#I might write a full length fic or one shot one day who knows

[sallow-gaunt]

Headcanon

Sebastian is a good student. He’s bright, he’s charming, and it’s no wonder his teachers think he’s capable because his parents were both professors so it would make sense that he’s grown up well-read and educated.

But then Anne gets cursed before the end of their fourth year and stops attending Hogwarts - as his fourth year draws to a close, his grades begin to slip because he’s not paying attention in class, he starts breaking curfew because he’s staying up after hours to research cures, all he can think about is how to help his sister and it negatively impacts his studies. He puts on a facade in class, but his smiles are fake, and when he thinks no one is looking, he turns sullen. The only friend he spends much time with anymore is Ominis, and while their friendship is admirable, it’s a far cry from the boy who used to banter with everyone, the boy who always had something to say. The professors try to be understanding given his circumstances, but they’re all undeniably worried about him.

At the beginning of fifth year, this behaviour continues - but there’s something different, if only slightly. Hecat notices it first in the first DADA lesson of the year when he duels the new fifth year; despite the fact he loses this duel, she notices the way he grins at the new student, his boyish face bright in a way it hasn’t been since his sister was cursed. It’s nice to see him smile again, she thinks.

The next to notice it is Professor Weasley, when she comes to fetch him from detention with a “special task”; he looks surprised but relieved to be out of detention, and listens as she explains that she wants him to take the new fifth year to Hogsmeade for supplies. She doesn’t miss the way he beams ear to ear upon hearing that the fifth year asked for him specifically when encouraged to go with a friend, and as he goes to meet them in the entrance hall, there’s a sudden bounce to his step. It makes her smile to herself, pleased that he seems genuinely happy.

It doesn’t take long for all of the faculty to notice it, and it becomes a hot topic of conversation among them. Garlick insists that she keeps seeing him and the new fifth year laughing together on their way to Herbology, even on days they don’t work together; Sharp notes that while Sebastian still works with Ominis, he’s often seen at the potion station of the new student, the two of them talking in low teasing tones that suggest a friendly banter. Ronen disclosed that while the new student often chooses to sit with Natty or Poppy for Charms, he’s caught them and Sebastian looking at each other from across the classroom; everyone has a good chuckle when even Fig remarks that he’s often seen Sebastian waiting outside of his classroom when the new student leaves, as if the Slytherin boy has been waiting to see them. Many of the other teachers also recall seeing the two in each other’s presence around the school constantly, sharing sweets and talking.

They all agree that the presence of the new fifth year student is the cause of Sebastian’s uplifted mood, there’s no other explanation quite frankly. He’s not completely the same as he was before - he is still breaking curfew, still not focusing completely on his work, still seems sullen on most days - but when he’s around the new student, he’s definitely happier and more like his old self.

[justagalwhowrites]

I saw this video and I feel like something like this would be fun to read! I have to ask would you ever consider writing a kidnapper!Joel fic?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Dfp6Na/

Hi Bestie!

So.... Yes :)

Not quite the vibe of the linked video but I hope you enjoy it!

Run Rabbit: Part One

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They're harsh, they're cold and they're killers. But, as a nurse, you're a valuable person to have around and they're not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS. Written as part of the @romana-after-dark Dead Dove December event (but posted late because it's impossible for me to make a deadline at the moment apparently.) This will be in two parts.

Relationship: Joel Miller x Female Reader X Tommy Miller

Warnings WHOLE FIC: DUBCON (reader is a captive, participation might be enthusiastic but consent is dubious under the circumstances.) Raider!Joel; Raider!Tommy; Captive reader; Canon-typical violence; graphic depictions of violence; graphic depictions of injury; attempted SA (not by Joel or Tommy); Dom/Sub dynamic but not an established relationship; Dom-ish Joel; Brat tamer-ish Joel; Sub-ish reader; DDDNE; M/F/M threesome; unprotected P in V sex; Anal sex; Oral sex; No use of Y/N; Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 8k

PLEASE NOTE: part one does not get smutty ❤️

Part 2

November, 2004

“You can have whatever you want, please!” 

Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you tried to keep quiet from your place below the floorboards. Your boyfriend, Zach, had tucked you into the crawl space when he ran in from hunting with three men on his tail. 

“They don’t know about you,” he’d said, breathless. “Stay quiet, I’ll get us out of this.” 

But even a year into the apocalypse, Zach wasn’t a great shot. It wasn’t long before he was out matched and the men were breaking down the door to the cabin you’d been holed up in for a few days. 

“Seemed awful keen to protect whatever it is you got,” one of the men said. “How do we know you’re not gonna just come and try to take it back?” 

“Should just kill ‘em,” another man said. “Don’t gotta worry about it then.” 

“No, no, I swear I won’t,” Zach pleaded. 

“Prove it,” the final man spoke for the first time. “Got no reason to trust you now, why should we leave you alive?”

You kept your hands tight over your mouth, trying not to cry, trying to stay quiet, hoping they’d leave Zach alive. 

“Because I have something better than supplies!” He yelled it, his words flowing together as he stumbled over them. 

“Like?” The third man said. 

“My girlfriend,” Zach panted. Your breath caught. “She was a nurse before, in an ER, she can keep you alive, you can have her, please…” 

“And where is this girlfriend?” The first man said. “You seem awful alone here…” 

You hoped Zach was just buying time, that he wouldn’t actually tell these animals where you were. 

You were wrong. 

“In the closet,” he said. “There’s a crawl space there, I told her to hide there while I took care of things here. Please, she’s worth a lot, she’s good at patching you up, she’s real pretty, you can have her, you can have her…” 

The sound of his begging almost covered the thud of boots as you heard the closet door creak open and the floor over your head disappeared. 

“Well, would you look at that,” a large man with shaggy curls and a patchy beard - the first one who has spoken, you thought - smirked down at you. “He’s not full of shit.”

“No,” you shook your head, eyes wide. “No, please…” 

The man ignored you, grabbing a fistful of fabric at your chest and hefting you up from the crawl space with a grunt. He dropped you on the ground and you tried to scramble away only to have another man grab your shoulder and throw you down. You landed on your backside, a different tall, broad man with dark curls looming over you. 

“Where you think you’re running to, little rabbit?” He smirked, the second man who had spoken. You pulled yourself back from him, looking for a way out. The third man, blond and pale and the youngest of them, stood over Zach, a gun pointed at his head. He started humming Run, Rabbit, Run as he smiled at your boyfriend, glancing your way, prowling toward Zach. A predator enjoying his prey. 

“So,” the first man dropped your pack that had been in the crawl space next to you at your side with a thud, making you jump. “You really a nurse?” 

“She is,” Zach answered for you. “She is and you can have her, please…” 

“Zach!” Tears tightened your throat. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, not looking at you. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…” 

The man who pulled you from the crawl space sighed, pulling a handgun from his side, going up behind Zach and pressing the barrel to his head before pulling the trigger. Your scream hung in the air longer than the crack of the gun, the salty, metallic taste of Zach’s blood on your tongue as his body slumped to the ground. 

“Hey,” the man who shot Zach dropped to one knee in front of you, grabbing your face roughly, gripping your cheeks in his large hand. There was blood on him, too. “You really think that piece of shit is worth screamin’ and cryin’ over? He was sellin’ you, girl, he ain’t worth any grief of yours.” 

He released you and looked over his shoulder to the other dark haired man. 

“Tommy, got something we can hold her with?” The other man - Tommy, apparently - started going through his bag. He looked toward the blond next. “Vince, gather what you can, we’re heading out in 10. Made a lot of noise here, don’t want to wait and find out what that attracts.” 

“Are you going to kill me too?” You asked quietly. 

The man who seemed to be in charge cocked his head at you. 

“Now why would we go and do a thing like that?” He asked. “Your boyfriend might have been scum but he was right, you’re valuable cargo. You’re gonna be a good girl for us, right?” 

You weren’t really sure what to say to that, your heart beating so hard and fast you were sure this man could see your pulse in your throat. 

“Don’t really matter either way, does it?” He said as Tommy handed him some rope. “You either cooperate or you’re more trouble than you’re worth and we just kill you. Don’t make much difference to us. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You just looked at him and he sighed, pulling his sidearm out again and putting it below your chin. The muzzle was warm and wet from where he’d just killed Zach and, for a moment, you thought you were going to vomit. 

“Didn’t I just say I’d kill you if you got to be more trouble than you’re worth?” He said. “You’re already a lot of trouble by bein’ and extra mouth to feed so I recommend cooperating before my temper runs out. So. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You obeyed and the man wrapped your wrists in rope tight enough that you had no hope of wriggling out but not so tight that it was painful, just uncomfortable. He wrapped his large hand around the cluster of rope between your wrists and yanked you to your feet. 

“Got anything on you I should be worried about?” He asked. “Be a lot easier on you if you tell me now than later.” 

“Knife,” you said, voice shaky. “Right pocket.” 

“Good girl.” 

He reached into your pocket and pulled the weapon free, opening and examining the blade. 

“Know how to use this?” He asked, brows raised. 

“I’ve used it,” you replied. He nodded and closed it, putting it in his pocket. 

“Be a good enough girl for a long enough time and maybe you can get it back,” he said before turning to Tommy. “I’m gettin’ a head start with this one, heading north west, back to site. You know the way.” 

“I know it,” he said. “We’ll clear out quick, catch up soon.” 

The man who had you grabbed your pack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder before bringing his rifle around to his front, nudging you forward with the muzzle. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “Try and take off and I’ll shoot ya. And I don’t miss.” 

The man kept close to you, nudging you along in front of him and you tried not to trip on roots and overgrown brush but you’d only been walking about 20 minutes when you failed, falling with a pained grunt. The man sighed and grabbed you by the collar, pulling you to your feet. 

“You OK?” He asked, gun pointed at the ground and not at you. 

“Yes,” you said, even though your hands were scraped up and your knees hurt and you had your boyfriend’s blood on your skin and your throat hurt from screaming.

“Keep movin’,” he ordered. 

You kept looking back over your shoulder at him. He reminded you of a guy you dated once who was in the army. He never looked in one place too long, head constantly turning, looking, searching. There were threats, he knew that. He also knew how to see them coming. The gun was tilted toward the ground but close and ready. You were waiting for him to change his mind about you, to shoot you, too. Part of you wondered if this was part of a game for him, if he was going to walk with you just long enough to lull you into a false sense of security before shooting you. Maybe he liked the fear, the surprise. Maybe he’d given too much away by killing Zach and now he couldn’t get what he wanted from you. 

Maybe that was better than the alternative.

You were only walking about an hour when the other men, Tommy and Vince, caught up to you. The man you were with turned and pointed the gun, noticing their approach before you did. You froze, only realizing that it was probably a good time to run now that his attention was elsewhere once it was too late. 

“Just us, Joel,” Tommy called as they climbed up the hill you’d just made it up yourselves. “No trouble behind us.” 

The man - Joel, apparently - lowered the rifle and the men joined you. They had four packs between the two of them, two you didn’t recognize and two backpacking bags that you recognized as yours and Zach’s. Your stomach turned. 

“Not a terrible haul,” Tommy said. “These two had decent gear and must have just taken somethin’ good. A lot of jerky, good stock of ammo, some medical shit.” 

Joel looked down at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“You know how to use the shit in those bags?” He asked. You just looked back at him. He sighed and grabbed a fist full of your hair, jerking you close to him, making you squeak in shock. “Don’t play dumb, girl, you know how to use that shit?” 

“No,” you said sarcastically, not sure where the guts for that came from. “I enjoy hauling around shit I can’t do anything with.” 

Joel’s jaw tensed and you weren’t sure if he was about to yell or laugh. 

“Not gonna get far with an attitude like that, little rabbit,” Tommy said, but he was smirking a little. “Lot better for you if you just answer the questions when we ask ‘em.” 

You looked between the two men closest to you for a moment. You wondered if they were related. Their eyes were the same, same hair, too. They would have been handsome in another context, one where you weren’t afraid they were about to kill you. 

“It’s mine,” you said after a moment. “We were backpacking when the outbreak happened, we didn’t even know for a day or two, we were in the middle of the mountains and there weren’t other people around. I know how to use it all.” 

Joel released you. 

“Good to know you ain’t completely useless,” he said. 

“You mean outside the fact that I can save your life?” You bit out. Again, you weren’t sure why. 

He snorted. 

“Outside of that. Keep movin’.” 

With the other men there, Tommy took the lead and you followed, Vince and Joel behind you. You could feel Vince’s eyes on you, the cold, lecherous feeling of his gaze making your stomach churn. 

Night was starting to fall by the time you reached a cabin that showed greater signs of people than you’d seen in what felt like forever. There was a stack of wood on the front porch, a line between the house and a tree that looked like it was meant for drying clothes, barrels placed to gather rain water. You stopped, staring at the small structure. 

“Inside,” Joel said after a moment. 

“I have to pee.” 

He sighed. 

“Vince,” he said. “Take her to piss. Don’t fuckin’ touch her unless she tries to run, got it?” 

Vince groaned but nudged you off to the side of the house with the muzzle of his gun. You looked around, trying to get a lay of the land, see what a good route out might be. There was a small path that looked like it would take you deeper into the woods, eventually up into the Smokies. That was fine. If you could get your pack, you could survive out there for at least a week or two on your own, maybe find a settlement or something. You’d never had to survive on your own, you’d never hunted or shot a human being. Zach had handled that. You weren’t sure how long you could really make it on your own but you’d rather give that a shot than leave yourself to whatever these men had in store for you. 

“Here’s good,” Vince said after two minutes of walking. You held out your wrists and he raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a fucking idiot?” 

“I can’t really pull my pants down like this,” you said. “I’m not a man, I can’t just whip my dick out…” 

He stomped over to you and unbutton and unzipped your jeans before yanking them down to your knees, ignoring your surprised sound before going back to your hips. His fingers trailed over your skin, sinking into the meat of your ass and making your stomach churn, before he pulled your panties down, too. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering on you, before he stood up. 

“There,” he said. “Happy?” 

He walked a few steps away and turned back to look at you. 

“I can’t go with you watching.” 

He shrugged. 

“Not my problem. You have to go bad enough, you’ll go.” 

You glared at him and held his gaze before squatting and peeing, missing toilet paper and privacy more than you had since the damn outbreak started. You straightened up when you were done and stood there, still looking at him. 

“Afraid you’ll have to come pull up my pants, too,” you said. “Since your boss apparently wants you to wait on me hand and foot.” 

A muscle in the man’s neck twitched but he stalked over and yanked your clothes back up, harshly buttoning and zipping your jeans before shoving you back toward the cabin hard enough that you stumbled. 

Inside, Joel and Tommy were sitting at a rustic table, a fire going in the nearby fireplace. There were two Nalgene bottles of water on the table and a bag of jerky between them. The jerky you recognized. You and Zach had made it just a few days earlier. 

You tried not to think about it. 

“He behave himself?” Joel asked, stretched out with his legs far in front of him. 

