#because you assholes (not you) love to beat a dead horse into the ground!!!

[sexynetra]

I miss Marcia on instagram so bad I am going to personally set fire to the houses of all the people who chased them off the app 😔

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 124: Everyone Forgets Everything

Xenologue 16: Heirs of Fate II: Realms Collide

Shigure narrates that this chapter is about a different realm with a separate Kana, the male one. The chapter opens with Sophie and Dwyer in a town, fighting against dragon form Kana. Dwyer explains that he found Kana crying and that he suddenly turned into a dragon. He speculates Kana lost control because his mother died like their fathers. Sophie refuses to believe Silas is dead and says that they'll rescue their fathers.

The map scrolls over to Forrest, who is traveling with his retainers, Nina and Ophelia. Ophelia is giving directions using a rock that she's pretending is magic, because she forgot that she made up the fact that it's magic. Ophelia says it was a good-luck charm from Odin. As an aside, I do love the fact that Odin once again sacrificed himself to hold off enemies attacking his loved ones. Ophelia says that she believes with all her heart that he wouldn't die, but doubt is beginning to creep in. Forrest says that he didn't encounter his father, but found Byrnhildr lying on the ground, implying Leo dropped it after dying. Nina says that she won't mourn Niles, because he's an asshole who never visited her and that it would have been better if Niles saved Leo instead of her. Forrest tells her to perish the thought, because he couldn't get by without her and Ophelia's company. 

Forrest's group hears Kana's roars. Nina spots Vallite soldiers approaching and Forrest decides to go save Dwyer and Sophie, saying it would disgrace the bloodline of Nohr to let them die. A battle begins, using Ryoma's boss map from Conquest. Forrest and Dwyer can talk to each other. In this conversation, they introduce their teams. Dwyer says he's happy to be rescued by a beautiful woman, then corrects himself to say he's happy to be rescued by a beautiful man. Alternatively, you can have Forrest talk to Sophie, who correctly identifies Forrest as male and mentions Forrest’s horse is a girl.

This is an escape map, giving you two routes to go. Asugi, Caeldori, Midori, and Rhajat stand in your way. Shiro, a swordmaster like his father, stands like Ryoma in the middle. I assumed he would stay there for twenty turns like his dad and took my time through this map. I was wrong. He begins chasing after turn six, making this map a terrifying dash for the exit.

Kana is in dragon form during this map, which is neat. Apparently, you get a scroll with the skill Magictaker if you beat this map without losing any units. I say apparently, because I’m getting this info from the wiki. Shiro killed a few of my units. You get similar skills but for different stats in all of the other Heirs of Fate chapters except the last one.

After battle, Kana turns back to normal. He explains that Corrin died after giving him her sword and saying to run. Nina points out that they must have all been attacked at the same time for a reason. Forrest says Kana will be useful for saving their parents. Kana begins crying and Forrest attacks him with Byrnhildr to stop him from transforming. Forrest explains that time does not flow in reverse (except in Awakening) and that they can only help Corrin by looking forward, not back. He points out that no one else is frozen with grief and tells Kana to be a brave warrior. Yata turns into Grim Yato. Ophelia likes the name.

Kana reveals he knows everyone else's name already, even though they don't know him, and asks why they don't remember him. Ghost Azura pops up and explains that their memories will return when it's all over. Kana can't remember Azura dying. Azura says that he'll soon forget her, just as the others did, just as they have forgotten Kana. Sophie says that she would have remembered forgetting Kana. Also Azura gives Kana a dragon stone.

Azura says that maybe they've never met this version of Kana, because of the whole Deeprealms are alternate universes thing. She says some flowery shit about memory and says there's no point in explaining stuff because they'll only forget it. She says there's no reason to worry about forgetting their loved ones, because you won't remember it and be sad about it. Ophelia and Dwyer disagree, calling it a dire tragedy and saying that forgotten people are essentially dead respectively. Azura says that memories and life are interchangeable. She warns that, when asked to choose between their memories and something else, that they should choose what they can't afford to lose.

Shigure sings the Conquest verse. He implies that the curse on Valla is responsible for the scrambled memories and says the key to escaping it is a stone left behind by a dragon. He says that straying from the correct path will cause the curse to eradicate all memories and emotions, washing them away like the tide.

He really is Azura’s son, considering how frustratingly cryptic he is all the time.

Support: Mana/Selkie

C: Selkie and Kana think each other are cool. They decide to go hunting together.

B: Kana and Selkie are good at hunting together. They decide to come up with battle plans together.

A: Kana and Selkie are good at killing together.

S: Kana says he likes her and they get together.

Review: BOOOORING.

Support: Hisame/Rhajat

C: Rhajat's curses aren't working and end up doing the opposite of what she intends. Hisame gives her tea and pickles which are so good Rhajat thinks they are enchanted.

B: The tea calms Rhajat and makes her magic work right. Rhajat loses a charm, but remembers where it is after Hisame gives her tea. Hisame explains he is always relaxed because Hinata is high-strung and taught him what not to do.

A: Rhajat makes tea alone. Hisame is worried she won't have tea with him anymore, but she says she needs to learn his relaxation techniques.

S: Hisame is stressed because he likes Rhajat. Rhajat calls this cute and says she wants to be with him forever, because his tea made her deadlier. Hisame isn't calmed by this.

Review: Decent but not extraordinary.

Support: Caeldori/Siegbert

C: Siegbert sees Caeldori fighting and says the throne should belong to someone like her.

B: Siegbert explains he's worried about whether he's fit to be the king of Nohr, because he thinks he is inadequate. He explains a king must be a perfect paragon who excels at all things, or else he does not deserve the power vested in him. Unfortunately, Siegbert sees people better than him in every subject. Caeldori says that perfect monarchs only exist in fairy tales because no one is perfect. Siegbert says Caeldori is perfect.

A: Siegbert apologizes for calling Caeldori perfect and ignoring the pain of people thinking she's gifted, because actually she works hard. Caeldori says Siegbert can perceive the pain of others, meaning he'll be a good king.

S: They get together in a scene where neither of them feel like themselves.

Review: Siegbert’s anxieties over being king are good, but this one flubs it with him apologizing for thinking Caeldori is great at everything. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t like Caeldori very much. Her lack of flaws make her boring and annoying. And yes, there are a few Supports where she is flawed, but this isn’t one of them.

Support: Ignatius/Ophelia

C: Ophelia warns Ignatius that evil spirits are feeding on his fear. She shouts DUCK to mess with him, causing Ignatius to faint. Ophelia tries to wake him up by setting him on fire.

B: Ignatius is mad at Ophelia, so she tells him that frowning attracts evil spirits. Ignatius tries to smile. Ophelia says she'll protect him from evil with a good luck charm and chunks salt at him. Ignatius asks if it worked and Ophelia admits she's just making it up as she goes along.

A: Ignatius decides the good luck charm worked because he hasn't died yet. Ophelia says sure let's go with that. She begins researching miracles, like how swordsmen with cursed hands unlock hidden potential through emotional trauma. She says with miracles, their friends wouldn't have to die.

S: Ophelia doesn't find any miracle magic. Ignatius proposes. Ophelia decides to test a new spell on him with only a low chance of instant death.

Review: This one is fun, but Ophelia acts a bit too ridiculous.

[wolferine]

Unforgivable - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, language

Word count: 2413

Part 2

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife @user19422004 @zoldszemulany56

You sit alone on a park bench, wearing a heavy black backpack filled with Hammer’s latest invention. He’s here too, more than a mile away, watching you from the shadows. Your task is to do all the talking and distracting; Hammer wants to take the kill shot. You don’t really care, as long as Tony Stark dies for what he did to Natasha. 

At midnight exactly, Tony walks up to you, wearing a hoodie, jeans, and his signature sunglasses. However, you know from experience that Jarvis is inside the sunglasses, providing him with information about you and his surroundings.

“It’s a little late to be wearing sunglasses, isn’t it, Stark?” you say, standing up. Hammer lined your backpack with lead so Jarvis can’t see into it, but you’re still nervous.

“You know I have astigmatism,” he says.

“I don’t really care,” you respond. “Take them off.”

He doesn’t need a second warning.

“So, what’s up with you, Y/N?” Tony pockets the sunglasses. “Where have you been lurking all this time?” He stops about ten feet in front of you.

“Just…working through some things,” you reply.

“For six months?” Tony scoffs. “We waited for you to come back.” 

“You know I couldn’t do that.” Your jaw clenches. “But for you, Stark? I’d make an exception any day of the week.”

“What’s up with all the theatrics tonight, huh? Would’ve been a lot simpler to have this chat at the Tower,” Tony says.

“I’m not an Avenger anymore.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” you snap, trying not to let your impatience show. You’re waiting for Hammer’s signal, but he seems to want to take his time. Your eyes drift to the glowing blue arc reactor in the center of Tony’s chest and you put your right hand in your pocket casually.

“Just spit it out, Y/N. Why am I here?”

“You’re here to die, Stark.”

“Well, have at it.” He opens his arms tauntingly and you tense, ready to tackle him to the ground and beat his head inside out. 

“You killed Natasha,” you snarl, and his expression changes. But you don’t have time to process it, because suddenly, the watch on your wrist vibrates. 

Hammer’s signal. 

You take your hand out of your pocket, now holding onto a tiny sensor disk, which you throw at Tony’s chest. It latches onto his arc reactor and powers it down instantly, preventing him from activating his Iron Man suit.

Then you dive to the ground, because Hammer starts blasting away with his rifle.

Tony catches a few bullets in his chest and legs, unable to react to both threats at the same time. He falls onto his back, blood pooling around his body as he gasps for air. You activate Hammer’s suit, which tears out of your backpack, covering your torso and limbs in a thin layer of metal armor.

You climb to your feet, your helmet snapping over your head, and charge towards Tony. But something—or someone—completely blindsides you, sending you skidding in the direction of the carousel.

It looks like a variation of Iron Man, although the suit is smaller and more feminine. The colors are black and red, evoking a pang of familiarity in your chest. You stand again, an eight-inch blade shooting out of your right wrist, and you beckon the Iron Woman (?) to come at you.

She does, but when you swing your blade at her, she blocks it and punches you so hard in the chest you fly back into the carousel and knock a horse completely off its pole. You’re pretty sure you cracked a rib as your breathing sends a stabbing pain up your side. You hang onto a bench to get up, and suddenly the carousel comes to life, lights flashing and music crackling through the speakers.

You’re transported back to the day you were last here with Natasha, when you asked her to be your girlfriend.

Both of your horses are out of sync. When she goes up, you go down, and neither of you can stop laughing. You’re pretty sure you’re the oldest adults on the carousel without kids, but you don’t care.

The way her hair effortlessly blows in the wind and the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs lights up your heart, and you still can’t believe she chose you over everyone else in the world. You’ve never been so in love with another human being before, and you don’t think there will ever be another like her.

