, Bee. It was my pleasure.”

His smile was the one I called “the Bee and Dad smile”. It was warm, genuine and radiated love and affection. 

***

Timothy had been the first speaker and had used most of it to praise The Fab Four for raising me in the most unusual fashion. He avoided any “government secrets”, which I deduced was due to uncle Myc’s meddling. 

“He’s a fucking hero, your Timothy,” uncle Greg told me later that evening, not entirely sober. 

“Language, Gregory,” uncle Myc scolded him, which earned him a swat on his…yeah, well, I guess you can deduce the rest.

Dad’s speech was as incoherent and rambling as expected, bringing back anecdotes of Ted the bear’s last real meal, my theatrical announcement regarding Dad and Papa’s love for each other in the train carriage, how proud he was of me, and in the same sentence also thanking uncle Myc for being the best uncle.

“Sorry, Greg. That was before you and…” Dad said with an embarrassed grimace.

The uncle in question just waved it off, while looking adoringly at uncle Myc.

And of course there was praising of Papa for being the best thing that had ever happened to either of us. By the time he finished, there were tissues, sniffles and stifled sobs all around.

***

I had looked forward to Papa’s speech, having heard his encomium of Dad at their wedding, but it became instantly clear that his speech to me would surpass my wildest expectations. He started it with addressing me with words no one but me and Dad had ever heard, and I sought out Timothy’s hand and held on for dear life, lest I’d be transformed into a puddle of tears.

“My precious girl, my heart. I couldn’t believe my luck the day John brought you home to Baker Street. To be given the privilege of raising you, is the greatest honour I could ever receive. From that very first day you trusted me to take care of you as well as your father did. You gave your love freely, without any hesitation, and even if I wasn’t your legal parent from the beginning, it didn’t matter to you. But it mattered to me. The first time you called me Papa…”

He closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, clearly overwhelmed by the memories. Dad took his hand and squeezed it soothingly. Before he continued the speech, he looked down at Dad and a silent conversation took place. Releasing his hand from Dad’s, Papa straightened and started to speak once more.

The anecdotes Papa told, differed from Dad’s. My first trip, to Barts of all places, were described in detail. How Molly had scolded him for bringing a seven-month-old toddler to the morgue, his pride when he witnessed my first graduation in the dojo, getting my yellow belt, how stunned he was that I got along so well with his brother, (I still can’t believe he mentioned him), and his certainty that Timothy was my soul mate just like Dad was his.

All this sentiment elicited another round of sniffles, which a decade ago, would’ve made my Papa roll his eyes, but he’d softened over the years, I realised. Not that he would ever admit to it, mind you.

***

One year later, things had changed considerably. Dad and Papa had retired and moved to Sussex, and Timothy and I got the best Christmas present, the deed to 221 Baker Street with the clause that Dee could inhabit 221A for as long as she liked.

I’d missed my childhood home and I never thrived in that other part of the city. Timothy couldn’t believe our luck and made plans for creating his own writing den in 221C. Papa’s lab had been stripped bare, so it really was a blank canvas to do with as we pleased.

And then it was the biggest thing of all. A new life was growing inside me. The ultrasound showed a healthy foetus, but the sex was impossible to discern because of the position. We didn’t want to know anyway. The important thing was that everything was alright. Being a doctor’s daughter, I knew quite a lot about how bad things could get.

When we got home, after I’d texted my parents that everything was going well inside my womb, I rummaged around for my mother’s book with all the children’s names in it. She had made no notes in it, neither had Papa in his quest for alternative names for uncle Greg. I wouldn’t have minded seeing his scribbles, but now that I was going to be a mother myself, I felt conflicted thinking about the mother I never knew. Come to think of it, I’d never even seen her handwriting.

***

Timothy had asked me about my childhood a few days after I discovered that I was pregnant.

“If you can sum it up in one word, image, or a sentence, what will it be?”

I didn’t have to think twice before answering.

“My parents and their love for me and for each other.”

Timothy just nodded, not the least bit surprised by this.

“I would like to name the baby after them,” I said, which Timothy fully agreed to.

His sister had named two of her four children after their parents, and Timothy was rather fond of my family, despite his bickering with them.

“I consider it a love language,” he told me.

“Don’t you dare tell them! The consequences might be…something sinister,” I said.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

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[angryschnauzer]

The Poker Game

Summary: Now engaged to Humphrey, you’re living a life of luxury, so when your darling fiance invites some friends from work over for a game of poker and he promptly looses, there’s only one bargaining chip left... you. Sequel to Beast and The Beauty

Pairing: Gangbang x Female Reader (no race or body type specified)

Characters/Fandoms: Humphrey (Stardust), Captain ‘Lucas’ Syverson (Sand Castle), August Walker (Mission Impossible Fallout), Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)

Wordcount: 3834

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Reverse Harem, Gangbang, Group Sex, Unprotected Sex, Risky Creampies, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Triple Penetration, Oral Sex, Creampies, Sloppy Seconds, Dubious Consent, Breeding, Breeding Party, Degrading Names/Talk, Reader used as a fuck toy/object, Cumdump, Cuckolding, Knife Play, Public Nudity, Airplay, Choking, Alcohol, Impaired consent, creampies in every hole possible, more than one dick in a single hole, cum eating. Do Not Do This In Real Life. This story was 100% inspired by a video on pornhub. If you don’t know what any of the above warnings mean, feel free to message me privately so i can explain.

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. Henry Cavill Masterlist

The Poker Game

Life was good. The sun was shining, the waves were quietly lapping at the shoreline below the beach house. You had a big sparkly rock on your ring finger, and a glass of champagne slowly fizzing away on the small table next to the sunlounger you were currently laying on, soaking up the sun’s rays. 

Humphrey had proposed two weeks ago and you’d easily said yes. He was sweet and kind, and was growing ever more adventurous in your love life. He wanted to tie the knot as soon as possible, and you had even come off birth control as he was adamant at wanting to start a family as a priority. He was also absolutely loaded and the luxury multi million beach house was just one of his properties. His contract with the company had been made permanent, and he was now fully handling the marketing and promotion of the construction project the company had been hired to design.

The one little thing you’d kept secret was your tryst with your next door neighbour, Sy. It’d only happened once, and apart from a rather awkward brunch where Humphrey had introduced you to him without realising your history - and to which you had both stayed quiet about - you hadn’t seen Sy to talk to since, and it had been months ago. You’d now all but moved into Humph’s beach house and apart from your part time studies, were basically a kept woman thanks to his wealth. 

Through the serene midday sounds of the garden you heard the doorbell chime, settling yourself into your sunlounger as Humph had already mentioned that some of the guys from work would be coming over for beers and a game of poker. You applied another layer of tanning lotion, turned onto your back and set your earbuds to play your summer vibes playlist. 

An hour later when your playlist had finished, you’d flipped over twice and had finished your champagne which was now disappointingly warm. You were going to have to head inside to get a refill.

-

Humphrey looked at his cards and back to the table for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 30 seconds. These guys - his new work colleagues - had fleeced him of pretty much everything; his wallet was empty, his signet ring and cufflinks, even his watch all sat in the middle of the table amongst the poker chips. He could easily afford to replace all of them, but it was the principle of not being able to ‘pay’ his debts that concerned him. 

“What about the keys to that shiny little number on the driveway” 

The man behind the voice grinned at Humphrey, his lips curling into a smirk beneath his dark moustache. 

Humphrey cleared his throat;

“I’m sorry to tell you Walker, but the Lambo is leased, a much better investment of funds than outright ownership”

“Listen Blondie…” the man with the head of dark curls and thick beard spoke; “You have a debt to pay…”

Just at that moment the sliding doors opened and the sound of heels on polished floor tiles could be heard. The fourth man at the table cleared his throat;

“Here we go Walt, we’ve found how Blondie is gonna pay his debts”

There was a poignant pause before Humphrey spoke;

“Sy… you’re not talking about…”

-

Your eyes took a few moments to adjust from the brightness outside once you’d stepped into the air conditioned room, your senses a little fuzzy after sitting in the sunshine semi drunk for a good couple of hours. You set your glass on the counter paying little attention to the room, before opening the fridge and pulling out another mini bottle of Bollinger, popping the cork with skill before filling your glass. As the bubbles reached the rim you looked down over your sunglasses and stopped in your tracks; four pairs of hungry eyes were watching your every move, two pairs of which you recognised immediately. At that moment the bubbles threatened to overflow, and without thinking you bent forwards and slurped the froth from the top of the glass before standing straight again;

“Boys…”

More silence

“Everything ok Humphrey?”

Your fiance laughed;

“Absolutely Darling! Why don’t you come over here so I can show off my beautiful fiance?”

Abandoning your champagne you slowly crossed the room, smiling as you saw the other men following the sway of your hips, their eyes drawn to various parts of your body, all of which was barely covered at all apart from the tiny bikini you’d been sunbathing in. Standing beside Humphrey you rested your hand on his shoulder as he spoke;

“You’ve of course met Lucas Syverson before, but this is August Walker and Walter Marshall, the two in charge of security and legal respectively”

“Oh… very respectful” you commented, a grin on your face as you nodded to each of the men in turn.

“I got a suggestion” Sy spoke up, the other men glancing at him; “We let Blondie off what’s still owed in this particular game. But we play one final game, where the winner gets his greatest prize too”

You weren’t quite following but when Sy grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit on his lap, you let out a squeak of surprise before settling on the man’s thick thighs. You watched as they cleared the table and set up the next game, dealing cards and setting out chips. Throughout all of this as you squirmed on big Sy’s lap you kept looking to Humphrey, who in turn would smile, his gaze occasionally raking up and down your body as you sat on another man’s lap. 

The game started and the dynamic in the room changed, as each man took the lead you were pulled onto each of their laps. Each had their own way of handling you, and it sent a thrill through your body to feel their hands on your bare skin. It was when you were on August's lap - he was equally as intimidating as the curly haired man, Walter Marshall - when it started to become evidently clear that Humphrey was losing this game. 

“It would seem like we’re going to be claiming your prized possession Blondie” August said, a dark undertone to his words; “You’re ten thousand down in a game where you started with nothing, it’s pretty inevitable how this is going to play out…”

August Walker was a big man, and he at that moment had you straddling one of his legs as your back rested against his chest. You watched as he calmly set his cards face down onto the table before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small switchblade. The air around the gaming table was tense, but as you looked at the other men’s expressions none of them showed fear, if anything a trio of dark excitement stared back at you at what August was about to do.

“How about we get a glimpse of what is on offer” he muttered, before he oh-so lightly ran the tip of his knife from your navel to your sternum, beneath the string of your bikini between your breasts and held it there. He applied a little outward pressure and the razor sharp knife sliced clean through the string, allowing your breasts to bounce free of the swimsuit. He pulled the knife away from your body and flicked it back into the handle, before slipping it back into his pocket and picking up his cards again.

You sat bare from the waist up, only the tiny pair of swimsuit panties and your high heels now adorning your body, your breasts bare and on show for the whole room to admire. Sy licked his lips as he looked as if he was about to eat you alive, Walter chewed on his lip as he shifted in his seat, his beard doing a good job of hiding the smile that was tugging at the corner of his mouth, but not a complete job. Humphrey - your darling fiance - seemed the calmest out of everyone, his face serene and bright, an unusual sparkle in his eye you hadn’t seen before, but nonetheless he seemed very calm about the whole situation. The game continued as hands of cards were won and lost, chips moved around the table and the language got ever coarser. Walter set down some cards and it would seem he had taken the lead, pushing his chair out a little and patted his thigh;

“Come here”

He pulled you onto his lap, your ass pressing against his crotch and your legs straddling his thick thighs. You considered for a moment that it was a fairly comfortable position, that was until he spread his thighs as wide as he could, which in turn pushed your legs so wide apart the scrap of fabric between your thighs was displaced to no longer cover your core. Your dewey petals were on full show to the room, your arousal clear for the men to see as you were spread like a ceremonial bloom on an altar of sin.

The game continued and it was now completely clear that Humphrey was going to lose, but to who was the question hanging in the air. The game was drawing to an end, with final hands being set down. Humphrey went first, showing a rather abysmal hand of cards. Sy went next, barely much better, but a confident smirk playing on his face;

“August, Walter, time to see who’s claiming the prize”

August set his cards down, sitting back and grinning as he folded his arms behind his head:

“Beat that Marshall”

Reaching around you Walter set an almost identical hand down, but where August’s were Hearts, his were Spades;

“Looks like we’re at a dead heat tie”

“Huh. ‘Spose that could work”

Suddenly you were being lifted and thrown over a wide pair of shoulders, legs dangling in the air  before you were sat down unceremoniously onto the wide padded ottoman pouffe. Walter pulled his polo shirt over his head and tossed it aside, grabbing the scrap of fabric that pointlessly clung to your lower half and tore it from your body with one hand as he popped the button and pulled down the zipper to his dark denim jeans. Just as you were about to get a glimpse of what was being unleashed a strong hand grabbed your jaw and turned your head;

“Open up Princess”

Without protest your mouth opened and you took August’s hard shaft between your lips, relishing the way you stretched around the gnarled girth. You weren’t given long to dwell on that thought, as an equal thickness was plunged into your soaked cunt, stretching your walls as they protested from lack of preparation. There was the briefest of pause before the curly haired giant started to plough into you, stretching your walls to his size, relishing the way they dragged at his flesh with each pull, the slight resistance with each push. Strong calloused hands gripped at your calves as they rested on a firm chest, and in a moment of intimacy you felt a kiss pressed to each of your ankles, before the thrusts became harder and more feral. 

All the while Walter was plundering your depths, August continued to fuck your throat, cursing quietly as he pushed deeper each time, feeling you stretch around him to the point he lightly grasped your neck and could feel himself moving. With a sudden roar the giant bear filling your cunt thrust forwards, pushing August deeper into your throat. Walter came with a growl, his dick twitching deep inside your unprotected womb as he filled you with his thick seed. In a fraction of a second August had pulled out, and as soon as Walter slumped back and fell onto the couch, August was taking his place. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist he leant forwards and took one of your nipples into his mouth, his moustache tickling your skin and distracting you from his hardness filling you where Walter had only second been before. Letting the teat go with an audible pop, he grinned at you, a glint in his eye that told you trouble was ahead. Pushing up he rubbed his thumb over your clit;

“C’mon Princess, let’s see how many times you can come…”

In harsh circles he rubbed at the sensitive pearl, pushing you rapidly towards orgasm before you came with a scream, all the while he fucked you through the delirium, only to keep going with both his dick and his thumb.

“August… please… its too much”

“Shhh” another voice near your head distracted you, looking up and seeing Sy unzipping himself, before he pushed his hips forwards and fed you his dick. His hands rested on your titties as he played with both, pinching and tugging on both nipples as August rubbed on your clit and you came again around his shaft. Your moans were swallowed by the familiar thickness between your lips, but you could hear what was being said;

“Rub it harder Walker, see if she’ll squirt” the thick Texas drawl told you it was Sy, and seeing as he knew first hand you could squirt from the right pressure you tried to squeal, but were silenced by another thick inch being pushed into your throat. 

With two enormous cocks filling you from each end, rough hands tugging on your nipples, and an equally rough thumb torturing your clit you could feel your body starting to float, of your mind starting to disconnect, only for your orgasm to come crashing over you and as promised, you covered August as you squirted around his massive dick. 

“Ah… ah fuck…” he cursed, before with a final push he thrust so deep into you his rounded mushroom shaped crown pressed against your cervix and flooded it with his come.

Pulling out you felt him rub the mixed spend over your petals and down to your ass, before pulling back. Sy withdrew from your mouth only to spin you around and flip you over, pulling your ass up before he speared you with his thick dick, pushing August and Walters cum back into your battered hole.

“Well, will ya look at that cute little rose winking at me…”

You heard him spit before the liquid landed on your ass, his finger pressing against your back door as he fucked your cunt roughly with ease. You were now loose and pliable in his hands, pushing back to meet each of his thrusts.

“That’s it Petal, fuck yourself on my dick you gorgeous slut. You fucking love this don’tcha’?”

“Harder Sy, fuck me harder…”

“Oh don’t you worry Petal, by the time we’ve done with you, you’ll be a completely fucked out mess”

He spat again on your ass before pushing a second finger in alongside the first, his other hand curling around your front to find your clit and press tight circles to the sensitive nub, making you come hard which he fucked you straight through;

“After Humphrey’s cum in your cunt i’m gonna fuck your ass. I might even pass you around so everyone else can have a go too”

You didn’t think it was possible to come so soon again after an orgasm, but his words triggered a base response in your mind and you found yourself screaming out another orgasm as you squirted again. As you trembled and shook Sy pushed in deep and filled you with his thick load, adding to the mix already flooding your womb.

Only vaguely aware he’d pulled out, you lay face down on the ottoman twitching and drooling, in a haze of pleasure when you felt two pairs of strong arms lifting you. You watched as they carried you towards Humphrey as he sat calmly on the large couch, tugging on his dick before you were placed on top of him, straddling his lap with your back to his chest. You were lowered onto his aching shaft, an obscene squelch sounding around the room as the penetration was eased by three thick loads dripping out of you. It was only then as you lazily bounced yourself on your fiance’s dick did you look around the room, slightly surprised to see that everyone was now naked, sitting back on the enormous couch and drinking hard liquor, watching Humphrey fuck up into your soaked cunt. With a strangled cry he pushed up harshly one last time, and you felt him fill you with his own seed;

“Darling, so fucking good…been such a good girl for me and the boys…”

You lay back against Humph’s chest as it rose and fell from his exertion, your eyes falling shut before you heard him chuckle;

“No sleeping on the job, here come the wolfpack for more…”

Opening your eyes you were shocked to see all three of the men approaching you, naked and completely hard, their eyes dark with desire. Again strong arms lifted you, this time August lying beneath you as you straddled him and sank down onto his dick. He pulled your face down to his and kissed you, tongue and teeth as he took control, and that’s when you felt the wide tip of another dick pressing in from behind you. What shocked you however was that it was trying to get into your already stuffed cunt, fingers sliding in to stretch you a little before whoever it was tried again, your eyes going wide as you felt yourself stretch around the dual penetration;

“Oh FUCK” you cursed, eliciting a dark chuckle from behind you

“That’s it Slut, take my dick in your cunt”  

For a quiet guy, Walter had by far the coarsest vocabulary, and the fact you now knew it was he and August double stuffing the same hole made you get even wetter to help them move. What you hadn’t been expecting however was for Walter to settle and lay back, allowing a third beast access to your core, but as a warm back pressed to yours, you recognised the brush of the thick beard against your shoulder as Sy pressed his mouth close to your ear;

“I’m gonna fuck that ass now, just like i promised”

He pressed against your back door, now slippery from so much come that had leaked out of you. It took a few tries, but eventually you relaxed enough to allow that first hurdle, the pop of his wide crown pushing past the tight ring of muscle. Groans from all three men sounded in your ears as space inside your body grew even tighter, and you felt the smooth slide of Sy as he pushed slowly and entirely into your ass. 

From that point words could have been said, but not a single coherent thought passed through your mind, instead your soul was about to leave your body as you were taken to new highs of pleasure as you reached new lows of depravity. Orgasm after orgasm washed through you, your cries of pleasure only making the men fuck you harder and faster.

Sy was first to come, pushing deep into your ass as he pumped a load into your barren canal. You heard Walter cussing Sy out and telling him to get his hairy arse out of his face, before the pressure in your cunt lessened and you realised Walter had pulled out, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth before you felt him press against your ass and push in deep in one hard thrust. Now with the added room in your cunt August picked up the pace, him and Walter fucking you hard and rough before Walter too blew his load in your guts, August filling your cunt with another load. 

You lay twitching on top of August as Walter pulled out, before you were lifted and set onto the soiled couch.

“So, what’ll it be Humphrey, cunt or ass, you’ve got another load in you”

“Oh absolutely. But as we’re trying to knock her up i think i’ll choose her juicy cunt again, save her ass for when she’s too full of baby to take me up front” he pulled you into his arms and stood, and you felt a second pair of hands lifting you until Humphrey was able to spear your cum soaked cunt with his dick again. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, kissing him deeply as he bounced you on his shaft, and that’s when you felt another body behind you.

“Don’t suppose you mind if i try that juicy ass out do you Humphrey, seeing at the rest of the boys had, it’s only fair”

August pressed his already hard again dick against your asshole as Humphrey slowed down his thrusts, and with a deep sigh from all three of you, he slid home easily;

“Oh this is just perfect, loose and lubed, i could fuck this ass all day”

Humphrey laughed;

“I’m guessing that’s what’ll happen at the batchelor party”

“Perfect, count me in”

They worked in complete tandem, your light haired fiance and the darkness behind you, filling your holes over and over before you came with a final scream, both pushing up into your body and filling your holes with another load of their seed. 

-

As you lay on the couch, your holes leaking cum, you watched through heavy lidded eyes as Humphrey happily said goodbye to his guests who were now all dressed and looked as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened that afternoon what so ever. Once the door had clicked shut you watched with a smile on your face as he walked towards you, before getting to his knees and pressing a kiss to your nose;

“Oh that was a wonderful afternoon Darling, you did so well…” he started to push your legs apart and you whined.

“Humph, i’m sore…”

“Shhh, i know Darling, let me soothe it”

You watched with dismay as he spread your legs and started to lap at your cum soaked cunt, his soft lips and long tongue lapping at the spend of four men, however it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He coaxed a soft orgasm from you before he sat back, and that’s when you noticed the tent in his smart black pants;

“Darling, you make me so hard…”

With some effort you turned over and settled on your knees, your cheek against the soft fabric of the couch as you reached back and pulled your cheeks apart;

“Please Humphrey, take my ass, i can’t wait until i’m knocked up, i need you now”

You heard the zipper being lowered and you smiled happily, and as you felt his dick slide smoothly past the loose muscle you let out a sigh of happiness. You really did have the best fiance ever.