“You’re really gonna take this little cunt’s word over mine?” Vince asked. 

Joel just kept looking at you, ignoring him entirely. 

“Asked you a question girl,” he said. “He keep his hands to himself?” 

You glanced at Vince who was staring down Joel, his blue eyes hot and angry. You looked back to Joel. 

“He was fine,” you said. 

“Good,” Joel said, getting up, grabbing a bottle of water and going over to you. He put one of his huge hands on your shoulder, guiding you to the nearby couch and nudging you down onto it. 

You obeyed his unspoken command, lowering yourself slowly down but not relaxing into the cushion, staying on the edge of it. 

“Open,” he ordered. 

Your eyes narrowed. He glared back. 

“Open your mouth,” he said when you didn’t obey. 

“You put your dick in my mouth I’ll bite it clean off.”

Joel squared his jaw and held up the bottle of water. 

“Don’t got a smaller bottle right now and you can’t hold this with your hands tied. Don’t want you droppin’ dead from dehydration after we went through all the trouble to get you here so open your goddamn mouth.” 

You ground your teeth for a moment before you obeyed. He unscrewed the top and poured the water on your tongue, crisp and cool and making you aware of just how thirsty you’d become in the few hours you’d been with him. 

“Good girl,” he said. “Was that so hard?” 

Eventually, he stopped and you closed your mouth, wiping your lips on the back of your tied hands as he closed the bottle. 

“Don’t gotta worry about that shit from us,” he said. “Prefer when a woman begs for it, not about to take it from one who ain’t.” 

“Because I can trust what a group of murderers says,” you snapped. 

“Murderers,” Joel shrugged. “Not rapists. Hungry?” 

“Why?” You asked, tongue still sharp. “Going to be kind enough to give me scraps of the food you stole from me?” 

“Something like that,” Joel said. “If you’re gonna try to starve yourself to death, just let me know. Save you the trouble and put you down quick instead.” 

You watched him for a moment. For some reason, you trusted what he was saying to you. That he wasn’t going to hurt you - at least, not like that. That he was intending to keep you alive. 

“Not hungry,” you said eventually. 

Joel shrugged. 

“If you change your mind.” 

You sat on the edge of the couch cushion as the men took inventory of what they stole from you, what they killed Zach to take. You tried not to cry. 

It’s not like you’d been especially close to Zach when the outbreak happened. You hadn’t said “I love you” yet, you’d been dating for a month and a half and fucking for just a few weeks of that. 

The backpacking trip had been a spur of the moment thing for both of you. You had some vacation time to burn before the end of the quarter, his job was flexible and you’d bonded over a shared love of the outdoors. You’d ignored the words of caution from your girlfriends when he wanted to take you hiking for a second date, the two of you ending up exhausted but proud as you came to the end of the seven mile trail he’d selected. He kissed you there for the first time, his lips salty with trail mix and sweat and a view of a valley swelling with shades of green spread out below you. 

You were somewhere in the mountains when the world collapsed. You didn’t even know it had happened until you returned to where you’d parked your car to find the windows smashed and the inside looted, a body missing a chunk of its skull not far away. You’d ran to it on instinct, dropping to your knees beside them to check their pulse even though it was clear that there was no way they would be alive. Their skin was cold and there were fibrous, vine-like tendrils swarming in their brain. 

It had been you and Zach from there. He was more of a survivalist than you. He knew how to hunt and trap, taught you how to skin a rabbit and process a deer. You weren’t sure if you’d truly come to love him or not, if the feeling you had for him was just what happened when you went about surviving the end of the world with another person and became dependent on them for your very life. 

But you were certain that he hadn’t loved you. Not really. If he had, he never would have given you over to these men. 

You’d never have done that to him.

Maybe you did love him. You weren’t sure you’d ever know. 

“Sleep here,” Joel ordered as the day fully shifted to night and Tommy and Vince started readying for bed. “I’m keepin’ watch for now. We were gone long enough, some dumbasses might think they can move in. Don’t try anything.” 

He went onto the porch and you stretched out on the couch, the other men going into what you expected were bedrooms at the back of the cabin. Your hands were still bound. You stared at the dying embers of the fire, the orange glow, and cried. 

***

Joel needed Vince to stop acting like a shit head. 

The man didn’t seem to understand the position he was in. He was the least valuable person here. He was young, he was dumb and he was disposable. 

He just didn’t seem to realize it. If he kept looking at you like you were something he could take, he’d find out just how disposable he was.

Joel came in from his watch about 5 a.m. to find you whimpering quietly on the couch. He sighed. 

“You really still crying over that jackass you were with?” He asked as you sniffled quietly. 

“Shut up,” your voice was thick and wet. 

“He ain’t worth it,” he said gently, sitting in the armchair that was near where your head was. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. But then, he’d never really taken a captive before. He usually just killed people or turned them loose. You were valuable enough to keep and sending you out into the wilderness alone seemed crueler than holding onto you. He just had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do with you now. “He didn’t know who the fuck we were or what the fuck we’d do with you - lot worse out there than us, little girl - and he handed you over on a silver fuckin’ platter. More than happy to trade your pain for his sorry life.” 

“He’s the only person left that I knew,” you said softly. It was the first truly genuine thing Joel had heard you say. Except, maybe, when you asked if he was going to kill you. “I’m alone now.” 

“Not alone, little girl,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was reassuring you. He shouldn’t care. “You’re better off.” 

“Why do you call me that?” You asked, lifting your head ever so slightly from the arm of the couch to look at him. “I’m not a little girl…” 

“Little compared to me,” he said. 

You scoffed and sniffed at the same time. 

“You’re a giant,” you said. “Everyone is little compared to you. Don’t see you calling Vinny there little boy…” 

Joel laughed a bit. 

“Maybe I should. And you’re a girl.” 

“I’m a woman,” you said, a spark of defiance in your tone. “I don’t think I’m much younger than you, if I am at all.” 

Joel frowned a bit at that. 

“How old are you?” He asked after a moment. 

You thought for a second, like you were doing the math. Which was fair. It’s not like he’d celebrated his last birthday, either, his stomach twisting at the thought. He had to think about it, too. 

“I’m 33,” you said. “How old are you?” 

He was surprised. Not that you looked terribly young, now that he thought about it. More that human faces lacked much definition to him anymore. Anyone older than a teenager looked about the same until they started going gray. You just seemed younger. 

“I’m 37,” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m not a girl,” you said, putting your head back down. 

“You could tell me your name,” he said. 

You scoffed. 

“Then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call you, little girl,” he said. He could feel you glare at him. 

“I had a whole life before,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Joel. “I had a house and a job and friends and I used to go to dinner and to concerts and buy the people I loved presents. I had a life before.” 

He realized then why he’d thought you were younger. You were, possibly, the most human person he’d come across in a year. Some small spark of divine mortality - the juxtaposition of life and a kind of death that was still possible - there in your eyes that didn’t exist in others. It seemed naive, in a way. Made you seem younger than you were. But he wasn’t sure that was it. Maybe you weren’t naive. Maybe part of you was just clinging to your humanity harder than anyone else left. 

“We all did,” he said, voice harsher than he’d really meant it to be. There was part of him that wanted to snap that tie in you. It was unfair that you got to keep it when he didn’t. But it was a kindness, too. You’d survive better without it. “You move on. Go to sleep.” 

He went to the room he shared with Tommy who was unconscious, sprawled out on the bed and snoring. Joel took the sleeping bag on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to make himself not listen for the sound of you crying in the next room. 

Things were surprisingly smooth with you for the next two days. Vince was a fucking idiot and got a nasty cut on his arm that you tended to, giving him stitches while he leered at you and Joel ground his teeth. 

He felt better with you tied. Your wrists, at the very least, but during the day when the men were coming and going, Joel bound you to a chair at the table. 

“Comfortable?” He asked the first time he did it. 

“No,” you spat, face scrunched in anger that was so fierce it was almost cute. If Joel even found things cute anymore. “I’m not.” 

“You gonna lose a hand from me cuttin’ off your circulation?” He asked instead. You just glared at him. “Good. Stay put, like a good girl.” 

“I hate you,” you seethed at him. 

Joel shrugged. 

“That’s fine,” he said. “Don’t gotta like me to keep me alive, do ya?” 

He went outside to gather wood. 

By the third night, you were yawning and looked barely conscious before the sun had even set. Joel frowned. 

“I keep telling you to sleep,” he said. “You ignoring me for fun or you think exhausting yourself is good for your health?” 

“I’d love to sleep,” you snapped. “But something about having my wrists bound keeps me up at night. Maybe it’s the discomfort, maybe it’s the looming threat of death, who can say?” 

Joel pulled Tommy and Vince aside after dinner, the men standing in the dirt outside the cabin, snow starting to drift down. 

“She hasn’t tried to hurt anyone yet,” Tommy shrugged. “Don’t think she’s gonna go far if she gets away and doesn’t seem like the kind to kill us in our sleep.” 

“Don’t like it,” Vince said, glaring at the cabin for a moment before looking back at Joel. “Can’t trust her as far as we can throw her…” 

“No one said shit about trust,” Joel cut him off. “But we can’t keep ‘er tied up forever.” 

“Fine,” Vince shrugged. “We can put her to use then kill her. Won’t need to tie her up then.” 

Joel could hear the blood in his ears. 

“Suggest that one more time, little boy, and see how long you last,” he straightened up as he said it, the full six inches he had on the younger man all the more apparent then. “You want to do that kind of shit, find someone else to run with.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” he raised his arms in a moment of surrender before crossing them again. “Just don’t come crying to me when she slits your fucking throat.” 

“Can’t cry if she kills me, can I?” Joel said, stomping back toward the house, pushing past Vince on the way. 

You were still bound to the chair. He wordlessly unwound the rope and you relaxed your elbows, stretching your arms as best you could with your wrists still tied. 

“Hands up,” he said. You frowned, just looking at him. “You heard me, you want me to untie you or not? Hands up.” 

You practically flung your wrists at him and he tried not to laugh at you as he loosened the knot and pulled the rope from your wrists. 

The second you were free, you rolled your shoulders and closed your eyes, groaning at the feeling of it. 

“God that’s good,” you moaned before you started flexing your fingers and rotating your wrists before you glared up at him again. “What? You try being tied up for days, see how you deal with it.” 

“Rather not,” Joel said, winding up the rope. “Better be a good girl, don’t try anything stupid.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said as you spread your arms wide and sighed. Joel found himself smiling a little for the first time in he didn’t know how long. He stopped himself. 

“Actually get some sleep,” he said, voice gruff. “No good to us exhausted.” 

He left you alone, taking the bed in he and Tommy’s room that night and Tommy taking the floor. It took effort to not listen for you moving in the front room as he drifted off. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep when Tommy shook him awake. 

“Joel,” he said urgently. “She’s gone.” 

***

Absolutely none of this was ideal. 

You were exhausted, the only thing keeping you upright the adrenaline that ran through your whole body. You didn’t have supplies, your pack and all its valuable contents in the bedrooms of the men. You were stuck running through snow, leaving a clear path to follow until the woods got dense enough that the snow hadn’t piled up much. 

But you had to go, you had to go now, now, now, right now. You couldn’t spend another night there like that, not when you had the option to get away, not when you had the use of your arms back. 

Your body wouldn’t let you sleep, even for an hour or two, even just for a night to try to make a break for it tomorrow. The second Joel had freed your hands it was like you could feel every part of your body in sharp, acute detail. Every frayed nerve, every thrumming vein, every peaked hair was stark and clear. You couldn’t relax enough to sleep. You had an opening, a chance. You had to take it, you had to. 

You didn’t even have your knife. 

But you had your body and you knew how to push yourself over long distances in the mountains. You’d been good at it before, too. You’d hiked most of your life, knowing how to get yourself to make it to the top of the next ridge even when your calves were burning and your lungs felt on the verge of collapse you knew you could make it. 

All you had to do was do that now, through all the exhaustion and all the panic, and put as much distance between yourself and those men as possible. 

You’d find some way to keep yourself alive eventually. There’d be supplies or a settlement. Something. You were sure of that. 

Mostly. 

Your breath rose in a cloud in front of you and you broke away from the trail into the brush of the woods, thankful that the moon was bright enough that you could have some sense of where you were going. 

You were just starting to relax a little when you heard it behind you. A sharp, shrill whistle. You froze. 

“Come on out, little rabbit,” Tommy called. “Not gonna hurt you…” 

“Shit,” you whispered as you panted for breath. They sounded pretty far away but they’d catch up eventually. 

You scrambled through the forest until you reached a cluster of ferns that was thick and full and you ducked into it. If you stayed quiet and still, they’d walk right past you. You could stay put for a while and then find your way from there. Simple. 

You tried to not shake from cold and fear as you heard the signs of the men getting close. There was the crunch of sticks, the rustle of leaves and the eerie sound of Vince humming Run, Rabbit, Run. The glare of a flashlight trickled between the ferns and you held your breath, the humming getting louder. 

For a second, a glorious second, you thought you were in the clear. Vince had passed your hiding spot, poking through the brush closest to the trail with his rifle but you were just far enough off the trail that he missed you, and you relaxed. 

Then you heard the snap of a twig. 

“Found you.” 

You spun, Vince turning the flashlight on and shining it in your face, all but blinding you. You threw up a hand instinctively to protect your eyes and he grabbed your wrist, yanking you out of your hiding spot and almost pulling your arm out of its socket in the process. 

You yelped in pain, you couldn’t help it, and he all but threw you onto the trail. Your eyes were still adjusting to the light but it took you a moment to realize that he had his gun trained on you. 

“Knew you’d take off on us,” he said, panting a little. You put your hands up and looked for a way out. “Knew you’d be more trouble than you’re worth…” 

You backed away from him, more on instinct than anything else, not able to watch where you were going and you shrieked as you tripped and fell back, landing hard and barely catching yourself before your head smacked into the rock of the path. You rose up on your hands quickly, scrambling back from him as best you could but he was standing, could see where he was going. You didn’t have a hope. 

“Please,” you whispered. “Please just… just let me go, you already have my supplies and…” 

“Can’t let you go with you knowing where we are,” he replied. “And you were already more trouble than you’re worth in my opinion…” 

“I stitched up your arm,” you said, tears stinging at your eyes. “I helped you…” 

“And those two idiots won’t even let me fuck you,” he cut you off. “What good is pussy you can’t fuck, hm?” 

“Please,” you said again. 

“That’s not an answer,” he prowled closer, the muzzle of his rifle so close you could almost touch it. Your heart was in your throat. “Think I’ll just kill you, bet that pretty head of yours would make all kinds of nice colors when I blow it off…” 

“Hey!” Tommy snapped, his gun up and pointed at Vince. “Know you’re not threatenin’ to kill her, not when we all agreed to keep her alive.” 

“You agreed,” Vince snapped. “You and your asshole brother, not me.” 