When the rides end, you take her hand and lead her to an empty patch of grass in the shade of a tree.

“Natasha, will you go out with me?” you ask, your voice trembling. She nods and brushes her fingers over your cheek. “I promise to keep you safe and love you every day for the rest of my life—”

“Calm down, it’s not a marriage proposal.” Natasha laughs as you sweep her off her feet. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Just preparing.” You kiss her and feel her smile against your lips. You’ve never been happier.

You’re so stuck in your head you don’t even notice the Iron Woman coming after you until she punches you in the face. You stagger back, stunned, as she punches you several more times. The face of your helmet snaps off and you feel your nose bleeding. You slash out with your blade wildly, forcing the Iron Woman to back off.

“Y/N,” the Iron Woman says, and you don’t even care how she knows your name, “You need to stop.”

“Get out of my way.” When you leap towards her, she lifts her foot and kicks you in the chest. You somersault backwards, head over heels, as she retreats. The rotating platform of the carousel does nothing to help your balance and the lights and noise distract your focus. You crouch behind a stationary horse, searching for her amongst the painted animals.

You break the blade off your wrist, poised to throw like a javelin. When the Iron Woman pops out from behind a black horse, you bring your arm back to throw the blade, but she fires from her gun before you can. The bullet bounces off a pole and buries itself in your left cheek.

The pain is like a branding iron as you scream and fall to your knees, the blade slipping out of your fingers. Blood pours out of your mouth, the taste of metal coating your tongue as you gingerly reach in to swipe the burning chunk of lead over your teeth. You finally spit the bullet out, but the pain persists.

The Iron Woman holsters her gun and approaches you, thinking you’re too distracted to notice. But you do, another blade flicking out of your left wrist and you ram it into her thigh as hard as you can. The blade crunches through the plates of her armor, but she elicits no reaction to being stabbed.

“Y/N,” the Iron Woman repeats.

“Just die already!” you scream, withdrawing the blade and trying to stab her again.

The Iron Woman’s helmet slides back and you freeze when you see her face.

It’s Natasha.

Immediately, your anger melts into confusion and happiness.

“H-How…How is this possible?” you stammer, more blood spilling from your lips. “T-They…They told me you died.”

“No.” Natasha shakes her head, kneeling to your level. “But you never came back for me.”

“Because I hurt you—” Hammer had said she was dead, and that Tony—no—you—had killed her.

“I forgive you, Y/N. For all of it.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” You stumble back, tears and blood mixing on your face.

“Please come back to me, Y/N,” Natasha begs, as your head spins from the turn of events. “I still love you.”

Suddenly, it’s like all of Hammer’s training reverses. Tony was never the one responsible for harming Natasha—you were. And now Tony’s bleeding to death, which was again, your fault. You won’t let this rest on your conscience. You’ve done enough damage and now it’s time to redeem yourself, as little as you can.

“This is all Justin Hammer’s doing,” you say, letting Natasha pull you to your feet. “He’s had me kidnapped for the past six months. He thought I would be able to help him kill Tony, but he’s not going to be successful anymore. Because you weren’t part of the plan.”

Natasha smiles and you feel your heart melt. Whether or not she’ll take you back, you owe this to her.

“He’s about a mile out, west from here. He has no guards—arrogant bastard—it’s just him and his rifle. You go get him and I’ll get Tony,” you say. Natasha nods and flies off. For a moment, you’re filled with jealousy over her suit. How come Tony never made you one?

You make your way off the carousel and find Tony still on the ground. You check his pulse. It’s weak, but there.

“Tony, I’m so sorry,” you say, as a spray of bullet rips through the ground. You grab his arms and pull him to take cover under a bench.

“Y/N?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No…” Tony says, grabbing your hand. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was a complete asshole to you that day—”

“No, I’m the one who tried to shoot you, for God’s sake—” You rip his shirt into ribbons to wad up against the wounds in his chest and legs. “You’re gonna be okay,” you promise. “It’s Justin Hammer who’s behind all of this.”

“I recognized his work from your suit,” Tony gasps. “It looks like shit.”

“You can tell him that yourself.” You find yourself smiling despite the circumstances. “He wanted my help to end his ultimate rival. He manipulated me into thinking that Natasha was dead and that you were the reason for it—” You pause. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“It was the least I could do for you.”

“I know she probably won’t want me anyway after all this, but it was good to see her again.”

“She only wants you. It was always you or no one.”

You throw yourself onto Tony when the bullets start again and you feel them bounce off your back and legs. Fortunately, when Hammer made your suit bulletproof, he probably didn’t think it would have to bulletproof against his bullets.

Suddenly, the gunshots stop and the silence is deafening.

When you finally look up, you see Natasha flying over, holding Hammer by the collar.

You don’t even mind when your face splits into a painful smile. “That’s my girl.”

***********************************************************************

Two weeks after Hammer is arrested, Natasha convinces you to come by the Avengers Tower. It’s a strange feeling as you walk in for the first time in over six months. When you left, you’d never thought you’d be back, but here you are. Your only belongings are a single duffel bag with some clothes stuffed inside.

You ride the elevator up to the Avengers’ quarters. You’re a little more wary of the SHIELD agents that pass you, wondering if anyone will double-cross you again, but you remain courteous. You punch in your code to see if it still works and it does, the doors opening.

“Look who’s finally come home.” Tony’s there to greet you and he hugs you tightly.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, still guilty you almost got him killed.

“Good, no thanks to you.”

“Sorry again.”

He waves you off.

“Where’s—” you start, but then you see her. She comes around the corner in a wheelchair. Your heart drops to your feet.

“Things have been a little different since you left,” she says. So that’s why she had no reaction when you had stabbed her at the carousel. She has no feeling left in her legs after your bullet pierced her spine.

“Natasha, I’m…I didn’t know. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” You turn around, but she rolls into your legs and grabs your hand.

“Please stay,” she says. “Like I told you before, I’m not mad.”

“But you have every right to be.”

“Can we talk?”

You nod numbly and let her lead you back to where your shared bedroom with her was. Nothing inside has changed. In fact, your clothes are still hanging in the closet like you’d never left. You sit on your side of the bed.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Natasha asks.

You shrug. “Call me an asshole for what I did. Tell me you’d never want me back.”

“Okay. You’re an asshole for shooting me and leaving me,” Natasha says without hesitation, and you flinch. But somehow, you find solace in hearing her say the words you’ve played over and over in your head for months. “And yeah, after the whole thing happened, I didn’t think I could ever take you back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you and told myself if I ever saw you again, I wanted you to know that I forgive you.”

“But I don’t know if I could forgive myself,” you whisper.

“Well, I forgive you, and I think if I can do that, you can, too.” It hurts her to see how much you’ve changed in the past six months. Your face and body are thin from malnourishment and Hammer’s torture. Your eyes are dull and permanently swollen from basically crying every day for six months. Some of your fingers are crooked from not healing correctly and you have scars running up your arms.

She reaches out and touches the puckered mark on your cheek from the bullet. “Besides, we’re kind of even now.”

“Hardly.” You chuckle.

“We can start slow,” Natasha says, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Because I’m not sure what still works down there, anyway.”

You smile, and her heart warms at the sight.

“Can I lie with you?” she asks and you nod, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. You put her down gently and lie next to her. She pulls you close until your foreheads touch and you close your eyes as you breathe in her familiar scent. “Why did you pick the carousel as the meeting place?” she asks.

“I…I don’t know,” you mumble. “For some weird reason, I thought I’d see you again, at least in my memory. But then I did in real life, too.”

“I’m so glad you came back,” Natasha hums, brushing her lips against yours.

“I’m so glad I did, too.”

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

AN: The end! :) Fun facts:

-Part 1 was inspired by the scene in X-Men: First Class where Magneto accidentally deflects a bullet into Charles’s spine (which resulted in Charles’s paralysis). -Part 2’s Iron Black Widow suit was inspired by a concept art photo I saw that was cut from Avengers: Endgame. Here’s the link to that post. -Part 3’s carousel scene was inspired by the season 1 finale of Netflix’s Punisher.

Join my taglist for future stories here! Thanks for reading, and until next time...

[nikkisreading]

Curious why do you hate hades/persephone stories?

I have been thinking about this answer since you asked and I hope I've made it understandable.

First, in my opinion, it's overdone. I'm sick of seeing it. It's everywhere. It was everywhere ten years ago in the fandom space when the "retelling" started gaining ground. It's always the first myth people talk about when Greek mythology comes up. And there are so many books about it now. Literally everywhere. You can't get away from it. That's all you can find and holy shit, can we please stop beating a dead horse and look at the rest of the pasture that's available??

Second. I actually like the original myth. Not the rape, I always hate rape in old myths, but I love the potential behind "Persephone was kidnapped and tricked and now stuck". I love that resistance between the two of them. It relates back to the old fae stories that I enjoy where the protagonist is always on their toes to keep from saying the wrong thing and being trapped or losing themselves. There's a true sense of danger and from what I've seen, that danger doesn't really exist in the new retellings.

There's been a massive push of the "Hades isn't a villain!" rhetoric lately and while I can totally see where it's coming from (and agree with most of it), removing all traces of "evil" from him makes him...boring. To me. And when I hear these retellings of Persephone and Hades, the fear is gone. The stakes are gone. The forbidden attraction she's actively fighting because she's scared of it is gone.

Which brings me to a third reason: For the most part, the whole story has been "purified" to remove all "problematic" themes and those themes were the things that caught my eye in the first place. So now, not only is Hades boring, but the entire story is boring to me. Suddenly the tension is only from Demeter and I'll be real honest -- parentage in Greek myths as a whole is too fucked up to target specifically Demeter as a reason Hades and Persephone can't be together.

Now. It's totally possible for there to be a story that tells this myth in a way that I'll really enjoy. But when you can literally fill a display with different books that are just Hades and Persephone romances published within the last two years and we're only now seeing other myths because the authors have already written H/P, I'm pretty bitter. A lot bitter. There are so many myths that people can retell, can explore, can create and share and build worlds to continue crafting other things, I'm very bitter that every. single. author. wrote Hades and Persephone first.

No one could have done something different? We all had to jump on the same train? Everyone had to do their own take on "never did anything wrong" Hades and "naive, precious Persephone" fighting against "Mother knows best" Demeter?

Wake me up when someone writes Aphrodite as an actual goddess of love and not the goddess of narcissism. Hades got his redemption in spite of the old myths, why has the Aphrodite bullshit not been changed?

Oh right, she's a woman. I should have known.

(And it's not just Aphrodite. Everyone makes Apollo the asshole. Everyone makes Hermes the charismatic but shady god. Everyone makes Hera the bitter woman who attacks Zeus's victims. Why is Hades the only one with the makeover? And why did he need every author and their mother to do one??)

[00gangfriend00]

brio + 17. things you said that i wish you hadnt. ty 💖

oulala, this is a fun one! kk, im gonna try to pull this off.