And you were looking forward to his Batchelor party in Vegas as you knew there would be eight of his friends there.

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: your relationship with Wanda gets a little bumpy when her work life crosses over with your personal life.

warning/s: implied kidnapping, mentions of anxiety

author's note: so the ‘i love you’ confession was actually inspired by an incorrect quote on @aquamarinescarlet’s page! i thought it would be cute aha

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

It was two months into our relationship when I knew I'd fallen in love with Wanda. I can't remember the exact moment when it hit me – I guess it had happened gradually over time – but I remember the embarrassing moment when I told her.

She'd brought me as her date to an Avengers party thrown by Tony Stark. I'd been to one of them before, about a month into dating her, as she'd wanted me to meet her friends from work AKA the freakin' Avengers. They were actually really great and (somewhat) humble people. I didn't expect to become 'friends' with any of them, more just be friendly whenever I saw them through Wanda. To my surprise, I became quite good friends with Natasha Romanoff.

We had the same dark sense of humour, both had an unexplainable obsession with horror films and she was genuinely just really easy to talk to. I wasn't expecting it, but it was nice to gain a new friend in addition to a new girlfriend.

So, I was at my second Avengers party with Wanda by my side, but the party had ended about half an hour ago and I may or may not have been drunk.

We were sat on the couch, conversing with the other Avengers, and I was sat between Wanda and Natasha. The others were involved in their own conversations and I was too dazed to realise what I was doing until it happened.

"Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her," I said (not-so) quietly, leaning over to my left, into Wanda's ear unknowingly.

Wanda, who was playing with my fingers in her hand, paused and glanced to me with bright eyes, a surprised expression on her face.

"You're in love with me?" she asked, lips twitching into a smile.

I blinked, her words settling in, before I licked my lips. "Oh, sorry." Turning to my right, I moved to Natasha's ear, whispering loudly, "Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her."

Natasha glanced to me with a quirked brow, amused smile on her lips. "She doesn't? You sure about that?"

"You're in love with me?" Wanda repeated, sitting forward and earning my attention.

I gasped, wondering how she knew, before slapping Natasha's arm and looking to her with a frown. "You told her?! I trusted you!"

Natasha ignored me, instead looking to Wanda with an encouraging look. "I'll leave this one to you. Good luck."

She stood up, heading over to Thor and Bruce Banner on the other couch, and I booed her as she left.

"Yeah, run away, you secret-give-away'er!" I called after her with a pout, before crossing my arms.

"I think it's time I take you home," Wanda said decidedly, trying not to laugh as she pulled me up off the couch.

"I don't like Natasha anymore," I mumbled, allowing Wanda to take me away.

She bid her goodbyes to her teammates before leading me to the lift. I don't really remember what else happened until we were suddenly at my house – well, my parents house, but they had given it to me as they travelled the world with their retirement money. She was leading me inside and to my bedroom, getting me dressed like the sweet girlfriend she was, before tucking me into bed.

Of course, being the clingy drunk I was, I pulled her on top of me and didn't let go as I wrapped my arms around her.

"Stay," I mumbled into her shoulder, closing my eyes.

She chuckled, trying to pull away. "Y/N, you need to sleep, c'mon."

"I will," I whined, not letting her leave. "If you stay with me."

She paused, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine."

Tiredly, I smiled. "Yesssss." I patted the spot next to me. "Right here, please."

In the light of my bedside lamp, I saw her roll her eyes playfully, before turning off the lamp and jumping under the covers with me. I sighed with relief, cuddling into her side without hesitating.

"I love you," I mumbled, barely thinking about it.

She tightened her embrace and I felt her kiss the top of my head. "You're probably gonna forget you said that in the morning. But I'll remind you. And if you still think it, then I'll reply."

Her words went into one ear and out the other. I hummed in response, not knowing what I was answering to, and let myself get lost in her scent as I drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When I woke up the next morning, I quite liked the idea of sharing bed with Wanda and waking up to her dishevelled hair and our intertwined legs, even though I didn't remember inviting her to stay. Of course, I also had a banging headache and felt like someone had hit me with a train, so I didn't get chance to appreciate it much.

"Fuck," I mumbled, pulling the duvet over my head to block out the sun streaming through the slit in my curtain.

Wanda, who was shuffling beside me, yawned and stretched her arms. Suddenly, I heard quiet laughter, before she spooned me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and pulling me closer. Her leg raised and clung to my waist, and as much as I appreciated the way she fit perfectly against me, I was still in pain.

"Why did you let me drink that much?" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I believe that was your own conscience decision, dorogoy (darling)," she said in that know-it-all voice of hers, and it was hard for me to be annoyed at her because she had a raspy, morning voice and her accent was especially thick with fatigue and damn, Wanda Maximoff was pretty sexy in the morning.

"Whatever," was all I said, but I placed my hand on hers and joint our fingers together.

"You know," she started, tucking her head comfortably into my neck, "I quite like waking up to you like this. You're very cute, even if you're cranky."

Despite aforementioned crankiness, I cracked a smile. "I like this, too."

It was very domestic, something I didn't get the privilege of experiencing with Wanda because she worked a lot, and it felt good.

After hanging around in bed for a little while longer, I got up and showered whilst Wanda offered to make me some breakfast – "Pancakes are a hangover's cure! Or at least according to Tony". After getting ready, I came downstairs to find a stack of pancakes and maple syrup waiting for me.

"You are a Godsend," I told her, pressing a haste kiss to her lips before sitting at the table with the pancakes. "Thank you."

She chuckled, grabbing her own pancakes and sitting opposite me. "Anything for you."

After I dug in, complimenting her on how delicious they tasted, a comfortable silence fell between us. Well, until Wanda spoke up cautiously.

"So, does anything from last night ring a bell?" she asked, making me look up to see her staring eagerly.

My content expression fell. "Shoot, did I do something embarrassing?" I facepalmed. "God, what was it? Did I fall asleep on somebody?"

She smiled with adoration, eyes twinkling in the morning sun. "No, nothing like that."

I could tell there was something though, judging from her hesitant expression. I scrunched my face with regret.

"What did I do?" I asked, unprepared to hear it. "Did I say something to you?"

She played with her fork, twisting it around in her plate nervously, which was very unlike her. "Yeah, actually, you did."

I waited, feeling like the silence was deafening the longer she stayed quiet.

"You said you were in love with me," she said, voice so soft and quiet that I barely heard it.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. "I what?"

"I mean, technically you said I had no idea you were in love with me, but I think you were supposed to tell Nat that," she continued, eyes avoiding mine. "Then you told Nat and you got mad at her because you thought she told me."

I facepalmed for the second time that morning. "Oh, God..."

"Then you invited me to stay the night and told me you loved me before you fell asleep," she finished rambling. "I just, er, wanted to check if you meant that..."

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. "Are you kidding?" I reached over the table to grab her hand. "Wanda, of course I meant that! But I hoped to tell you at a better time than by accident whilst I was drunk."

Blue eyes flickered to mine, excitement creeping onto her face. "You meant it."

I breathed out, realising what exactly I'd just said. "I– yeah. I meant it. I'm in love with you, Wanda."

Her smile widened. "I'm in love with you, too."

My heart fluttered in my chest as I relaxed my shoulders. "You love me."

She giggled, squeezing my hand. "We just did this."

"Right! We did," I said, shaking my head, grin forming on my lips. "Sorry. I'm just so happy right now."

"Me, too," she said in agreement, thumb stroking the top of my hand.

I didn't think things could go wrong from here. I was on top of the world! But of course, the world had a funny way of ruining things.

—

Dating a superhero had its pros and cons, I suppose, but neither really showed themselves to me often as it was as if Wanda's superhero life was separate to the one we shared. When she and I were together, it was just us. And she would leave for work and I wouldn't think about it. Then she would return and it would be us again.

If I took a moment out of my day to stop and really think about where she was, what she could be doing, the danger she could be in... I just couldn't do it. Even when she would show up to our next date with a fresh bruise from training, or a broken bone from a mission gone too far, I'd worry about it for the time being then try to let it go. Those weren't superhero perks, those were reasons to be concerned. And I couldn't handle imagining the time when she'd come back to me in a worse state, or to not even come back at all.

So, her superhero life rarely overlapped with our shared one. And I was happier that way. Until it did.

I was running errands one day, little things that required me to run around the city – dry cleaning, grocery shopping, picking up some DIY stuff for my house. It was a pretty relaxing, fun day. I'd treated myself to lunch, was soaking in the sunshine and planning to unwind with some Netflix on the couch.

"Hold on, I need to unlock the front door," I mumbled into the phone. I was talking to Wanda, catching her up with my day as I returned home.

"Try not to drop your phone this time," she teased from the other end, and I could just imagine the smirk on her face.

"So funny," I said with an eye roll. "Real comedian."

She laughed as I placed my phone in my pocket, not quite hanging up. Pulling my keys from my shopping bag, I fiddled with them, attempting to find the key for my front door.

Suddenly, something metal and cold pressed to my back and I jumped, dropping my keys with surprise.

"Don't draw attention," the person said, and I went rigid, looking up to see a reflection of someone unrecognisable in the glass of my front door. "You're going to leave your things here and come with me."

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to turn around, but the object pressed harder into my back, making me wince.

"Leave your fucking things here and give me your hand," the man ordered, ignoring my question. "Phone included. And don't even think about making a call."

I swallowed hard, panic settling in as I listened to the threatening stranger. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I realised that the stranger had no idea I was already on a call. With an Avenger nonetheless.

"I'll put it down," I narrated my actions, soon coming to realise that the object behind my back was in fact the barrel of a gun.

Hoping Wanda was still listening in and could hear the exchange, I put my phone on the ground and placed my shaking hand in the man's outstretched one. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans before tugging me down the steps and to a black van parked opposite my house.

Too paralysed with fear at the sight of two more strange men getting out the van, I felt my throat go dry and words get stuck at the bottom. Looking around, I hoped to find a neighbour's eyes or dog-walker's lost gaze, but nobody was here. Whoever these men were had timed their entrance perfectly.

When we reached the van, the back doors were opened and the man spun me around roughly before placing a bag on my head and shoving me inside. Hot tears ran down my face as I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering what the hell was happening and who these people were. But mostly, I hoped Wanda was already on her way.

—

The whole incident was over soon. That's what we were calling it now. The 'incident'. Of course, it could have been called other things... the kidnapping, the abduction, the capture. But we settled with the 'incident'. It was less explicit, as if minimising how utterly terrifying the whole experience was.

I never did find out who those men were. Wanda offered to tell me, feeling a need to explain herself and blame herself and drag herself down in the dirt to make me feel better, to bring me out of my silence and give me something to feel good about. I recalled her mentioning they were after her, getting to her through me – her girlfriend.

She rescued me quite quickly. Being tied up and locked away and left to cry like a child, wondering if I was going to die any minute at the hands of captors whom I had never met nor done anything to in my life, wasn't fun. People always wonder what they would do in those situations; maybe they would square up and put up a fight; maybe they would scream and shout and get everyone's attention; maybe they'd even retort with sarky remarks and go out with a blaze of glory.

I never imagined what that would be like, but I discovered I could do neither of those things. I just let them take me, let them threaten me and point their guns at me and tie me up and lock me away and–

I let myself cry and feel terrified and shake and lose my words and imagine the worst. Some would call that giving in, but this wasn't something you could prepare for. Surely my response was justified? I wasn't sure. I just knew that when Wanda burst onto the scene, taking out the men with ease and taking me out of there, taking me home, I was momentarily safe.

But then as she began to ramble off her explanations and apologies and regrets, I found myself turning in on myself, unable to hear her out. I didn't blame her one bit, but I also couldn't listen to one more second. So, I tuned her out.

I sat on the couch, staring at the way the thread was coming loose on one of my cushions. I thought about how quickly the whole 'incident' had happened. How one minute I was sat in a cell and now I was sat on my couch. How I was then shaking with fear and now I felt nothing.

"...you listening? Hey, are you okay?"

I only tuned back in when she sat on the cushion I was looking at. Her fingers rested on my cheek, guiding my head upwards so I was looking her in the eyes, glassy and red and swollen from crying. I probably looked the same, though I was all out of tears.

"I promise you nobody will be back here," she said with certainty, thumb stroking my cheek. "There's S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted all along the street. And I'm happy to stay here if you need me to. You're safe now."

I knew I was. And despite my calm exterior, my heart was still racing in my chest, adrenaline still pumping through my body as if expecting to make a sudden break for it.

"What are you thinking?" she muttered, eyes flicking between mine curiously. "Talk to me. Please."

I shook my head, looking away. "I'm okay."

"It's okay not to be," she said quietly, squeezing my hand.

"I know."

So, we kept that bit up for a few more days, maybe a week. Me pretending I was okay, though still distant from Wanda as if she'd caught the plague, and her pretending she knew I was telling the truth.

But I knew she sensed the nightmares I had, waking me up in cold sweats. I knew she saw the way I tensed when a shadow cast along the wall from a moving object. Or the way I never faced the front door when unlocking it to get inside.

I guess she couldn't take it anymore at some point, possibly a week or two later, as when I was mixing my soup in a bowl after heating it up in the microwave, she sighed loudly.

"You okay?" I asked, glancing up at her. She was stood by the counter, seeming tired.

She'd been staying with me since the incident happened, obviously, and it was nice having her around so much, despite the circumstances. But I knew she was worried and had been keeping it in. I just didn't have the energy to acknowledge it.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her fingers still drummed on the countertop.

I let it go, shrugging, before paying attention to my soup. Her impatience was obnoxiously loud, filling the house with a discomfort she was dying to express. Eventually, she did.

"I'm not fine," she decided, and I stopped stirring my soup as I looked to her tugging on her sleeves distractedly. "I'm not fine because you're not fine."

"I've told you I am," I said monotonously, eyes boring into hers.

"I know you're not," she said, crossing her arms and hugging herself. "I've noticed you and..."

I quirked a brow. "And?"

She frowned, eyes softening with empathy. "Don't make me say it, Y/N."

I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth as I looked down to my steaming soup.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, rounding the counter and leaning beside me, searching for my eyes. "I just want to help."

I swallowed hard. "I have nothing to say, Wanda."

"A really scary thing happened," she began hesitantly. "The fact that you don't have anything to say– that you've not said anything, isn't right."

"Well, I guess there's something wrong with me," I said dismissively, before grabbing the pepper grinder before me and using it.

"No, there's not," she reassured, not giving up. "You just need to talk.”

I set the grinder down, turning to face her abruptly. She straightened up with surprise, taking a small step back.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, voice calm but full of unintentional malice. "Huh? What do you want me to tell you? That I'm terrified somebody is watching my house, waiting for a quiet moment to break in? That I have to follow you into every room you go in because I don't want to be left alone? That I can't fucking sleep because I'm scared that when I close my eyes, I'll be locked in a nightmare I can't escape? Is that what you want me to tell you? Does that make you feel better, Wanda? Because it doesn't make me feel any better. It just reminds me how fucking terrified I am."

I pocketed my shaking hands, blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, swallowed down the lump rising in my throat. She watched me, unsure what to say at first and I didn't blame her. It was an outburst waiting to happen.

"I'm–"

"Don't say you're sorry," I snapped, before flinching at my tone. "I know you're sorry. And I don't blame you for what happened. I just– I don't know what to do anymore."

Her eyes were studying me like green lasers burning holes into my skin and I hated that I couldn't meet them. I hated even more that I couldn't leave the kitchen out of anger or frustration because I was too scared to be left alone without her by my side.

So, I leaned against the counter, turning away from her, and let out a shaky breath, eyes burning and heart thumping in my ears. Her arms suddenly wrapped around me without question, and I let her take me into her chest, squeezing me so tight so I knew she was there.

Closing my eyes, I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, but no sound came out. I struggled to breathe, unable to take in air through my nose as I stuffed my head so hard into her shirt that I couldn't see a thing except darkness. I knew I'd eventually be okay, that I'd eventually get back to some sense of normalcy. But for now, having her here with me was okay. And I found it much better to just be with her then have to go over and talk it out.

She was warm and strong and smelt like home and God, I loved her. I was lucky to have her.

—

It took about a month and a half to get over the incident. And after that, we never brought it up again. It was just easier that way. We continued on like usual, falling back into our old routine of having a separate us and her separate superhero life.

At some point, I thought it would be nice for her to meet my parents. They were back in town for the week, wanting to check in and see how I was. It was nice having them around and I was excited for them to meet Wanda, who I'd mentioned in some of our Skype calls.

"We don't have to make it a thing," I said as I proposed the idea. We were cleaning around Anna's apartment as she napped in her bedroom. "It's not like an 'oh, meet the parents' thing. They just happen to be in town and we're having a dinner, so I thought you might want to come. If you don't, it's not a big deal. I haven't told them to expect you. Not unless you say yes. Which you don't have to."

She chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Dorogoy (darling), calm down. Breathe."

I neatened the cushions on the couch with a bit too much force. "Am I not breathing? I'm pretty sure I'm breathing."

Her hands slipped into mine as she spun me around to face her. An amused smile on her lips, she said, "You need to relax. If you're like this now, then who knows what you'll be like on the night of the dinner?"

It took me a second to realise what she'd said and when I did, my eyes widened. "Wait, the night of the– does that mean you're going?"

She laughed, tugging me closer to her. "Yes, I'm going. I'd love to meet your parents!"

My shoulders relaxed as her fingers played with mine mindlessly. A smile appeared on my lips as I said, "Thank you. I– it'll be fun. No pressure. Just a dinner."

"Just a dinner," she confirmed, before kissing my forehead gently. "Can't wait."

And so on the day before my parents left for Scotland, yet another trip on their never ending retirement travels, I waited for Wanda to pick me up so we could go to a restaurant to meet my parents, who were already there after spending the day shopping in town.

She arrived at the door with a beautiful smile and bright eyes, looking me up and down.

"Just on time," I teased, tilting my head to the side, before being serious. "You look amazing tonight, Wanda."

"As do you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said sweetly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek, before stepping inside. "Also, these are for you."

She removed her hand from behind her back as I closed the door, revealing a gorgeous, colourful bouquet of flowers.

"I saw them and thought of you," she began to explain without even realising how cute she was; a smile crept on my lips as she continued, "but then I realised I've never gotten you flowers before which is very dumb of me because a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers, right?"

There was no doubt that my face was heating up from the attention, flustered yet honoured at her words.

"Wanda, I love them," I said, accepting the flowers and meeting her gaze. "And to be fair, nobody has ever gotten me flowers before."

"You're kidding," she said with disbelief, stepping forward and wrapping her arms loosely around my waist. Reading my serious expression, she added, "Not even for your birthday? Or a celebration?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

She gave me a knowing look. "Well, that's very unfortunate. But I'm glad I could be the first."

I held her gaze, amusement dancing in her smile. Mirroring her expression, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up delightfully.

"Me, too," I said, and I meant it.

"Come on, we should get going," she said, squeezing my waist before letting go. "Don't want to be late, do we?"

"We do not," I agreed, before putting the flowers in a vase of water and leaving them by the door.

"You ready?" she asked, holding open the front door.

I intertwined our hands and met her smile with my own. "I'm ready."

Taking the girlfriend to meet the parents. What could go wrong?

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [8]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, guns, anxiety

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: oh my god oh my god sam stans how are we feeling djkghdfjkhgdf. no thoughts only sam wilson in ep1 of tfatws <333

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Hey, I’m just going to step out for today.” You looked up from the doodle you were making on the corner of the paper. “Catch you later? Just find me if you need anything.”

“You okay?” You automatically sat up straighter, blanket creasing under you. Something was amiss in his body language.

“Yeah, just-” He seemed like he was struggling for words. “-Brooklyn.”

You didn’t get what he was making a reference to until it suddenly dawned on you.

It was the codeword he had suggested right at the beginning of your time in the house. If he was in danger you were sure he’d tell you, at least an inkling of information.

But no, this was for some time alone, further confirmed by the distant look in his eyes.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here if you need.”

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, turning around and leaving the room.

You were left staring after him, the drawing you were making of the house layout discarded on the bed. You were working on strategies, vantage points- anything that could help in case something went wrong.

Was it because of the dumb ‘moment’ you had shared two days ago? It didn’t seem like it because he hadn’t brought it up at all and God knows you would never. Was it something else that had happened, something you did?

Stop overthinking. He probably just needs a day to himself.

You had spent almost a month in each other’s company and he had never once complained. He had a tendency to be petty about minor inconveniences, like you trying to watch a movie when his favourite segment on the local news channel was going on. He liked the cooking show they hosted.

He had never made it a point to specifically tell you that he needed some time to himself, much less use the word.  

“Get yourself together,” you whispered to yourself, shaking off the nagging feeling you had.

If he had an issue, he would have voiced it. He never shied away from doing that before and you knew he wouldn’t start now.

You forced yourself to think about something else, grabbing the copy of American Gods you had already gone over once before but were subjecting to a reread. Opening the page you had last left it at, you were determined to distract yourself.

Nearly twenty minutes later and exactly zero pages since you had started, you realised that no matter how much you forced yourself to get into it, you went over the same line over and over again, not a single word registering in your head.

“Motherfucker,” you groaned, letting the book fall on your face. You took a long look outside the window, mind drifting.

It was a nice day out. Maybe some sun would help.

You lifted your legs off the bed, taking your book with you to the kitchen. You could get a nice sandwich-- the same as the last three fuckin’ weeks but you digressed-- a glass of water, and you could sit outside for a while. A mini picnic.

You opened a new packet of sliced bread, taking two out before stopping. You pondered over whether you should make him a sandwich for when he returned, knowing that he didn’t eat lunch before he left.

You thought about it for a good minute before rolling your eyes, pulling out two additional slices to make him one as well. It was just a sandwich. It wasn’t a big deal.

Tucking your book under your arm, you carried your lunch and a glass of water to the patio around the back.

The wind rustled the leaves and the sun wasn’t harsh. The low buzz of insects was the only sound that kept you company.