“That asshole has been keepin’ your sorry ass alive,” Joel growled from behind you. Your head whipped around to see him there, looming large over you. His gun was up, too, pointed at Vince. “You need us a whole hell of a lot more than we need you. You can do what I fuckin’ say or you can move on. But you keep pointing that gun at her and you ain’t gonna have much to move on with.” 

The three of them stood there for a moment, Vince aiming at you, Joel and Tommy aiming at him. Your heart felt like it was going to break your ribs it was beating so hard. 

Vince lowered his gun. Tommy did the same but Joel left his up. 

“Joel,” Vince said but Joel cut him off. 

“Don’t like men who don’t listen,” he said. “Not worth shit to me if you can’t take orders. Said you could join me and my brother if you did what you were told.” 

“I told you she’d run!” Vince snapped. 

“Don’t give a shit,” Joel said. “You think nurses pop up every five fuckin’ feet? She’s valuable. To us and to people we come across. Worth a little trouble. Worth a whole hell of a lot more trouble than you. Know your goddamn place.” 

He lowered his gun and looked down to you. 

“You alright, little girl?” 

You were too shaken to fight the nickname. Instead, you just nodded. 

“Good.” 

He slung his rifle on his back and reached down, yanking you sharply to your feet, the movement so rough it shocked you. Once you were on your feet, he grabbed you by your chin, his callused fingers harsh on your cheeks, and pulled your face close, so close that you’d expect him to kiss you if he were your lover. 

But he wasn’t that. He was your captor. 

“Thought I told you not to try anything stupid,” he asked, his face almost eerily calm but his tone on the edge of anger. “You seem smart enough to know better, give you an inch and you decide to take a mile. Several, in fact. Maybe Vince is right, maybe we should kill you…” 

“Joel,” Tommy said cautiously but Joel threw him a glare and he quieted. 

“You really think you can do better than us out there? Hm?” He demanded. “You think you can survive all on your lonesome?” 

“No,” you said, fighting to not cry. You hated that you reacted this way, that when you were scared or mad your first instinct was to cry. “But I could find…” 

“Find what?” He cut you off. “Find someone else who’s willin’ to stick their necks out for you? Willing to feed you, shelter you without takin’ more from you?” 

He released your chin and you slumped back from him, massaging your face and working your jaw, trying to right it. 

“You’re damn lucky to be with us, little girl,” he snapped. “Real damn lucky. Better start actin’ like it instead of running off like some scared little rabbit. Hands out.” 

“But…” 

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “You lost the privilege of using your fuckin’ hands without my permission. Hands. Out.” 

You obeyed, arms trembling, and he bound your wrists together, the ropes finding the same indentations they’d made on your skin before. He dropped your wrists once they were bound and you looked at him as you still fought to not cry. His eyes met yours, sharp and cold. 

“You’re mine now,” he said harshly. “Sooner you figure that out, the easier this gets for you. Move.” 

The walk back to the cabin felt long and, when you got there, you went to lay on the couch but Joel stopped you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat. 

You frowned. 

“Going to sleep…”

“Not there you’re not,” he said. “You’re sleepin’ with me, you don’t get to be unsupervised anymore.” 

Your eyes went wide and you shook your head. 

“No, no, please, you said you weren’t…” 

“Wasn’t offerin’ to fuck you, girl,” he cut you off. “You’re sleeping where I can fucking see you so get in my bed.” 

Your whole body shook as he nudged you to one of the back rooms. You hadn’t been in one of these before. You had no idea how to try to escape if you needed to. It was stupid of you, you realized now, to trust Joel when he said they might be murderers but they weren’t rapists. Just because they hadn’t forced themselves on you yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t now. 

The room wasn’t huge, a queen sized bed in the middle and a sleeping bag on the floor. There was a door - to a closet, you assumed - and a dresser with some picture frames on top. 

“Shoes off,” Joel said. 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please don’t do this, I…” 

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t offering to fuck you?” He asked, sounding exasperated. “I don’t want you tracking dirt into the goddamn bed. Shoes off, get in on that side, one by the dresser. I’ll keep my hands to myself if you will.”

You obeyed and curled as tightly in on yourself as you could, facing away from him. You felt the bed dip as he climbed in, the heat of his body close to yours. But he didn’t touch you. 

“Actually sleep,” Joel muttered after a moment. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him. He was flat on his back, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. The opposite of someone who looked like they were about to grope you the second you passed out. 

Still, you rolled to face him, curled tightly on yourself, and watched him until his body loosened and his breaths evened. Tommy snored lightly from the sleeping bag on the floor. You weren’t sure if their unconscious state made it feel safe enough to rest or your body gave out from exhaustion but, the next thing you knew, it was morning and you were alone. 

You sat up slowly, hands still bound, an unfamiliar blanket draped over you that hadn’t been the night before. 

You made your way slowly, cautiously, to the main part of the small house. The men were talking in low voices around the kitchen table and you hovered for a moment, not sure if you wanted them to notice you or not. 

But Tommy was the first to see you there, a slow smile spreading over his face. 

“Well hey there little rabbit,” he took a sip from a mug. “You look rested.” 

“Probably wore herself out taking off,” Vince muttered. 

“Gonna be just you and me today,” Tommy said, ignoring Vince’s comments. “Those two are headin’ out to do some business.” 

“Business?” You asked, brows raised. “Is that code for murder?” 

“Our business is none of yours, little girl,” Joel said, drinking from a mug of his own. “You stay here, behave yourself, and maybe we’ll bring you something back.” 

“Rather not get anything that comes from killing,” you said. “Thanks though.” 

Joel just rolled his eyes and shoved back from the table. 

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it,” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He put two fingers below your chin and tilted it, forcing you too look him in the eye. “Gonna take off on me again? Or do I need to tie your legs up, too?” 

You gritted your teeth. 

“No.”

“Good girl.” 

Tommy helped you use the bathroom and you sat on the couch with jerky and sore wrists and resentment as you watched Joel and Vince get ready to head out to do… whatever it was they were about to go and do. 

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do to pass the time. You’d had some books in your bags but you weren’t about to risk pissing off the men for a little entertainment. 

But Tommy didn’t let you sit in silence for too long, flopping down next to you on the couch as you tried to find patterns in the peeling paint of he wall. You looked at him, cagey. He smiled. 

“You’re cute when you sleep.” 

You frowned. 

“What?” 

“You’re cute when you sleep,” he said again. “All curled up and shit, just like a little rabbit.” 

You shrank back from him and he put his hands up. 

“Not gonna touch you,” he said. “Unless you wanted me to.” 

“Well… I don’t.”

He shrugged. 

“Didn’t expect you would,” he said. 

He was quiet again for a few minutes before he spoke again, a gleam in his eye when he did. 

“Wouldn’t happen to play poker, would you?”

You didn’t but he seemed happy enough to teach you. But you couldn’t hold the cards well with your wrists bound and, after a few minutes of struggling, Tommy glanced toward the door like he was half expecting Joel to walk through it. 

“Gimme those,” he said, holding his hands out. You thrust your wrists at him faster than you were proud of and he laughed a little, taking hold of you gently. He paused before starting at the rope. “You’re not gonna take off on me, right, little rabbit?” 

“Not at the moment,” you said. 

“Good,” he replied, untying you. “Not a fan of keepin’ you all tied up anyway…” 

You turned your wrists, the bones popping as you luxuriated in the movement. 

“Thank you,” you said, massaging one wrist and then the other. 

He shrugged. 

“The game is Texas Hold ‘Em,” he said, dealing. “We’ll play a few hands open and then see how you do…” 

It was oddly easy to forget that you were being held captive when playing cards with Tommy. He was lighter than the other men, more like people you remembered from before, making easy going conversation about things that hadn’t mattered in more than a year. 

“I’m still mad that I didn’t get to see the second Matrix,” you said, watching as Tommy put the flop on the table. 

“That, darlin’, was a blessing,” he replied. “Wasn’t nearly as good as the first.” 

“I heard that, but still,” you said, looking at the seven of clubs, three of hearts and king of clubs on the table and trying not to smile at the seven of spades and king of hearts in your hand. “I think it might have been better than I heard. And maybe it would have made more sense when the third one came out…” 

“Maybe,” Tommy said, putting the turn on the table. Ace of diamonds, no good for you. “But I dunno, you seem too smart to like something that shitty.” 

“Bold assumption,” you smiled a little and he smiled back. 

“Before I put the river card out,” he said. “How about we make this interesting?” 

“Interesting,” you frowned. “Interesting how?” 

“I win, you tell me something about yourself,” he said. “You win, I’ll give you something you want. Can’t be a weapon but something else.” 

You looked at him, brows raised. 

“C’mon, little rabbit,” he gave you a cocky smirk. “Let’s have some fun.” 

You looked at your hand again. 

“Alright,” you smiled a little. “Let’s do it.” 

The river was the king of spades and you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Alright,” he said, looking like he was holding back a grin himself. “I’ll show you mine then you show me yours.” 

You shrugged and he smiled as he put the king of diamonds and the three of spades on the table. 

“Full house,” he said. “Kings over threes.” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “I just have the kings…” you lowered the card, looking disappointed and enjoyed Tommy’s excited expression for half a second before you put the second card on the table. “Oh, and the sevens. Sevens are higher than threes, right? I mean, I only went to nursing school, I can’t be sure…” 

“You little shit,” Tommy laughed. “You’ve got a damn fine poker face on you! Alright, what is it you want?” 

“My books,” you said immediately. “I had two, I think, in my pack. I’d like them. Please.” 

“I can get you the books,” he smiled. “You sit tight.” 

He brought you the books and you played another hand with the same stakes. And another. And another. And more after that.

You got some hair ties and clean socks out of the deal. Tommy got to know your favorite food and what you liked to watch on TV back when there was TV. 

After a while, he looked at the books that you’d set aside on the table. He picked up the top one, Slaughterhouse Five. 

“Think this was on my reading list in high school,” he said, looking over the back of it. “Never actually read it though.” 

“It’s good,” you said. “You missed out.” 

“Read it to me,” he said, holding it out to you. 

“Read it to you?” You asked, brows raised. “What are you, five?” 

“Never much enjoyed reading,” he shrugged, still holding the book out. “But I like listening. Like listening to you well enough. C’mon, little rabbit. Tell me a story.” 

You considered him for a moment. You felt oddly safe with Tommy. You weren’t sure if it was because he was showing you kindness and one of the only three people left in the world you knew now or if he was actually safe. You weren’t sure you could trust anything you were thinking and feeling. 

But reading to him didn’t sound bad. 

“Can we move to the couch?” You asked. 

He laughed. 

“Think we can manage it.” 

You settled on the couch, you folded into a corner and Tommy stretched out. He watched you closely as you opened the book. 

“All this happened, more or less…” 

You fell asleep on the couch before Joel and Vince made it back but you woke up in he bed, Tommy snoring next to you. 

Part 2

A/N: Hey yeah so... this was supposed to be a one shot but it got away from me. So now it's two parts. Part two up sometime within the next week or so ❤️

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

FOUND FAMILY LUCY & THE GHOUL SUPREMACYYYY!!! your fic is perfect in every way… a shining beacon of light in these dark times. idk if you’re going to write a long story with them or anything but i fucking love your mind and already know i wld be eager to read whatever you might write about them <3 !!

thank you! i'm a found family bitch til the day i die, i simply cannot help it. i am technically working on a full length fic with them, but i'm not sure if/when i'll ever string it all together into something coherent lmao

but hey, here's a scene in the meantime!

-

About halfway through their journey to Las Vegas, nearly perfectly sandwiched between a week’s worth of miserable walking to the west and another week’s worth of miserable walking to the east, they stumbled upon a small town in the middle of the desert that called itself Delta. There was a sign and everything—a really old one with faded grayish lettering on faded reddish stone, all of it bearing more than a few well-worn cracks. But there was also a painted sun on it, half a shining sun rising above the town’s name like it was just peeking over to say hello, and that sun was almost still yellow.

Someone must have cared enough to maintain it, she thought, even just a little, and something about that felt important.

Lucy never bothered mentioning any of this to her companion, of course. He probably would have blown it off as nothing if she did, especially if his standoffishness ever since they entered the town was any indication.

Speaking of which.

She shifted, turning over onto her side on the twin bed she’d rented for the night—a real bed, and after so many nights of sleeping in the sand, she wasn’t even turned off by the musty smell of these sheets—and she wound her arm underneath the poorly stuffed pillow for some extra support, looking across the little motel room. He was still sitting up on his own bed, one knee bent up and his gun propped up against his thigh, and he was still looking at the door.

When she moved, though, it did get his attention. He glanced in her direction and frowned, as if to ask, What the hell are you looking at?

“You know,” she said, before he could say that out loud or tell her to go to sleep, “we’re not in the middle of the desert anymore.”

“Is that right? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn—”

“We’re not out in the open in the middle of the desert anymore,” she cut him off, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying, we don’t really have to take turns sleeping tonight. We’ve got a door. With a lock. You could actually go to sleep, too.”

“Mm,” was all he said to that, and he returned his focus to the door.

Lucy sighed, and she rolled over onto her back, frowning at the ceiling. She really didn’t know what his issue was. This town was actually nice. Don’t get her wrong, it wasn’t like anyone had rolled out a red carpet for them and sprinkled flower petals at their feet, but no one here had shot at them, no one had tried to steal from them, no one had even said anything particularly mean to them. The woman who owned this motel—a lady named Josie who might have been fifty or might have been a very healthy ninety for all Lucy could tell—had barely even spared either of them a second glance, let alone turned him away for being a ghoul, and they were even allowed to bring Dogmeat into the room with them for an extra ten caps.

She folded her hands over her stomach and tucked her toes under Dogmeat’s side. Dogmeat didn’t seem to mind; she just let out a soft groan, stretching her legs out and settling back down with a sigh.

“Not everyone is trying to kill us,” Lucy said. “I know a lot of people are, but not everyone is.”

“Is that right.”

“Yes! Some people really do just want to help others. There are good samaritans out there. Just because you don’t see them very often doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

“Yeah, actually. I will.”

“Go on, then. What’s your startin’ bid?”

She thought about that for a moment. She was certain that she was right about this, but technically, given that they were walking through a desert from one end to the other, they weren’t likely to run into very many people, period, so the odds weren’t exactly in her favor.

Finally, she offered, “One bottle cap.”

He actually huffed a laugh at that, and when she turned her head, she saw half an amused smile on his face. “One whole cap, huh? You better watch yourself. You go making gambles that big and you gon’ be broke as a joke before we even hit Vegas.”

She shrugged, looking back up at the ceiling. “It’s more about the bragging rights than the money anyway.”

“That so?”

“Yep.”

“Well, now, no one here in Delta counts, y’know,” he said, “seeing as we paid ‘em for the help.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” she admitted. “But even if they’re only helping us because we paid them, they are helping us. Right? That’s something. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any of these people breaking down the door in the middle of the night after that. I don’t even see why they would want to.”

He was quiet for a moment.