They're back at the warehouse and she's looking at her feet, thinking for a moment perhaps the floor might have a pathway worn through the way he's pacing back and forth. She imagines it, how the flooring would tell the story of their argument with scuff marks and discoloration. The way their drunkenness' would be etched into its memory with lopsided, staggering footprints.

He's angry enough to wear through the concrete. She's slowly becoming sober enough to know she deserves it, at least some of it. This wrath.

"You didn't have to come!" She hears herself yell out. It's a weak rebuttal, desperate and childish but she's feeling small and the room is spinning.

"No? You had it under control huh?" He's prowling still, hands clenching and unclenching by his side.

She didn't have it under control. Not by a longshot. She can still feel the ghost of that man's hammy fingers on her wrists. His breath on her neck.

Beth says nothing.

She'd been shorted by their contact, some prick named Al. And Al’d been smug about it when she'd confronted him, just sneered, asked aloud what she was gonna do.

She should've called Rio.

She could’ve told him.

But there was something in that asshole's sweaty grin that made her want to burn it all to the ground on her own. Something telling her that calling her big scary boss to handle it would only make him the winner.

So she'd downed half a bottle of bourbon and drove back to Al’s house, if you could call it that. His... place.

He wasn’t alone. The gun from her glove compartment, trembling in her outstretched hand, seemed to strike a silly bone in him and his buddies. it went south quickly, that was until-

Well, you know. Her knight in a black button up rode in to save her, God. She hates it still. Even though he was right and she was wrong, even though she would be tied up in some crusty basement if it was for -

She still hates it. 

“I’m going home.”

Rio rubs his eyes with his palms. The horse was dead. They’d beaten it bloody. She wanted to be alone and lick her wounds, let her shame recede in private.

“Nah, you ain’t”

“You can’t keep me here all night.” She spins on her heel, spitting her words, trying her absolute darnedest  to look intimidating.

“You’re drunk Elizabeth.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sit down.”

You can’t be ser-”

“I said sit down.” He’s stopped pacing now, opting instead to slump against the doorway in a bored glower. “I’ll get you some wat-”

His back is slightly turned when she decides to bring the hammer down.

“You’re no better than they are.”

“’’Scuse me?”

“You’re not better than Al. You want a gold star for swooping in and saving me from a basement only to stick me in a warehouse? Are you fucking kidding me?”

She wants to twist the knife. She wants to watch him hurt. But instead he tips his head back in laughter. It bounces and reverberates off each wall, returning back to her in waves of cruel harmony. 

“That’s harsh mama. Nah, we different. See those fools got the right idea, they didn’t go fallin’ in love with your ass. Makes life  a lot easier if you ask me.”

Her mouth goes dry.

“What?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Elizabeth?”

This time its her breathing, shallow and unsure that cuts through the metallic silence of the empty room.

“Because I fucked up.”

He’s moving again, but it’s no longer in rhythm to the tension between them. He’s walking straight for her, not stopping until their chests brush.

“I’m here ‘cause if something happened to you...

She hears him swallow, hears the blood coursing and crashing through her ears.

I dunno what I’d do.”

And she wishes he hadn’t said that. Because she feels the bitterness in her veins drain like a tap is turned off. Because the room was already swaying before he went and turned it upside down.

Her heart is thumping in her chest, and she thinks his is too. She imagines it, their two hearts beating in synchrony. The way the unison pulsing of their chest will tell the story of this moment.  

His mouth is resting gently on her temple.  “You’re a pain in the ass.” 

She pulls back to reach up to his collar, pulling him back into her, pushing her mouth against his. His reaction is bruising in it’s urgency, pressing his tongue to her lips, pushing his palm to cradle her jaw.

Their footsteps and heartbeats answer his claim.

She loves him.

She loves him.

She loves him.

[nh20tensin]

Telling the AoT boys you love them for the first time.

⚠️There should be little too no spoilers⚠️

Mostly fluff

Gn reader

None of this is has been proof read

Ft. Levi Ackerman,Connie springer,Armin arlert

Levi Ackerman

We all know that this man is touch-starved so it was hard enough for him to let you even Remotely close in anyway

He would probably deny the fact that he care for you

He wouldn’t know that he loved you till  you said something about it

It was a cleaning day you decided to help Levi and his squad clean (this man forced you to clean)

You didn’t mind I mean as long as you were with him

You knew you loved him for some time,you just didn’t know how to tell him or in fear that he would hate you(who knows why he would) but you only thought about worst case scenarios

“Oí “

“.....”

“Oí”

“....”

“BRAT”

“Huh?”

“What the hell are you doing”

You gave him a confused look

He points down to your feet

You were sweeping with the dust collector facing the opposite way so that no dust is going into the pan

“Oh shit sorry”

“Just pick it up “Levi spoke

The rest of the day went by

It was dinner time you Decided to sit with eren,Armin,jean,and Connie

(The girls where training)

“Yo is she even listen to us “ a buzz-cut boy said

“ probably not” said Jean

Eren threw a small carrot at you

“😐”

“You were zoning out” a blonde boy said

“I’m not really myself right now....I’m going to go to bed”

They all nodded and told you goodnight and bye

On your way to your room you bumped into hange

“AHHH SORRY IM IN A RUSH” they said

“It’s alright are you ok?”

“I’m fin-“

They stoped talking you gave them a confused look

“Why’d you sto-“

They put a finger on over your mouth

5 mins pass the finger hasn’t left

“Sorry i thought I heard something ”

The finger moved

“Thought you where in a rush “you said as you walked hange followed

“Never mind that what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.............How do I tell someone I love them”

(Ofc you would eventually regret asking hange but desperate times call for desperate measures😪)

“oh”

“Oh” 

“OOHHH”

“YOU LOVE LEV-“

You cover their mouth

“Shut up or I will Carve ur eyes out”

Hange nodded

“Will if you really Want my opinion....just don’t make it a big deal”

“Why Not”

“You shouldn’t have to make it special ,anyway if you really do love him and just tell him “

Knowing Levi he would hate it if you made it a big deal so you took the advice and made up your mind

One week passed and you finally thought of the perfect way to tell him

You would make him his favorite tea(you aren’t allowed to make his tea considering you suck at it)

” what did you do” he said in a stern voice

You walk over to his desk and sigh

“ I have something to tell you and besides my tea skills aren’t that bad”

“ last time I drank it I ended up in bed for a week”

“I promise it’s better just trust me” 

He reluctantly put the cup to his mouth and drank

“I love you “you said

He almost sit out his tea he didn’t know what to say or do

How could someone so perfect love someone so....him

“What did you say” he said

You repeated yourself

You climbed in his lap

“I love you Levi Ackerman “

God he loved the way you said his name

He didn’t know what to say but what he did say broke your heart

“Why” he said in a voice below a whisper

“What do you mean why?”

His hand found his way to your waist his face hidden in the crook of your neck

“Why me ?”

You knew he could get insecure but it still hurt

“ Levi I knew from the minute I saw you that I would love you for the rest of my life and I don’t wanna rush you to say back to me because quite frankly I know how hard it is for you but I’m telling you now because this is how I feel you are the one for me no one else do you understand me please say you do”

All memories he thought he forgotten about his mother came flooding back in

And you could’ve sworn you felt a tear but when you looked there was nothing

He looked dead in your eyes and said

“I love you too” in a very soft voices he gave you a rare smile

You brought him in for a very long and meaningful kiss

“Hange Made the tea by the way “

“I know”

Connie springer

 A relationship with this man can be one of two things very fun and chaotic or more serious and loving

Which ever version you happen to be in it won’t matter because it will always be happy

“Hey Connie have you told y/n you love them yet”

He froze up and realized that he never actually told you though he was in love with you he just never thought about telling you because he thought you knew

“What’s it you you horse face”

“Nothing....it’s just The two of you have been dating for six months I’d start to feel a little self-conscious if you asked me”

“Well I didn’t so stop “

Jean and Sasha stay laughing

“CADETS IN LINE” Levi yelled

The next day

“Hey Armin if I hypothetically possibly maybe was in love with someone how would I tell them?”you said while looking at the ground

“ well it really just depends on the person and how far along in the relationship you are with them I can’t really help you how to tell them but I sure can encourage you”

You roll your eyes and sigh

“Thank anyways”

You walk back inside considering you were training outside with Armin(obviously beat him because you’re a bad ass)

You ran into Connie right now I’m going inside you both fell to the ground stared at each other and started laughing like you’ve never laughed before you were mainly laughing because you were nervous as hell to tell him you loved him he was laughing because he loves the smile that was on your face

you both helped each other get back up Connie looked at you and ask

“were you training”

“ depends what answer do you want to hear”

“....”

“....”

“Fine I was “you admit

“ it’s 11 at night”

“ and your point is”

” at the rate you’re going you’re going to end up dead by the time you’re 25”you said sarcastically

“ as if you’d be able to live without me though”

You froze didn’t know what to say or do you just nervously laughed it off and walked away

 he looked at a very confused but I thought you needed space considering you just got done training it was dark out you’re probably tired he thought

It’s around two in the morning you wake up something inside you just burst so you get up out of your room and find your way to Connie‘s room you knock fiercely

“ Open the door Baldy”you say sternly but in the soft voice

“ what are you doing it’s like two in the morning you should go to sleep “he said while opening the door

you force yourself into his room and sit down on his bed

He followed you confused on why you were here but he just stared at you not wanting to say anything basking in your beauty

“ Connie I’m about to say something that I might regret well not regret but do you know where I’m going with us”

“Huh”

“I love you “

his eyes shoot open he thought this has to be a dream right there’s no way that this is real

You pinch his arm so he knows he’s not dreaming

“ say it again”

He couldn’t help but smile so much that he felt like his face was gonna melt

At first he thought he was looking at you in disgusted minutes later it was a face of happiness and he was proud in his own kind away

“I L/N F/N AM IN LOVE WITH YOU CONNIE SPRINGER”

“ I love you too but you know I was supposed to tell you first”

“Oh?”

“ this whole thing with Jean and Sash and our relationship”

“It’s.a long story” 

He brought you in for a tight hug that ended up in a very intense make out session

The both of you woke up in his bed in the morning he looked at him and he woke up

“I love you”

“I love you”

You both said in unison and you ended up laughing you both really did love each other and it was a funny love story . 

Armin arlert

As smart as Armin is he has no idea what to do when it comes to a relationship

True he wants to give you all the love in the world but he’s clueless when it comes to things like that but he will know when he’s in love with you

He will go to Mikasa, Eren,hell even Levi if he will listen

“ listen kid I don’t know what to tell you all right do you love them just tell them I don’t see what’s wrong with it”Levi said while drinking tea

“ but sir it’s not that easy what if they doesn’t feel the same way”Armin spoke

Levi sighs not really knowing what to do

“ The two of you are dating right so of course they feel the same way”

“Damn kids and their commitment issues”he muttered under his breath

Armin saluted him before exiting the room

His mind was in 1000 different places having no idea what to say to you so we did the next best thing any person would

He ignored you

(Asshole)

He didn’t want to ignore you or make you feel bad he’s just caught up in his own brain to actually think about anything

It’s been a week since you guys last talk

“ i’m sure he doesn’t hate you he’s been ignoring us to” eren said

Mikasa nodded

“ it’s been a week did I do something wrong is he mad at me?”