The air was crisp and you instantly felt better than you had all day in the room.

Setting your stuff down on the bench, you sat down, inhaling deeply.

The book suddenly didn’t seem so impossible to complete as you tried once more, slipping into the pages easily. Even after you finished your food, you continued to lounge about there, too engrossed and content to move.

You didn’t notice the afternoon go by, evening coming and going just as swiftly. You swatted at the occasional fly but nothing else bothered you.

It felt like summer break. At least what you thought it would feel like. You never had one, being homeschooled about things from various people in the organization. There wasn’t a singular, long break. You were just forced to adapt.

You didn't know how to deal with the suffocating realisation of knowing there were so many things you missed out on. It grew the longer you spent time away. You just shoved it away, forcing yourself to deal with it another day.

He comes back when the sky is slipping into shades of orange, a backpack on his shoulder. There was a patch of sweat around his neck and his head was hung low as he walked.

“Hey,” you hoped it didn't look like you were waiting for him. It could easily be taken as you camping out there, waiting for your husband to return from a hard day in the fields.

Sam looked up at your greeting. You noted that the bruise on his nose was starting to change colour but the swelling had reduced from how bad it used to be.

“Left you a sandwich on the counter if you’re hungry,” you added. He nodded in acknowledgement, making his way up the stairs and into the house without another word.

You let out an exhale, feeling a little better knowing that he was at least back in one piece. No reason to believe otherwise other than the anxiety you had developed over imagining the worst case scenarios.

You picked up your book again, intending to finish off the last bit before you went back inside for the day.

About half an hour later Sam re-emerged from the house, your attention snapping to him as the door opened and shut. He had changed into a new pair of clothes, looking a little cleaner like he was fresh outta the shower. He had a sandwich in his hand that he had already taken a few bites out of. You wondered if it was the one you left for him.

You didn’t expect him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He didn’t look at you or open his mouth to talk so you followed suit. You continued reading, or at least tried to, as he just sat there, finishing his sandwich without any kind of other interaction.

There was a strange tension he wasn’t addressing. He instead leaned back, arms crossed behind his neck to support his neck and closed his eyes. His foot tapped against the wooden floor and rather than getting annoyed, you found solace in the repetition.

“They recruited me on this day,” Sam said to no one in particular. His eyes were still closed and his feet still tapped against the ground. “Parents died when I was a kid, I got shifted around orphanages and homes a lot. Finally Ransone had someone pick me up.”

You closed your book softly, setting it down beside you. That’s what was bothering him.

Secret adoption is what they called it officially in the business, but around the organization it was just known as the recruitment process. Every record of Sam being alive would have been destroyed to maintain anonymity.

To the world he just… disappeared.

It was a day that clearly brought with it so much pain. You were too young to remember when you joined, and no one had kept track either. You supposed it was for the good.

It was supposed to be a happy day, one filled with new beginnings. Maybe that’s what he would have thought when he got picked. It’s what you did.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not having anything else to offer. You relieved your memories everyday in your head. Having a morbid anniversary of sorts would no doubt drain the life out of you; remembering one singular day that would trigger the rest of the decisions you made in your life.

He didn’t say anything in return. You turned your attention to the sky, finding it easier to look at that than the disturbed look on his face.

“Do you regret this?” he asked out of the blue.

“All of it,” you replied, without skipping a beat.

“Every single one, huh?” Sam’s one eye opened to peer at you.

“It wasn’t up to me to take someone’s life away.” You were just a child. You knew nothing other than what you were taught; so then why was it so fucking hard to forgive your past self for straying into this. “Even once I realised that I couldn’t leave.”

You didn’t form any relationships while you worked with Ransone. Whoever you did allow yourself to care for ended up dead or worse, sometimes as a cruel lesson to not make friends in the organization you worked in because all they served as were distractions and liabilities. Others were plain scum; people who you knew were using you but you didn’t care. The loneliness hurt worse.

“What about you?”

“I’d give anything to go back and change things,” he admitted. He didn’t have a say either. It didn’t make things easier.

“You regret all of ‘em too?”

“Mostly,” he said. “One of them I don’t.”

“That one must have deserved it then,” you deduced. It was the only logical explanation you could think of; the worst of the worst.

“Nah. I let him go.”

It took a while to register what he said.

“What?” You twisted your body to look at him.

“First mission I ever did.”

His hands were shaking lightly, barely holding on to the gun. This wasn’t what he was taught. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

He had already managed to get his way into the house through the back. His partner had taken care of most of it and Sam only had to knock people out. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet.

But now his partner was injured outside the door. Quick shot to the leg, a punch in the face and he was out cold. Sam was already in the master bedroom by the time it happened. He had no idea about where his partner was, only the crippling fear of being left alone and the nerves from the threat posed to him if this didn’t go right.

He knew he didn’t have enough time. He had only a few minutes to kill him and get out of there before his family returned.

The man itself was sitting at the study table, his back towards Sam. Just pull the trigger and get out of here. It was deadly silent.

“I know you’re here to kill me,” the man said suddenly. Sam nearly jumped but instead tightened the grip on the gun.

“Stay where you are.” He sounded confident.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” His chair swiveled around, letting him face Sam. His hair was white with a beard that matched. He was dressed down in his pajamas, a robe covering him. He didn’t look nervous.

“Stop talking.”

“You’re younger than what I expected,” the man observed, not paying heed to what Sam was in. He was a considerable distance away. “You’re not even legal yet, are you? I got kids, I would know.”

Sam didn’t say a word, only lifted his gun up to align with his forehead. “I said, stop talking.”

“I’ve made mistakes. Several, actually,” he mused, “It’s why your boss sent you here. I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Then it should be easy.”

“Oh, it never is,” the man chuckled. “It doesn’t get lighter. You learn to ignore it but it’ll weigh on you for the rest of your life.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. It would get easier. It had to.

“I doubt that’s what you heard, however,” he continued. “Ransone’s a bit… unstable. It’s in his blood, but you- you don’t look like you could live with it.”

Ransone’s history was well known enough that rival gang leaders knew it too, apparently. The man would have been delighted at his infamous reputation.

Just shoot him. Just shoot him and end this.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, taking a sip from the tumbler he had in his hand. “You’re going to be the last person I talk to. It’d be nice to have a name.”

“Sam,” he whispered, inwardly cursing himself.

“Sam. That’s a strong name,” the man said, clicking the roof of his mouth with his tongue. “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Sam?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t have a choice.” He hated how defeated he sounded. It was a weakness.

“They want you to believe that. It takes away your freedom. I would know, I’ve used it.” The man smiled, setting down his glass. “I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

“Stop talking, man.” Sam pulled the safety off.

“Once you go down this way, there’s no way you can escape. Someone will always have to die; either him or you.”

“That’s not true.” He could leave at any time. He just needed-

“You’ll see for yourself.” The man leaned back on his chair, resigned. “But for now, go ahead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He simply closed his eyes and sat back.

You waited for Sam to continue.

“Couldn’t do it,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Son of a bitch got in my head and I knew what he was doing too. Told him to get the fuck out before my partner shot him in the face.”

“Does Ransone know?” You were still reeling from the incident he recounted. You didn't know what else to say.

“Holds it over me every damn day,” he scoffed. “Some fucked up way of saying that I owe him one.”

To be frank, you were surprised Sam was still alive to tell you. Everyone knew that Ransone forgiven the first mistake someone made, but this was huge. If it were anyone else, he would have had someone try out a hundred different ways to push Sam to the brink of death and back; having him begging for the release that death would bring.

“He hasn’t ever cashed in that favour?”

“He did. Had me take out the leader of the Ten Rings after that.”

“So then why did you still continue?”

“I did something extremely dangerous a couple of years ago that he found out about recently. Used that to get me to come for this mission.”

He didn’t elaborate what he meant and you didn’t ask him to. You supposed it was a story for another day. This was heavy enough.

“He wants to get rid of me as much as I want to get away from him, trust me. We’re the weird, toxic relationship those self-help Instagram pages warned you about.” Trust Sam to make a dumb joke during a conversation like this. “Probably the only time someone from the gang let their target go and not died.”

That wasn’t as true as he thought he was but you didn’t want to seem like you were one-upping him. You didn’t want him to think you were making this about you.

“You remember the big break you were talking about?” you tread carefully, gauging his reaction before you continued. “The one that pushed me up the ranks or whatever.”

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, bringing his hands from behind his head to fold across his chest.

“Similar story, ‘cept Ransone doesn’t know.”

“What?” His eyes shot open. “How?”

“I was so tired of him treating me like a child. Everyone around who joined after me was out there doinghardcore missions and I was stuck with petty shit.” You didn’t know any better. You wished you had. “So he told me if I made it through this one, he’d send me on more.”

This wasn’t your first mission. You had handled hits before, mostly in the shadows, from a distance.

This was different. It was broad daylight, waiting behind a wall near the gated entrance of the house for a car to pull up.

A challenge, Ransone had posed, with strict instructions to do it in broad daylight. If you got out of this undetected, he’d consider sending you on more sophisticated missions.

“Highly stealthy. They’re dangerous,” you were warned. “You won’t know what hit you if you’re caught off your game.”

The low rumble of the car outside the gate alerted you of your target’s arrival. The gates weren’t going to open, the guards were dead.

The car stopped, waiting for the path to open up. When it didn’t the car’s engine slowed to a stop. The man in the driver’s seat got out to open the gate, giving you a clear shot.

You took a deep breath, clenching your eyes shut for a second before taking aim.

The body hit the gravel and you quickly made your way to the car. You could see the woman in the backseat gaping at where the man was standing a few seconds ago. She was struggling against the door, trying to escape.

She finally succeeded, the door opening suddenly as she stumbled over herself trying to get out.

“Stay there,” you commanded. She slowly looked up at you, face white as a sheet.

“Please,” she croaked. “Don’t hurt us.”

“I’m sorry.” You truly were.

Her face changed, dropping the facade immediately. She just looked on in acceptance, not making an effort to move. Manipulative. She almost had you convinced

You held the gun over her, pulling the trigger. A single shot. Her body slumped over.

You stared at her in silence, expressionless. You let out an exhale, tucking the gun back into the waist of your pants, stepping over her body to leave.

A small, staggering breath made you stop in your tracks. It was so slight you barely heard it. You took a step back, trying to trace where it came from.

You ducked your head to peer into the car, your heart stopping. Your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

“What the-” you muttered, facing a boy who looked only a few years younger than you. He was staring straight ahead, muscles in his jaw tight.

The son wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be abroad, according to the case file. Unless there were two of them you didn’t know about, this boy wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Listen,” you began, but he didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, body trembling. He was scared. He didn’t show it.

“Show no mercy,” Ransone’s voice rang in your head.

“He’s a child,” you murmured to yourself. Your gun felt heavy in your hand.

Show no mercy.

You could only imagine what would be in store for you if you returned to Ransone with some tale of sympathy. This boy was only a few years younger than you. He didn’t have anything to do with this.

Show no mercy.

“Kid,” you called out. He slowly turned his head. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Leave. You can’t be seen if someone comes back,” you urged. “I won’t be able to help you.”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

When he didn’t shift, you slammed the hood of the car, scaring him enough to pull at the door and stagger out of the car.

You turned your back to him, not waiting to see where he was going. The more deniability you had, the better.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“And Ransone doesn’t know.”

“There’s no record of this kid. He thinks he was at boarding school.” You shrugged. “Wasn’t going to correct him either.”

“If he did find out-” Sam trailed off.

“I’d be dead,” you concluded. “Being his favourite wouldn’t matter.”

“Why was it such a big deal, this mission?”

“She was a part of a major gang that Ransone was losing to.”

Sam just nodded knowingly, looking ahead again. You knew he’d done missions like this as well. Things like this were common so it didn’t need further elaboration.

“This job sucks,” he let out.

You gave a short laugh. That was an understatement.

“I want out. Can’t keep doin’ this for much longer,” he continued, however, to your surprise. “Don’t wanna keep doin’ this.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows knitted in concern. “You will.”

“How?” You hadn’t seen him like this before, this hint of desperation in his tone that left as quickly as it came. “I’ve tried, everything just comes up short.”

“I’ll help you.” You wanted to, God you did.

“You gonna kill him for me?” He looked at you. “‘Cause that’s really the only way out of this.”

If you were pushed to the limit, if he was on his knees in front of you and there was a gun in your hand pointed at him; would you be able to pull the trigger? Would you be able to kill the only constant you’d had for more than half your life?

“I can’t,” you muttered, dejection making its way into your thoughts.

“I know,” Sam said softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to either.”

You took a moment to observe him. The sun did him good. There was a soft glow to his skin, the colours of the sunset dancing in his dark eyes. Laugh lines were becoming more prominent around them, only adding to its charm.

He was a good man. He deserved better.

“I’ll find a way,” you sounded determined, “I promise.”

You didn’t say that very often. Your word didn’t mean a lot to people in the business, but it seemed to, to him.

“Thank you.” He appeared taken aback but didn’t show it in his words.

You simply sent him a smile, a reassurance. You knew what you had to do, just weren’t sure how.

He was right. There wasn’t a way out of it other than the one he proposed, but it wasn’t an option. You had to find another.

You would. You’d figure it out.

“It’s Cinnamon, by the way,” he said without any context.

You looked at him in question.

“My embarrassing nickname.” This was not where you saw the conversation heading but you were delighted all of a sudden. “My ma used to call me that all the damn time. Mortifying.”

“Cinnamon and Buttercup.” You didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across your face. “World’s best assassins.”

“If that name ever leaves this conversation, I’ll know who to murder.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” you said playfully, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugged, face relaxed. “T’was worth a shot.”

An unintentional pun you snickered at. You didn’t tease him any further, just filed the name away as a memory. Maybe you’d use it later.

“Have you ever let anyone go after that?” You didn’t want to keep coming back to this conversation but you liked having someone to relate to.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Didn’t want to test my luck.”

“Me too.” One had been enough. You lived in fear for so long, waiting for someone to pull the plug and tell him what you’d done. That fear only grew everyday, finding a place at the deepest corner of your mind to fester.

“It’s what I meant when I said Serpentine had a motive to want me dead,” Sam said, piquing your interest once more.

“Huh?”

“The man I was supposed to kill- he was their old head. He disappeared after that and no one heard from him but it pissed off everyone, right from Ransone to their stupid gang’s janitor,” he explained, your eyes going wide with every word. “So the irony is, if we’re right, I might have led us into this situation. They’re looking for revenge.”

“Holy shit,” you uttered under your breath.

“I just assumed he died of old age if someone didn’t get to him first. He looked like he was one birthday away from the grave anyway.”

“How are you still alive, Sam?” you asked in wonder.

“I’d do it again.” He laughed, a deep one from his stomach.

He was reckless, clearly. Happily and unashamedly so. And if you continued to hang out with him after this was over, he’d probably get you killed in some stunt or two.

But maybe you’d deal with that if the time came. 

He leaned back again, this time no creases on his forehead from stress. He looked at peace.

You sat together in silence. You occasionally stole glances at him as the sun set in front of you, a small smile on your face.

You leaned your head on his shoulder tentatively. You could feel him tilt his head to look at you and you prepared to have him ask you to move.

It never came. Instead, he scooted closer to you, letting you rest against him more comfortably. Your heart skipped a beat; barely but surely. 

A realisation quickly hit you, suddenly before consuming you. Your stomach sank.  

“Fuck.”

Next part

[cc-tinslebee]

Okay, so, about a month ago, my brain just conjured up probably the most random au possible: Legally Blonde Adam Banks/banksway au.

Believe me, it's as chaotic as it sounds, but lowkey, I'm kind of in love with it.

Adam never joins the Ducks because there aren't any Ducks to join. Bombay never had to do community service with District Five so there was no one to realise that Adam was on the wrong team all along. He continues to play for the Hawks and, eventually, the Eden Hall Warriors, never getting the chance to become the well-rounded individual we know him as because he's never known anything other than his rich privilege and the "win at all costs" mentality. He ends up going to college on a hockey scholarship and not straight to the NHL or the AHL (shocking, I know). While he's unsure of his major and where his life is heading, he finds solace in the fraternity he joins, which, by some sheer twist of fate, Jesse and Guy have also miraculously joined.

And his life is perfect for a while. He's the star player on yet another school's hockey team, all of his fraternity brothers adore him (though, it took a bit for Jesse to warm up to him), and his secret, not-really-official thing with his former teammate is going swimmingly. (Not to slander my boy, but I was picturing Larson for the role of Warner, purely because the alternative seems to be Rick Riley and that's kind of an unsettling image-- though, maybe that's the point?)

But then his secret boyfriend breaks up with him because, with his high aspirations in life, he needs to be "more serious." And dating Adam Banks, a guy in a stereotypical fraternity who only really knows hockey, in 2001 isn't exactly the white-picket-fence life he's looking for if he's going to be a politician.

And since this non-Duck Adam clearly doesn't have the braincells that canon Adam does, in his devastation, he decides it's a brilliant idea to prove that he is serious by applying to Harvard Law. His parents try to talk him out of it, since they want him to pursue his dreams of hockey, but being a lawyer is a respectable career so they can't exactly argue with him.

He gets accepted thanks to Jesse, Guy, and the rest of his fraternity helping him study for the LSAT and keeping him on track. He's trying his darndest when he gets to Harvard, but (despite his struggle not being as significant as Elle Woods'), not a lot of people take him seriously as an aspiring lawyer, considering him a meathead jock who only got in because of daddy's money.

And that's about the time he meets Linda, who he vaguely remembers from his time at Eden Hall. What he doesn't remember is her being so competitive, because she's deliberately beating him at every turn, just trying (and kind of succeeding) at making him look like a fool. To make matters worse, all of the sudden, she's engaged to his ex-boyfriend, who is very adamant about never telling anyone that he and Adam were more than friends (because, you know, early 2000s homophobia and such).

But things get a little brighter for Adam when he meets Charlie, an undergrad teacher's assistant who gives him all sorts of advice about surviving the school. He introduces him to Professor Bombay, who Charlie claims is the only reason he survived his first year and quickly becomes Adam's favourite teacher, and Charlie's childhood friend Connie, who aspires to be a state senator one day. Charlie's charismatic and even if he's not the most well-liked person at Harvard, Adam feels a weight lifted off his shoulders once he becomes friends with him and Connie. Things become a little easier.

Just before he and Charlie start getting really close, Adam meets Casey at a local diner on a day he's feeling particularly upset and alone, and the two start bonding almost immediately. (He bullshits his way into scaring an ex-husband of hers with legal repercussions he has no idea about and she basically adopts him in return.) It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realise that it's not just a coincidence that Casey and Charlie share the same last name, which results in poor Adam feeling extremely embarrassed for not connecting the dots sooner while Charlie's having the time of his life teasing him for it. Eventually, when the dust of that settles, Charlie and Adam join forces to set Casey and Bombay up, their schemes borderline ridiculous at times, but they'rere not exactly failing.

And after realising he isn't the Warriors moron she thought he was for going on five years, Linda starts warming up to Adam, which is surprisingly nice? She figures out on her own that there used to be something between him and her fiancé, and is more understanding of Adam than she is mad. Linda actually spills to him the lengths Adam's ex had to go through to actually get into Harvard, aligning more with the rumours about Adam's acceptance being bought than having the aptitude for the law that Linda and Adam share. (This may be me saying Linda and Adam friendship rights, what of it-- /lh)

To make things all the better, Bombay chooses Adam, Linda, Connie, Charlie, and Adam's ex to be on his legal team for a murder case he's responsible for (and while he knows about Adam and Charlie's ploys to hook him up with Charlie's mom, they're his favourites, so he doesn't say anything).

And this is just so much better than anything he had before. After all the initial unpleasantness, Linda and Connie become some of the most genuine friends he's ever had. He misses Guy and Jesse, of course, and he'd never take them for granted, but back when he was with them at the fraternity, a part of him was still being as superficial as he had been in middle and high school. Being authentic for once in his life is liberating.

And Charlie's just about the most considerate person Adam's ever met. Adam doesn't even mind when Charlie teases him over his absurd and juvenile insults because he's just this source of light for Adam, supporting him and always pushing him to be the best version of himself. His ex hardly even exists when Charlie's around because his energy is just so contagious that Adam starts falling for him long before he even realises it. (And when Jesse and Guy come to visit, there's a moment where it all clicks and the four of them realise their history together, however brief. I strongly maintain that they'd be that Starkid meme: "Fucking Hawks? We hated you guys!" "We hated ourselves!" But it does make Adam realise how much better off he would've been if he had Charlie and his team when he was little instead of the Hawks, and it just further makes him understand that people like Larson and Rick Riley just aren't worth it.)

But there's also another revelation Adam goes through. Between helping Casey, his rigorous studies, and his position working with/for Bombay, something just clicks for Adam. He likes being able to help people, fighting for the good guys who may not have the resources they need to be properly defended. Practicing law calls to him in the same way hockey did; it's the feeling of knowing this is what he's meant to do. He still loves hockey, he always will, but it helps him finally grasp that there's a world for him outside of it; when hockey ends for him, there's something equally as rewarding that he can pursue, which was something he never thought he would have.

I haven't a single coherent thought about this au past that point except for these little inklings of an ending--

There's absolutely no SA scene like the movie had; Bombay's just Adam and Charlie's favourite teacher and those are his boys, so he's going to make sure they succeed as if his life depends on it.

With that said, Bombay believes in them both enough to let them finish the case because with their joined determination/stubbornness (and Adam's in with the defendant), Adam and Charlie are a force to be reckoned with and he knows it.

After a handful of comedic failures, they do end up succeeding at their attempts to set Casey and Bombay up, and they start living together sometime during the kids' Junior year :) (All I'm asking is for one (1) story with a Casey/Gordon endgame-- I just think they're neat--)

Linda dumps her fiancé (as she should) and goes on to live her best wlw life as a successful lawyer. (If I'm not mistaken, Linda's actress actually is a lawyer, which is a pretty cool fun fact!!)