He was quiet, actually, for long enough that Lucy felt the need to look at him again. When she did, she found him exactly as he was before, looking straight ahead at the door in exactly the same way he’d been doing since they got to their room over an hour ago. Something had changed just a tiny bit, though—it was in his eyes, like he wasn’t looking at the door so much as he was looking through it. He was thumbing the safety on his gun, though not enough to switch it on, and she wondered if he was only doing it to remind himself that it was off in the first place.

Finally, quietly, he said, “People always got their reasons, Vaultie.”

Lucy blew out a raspberry through her lips and pouted, looking up at the ceiling again.

It was true, of course, that she didn’t know even half of the terrible things that people up on the surface were capable of—actually, no, that wasn’t fair. Not just people on the surface. As it turned out, she didn’t know even half of the terrible things that anyone was capable of, up here braving the radioactive wasteland or tucked safely away in a Vault or anywhere in between.

But even knowing all that, even knowing the sort of terrible things that certain circumstances could drive a person to do, she had to believe that most people still had something altruistic and selfless and good underneath.

Deep underneath, in some cases.

Very, very… very deep underneath.

“Okay,” she conceded, because there was a time and a place for debates about the nature of humanity, and this probably wasn’t it. There was also a certain type of person that it was worth having said debates with, and it almost certainly wasn’t him. She pulled her feet out from underneath Dogmeat, and she turned over, putting her back to the ghoul and his gun and the locked door. “Wake me up in six hours?”

“You know I’m gonna.”

She half-buried her face in the pillow, waiting for the exhaustion of ten-plus hours of walking to finally take her under.

She didn’t have to wait long.

[clintbartonswife]

these hands that hold

Pairings: Clint Barton / Bucky Barnes Summary: clint has no coordination when it comes to his crush Whumptober prompt #1 : swooning / 'how many fingers am i holding up?' Notes: we're making an attempt at whumptober! i'm in no way promising a fic every day, but hopefully this will get me back into writing :)) if you have any fic ideas that you want me to write, my requests are open as always. HAPPY OCTOBER!! this is slightly more fluffy than the rest will be - i just cant resist fluffy winterhawk masterlist   || whumptober2023

"Another day, another sucky mission waking me up before noon."

"As optimistic as always," Nat drawled, rolling her eyes fondly as Clint pouted, "I made a fresh pot for you."

He kissed her forehead grinning, rushing over to the steaming pot of coffee, "Natasha, this is why I love you."

"Keep that in mind for when I say -"

"Oh god -"

"You're with Bucky today."

Clint's smile dropped instantly. "Nat. You cant do this to me - last time I was in the same room as him I literally tripped over thin air. Thin air, Nat! I can't think straight when I'm around him -"

"Tough shit, sorry. We need two snipers on this one, so suck it up big boy." She slid off her chair, patting his shoulder condescendingly. "Be nice to him, okay?"

"You - he - he's the one that's mean to me!"

She guffawed, walking out the room. "Quinjet in ten!"

Clint let his head drop on to the kitchen counter, hand gripping the handle of the coffee pot impossibly tighter. "Get it together, Barton."

"Talking to yourself again?" An amused voice from the doorway interrupted his pity party, Clint holding back a groan.

"It's too early for this shit" he shot back, lifting his head to glare at Bucky leaning against the doorframe.

"Early for you maybe - y'know normal people don't sleep in until 3pm?"

"Says the fossil."

"Ouch, you really hurt me with that one," Bucky replied, hand over his chest and a smirk on his lips.

Clint stomped down the butterflies that threatened to make him blush, instead levelling the brunet with what he hoped was a convincing death stare.

Rolling his eyes - and damn did he look good when he did that - Bucky pushed off the doorframe, walking over to Clint and picking the pot out of his hand as if it was nothing.

"Hey! Get your own coffee!"

Bucky didnt reply, instead lifting the pot to his lips and taking a large swig, maintaining eye contact as he did so.

"Asshole." Clint frowned, snatching the pot back as soon as he could. "If you think that will stop me from drinking it, you're sorely mistaken. Nothing gets in between me and my caffeine intake - especially when I've been woken up at an ungodly hour."

With that he stormed out of the room heading towards the quinjet hangar, resolutely ignoring Bucky's scoffed 'It's 11am' from behind him.

"Snipers, that's Clint and Bucky, will be stationed on this rooftop here," Steve explained, pointing to a location on the hologram map. "Due to the limited sightlines, this is the best vantage point in the city. Clint will be covering the north-western approach, while Bucky covers the south-east."

"Roger that, Cap." Clint replied, definitely ignoring the way that Bucky's arms flexed as he put his shoulder length hair into a bun. He wasted absolutely no brain power on the way his hair looked especially soft today. None at all.

He especially did not smell his hair when he leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Who knows, if all goes well we might get you home in time for your nap."

His shampoo was coconut scented.

"Very funny - har har. Y'know getting enough sleep is vital to being a functioning human being, so not the insult you thought that was, actually."

Bucky huffed a laugh, standing back up to his full height. Natasha caught his eye from across the quinjet, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up.

He flipped her off in return.

" - essential that we do this quietly, swiftly and with as little damage as possible. That being said, Bruce we need you on comms and on medical standby - we hopefully won't need to call a code green."

Bruce nodded at this, tugging on his sweater nervously. "Im not the most anxious to get back out there after..."

He trailed off, Steve nodding understandingly. "Don't worry, we have multiple back up plans in place. Now, since Thor is off-world and Tony is sitting this one out -"

"He was literally thrown through a wall last week -"

"We'll be a little short on air support. Sam, we're going to need you to cover twice the amount you usually do."

"Redwing will watch over what I can't - if anything goes wrong I'll be there in seconds."

"Natasha and Wanda, you're with me on the ground. We get in, grab the prisoner, and get out. Is everyone clear on their assignment?"

Affirmative words spread around the room, Clint moving over to Natasha to get his bow and arrows.

"Y'know, you should use this time to make your move." she murmured, smirking.

"By what? Making an even bigger fool of myself?"

Natasha hummed, "Possibly. Or you could... I don't know, use that Hawkeye charm and flirt?"

Clint scoffed, ducking away as she tried to ruffle his blond hair. "Bite me."

"Oka-"

He leapt away as far as he could, hands thrown up in self defence, "Kidding! I was kidding!"

Steve huffed a laugh, patting Clint on the shoulder as he passed, "You should know better than that by now."

"Yes Cap..."

Sliding the shield on his back, he signalled for Bruce to open the quinjet doors. "Get in your groups, get to your stations and then call it in on comms - keep it clear from chatter. We do this fast and clean."

Clint swallowed heavily as he felt Bucky move to stand behind him, very aware of how close he was. His breath hitched as he felt Bucky lean closer, "I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing Stevie barking commands - since getting my memory back all I can see is the little punk from Brooklyn."

Clint smiled, head tilting slightly as he looked at Steve. "I find it impossible to imagine him with spindly limbs - surely his head would be too big for his body."

Bucky barked a laugh, earning the attention of the rest of the team. Steve narrowed his eyes, though Clint could see a hint of joy shining through, as if he was hearing a long lost song.

"'S so funny, Buck?"

"You - uhh, nothing Stevie." Bucky tried to muffle his laughter, coughing before throwing on a mask of indifference. "Lets do this."

Steve just nodded, though his eyes flicked between Clint and Bucky for a few moments, calculating. "Move out."

Clint shook himself slightly, clearing his head. Readjusting his arrow sheath, he followed Bucky out of the quinjet, climbing in to the passenger seat of the car.

"You sure you can drive?"

"I was driving before you were born, smart ass."

"Hey, just wondering if you were used to riding something that didn't eat grass and say neigh."

Bucky snorted, "We didn't ride horses."

"Really? There goes that dream." He pouted, followed by a sad 'yeehaw'.

Bucky shot him a weird look, suppressing a smile as he pulled away from the jet, driving towards their lookout point. On their arrival, Bucky reached into the back of the car and pulled out his sniper case.

Clint looked at the building distastefully, the crumbling plaster and boarded up windows doing nothing for its curb appeal.

"D'you think the elevator in this thing is still working?"

"Not for years - we're going to have to take the fire escape."

"Ugh, I hate climbing."

Bucky flashed him an odd look, seemingly swallowing down a question before pulling down the metal ladder. "Hawks first."

"Why thank you"

As they climbed, Clint made a very conscious effort to control his footing, aware that the last time he was alone with Bucky he ended up on his ass.

He was determined not to make a fool of himself this time.

"Okay, I've got to know. What was with that look you gave me when I said I don't like climbing?"

"Wha - well, okay. I just thought it was a bit ironic, coming from the guy who likes being up high all the time."

"Fair enough. I can see where the confusion comes in."

There was a pause. "Why don't you?"

"Like climbing? Um..." he thought about his answer, before deciding to play it safe, defaulting to making light of it. "Too much effort. Much prefer being carried places."

Bucky seemed as if he was going to dig further, Clint thanking his lucky stars that they had run out of fire escape. Scrambling on to the roof, he shrugged his bow off his shoulder, pressing his coms to activate it. "Hawkeye and Barnes in position."

Bucky huffed, shaking his head as he took out his sniper from its case, prepping his scope.

Steve's voiced crackled on, "Copy that. We're two minutes from target. Falcon, sitrep."

"Redwing made a preliminary scan - we count 5 hostiles guarding the front entrance, plus 2 hostiles on every exit. Seems to be more inside, but something is blocking the signal from reaching that far in."

"Electrical interference?" Natasha asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.

"Yep. Seems like its coming from the south-west side of the building."

"I'll see what I can do."

Cap chimed back in, "About to head in - keep this channel clear."

Clint pressed his com once, turning his mic off before settling into position, eyes scanning back and forth across his assigned area. Behind him, Bucky did the same.

Focused silence settled over the two of them, only to be broken after a few minutes.

"I can almost hear you thinking," Clint said, words hanging in the air precariously. "What is it?"

"Your response back there? I'm calling bullshit."

"Okay, wow."

Bucky audibly shrugged. "You asked me, I responded."

"Is now really the best time for thi-?"

Nat's voice interrupted him, com flaring to life once more. "Signal box down. Do you have visual?"

"Affirmative. There's 20 bodies in there - woah what the hell?"

"Sam?"

"We have an enhanced on the field. Looks like they're -"

He was cut off by Wanda, her voice shaking. "Flying? Yeah - Cap they're coming towards you. Heading towards the west exit of the building. Got the jump on me -"

"Copy that. You okay?"

"Fine - just some bruises."

Clint rolled his shoulders in anticipation, pressing his com to leave the line open.

For the next few minutes, Clint allowed himself to fully settle into his position, sniper training allowing him to relax whilst still being fully vigilant. In an instant, he had extracted an arrow from his sheathe and pressed it against his bow.

"I've got eyes-on. Target is moving fast - have a minute window maybe less."

"Take the shot, non lethal if possible."

Clint huffed. Of course it was possible. He could hit an apple from the top of a baby's head at this range.

He swallowed down his need to brag, quickly aiming and firing at the target. His arrow soared through the air, hitting it's mark in the man's shoulder.

"Target hit - he's going down just outside the mini mart. Shot to the shoulder."

"I have no visual," Natasha said, frown audible, "Wanda?"

"Neither."

"I'm on my way," Sam added, "No visual from the surrounding areas."

"Fan out around the surrounding buildings, he's got to be here somewhere."

Sudden movement from behind him broke Clint's focus, Bucky pushing him out of the way as a man descended on them from the sky, knife in hand. He blocked the attack with his metal arm, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the air.

Clint swore under his breath, whipping his bow into it's baton form and charging forwards, landing a solid blow to the target's arm. The knife fell from his grip.

It devolved into a scuffle, Bucky and Clint working in unison to knock the guy down.

In between hits, Bucky managed to re-open his com link. "Target is on us, I repeat target is on our roof."

Clint winced as a particularly harsh hit landed on his jaw, responding by hitting the man's throat. The enhanced fell to the floor with a wheeze, eyes narrowing as his fist closed around the hilt of the previously dropped knife.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as he jumped back up, the silver blade just narrowly missing the soft flesh of Clint's neck. Bucky immediately moved to Clint's aid, pushing him out of the way as the blade returned.

Toppled off balance, he careened into the brick that lined the roof's edge, head smashing against it.

Through hazy eyes, he watched Bucky tackled the target, manipulating him until his knee was on their back.

He was hot when he fought.

Ringing was followed by the return of his limited hearing, faint and muffled, as Bucky yelled something unintelligible over comms. He heard no response, frowning, before realising his hearing aid had fallen out.

His coms were built in - a fancy upgrade from a lab-bound Tony.

Blinking heavily, he tried to refocus his eyes. Whilst two Bucky's had definitely been a part of countless recent dreams, he wasn't exactly fond of the lack of clear sight that went along with the double vision.

The Buckys knelt in front of him, metal wings descending behind him. Sam had arrived. He was saying something, concern painted across every line of his face.

Clint could only blink back dumbly, eyes narrowing as he tried to read his lips. Lips - Bucky's lips. They were very nice lips -

Bucky was clicking in his face now, two slowly merging back into one.

'Hear?'

Bucky was signing. He didn't know Bucky knew how to sign. The hand movements were clunky, but deliberate.

Clint shook his head in response, the sudden movement making his world spin on it's axis.

'One moment.'

Bucky had left his side, looking on the ground for something and standing up with a triumphant 'aha!'. Soon the device was pressed into his hand, guided up towards his ear by Bucky's gloved ones.

Common sense finally catching up to him, Clint placed the hearing aid back into his ear, slumping in relief as his senses returned.

"- ou hear me? Clint? Hey."

"Present"

Bucky held his hand up once more, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Really?"

"Don't be cute, how many fingers?"

"One, two... three."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though Clint could see relief rush through him at the realisation he hadnt lost all his brain cells when he hit the bricks.

"How's your head? Can you stand?"

"We won't know 'til we try, I guess."

He accepted the hand that Bucky offered - the human one - and lifted himself up. The weight of gravity seemed to have tripled, attempting to drag him back down with a vengeance as soon as he was fully upright.

Bucky moved just as quickly, spare hand wrapping around his waist to keep him upright, anchoring him against his body.

Did he just - did Clint really just swoon?

What kind of disney princess shit was happening? He quickly looked around, half expecting to see cartoon birds still circling his head.

"Shit - okay." He was lowered down to the ground again. "Cap we're going to need med-evac for Barton. He can't stand."

The back of Clint's neck flushed red, "I'm fine -"

"I'll believe you when you don't fall over your own feet."

"Ask Nat, I do that all the time!"

She immediately replied, voice flat. "Don't use me as your excuse. We're coming to get you."

Clint groaned.

Bucky knelt down beside him, grabbing Clint's chin and moving him so that he could look into his eyes.

"Your pupils are a bit big - looking pale too -"

"Well you don't look too hot yourself," Clint replied, banishing all impure thoughts from his mind. This eye contact was doing something to him.

Bucky just shook his head, releasing his grip and sitting down, running a hand through his hair. "I - I'm sorry."