“ even if he was he wouldn’t take it out on all of us at the same time” Mikasa stated

you take a deep breath and sigh

“ The both of us will try and figure out what’s happening OK can’t promise you like the answer though” eren said

“Ok...”

The both of them left the room

Little did you know Armin was listening in the whole conversation he wanted to make it up to you just didn’t know how

” I don’t hate them” armin said

Eren then said “ then why are you ignoring them and us they don’t deserve this”

Eren was pissed off because he knew how much you were hurting

“ seriously Armin there’s no need to lie you’re mad at her just tell them I’m sure they will understand besides you’re also ignoring us did we do anything?” The tall girl spoke

“I love them”

“😮” Mikasa and eren

They spent the rest of the day talking about his feelings and how he should make it up to you or more importantly tell you

“ just follow us it’s not a trap or anything”eren said (this bitch it was FYI)

Mikasa used her scarf to cover up her giggles

“ can I just sleep in peace”

“NO!”

You couldn’t really tell who said it as you saw Armin standing right in front of you

You turn around to see no one‘s behind you those bastards left the room before you could even check

“ look if you’re mad at me I don’t know what I did but I don’t really feel like talking anymore I just want to go to bed please”

“Wait now please I’m sorry i’ve had a lot on my mind I just needed time on my own”

“ and you couldn’t tell me or let me know not even Eren or Mikasa you’ve noticed all week do you know how bad I felt thinking that I did something wrong ”

There was a moment of silence you saw that look in his eyes the one that made you fall madly in love with him you couldn’t be mad at him you loved him and everything you were pissed about steered clear

“ I love you more than I probably should if you were anybody else I’d probably kill you right now”

He looked up from the ground he was staring at

“What “

it didn’t take him long to understand the situation

“I love you too in fact I love you more that’s what I’ve been thinking about all week and how to tell you”

You both ran to each other in a hug tears falling down his eyes making you want to cry as well you really did love each other

The next day

“ i’m guessing you finally told them” Levi said

“ yes Captain thank you for your advice” as he saluted him

“ don’t thank me you’re the one who grew a pair and finally told them”



[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART ONE

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 19.5k (long boi)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | PART TWO

a/n: IT’S HERE!!!! Cicely and Harry dropped into my head and have lived in there rent free ever since. strap yourselves in for a ride, my friends! this story is hugely inspired by Peaky Blinders, and i willingly admit that characters and elements of the story resemble parts of PB, including Cicely’s appearance (Grace). thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner,  and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. The Magnificent Ambersons is an actual book that was a bestseller in 1918. you can read it here. 

without further adieu, here is part one of ROSE COLORED GLASSES - come talk to me about it in my asks! pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

The cool spring air swept around Cicely like a cloud, the hem of her skirt ruffling in the wind. She was miles from home, the landscape around her having turned to just rolling hills of green, just the way she liked it. Here, she could finally breathe. At home, all she could smell was fear and secrets, while here, out in the open, she was anyone and everyone. It was just her and Joseph, her beloved horse, on the empty road.

Father had told her it was going to rain when Cicely pushed her way out of the house, stomping away from him in anger at the news he had given to her, but she hadn’t given it a second thought. She loved rain, loved being caught in it and getting drenched, not minding the weight of the water on her skin. If anything, it made her finally feel something, even if it was cold. In hindsight, she probably should’ve thought twice about going out so far in the rain, Joseph being a bit skittish as he got older, but now here she was, having ridden over halfway between her estate and the city, and she could feel the droplets falling onto her blond coiffed hair that her maid, Polly, had done this morning.

She sighed and looked up at the sky—it was grey and angry, the wind swirling around her. It was going to be a downpour, she suspected. Joseph stopped when she pulled on the reins, and she considered whether she should turn for home or find somewhere to ride out the storm. It seemed to be coming soon, after all. She glanced around and there was just open space of hills and trees, but none large enough to provide any sort of suitable protection. Plus, she was closer to the city than home, anyways, so maybe it was better to just keep on going the direction she was heading. She could stay with friends in town if need be.

So she dug in her heels and Joseph continued, her urging him to go faster as the rain began to come down harder around her. It was like a curtain, the combination of the rain and the dark skies making it hard to see very far in front of her. The water licked down her face, and her chiffon blouse was sticking to her skin, the one her maid had made her promise not to get dirty, as it had just been mended for the second time. But she could make no promises—it was her favorite one, after all. And now, it would most definitely be ruined as dirt road beneath her turned to mud and it splattered Joseph and her clothes. She held fast though, wishing now more than ever that her father let her wear the new fashionable pants to let her ride more easily because side saddle was simply not cutting it at the speeds she was urging Joseph to achieve.

All of a sudden, a crack rang through the clouds, bolts of lightening littering the path far ahead. But the sound was enough for her to tense and Joseph to whinny, his front legs leaving the ground, her hold on the reins slipping as she was thrown from the saddle.

The last thing she remembered was the sight of Joseph taking off into the rain, saddle empty and reins flying around his body.

Harry could barely see in the storm, the downpour causing sheets of rain to fall on the windshield, his vision completely obscured. So he inched along as slowly as he could without endangering his ability to drive—or the car, since it was a gift from Josiah—and kept the headlights on full blast. He was exhausted after a weekend of fights in the town over, ones that left his body aching in ways he preferred to ignore. But he had a pocket full of earnings and he knew Josiah would be happy with that, so he paid it no mind.

He was running through the fights, thinking about the missteps and wrong moves he had made, spots for improvements, when he saw a girl lying down on her back in the mud a few feet in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes immediately. What the fuck was a girl doing out in a storm like this? When she didn’t move as he sat in the car, surveying the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed on a road, left there to be found by the next car.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the car, lifting his hand to shield the rain from his face. “Miss?” He called into the storm, eyes drifting over her body. She looked well to-do—her blouse seemed to be some type of lace material that the girls he knew were always fawning over, skirts bright and recently washed. What was she doing out here, alone and in the mud? And how had she gotten there?

He took a few paces closer to her, and she didn’t make a move when he brushed the hair away from her face. Hesitantly, he leaned down, an ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing—which she was, to his relief. She must be unconscious, although he could only begin to imagine how she had gotten that way. But Harry wasn’t the type to leave a young woman in need, alone on a dirt road in the middle of a storm. So he bent down, slid his aching arms under her body, and lifted her from the mud, cradling her against his chest as he walked back to the car.

She fit perfectly on his back seat when he tucked her knees in closer to her chest, blond hair draped over the seat. He grabbed his coat from the passenger side and draped it over her body, her skin cold to the touch from the rain. The thought crossed his mind of where he should take her—the police, perhaps? Or maybe a hospital? But Harry hated both of those establishments after years with Josiah. Plus, if she needed any protection, in town it was best if it came from Josiah anyway. The police were useless, a bunch of pompous assholes too big for their britches, Harry thought. And a hospital, Harry believed, was where people went to die not where they went to be healed. So he decided to take her to his flat, despite the fact that the prospect went against most principles he was raised on.

Although, everything Harry did went against his childhood principles.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t a wallpaper she recognized, and as she came to, looking around the room, she realized this was definitely not a place she had been before. Her heart seized as she inspected her surroundings. She was in a wire-frame double bed, a red duvet cover pulled around her shoulders, a soft light coming in the heavy curtains against a small window in the middle of the room. Clothes littered the floor—men’s clothes, from what she could tell—and a rug sat in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. An ashtray and the butts of cigarettes laid on the bedside table next to her, as well as a glass of water. Maybe it was a stupid choice, but her throat was raw and so she took the glass, gulping down the water without a second thought.

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a whistle. Tea, she realized. Someone was making tea.

Which meant she was not alone.

Her hands dove under the covers, inspecting the clothes on her body. Everything was still intact, her green skirt and the lace blouse she had put on,  every button done up exactly as she had left it. She didn’t have her shoes on, but on closer inspection, they laid on the ground next to the bed, but her stockings were still clipped to her garter at least. A sigh left her mouth at the prospect of some semblance of safety in this foreign place.

She tried to remember what had happened last—she had been riding through a storm after a fight with her father. Then, there was a bolt of lightning, she thought to herself, piecing together the memories in her fuzzy brain, and then remembered Joseph bucking her from the saddle. She couldn’t keep herself on, so she let go, knowing that was better than being dragged along. The last thing she remembered was Joseph riding away, her lying in what she believed to be mud.

Which would explain the brown marks all over her clothes.

Polly was going to kill her for the stains.

The whistle she had heard earlier suddenly stopped, and she heard the thud of something. Then, a soft hum of a song she recognized from the gramophone her father had in the sitting room. After a few beats, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood floors, the creak of the footsteps growing closer and closer. Someone was coming. She was going to finally discover who had picked her up off of the road and where she was—hopefully it was some nice old lady and she was in their son’s room.

But instead, a boy about her age stopped in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand, wide eyes at the sight of her sitting up in bed. His brown hair was tousled in soft curls across his forehead, and just trousers, a shirt, and suspenders adorned his body, his feet bare. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and she could see tattoos on his arms, something she had never seen in person before, just in photographs and magazines.

He was, she thought to herself as he stood there in shock, quite handsome.

“You’re awake,” he finally said, voice croaking in his throat. “I—uh, sorry, would you like a cuppa?”

Cicely considered the question for only a beat before nodding. He seemed nice enough, judging solely from his embarrassed reaction to the croaky sound of his voice. The boy disappeared and she waited patiently in the bed, flexing her toes to bring some feeling back into her limbs. She wondered how much time had passed—it seemed to be daylight out, so maybe not much time at all.

The boy returned, a second tea cup balanced in his other hand, his face more serious and put together than before. “Here you are,” he said, making his way over to her, his presence instantly changing the feeling of the room. Before, it was small, but not too small. Now, with his large frame and dark eyes, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.

“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the cup with cold hands. It was chilly in the room, probably from the draft coming in from the windows and her skirt which was still a bit damp in spots. The tea, though, was delicious on her tongue, plain, just how she liked it.

The boy grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the edge of the bed before sitting down, eyes darting between the tea cup and her face. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Cicely.” She took another sip of the tea before resting it on her lap. “Is this your flat?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyes glancing around the room. “My room too—sorry about that. It’s just me here, so I didn’t have anywhere else to put ya.”

So no wife or family then, Cicely thought, filing the information away for later. It was interesting, a boy of his age living alone. He must have moved away from home and made decent enough wages to get a place of his own, she decided, eyes fluttering around the room to see if she could pick up on any other clues about him. But she couldn’t find anything. “How did I get here?” She asked after leaving them in silence for a few moments, the curiosity getting the better of her.