Adam and Linda's ex gets the Warner ending because, man, screw that guy /lh (rip to Larson if this is him, I'm sure you'll get a nice endgame in some other universe, king)

Honorary mention for Connie, who was going long distance with Guy this entire time to everyone but Jesse's shock, and they get their Game Changers endgame of State Senator Connie Moreau and stay-at-home dad Guy Germaine with their seven -- sorry, three -- children :)

Adam's an absolute bundle of nerves after graduation, which definitely concerns Charlie. So, when he asks if he's okay, Adam starts nervously monologuing about their time together until he runs out of breath. He ends it by proposing to him, and Charlie smiles so surely at him when he says yes. They both become damn good public defenders and stay engaged until the point they can legally get married, but they're practically husbands long before that happens.

Also, if I did my math right (which I should’ve, it’s my entire basis for my Share Your Address series), the Ducks’ would have the same graduating class year as Elle Woods anyway (2004), which is pretty neat!

Thank you once again for listening to me ramble :)

[beautifulletdownfics]

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

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MY MASTERLIST.

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The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

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The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

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The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I …"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

+

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just—I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

+

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

+

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

+

My inbox is here

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! I’ve read so many awesome fics this month! Make sure to check them all out. As always, all my love to all the authors in this fandom ♥

➻ don't want to fight you | starryharry | enemies to lovers - enemies to friends to lovers - pining - mutual pining - angst - fluff slow burn - no smut - 124k Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good. Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point. Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

➻ we are ghosts amongst these hills | louisgaynkles | Soulmates - reincarnation - historical - slow burn - angst - fluff - 84k Harry spontaneously buys a house in Yorkshire because the universe, or fate, keeps leading him to it. What he didn’t know, is that his new house comes with a past that seems to be mysteriously tied to his own life. Before he knows it he finds himself travelling back in time, stuck in the middle of a century old love story. Featuring Louis as a farmer with a passion for gardening, Zayn as the heir to the local manor, Niall as a pub owner with a secret, and a truly underappreciated Liam. Based on Mariana by Susanna Kearsley

➻ through the wheatfields and the coastlines | thepolourryexpress | farms - cowboys - angst - implied/referenced homophobia - implied/referenced gun use - humor - smut - 53k “You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through. “I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.” Or, alternatively, the one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

➻ An Irrationally Strong Bond Between Two People | jishler | dystopia - friends to lovers - angst - first time - 18k Before The Advancement, most human lives and careers were plagued by irrationality and a lack of productivity. This was largely the symptom of what scientists refer to as “interpersonal passion,” which included two separate (though often conjointly occurring) phenomena: “love,” and “sex.” “Love” was a pre-Advancement word which referred to an irrationally strong bond between two people, which caused its sufferers to prioritise their fellow “lover,” as well as the integrity of the malignant bond itself, over vital things such as workplace productivity. Taken every two weeks in pill form, The Drug immediately removes interpersonal passion from the human psyche. Children’s friendships do not have the capacity to develop into full-fledged “love” since they are not yet adults. Every person over eighteen takes The Drug gladly, grateful that it allows them to be productive, clear-headed, and rational members of society. A few weeks before Louis’ eighteenth birthday, Harry and Louis fall in love. (Based on the book Louis writes in indiaalphawhiskey's Our Lives, Non-Fiction.)

➻ And When It's Time | larryftnoctrl | Soulmates - soulmate-identifying timers - 6k Louis wants a soulmate, Harry loves his free will. They don't exactly go hand in hand. Prompt: AU where you have a countdown on your wrist for when you're going to meet your soulmate and if you miss it the time will reset. Louis/Harry keep having awful luck and always are missing their time until one day they don't. Maybe the other one is scared/has anxiety about meeting their soulmate? Maybe one time they're in a relationship so they intentionally miss their time? Who knows! But they finally meet :D

➻ made for lovin' you | cuddlerlouis | a/b/o - enemies to lovers - hate to love - soulmates - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff smut - 53k “I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right. “For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure. “Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something. “I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.” “Noted.” So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat. Splendid. - Or the one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

➻ deFENCEless | solvetheminourdreams | neighbors - enemies to lovers enemies to friends to lovers - gardening - fluff - humor - banter - no smut - 27k "I moved here first," Louis says with finality, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry shoots him an unimpressed look before leaning forward, leaving only a tiny gap between them. "Then get the fence first," he whispers, lips a mere inch or two away from Louis'. When Louis butts heads with his new neighbor who loves to garden a little too much, all he can do to protect his yard (and heart), is keep on building up his fence(s).

➻ Canyon Moon | delsicle | a/b/o - werewolf - soulmates - childhood friends - friends to lovers - arranged marriage - mutual pining - hurt/comfort - angst - 41k For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry. Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind. An A/B/O Lion King AU

➻ only guilty of loving you | sweetrevenge | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - blind date - soulmates - fluff - angst - mutual pining - smut - 22k After Harry gets set up with his co-worker's alpha friend Louis, he's expecting some pleasant conversation, free dinner, and maybe a new friend. What he doesn't expect, however, is that Louis' arrival in his life begins a life of crime Harry never knew he had in him. A You've Got Mail!AU with a twist.

➻ 'Til Everything Changes | lovelarry10 | a/b/o - older characters - brokend bond - loss - falling in love - fluff - implied mpreg - smut - 57k Harry’s nose twitched as he caught a scent on the breeze, one that sent a shudder through his whole body. His eyes closed subconsciously, and he lost himself in the heady scent, the vanilla top notes, and the more woody undertones, making every hair on Harry’s body stand on end. That was how Harry discovered this man was an Alpha. “Jaz, Harry, this is my Uncle Louis. Lou, this is my girlfriend Jasmine, and her dad Harry.” "Lovely to meet you,” Louis grinned, leaning in and kissing Jasmine’s cheek quickly, a respectful Alpha gesture. Harry held his breath as Louis stuck out a hand, taking it almost reluctantly, certain the Alpha would pick up on his own scent and the nerves flowing through it. “Hi, Harry.” “Hi,” Harry said, his voice low and raspy, still affected by Louis’ scent. “Nice to meet you.” ~~~~ Harry’s an Omega who has been alone for too long. Louis’ an Alpha who is scared to find love again. Thanks to the meddling of Harry’s teenage daughter and her boyfriend, the two seem destined to meet, and it might just change everything they thought they knew about their lives. Will they find what they didn’t realise they’ve always wanted in each other?

➻ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) | youreyesonlarry | ice hockey - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff - major character injury - pining - unrequited love hospitalization - smut - 74k It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day. -------- Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire

➻ Rooms on Fire | softfonds | a/b/o - actors - famous/famous - friends with benefits - secret relationship - 34k Ten years ago, Louis helping Harry through a heat was the start of a romance that ended in heartbreak. Now, Harry's marriage is over thanks to his husband's very public infidelity, and Louis is fresh off a Golden Globe win. The last thing they both expect is to be cast in the same movie.

➻ Stumbling Into Your Arms | sunshineandthemoonlight | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - college/university - fluff - 7k Suddenly, Harry’s nose was brushing against Louis' neck, where his scent was overwhelming. Harry jerked his head to the side and took a deep breath of air, trying to clear his nose of Louis’ scent. ‘Don’t get slick, don’t get hard, don’t get slick’, he repeated to himself in his head, like a mantra. Louis and Harry are university students heading home for the holidays. Harry quickly becomes enraptured by the attractive alpha standing across from him in the train carriage, who has a heavenly scent and a gentle smile.

➻ Little by Little | nonsensedarling | mpreg - non traditional a/b/o - exploring sexuality - exploring secondary gender norms - gender identity strangers to friends to lovers - mutual pining - fluff - slow burn - 65k Harry Styles is an omega who works at the London Planetarium, has lived in the same flat for ages, and is happy enough on his own. When he gets home from his first (horrible) attempt at dating in years, a new pregnant neighbor knocks on his door after smelling his cooking. He and Louis quickly become close, but their friendship gets complicated when Harry begins questioning who he is and what he likes. Or Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.

[chibsytelford]

Queen of my Heart

* GIF CREDIT TO CREATOR *

word count - 2139

warnings - slight mention of strangulation, murder, swearing, angst - I think that’s it. 

a/n - i haven’t described reader at all. I’m actually really nervous to post this for some reason. I am sure this is the longest thing I have written yet, and idk just nervous. Reblogs and comments are welcomed, and if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist just let me know!

P.s I didn’t mean for it to be this long, and it is kinda based on the song Queen of my Heart by Westlife (my guilty pleasure). Italics are flashbacks and the lyrics.

You knew from the start that getting into a relationship with Angel Reyes might not have been the best decision. Pasts will do that to you. You knew when you first laid eyes on him, that inside he was hiding his pain. The only reason you noticed it was because you were hiding the exact same pain as him. Normally, you avoided guys with baggage, because frankly you could barely deal with your own, never mind someone else’s, but something about him just kept you gravitating more towards him, as each day passed.

It started out in his father’s butcher shop, you had just finished work and you were in the mood for some steak, so you finally checked out la carniceria and you knew the second you walked in you were in trouble. All you wanted was a bit of steak, but you left with (not that you were complaining) Angel Reyes’ phone number. He gave you some standard cheesy pick up line, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and you knew as soon as he opened his mouth that you were done for, your ‘I don’t do baggage rule’ going straight out the shop door.

It took you a few days to text him. You actually drafted up a ‘Why I should text Angel Reyes list’ and a ‘Why I shouldn’t text Angel Reyes list’ and funnily enough, the list that had more on it was the ‘Why I shouldn’t list’ but as it turns out, the lists were pointless, because you text him anyway.

Your first date you walked around the streets of Santo Padre, just chatting away about life in general, what you did for a job, what he did for a job (he didn’t tell you that much, just that he was in a club with some other men) and of course you didn’t want to pry, it was the first date and all. You spoke about pretty much everything, except the past. It was too early for that. At the end of it, he walked you home, and left you on your door step, wishing you had invited him in, wishing you had kissed him, wishing you had asked him on a second date. But you didn’t need to wait long for a second date.

2 days after your first date, you were on the back of Angel’s motorbike, both hands wrapped tightly around his torso. He had insisted on taking his bike, he wanted you to enjoy the thrill of it as much as he did, and if you were being honest, it was absolutely thrilling, as well as absolutely terrifying. He drove you both to a small forest, where you enjoyed a picnic and the scenery and the attention that Angel was giving you. It was then you decided to pry, just a little bit.

“Tell me Angel, what secret are you carrying?” You asked catching him off guard.

“What makes you think I’m carrying any?” He responded, popping a strawberry in his mouth, conveniently answering a question with another question.

“Honestly? The first time I saw you, when you gave me that hideous pick up line” you both laughed at the memory “the smile you gave me afterwards, it was genuine, but it wasn’t quite a full smile, you know?”

Angel took a moment to gather his thoughts. First he rubbed his beard, then he rubbed his neck, and then he fiddled with his fingers. You placed your hand over his, comforting him, silently telling him there was no rush to answer the question.

He sighed, and slightly shifted his body so he could look at you. “Well, uh, the thing is, I’m not good at this shit, feelings” you could see the pain etched on his face, the way his eyebrows twitched and the way he couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a second.

“Do you want me to go first?” you softly asked, brushing your fingers across his ringed hand, soothing him, and yourself. You knew if you expected him to open up so soon, you had to give him something back.

Angel swiftly nodded, and relaxed slightly, and it was his turn to rub circled on your hand, silently telling you he was listening.

“I came to Santo Padre to get away from my family, my step father specifically”. You took a deep breath and continued “he was horrible. But for some reason, my mother couldn’t bring herself to leave him, something about love. I don’t know” you hated telling this story, if you could call it that, but something about Angel just made you want to tell him everything. “One day, I got home and found him on top of my mother, his hands around her throat, and so I grabbed a kitchen knife, and I stabbed him until I knew he was dead.” Angel’s body tensed and he stopped caressing your hand for a split second, shocked at your revelation. You pulled your hand away instantly, wrapping them around your body.

“Shit Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that” Angel murmured, pulling you into him and placing a soft kiss on your temple, but you could tell his demeanour had changed slightly.

“My mother luckily vouched for my version of events, and so I got away with it, but that feeling of killing someone never leaves you, it takes over your mind and soul” you felt Angel nodding at your remark, like he was admitting he had killed someone too. “Anyway, I stayed there for another few years, in that godforsaken house, but I knew, deep down, as much as she tried to hide it, my mother looked at me differently, so I got out of there, and came here a few years ago, I’ve been laying low, still trying to wrap my head around what I done, that’s probably why you’ve never seen me before. It was fate that took me to your father’s shop” you nudged him in the shoulder, trying to lift the mood slightly.

“That it was” Angel replied back, “And I guess now it’s my turn huh” you nodded in agreement. “Well, I lost my mother, Marisol, years ago. She was murdered” As soon as Angel uttered those words, you knew why he had tensed earlier and you knew why he was just that little bit colder towards you. Because you had murdered someone, and his mother was murdered. “We found the guy, but we kept him alive. He was ordered to do it” You weren’t sure if Angel would want you to touch him, so you kept your hands to yourself, waiting for him to continue his story. “I carry the pain of her death with me every single day, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it” he admitted.

“Of course you won’t, it’s your family, your mother and that will always stick with you in your heart” you said, reassuring him that it was normal. “It seems we are both pretty fucked up, huh?” Angel commented, lifting the mood once again ever so slightly.

“Do you look at me differently now? Knowing that I murdered someone?  I did to my stepfather what someone did to your beloved mother” you questioned.

Angel took a second to answer. “You had your reasons, reasons I agree with, so no, I don’t feel differently towards you” but as Angel said that, you were second guessing him, and you always would.

After your second date, when you got home, Angel asked you to officially be his girlfriend. You said yes, but there was still a small part of you that thought it was a bad idea, and that it could only end badly. You thought Angel only asked you to be his girl because you both shared stories of your past and you clicked together, and you said yes, because you really liked him, but also because you thought you deserved happiness, and he did too, even though you still carried the thought inside you that Angel looked at you a little different after your revelation. You knew you were being selfish, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

 Recently Angel had been spending more time with the club, over time you had learned completely what they did, and you stood by Angel. Everyone had their reasons for doing things, and you knew that better than most people. You felt that he was avoiding you more than usual, staying out later, leaving earlier in the mornings, barely responding to texts, and something inside you, just didn’t really care anymore. You had had a wonderful couple years being by Angel’s side, but you always knew that something like this might happen.

You quickly fired a text to Angel telling him to meet you at your place. The forest where your second date took place.  

He arrived on his bike 5 minutes after you, and you watched him walk towards you. It seemed to take an eternity until he was standing in front of you. It was the same place, but you felt like a completely different person standing here now, a few years on.

“Hey” you said, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks for coming”

“Of course I came” he answered back, rubbing the back of his neck. You wondered if he was feeling the same as you. It would make the whole thing a bit easier if he did.

“I just wanna-“  Angel cut you off, holding a hand up to stop you talking. “Can I go first?” You nodded at him, secretly glad he wanted to.

“I love you, I really do, but I think you know as well as me, we stopped working months ago, I’m not good at this shit, feelings” you both said together, causing a small smile from the man stood in front of you. “Exactly, I don’t know if you’ve noticed I’ve been distant lately, the shit with the club has taken over my life completely, but I think I’m just realising now, that we jumped into this too quickly” Angel revealed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You nodded, acknowledging what he said and taking a second to gather your thoughts.

“I mean, Angel, I love you too, but I have to admit, you’re right. I should be angry you’ve been coming home late, I should be angry that you barely reply to my texts, but honestly I haven’t been. I think we did rush into this like you said, after our second date, where we both revealed our pasts, I think we took comfort in knowing that our pasts were out there, and we weren’t being judged. I know that now”. You both visibly relaxed slightly, and the atmosphere shifted too. It was calm. Nice.

Angel made the first move, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on your palm. You closed your eyes for a second, engraving the memory of the kiss in your mind.

“Thank you Y/N, for trusting me with your secret, for listening to my pain and past, for just being you. I know we didn’t work out, but I just want you to know, I will always remember you.” Angel wiped a stray tear that had managed to escape his eyes. “Fuck, look at me” he laughed.

So here we stand in our secret place

Where the sound of the crowd is so far away

You take my hand, and it feels like home

We both understand, it where we belong

So do I say, do I say goodbye

We both have our dreams we both want to fly

So let’s take tonight, to carry us through the lonely times

“God Angel, you’ve got me crying now” you laughed back also wiping away your tears.  “I’m glad we met. You accepted me for who I am, and for that I will always thank you, and cherish you. Who knows, maybe under different circumstances, we would have worked out, but I can honestly say I’m thankful for the years we have spent together, it just wasn’t meant to be”.

You and Angel gave each other one last hug, one last smile, one last look. “Take care, querida, I’ll always remember you” Angel whispered, placing your hand over his heart.  He then let go and headed back to his bike. You watched him walk away, you watched him climb onto the bike and you watched him drive away from you. You were sad of course, but you knew that it was for the best.

@rebelwrites​ @mayans-sauce​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @encounterthepast​ @angelreyesgirl​ @starrynite7114​ @jadesamhart​ @fangirlingaesthetics​ @trulysuccubus​ @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @queenbeered​ @lauraashley93​ @deeandbobbymcgee​ @shelliechen​ @calif0rnia-lovers​ @yourwonkywriter​ @peaches007​ @scuzmunkie​ @blessedboo​ @sheeshgivemeabreak​ @sadeyesgf​ @anangelwhodidntfall​ @gemini0410​ @rocketqueen​ @destynelseclipsa​ @xx--day-dreamer--xx​ @talicat713​ @i-love-scott-mccall​ 

I'll always look back as I walk away

Memories will last for eternity

And all of our tears will be lost in the rain

When I found my way back to your arms again

But until that day, you know you are

The Queen of my heart

[bloody-bee-tea]

Heal my soul

Jiang Cheng is shaking so hard he is afraid he’ll fall clean off his sword, but he pushes on regardless, Nie Huaisang’s letter clenched in his hand.

It speaks of horrible things; qi deviations and damage so great that Nie Mingjue had to be put into a preserving coma, giving them time to assess the damage and decide if it was too great to heal or not.

Jiang Cheng grits his jaw when he remembers that passage. There is no damage that is too great to heal, especially not when it comes to his husband.

Jiang Cheng makes the fly to the Unclean Realm in record time, feeling faint and shaky once he steps off his sword and he isn’t entirely sure if it is because of his worry for Nie Mingjue or because he thoroughly exhausted himself.

It doesn’t matter either way; he is here and he will see his husband now.

“Wanyin,” Nie Huaisang wails as soon as he sees him and throws himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms.

Jiang Cheng is stunned, but he dutifully catches Nie Huaisang and then he holds him close for a moment.

“How is he?” he asks, voice low and Nie Huaisang’s sob is all the answer he needs.

Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks in his chest, but he tries to remind himself that Nie Mingjue isn’t dead; as long as he’s not dead, Jiang Cheng will be able to do something for him.

“Come,” Nie Huaisang eventually says and drags Jiang Cheng off to see Nie Mingjue. He was put on a bed, laying still and pale as Jiang Cheng has ever seen him and even though they haven’t been husbands long—barely longer than half a year at this point—Jiang Cheng knows enough to know that this is not natural.

Nie Mingjue never is this still.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and rushes to his side where he takes Nie Mingjue’s hand in his.

He immediately checks his meridians and he jerks back when he sees the damage the qi deviation did to his system.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng chokes out, horrified to see just how he has been hurt, but also filled with a strange feeling of pride, because anyone else would have succumbed to these injuries a long time ago.

That Nie Mingjue is still alive—that his people were able to put him into this preserving sleep at all—speaks to a strength Jiang Cheng didn’t think possible.

“How is it?” Nie Huaisang quietly asks him and Jiang Cheng lets out a harsh breath.

“I need to take him with me,” he says, carefully putting Nie Mingjue’s hand back onto the bed.

“What? No!” Nie Huaisang immediately says, and he flicks open his fan in a nervous gesture. “You can’t take da-ge,” he says again, more vehemently and Jiang Cheng levels him with a look.

“This is why you chose me as his spouse,” he lowly says, trying not to let that thought hurt him more than it already does. “To heal him. So let me.”

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang starts, but Jiang Cheng is not interested in hearing what he has to say for himself.

He knows damn well that the rumoured healing abilities of the Yunmeng Jiang are the only reason he even came up as a spouse and since this is all Nie Mingjue will ever want from him, he will damn well do his job.

“Huaisang, he comes with me,” Jiang Cheng says again, channelling his Sect Leader authority, and Nie Huaisang stills behind his fan.

“You came alone.”

“So prepare a carriage for us. You can even send that right hand man of his to keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better. I’ll accommodate him, too,” Jiang Cheng says and he feels sick that he even has to bargain with Nie Huaisang like that.

Nie Mingjue’s life is on the line; there shouldn’t even be a question that they have to do everything they can to save him.

“It’s not—will he survive the travel?” Nie Huaisang asks, his voice small and low and Jiang Cheng realizes that it’s just the worry for his brother that makes him unreasonable.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he will make sure that Nie Mingjue does.

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang whispers and immediately leaves the room, presumably to make the necessary arrangements.

Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to sit on Nie Mingjue’s bed again. He takes his hand back up and presses the back of it against his forehead, breaths deliberately deep and steady.

“Don’t do this to me,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “We didn’t even have our one year anniversary yet,” he goes on, even though he knows that this was always a possibility.

Nie Mingjue made no secret out of this; made no secret out of the fact that Jiang Cheng would be a very young widower.

Well, he clearly didn’t count on Jiang Cheng’s stubbornness.

The journey back to Lotus Pier is uneventful, though it drags on and on since they can’t rush it with their precious cargo.