Clint's eyes widened, "No - I mean, you look beautiful. Not that you owe anyone to be conventionally attractive - you are though, and strong too! Not that you cant be both attractive and strong - you know, I think I'm - please just cut me off I'm losing my mind over here."

Bucky breathed a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You're a mess."

"Yeah." Clint's chest clenched. "Yeah I know."

"I was apologising for hurting you." Bucky finally clarified, "I - I'm still not fully aware of my strength I guess."

"You saved me."

"I hurt you." He repeated.

"Okay, fine. You pushed me into a wall -"

"Exactly, I -"

"And away from the mad flying man who was about to plunge a knife into my head."

Bucky just sighed, realising this was one battle he was not going to win, and looked over at Sam. Clint had forgotten the other two were still on the roof, avoiding looking over at them as his cheeks blazed. Yet another captive audience to witness Clint's never-ending embarrassment.

"Don't look at me, man." Sam said, tightening his grip as the enhanced attempted to slip from his grip, "I've got my hands full."

"Useless bird."

"Metal bitch."

The roar of the quinjet interrupted, hovering by the edge of the roof as the platform descended, Bruce rushing out.

"Help me get him up," he demanded, looping Clint's left arm over his shoulder and gesturing for Bucky to do the same on his right.

As the three of them slowly made it back to the quinjet, Steve and Wanda moved to help Sam with the enhanced.

"I'm really fine," Clint complained, "this is all unnecessary."

Natasha glared at him from her spot next to the makeshift medical corner of the quinjet, pointing at the stretcher.

Bucky backed away, dipping out from under Clint's arm as Bruce helped him on to it, immediately beginning his medical checks.

Behind him, Natasha and Bucky talked indistinctly, backs turned to him. How inconsiderate.

Bruce moved back into his line of vision, stealing back his attention. "Any pain in your head?"

"No"

"That's a lie and you damn well know it. You're bleeding."

"Oh that? Yeah I guess it's a bit sore."

"I'm only trying to help Clint. The quicker you're truthful with me the quicker I can stop trying to probe you for answers."

"Right - sorry, doc."

"Any blurred vision? Nausea? Tingling?"

"Vision was blurred but is slightly better now and yeah, but I think it's cos I'm hungry. No tingling"

Bruce frowned, "Your pupils are blown, you have no balance - you have a concussion. Seems to be a mild one, but if you get any tingling or headache you tell me right away."

Clint saluted, "Yes sir."

Bruce rolled his eyes, though his smile remained kind. "Glad you're okay, Barton."

"Likewise!"

"So, doc - how long 'til he can have that promised nap?"

Bruce huffed, "The no sleep thing is a medical myth - you just have to be sure to wake him every 3 hours to check for any new symptoms."

"Bruce, I could kiss you."

"Don't."

The two laughed as Bruce retreated to the cockpit, Bucky replacing him by his side.

"All's good?"

"Like I said, I'm fit as a damn fiddle" Clint grinned, jumping off the stretcher with flair, only to pitch sideways. Bucky's arms wrapped around him once more, keeping him upright.

"Nothing wrong, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrow unimpressed.

Clint cleared his throat, but made no effort to move. "Okay, so that's not completely true - but it's not life threatening so I'd call that a win."

Bucky laughed, "You know, I'm starting to think you just like my arms around you."

He shrugged coyly. "There are worse places to be."

Not expecting that reply, Bucky took a step back, arms loosening.

Clint immediately panicked. "I'm - that was stupid. I'm sorry."

"These arms..." Bucky trailed off, staring at his hands. "These hands. I've killed people with these hands. More than I can count -"

"You weren't in control -"

"They were still my actions. I did those things with the very arms you think -" he broke off, voice lowering to a whisper. "How can you think being in these arms is safe when you know how much blood they spilt."

Clint reached out, taking both of Bucky's hands into his. "These hands belong to you now, Buck. You're in control of them. You use them to fill out your stupid crossword puzzles - to steal my coffee. You used them today to save my life."

"I hurt you -"

"You saved me. I'd happily take a minor head wound over a stab wound any day."

"You're missing the point -"

"No. You're missing the point. You're a good person Bucky, and I'll say that as many times as it takes to make you believe me."

They stood there for a few more moments, Clint leaning against the stretcher for some support.

"Once more."

"Huh?"

Bucky finally looked up, meeting Clint's eyes. "Say it once more."

He smiled, reaching up and cupping Bucky's cheek in his hand. "You are a good person, Bucky."

"I - you'll need someone to watch over you for the next few hours..."

"It's a date." Clint smiled as Bucky's eyes widened, "You can kiss me now."

Bucky laughed, "You're bold when you're concussed."

"Hey, if I knew that I would've got a concussion earlier."

"Idiot."

Their lips finally met, smiling and warm.

They were going to be okay.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

hi bby ✨ I’m hoping to spread a little love around today (it is someone’s birthday after all — so you might see others answering this)!

I am a big fan of people enjoying cake and celebrating, and sometimes cake can be just tooting your own horn 💁‍♀️ so with that in mind, I’d love to know what THREE pieces of work you’re super proud of that you’d recommend others reading, and why 🍰

hiiiii 💞

that is such a nice thing to do 🥹

What work am I super proud of.... A very good question. According to my AO3 account I posted over 200 fics in the last 5 years so there's a lot to choose from... okay....

First up is Prey, it's my Din soulmate AU with a twist, and people should read it first, because I worked at this fic for months, it robbed my last nerve (no seriously, thinking about writing the second part still gives me anxiety lol) and plotted and tried to get out of my comfort zone with this.

second is a shitty day which I wrote after a.. shitty day and I just wanted to be comforted by a sexy man who would just hold me (don't judge me lol). Also it's one of my sadly few Matt Murdock fics

and third.... I'm gonna go with You, staring one Dave York who has a secret second family. I have been more or less constantly thinking about this Drabble ever since I posted it (and I just noticed that it isn't even in my masterlist) and I can not wait to get into writing a full length One shot for this this year.

[bylightofdawn]

Today was a long day at work. My back is just...ruining my life at this point. I thought it got better after I stopped taking the new meds but no go. I cannot even explain how much agony I am in when I wake up in the morning. I cannot even sit up. I have to kinda roll over, swing my legs in hopes I can roll to the edge of the bed. I am worried I've actually slipped a disk or something. My GP has not called me back despite my calling them three times. Tomorrow I'm gonna get nasty on the phone and demand they send me a referral for an MRI because I think I need to explore getting some cortisone shots in my back or something. Or give me the referral I asked for PT. I cannot live like this.

My evening was improved by my brother sending over the cutest video from my six year old niece asking me which MLP was my favorite. So I sent her a reply back with my bright purple/pink hair clearly visible telling her I had not seen the new MLP and we'd have to watch it when she's here next month. Which....on one hand god help me, did I just sign up to watch MLP? But on the other, quality time with my niece so I'll take it.

Now, I find myself at an impasse. I could write, I'm in the middle of writing a very fun scene with lots of verbal sparring with Walon Vau. But I also kinda want to read but my reading history is in A B S O L U T E shambles.

I've been reading a lot of Grashir the past few days but I have a couple of D&D HAT fics written by some authors who I adore like Weatherlaw who have been posting WIP's I just haven't had a chance to read yet. On top of that I have like three or four COD fics I stopped midway through because of ADD. And now I'm teetering on the edge of falling down a FR rabbit hole. Cause there's new fics in the Notorious verse which I have not read.

I also kinda lowkey want to see one angsty Jarlaxle/Zak fic where they realize maybe two centuries of separation has changed Jarlaxle and he's not the person Zak used to know and maybe they're not suited to be lovers anymore and should they maybe start as friends. Meanwhile Artemis is totally not lowkey freaking out about this super important figure in Jarlaxle's past who has shown up out of nowhere and is potentially going to upset the delicate balance of their relationship.

BUT I HAVE NOT FOUND THIS FIC SO FAR AND I AM SAD.

Not because I want to see some divisive this pairing is superior to the other so much as people change and it gives you this bittersweet realization that when you see someone you haven't seen in a decade or two and you realize despite being best of friends or maybe something else in the past, you've both changed and you need to examine your relationship and come to terms with the ghosts of that previous relationship and whether you need to redefine it and give it a new meaning.

So any enterprising fic writer out there in the FR fandom, please take my bunny and give it a good home. I don't have the time or attention span for it. Or the brain power to read the most recent books. I still have the entire Generations trilogy sitting on my kindle which I haven't read so for all I know that's been addressed in some way, shape or form.

I thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink I'm going to be good and write. I'm getting closer and closer to finishing Seeds.

I think I might actually do something super special when I finish this fucking fanfic because yanno what? I will have written essentially two full length novels or one god damned GRRM/Robert Jordan length novel by the time I finish this damned fanfic.

[lunacornfan2k24]

So this is different for everyone so feel free to take what helps and leave the rest in the garbage but for me, I usually think about what 3-10 things (depending on length) that you want to have happen in the fic then organize them into a loose timeline. This won’t be set in stone so you can add or remove things as they come up but for me it helps to get all of my ideas down (otherwise I can’t start because all of the ideas come out at once and I get overwhelmed)

I’m a “plantser” which when writing is inbetween a plotter and a pantser (those who write by the seat of the pants aka they just go) but I also like to think of it as me planting the “seeds” that are then free to grow however they want

Once you have your timeline written down, you can then add things you want to happen around or leading up to the first thing (this also doesn’t have to be linear, you can totally jump to the 3rd or 7th thing if that’s where your brain wants to focus) just make sure you write it down. If you’re doing a short fic/ one shot this step might not be necessary as you might have enough details and ideas.

I would recommend not trying to force the previous step, just let your thoughts about the plot come naturally throughout the day.

Here’s my timeline for my most popular fic. You can see that it’s pretty vague but there are some details added that I came up with (if you’ve read the fic you’ll notice that some details ended up being dropped too lol).

If you’re a plotter you might find yourself making a full detailed outline and if you’re a pantser you might find yourself throwing your timeline out after the first few scenes.

Try to have your fic start with a change to get readers hooked on your fic. Doesn’t have to be a big change but try not to take too long for the true plot to begin (aka what you included in your summary that your readers are expecting). While I don’t count the first chapter of my fic as it functioned more as a prologue, (there’s also a three year time jump) the second chapter starts the day that John juniper comes back into Phoenix’s life.

Endings are trickier but generally you want your characters to be changed in some way ex completes what they had set out to do, learned something new, made a decision, etc. It can even end on a cliff hanger as long as the characters have grown in some way. In my fic (spoilers btw) Phoenix grows to love John juniper after fake dating him for 6 months…they know that they love him so much that they would surrender themselves to zoraxis to keep him safe which is what they end up doing. I ended it on a cliff hanger, partly because I was inspired by spider-verse but also because Phoenix’s growth was done. They now know John and live him for who he is. The next part will focus on another way they grow, develop, and change.

The middle of the fic is entirely up to you. If you’d like some ideas on what could happen to help or expand your timeline I’d need some more details on the fic but this is how I plot out a fic and it’s worked out pretty well for me.

I hope this helps!

Guys do you have any writing tips for writing fanfics I need help 😭

[leah-bobeea]

Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

[fwoosheye]

This! Like here's how I think about it:

Tags are for letting me be able to search for or exclude specific content using key words. If I want to read about Bilbo getting kidnapped, but I don't want any modern au:s, I can just search for "bilbo kidnapped -modern". Most tags can go under the "other tags", but like Silver mentioned too many tags (on a short story) might make me skip it since I'll start to suspect it's tagged for things that are barely even mentioned or worse, tagged with unrelated stuff to get more hits. But for a long fic I'll just assume the tags are to help people with squicks and triggers avoid deal breaking stuff, which is a good thing imo.

When it comes to summaries... I sorry for the upcomming essay OP, I just see so many people complain about summaries I just gotta write about it again. I'll put it under a cut:

So, first of all, please, for the love of God or whatever, don't write that you're bad at summaries. Please! If you genuinely struggle with summaries, here are a few suggestions on how to make them:

If the story had been based on a prompt (if it isn't) what would the "What if?" question have been? And then one use that as a basis for the summary, eg "What if Bilbo had killed Gollum back in the Goblin Caves, how would that have affected Frodo's adventure?" and turning that into "When Bilbo found his ring, his precious, he accidentally killed its previous holder Gollum. Now, when Frodo has inherited the ring, that has unexpected consequences."

Grab a few lines from the story itself that you feel highlights what it's about (I believe it's quite common that scene/idea is also the one that made you write the whole fic, so that can also help)

Condense the entire plot/premise as much as you can and focus on the beginning + the event that gets the ball rolling. Maybe with additional "keywords/-sentences" at the end of it. So if we for example look at the Legend of Zelda - Twilight Princess that summary might look like "The Farmhand Link lives a normal farmer's life: He heards the goats, play with the village kids, fishes... but one day, the same one where he is supposed to make a delivery to the Castle, the Village kids are kidnapped by monsters, and as he rushes after them he is dragged into a dark world and transformed into a blue-eyed beast. Follow Link as he tries to restore light to the land and save the children. And just who is his new impish companion?" Or it could be something like "When the village kids are kidnapped by monsters Link rushes after them only to be turned into a wolf by dark magic, and an imp called Midna blackmails him into helping her". Like there are tons of different ways you could make a summary of that game, and there are certainly better summaries, but that doesn't mean mine isn't good enough. It gives you a sense of understanding of what it's about and that's what matters

Remember that a summary doesn't need to include every little detail. You're presenting the major plot and vibes, maybe a side plot if it's big, but we don't need to know what happens near the end. We want to know if the genre is adventure/horror/romance/etc and what the main trope(s) will be. Those are the most important things to show in the summary

The length of the summary matters less to me. On ffn you had to be a bit more creative as there was a pretty tight limit on how many characters you could use to the summary (which often resulted in a "full summary inside" which should only be used in combination with a small summary imo). But on ao3 you don't really have that issue, so a long as I get a clear idea of what it will be about I don't care much about how long the summary is. If the summary is super long and I still don't get what the main point/plot of it is though, I might assume the story is "messy" and/or that the author doesn't have any idea of what to do with the story (assuming it's not a collection of one-shots, then I get maybe wanting a longer summary to summarise common themes).

When it comes to titles... okay they're hard. Som be titles are more enticing than others but I have no good way of explaining what makes a good title or not. Proper Capitalisation though is usually an indication that the fic itself will be well formatted for me, so that might help tip the scale if I'm unsure if I want to read something or not. Also always really cool to see the title being quoted by characters and giving it a really heavy weight or a new cool meaning. So I guess looking for cool quotes in a fic that also tells/ hints something about what it contains can be helpful?

So, uh, I guess the TL:DR would be that a long as the tags and the summary are relevant for the story I don't really care about how long they are.

I'm going to be reworking some of my AO3 summaries. I want to get a better idea of what makes people want to read an AO3 story for the first time.

[hrina]

Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here. 

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised​, @gucciwoodnymph​, @poppunkdork​ and @atlafan​! i appreciate it so much! 