Harry placed his teacup on the nightstand as he spoke, eyes avoiding hers. “Found ya in the road in the rain. Cold as ice and unconscious, all covered in mud. Didn’t want to leave ya out there, so I brought you here—thought I could take you home once you came to and all that. Call your husband.” He added the last sentence as an afterthought, and Cicely couldn’t help but smile internally at the thought of him thinking she was married.

Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet. And not for a while, if she had any choice in the matter. “No husband,” she informed him, thumbs brushing over the duvet. “How long have I been out for?”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and Cicely didn’t know if she had ever seen something so enticing. “Almost a day.”

A day? God, her father would have her head. He probably thought she was dead after she didn’t come home. Although it wouldn’t be the first time she had let him think that, her flair for escaping after an argument a reoccurring personality trait that her father despised. Which of course, was exactly why she did it. “I hope I wasn’t a bother,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry shook his head, and Cicely studied his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high rise of his cheekbones. He had a bit of scruff around his lips, which looked soft and pink and she tried not to think about what they would feel like. Cicely didn’t usually pay men all that much mind—sure she noticed them, but did she study every feature on their faces like she did Harry? No. She was intrigued by him, the rings on his fingers and the tattoos on his arms, the way he licked across his bottom lip. And perhaps that was why Cicely made no mention of needing to go, or that she should call her family.

“Are ya hungry?” Harry asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

At the concept of food, suddenly her stomach grumbled and she blushed, embarrassed at the sound, but Harry didn’t even react to it. “Yes, actually.”

He stood immediately, wiping his palms on his trousers as he did so. “I don’t have much here,” he said, taking their empty tea cups with him as she walked towards the door. “But I’ll put something together.” She watched him, unsure if he wanted her to follow. She was a bit curious as to what the rest of the flat looked like, she had to admit. “Ya comin’?”

Cicely scrambled to follow him, her stocking-clad feet nestling into the rug by his bed. Her skirt was crinkled from sleep and she straightened it as much as possible before sighing and exiting the room and into the hall. When he turned down a set of stairs, she realized that what she thought to be a flat was actually a little townhouse. When she reached the base of the stairs, she found that the rest of the home wasn’t much—dimly lit, only one other window in what seemed to be a small sitting room and a kitchen. A table was pushed to the side, two chairs tucked into it, a plate with crumbs on it sat on one side. The green wallpaper from the bedroom covered all of the walls of the home, and when she looked around, she saw a noticeable absence of most personal effects. He had only one photo up on the side table next to the couch, of what Cicely assumed was his family. Next to it laid another ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, an empty whiskey glass.

At the sound of a plate on the counter she turned to see Harry placing a slice of bread on a plate and tenderly spreading jam across it. Cicely tried to imagine her father even entering a kitchen and she had trouble with the idea, while here was Harry making her a slice of toast. The thought was actually quite endearing, despite the fact that Harry had not once smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said when he set the plate down on the table, grabbing the dirty one and taking it to the washbasin in the corner. Harry didn’t reply, so she took a bite. The jam wasn’t quite as good as what she was used to and the bread was a tad bit stale, but it was food all the same, and she didn’t mind all that much. As she ate, she watched Harry wash the plate, dry it with a dishrag, and place it back in a cabinet that held a few dishes.

He turned around when he was done, eyes trained on her with an intensity she was beginning to grow accustomed to from him. “I have work in a bit. Can I drop you someplace before that?”

Should he? Yes. Did she want him to? Not in the slightest. She pushed away the plate, and tried to figure out how to say this. “Would it be a bother if I stayed?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, his face finally changing from the usual intense stare that he gave her to one that was more curious in nature. “Is home not safe for ya?”

Cicely tried to decide whether or not she should lie to him. He seemed kind, generous, probably understanding, despite his inability to speak to her for very long periods of time without stretches of silence. Maybe he would understand that her desire not to go home wasn’t because home wasn’t safe, but because the life that was waiting for her was one she despised. So, she decided not to lie, but not to tell all of the truth. “No, it is. I’m just not eager to go back right now.”

“Oh.” Harry twisted a large gold H ring around one of his fingers, contemplating her words, before looking back up at her. “If ya want to stay, ya can. Know what it’s like to wanna hide for a bit.” Before she could request more information, he came towards her, snatching the plate and taking it back to the sink. He seemed to be awfully set on a clean kitchen, despite the messy state of his room. “You’ll have to come with me tonight, then.” He still had his back to her, so she couldn’t study his face as he said the words that piqued her interest.

Most girls would have probably requested to stay home, but Cicely wasn’t most girls. “Ok,” she replied, pushing back the chair. “Could I—uh—wash up somewhere?” The prospect of a bath sounded utterly delectable, although on second thought, she didn’t expect him to have a bath quite like the one she had at home.

Harry whirled around, eyes looking everywhere but her. “Yes. Um, there’s a basin in the washroom. Don’t have the water for a full bath right now, but…”

Cicely realized what he was so flustered about—he was embarrassed. Perhaps he had realized that her social station was a bit higher than his, that in her home they didn’t have to go fetch water somewhere, that she could have a bath relatively whenever she liked. And when she did it, someone else filled it for her. “That’s fine. I’ll manage.” She stood and made her way towards the washroom, following his directions, and shut herself inside. It was dark in there too—far less than she was used to. A silver bathtub was on one wall, and a smaller basin on a pedestal, a toilet in the corner. It was simple, bare bones, but she didn’t mind too much. Her father had put in running water when she was an infant, so she had never washed without it, but she decided it wasn’t too much of a change.

Quickly, she undressed, making sure the door was locked, and hung her clothing over the lip of the bath so it didn’t touch the floor. She took a rag and dipped it into the water, exhaling softly at the feeling of the cool water on her skin. There was some mud on her skin from when she had fallen, although she thought that perhaps Harry had washed some of it off—there wasn’t quite as much as she thought. A small mirror allowed her to wash the crust of mud from her forehead, and by the end of her washing she felt rejuvenated, even if it wasn’t a proper bath. Slowly, she slipped back on her clothes and considered for a moment the idea that she might need to purchase some more. Her clothes were stained from the mud, and she imagined she wouldn’t quite be able to get it out.

Although it would’ve been convenient, she didn’t imagine Harry had extra ladies clothes lying around for just this purpose.

She ruffled her hair slightly, the curls unfortunately having dropped for the most part, and sighed before letting herself out of the washroom. “Harry?” Cicely asked, turning the corner into the kitchen, where he stood, holding a glass of what she thought was a whiskey, a cigarette between his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of ladies’ clothes lying about, would you?”

Harry furrowed his brow before taking the cigarette from between his lips. “No—why?”

Cicely gestured at her stained clothes. “Mine are a bit dirty, and I wouldn’t want to wear them to your place of work like this.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips surprised Cicely in more ways than one. One, that he was laughing at all, for she didn’t find it to be a laughing matter. She didn’t want to make a bad impression to whoever his employer was, especially if she was going to have to be there. Second, his laugh was sweet, syrupy, one that rocked his shoulders, and made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to. “You wouldn’t want to wear your Sunday best to my place of work, love,” he told her, tapping his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “You’re fine the way ya are, but we can track down some clothes for ya tomorrow.”

Where would he work where her appearance would be adequate? But rather than question him, she just nodded. “Well, I’m ready,” she told him.

“Gimme a mo’,” he told her, tucking his cigarette back between his lips before heading out of the room. Cicely decided to check out the sitting room a bit more, investigate the people in the sole photograph in the whole home. She picked up the photograph and studied it, a man, woman, and young woman, probably a few years older than Harry, stood outside of a family home, a younger Harry nestled between them. It was curious to see him younger, his face less defined, an obvious softness to his facial features. But what stuck out to her the most was the uniform he wore.

He had been in the war. Of course. Her father had avoided it because of a years old injury to his leg, although she had secretly always throught he had gotten his doctor to make it seem more severe than it actually was. Many of the men her parents had set her up with, including the horrid one they were currently trying to force her to marry, were in the war, but when she asked them about it, they only talked about their medals, heroism, the beauty of France’s countryside. But she also knew most of them had been officers, their social ranks earning them a certain level of protection, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for Harry who had none of those privileges.

Footsteps came from behind her and she turned, dropping the photograph back to the table when she saw Harry in the hall watching her. He had changed while she was looking at the photo, a charcoal jacket over his shirt, a pin with a J on it buttoned to the lapel that she thought was a bit curious. He had a bag over his shoulder, and she wondered what was inside. “You were in the war,” she said, not acknowledging his appearance.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, his response a stark departure from how the men she knew would’ve replied. “Come on, we’re goin’ to be late.” She followed him out, wishing she had a hat or a small purse with her at the very least, but she had nothing but her dirty clothes and scuffed boots.

When they stepped onto the street, the sight of a wide and long street, row houses lining each side met her gaze. They were in working class Birmingham, she thought to herself as Harry locked the door behind him. Most men would’ve made to put their arm through hers, but not Harry—he just began walking, letting her catch up to him, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs. His bag swung at his side as they walked, and Cicely took in their surroundings, the silence stretching between them. It was dusk and women were calling their children inside, the games of football on the street breaking up. Two young children squabbled until their mothers separated them, tugging their little hands inside. Doors shut behind them and Cicely snuck a glance at Harry. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, most likely adjusted to their surroundings.

He didn’t want to talk, she understood from his body language, and she decided in a choice completely against her normal mannerisms, not to push him.

Cicely didn’t know what she expected from Harry’s place of work, but it was definitely not a boxing ring in an empty warehouse. She could hear the shouts and laughter of men from outside, and she had looked at Harry with confusion written all over her face when they approached the warehouse, but she followed him inside anyways. The smell of stale beer and sweat overwhelmed her immediately, and she had to squint in the darkness of the entryway. The ring had some lights rigged up around it, some chairs around it, but it was by no means someplace fancy.

So this was what Harry had meant by her not wanting to wear her Sunday best.

“You work…here?” She asked, turning to Harry, who stood beside her, watching her take in the surroundings. He nodded, offering no additional information. “And you box?” Another nod. “Is this legal?”

That’s when he gave another one of his chuckles, and then under his breath he said, “Doesn’t need to be, love. Josiah McClemmons runs it.”

Cicely may not live in Birmingham proper, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who Josiah McClemmons was. Everyone did. He basically ruled Birmingham, especially the working class neighborhoods, having built up his stronghold there. Her father complained about him at least once a week, about the violence and bloodshed in the city where his garment factories were. Although, Cicely had always thought to herself, her father probably shouldn’t complain too much because a dead husband meant a wife who had to work to feed her children, which meant a larger workforce for her father.