Nie Zonghui keeps looking at Jiang Cheng as if he expects to make a move against Nie Mingjue at any moment now, and if Jiang Cheng wasn’t so worried, if he wasn’t so glad that Nie Mingjue had good people by his side like this, then he’d be pretty damn angry with even the implication that he would harm Nie Mingjue.

He’s not the one who married out of convenience after all.

When they finally reach Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng immediately brings Nie Mingjue into the special healing chamber his family used.

Jiang Cheng debated not rebuilding it with the rest of Lotus Pier at first, because mostly his mother used it whenever she suffered a qi deviation, and Jiang Cheng surprisingly isn’t prone to them himself. But in the end he decided to simply rebuild Lotus Pier as he used to know it; who knew when the chamber would come in handy.

And he is glad for it now, because it means that Nie Mingjue even has a fighting chance of recovering from this.

Jiang Cheng activates the healing array carved into the chamber and once he kicked everyone else out, he immediately goes to work.

He knows how to repair the damage done to Nie Mingjue’s meridians but it will take time; it will take a lot of time, Jiang Cheng realizes once he finished his first thorough examination of Nie Mingjue. The damage is almost irreversible and it will take weeks—if not months—to heal him.

But Jiang Cheng is up for that; there isn’t a thing he won’t do for those he loves and if it means he practically has to live in the chamber as well, then he will do it.

Except, of course, that isn’t how it goes because Jin Ling is still there, and he still needs his jiu-jiu more than anyone else, so of course Jiang Cheng can’t live in the chamber.

His Sect still needs guidance as well, even though they are pretty self-sufficient, and so Jiang Cheng limits himself to two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening by Nie Mingjue’s side. He squeezes in an hour during lunch as well whenever he can manage, but he isn’t happy with it at all.

It will take forever this way, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t want Nie Mingjue to suffer more than he really has to. But he doesn’t trust anyone else with healing Nie Mingjue either, and so he grits his teeth and continues with his job.

It is only weeks in, that Jiang Cheng realizes that the qi deviation doesn’t have natural causes.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles as he brushed his qi over the same spot again and again, until he can coax the imprint of a song and some lingering residual qi out of Nie Mingjue’s body.

Jiang Cheng isn’t familiar with the qi, but he knows that there are only two people playing music for Nie Mingjue to help with the qi deviations and he feels hot rage bubble up inside of him when he realizes that one of Nie Mingjue’s sworn brothers must have done it. Or maybe even both.

Zidian sparks on his hand with that realisation and Jiang Cheng quickly removes his hand from Nie Mingjue, unwilling to hurt him even on accident.

But Jiang Cheng can’t be sure, because he doesn’t recognize the qi and so he calls for Nie Zonghui.

“What is it?” Nie Zonghui asks once he is inside the chamber and Jiang Cheng can see the worry clear on his face.

“Come here,” he orders and then he guides Nie Zonghui through the process that led him to uncover this.

“Do you recognize the qi?” he asks him once he is sure that Nie Zonghui understands the implications of what they just found but Nie Zonghui shakes his head.

“No, I don’t. Neither Zewu-jun nor Lianfang-zun allow people to sit in when they play for Mingjue. I always thought it was because they feared he would be distracted, but—”

“Maybe not,” Jiang Cheng finishes weakly and then he shakes his head.

“Who would know?”

“Huaisang,” Nie Zonghui says and Jiang Cheng’s brow raises with the familiar address until Nie Zonghui blushes faintly.

“I’ll write him,” Jiang Cheng finally says, unwilling to embarrassed Nie Zonghui any further and he leaves Nie Mingjue in the capable hands of his most trusted man.

Nie Huaisang arrives in Lotus Pier a few days later, the urgency of the letter clearly not lost on him.

“What is going on?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng leads him into the healing chamber without further explanation.

He guides Nie Huaisang through the same things he showed Nie Zonghui and when they reach the lingering qi, Nie Huaisang’s face darkens.

“San-ge,” he whispers and Jiang Cheng is filled with so much rage that his entire vision goes red.

Zidian sparks on his hand but Jiang Cheng forces himself to calm down. Jin Guangyao isn’t here; there’s no need to lose control like this.

“How do you even know something like this?” Nie Huaisang asks and while the attempt at a distraction is painfully obvious, it’s also painfully effective.

“My mother got qi deviations,” Jiang Cheng tells him, aiming for calm, but probably missing by a mile. “I was tasked with healing her, and the qi deviations weren’t always of a natural course. Not all of them stemmed from her temper; sometimes the faint imprint of my father’s uncaring words would linger behind in her meridians,” Jiang Cheng admits and speaking of his family like this doesn’t hurt as much as it probably should have.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang whispers and Jiang Cheng awkwardly shrugs.

“It’s in the past.”

They sit in silence for a moment, before Nie Zonghui knocks to announce his arrival.

“Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun are here to see Mingjue,” he tells them and the rage rises in Jiang Cheng as if it never left in the first place.

“I will deal with them,” Nie Huaisang quickly says, eying the sparking Zidian with worry and Jiang Cheng reaches out for his sleeve.

“I want him dead,” Jiang Cheng says, because this is the only thing he can think right now.

Jin Guangyao is the reason Jiang Cheng almost became a widower; he is the reason Nie Huaisang has to lead a Sect he was never meant to lead. Jiang Cheng wants him to pay for that.

“I don’t care how you do it, but I want him dead.”

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open to hide his calculating look but Jiang Cheng knows him better than that. They spent a year studying together and he has watched how effortlessly Nie Huaisang took over as Sect Leader.

He is by far not as innocent as he seems.

“He will be,” is all Nie Huaisang eventually says and then he leaves Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue behind.

Jiang Cheng is definitely looking forward to Jin Guangyao’s eventual demise.

~*~*~

“Jiu-jiu, why are you always in that one room?” Jin Ling asks him one day during lunch and Jiang Cheng figures that he should maybe tell his nephew that his husband is in there.

“I will show you,” he promises him and Jin Ling immediately bounces in his seat with excitement.

He does take Jin Ling there after lunch, but before they enter the chamber he stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Nie Mingjue is in there,” he explains and Jin Ling hangs on to his every word with big eyes. “He’s my husband, even though you might not really remember that. He’s been hurt and he is sleeping for now. You have to be quiet and careful with him,” Jiang Cheng instructs Jin Ling, who immediately calms down.

“I remember that,” Jin Ling says, clearly proud of himself for that and Jiang Cheng smiles slightly.

Jin Ling just turned five so while he might remember that Jiang Cheng is married, Jiang Cheng is sure that he doesn’t understand quite just what being married means.

“Good boy,” he still praises Jin Ling and then he pushes the door open to reveal Nie Mingjue, who is still sleeping but looking better by the day.

“He’s so huge,” Jin Ling whispers and then slaps a hand over his mouth, carefully looking up at Jiang Cheng.

“He is,” he agrees with a slight smile and imagines how imposing Nie Mingjue must look to someone as small as Jin Ling.

“Why is he sleeping in here?” Jin Ling asks and Jiang Cheng picks him up to settle him on his lap as he sits down next to Nie Mingjue.

“Because he is hurt and this chamber helps him heal,” Jiang Cheng explains and he goes a little bit misty eyed when Jin Ling reaches out to pet Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Yifu has to wake up soon,” he whispers, deliberately keeping his eyes on Nie Mingjue. “Jiu-jiu has been sad without you.”

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and presses Jin Ling closer to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Jiu-jiu, too strong,” Jin Ling complaints and Jiang Cheng immediately loosens his arms, but he doesn’t let him go completely, and Jin Ling doesn’t wriggle out of his embrace.

“Listen, you have to talk to him,” Jin Ling suddenly says and looks up at Jiang Cheng. “He’s just laying there, it’s so boring! You have to tell him about your day!”

Jiang Cheng chuckles slightly, because even though it’s a healing sleep and Nie Mingjue is unlikely to hear anything that is being said to him, that’s exactly what Jiang Cheng has been doing for a while now.

“Why don’t you tell him something, for a change? I’m sure he’s tired of hearing my voice by now,” Jiang Cheng gently encourages Jin Ling who pouts up at him.

“Not true, jiu-jiu’s voice is the best,” Jin Ling declares, but then he does dive right into a recollection of his past week at Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng knows most of it already, of course, but he’s happy to stay and listen to Jin Ling blabber away.

He tries not to think about the fact that being with the two people he loves the most is strangely comforting, because Nie Mingjue is still unconscious and hurt after all, but it’s exactly what he’s thinking about.

Jiang Cheng can’t even be mad at himself for that.

~*~*~

Nie Mingjue wakes up four months after his qi deviation.

Jiang Cheng isn’t around to see it, but Nie Zonghui immediately calls for him once it happens, so at least Jiang Cheng has some time to steel himself to come face to face with Nie Mingjue.

He is still in the chamber when Jiang Cheng comes to see him, clearly too weak to immediately walk somewhere else, but he’s sitting up and he looks healthy and that is really all Jiang Cheng ever wanted for him.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue greets him and Jiang Cheng bows slightly to him. “None of that,” Nie Mingjue chastises him and beckons him closer. “I hear my recovery is thanks to you,” Nie Mingjue says with a small smile and Jiang Cheng nods, unsure what he’s supposed to say to that.

It was a lot easier to talk to Nie Mingjue when he was still sleeping, Jiang Cheng finds himself thinking and then immediately afterwards he wants to kick himself.

Nothing is better than having Nie Mingjue being awake and obviously healthy again.

“I only did my duty,” Jiang Cheng presses out and bows his head towards Nie Mingjue again. “I already wrote to Huaisang, he will no doubt be coming soon to take you back to Qinghe,” Jiang Cheng forces himself to say, because he knows that this is what Nie Mingjue wants.

He never did well with being apart from his Sect, and he must be anxious to get back to it.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue says and even without looking up Jiang Cheng can tell that there’s a frown on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You must be anxious to go home,” Jiang Cheng says, without meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Aren’t I home?” Nie Mingjue asks and it’s so surprising that it startles Jiang Cheng into looking at him. “You’re my husband, are you not? Doesn’t that make Lotus Pier my home, too?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and while it’s everything that Jiang Cheng ever wanted to hear, he shakes his head.

“Please,” he almost scoffs out. “We both know this marriage isn’t about that.”

“What is this marriage about then?” Nie Mingjue asks and he sounds honestly curious.

Jiang Cheng can’t even find it in him to hate Nie Mingjue a little bit for making Jiang Cheng say it.

“About this,” he says with a gesture to the room. “I’m pretty sure Nie Huaisang only brought up my name back then because of this. Because I could probably heal you if something should go wrong. And I did, so I guess I served my purpose,” Jiang Cheng bitterly says.

There’s a long moment of silence before Nie Mingjue speaks again and it makes Jiang Cheng uneasy.

“This is not why I married you,” Nie Mingjue eventually speaks up, his voice low and soft and Jiang Cheng can’t help the snort that comes out at that.

Of course it’s why Nie Mingjue married him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why he is so intent on pretending anything else now.

“It was the reason your name first came up, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue goes on, and Jiang Cheng’s heart drops right to the floor at hearing his fears confirmed. “But it’s not why I agreed to marry you in the end.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng huffs out. “What are the reasons then?” he demands to know, his voice bitter and angry but when he looks at Nie Mingjue he deflates.

The look on Nie Mingjue’s face is entirely too soft for Jiang Cheng to take.

“I married you because you’re strong and fierce. Because you love with your whole heart and you would die to protect those you love. I married you because you’re beautiful and sharp and one of the strongest Sect Leader I know. Yes, your name first came up because of your healing abilities; but I would have never married you out of such selfish reasons,” Nie Mingjue says. “I married you because I wanted to. Because I fell in love with you.”

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and he inexplicably feels like crying.

“Why did you marry me? If you think I only married you because of what you can do for me, then why did you agree?” Nie Mingjue asks him and Jiang Cheng blushes.

“I’m not good with words,” he mumbles, anxiously turning Zidian on his finger. “I can’t give you a half dozen reasons why I married you.”

“Just give me one,” Nie Mingjue whispers and reaches out to take Jiang Cheng’s hand in his. “Just give me one reason.”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Jiang Cheng admits, even though his face feels like it’s going to go up in flames.

There are a dozen different things he could say about Nie Mingjue and why he first caught his eye and how he managed to keep it, but Jiang Cheng’s throat closes up just thinking about saying them out loud.

When Nie Mingjue raises the hand he just took to press a kiss to the back of it, Jiang Cheng thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to say them all right now for Nie Mingjue to understand.

“I’m not going back yet,” Nie Mingjue tells him once Jiang Cheng feels like he can breathe again and it’s enough to make Jiang Cheng look at Nie Mingjue again.

“What?”

“I have to recuperate and I would like to do it here,” Nie Mingjue says with a small shrug. “I am aware that the first few months of our marriage weren’t all that perfect, but this might be our chance. I hear Huaisang is doing pretty well as Sect Leader; let him lead for a while longer. I think I deserve a break after what happened.”

The truth about the qi deviation is on the tip of Jiang Cheng’s tongue, but in the end he doesn’t say anything. He decides to wait for Nie Huaisang, who will be better at explaining than Jiang Cheng is, but deep down Jiang Cheng knows that it’s just out of a selfish desire to not shatter the moment right now.

“I would like that,” Jiang Cheng whispers and when Nie Mingjue tugs on his hand to bring him closer, Jiang Cheng easily follows.

“And I distantly remember someone calling me yifu,” Nie Mingjue mutters and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head as he tucks him into his side. “Did I dream that?”

“No, you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng says with a slight chuckle, because ever since he took Jin Ling here for the first time, the boy has made it a point to come at least every other day to talk to Nie Mingjue about his day.

“I’d like to hear it in person,” Nie Mingjue admits and Jiang Cheng smiles down at their still intertwined hands.

“There’s nothing that will stop him from saying it again once he hears you’re awake,” Jiang Cheng says, because he knows his nephew and Jin Ling will be so excited to hear that Nie Mingjue is awake.

Nie Mingjue sighs at that and Jiang Cheng cranes his head to look at him worriedly.

“I’m sorry about how the first few months of our marriage went,” Nie Mingjue says and brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “I’m going to make it up to you,” he promises.

“You’re in luck,” Jiang Cheng says with a slight smile and a faint blush. “You woke up in time for your one year anniversary.”

A sparkle enters Nie Mingjue’s eyes at that and Jiang Cheng briefly wonders what he got himself into, but then Nie Mingjue presses a whispered “Good,” right into Jiang Cheng lips and every and any thought flees his head.

If this is how Nie Mingjue is going to make it up to him, then Jiang Cheng doesn’t mind that at all.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[rhaenyraisadyke]

It's been a year! Transcript: 8/3/21 Here is also a google doc of the transcript if that is easier to read!

*Starts out with happy birthday on a guitar playing*

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthdayyyy to meee, Happy Birthday to me

*Drinks a swig of alcohol*

Ah. Yeah it’s my birthday today, which um seems odd, it doesn't feel like i've been here that long… but I have. Cheers everyone uh. I realise I haven't really done much in a while.

I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed, put out this cake I made three months ago and uh, that's kind of been it, but yeah… I don’t think I’ve left this room in 80 days. About 80 days… How long is 80 days? I- I- that's a lot of months… that's been a long time… Also my vision just went black, I’ve been drinking a lot, um this is that possibly catching up with me um please return vision, I’d really like for it to be back, well I can hear things so at least i'm not deaf ya know? The lord has kept my hearing but I am blind, no um yep there we go.

I decided to get dressed up as well. I figured that would be nice, ya know? I’m pretty sure I was part of them back when I joined, so.. .I don't know if it felt like it made sense to dress up again. Um, fucking hell, I have not cleaned. *sighs* I’ll be honest, in the time I was gone, not very… not very much has happened, uh, it turns out you need customers to support a hotel, and I don’t know about you guys but I haven't seen one on this place for a pretty long while. So uh, basically what I’m saying is… the big jack manifold hasn't been going too hot, god, you don’t provide these guys with food for eighty days and they all go bones and evil.

LEAVE out you bard, you-

The point is, very little has been done here for quite awhile, and um I haven't been outside or seen anyone, and I- I didn't’ finish the pub. Um, you may be asking me, “but jack wasn't that the only thing you were working towards? I know but with the failure of the hotel, I kind of realised that again pubs also rely on customers and the very limited people on this server, as we can all see it really ah um, well it didn’t seem very fruitful. So um, we're kinda just here, living here rent free ever since we claimed this place… I actually don’t know who pays the rent.. Maybe Tommy still does um. I Don't know- anyway since I’ve been here for a year and I haven't really looked around in three months, I thought we would go and look around at everything that we once saw, you know?

I must admit the investment of the alcohol from the pub has been the only thing keeping-.. I shouldn't say that, let's not speak about that part. Yeah it turns out that this place, look I haven't been outside in eighty days and I think maybe since I’ve been here for a year I can go back and have a look around at everything. And um as I said I dressed up for the occasion, so um you know… lets see what's changed hmmm?

Anyway let's walk around shall we? Well this didn’t change, we still got mcpuffys here. Hehe, no one noticed my balls sign hehe, no one noticed, I forgot about this, no one noticed I replaced whatever the original one was with balls in hope they wouldn't notice and they didn't. Ahh that's good, I like that. Anyway, there's the duck and Ponk’s tower that seem pretty much the same.

This looks different, this was a hole.. Who are you? Alright? You know we are the only two people on the server right now? (talking to shroud) This basically means we gotta become friends. So.. tell me about yourself.. Sir? Madam? Shroud, alright. Oh Ohhh I stole some of these! Did I ever give them back? Whoops, oh well. Ahh, it's been quiet without him ya know tommy. I’ll be honest, theres been very little to do, with him gone, um, the fuck did ninjas house go? Why does it look like a very small mcdonalds?

Right, this tower, this seems pretty much the same. Does the sewer still exist? Hm oh wait does it not? What ohh no what happened to the sewers? Aw, there was a whole sewer system out there one time and oh wow. Why is there no longer a sewer there? Wait oH OH it is down here!

One of the first things I remember is me tommy and tubbo and quackity, before he even joined and was still in juvy we, hehe, we did a little heist on everyone and we stole the poo machines and stole everything and then we had a little room, and it was here and we stole the phantom membranes. It was a good time, it was a good time, I liked that and then ah there had only been one war. It's crazy to think there's been more, I thought we’d figure it out the first time, you know? It was fun. And we were called the beatles. Either way yeah.

Why the fuck is half of this place beatroots? Why are half of these beetroots and the other half potatoes? Why is it all farm?? Why? Why is it beats? Wait where did gay target go? Why is there just a beacon here? At least there's huts pizza. Employee of the first two days, of dunderbeatlin… the fuck is dunderbeatlin? What's this? Why are there new things? I know it's been eighty days but why?

This is the L’manburg museum, bearing in mind I'm dressed like this I should go see it.

Oh! It's like different things. This is like the community house, okay that's cool and that's the egg.. This is a replica it won't hurt you… oh it doesn't it won't actually hurt you. I guess they remade that shit. What even happened with that thing? I remember it tried to possess me once and then I bathed in the holy water and I was good again. Oh wow it's like a map of the whole server and there's egg gunk. And then and then and then here.. Where am I? Oh… is that lmanburg? Where is lmanburg? Oh wait oh yeah yeah wait I forgot…. Oh…. yeah….. Um….heh yeah….

OH its the lmanburg walls! I remember tearing them down and rebuilding them a lot and the hotdog van! Does it have the declaration in it? No it doesn't… It is blue. Ohhh…… I joined the day after this (the final control room) God, it's been a whole year since then… What's this? Wait… I feel like there's missing lines here. I don’t know if sorry, you know? Oh, look here, oh it just says i'm sorry. (erets apology book) I’m not all that sure that sorry quite cuts that. What's this? Oh this looks unfinished. Oh here's a map of old lmanburg! OH that's ze house! Before… I burnt it down and decided I wasn't gonna have manifold land anymore.. I miss that, I miss lmanburg.

It was a lot easier to dream when we were friends. Everyone feels so distant now but maybe that's because I haven't seen them, maybe that didn't help I mean no one came to say hi to me. Oh, oh, my main takeaway was that, wait it's not glass anymore, it's like a cavern, it was glass the last time I was there, it's changed since I was here to remember what happened… Why does it look like this? Hmm I don't know. Ah this was my cove, and it was untouched until I burnt it down fuck you.

Oh and theres my secret base that I never finished, FUCK YOU - fuck I hate him, anyway… oh there's the big obsidian bridge, oh isn't this where tommy was exiled? Over this way? I think… That means it was somewhere along here that… wait no it was right here… right? We turned on these stairs, stepped down, and pretty sure it was right here… he dug this.. I don’t think I want to visit this place. I want to go back, this isn't really where I want to be.

Anyway um, I wonder if Snowchester has changed. Lets go visit, okay um, that's weird that's freshly planted. Let's head over to Snowchester its that way. Since when was Tubbos' house back? Didn’t Tommy burnt it down? I swear this got burnt down.. I remember the ruins of it, there was a nether tree farm then in it… anyway…. Let's go check out fundys place. I haven't seen him in FOREVER. The last time I saw him was the last war… the day… the last war… WHY ARE THERE BIG MUSEUM THINGS EVERYWHERE??

Where's fundys house? I built it. I remember building it as a prank and then he liked it and lived in it.. Where's my tower? It was here next to the fox, his little fox hole… my towers were gone, it was definitely here, it was a million percent here and it was right next to it. It was somewhere there was a button it had a button. There was a big sign made out of obsidian…

I don’t know if you can tell, but I’ve been pretty purposeless for the past eight days… what the fuck? That's a HOLE. That's a big ass hole! That wasn't always there?! When did a hole show up?? There's a HOLE in my hotel!! I'm trying not to lose my cool and you know when I go the day that I joined, and the first person that greeted me was tommyinnit and still, I wish, I just wish someone logged in and said “hey jack happy one year” and I try to build them a pub and one of these *drinks a swig of alcohol* I mean at least..