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

     September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just—just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

     September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really—a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

     October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

     October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

     October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,”  Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

     October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

[the-blind-assassin-12]

writer wednesday #15 - 09/07/2022

Happy first Wednesday in September, friends!! I hope you’re all enjoying the last rays and days of summer. This week’s recs ended up being an impromptu Ezra extravaganza - which if you know me at all should not come as a surprise - so prospect people get ready to feast. Here are three great Ezra pieces that I read this week:

*as always, this list is ordered by length*

Screaming Mimis by @insomniamamma

Ezra x Female Reader (Artichoke!)

Part of the Prickle ‘verse (<3) 

WC: 643

First of all, THANK YOU for answering my question in such a fun way! I’m glad that Artichoke got to have a (good natured) laugh at Ezra’s expense here. Seeing that scared shitless “we are about to be mercilessly mauled by vicious feral rock cats!” look on his face, but knowing that everything is fine and everyone is safe and there is actually no danger? Yeah, I’d burst out laughing, too. It would also 110% make me fall even more in love with him, which I didn't think was possible but here we are. Especially because for this trio its usually Ezra who’s in the know about whatever planet or moon they’re on. And, as always, spot on Cee here. If they had 5 points for every time that girl has rolled her eyes at the two of them, none of them would have to harvest anything ever again. Gosh, I love them. 

This Untitled Fic by @archive-of-note

Ezra x Reaper!Reader

A beautiful scene retelling/ different POV

WC: 794

WOW. This was gorgeous. Ethereal and somewhat melancholy, but at the same time comforting and warm and just beautiful. I love the characterization of this Death/Reaper/Reader character as kind and loving rather than frightening and cruel. The fact that Ezra asks them to stay - even knowing what they are - really illustrates how accepting he is of his fate, and how at ease the presence of this otherworldly being makes him. I love the way that Cee is peripherally mentioned in this almost as the embodiment of Free Will and Choice. The thought that maybe Ezra wasn’t alone before Cee showed up at the tent, that maybe he was visited by a calming, guiding spirit, is one that makes me feel all teary eyed and warm inside. Thank you for writing and sharing this with all of us. I will be thinking about this one for a while. 

Root Pearl: Part 1 by @something-tofightfor

Ezra x Female Reader

Musician AU (!!!)

WC: 8.5k

So something that happens every single time I read one of your stories, whether its a one shot or a series like this one is, is that when I get to the end I can actually feel myself getting dumped back into reality and it feels like I’m being forced to leave my favorite place before I want to go. THATS how powerful your world building and descriptions and characterizations and plots are. And this story is WAY UP THERE in terms of how wholly it has swept me up, even though we’re still just getting started. This story has a lot of darkness and angst hued undertones, but at the same time its full of hope and the way that you balance those things is really masterful. The relationship between Ezra and Cee is so believable real and I can feel how much they care about one another. Reader and the way that she is reaching out to Cee (and Ezra) is so genuine and kind - this is the kind of story that shows you that even though terrible things might happen, and terrible people exist, there are still good people and bright moments to look forward to. The passage I chose to highlight here - along with Ezra’s email to Reader - were my favorite parts of this chapter, because they both made me feel really warm and hopeful and... I know there is still some darkness on the horizon for them. But I am so excited for what they might be able to have if they all can get through it. Thank you for creating and sharing this AU with us - it is something very special. 

[anosrepasi]

hi!!! hope you're doing well <3

fate lines or kintsukuroi for the ask game? :D

hello!! I'm busy but well and hopefully you're also having a good end to the year??

You get a bit of both cause why not :) Put under a read more for length just cause of the snippet lengths:

Fate Lines originally started out as a reincarnation au for Mass Effect with the premise being that the purpose of reincarnation is to have you experience lives you haven't lived before so my first draft started off with this snippet:

----

She’s tired.

It’s here, listening to the reaper construct rattle on in front of her that it hits her. She’s so tired.

Her eyes focus back on to the AI in front of her, made to look like a kid as if that’ll be the death that breaks her. Broke her. If the reapers wanted to play mind games they would have chosen Kaiden, or Legion, or Morden or-

No. She won’t think about that option.

Doesn’t stem the sudden panic that fills her though. She could picture it perfectly- the hologram of a kid stretching out in front of her until it’s taller than she is, standing in attention and his-its, its only a machine not a person, not him- hands linked behind his back the way he would wait patiently in the life support room-

A quiet twitch of his lips into a smile when she opened the door- Siha

No. They didn’t know, otherwise they would have actually left a mark with their mental war games.

The construct in front of her stills and Shepard realizes it’s waiting for a response.

“So these are my options.”

The hologram nods.

Sara feels the wait on her shoulders pull down and double. At the end of the line and still forced to make the calls and all she wants is to finally sleep.

She can’t do that though, can she?

So she walks forward and she raises her gun.

Her shots ring out as she shoots into the conduit and the machine before of her starts to bulk under the stress, pockets of gas escaping and hissing as her bullets shatter through the metal casing. A few more shots and she can sleep. A few more shots and she can go home to him, across whatever sea he believed would be standing by when she finally found him again.

Her next shot hits something important in the machine in front of her and it explodes.

The flames rush towards her and Shepard feels the breath knocked out of her as the shock wave knocks her back.

Sara Shepard closes her eyes and with the next explosion never knows if she hit the pavement.

—

2.537 million light years away and 600 years later, Zara Ryder is clinically dead for 22 seconds.

Against the odds, she wakes up.

----

Since then, the fic has actually come to focus way more on the ME trilogy aspect of the fic and has become the home for my version of Shepard that Cerberus did not actually manage to resurrect completely and who is thus experiencing all the events of ME2 onwards with a body that's shutting down on her. Which. I think would be an absolutely fascinating play through of ME? You're doing whatever it takes to save the universe but yeah no it's not going to be for you. I would love to actually get all of this au into a fic someday but for the most part it just lives as a half written tragedy in my head.

alright moving on:

Kintsukuroi!

I might actually want to rewrite Kint some day. I started it in 2015 shortly after the game came out and ooof. Writing ability has improved tremendously since then. If I ever get back into Fallout 4 I think I'd like to take a shot at it again some day.

My fun fact of that fic is my favorite chapter I've written for it takes place in the buried church full of ghouls in the glowing sea. That chapter kind of cemented the OT3 Vibe for Sole/Valentine/Hancock and was surprisingly the best way I could get the guys to uh, fucking talk to each other, after who knows how long.

My second fun fact is that I set the fic up so that Shep is doing the Silver Shroud missions and the Big Dig quest at the same time. Hancock thinks it's hilarious. Hancock does not think it's hilarious when people kidnap one of his citizens and his store room is being broken into at the same time because now it's incredibly inconvenient and becomes a goodneighbor issue. I thought it'd be a really fun way of exploring Hancock's recruitment. Thank you so much for the ask and hopefully you got some enjoyment out of these comments and the snippet from Fate Lines :)

[ugh-againwiththenames]

So Many Fanfics So Little Time

This is just my list, I have seen so many (but if you want to use it it’s all yours too!).  I’m not a writer.  But I am a hell of a reader. Voracious one might argue. I just wanted to track my progress through the weeds of the absolutely never ending supply of Destiel and Cockles fanfic. 

Read on if you want to see what I’ve read, and what I’ve thought. I am but one person with opinions - some of them may be unpopular - some of them you might agree with, but if you find something you haven’t read here, I encourage you to do so. 

Honestly, this is just so I can track what I have read already, and when my friends ask, I can reference something easily. I have found some different fics on all kinds of ‘best of’ lists all over the interwebs. And I love recs - so rec away friends. 

As someone who reads a solid 40 novels a year typically, I don’t come by the “I read a lot” innocently. I do actually read a LOT.  When not reading fanfic (a new obsession, all things being fair), I usually read a lot of Fantasy/high fantasy, romance/erotica, and or YA (yeah, that was a bit of a ride no?).  So from this one might digress that I like fluffy, cute stories, complicated and supernatural/paranormal type stories, and I sure do not shy away from violence or smut (or maybe violence with smut? *smirk*). 

I have read all of these in the last 2-3 months (I will continue to add as I go). I had never read a fanfic until 2-3 months ago.  A lot of these wonderful people are on here, and I mean you no offence by not directly tagging you - I’m still learning how to actually properly use this site. Links to AO3 are included (and I love you all). 

These aren’t necessarily in any real order - I did read T&S first, followed by 91W, and 4LW...after that it’s just a shit show of Long or Short, Destiel or Cockles - smorgasbord. Some of these are the most popular Fics out there, and others I’ve never seen recc’d anywhere (just sort of accidentally happened upon them).  So let’s get to it, shall we? 

Twist and Shout - ok look. I understand the stigma associated with this one, but it was the FIRST one I read. It was the ball that shot me down the hill, and I haven’t stopped since. So. I loved it. I CRIED like a baby. SOBBED. It was not the quality of the writing but the way the story was developed and delivered. I have Never Cried Like This Reading a Story IN MY LIFE. It’s a rite of passage. Read It and have an opinion - it doesn’t need to be mine.  

Author(s): gabriel, standbyme   https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876/chapters/955188

Ninety-One Whiskey - aka 91W, it is mentioned so much, and is SO worth the read.  I continued my dive into the war fics (not typically my bag really and here I was reading 2 in a row).  There are a couple of followup stories as well to this series (and yes, I’ve read them all).  Although I’ll say that the original is my favourite. I often got lost in a bit of the War/Tactical descriptions, but would recommend it to anyone anyway. Ugh...the “stolen moments”...they were at the same time tragic and the most amazing things ever.  You feel me? no? go read it. 

Author:  komodobits   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362190/chapters/5214500

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - aka 4LW.  OMG just, OMG. I loved this story. I loved it so much. I think I read it in a day.  Devoured it. It’s so HOT. Just read it. If you haven’t you’re missing out.  LEMME AT IT. I loved “knowing the secret”, and had some major anxiety about that realization dawning (I had to take a breath, and be like, no, no, this is gonna be a mess, but it’s gonna be SO GOOD - I was not disappointed).  There’s more than one work here too - read them all. PLEASE. 

Author: bendingsignpost  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) - This was the first Sobs one I read, but it sent me on a spree.  this is the Memory Loss one.  I have one piece of advice here - read everything by Sobsicles. You can thank me later...just go to her page, and fucking sort to supernatural (or not, read it all!) I’d list them but I’d fucking seriously be here all day.  Also, her tags make me laugh so hard.

Author:  sobsicles https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Orpheus - I love this one too, Tattooed!Cas, my LOVE. paired with Mechanic!Dean, my HEART, #help.  Read this one in one evening as well. (I was on a roll).  It’s a one night stand that turns into more (much like my last relationship)....hmm...maybe this is why I was pulled in - although to be fair that is the last similarity to my shitty love life! I do not remember how I stumbled onto this one (tattooed Cas may have been the draw...tbh). Read the warnings though, there is some triggering stuff in this one - but if you can handle it, it’s definitely worth the read. 

Author: sysrae       https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364347/chapters/5220227

Have Love, Will Travel - Can you say no to Stripper!Dean? Cause I sure as hell cannot. Typical sort of character development here with Dean having trust issues, and Cas being painfully awkward...(but in like a super cute way?).  Would Recommend. 

Author: squeemonster   https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses - Change of pace here...It’s got a nice twist.  I didn’t actually clue into how it was going to end until very near the end (maybe I was being oblivious), when the realization came over me and I was...man. I was DONE IN.  I hope that doesn’t spoil (I need some kind of way of remembering them). Voiceless!Cas Hunter!Dean

Author: Askance (doomcountry)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Adagio - This is super short, and super cute. Honestly, I would read the whole thing just for the last line. It’ll take you less than an hour if I remember correctly. Go, I’ll wait. I squeeed. did you? 

Author: noangelsinthegarrison   https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397248/chapters/2928145

Any Little Heartache - super easy read (not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’ll fly through it’ way).  It’s mid-length, not graphic, but really fun hospital AU. HeartSurgeon!Dean / Nurse!Cas - enemies to lovers anyone? Fuck you to Fuck me? yeah. YUM. 

Author: followthattardis https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143376/chapters/11838311

Ad Astra - This is another short(ish) one, just one chapter.  And by that I mean that this is written like a very long poem. Cas as a star who has visited Dean many times over the years of his life, that culminates in 4x01 barn scene. It’s ‘awe’ sad. ‘puppy dog eyes’ sad. The writing format took me a bit to understand what was happening - it’s my lack of poetry knowledge, not the writing.  

Author: nhixxie https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Ad Astra Per Aspera - This is a cute story.  ESL writer, no judgement.  I found this while looking for the one above, and thought the premise looked cute - and it was. Misunderstanding leading to Dean realizing he’s actually Bi.  Miscommunication leading to realization.  

Author: Riverchester https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354336/chapters/28101816

Psalm 40:2 - Time travel post-canon Cas and Pre-series Dean.  If you’re wondering how that works, strap in for this ride, it’s well worth it. 

Author: unicornpoe https://archiveofourown.org/works/30786425/chapters/75992444

Addicted to You - Warlock!Dean/Incubus!Cas - accidental ‘mating’ (I actually really don’t like that word, but there’s sort of no avoiding it in this situation). Cute story.  When you drunk dial a succubus and get an incubus instead...Whatever will we do? 

Author: Ltleflrt https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346/chapters/9959288 

A Glimpse Beyond - End Fix-it. Not yet complete, 10 chapters so far...I want MORE! Reliving memories Dean/Cas & Sam/Eileen.   

Author: NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731689/chapters/67875925

Cas-ti-el - Please I want more...It’s like the story just started. Please write more of this story!! 1 chapter, it’s a trope prompt challenge, but I want it to be a full on story of its own. Imprinted names of their soul mates, Dean doesn’t understand his (because it’s in a different language)...I’m frustrated by wanting this story to keep going. 

Author:  Valinde (Valyria)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941591

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light - another short one. Not going to lie, this one took a little getting used to, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it too much for the sole purpose that the premise gave me the willies.  Cas has to vessel jump - ends up in Sam...I got through it, it had a good ending, but yeah, sorry. This just wasn’t for me. 

Author:  obstinatrix  https://archiveofourown.org/works/260289

Peanut Butter Pumpkin Wedding Cake - Waiter!Dean / Writer!Cas - This is so effing cute, just misunderstanding after misunderstanding bumbling around like the couple of dorks that they are. It’s only one chapter. 100% would recommend. 

Author:  Sparseparsley https://archiveofourown.org/works/223962

Destiel, Actually - This is another super cute story, 5 chapters. Gabriel playing a singular role in putting Dean and Cas in awkward positions to push them together.  I fucking DIED at “oh, I am the sub” - needs context, but I guarantee you that you’ll laugh out loud...