From the way Harry was greeted, Cicely assumed he was the reigning champion, the usual fighter here. Which meant that he was probably McClemmons’s payroll, if she had to extrapolate. “Do you work for McClemmons?” She asked when the few men who had come up to them walked away.

Harry adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and then nodded. “Could say that.” His eyes darted around the establishment, taking in the sight, before resting back on her. “C’mon, I’ve got to get changed and don’t want ya waitin’ out here.” He ushered her over to a man standing against a wall who wore a J pin on his lapel like Harry, which she now realized stood for Josiah’s name, a brand of who they worked for. “Tommy,” he said, the man’s gaze turning and settling on them. “This is Cicely. Keep an eye on her while I change?”

Tommy stood up straight immediately and when he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it, Cicely couldn’t help but smile. “Pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady,” Tommy said to her, a wink gracing across his face.

When she turned to speak to Harry, he was already gone, a few paces away towards a door. “Is he good?” She asked Tommy, turning back to her new acquaintance.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “The best,” he informed her before taking a sip from a mug of what she assumed was beer. “You’re in for a treat if you’ve never seen ‘im fight ‘fore.”

Cicely agreed, the prospect of a sweaty Harry in the ring a bit more enticing than she perhaps wanted to admit. She was able to get some information on Harry out of Tommy, the combination of a pretty girl and a mug of beer not a combination meant for secrecy. He fought with Josiah McClemmons’s youngest brother in the war, the experience making them nearly brothers, and came back to Birmingham with them. No one knew where Harry was from, but people had a number of guesses, everything from London to Liverpool. Apparently before the war he had been learning to fight, and the war sharpened his skills, so when they came back it seemed natural that Josiah would use the rings as a way to make money, using Harry as his prized fighter.

She couldn’t help but think it made Harry sound a bit like the Spanish bulls she had learned about in a magazine, a caged animal. But Tommy assured her Harry loved it when she asked, so she tried to put her mind at ease.

“Who is he fighting?” She asked Tommy after refusing his offer for a beer of her own.

“Peters—a local bloke,” Tommy replied. “Harry’s expected to win.”

Cicely gathered as much from the grumblings of his name that she could hear when the betting started, money flying in the air. It was fascinating to her, and she thought that she also fascinated the men—she was the only woman in the room and she tried not to squirm against the wall she leaned against.

But then, she heard a cry go up, and Harry’s opponent came out of a door, trailed by two men. “He’s massive,” she told Tommy as she watched the man walk to the ring.

Tommy grunted in response. “Harry’s fast, though.”

She hoped he was fast enough. Peters crested the ring, pushing himself between the ropes. One of his men handed him some gloves and Cicely watched as he pulled them on, his massive chest glistening under the gas lighting.

All of a sudden, a louder cry sounded, whoops and hollers of Harry’s name, and her gaze flickered to the door she had last seen him go into. There he was, walking towards the ring, a determined look set on his face. Tattoos littered his body and Cicely realized the few she had seen were a mere teasing of the real deal. And seeing Harry without a shirt on, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, tanned skin in the light, she couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive than she had thought.

A man helped Harry into the ring, and when he stood up, she caught sight of tape covering where his nipples should be. What in the world? She turned to Tommy and pointed at Harry. “What is the tape for?”

Tommy guffawed immediately, beer sloshing in his mug. “He’s got ‘em pierced.”

“What?”

She expected Tommy to tell her he was joking, but instead he nodded. “Got ‘em done durin’ the war, apparently. Some dare from his mates. Now he’s gotta have ‘em taped up or they’ll get ripped out.”

Cicely truly didn’t have the words for a response to that. She turned back to the ring, eyes set on the two pieces of tape over each of his nipples, entranced by the idea of them being pierced. She had heard rumors from her friends of ladies getting them done, but men? Why on earth would they want them done? She had never understood it on women, but the prospect of them on men completely confounded her imagination. Although, her best friend had told her it made them more sensitive, so perhaps that worked on men as well.

The thought was tantalizing at the very least.

“Sure ya don’t want a beer, love?” Tommy asked.

She had grown to quite like his company. He was a bit crude, but for some reason she liked that he didn’t treat her like she was made of glass like most of the men she knew. Her gaze darted between Harry, standing in the ring, and Tommy’s mug. “You know what? Sure.”

Tommy beamed. He was overjoyed at the idea, and Cicely was as well. She had never actually had beer before, just sips of champagne and wine here and there when she snuck it from her parents or during parties. But nothing as normal as beer—she didn’t even think her father drank it, to be honest. Perhaps that was why the idea was so exciting to her. Tommy left her on her own for a few minutes and she tried not to let the stares that still lingered on her bother her. Instead, she watched Harry, listened to the announcer, some chap in a jacket and askew flat cap, read out their names and weights. The part about Harry being the reigning champion stuck with her.

Cicely had never seen a boxing match before. Sure, she had heard of them, but actually been to one in person? Never. And much less one that was definitely illegal and held in a warehouse, a bunch of drunk men betting and still in their work uniforms. It made her heart race and she liked the feeling—usually she just got it when she rode Joseph, who she hoped had gone home to her estate.

“Here ya are.” Tommy had reappeared, a full mug of beer in his other hand for her. “Got ya somethin’ my sister likes.”

Cicely took the mug. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting. Would she even be able to drink it all? She stared at the murky brown liquid, the foam on top, and then up at Tommy who she could tell was stifling a laugh. Fuck it, she thought. And took a long sip. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Sour, sure, but it was also refreshing. A bit heavy, and considering she had only eaten some toast today, that wasn’t a negative thing. “It’s not bad,” she told Tommy, who gave her a grin in response.

She was about to say something else when she heard a bell sound—she had been so focused she had missed the start of the match. Whirling around, the first thing she saw was Peters’ arm fly through the air. The breath knocked from her chest at the possibility of Harry getting hit, but to her pleasant surprise he ducked it completely, feet helping him to move away from his attacker. The crowd cheered and Cicely took another sip, the action of having the drink in her hand helping calm her nerves as she watched Harry dance around Peters, ducking at every punch. She could see the frustration in Peters’ eyes, and the focus in Harry’s eyes making her scream out his name along with the men in the room.

She could feel Tommy’s eyes on her as she did it. She didn’t even need to look at him to know that surprise was written all over his face. If Cicely was going to be at a boxing match for the first time in her life, drinking her first beer, she was going to enjoy it. And watching Harry take a swing—and make contact—at Peters was exactly the excuse she needed to scream his name again.

The match passed quickly, and by the end of it Cicely had reached the end of her beer and her and Tommy were laughing at the fear in Peters’ eyes as Harry’s punches landed. He was winning by a long shot, and she had to admit, she was proud. During the whole match she had barely been able to take her eyes off of him, gaze trained on the sweat dripping down his cut body, his broad shoulders and tattooed skin glistening. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and for some reason she had the innate desire to twirl it off of his forehead and see what he did.

She also desperately wanted to see his nipples without the tape.

Desperately.

He was beautiful in the ring, his steps almost like choreography she had learned as a child to all of the dances she had to know for parties. Except Harry looked like a natural up there, his body moving before Peters made the move, as if he could read his opponent’s mind, his reflexes faster than anything she had ever seen before. She had a million questions for him the minute he stepped out of the ring, but the first thing she wanted to was clean the blood off of his body—blood which was a mixture of Harry’s and Peters’.

The end of the match happened so quickly that Cicely barely caught it. One minute, Harry was boxed into a corner, his arms up to protect his face, and the next, he was throwing a powerful punch to Peters’ face, the sound of bone crunching at Peters hit the ground so loud she could hear it over the men yelling in the ring. The announcer counted and she watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. Everyone else was staring at Peters, but her eyes were glued on Harry. And then, his lifted to her, their sight lines catching from across the room, and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile at her.

As much as she wanted to rush to the side of the ring as many people did, she waited where she was. She knew Harry would come find her eventually, since she was sleeping in his home, as weird as that sounded in her brain. So she turned to Tommy while she waited, her bones feeling light in her body. “He’s good,” she said, her words slightly slurring. Huh. That was weird.

“Told ya!” Tommy replied, taking her mug from her. “Forgot to ask you, love, how do you know our fighter?”

Her eyes trailed across the room to Harry, who she noticed was making his way towards them, a towel draped around his neck. “He saved me,” she said, watching his body flex as he moved. And her words were true, but in that moment she didn’t know quite how true they were. Only later, would she look back on the moment she met Harry and consider how he had changed her life by picking her lifeless body up on that dirt road in the middle of a storm.

Harry had fought the desire to look at Cecily throughout the match, and now that he was done he couldn’t stop. She looked so relaxed, leaned against the wall with Tommy laughing, her blond hair messy and her eyes bright. It was if his feet were carrying him towards her without a second thought, weaving through the crowd of sweaty drunk men in pursuit of the girl made of light. The closer he got, though, the more he noticed how she stumbled on her feet, how rosy her cheeks were, how loud she laughed.

Fuck.

Tommy had gone and gotten her drunk. Tommy might have been Harry’s friend, but that didn’t make him the smartest bloke in a room.

As he reached them, she took an uneasy step and Harry was there immediately. His hands fit around Cicely’s waist like it was the place he belonged, the lingering smell of perfume in his nostrils before he could clear the fog of his mind. “Ya okay, love?” The words slipped from his mouth, the pet name he had never called a single woman before just finding his way into his speech, as if his brain knew that she was special. He sure thought so.

Cicely turned her head, her gaze catching his and a smile broke across her face. “Harry! You were incredible!”

“Thank you,” he replied, gingerly removing his hands despite the fact that all he wanted was to hold onto her hips for the rest of time. “Tommy, did you give her beer?”

“He did,” Cicely answered instead, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She rushed to cover her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the sound. “It was quite tasty.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, giving Tommy a hard look that Tommy only shrugged at. “I’ve got to change and get you home,” he told her, processing the situation here. Although he trusted Tommy with his life, in this moment he didn’t trust him not to give Cicely more beer.

Before he could say anything though, Cicely was speaking, her fingers brushing across his arm. The feeling sent sparks up his spine, delicate compared the touches he was used to, the ones he had just experienced. Her fingers weren’t callused, but soft, as if she hadn’t seen a day of work in her life. Which she probably hadn’t. “Can I come with you?” She asked, eyes on his, a slight pout on her lips that drew his gaze in no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“While I change?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some questions about the match that I want to ask you.”

Harry glanced at Tommy who he could tell was barely holding back a laugh, a grin on his face that told Harry he would never hear the end of this exchange. “Fine,” Harry told her, the word coming out gruff. “Tommy, I’ll see you later.”

Cicely slipped her fingers around Harry’s wrist as he stepped away, and he tried to resist the immediate urge that came over him to rip them off, the touch something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The feeling of a woman’s hands on him was one of the things he had not indulged in when he came back from France, preferring drink and alcohol to drown the memories in. The prospect of one of them experiencing him at night, while he slept, was enough to make him frightened enough to avoid the concept.