Every time….. Everything here and how come it's all the things I care about that get blown up? Lmanburg… Manifold Land- Well I did manifold land but I was pissed off - Everything I care about on this server gets blown up, or destroyed or taken advantage of or.. Betrays me, that happens a lot. I’m not sure if I wanna be here anymore.

I’m not sure if I want to have anything to do with this… maybe that's it. Maybe that's it. What does this place bring? What does this place bring? Ever since I have been part of the “Dream SMP” Things are given to me that are eventually taken or destroyed, friends leave, DEATH, not everyone has died on the server and come back to life admittedly, I have now but the point is, I AM VERY DEFINITE I DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS SERVER ANYMORE… Alright? Almost everyone that has promised me something has turned their back. Almost everyone. The last thing anyone said to me was “Ah when las nevadas comes about, we will have a deal jack.. I’ll make it big” Yeahh.. .he really brought a lot of business. How's Las Nevadas doing?? Because when I HEARD it would be done and bring me customers, surely not another person would give me false hope.

Tubbos was the only one I can trust, Tubbo and Niki. I know Niki has become an anarchist or whatever but at least she's happy, and Tubbo was always kind.

I think Las Nevadas is somewhere over here. Let's go look at how “done it is” and how ready for business they are… Looking PRETTY finished for me. Big sign, big building, nice roads. Looking pretty… done. Pretty ready for a business deal. Isn't that a shocker… Isn't it weird yet again that someone promised me something and it fell through again?

So FUCK IT I don’t wana see Snowchester, I dont want to see anything, My WHOLE TIME on this server has been doing things for other people and fighting peoples wars, right? Keeping up hotels and pubs for people to stay, trying to kill people at worst that wasnt me and fighting for them. I haven't done anything for myself. ANYTHING AT ALL. And I said the hotel was for me and look where it got me- in a room for 80 days and a giant bottle of cider I have yet to finish- so fuck it! I’m not dealing with anyone else anymore. The “DREAM SMP” I’m gonna go out and start my own thing. I’m gonna call it the “Dream SSP” survival single player because I’m not dealing with anyone else anymore. Alright?

The day Tommy died, I said I was done with manifold land because the only thing it ever stood for was trying to get rid of him, and although it was also about getting back at him, it was about other people, but this time, I have something new in mind, something completely different…

NEW Manifold land will not cater to anyone else, not fight for anyone else, to I don’t know be anything for anyone else really. New Manifold land will stick very strictly to the name and persist of purely Jack Manifold, and I might steal Godzilla back from Tubbo (his arctic fox). Because as much as I said Niki was kind and Tubbo was kind, where they been the past 80 days? No one came to the hotel. No one came looking for me to which point, I say I’m gonna find myself my own little place. I’m just gonna live. I’m gonna do what I want, the only thing is, I need to find an area of my own, we need to travel. So let's get moving hmm?

[wayward-dreamer]

Life’s Lessons - Part 15

Title: Life’s Lessons - A Lesson in Finding the One

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 8,857 (texts, thoughts, song lyrics in italics)

Part Summary: Dean and Y/N find themselves so busy in the following weeks, that things blow out of proportion and they spend the night apart. Feeling awful about it the next day, they plan to apologise to each other but something unexpected stops them from that. Later, Dean and Y/N share a tearful apology, after the experience of nearly losing each other makes them realise what is truly important.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Fighting, Hurtful words, Doubts, Insecurities, Guilt, Tears, Hurt!Dean (don’t hate me, it’s not for long), Hospital, Tears, Fluff, Romance, Smut, Oral sex (Female receiving), Dirty talk, Vaginal Fingering, Brief handjob, Unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it, people), A whole bunch of fluff.

Music: Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks & Don Henley (Y/N driving home scene), Do I Move You by Briana Buckmaster (Dean and Y/N date night scene), Ramble On by Led Zeppelin (Dean and Y/N end scene)

Life’s Lessons Spotify Playlist

A/N: Well, this is it. The last chapter. I can’t believe it. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for all your love for this series. I’m so grateful for each of you; every single one. You’re all the best. Epilogue will post next week, but happy reading and enjoy the final chapter! :)

Life’s Lessons Masterlist

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics! Check her out for all your AU needs!!!

Two more weeks passed that were incredibly busy for both Y/N and Dean.

Dean had been swamped between the old and new sites, trying to fix up people’s cars at the old and then working with Benny on the car that had come in for restoration at the old site, but they moved it to the new. They had gotten this big job a few months ago, and had started then but moving it over to the new site had been a good decision as everything was more open and had more room to move around. They had so many people calling in with every model of car Dean had ever heard of, in different states and different forms of restoration that needed to be done. There were only so many they could book, and had to eventually tell people they couldn’t take any more for the next few months.

He had been coming home later and later, and barely had time to even kiss Y/N let alone do anything else. He really couldn’t wait until they hired a few more people and he could finally go back to his regular hours. They were in the middle of the hiring process too; yet another reason they had been so busy.

Y/N had a lot going on at school as well. There had big tests she had given her students in both grades and had a lot of grading to do. While that was happening, she also had to plan lessons for the new content they had to cover, while also taking on a few tutoring duties after school for the kids that really needed help, in order to get to the high school level by September.

She had been coming home later than usual, but then she would cook and leave something for Dean to eat so that when he came back late, he wouldn’t come to bed absolutely starving. She had barely seen him, always falling asleep before he got home because she was so exhausted herself.

She really hoped things would slow down soon for both of them so that they could have more time together.

Y/N was in the middle of grading tests when she heard the front door open and close, and then Dean’s boots in the hallway. She usually did her work in her office at her own house but considering she had just made a quick and easy pasta for dinner over at Dean’s, she decided to sit at the dining table after eating and grade the papers there.

“Hey, sweetheart” Dean muttered as he saw her, sounding completely wrecked.

She looked up at him, offering a small smile. “Hey. Food’s still hot, so eat up.” She went back to her grading as she heard him wash up and then sat down with his food, across from her at the table.

“How was your day?” he asked, taking a bite and looking at her.

“Busy” she replied, not looking up from the tests in front of her. She pushed her glasses up as they slid down her nose but made no move to look up at him.

Dean frowned as he saw her so engrossed in her work that she didn’t even look at him. He really wanted to take a few minutes to just be with her, considering they had barely talked in the last two weeks.

“Y/N, can’t you put that away for a while?” he asked, trying not to sound too frustrated.

“No, I can’t, Dean. This is important; I’ve been so behind with grading, and the kids are really getting antsy about their scores” she replied, shaking her head as she continued to look down.

“Sweetheart… we’ve barely seen each other. You can finish that in the morning too” he countered.

“I’m almost done, Dean. Please, just… let me finish. You can keep talking, I’m listening, okay?” She was irritable and really hoped he wouldn’t push any further.

“Yeah. Okay” he mumbled as he continued to eat. “Maybe… maybe we can go out on Friday night. God knows we haven’t been out, just us, in a long time.”

“We really don’t have to” she said, quickly glancing at him before continuing her work.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’ll be good, we can finally relax” he said, smiling slightly, hoping she’d look up at him and actually agree.

She scoffed as she shook her head. “Yeah, and then you can leave me in the morning like you always do for your top-secret mission.”

An eerie silence fell in the house as Dean stopped eating. He put his fork down slowly as he looked at her. He kept calm as he thought about how to broach this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, calmly even though he was a little annoyed.

She finally looked up at him with her glasses on, and if it was any other day, Dean would’ve found it incredibly hot rather than scary. “It means that there’s no point in us going out on Friday night if you’re just going to leave the next morning and then not tell me what you’re up to.”

“Y/N, I need you to trust me, okay? I’ll tell you soon, I promise” he tried to reassure her, hoping she’d understand. “It’s something for us, for our future and I just want things to be perfect.”

“But do you really have to be away every Saturday? I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to think is going on, Dean? You’ve been busy during the week, the least you could do is spend some time with me on the weekend, but no! You keep leaving at the earliest possible hour and you come back late at night!” she said, glaring at him as her voice raised slightly. She got up quickly, the chair scraping harshly against the floors.

“You’re not supposed to think anything, Y/N” he snapped. “You’re supposed to trust me, that’s it.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to do that when you’re never here” she scoffed as she walked away from the table and into the kitchen. Dean shook his head, following behind her.

“I’m not the only one who hasn’t been here” he threw back at her.

She laughed bitterly, and Dean felt his stomach turn at the sound.

“Really? Then what is all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the food on the stove. “I’m here every day, making sure you have what you need when you get back at god knows what time of night!”

“That maybe so, sweetheart… but that” he said, gesturing to the table with the tests on it. “That’s when you’re not here! I try to talk to you and you’re always so lost in what you’re doing, you can’t even hear me!” Dean yelled.

“Fine, then let me make it easier for you” she hissed, as she walked to the table and gathered up all the tests. She shoved them into her handbag, picked up her coat and put it on over her oversized sweater, to keep her exposed legs warm.

“Y/N stop” Dean said, shaking his head. “Please, stop.”

That was not going well at all and he felt horrible for even bothering her while she had been working. She was working. It’s not like she was ignoring him on purpose.

“For the record, this is my job” she snapped at him as she turned around. “And you holding it against me is something I’m not going to stand for.”

“Y/N, wait-” he started but she walked out the door so quickly, slamming the door behind her, he barely had time to register it.

He had the first thought of following her, but the second thought of knowing she needed space, stopped him. That was the first time they had fought, and it was bad. He had blamed her work for the reason she was distant, but it was the fact that he was keeping something from her that caused her to be so upset. Plus, all these days apart hadn’t helped them in their relationship.

He knew he had to fix this and soon. He just hoped he hadn’t royally screwed up.

That night after Y/N finally finished grading the tests, she angrily washed her face before putting on her pyjamas and getting into bed. She glared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, shaking her head. He was the one who was hiding something and then blaming her for being distant because of her work. She had to distract herself from thoughts and insecurities about what might be happening, with her work. He had some nerve to blame her for this.

Though… she hadn’t exactly helped by saying that he was never there. Yes, it was sort of true, but she knew how hard he was working at the new garage, while also trying to keep things up and running at the old one. She knew he loved his work so much and she never wanted him to think she would be angry at him because of it. She really hoped he wasn’t thinking that.

She knew she needed to sleep on it and figure it out the next day. She just hoped she could.

It had been a restless night for Dean. Not sleeping next to Y/N was definitely the biggest factor of that, but their fight had been playing on his mind all night too. He woke up to go to work and was yet to see her that day.

He hated that he brought her job into their argument. She was great at what she did, she was passionate, and she always supported him, so he had to support her too. He hated that for a minute back there he used it against her. He knew as soon as he got home, he had to speak to her. One night without her next him was enough to scare him. He never wanted to be without her, even for one night.

Dean: I hated not having you next to me last night. I’m clocking out early today, we have to talk, sweetheart. I’m so sorry about what I said. I love you.

He had sent her a message during the day and he just hoped that she would want to actually talk to him when she got home. He was going to make it a point to be home before her, so that she knew he was serious about this. He needed her to know that.

He was glad that work was a good distraction at that point. It was the middle of the day, he had a few hours left of work, and he had to tow someone’s car back to the garage. Hopefully he could continue to distract himself for the next few hours, until he returned home and dealt with the aftermath of the night before.

As he drove back to the garage, he stopped at a light and thought about what he was going to say to Y/N when she got home. He was scared and didn’t know if he would just end up ruining everything more than he already had. He couldn’t lose her. Not now, not ever. He really had to think carefully about what to say.

As the light turned green, Dean moved the tow truck forward, ready to head back to the garage. However, he didn’t have time to react as another car ran a red light and hit the tow truck on the passenger side, sending it screeching along the road a few feet away.

The last thing on Dean’s mind as he blacked out was Y/N.

The night had not been restful for Y/N either.

She was embarrassed about how she had reacted. She shouldn’t have doubted Dean and what he was doing. She always said she would trust him and now she made him doubt whether she did or not. She did. She completely and unconditionally did, but she did have her fears about what he was doing. If he couldn’t tell her, then clearly something was wrong. Or maybe nothing was wrong, and she was just a bitch for overreacting.

She was glad when she got a message from him saying he’d be home early. She knew they needed to talk before things got worse.

Y/N: Okay. I’m so sorry too. I do trust you, Dean. You have to know that I do. We’ll talk when I get home. I love you, so much.

She had spent nearly the whole day at work with this at the back of her mind. She was so distracted at work and everyone could tell that something was wrong. Some of the teachers had asked her if she was okay when she was in the staff room, but she just played it off like she didn’t get a lot of sleep. However, when Charlie asked when they went to the staff bathroom before their next classes, Y/N told her everything.

“I made a mess of everything, Charlie” she said, shaking her head as she leaned her hands on the sink.

Charlie shook her head, as she rubbed her hand up and down Y/N’s back. “No, you didn’t. Do you guys need to talk about it? Yes, of course, but you haven’t made a mess.”

“But I’ve made him doubt my trust in him. I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him” Y/N choked out, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

“No, you haven’t made him doubt anything, Y/N. He loves you, and he knows you love him, trust him. You just have to talk it out. He’s going to be the one to tell you everything, but all I’m going to say is that it’s a good thing; what he’s waiting to tell you. I promise” Charlie reassured her, smiling at her, softly.

“It’s going to make me feel even worse, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, frowning.

Charlie wasn’t going to say anything, but when Y/N lifted an eyebrow, she sighed. “Yeah.”

“Great” Y/N shook her head, closing her eyes.

“But it’s also going to make you feel really good, really excited, and that’s it. That’s all I’m going to say” Charlie said, trying not to smile as she thought about it.

“Okay” Y/N nodded.

The next class went on and on, as she taught the kids and distracted herself. She was incredibly glad when that bell rang at the end of the day and she could finally get home. She didn’t say her goodbyes to anyone, just picked up her bags and lunch that she couldn’t finish because she didn’t have the stomach for it and left the school.

As she drove home, she could feel her heart beating wildly as she thought about Dean coming home and what she was going to say to him. She had to fix this and promise him that she would never doubt him ever again. She loved him and she trusted him; she needed him to really know that.

As she drove, a soft melody started on the radio and she instantly knew what song it was.

Is love so fragile

And the heart so hollow

Shatter with words

Impossible to follow

You’re saying I’m fragile I try not to be

I search only for something that I can’t see

I have my own life and I am stronger

Than you know

But I carry this feeling

When you walked into my house

That you won’t be walking out the door

Still I carry this feeling

When you walked into my house

That you won’t be walking out the door

Y/N felt the tears in her eyes stream down her cheeks as she finally let out the emotions of what happened. All she could think about was how she did walk out the night before, and how she regretted it instantly but made no move to turn around and go back to him. How could she do that?

Lovers forever face to face

My city your mountains

Stay with me stay

I need you to love me

I need you today

Give to me your leather

Take from me my lace

The song hit too close to what she was feeling, and she flicked the button, turning the radio off. She was almost home, anyway.

She wiped her eyes as she turned down their street, speeding up to reach the house quicker. She parked in her driveway but frowned when she didn’t see the Impala parked at Dean’s. Maybe he was still on his way home.

Suddenly, her phone rang and she picked it up, frowning when she saw ‘Sam’ instead of ‘Dean’. She thought maybe he would call and tell her he was on his way, but as she picked up the phone, that thought was quickly replaced with worry when she heard Sam’s frantic voice.

“Y/N! Where are you right now?” he asked, his breath short as he sounded like he was rushing around, and he sounded scared.

“I just got home… Sam, what’s wrong?” she asked in return, feeling her throat constricting as fear gripped her heart.

“The hospital just called me, they said Dean’s been in an accident. I’m on my way but if you can get there before me-” he replied, but she cut him off as she turned her car back on.

“I’m leaving now!” she yelled as she hung up and pulled out of the driveway and drove down the road towards the hospital.

She tried not to let the worst possible thoughts enter her mind, but that was hard to do when it was one thought after another, constantly. She felt like she couldn’t breathe; like her throat was closed and she couldn’t even gasp for breath. She frantically pulled into an empty spot in the hospital parking, grabbed her bag and rushed towards the entrance. She went to the desk and tried to find her voice as the nurse behind the desk looked at her.

“I’m here to see Dean Winchester, he was brought in” she said through short breaths, as she tried to calm herself down.

“Are you his emergency contact?” the nurse asked, as she started clicking the mouse and typing something on the computer in front of her.

“N-no, I-I’m not, but his brother is on his way-” Y/N started but the nurse shook her head, sternly.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t tell you anything without Mr. Winchester’s next of kin here” she said, looking between Y/N and the screen.

“No, please, I have to know if he’s okay” Y/N shook her head, frantically, trying to reason with her. “Please, you have to tell me.”

“He’s with the doctors right now, but that’s all I can say. I’m sorry” the nurse said, giving her one bit of information she was allowed to give, which wasn’t very telling about Dean’s condition.

Y/N stepped back from the desk, letting out a sob she had been holding back as she drove over there. She cradled her head in her hands, letting the last several hours wash over her as she descended into silent tears, in the middle of the waiting area. Something could be seriously wrong, and she wasn’t allowed to know until Sam got there. She could lose Dean and the last thing that ever happened between them would’ve been that stupid fight. She felt the guilt settle in as she continued to cry quietly, trying to be positive but failing.

“Y/N!” she heard someone yell. She looked up and walked over to Sam as he rushed towards her, dressed in a suit. He had clearly rushed straight out from work.

“Sam!” she launched herself into him, hugging him tightly. “They won’t tell me anything, they said you had to be here.”

“Okay, it’s okay, come with me” Sam was being as calm as he could be, holding her hand in his as he walked over to the desk.

“I’m Sam, Dean Winchester’s brother” he told the nurse. “Please tell us what’s going on.”

“Dean was brought in after a car collided with his tow truck at an intersection. The doctors are with him but let me get an update for you” the nurse informed them and picked up the phone.

“Alright, thank you” Sam said, as he stepped away and sat down on a chair. Y/N sat next to him; their hands still clasped.

“Sam… what if he’s-” she started but stopped, unable to even say the words.

“He’s not” Sam shook his head, but he wasn’t sure whether it was out of conviction or denial. “He can’t be.”

“I fucked up, Sam” she whispered, as tears fell down her face.

He looked confused as he looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“W-we had a s-stupid fight yesterday, and I stormed out… and-and I-I slept at my house” she stuttered, not being able to say anything properly. “And now he… he’s here. If something happened-”

Sam turned to her, gripping her shoulders to make her look at him. “Nothing happened, Y/N. Dean’s going to be just fine, I feel it. And you didn’t fuck up. You and Dean will work it out. It’ll be okay, Y/N. I know it will” he reassured her, as he pulled her into a hug. She nodded against him, not trusting her voice anymore.

“Mr. Winchester” the nurse from before gestured to them, and they got up quickly.

“Yes?” Sam said, taking Y/N’s hand again. She felt like she was about throw up as she waited for the nurse to talk.

“Dean has a mild concussion, a cut on his forehead that the doctors sutured and bandaged. They’re going to keep him overnight for observation but he’s going to be okay” she explained, a soft smile on her face.

Y/N let out a harsh breath as she sobbed, hugging Sam tightly when he pulled her in.

“Can we see him?” Sam asked.

“Yes, he’s in room 302, 5th floor” she replied, checking the room and telling them.

“Thank you” Sam said, as Y/N picked up her bag from where she had been sitting and joined Sam at the elevator.

Y/N and Sam rode the elevator up to the floor and found the room, but Sam stood back as Y/N walked to the door. She frowned as he stood behind her, a small smile on his face.

“You should go in first” he said.

“Sam, he’s your brother-” she started but he stopped her as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I know how scared you were when they couldn’t tell you anything. You need this, Y/N” he smiled softly at her. “I’ll be in soon.”

“Okay. Thanks” she said, reaching up high on the toes of her shoes and kissing his cheek.

Y/N turned the door handle and opened the door, feeling like the wind was knocked out of her all over again. Dean was asleep on the hospital bed, looking small in the big, bare room sparse of any color. The monitors beeped at a normal pace as she walked in and stood near the bed. She took in his face, a white bandage on his forehead, some small cuts and scrapes on his cheeks and hands as her eyes travelled down his body. She felt tears roll down her cheeks as she sat down on the chair next to the bed. She curled her hand around his, sniffling as she watched him.

“Dean” she called out, softly. “It’s Y/N. I’m here.”

She saw his eyes moving under his lids, as he slowly started to blink them open, flinching at the stark light of the room. Dean’s head felt heavy as he looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on Y/N. She smiled at him through tears and he felt his heart soaring as he saw her there, in the room. She was there. He was there and he was alive.

“Y/N” he croaked, trying to smile at her.

“Shhh, don’t talk” she whispered as she took the plastic cup of water from his table and placed the straw to his mouth. “Here, slow sips.”

He took a few sips of water and gulped it down, looking at her as she put the cup down. He gripped her hand in his.

“You’re here” he whispered as he looked at her.

“Of course I am” she said, softly as she leaned down and kissed his hand. “Did you think… did you think I wouldn’t be?” she asked, scared of the answer.

“I… I would’ve deserved it” he said, coughing slightly. “For what I said to you-” he started but she gripped his hand, shaking her head.

“It’s okay, Dean” she whispered, not wanting to think about that anymore. It was stupid in comparison to what happened.

“No, I shouldn’t have brought your job into it, Y/N. I’m sorry” he said, groggily as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, too. For doubting you… for thinking you were being dishonest about something” she apologized, kissing his hand again.

“I promise I’m going to tell you… I just… I wanted it to be a surprise. And… I promise I won’t ever say you’re never here. We’ve just been busy, but we’ll make time. And I promise I won’t ever bring your work into an argument” he said, shifting a little so he was sitting up a bit more. She tried to stop him, but he was adamant on being to look at her properly and apologize.

“I promise I won’t ever doubt you again, or be angry about you working late. I know you’re doing it for a reason” she said, gripping his hand tighter.