Author:  Bexism  https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934/chapters/658398

The Smell Before the Rain - This was my first A/B/O - a big apology to all those who are into mpreg and whatnot, this was my lesson that I am not. this was not for me. Also - I’m a firm Cas (Alpha/Dom) believer, and i’m good with switch Cas, but it’s hard for me to take him being the full Omega here, when paired with the rest I just couldn’t do it. I finished it, but, not my thing. I know now. 

Author: jscribbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230/chapters/53406127

Crazy Diamonds - This is another short one, only 3 chapters - it’s a body swap for Dean, 4x02 him and 2018 him swap places (assumption that 2018 him is “with” Cas).  It’s a super cute little story. 

Author:  pantheon_of_discord https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151642/chapters/37738631

The Breath of All Things - Wheelchair!Dean / Volunteer!Cas.  This is a lovely story, typical Dean self-hatred etc. Triggering for those with suicide warnings. It had me in tears at the end. There’s a really spectacular quote near the end that I found so romantic I screen grabbed it. 

Author:  KismetJeska https://archiveofourown.org/works/994750/chapters/1967519

Kind of a Forever Deal - SummerCamp!AU This is just a really cute and fluffy summer camp AU.  Which is so different from 91W (That’s right, check the author)! I was a little disappointed with the ending, but otherwise really enjoyed this all the way through and was loving all the discovery and young characterizations of all the characters. 

Author: komodobits https://archiveofourown.org/works/999291/chapters/1978478

Everytown, USA - Best way I can break this one down? Wanderer!Dean (listless and without a place in the world, he ends up in a small town...), Twin!Cas (that leads to some fun things). There are a number of points where you’re gonna yell at Dean for doing stupid shit (that are very much in character for him to do), you think, well, yes, obviously you’re going to do that you silly fucking boy [affectionate]; but whyyy? (but we know). 

Author: aileenrose https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797559/chapters/3854836

Chalk and Chainmail - HighSchool!AU, Cas is an artist, Dean LARP’s - it’s cute and angsty. 

Author:  lemonsorbae https://archiveofourown.org/works/804704/chapters/1517551

A Little Patience - Ok. you want smut? This is your story. You want Kink? This is your story.  I actually did not finish this. It got a little carried away in my opinion. It was VERY panty kink oriented (which, while essentially canon isn’t really my kink) so, if you want that Panty Kink on full display? Go forth and enjoy! it  is thirty something chapters, I got to the mid-twenties I Think. 

Author: riseofthefallenone https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058/chapters/3739232

Control - I REALLY ENJOYED THIS. Which is saying a lot for someone who has already admitted that a Subby Cas isn’t really my HC - so to so thoroughly enjoy a Sub!Cas story? (maybe it’s the tattooes...*wink*). It’s an AU where Cas is the head of a company - Dean is a callboy I guess, for lack of a better term. Just read it.

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31156601/chapters/76993217

More (I copy pasted the next lot from my google doc, I’ll flush them out later - no i wont...)

Teach Me (short) - movie night in the bunker, things get a little carried away   Author:  Chiyume  https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327

You Light the Spark (in my bonfire heart) (short) - when cas doesn't realize that dean is unaware of his feelings, super short, super cute                      Author: noangelsinthegarrison https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193910 

Communication Breakdown (short/cockles) - dean ends up in Jensen's head while he films the confession scene, no sexual content Author: jujubiest   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Look What You Made Me Do (short/cockles) -      -  Vegas Con 2020 / jensen comes out with a song     - cute short - no sexual content Author:  green_blue_heller https://archiveofourown.org/works/30251592 Full House (short/cockles) - reimagined version of the rented house story - putting it in order (so to speak). funny / cute / fluffy not explicit   Author: n_nami  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30855827

Cyber Sex (short/cockles) - anastiel https://archiveofourown.org/works/31467086      - shameless post GISH Fest zoom call porn      - Short (very short)

It's Complicated (cockles) - gail_morgan https://archiveofourown.org/works/31434938/chapters/77747519       The GISHtake (short/cockles) - MellyCrazyCoconut https://archiveofourown.org/works/31508099     - cute short post GISH zoom     - oops "babe, really?"  

(10.02.2021 updated) Since last update: New reads - Fuck i’m gonna be here all day - there’s not gonna be as much gonna be NO detail in these breakdowns...sorry! This has now just become a “what i’ve read list” as opposed to a Rec list...

Love, All Alike (Pt. 1 Love, All Alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599/chapters/10370646                             - Though The Stars Walk Backward (pt 2 Love, All alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves

And this, your living kiss - opal_bullets   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927/chapters/42744872

Come On, Let's Strike a Match (Domination and Submission: a love story pt 1) - anyrei & queerwerewolf ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722478/chapters/62458810    - Playing With Fire (D&S: a love story pt 2)    - We Kiss and the Flames Get Higher (D&S: a love story pt 3)     - Sparking That Old Flame (D&S: a love story pt 4) 

Cinderwings - bendingsignpost Cinderella!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847041/chapters/29336421

Linden - fleeceframe Swan!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33126730/chapters/82236118

No Netflix, No Chill (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764966

Can't Drink You Away (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785792 

Jensen Totally (Does Not!) Snore (short RPF) - Dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30315717

Dean Ships It (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349434

All about control - wingless   https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151930/chapters/20791243

Aesthetics in Autoerotica (pt 1 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885544                                                             - The Ties that Bind (pt 2 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant

Let's take a drive - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32581027/chapters/80819581 

Enchanted ink - castielslostwings TattooArtist!Dean TattooArtist!Castiel AU ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043622/chapters/55109530

The bones beneath our skin - darknessbound   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633754/chapters/59515804

The Plot (RPF) - Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795588/chapters/6274970

The Gentle Force with which you Take Me (RPF) - Phoenix_Ascended   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32110120/chapters/79549183

According to all known laws of Life (Pt. 1 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207901                                                          - and he's back (with a mind of his own) (pt. 2 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles

Six hundred sundays (and many more) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31158776

Aching in the Absence of you - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832977/chapters/78811378

gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable) (Short) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32203291

memories bring back memories (bring back you) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Dream Come True (short) - bendingsignpost   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071159

tall grass - aeli_kindara   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127040/chapters/30030726

asunder (Short) - rageprufrock https://archiveofourown.org/works/62115

Apheresis - bendingsignpost BloodDonor!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32674783/chapters/81056680

we always were but never knew it - frightfullyrude   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32698324/chapters/81119503

In this Louisiana Bar (Short) - fleeceframe   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31764487

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Alternate Universes - n_nami   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32687929/chapters/81092785

my heart a compass - lagaudiere https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629951

Unsound Inverses - sp8ce (not complete)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836881/chapters/73413300

The Jensen Mistake (RPFish) - fellshish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950169

tell me about the dream (Pt. 1 Kids are coming home) - playedwright   https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984813/chapters/68544450

It's handy to know (FIMMF Themed ;)) - RosaMarloes   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31761322

So Says The Sword - komodobits AngelTrueform!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597892/chapters/28695592

Communication Breakdown (RPFish)- darkshrimpemotions (jujubiest)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Carry You Home - Casloveshisfreckles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637/chapters/65862916

In the Shadow of your Wings - Enochian Things (Salr323)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531294/chapters/17121655

When Harry Met Sally (RPF) (Pt. 1 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622347/chapters/17351845    - Eight Dildos (RPF) (Pt. 2 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood    - Attention, Please (RPF) (Pt. 3 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood             - Boat Trip (RPF) (Pt. 4 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood

A Winter's Tale - NorthernSparrow   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654327/chapters/5930561

A Close Shave - NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090167

r/supernatural - renrub (short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626783

sam reads destiel fics - rebshome (short - funny!)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721624

Angel Cookies - noxsoulmate Chirstmas!AU **  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729640/chapters/26427765

Under The Midnight Sun - NorthernSparrow Arctic!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690645/chapters/39143677

Bron-Yr-Aur - mrbluesky (Short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225335

The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet - saltyfeathers   https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258594/chapters/45800209

The Meaning On My Skin - saltnhalo   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005378/chapters/42538133

Red Right Hand (Pt. 1 Murder Ballads)  - Duckyboos   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306110/chapters/9760008    - Are you the One that I've been waiting for? (pt. 2 Murder Ballads) - Duckyboos   

Riptides - sharkfish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230426/chapters/30263556

Damn Fine Ride - Cimorene105 (pt 1 - rodeo) Cowboy!AU** (I’m a horse girl, sue me...)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342340    - My Face Just Does This, Sometimes - Cimorene105 (pt. 2 rodeo)    - The Kinkiest Thing I've Ever Done- Cimorene105 (pt 3 rodeo)    - All Signs Point to Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 4 rodeo)    - Monster Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 5 rodeo)    - My Man, The Siren - Cimorene105 (pt. 6 rodeo)    - A Pain in My Ass - Cimorene105 (pt. 7 rodeo)

Astrolabe (terra incognita pt 1) - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812/chapters/7326794    - Drollery (terra incognita pt 2) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent    - Rubrication (terra incognita pt 3) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent

Go Down With This Ship - PorcupineGirl   https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642/chapters/18370474

Fire and Ice - Castielslostwings (Firefighter/Paramedic AU!) **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286295/chapters/55768486

The Structural Similarities of Hunters and Onions - Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound (Short)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33383101

Castiel Novak's Office, This is Dean - emmbrancsxx0   https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411336/chapters/53545840

Out of the Deep (out of the deep pt. 1) - riseofthefallenone - MERMAID AU! **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx - pantheon_of_discord   https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909440/chapters/24256989

I'll Be Good - LittleAngelCassie   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118334/chapters/9282234

Kenosis - CastielsCarma (Short - part of Destiel ABC collection)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720

[steppingonoranges]

Hi there. Hello. I’ve never done a fic rec before, but I’ve found myself taking a little stroll (deep dig) into my fic memory lately. This post is the magnificent result. Many of my faves disappeared together with 1DFF but there’s more than plenty left.

I know there’s a lot of amazing stuff being written and posted right now, but I’ve put together more of a throwback to all my favourite fics from the past. 

So, below is a long list of absolutely brilliant fics for any and all to read, please enjoy and let the writers know, active or not. You never know who checks in and might see it!! x

Everything is in alphabetical order, sorted into length-based categories: Full length, Minis and One shots. Some things aren’t finished, and might or might never be, but they are oh so worth it anyway. It’s mostly Harry fics, but there might be one or two Niall ones in there... Enjoy!! 

FULL LENGHT

A Rhapsody of Sorts by @silverglass​​

Bloom and mini-sequel Eyes Closed by @absolutestyles​​

Bloom by @nebulastyles​​

Bring It Back by @paynethecreator​​

Come and Fade Me by @paynethecreator​​ (Not Complete)

Crooked Heart by @nebulastyles​​

Curious Minds by @adoremp3​​ (Hiatus)

Dandelion & Burdock and sort-of sequel Face With A View by @stylesprimes​​

Disconnected by @afitzgeraldfic​​

Forever Hold You Peace by @cheesewithchips​​​ (Not Complete)

Gold Dust by @wlidhearts​​ (Not Complete) 

Golden Hour and sequel Young Blood by @standingfacingwest​​

Journey Man and Bloom, A Journeyman Novella by @littlebird006​​

Just Anchor and Hope and When We Sink, We Float by @justanchorandhope​​

La Douleur Exquise by @pomene​​ (Not Complete)

Lightheaded by @sicknostalgia​​ (Not Complete)

Nom De Plume by @stylesprimes​​​

Oh, Arizona by @harktheharold​​ (Not Complete)

Oxford Comma by @adoremp3​​​

Perfect Teeth by @stylesmoothie​​​

Res Ipsa Loquitur by @bioluminescentwriting​​

Salute by @bioluminescentwriting​

Slow Burn by @allywrites​​

Someday, Someday and sequel Twenty Good Reasons by @beautifulletdownfics​​

Spit Fire by @showingthroughtome​​​

Such Great Heights by @adoremp3​​​ (Not Complete) 

Sugar on the Asphalt and sequel Tennessee Teacakes by @justanchorandhope​​​

The Double Plaid by @wokeuptired​​​

With The New Crowd by @likeamisfit​​​

Youth Decay by @likeamisfit​​​

MINI

Above Average by @roselirry​​

A History In Rust by @wokeuptired​​

Alone Together and post-AT ficlet Alive with Closed Eyes by @nebulastyles​​​

Around My Bones by @lifesbetterasamermaid​​

Burning Daylight and mini-sequel Sun On The Rise by @abejas-fic​​​

Do Not Go Gentle and prequel Into That Good Night by @abejas-fic​​​

Harry’s Song (Oh My My My) by @paynethecreator​​​

If You Give A Boy A Ballpoint by @harktheharold​​​

In The Wee Small Hours by @bioluminescentwriting​​​

Long Time Gone by @sicknostalgia​​​

Novelty Jumpers and sequel An Exact Shade of Maroon by @afitzgeraldfic​​

Past Lives by @sicknostalgia​​​

Sangria On Your Lips by @marisa-writes​​​

Screaming Color and sequel You And I Need To Have A Little Patience by @wokeuptired​​

Sit Back (And Watch The World Go By) by @soysauceharry​​ (Not Complete)

Space Oddity by @bioluminescentwriting​​​

Strangeness and Charm and Flickers by @nebulastyles​​​ (Psychics series)

Stardust & Silk by @ineffably-styles​​​

You, The Ocean and Me by @wokeuptired​​​

ONE SHOT

All My Friends (Say This Ain’t Love) by @northernsunrises​​​

All Questions Aside by @calloween/@rebexciting

Business and Pleasure by @justanchorandhope​​

Freckled Constallations by @beggingforfics​​​

Friday Nights by @cheesewithchips​​

Lead Me Home by @abejas-fic​​

My Heart’s For You, It Lies Awake by @embloomfields​​​

Pinch Your Nose by @whisperedexplosions​​

Sweet Nothing by @afitzgeraldfic​​

That Time With The Couch and second installment That Other Time With The Couch by @imsrybitw​​

The Misfortune of Knowing You by @wokeuptired​​​

These Days by @stylesprimes​​​

Tick by @adoremp3​​​

Under The Influence by @1dable​​

We Could Just Pretend There’s Nothing On My Mind by @aninnerchaos​​

[willwriteforhugs]

it’s not okay- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst, a little fluffy, full of hyunjin-is-overprotective-syndrome

synopsis: when a stranger on the street makes you uncomfortable with his romantic advances, it takes everything hyunjin has not to kill him right then and there.

warnings: instance of harassment, a *brief* physical altercation, arguing, some cursing

a/n: this fic was requested by a lovely anon! sorry about the wait- i hope you and everyone else enjoy this one. i definitely got carried away with this, but hopefully it’s still what was requested lol. also, if you all have any other requests, feel free to send them in. i like to know i’m writing what you all want to see.

one last thing: a quick disclaimer- all of the events in this story are fictional, and should be taken with a grain of salt. everything that happens here is just my own interpretation of the situation i was presented with. anyways, thank you sm for reading! 