So when Cicely touched Harry, even in the simplest of ways, it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Something that he hadn’t experienced since before his life changed, since before he saw men die in front of him, his friends lose limbs and call out for their mothers in their final moments. He had always thought that his ability to feel had died on the battlefields of France, but with Cicely’s fingers on his skin, perhaps he was wrong.

She didn’t remove them, either, as they moved through the throngs of men. When they reached the hallway that led to the room where he got dressed, though, he had no reason to let her continue touching his skin. So he wrenched his hand from her grip, as much as he wanted to let her touch every inch of his skin if she could continue to make him feel something again.

“I need to wash off,” he said when he shut the door behind them. “Wait over there.” He pointed to a couch in the corner of the room. Usually it was an office of some kind, but for Harry it was his dressing room. A basin of water sat on a table, cold and full, and he was itching to wash his sweat-coated skin. Surprisingly, Cicely followed his directions, and so he turned to the basin, using a rag to rinse off his skin, the feeling of the cold water like heaven on his pores.

“When did you learn to box?”

His head perked up at her voice. He could barely see her in the dimly lit room, but the outline of her was enough, her legs thrown over the arm of the couch in a complete unladylike way. “I was sixteen.” He surprised himself with his honesty, but in the room with just Cicely, for some reason he let a piece of his past slip through.

“Do you like it?”

The question had Harry pause. Did he like it? He cupped some water and ran it through his hair, the sound of the water dripping into the basin filling the silence between them. “It’s a job,” he told her simply. It was the best answer he had. He didn’t really have the luxury of considering whether or not he liked his job. It paid the bills and earned him a reputation that meant no one tried to talk to him, which was all he wanted. After France, all he wanted was to be left alone, save for a select few.

He was focused on his thoughts and the murky water in front of him that he didn’t see Cicely move from her position on the couch. Suddenly, she was there, her fingers dancing across his back that faced her. “Hand me the basin,” she said, voice firm in his ears.

Harry considered fighting her, but his body exposed him. His body craved her touch on his skin, and so he slid the basin to the side so she could reach it. The rag was wrung, and then she was brushing it over his back, reaching the places he couldn’t reach. He could smell her perfume, the faintest taste of beer on her tongue as she breathed lightly in his ear, the traces of jam on her breath from the food he had given her hours before. It made his fists clench against the table and he hoped she didn’t notice.

They stayed that way, Cicely brushing the rag across his skin, wiping away his sins from the night. Her fingers brushed a cut once or twice and he hissed, stopping her in her tracks. She halted her motions each time and wrung out the cloth with fresh water, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch he had never felt. She murmured how they needed alcohol when they got home, how she needed to properly clean the wound. It was something his mother would’ve told him, he thought to himself, a thought he quickly pushed aside as he clenched his jaw.

“Turn around,” she said, voice so quiet he barely heard it above their breathing.

And Harry did as she said. She had made him pliant under her touch, his desperation not to let her stop clouding his ability to speak. His bum pressed against the table and his eyes caught hers in the dim lighting, the gaze that passed between them making Harry stop breathing for a second. But when she brushed the cloth over a bruise, the wince that fell from his lips drew him from his fog.

The rag criss-crossed his body, covering the area he had already cleaned, but he didn’t stop her. It was only when her fingers brushed over the tape across his nipples that his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. But her eyes zeroed in on him, a determined look in her eyes that made him pause. “Let me see them.” Her words were gentle, but firm.

That made him release her hand, and he sucked in a breath and she pulled the tape from his nipples, the air on his sensitive skin making his stomach clench. He stood there under her gaze as she looked at him, the bars through each nipple that he had gotten on a dare. At first, he had been embarrassed of them, regretted them because they hurt like hell and scratched against his uniform. He considered getting them removed, or just ripping them out, but each time he paused. Paused just enough to let the thought pass, and his best friend’s voice entered his mind. “Who gives a fuck, anyways?” And that was the voice that made him keep them.

Now, it was too late to turn back. He was a boxer and the moment he stepped into the ring with taped nipples, it became something he was known for. The stories circled, tall tales that made Harry chuckle to himself, but he never told the truth. He liked the mystery around them. They became a sort of badge of honor, something that set him apart.

But he had never experienced a woman’s gaze on them, and he couldn’t help but fear her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Ridicule him?

Cicely, though, just looked at them, and then up at his face. “What do they feel like?” She asked tentatively.

It was a question he had never been asked before, actually. And one he didn’t quite know how to answer, because after two years with them they had become normal to him. “They heighten everything,” he replied honestly. It was about the only answer he could give.

This seemed to pique her interest. “Can I touch them?”

Fuck yes, his body screamed, desperate for her fingers on the most sensitive part of his body. His gaze zeroed in on hers, searching her eyes for a hint of a possibility she would ridicule him. But instead he found just genuine curiosity. And perhaps a hint of desire. So, he told her, “Yes.”

When her fingers grazed the bars, her warm touch on the cold metal that ran under his skin, he tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Her touch was like a lightning bolt through his body, setting every one of his nerves on fire. Holding in the desire to moan was one of the hardest things he had done, and as she touched the other, fingers curiously exploring his skin, it became more difficult. And then she whispered, “I like them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped from where her fingers touched his skin to her eyes, and he found her already looking at him. He watched her lick across her top lip, the flush to her cheeks and wide eyes that stared at him making his body boil. It was too much. He pulled away, desperate for space, for something to allow himself to calm down.

Cicely must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she immediately stepped back, the rag dropping into the basin of dirty water. Sweat, grime, and blood all mixed together and Harry thought as he looked at his reflection in the water that a mixture had never described him more.

“Let’s go, I need to eat,” Harry said, bending to grab the shirt from his bag on the floor.

Cicely didn’t reply with anything but a nod, and when he had laced his boots she followed him out of the room. The warehouse had emptied out, just some of Josiah’s boys around to help direct the cleanup. Harry knew he’d stop by the office tomorrow to get his cut of the winnings, so he didn’t bother to stick around. Instead, he pushed open the front doors and led Cicely out into the nighttime Birmingham breeze of coal and horse shit.

Cicely awoke to the sound of someone moaning and talking. Her eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness in Harry’s bedroom, her mind taking a second to gather her bearings and remember where she was. Then she heard the sound, something that resembled an injured animal, the edge of fear and pain that made her skin crawl. Last night Harry had given her one of his shirts to sleep in after she said she wanted to wash her clothes and leave them out for the night, and the cotton material bunched under her thighs and she swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused to see if she heard the sound again.

This time, a scream ripped through the house, and Cicely knew something was wrong. She pulled open Harry’s door and moved through the hall, eyes searching to see if she saw anyone, but it was empty. And then she heard it again, and this time without the barrier of a wall, she could tell who it was.

It was Harry.

Her feet didn’t bother to avoid the creaks on the stairs as she moved down the stairs to where he was asleep on the couch. The only light was the faintest bit from the moon, high in the sky, and it was just enough to make out the pained expression on Harry’s face and the thrashing of his body on the couch. He was talking to himself, something about the dark and the word No repeated over and over again, his voice cresting in panic.

It was a nightmare, she realized as she crouched next to him on the floor.

“No, please, it’s too dark, please—“

“Harry,” she said firmly, hands reaching out to grip his wrists to hold his arms to the couch cushions underneath him. “Harry, wake up.”

His eyes didn’t open though, and his body only trashed more under her. She didn’t know what to do, how to wake him up. The only thing she could think of was how when she was scared it helped when she felt safe. She didn’t know what made Harry feel safe, but for her, it was when her mother held her. So carefully, she lifted Harry’s shoulders, trying to avoid his arms trashing as she did so. Once she was seated on the couch she tugged him into her, letting her arms wrap around his chest and pin down his arms.

She murmured his name over and over again, softly in his ear to try and rouse him from the dream. “It’s Cicely,” she told him, “You’re safe, Harry, you can wake up. Wake up, Harry, you’re safe.” With their bodies this close she could feel his heartbeat, the way it raced in his chest. What was he experiencing? Where was he? She wanted to rouse him, pull him out of it and bring him back to her, but she was powerless.

After a few tries, she saw his eyes flutter open, his arms immediately trying to himself free from her grip.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”

“Cicely?” His voice was rough from the screaming and it broke her. It was raw in a way she hadn’t heard from him, honest and open. Nothing protecting him from her.

She could feel his heartbeat slowing already, and the thought put her at ease. “Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Cicely just ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to calm him as much as she could. His breath was ragged, big inhales of air and deep exhales, but it was becoming more normal as time passed. “I—I’m sorry,” he eventually said, voice small in the room.

But he had nothing to apologize for, Cicely thought to herself. The last thing he should do is apologize—it’s not his fault. “It’s okay,” she told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That made him pull away from her arms, her skin immediately missing his. Her arms fell to her side and Harry sat up, swiveled, and laid his face in his hands. “No,” is all he told her, not even lifting his head.

She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment, but she knew she would do anything. Somehow she had only known this boy for a day, and yet the sight of his pain made her heart break. “Do—do you want me to stay?” It was the only thing she could think of to help, and if it would work then she would do it.

But he shook his head. He didn’t want her there. And the last thing she would do is push him after what had just transpired, so she stood, the hem of his cotton shirt reaching an unladylike mid-thigh. When he finally looked at her, she saw that he noticed, his eyes falling to the place where the material ended and her skin began. She tugged at it, hoping he didn’t judge her—she didn’t exactly stop and think about getting dressed, she just moved. “I…”

“Looks good on ya,” he said, words reverberating in Cicely’s mind.

She stood there, as still as stone, trying to figure out what to say to him. No man had ever seen her like this, and she had always been taught that they shouldn’t. And yet, the idea of Harry seeing her exposed legs, her hair messy from sleep, her in his shirt, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. So she didn’t disguise the blush that she could feel in her cheeks, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Try and get some sleep,” she told him, and then she turned away, heading up the stairs and back to his room.

When she looked back from the third stair, Harry’s eyes were transfixed on her figure, gaze locked on her. For a moment, she held it, letting him watch her, but then she turned her head and went the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Harry behind in the darkness.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The prospect of having the dreams again (although he got them most nights) and Cicely waking up again was too frightening a thought for him to allow himself to go to sleep. Instead, he ended up having a glass or two of whiskey in the wee hours of the morning, smoking too many cigarettes on the doorstep, and thinking. His thoughts revolved around Cicely, weaving in and out of the snatches of moments they had spent together—of which there were few—and the bits he knew about her. Which was very little. He didn’t even know her last name, where she was from, or why on Earth she was out in the middle of a rainstorm, lying on her back in the mud. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or push her to talk, because he had this feeling that she was more than some spoiled rich girl.