“Come here” he smiled softly, as he tugged on her hand. She smiled in return and got up, sitting on the bed next to him. She leaned over as he lifted his other hand, pulling her in for soft, slow kiss.

She sniffled as she pulled away, more tears rolling down her face. “I hate that the fight could’ve been the last thing you remembered of me. I could’ve lost you today. And… they wouldn’t tell me anything until Sam got here-”

“Damn” he mumbled, shaking his head. “We’ll fix that tomorrow.”

“I was so scared” she cried, as she leaned into him, her tears beginning to stain his hospital gown.

“Me too” he admitted, as he pulled her in tighter. “I saw you before it all went dark. I saw…” he trailed off, not being able to tell her as her sadness got to him, a few tears rolling down his cheeks, too.

“I love you” she choked out, as she looked at him. He leaned in, kissing her harder than before, their desperation to be close getting to them.

“I love you, too” he muttered against her lips as he kept kissing her. “And for the record… there’s plenty of things I’d remember about you before that fight.”

She smiled at him as she moved forward, kissing him again, not wanting to stop.

“Oh, sorry” they both turned to see Sam standing in the doorway, his timing way off as he walked in on the emotional moment.

“Hey, Sammy” Dean said, as he continued to hold Y/N close.

“Hey” Sam said, sighing in relief as he saw his older brother looking alright for the most part. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah” Dean nodded, as he leaned his head against Y/N’s.

Sam and Y/N both stayed until visiting hours were over, as they weren’t allowed to stay overnight. She didn’t want to be apart from him for another night, but Dean told her it would be okay. Sam had already called Benny and told him what happened, telling him that Dean wouldn’t be at work tomorrow. Y/N had made the decision that she would take work off the next day and take care of Dean.

Y/N picked Dean up the next morning, filling out his discharge forms, adding her name and contact information to his contact list, before driving him home. For the rest of the day, it was like she was still at school as she told Dean to relax and to give it a day before he started doing things again. By the end of the day, he was so tired that he was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The following day, he was feeling much better and went to work for light duties, as Y/N also went back to work. When they got home, they relaxed and had a simple dinner, just spending time together that they hadn’t gotten to do in the weeks before.

Before they knew it, Friday rolled around. Dean was a hundred precent by then, and ready to take Y/N out that night. She had insisted they stay home but he had insisted harder that he was absolutely fine and ready to take her out for a much-needed date night.

Dressed in a gold, satin, strappy top and a black leather skirt that came to just at her knees, Y/N put on her black coat and black heels as Dean greeted her at the door. He was wearing a deep red, V-neck sweater and looks so gorgeous that she couldn’t think about anything other than ripping it off him.

Dean drove them into the city, feeling surprisingly okay about driving after the accident. He told her that had things been much worse, maybe he wouldn’t have bounced back to driving so quickly. He drove through the streets, parking in one of the side streets. They had a quick dinner at one of their favorite spots before Dean payed and then took her to where he really wanted to. They walked down the street, clinging to each other as the chill of the air blew around them. Dean led the way to where he was taking her.

Y/N smiled as she saw that he had brought her to a jazz club, walking through the velvet curtain and being brought to their booth table. The band was already on fire, a blonde woman singing her lungs out with a husky, whiskey touched voice that was electric. The lights were dimmed, a candle on each table adding to the glow. Y/N sipped her wine as Dean sipped his whiskey.

“This place is great” she said, smiling at him as she swayed to the music.

“I thought you’d like it” he smirked. “Think of it as an apology.”

“No, you don’t have anything to apologize for, not anymore” she shook her head, cupping his face. “It’s in the past.”

“Okay” he nodded. He looked into her eyes, smiling brighter. “God, you’re so damn beautiful.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks at his complement. “Dean.”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me, sweetheart. It’s true. I know how lucky I am to have you. Especially after what happened. It… it could’ve ended so differently” he grimaced, as he remembered the day of the accident.

“I know” she nodded, but then shook her head. “Let’s not think about it.”

“You’re right” he agreed, as he leaned over and kissed her, quickly deepening the kiss.

“Alright, this next one’s for all the lovers in the house” the woman on stage announced. “Feel free to join the floor.”

A sexy, slow beat of the piano and bass started, as Y/N watched a few couples get up and move in close to each other. Suddenly, Dean stood up and smirked at her, offering his hand.

“Dean, no” she laughed, shaking her head.

“Come on, sweetheart” he said, wiggling his fingers. She bit her lip and stood up, taking his hand in hers. Dean led them over to the floor, and pulled her in close, his arms around her waist, close to her behind. She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling at him.

Do I move you?

Are you willing?

Do I groove you?

Is it thrilling?

Do I soothe you?

Tell the truth now

Do I move you?

Are you loose now?

The answer better be

That pleases me

Dean swayed him and Y/N side to side to the beat, looking into her eyes. He leaned his forehead against hers, pulling her in closer.

Are you ready

For this action

Does it give you

Satisfaction

Are you hip to what I’m saying?

If you are now

Then let’s start swaying

The answer better be

That pleases me

When I touch ya

Do you quiver?

From your head

Right down to your liver

Dean’s hand moved up her back, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder blades, causing Y/N to shiver as she bit her lip and looked him in the eyes.

If you like it

Let me know it

Don’t be psychic

Or you’ll blow it

The answer better be

That pleases me

Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. She cupped his face, holding him there, before he pulled away and winked at her.

“Let’s get outta here” he whispered into her ear, taking her hand in his and quickly leading her out, after paying for their drinks.

Dean and Y/N burst through the door of Dean’s house, lips pressed against each other’s as they pushed and pulled at each other’s clothes. It had been far too long since they had been together in this way, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“Get this off” she whispered against his lips as she tugged at his sweater. Dean pulled it up and his arms through it, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He reached around her and unzipped her skirt, watching her push it down and strip her top off too, leaving her in a black strapless bra and matching panties, thigh-high stockings and garter belt holding them up.

Dean picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her into the bedroom, dropping her gently on the bed. He smirked down at her as he breathed heavily, leaning down on top of her as he kissed her jaw, neck and travelled down her body. He kissed her breasts, licked a path down her torso and stomach, as he reached down and pulled her thong to one side, inserting two fingers into her already wet heat.

She moaned loudly, smiling as she felt the pads of his fingers rub along her walls. “Just like that, fuck. Dean.”

“I can’t wait to fuck you, sweetheart” he mumbled against her skin. “It’s been too fucking long.”

“I can’t wait, either” she gasped, as he thrust his fingers in and out of her, throwing her head back with a moan as he hit her g-spot with precision.

He moved his head down, his mouth finding her clit as his tongue swirled around the little bud. He moaned at the taste of her, not having done this in a while.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Y/N. Your pussy feels so great wrapped around my fingers” he groaned against her mound.

“Dean” she said, trying to reach for him impatiently. “Fuck me. Please.”

He chuckled as he moved away from her, looking down at her. “So desperate for my cock, huh?”

She whined frustratedly as she grabbed his hand gently and moved it away from her, his fingers covered in her slick. She sat up as he kneeled over her, unbuckling the belt and unzipping his dark wash jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. She wrapped her hand around his cock, pumping it up and down along the hard shaft.

“Fuck” he grunted, feeling her hand against him. He leaned forward and kicked off his boots, taking off his jeans and boxers. Once he returned to the bed, he smirked as Y/N pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. She held his hard cock to her entrance and sunk down on him, letting out a long, loud moan as she felt him completely seated inside her.

“Fuck yeah” he muttered as he held onto her hips and looked up at her, looking so damn beautiful in that moment. Her eyes closed as she adjusted to him, her hair flowing down, her mouth hanging open. “Ride me, sweetheart.”

She planted her hands on his chest, using him as leverage to move her hips up and down, feeling his cock against every ridge inside her as she set a moderate pace.

“Dean… fuck! You feel so good” she moaned, wantonly as she looked down at him. She rolled her hips back and forth, as his lifted up to meet hers. On each thrust down, she circled her hips, causing Dean to throw his head back, his neck straining, veins popping against his skin.

“Fuck yes! Do that again, sweetheart. You know how much I love it when you do that” he told her. It was his favorite move of hers, that drove him wild every time.

She smiled with a naughty wink, doing it again. “You like that, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah. I love it so much, Y/N. Love it so much” he rambled, not being able to concentrate on anything but the feel of her.

She hummed as she bit her lip. “I love it, too. I love the way your cock feels inside me, fucking me so good, so deep. No one’s ever fucked me the way you do.”

Dean let out a strangled groan as she began to bounce on top of him, tossing her head back as she let out a string of loud moans.

“And no one else ever will, right sweetheart?” he asked, gripping her hips tighter, as her ass slapped against his thighs.

“No one, Dean. No one” she shook her head as she unclasped her bra, tossing it aside before grabbing her breasts and tweaking her nipples between her fingers.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, Y/N?” he smirked up at her. She looked down at him and nodded, frantically.

“Yeah, I’m yours” she replied, looking into his eyes. “Only yours. I love you. I love you, so much.”

“I love you, too” he said, taking her hands off her breasts and curling their fingers together. Her thrusts became faster, as she continued to grind against him. She was close and so was he.

“Dean, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum” she said, feeling the coil in her belly begin to tighten.

“Cum with me, Y/N. Fucking soak my cock” he growled, as he drove his hips up harder on the last few thrusts.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, Dean! I’m cumming!” she screamed, as her body shook and the coil snapped, her eyes closing tightly. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her and didn’t seem to stop at all as her juices flowed out of her and over his cock.

“Shit, Y/N! Oh fuck, yes!” he shouted into the privacy of the room, his cum shooting into her as his own climax hit.

Y/N breathed heavily as she rolled off him, landing on her back on the mattress. She moved her hands up and down her body, feeling it wet with her own sweat. Her hand moved down to her pussy, smiling as she felt his cum dripping out of her. She closed her legs, wanting to leave it there within her as she looked over at him, seeing him smirking at her.

“That was fucking incredible” he huffed, trying to catch his breath.

She nodded, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. He saw her and smiled, standing up on shaky legs and walking into the bathroom.

Dean came back with a wet washcloth and sat down next to Y/N. He parted her legs, swiping the cloth against her folds, the warm water cleaning her up. She looked up at him with a smile as her eyes continued to open and close. He cleaned himself as well and tossed the cloth in the hamper of dirty clothes, before returning. He smiled softly as he saw that she had fallen asleep, as he moved the covers over her and got in next to her, pulling her close.

Y/N looked up at Dean, smiling softly as she leaned in, pressing her lips to his. She looked at him, taking in his green eyes, sharp nose and freckles scattered across it and his cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah” she replied, nodding. “Just thinking.”

“About?” he wondered; his voice gravelly as he lowered it.

“About… the accident” she said, feeling tears prick at her eyes. “I…”

She shook her head, burying her face in his neck, her body shaking as she began to cry. Dean held her close, whispering soft words to her.

“Sweetheart, I’m okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere” he told her, reassuring her that everything was fine. He knew she had been keeping a brave face after the hospital, and she finally let it all out.

“I don’t want to be without you” she sobbed. “What would I do without you?”

“You won’t ever find out, Y/N. I swear it” he promised, cupping her face and making her look at him. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

She nodded as she wiped her eyes, feeling emotionally exhausted. She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing deeply as she tried to calm herself down. As her breathing slowed, she closed her eyes, letting sleep take over her.

Dean closed his eyes only once he knew she was safe and asleep, sleep quickly finding him, too.

Light filtered through the window into the room, hitting the face of the woman sleeping, wrapped in the sheets. Y/N sighed softly, her eyelids blinking. She slowly opened them, smiling as she felt the warmth of the sun against her face. She frowned however, when the space next to her on the bed was empty, the sheets cold. As she sat up and held the sheet against her body, the smell of fresh coffee and bacon hit her nose, making her stomach growl from hunger.

Y/N dropped the sheet and picked up Dean’s t-shirt from the chair, slipping it over her body, covering her up to above her knees as it hung off her body. She walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway, the floors warm as Dean must’ve turned the thermostat up. She smiled as she saw him standing at the stove, in only his boxers as he flipped the bacon. His hair was sticking up in different directions and he looked absolutely adorable. She walked over and came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso as she leaned in, pressing her lips against his spine between his shoulder blades.

“Morning” she said, kissing him in that spot.

“Morning” he smirked, as he pulled her to stand in front of him. He leaned in, kissing her softly. “So… I have some plans for us today, if you’re not busy.”

“I’m free as a bird” she said, smiling up at him.

“Great” he smirked, as he took the bacon off the pan. “I’m taking you to see my secret Saturday mission.”

She looked up at him, a little shocked. “Really?”

“Yep” he said, popping the ‘p’. “It’s about time I told you what it was.”

“Okay” she said, a little nervous to know what it was.

“Hey” he said, getting her attention as he could see she was worrying. “I promise it’s a good thing.”

“I know, I just… you don’t have to just because I was worried. I’m not anymore, seriously” she rambled, but he stopped her by pecking her lips.

“I’m not, Y/N. I really want you to see what’s going on” he confirmed, smiling at her.

“Okay” she nodded, more excited this time.

“Good” he smirked. “Now let’s eat.”

After breakfast, Dean took her in the shower as he simply couldn’t resist her, and then they both got dressed. Y/N got dressed into a long sweater dress that had a split on the side, putting her long, black coat on over the top. They rugged up with their scarves, as Dean locked up the house. They got into the car and Dean drove through the streets of Lawrence, excited to finally show Y/N what he had been waiting to. He couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw what it was. Dean turned onto the street, moving forward down the road and cutting the engine as he stopped outside the house. Y/N looked around the street, a slight frown on her face.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Well,” Dean started as he pointed up at the two-storey house, with a garden that was still yet to be made and a large porch. “That’s the Saturday secret.”

She looked up at the house, blinking a few times. “Meaning?”

“Meaning… it’s mine” he replied, with a small smile. “I’ve been renovating it for a few months. There’s still a lot of work to do, but it’s coming together.”

“That’s amazing!” she smiled, as she moved forward on the seat and hugged him. “You could’ve just told me.” She laughed as she pulled away, but frowned as she saw him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.

“I couldn’t because…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Because it’s mine but… I want it to be ours. When we’re ready to move, I want us to move in here. Together.”

Her eyes widened as she was completely shocked. “But… but Dean it’s yours. If something happened-” He cut her off with a small chuckle.

“It’s ours. I’m going to call the office and get you added to the contract” he told her, smirking.

She smiled, feeling tears brimming her eyes. “Dean, that’s so sweet but… we’re not married. Anything could happen-” he cut her off again by shaking his head.

“Do you think something bad is gonna happen?” he asked, really wanting to know.

She thought about it for a second. She had no real reason to think that way, it was just a precaution they needed to take, wasn’t it? “Well, no… but it would be messy to change things to add me, wouldn’t it?” she wondered, shrugging.

“It’s nothing we can’t figure out, sweetheart” he said, simply. “And yeah, we’re not married but… we can get married. Some day.”

She stared at him, feeling faint. “Really?”

“Yeah” he nodded, not missing a beat. “It’s all on the table, sweetheart. Kids were already there, right?”

She nodded slowly as she looked at him, not trusting her voice.

“Then so is marriage” he said, taking her hand in his. “So… you wanna move in with me when it’s done?”

She laughed as she nodded, excitedly. “Yes!” she launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. He laughed as he buried his face in her neck, placing a small kiss there. He pulled away, smiling at her.

“Alright, let’s go in and I can show you what we’ve done so far” he said, tugging her hand to move out of the car.

“Wait” she stopped him. “I don’t want to see it.”

He frowned, not understanding her. “Why?”

“Because,” she started, smiling at him as a tear rolled down her cheek. “You wanted this to be a surprise for me. And I want that to still happen. No one… no one’s ever done anything like this for me. Everything you’ve done for me… it completely floors me, to this day. I like it when you surprise me because you keep doing that… so I don’t want to see it. Not yet.”

He smiled at her, nodding as he understood. “Okay. You still gotta help me though. I need to know what to do on the inside and I want your inspiration. Maybe you can use your home magazines that you keep, and you think I don’t know about.”

She looked sheepish, as she nodded. “Sounds good.”

He leaned in, kissing her passionately. She pulled away, leaning her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you” she apologized. Seeing what he had been keeping from her made her feel so guilty, and she knew she needed to apologize again.

He shook his head, kissing her hand. “There’s no need for that, sweetheart. We’re good.”

Once they left, they drove into town. They felt like walking around, so they went to a few bookstores and record stores, picking up a couple that they liked or didn’t have yet. After, they had some lunch at one of their favorite diners before they came back home.

Y/N was so relieved that everything was out in the open, and nothing was as bad as what she had been thinking. In fact, it was all amazing. The house was incredible, and she couldn’t wait to see what Dean would do with it. She smiled as she walked into his house, thinking about their conversation in the car.

He had put marriage on the table. It probably always was considering kids were on the table, but this was the first time he’d said it out loud. In a flash of his words, she imagined herself as his wife, her heart beating wildly at that thought. She knew that he was the only person she could ever attach herself to in that way, and she was glad to know that he was thinking about it, too.

Dean smiled as she watched Y/N going about his house, making herself a cup of tea in the kitchen. He could so easily picture her in the new house, once it was done, the images of his dream returning to him. He couldn’t wait to spend his whole life with her. When he was younger, thinking on those terms was downright terrifying, but not anymore. Not when you have someone who loves you unconditionally and wants to spend every day making sure you’re cared for. That’s how she made him feel.

Later that night, they cooked dinner together. Dean’s lasanga that she loved so much that he made when she first came to his house for dinner. This time was much different, however. Now, she was helping him in the kitchen, playfully handing him things, as he stole kisses from her every now and then. One thing remained the same, however, both of them grooving to Zeppelin as they cooked.

Leaves are falling all around

It’s time I was on my way

Thanks to you I’m much obliged

For such a pleasant stay

But now it’s time for me to go

The autumn moon lights my way

For now I smell the rain

And with it pain

And it’s headed my way

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired

But I know I’ve got one thing I got to do

Ramble on

And now’s the time, the time is now

To sing my song

I’m goin’ round the world, I got to find my girl

On my way

I’ve been this way ten years to the day

Ramble on

Gotta find the queen of all my dreams

Dean stirred the sauce in the pot, reflecting on the words of one of his favorite songs. He had spent years, flirting and sleeping around with women. Years of rambling on, trying to find somewhere to settle, maybe even someone if he was lucky enough to ever find the one for him. He thought he had found a good thing until it went sour incredibly quickly.

Then Y/N came into his life. Shining like a beacon from across the street; something he immediately gravitated to. It became apparent to him very soon, that she was it. She was the one. The woman he had been looking for all his life, without really seeking her out.

She was the queen of all his dreams.

Dean walked up behind her as she chopped up some basil, kissing her head. She turned around, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him, softly. She looked up at him, her eyes gazing into his with the most loving expression. One he had seen several times now, but it suddenly felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

“What is it?” she asked, knowing he was thinking about something.

“I get it” he replied, knowing it wasn’t clear but also knowing she’d ask him again.

“Get what?” she asked, confused.

“Why you’re the one” he replied, not missing a beat. No pause. No hesitation. He leaned in, kissing her passionately.

Y/N smiled into the kiss as Dean pulled her in closer, resting her forehead against his. She knew he was the one for her too. After all the years of heartache and pain, years of wondering if she’d ever be good enough for someone, she finally found the man who would do absolutely anything to make her happy. She finally found the one she was always meant to be with.

They had learned a lot along the way, had spent months trying to fight their feelings for each other, before they finally realized they couldn’t deny it any longer.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, seeing nothing but love as they quietly acknowledged that moment as the start of something new.

Something new that they couldn’t wait to explore.

Together.

-x-

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @castiels-a-winchester @ellewritesfix05 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @supraveng @roonyxx @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​

[thedivinechimera]

Last Year I thought I was Going to Die.

Before the age of 21, I can say I never really thought about death. If I did, it was in an almost hypothetical manner. As if the odds of myself or my friends dying anytime soon was about as likely as a global pandemic overcoming our planet and closing our nightclubs for two years..(har har).

I never really thought about death until it decided to wake me up one morning and stare straight into my face with its huge, overcoming darkness. Since its first appearance 14 months ago, it has taken on various shades of black: There have been days where it’s been so dark I could not see my hands in front of me. There have also been days where the sun miraculously appeared and my life stretched out as infinitely as I had once believed it was. Now, I realise, this is what life has always been. 

Life pre-cancer had always been an anxiety ridden race to some unknown finish line. I always thought ‘if I graduate from university I will be happy’ or ‘if I lose a little bit of weight I will be happy’ or ‘if I find a boyfriend who doesn’t treat me the way his resentful father treats him I will be happy’ ... but I’ve learned it simply does not work like that. I know it does not because I have attained the golden ticket that one is only blessed with when their life flashes in front of their eyes; the realisation that life will never be the perfect dream we’ve dreamt, nor will it be a freakish nightmare. Life to me is an accumulation of struggles and the make or break of the overall verdict in your experience resides in exactly what you want to focus on. 

A cancer diagnosis will change your life, no matter what way you look at it. If you are lucky enough to be considered ‘curable,’ you realise that there must be a life after all this suffering. After the chemotherapy and the scans and the pain and the worry, you must pick up your life where you left off. You must move on. You cannot become a professional patient. 

But how can you do that when all your world has become is thoughts of the after world? How can you do that when you wrote letters to your friends in case of your death, to tell them just how much you loved them? When you lay all alone in a hospital bed, thinking you were about to die and all you could feel was a delicious relief? 

The truth is I don’t know yet. I know I have experienced hurt but I have also gained this divine euphoria that I had never felt in life before. Life has become totally and utterly intoxicating. Even as I sit typing this I’ve been stopping to look up from my laptop to just breathe. Very cliche, I know. This kind of euphoria can’t be passed on or traded. I’m not even sure if people who haven’t felt the dark can know truly what this feeling is. I hope maybe this is something my fellow cancer patients can relate to. 