- - - 

the streets around you bustle with noise. mothers calling for their wandering children, street vendors shouting out prices... the sheer volume of it almost overwhelms you. at your side, your right hand tightens around your boyfriend’s. the last thing you want is to lose him in the crowd... he gives you a gentle squeeze back. words weren’t exchanged, but you understand what he meant: it’s okay, i’m right here.

you really are not a fan of crowds- you never have been, but hyunnie loves the market- and you do too, when it isn’t this packed. but he’s been so busy lately,  and the two of you hardly get to go on dates anymore... so when he’d proposed this as how he wanted to spend the afternoon, you couldn’t help but agree to it.

you glance up at him, thankful for the opportunity of distraction. you and hyunjin have been together for more than six months now- and god, you have never been more in love. you’d been in love before- or at least, you think you had. but being with hyunjin... it’s just not the same. the feelings you have for him are ten times the feelings you’d had for anyone back in high school. of course, maybe it’s just because he’s so damn beautiful...

today, for a simple market day, your counterpart is dressed casually. he’s in a plain hoodie and jeans, with his shoulder length hair tucked into a beanie. his face is bare, and you can’t help but smile just by looking at him. 

your boyfriend smiles back, looking slightly baffled. “is there something on my face?”

you snort and shake your head. “i can’t just look at you?”

he narrows his eyes playfully. “absolutely not. it makes me suspicious.”

you roll your eyes. “you spend too much time with the boys. i’m not gonna flick you, you know.” you pause. “or shove tissues in your mouth.”

at this, hyunjin huffs a laugh. “alright, that one’s true.”

hyunjin then leads you into a left turn, heading towards a vendor selling fresh hotteok. you follow willingly, realizing that you are indeed a bit hungry. as always, he knew exactly what you needed before even you did.

as your boyfriend places an order, you wander a few feet, wanting to glance into the stall next to you. in order to do so, you have to slip behind the first stall, into a small alleyway that borders the back part of the vendor lines. you peer over into the stall you were looking for. they’re selling handmade dishes- and from what you can see as you strain you neck over the stall, they’re absolutely gorgeous. dainty tea sets made of impossibly thin porcelain line the tables. the intricate floral designs catch your eye, and you know hyunjin would love to look at them. you turn quickly, mouth already forming his name.

“hyunjin-ah, i- oh!” you interrupt yourself with your surprise. in your rush, you’d turned around and run right into another person. your face floods with heat, and if you could, you would have shriveled up and died right there.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble, bowing frantically. you eyes burn holes into the ground. “i wasn’t paying attention.”

“it’s fine, really.” a masculine voice replies. 

you look up, shocked to see that the person you’d run into is a man, and he looks to be around your age. “oh. okay.”

the man is tall- taller than hyunjin, even. he’s got an angry look to him, and you take a step back. but he just smirks. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

he leans against the wall, crossing his arms together. you watch as his eyes rake over you and your body, and you shrink away.

you press your lips together, and the anxiety from before begins to claw it’s way back into your mind. “it’s fine, seriously.” your breathing is uneven, and you desperately want to get back to hyunjin. “but i kinda have to go...”

the man, who is blocking your way, doesn’t budge. “so soon? why don’t you stay and talk with me? you’re so cute, i just gotta get your number, babe.”

your body jerks in reaction to the pet name. who the hell is he calling baby?

you inhale sharply. “please- can i just get by? i’m really alright.”

the stranger takes a step towards you. “come on, why are you so shy? it’s harmless flirting, love...” he reaches out and takes a hold of your wrist. your facade crumbles, and your vision begins to close. you become hyper-aware of how alone you are back in this alleyway. you quickly jerk your hand back, and he relents, freeing your hand. “so jumpy! why? how about we go get a coffee? i know a place, it’s just ten booths-”

“who the hell are you?”

the voice is sharp and temperamental, and beautifully familiar. you hear yourself breathe a sigh of relief. hyunjin's here. thank god.

your boyfriend is now standing a few feet away, sporting an expression of anger and wariness. his eyes flit to the man, then to you. though he doesn’t say it, you can practically hear his voice, asking if you’re okay.

the strange man- who is still standing far too close- speaks up, voice brimming with cockiness. “why do you care?”

you physically cringe at those words. good luck with that one, dude. you just threw gasoline on an open flame.

“get the fuck away from my girlfriend.” hyunjn’s voice is low, but the impact of the words is louder than bombs. his face has gone from wary to furious. “don’t make me say it again.”

the creep takes a step away from you, moving towards hyunjin. “why are you so pissy, pretty boy? got that much to lose?”

you can see the clockwork in your boyfriend’s mind turning. calculating the outcomes. 

before anyone can move to stop you, you dart across the apparent no-man’s-land, coming to a stop at hyunjin’s left shoulder. you reach out and rest a hand on it, hoping the action conveys your feelings. when he doesn’t respond, you lean forward and hurriedly whisper in his ear; “please, hyunjin-ah. i’m alright. let’s just go.”

the boy brushes your hand away, and maintains his silence.

“hyunjin.” you say, louder this time. “it’s okay.”

this time, his narrowed eyes flash. “what-no! it’s not okay!” he swivels to face you. “what about that was okay?!”

your chest clenches, and your hand slips forward to clutch at his shirt. your voice comes out cracked. “please, let’s just go.”

the stranger watches the whole interaction with an amused smile on his lips, and the looks sends chills up your spine.

after a moment, hyunjin takes a deep breath and raises his chin. “you’re right, y/n-ah, i’m sorry. let’s just go, my love.”

as the two of you turn to go, the stranger shouts at hyunjin’s retreating back. “where are you going? i didn’t even get your bitch’s number!”

your skin goes cold, and you can feel your boyfriend turn to stone next to you. you inhale, reaching out to stop what you know is inevitable. 

hyunjin makes a slow turn on his heel. his gaze is icy, and his tone is even colder. “what the hell did you just say?”

the other man scoffs, and it randomly occurs to you that he might be drunk. or, you think; maybe he’s just a pervert, y/n. 

“i said, i didn’t get your bitch’s phone number.”

hyunjin is silent and frozen for a moment. then, with no preamble, he lunges forward. 

“hyunjin!” you yelp. but you know- you know there’s no stopping what’s next.

his punch hits the man square in the jaw, and his opponent goes stumbling. you lurch forward, terrified of this escalating. 

without looking, hyunjin catches you with his arm and gently shoves you back. 

he refocuses on the man on the ground, who is struggling to get up. when he gets close, hyunjin pushes him back down. you watch as he comes to a crouch in front of the fallen man. he hisses his words through his teeth: “don’t you ever say that shit. calling my girlfriend a bitch... unless you want to get your poor fucking ass handed to you, you never say shit like that again.”

your mouth hangs open in shock, and you stumble forward again, pulling your boyfriend away before he does something he regrets. you drag him back through the booths, and you emerge back at the front of the hotteok stand.

as soon as the connection breaks, hyunjin’s anger disappears, and he looks almost surprised. he reaches over and grasps your hand. “y/n- are you alright?”

you sigh, and even as your eyes sting slightly, you nod your head. the creepy man hadn’t followed the two of you, but you still feel the need to run. you release a shaky breath. 

hyunjin leans down and plants a light but lingering kiss of your forehead. when he pulls away, he sighs against your hair. “i’m sorry,” he whispers.

“for what?” you prompt, whispering back.

“for getting carried away. i...i didn’t mean to.”

“it’s okay. i know.” you lean away to meet his eyes. “besides, he was scaring me. so... thank you.”

he offers a bittersweet smile. “okay, baby...” he pauses for a second. “let’s go home?”

you allow a real smile and nod. “yeah. i’d like that.” you pause, deciding to tease him a little. “will you promise to stay and cuddle?”

at this, your lover’s moment of melancholy breaks too. “yes..” he fakes a groan. “if i have to...”

you reach down to hold his hand as the two of you begin walking, initial plans long forgotten. you begin to bicker back. “oh, please. you really act like you don’t enjoy skinship with me.”

he pauses. “how do you know it’s not just to get in your pants?”

you gasp and smack his arm. “don’t say that! i’ll never sleep with you again if you say shit like that!” 

hyunjin laughs, and his real, genuine smile warms your heart. “well then i guess i’ll stop. but only because of that threat.”

“oh, really?” you raise your eyebrows.

he gives up immediately, his forehead crinkling slightly. “no. i love you, y/n. i really do. and i promise i will give you all the snuggles when we get back.”

you nod, then lean your head on his arm, inhaling his scent. you’ve never been more grateful for him. 

the two of you continue walking, hand in hand. it isn’t for another few minutes that he finally breaks the silence. “so- what do you want for dinner?”

the two of you burst into laughter when you realize you’d never even gotten your hotteok.

[ziamhaze]

My Future in Fic

Yeah, so, the 100k fic that I’ve been working on for the past six months?  The one that was going to be uploaded to AO3 last week?  Yeah, it’s accidentally getting published...

Where do I start?

I suppose with a massive thank you to anyone who’s clicked on any of my fics over these past two years.  I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again.  I never ever thought about writing as a career.  I’ve never written anything prior to my Harry Potter AU Compartment 451.  I didn’t even take an English class in undergrad or grad school.  I genuinely just had an idea for a fic I wanted to read and since no one had written it, I had to do so myself.  Since then, I’ve written every single day for 2 years.  I left my job in the entertainment industry, got accepted to one of the best creative writing programs in the world on a scholarship, and now one of my stories is being considered at Harper Collins.  Yes, the Harper Collins.  It’s the longest shot in the world, but for legal reasons I was not allowed to upload the fic version on any website prior to submission.  Even if they don’t pick it up, I’ve been advised to continue to shop it around to agents.

What I can do, however, is share the premise.

If you’ve been following my tumblr and watching my tags - I SEE YOU ALL OUT THERE - then you’ll know that this fic was meant to have Zayn with his signature undercut hairstyle and one more little thing...

Someone sent me an ask a while back about what this fic was supposed to be about.  I believe I said something about it being an adaptation fic, but not from a film/tv show/other piece of literature, from a song.  This next fic was meant to be an adaptation of the song Younger by Ruel.  Later on, it also took shape with the help of Remember by Liam and a few others that you can find here.

The miniature summary is as follows:

When his father suddenly passes, twenty-nine-year-old Liam Payne is brought back to the Sydney suburbs where he grew up.  He doesn’t plan on seeing his childhood best friend, Zayn Malik, at the burial service.  They haven’t spoken since going from brothers to strangers one fateful day fifteen years prior.  But Zayn puts an end to this when he approaches Liam after the burial, offering his condolences and asking if Liam can help his archaeological research team with photographing their newest project.  The unexpected closeness forces each man to wade through uneasy emotions.  For Liam, a mixture of grief, lost identity, and confusion over why he’s willing to interact with the one person he swore he’d never forgive.  And for Zayn, a tidal wave of anxiety that comes from finally facing a part of himself he’s always chosen to deny.  When We Were Younger is a story heavily rooted in blurred identities and exploring what loss can look like in two different scenarios: death and friendship.

For obvious reasons, their names will be changed.  Liam, to Hutton.  Zayn, to Cairo (his ethnicity will also be changed to Egyptian).  As you can see, it was meant to be my big ‘enemies to lovers’ fic.  Technically, it’s ‘best friends to enemies to lovers’, but you know.

Right, so what does this mean for me going forward?

I still have so much inspiration when it comes to writing Zayn and Liam as characters.  I don’t plan on putting a complete stop to writing them, but with my career taking this large of a turn, I do have to prioritise my time.  That said, as of now, I can’t afford to write long-form fic any longer.

Soon, I’ll be starting a PhD program where I’ll be writing another full-length novel for mass publication.  For fun, here’s a little insight on the two ideas that I’ll be pitching:

1.  Underground boxer (loosely based off Liam) falls in love with arms gang leader (loosely based off Zayn).  Throughout their love story, the latter has to outrun the psychological trauma his father (the leader of Zayn’s rival gang) still throws his way. 

2.  Cold War AU.  Paris, circa 1950/51.  Ambassador’s son (loosely based off Liam) befriends new student (loosely based off Zayn) at the international school.  Paris is a ticking time bomb; war is about to break out at literally any second.  The two clearly have feelings for each other, but can’t act on them because homosexuality in the 1950s...yikes.  When war does break out, the two are separated, and as Liam’s character goes out to find Zayn’s, he learns a secret of his that changes everything.

Whichever I don’t write for the PhD will be the novel I write following it.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue to write (and edit) like crazy.  Ever since I randomly wrote C451, there hasn't been a day that’s gone by where I haven't written something.  It may have only been a paragraph or two, but never zero.  This is how you get better.  This is the equivalent of going out and shooting free throws for 30 minutes a day.  You have to put in the work in order to get better.  I'm very lucky that I'm incredibly self-disciplined and I've been able to crank out as many stories as I have over the past 2 years.

That said, I’ll be writing shorter little oneshots.  I have several ideas that I’ve been sitting on, but haven’t ever thought to write because I HATE writing short stories.  Little ideas that don't have huge plotline/climax potential, but that I want to just see on paper, I'll probably end up writing.  If I had to guess, I'd say they'll come out to around 10-15k.  Also, sequels?  Prequels?  Haha, you never know...

I’ve also got a series called “Sleep Drabbles” that are, yes, you guessed it, a series of drabbles based around one theme: sleep.  I also have a few scenes that I want to write which are based on ziam’s kids, not actually ziam themselves.  If there’s enough demand for that, I can upload those too, but they’re quite niche, so I don’t think the general fandom would be very interested.

As far as frequency for all of this, I have no idea.  I’ve always done things at my own pace and written stories that I want to write, for myself.  That won’t ever change, so I don’t want to commit to one drabble a week or one short-length fic per month.  It takes me weeks (months for this last fic) to research and interview the necessary people to get character arcs correct/believable.  I love that part of writing, and so if I have a little story that I want to write that may only be 10k but takes me ages to put together how I want, then so be it.  I will always be around to answer asks/messages and please, continue to tag me in your writing tag posts!  But please, no prompts.

So, that’s my future with fic.

Again, I cannot say thank you enough to every single one of you.  Every single thing that people tag me in (@malik-payne , @zqua1d , @zentiment , @liamisthesun , @redyellowberry I’m looking at you), I appreciate and love!  The recommendation lists that people have put me on, THANK YOU!  It’s wild to think that I used to look to rec lists for years and now I’m on them.  @ziamfanfiction THANK YOU for always having my back with exposure!  @paynefulperiods , my beloved beta reader, THANK YOU for always encouraging me and putting up with shit first drafts.  @march-z5 , THANK YOU for always being on call for ideas and listening to me bang my head against the wall at 4 am.

Now, might fuck around and make a fake picspam for the fic that never was...

Also, all of the behind scenes pages for each of my fics are now public, so feel free to check those out here.

I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for making this journey possible. I know people say that a lot when they gain a following of any sort, but I truly truly mean it.  You have to have talent in order to be an author, but you also have to have people who want to read your stuff.  Proof of concept is a real thing.

So thank you a million times over.

Speak soon my friends.