I hadn’t thought of death until I had to. I hadn’t contemplated death until it stood in front of me and asked me to describe it. I hadn’t smelled death until it wafted through my pores, my body pumping out toxins as it tried to sweat out my cancer. I hadn’t thought about death, but I also hadn’t thought about just how fucking beautiful life was.

As Eckhart Tolle has put it: 

The secret of life is to “die before you die” — and find that there is no death.

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || You Just Moved To Korea With Him [Request]

Seokjin:

Jin was nervously drumming his fingers on the dinner table, you were sitting in a cafe together waiting for his mum to come and see him. He wasn't nervous about you meeting his mum, he was nervous that he couldn't be at home with you teaching you more Korean before he went away, but his mother insisted on coming to see you both before he left for the next tour.

"You alright?" You questioned looking at his fingers, he stopped immediately and looked out of the window wondering where she was when she walked through the door coming over to greet you both.

"Lovely to see you again Mrs Kim." You told her as she sat down, you poured her a cup of tea and Jin began talking about the tour that he was leaving for soon. You listened to him speaking in Korean and whenever you looked lost he would start translating in English. He knew you weren't great at the language yet but he didn't know you knew some words he hadn't taught you, you'd been learning by watching TV and taking classes online wanting to surprise him.

"You're worried about her being home alone? You want me to check in with her?" His mum questioned in Korean turning to you with a smirk on her lips, she'd also been teaching you some Korean over the phone and whenever you met up for afternoon tea together. Something you did a lot in secret away from Jin.

"I think it's an excuse to stay home." Jin stared at you as the Korean came out of your mouth as if you had been speaking it your whole life,

"What?" He questioned staring at you and wondering if he'd just been so lost in conversation he was hearing things but when you repeated it to him and then asked his mum something in Korean he almost slipped from his chair being the overdramatic version of himself.

"He packed me up an emergency kit, with maps, books, phone numbers and an emergency phone for when he's away." His mum laughed along with you and you both began talking to one another, it became more and more known to Jin that you had been meeting up with his mother secretly over who knows how many weeks because you were talking to her as if she was a friend.

"See, she'll be fine while you're away Jin. I taught her enough." You smirked and he stared at you both feeling a little better that you were going to be fine without him.

Yoongi:

Yoongi was sitting in his studio with you when he grumbled about being tired,

"I'll go and get coffee." You offered, getting up from the sofa that was in his studio, he nodded in agreement without thinking it through and you left his studio and the BigHit building going on the hunt for a small coffee shop in the area, you were new to Korea but you knew where everything was in the BigHit area because of how many times you'd visited before. As soon as the realisation hit Yoongi that you were the one that had offered to go and get coffee he panicked, he sat up in his chair and grabbed his phone ringing you to try and get you to come back, he'd never left you alone in Korea before unless it was in the studio or at home. You'd never wandered off on your own, he heard the faint buzzing of your phone and found it down the side of the sofa,

"Why?" He grumbled cursing at you for leaving your phone behind, he didn't know when you would be back or where you were so he called Namjoon trying to see if he'd spotted you on your way out but he'd been in his studio all day.

"I saw her, she's getting me a coffee as well," Jimin said when he heard Yoongi panicking, Yoongi then began calling up the local places to try and see if anyone matched your description had walked into the store but no one had seen you.

"Fuck," You mumbled dropping the box of strawberries onto the floor as you walked back into the studio, Yoongi's eyes snapped up from his phone once he saw you entering the studio a couple of hours later,

"Look I know I was a little more than five minutes but- whoa!" You couldn't finish your sentence because he'd wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck talking to you but you couldn't hear him.

"You didn't take your phone, I got worried." You looked at your phone on the coffee table and then back to Yoongi who looked like he'd been crying.

"I'm fine Yoongi, I just went to get coffee and then I saw a fruit market and I just had to get some strawberries." He groaned at how cute you were and then looked at the punnet of strawberries on the floor, all smushed up and leaking.

"I'll get a mop." You whispered but he promised he'd clean it up,

"I'll take you to see Jin's uncle we can pick some together." You nodded in agreement and he rushed off to find some cleaning supplies.

Hoseok:

It was supposed to be a nice surprise, you were going to go and meet Hoseok at the studio for when he finished work so you could take a stroll around the Han River but now you were sure you'd passed the same building five times and you were starting to get anxious. You were new to Korea, you'd only moved in with Hoseok a month ago to take your relationship to the next level and now it seemed like walking around Korea alone was a bad idea. Staring at your phone you debated on calling Hobi for help but you didn't want to, he had already told you not to come out without him knowing how difficult it could be to get around the middle of Seoul unless you knew what you were doing and were confident in the language but the sun was starting to set and you knew you had to call him.

"Jagi? What's up?"

"Hobi...I'm lost." He felt his heart sink as he could hear you pouting through the phone,

"I told you to stay home unless I'm there," You sighed leaning against a bench and looking around you, you should have just listened to him and you wouldn't be in this mess.

"I know but I wanted to surprise you at work," You didn't want to start crying over the phone to him, anyone could see you right now and you didn't want to seem weak in front of anyone.

"Describe something around you and I'll come and get you." You began to describe the building you had passed five times and then the bench you were sitting on.

"You're not too far, stay there." You hummed and he hung up the phone explaining to the boys why he was leaving so early and then going on the hunt for you, you pulled your coat around you tightly feeling the breeze.

"There you are, Hobi! She's here!" Yoongi wrapped a coat around your shoulders as he noticed how much you were shivering and began walking you over to Hoseok who flung his arms around you tightly

"Don't do that to me ever again." You agreed planning on studying Korean harder and learning how to read maps more instead of trying to use your phone which wasn't working at all during the whole sat nav process of your evening.

"Wasn't planning on it." You stuttered laughing along with him and Yoongi as you headed back to the car which was parked up the road.

Namjoon:

Namjoon had always worried you would do it but he never voiced his concern because he wanted you to feel like you could do whatever you wanted, he never wanted to stop you doing something but when he came out from recording and saw a message from you he panicked. 

"Going book shopping, let me know if you need something picking up xx." You'd sent that to him over an hour ago and you hadn't replied to him since he began typing a reply, trying not to word it so it sounded as though he was worried about you but he was. He was petrified you'd gotten lost or that you weren't going to understand what someone was saying to you, as far as he knew you only knew basic Korean not much to allow you to shop alone. 

"Let me know when you get home safe, I don't need anything." The whole day Namjoon waited for a reply which never came, he began texting you multiple times to see if you were alright but all of them were left unread. Time seemed to have slowed down the closer it got to the end of the day but once it reached five he was out of the building and rushing Jin to get him home. 

"Y/n?!" He yelled out bursting through the front door you jumped up spilling tea everywhere, he stared at you as you were sat on the hanging chair that was in the living room. 

"What is it Namjoon? Where's the fire?!" You asked shutting the book you had been lost in since you got home and he just stared at you, then to the collection of books stacked up on the table. He bent over to rest his hands on his thigh and catch his breath, 

"You- You've been home all afternoon?" You nodded slowly and got out of the chair, with great difficulty they were comfy but who the hell invented them to be so hard to get out of. 

"Yeah, I came home after getting what I wanted." He stared at you, 

"You didn't check your phone?" 

"No, it died." He groaned at you for not charging it and then fell down onto the sofa in a panting sweaty mess,

"Sorry Namjoon, I ended up talking to the owner of the shop and she told me the most amazing story." You giggled sitting down next to him, you kissed his cheek and laid your head on his chest. 

"I promise never to worry you again, I know how much it scares you." He frowned, he had no idea you knew how much it worried him about you being home alone or out alone but he was glad you were going to start taking things seriously now.

Jimin:

Jimin tried calling you again but there was no answer and your phone was starting to go straight to voicemail, he'd come home from the studio to surprise you and found you were missing. He would normally come home to find you on the sofa watching a movie or reading a book, but you weren't there. 

"Y/n, call me when you get this. Where are you?" He tried not to seem too panicked over the phone, he hung up and walked into the kitchen to find a note pinned to the fridge. 

"I went out for a coffee, be back soon. Food in the fridge if you're hungry." You'd left it there that morning in case he was home before you but if he wasn't you were just going to throw it away. You were out? Where would you have gone?! You didn't know how to speak fluently enough and he was panicked that you'd gotten lost in the middle of Seoul and that's why you weren't answering your phone. He began ringing up the boys trying to see if they'd heard from you but none of them had either. You'd only just moved to Korea to live with him so it wasn't as though you had many people to go and hang around with, most of the friends you'd made were stylists at BigHit and were all at work so you had to be alone. He rang you once more and got no response.

"Oh no," You sighed looking down at your phone Namjoon looked up at you to see you frowning at your phone, 

"What's up?" You slid him the phone and began collecting your things together, Namjoon grabbed his phone and saw that he also had missed calls from Jimin and a bunch of texts. 

(X) 

Jimin looked up as the front door opened you walked in and smiled shyly at him, 

"I'm sorry! I was-" He didn't give you time to finish he just wrapped his arms around you and dragged you closer to him, not wanting to let go for even a second, 

"I was with Namjoon." You mumbled into his chest, he pulled away cupping your face in his hands and stared into your eyes.

"I was-We- He was and is teaching me Korean, I wanted it to be a surprise." He sighed kissing the top of your head and holding you once again he was just glad you weren't hurt or lost in the middle of Seoul somewhere.

"I shouldn't have freaked out so much, I'm sorry." You giggled at him, 

"It's fine, I should have told you who I was with and where but I didn't know you'd be home so soon." He sat down with you on the sofa and you went on to tell him what you'd learnt that day with Namjoon.

Taehyung:

You were supposed to be going out alone for the day but Tae had managed to get the day off so he could go with you, he told you it was so you could spend more time together but it was because he didn't want to leave you alone in Seoul. Taehyung had asked you to move in with him a year ago and only three months ago you had done it, but he still wasn't content with leaving you alone in Seoul and he was getting more and more worried as the dates for tours were coming and he couldn't take you with him.

"Where to first?" He asked as you walked down the street, unbeknownst to him you'd been going to the market without him in the last two months trying to get a grip on your surroundings and throwing yourself headfirst into the language you figured it was a faster way of learning for you.

"I was thinking the fruit market, I need some more apples at home." You told him as he linked his arm with yours, you began walking through the stalls together to find the one you always went to. She had the best fruit and was always so kind to you whenever you went to see her,

"Hello, Mrs Kim." You greeted her in Korean with a giant smile on your face, she'd been teaching you a little more Korean every time you went to see her.

"Ah, this must be Taehyung!" She said back in Korean coming out from her stall and walking over to Tae who was shocked as you both continued to have a conversation about him in Korean. He never knew you were so good at it and he just stared with his mouth agape.

"She's very good you know, always coming to help me." She told Taehyung as you went over to serve a couple who were trying to buy some tomatoes.

"You should keep her around, always willing to learn." You looked over at Taehyung who was still staring at you with his mouth open,

"When did you-"

"Pick up the language? I'm not there yet but I know enough, Miss Kim has been teaching me and watching K-Drama's while you're at work has been a huge help." You bought some apples, strawberries and other fruit before leaving Miss Kim to do her job but Taehyung wasn't through with you.

"How long have you been going to see her?"

"About two months?" You told him as you looked around the street, you weren't great at writing or reading in Korean but speaking was the easiest part for you. Taehyung relaxed a little feeling better about leaving you while he went away on tour for a while.

Jungkook:

The alarm sounded in your ear and you wanted to throw it across the room and smash it up into tiny pieces.

"Come on Jagi," Jungkook said lifting you to sit up straight in the bed, he was taking you to the studio waking you up at 5 am to take you to be bored in the BigHit building all day. He'd done the same thing ever since you moved to Korea to live with him, he never left you at home alone you were forced to follow him everywhere like some kind of puppy.

"Jungkook I'm tired," You whined laying back down and pulling the covers over your head, he was used to the late nights and early mornings but you weren't.

"You have to come to the studio," He told you sitting you back up and handing you a cup of coffee,

"Why though?" He didn't have a real answer for you, the answer was that he didn't want to leave you home alone while he was at the studio all day he wanted to make sure you were okay, being able to see you he was always worried about you being alone in Seoul.

"It's just- I don't want to leave you home alone yet, you're not used to the language." You stared at him as you drank from the cup of coffee,

"I won't get better at it if you don't give me a chance to." You told him looking down at the now empty mug of coffee and handing it back to him. He knew you were right but he still didn't want to leave you there all day, anything could happen. Someone could come to the door and ask you for something and you not know what they were saying,

"You keep me up until late with couple things and you wake me up super early Kookie, just...Just let me have one lie in?" You begged looking at him through your eyelashes and he sighed kissing the top of your head. He knew you were right and he wasn't going to stop worrying about it all day,

"Text me when you wake up." He told you as you laid back down in the bed, you hummed and he kissed your lips softly.

"I mean it," You hummed again too tired to form words,

"I love you."

"Love you too." You mumbled rolling over and giving him a light hug wanting him to turn off the lights and let you drift off back to sleep. He headed to the studios still unsure about everything but he had to let you learn somehow.

Tagline: 

@yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @kpopfanfictionhoes @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @fan-ati--c​ @rjsmochii​ @btsiguess-kpop​

[albertasunrise]

Chance - Chapter 5

Warnings: Angst, talk of drug use, overdose.

Pairings: Frankie Morales/ Reader

~

The trip seems to fly by, every day filled with a different activity that seemed to fill little Sophia with complete joy. You and Frankie couldn’t get enough of each other, discovering each other’s bodies and discovering exactly what makes the two of you sing. It was your last night at the cabin and the four of you decided the best way to spend it was sitting around the fire with a beer in hand, reminiscing about your youth or in their case, their days serving.

‘So what made you quit?’ You ask them all, noting that they’re all still young enough to serve.

‘When they kicked Fish out for his Coke habit... We're a team so we quit.’ States Benny, taking a swig of his beer.

‘Coke habit?’ Your expression drops as you pull yourself away from the man in question ‘What Coke habit?’

‘It wasn’t really a habit-’

‘Benny shut the fuck up.’ Spits Will ‘You’ve done enough damage.’

‘Frankie?’

‘I went through a pretty low patch a little while back.’ He confesses, scrubbing a hand over his face ‘My ex was into it and promised it would take the edge off my PTSD and it did... for a little while. Then I got busted and they revoked my licence and I realised that I needed to get my life on track. I told her that she needed to quit it, finding out we were pregnant kinda helped with that. When Fia was born and Lexi left I had to man up and so I got my licence back and I haven’t touched the shit since.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘I didn’t want you to think less of me.’ He looks at you with a sad expression as he forms his next words carefully ‘You’ve been the best thing to happen to me since Fia was born. If I lost you I don’t think I’d be able to cope.’

‘Don’t put that sort of pressure on my Francisco.’ You snap, standing and swiftly entering the kitchen.

You could feel your tears threatening to spill as you fought hard not to panic. You’d not been completely honest to the boys when you’d said that you had no backstories. You had one. One that still haunted you to this day. Stepping outside with a fresh beer in hand the boys all look at you but you look at Frankie, his expression breaking your heart and you know you need to come clean. You sit down on one of the free chairs and stare into the fire, carefully constructing your story in the hopes it would bring the boys clarity regarding your reaction to Frankie’s confession.

‘I was in a serious relationship about 10 years ago.’ You start, already feeling your voice wobbling as you speak ‘He was everything to me. We were happily planning our wedding, excited for the future. He worked in insurance which was a demanding job but he always seemed to be full of energy. Turns out he had a secret coping mechanism that he had managed to keep hidden from me. So well hidden in fact that I didn’t know about it until he was having a fit on the floor as he suffered from a cocaine overdose.’

You paused for a few moments as you take a long swig of your beer, noting the new tension in the air as they waited for you to finish your story.

‘I did everything I could for him but he had a heart attack. They weren’t able to revive him.’ You let out a sob then, catching the way Frankie is looking at you and so you return his gaze ‘I can’t go through that again.’ You shake your head as you let out a shaky breath ‘I just can’t Frankie.’

‘You won’t.’ He promises, his eyes pleading for you to believe him ‘I never did it heavily. It was just an occasional fix when things got bad. Now I have Sophia I don’t need it. Now I have you.’

‘He’s been clean for over a year Doc.’ Will pipes up, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze ‘You were brave to tell us about this. I can’t begin to imagine what you went through but it won’t happen with Frankie.’

‘It won’t Hermosa.’ He confirms ‘I love you too much to ever risk hurting you like that.’

Your mouth drops open as you process what he’d just said to you. He loves you. Until now, those words had not been uttered by either of you, even if you both felt that way about each other. You both figured it was too soon. You’d only been together a few months but you couldn’t deny that you’d fallen head over heels for this man.

‘Shit... Sorry, I-’

‘I love you too.’ You reply, smiling at him as you watch the anxiety in his face melt away.

That night was the most passionate sex the two of you ever had. He worshipped every inch of you as he tried to make you feel how much he loved you. You don’t think anyone has ever made love to you like that and with every kiss and thrust of his hips, you felt your worries fade into nothing. The drive back home was a long one, you still had a few days off so Frankie asked you to stay a few more days, not wanting your time together to end and of course you agreed.

~

‘Can you get that baby?’ Asks Frankie upon hearing the doorbell go.

Carrying Sophia in your arms you make your way to the front door, chuckling when she tries to tug on your bottom lip. Opening the door you are greeted by a face that you recognise from group pictures but never expected to see in person.

‘Is Frankie here?’ She asks, her voices dripping in spite.

‘He is.’ You reply.

Sophia starts to get fussy and you turn your attention to her, rocking her in your arms as her eyes start to fill with tears.

‘Here give her to me.’

‘No.’ You suddenly feel very protective of the infant in your arms.

‘Who is it, baby?’ Frankie asks as he comes up beside you, his jaw dropping at who he sees ‘What are you doing here Lexi?’

‘I came for my daughter.’ She replies, eyes burning holes into you.

‘You what?’

‘She’s my daughter Frankie.’ She starts, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

‘You gave up the right to call her that when you walked out on us.’ He spits, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you and his baby closer.

‘Who’s this bitch?’ She growls, pointing to you with her chin ‘Found a replacement quickly.’

‘A replacement?’ You yell, feeling your anger bubbling inside you.

‘Lexi please go.’ He says as he gives your waist a small squeeze.

‘Fine.’ She spits, glaring at you both ‘You haven’t seen the last of me. I will get her back.’

~

It had been two weeks since Frankie’s ex had turned up at his door. Since then you’d not heard or seen from her but there was always a worry bubbling in the background about what she was planning. You had promised Frankie that if she tried to fight for custody you would do whatever you could to help him, the boys also vowing the same thing. Your shift today had been relatively uneventful, the most serious injury being a sex-related one that you’d rather forget about. You can’t help but watch the clock, excited to see Frankie and the baby. After coming back from your trip you’d more or less ended up staying permanently, he’d gifted you a key the day before you’d gone back to work and gradually your stuff had migrated.

‘Any plans tonight with lover boy?’ Ask Sophie as she gives you a friendly nudge with her elbow and a wink.

‘We both have the day off tomorrow so we were planning on take-out and a Star Wars marathon.’

‘You two are so perfect for each other.’ She chuckles ‘Well have fun!’

You finish up your paperwork and slip into your casual clothes. You practically sprint to your car, not wanting to wait any longer than you had to to get back to your perfect little family waiting for you at home. The universe is obviously on your side as you drive, every light turning green as you approach it and before long you’re pulling up onto Frankie’s drive. Your expression becomes confused as you see that the front door is open but you shrug and grab your bag, stepping quickly towards the house.

‘Baby I’m home.’ You announce.

Looking around you see two mugs on the coffee table and you try and remember if you had left yours out this morning.

‘Frankie?’ You raise your voice a little louder as you walk into the kitchen and find that he’s not there ‘Baby you here?’

You look in the garden but he’s still nowhere to be seen. A gnawing feeling starts to form in the pit of your stomach as you head towards the bedrooms, checking his room and seeing that that room is empty also.

‘Frankie?’

That’s when you hear it. A faint groaning coming from Sophia’s bedroom. Pushing the door open you are hit with a sense of Deja Vu when you see Frankie laying on the ground, his eyes rolling around in their sockets as his body wriggled on the floor. You knew exactly what this was.

‘Frankie?’ You drop to his side, taking his pulse and finding it racing beneath your fingertips ‘Frankie how much did you take?’

‘Lexi.’ Was his reply, his eyes growing wider as his heart rate picked up more.

‘What about her?’ It comes out angrier than you meant it to.

‘She... she...’

‘She what?’

He doesn’t answer, just starts to look around the room in a daze. You pull out your phone, dialling for an ambulance whilst trying to keep your anger at bay. He’s promised. Once you’d gotten off of the phone with the emergency services you ring Will, the fight to keep your anger at bay becoming harder by the second.

'Hey Doc, what's up?'

‘Frankie’s OD’d.’

‘He’s what?’ Comes the older Miller’s voice down the phone.

‘I found him on the floor of Sophia’s room.’

‘Shit. Is the baby okay?’

‘Yeah she’s-’ You stop dead when you notice her cot is empty, your heart starts to race as you start to put the pieces together.

‘You still there Doc?’

‘She’s gone, Will.’ You sob ‘Fuck he said Lexi’s name, I think he was trying to tell me she’d taken her.’ You pause and then it hits you ‘Shit I think she drugged him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I found two mugs on the coffee table when I walked in. She must have come round to try and sweet talk him and slipped some coke into his coffee.’ You look down at Frankie whose whole body has gone rigid ‘No... no no shit no!.’

He lets out a scream as his body starts to convulse. Eye’s rolling back into his skull. You can hear Will shouting at you down the phone but you can’t reply. You can’t move. You sit there frozen to the spot as you watch history repeat itself with Frankie. This couldn’t be happening again.

~

Chapter 6