The fact that she was rich was an assumption on his part, but one he felt was probably right. First, there were her clothes, which were nicer than any he had seen a girl around here wear, boots that looked like they were new, unscuffed.  Then there was the way she looked at his neighborhood—as if she had never seen something like it before. When she had walked out of his room and into the rest of the house, he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should be embarrassed, and at moments he was. But as they spent more time together, he began to get the feeling that even though Cicely may not be used to the way he lived, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

It intrigued him, the way she looked at his world. The way she had watched him during the match, the feeling of her eyes on his skin something he couldn’t shake, the way she had adapted to Tommy like a chameleon, blending in with ease. The way she had slid into the booth at the pub last night where they had eaten a late meal, complete disregard for the fight breaking out in the corner, her focus only on him and their meal. He kept expecting her to fit into the mold he had created for her, but she continued to slip away. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Or the fact that she seemed to want to stay. When she had asked him if she could stay, and she said she didn’t want to go home quite yet, he immediately jumped to the worst of conclusions. That her father hurt her, that something had happened, and she was running from a past as dark as his. But then he reminded himself that she had money, wealth, status. Problems like the ones he knew didn’t exist in their world. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to cast her in a mold of wealth and opulence he had read about and encountered on a handful of occasions, people who used people like him and tossed them aside when they had had their fill. But the world wasn’t fair.

He flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the sounds of horses and distant rumble of cars, clap of house doors as men left for work telling him that the day was beginning. It was time for him to see Josiah and pay a visit to Nellie, who he hoped wouldn’t slam a door in his face. Inside, Cicely was still asleep—he couldn’t hear any footsteps from upstairs—so he decided to dart out while she was still sleeping. With any luck, he’d be back before she awoke.

The walk to Josiah’s offices was a well-remembered one, the row houses, shipyards and factories he passed old friends. He waved to the children he passed on their way to work or school, and nodded to the men he knew from matches or Josiah. He lived deep in Josiah’s territory, a requirement for what he did, and as a result every man was on Josiah’s payroll in some way. They all knew when to turn their heads, when to lock their doors, and when to pull out their guns. It used to unnerve Harry, but with time it became as normal as the nightmare that plagued his sleep.

He knocked on the back door as he was trained, a nod to Cyril when the door opened. People congratulated him on the match last night, and he didn’t respond. They all knew he was quiet most of the time, knew not to expect lengthy replies. Before France, he used to not shut up. Now, he preferred to think rather than talk.

Josiah’s door was ajar, his ankles propped up on the desk, the telephone stand in one hand, the handset in the other. His eyes darted up as Harry opened the door wider, shutting it quickly behind him. Josiah never changed much—a mustache on his upper lip, hard brown eyes that only lightened if he had enough drink in him, lips that curved into a smile when someone made a very bad mistake. He wore exclusively charcoal suits, saying black was too common, and he wanted to stand out, and a dark blue tie every day, a silver pocket watch chain tucked into his vest. Josiah had built his operations from the ground up, a man of barely 25 years of age when he came back from France, determined to make a name for himself and protect the community that had been, in his eyes, murdered by the British government for a war they had no business being conscripted for. His hatred for the government ran deep, deep enough to line the pockets of the police across southeast Birmingham, especially in Balsall Heath.

“Alright, but don’t fuck it up, ya hear?” Josiah said, nodding for Harry to sit in the leather chair across from his desk. It was the chair where Harry had sat during many conversations, both good and bad. “Yeah, okay.” Josiah hung up, resting the telephone back on the desk and running a hand through his longer dark brown hair. He picked his cigarette up from where it was burning in the ashtray, and swung his feet off the desk. “Heard ya won,” Josiah said, finally speaking to Harry.

Harry took the offer of a cigarette and nodded. “Peters wasn’t as bad as everyone said.”

“Mhm. I’ll tell Billy that when I see him.”

“He was Billy’s?” That was a surprise. Billy had been on the rise in the neighborhoods bordering Balsall Heath, his power growing to become something threatening to Josiah’s operation. So for Harry to be fighting one of Billy’s boys was unusual to say the least. Josiah didn’t usually like to risk the fights turning into something more—at least, not when they weren’t meant to be.

Josiah nodded, pushing aside a stack of papers and resting his elbows on the oak desk. “Newer kid. I was promised no trouble, thought I’d take the gamble.”

“Warn me next time, eh?” Harry wouldn’t have had Cicely within a mile of the warehouse if he had known his opponent was one of Billy’s. The prospect of guns coming out while she was in the room made his skin crawl.

But Josiah just chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. “Goin’ soft on me, boy.” Harry hated it when Josiah called him that, but he always had. So he wasn’t going to start correcting him now, even though he was anything but a boy. “Heard ya had a girl there.”

Cicely. He knew Josiah would hear, but he had hoped he’d have a bit more time. “Yeah.”

Josiah wrenched open a door, reaching around for what Harry hoped was his pay. He wanted to get out of this damned office. Harry tolerated Josiah for Jack’s sake, but in truth Josiah had always been a bit too much of a wild card and a short fuse for Harry’s liking. But he gave Harry work, so he didn’t let his feelings get in the way. Plus, most men were short fuses after the war. “Where’d she come from?”

Harry chose not to answer, and thankfully Josiah didn’t push. He knew Harry didn’t like to talk, and most times he didn’t push too hard. “D’ya have the money from Manchester?”

Josiah didn’t reply, just pulled out a stack of bills, crisp and ordered, and placed them on the desk. “Manchester and last night,” he said and Harry took it, folding the bills over and shoving them into his pocket. It was more than most should carry, but Harry was anything but most people. “Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?”

Unable to help it, he rolled his eyes, the tension in the room lifting. Josiah smirked and Harry pushed back the chair, the thought of getting back to Cicely making him eager to leave. “When’s Jack back?”

Josiah pulled a ledger from a drawer before responding. “Sunday.”

Harry nodded. Jack had been in London since last week, working on some deal that Harry didn’t have the status for the details on. “Tell him I’ll come by?”

“Sure.” Josiah didn’t look up as Harry took his leave, shutting the door behind him and giving Josiah’s secretary a nod. Next was Nellie’s, which he hoped would go smoothly, at least.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Nellie stared at him when she opened the door, hair swept up on her head, clothes disheveled as usual. She cocked her hip against the door and rolled her eyes at him before asking, “What d’ya want, Harry?”

It had been over a year since he had rejected her, and yet she still treated him like he had broken it off with her after months. When in actuality, she had been the one to pursue him, and he hadn’t had it in him to tell her he wasn’t interested until she tried to kiss him. To say the least, things had been icy ever since. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Clothes for who?”

“A girl.” To her credit, she didn’t react to that news with anything but a sigh.

“What happened to hers?” She asked, opening the door wider. He stepped inside, the sound of children from upstairs wrapping around him, the sound making his body itch. It was too loud.

“Mud,” he replied simply, looking around for something to keep his hands busy, but he turned up empty. “So?”

Nellie pointed to the couch in the sitting room, a bit sunk in and worn with love. “I’ve got some that no one picked up. What size is she?”

Harry sat down the couch, folding his fingers together. “About yours.”

Nellie gave him another pointed look, but said nothing. She just disappeared to where she kept the clothes she mended for ladies, and he had to sit there and listen to her younger siblings squeal and yell up the stairs. When she reappeared, she had a few things in a stack for him, which she set on the table next to him. “There.”

He looked at the stack, the fabric without anything around it. He would have to walk home with them under his arm. “No wrap?”

“No,” she replied, and he decided that she purposefully didn’t give him any. “3 shillings.”

Harry pulled the coins out and pressed them into her hand, taking the clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Thank you,” he said, and headed for the door, knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye, Harry,” Nellie said, and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which he didn’t deserve, but wasn’t the type to protest. He checked his pocket watch—a little over an hour had passed since he left home. He wondered if Cicely would be waiting for him.

Walking into his home to find Cicely in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt made Harry stop in his tracks. While he knew he had seen her like this last night, last night it had been dark. In the dark he couldn’t see the lines golden curl of her hair, the milky white of her skin that seemed to go on for miles. It should be illegal, he thought to himself, to look as beautiful as her.

“You should put some clothes on,” he finally said, words gruff in the distance between them.

Cicely looked down at her legs and then at Harry. “I was waiting for you to come back, hopefully with clothes. Which I see you did.” She nodded at the stack of clothes under his arm and Harry knew he should move to give them to her, but he was frozen in place.

Seeing her in his kitchen, a plate with a piece of bread on it, an open jar of jam on the counter next to it, tea in his cup, it made him wonder for a split second what it would be like if she stayed. Like, really stayed. He knew that what was happening wasn’t permanent, that eventually she would have to go back to wherever home was for her. But having her in his home was making him realize that perhaps he didn’t like being alone as much as he had thought.

“Harry?”

His thoughts cleared and he jolted into action. He set the clothes on the table by the door and walked into the sitting room leaving her make her own decisions. Space, he thought to himself, he needed space from her. It was a push and pull inside of him—a pull that drew him to her and a push when he got too close. He stood by the fireplace, eyes trained on the black metal of it, as he listened to Cicely move through his home. Across the room to get the clothes, feet creaking on the stairs as she went up. When he heard her door shut he let out a breath, his body softening, tension leaving him.

The prospect of breakfast was enticing—he hadn’t eaten this morning. Porridge was what he had every morning, and this wasn’t the time for that to change. He shrugged off the jacket he had on, dropping it onto the couch, and headed for the kitchen.

When Cicely reappeared, the porridge was done and he was pouring it into two bowls, one for each of them. “Did you make me breakfast?” She asked, and his eyes drifted up to her. Nellie’s clothes fit her perfectly—a bit more snug on the curves of her body, but he wasn’t complaining.

“S’just porridge,” he replied and took the two bowls to the small table. He returned to the kitchen to grab his cup of tea, and he immediately felt her presence next to him as she picked up her own cup, left on the counter. Somehow he would have to get over the tension that raked through his body whenever she got near, but he didn’t know how he would manage that.

Cicely turned away from him and he followed her to the table, eyes trying to land anywhere but her body. She pulled out a chair and smiled at him softly. “Thank you. I’m not used to men cooking for me.”

Harry realized that him making breakfast for both of them meant they would have to eat together, that they would be forced to talk. The idea made him falter as he went to sit, but he forced himself to do it anyways, knowing that she would probably make him. “Mum taught me,” he mumbled, chair scraping against the floorboard as he say.

“Is that her in the photo?”

He knew exactly which photo she was talking about—the only one he had up. “Yes.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and dipped her spoon into the porridge, taking a bite. She was probably used to better quality, an actual chef maybe (he had heard rich people had those), but she didn’t give any indication that it was bad. Instead, she just took another bite before opening her mouth again to speak. “Where are you from?”

Harry didn’t tell people where he was from. It was a decision he made when he came to Birmingham, to leave his past behind him. The photo was up in his sitting room because he would’ve felt like shit for not putting it up, not because he particularly wanted it there.

“Harry?” She prompted, gaze fluttering over his face.

His grip tightened on the spoon in his palm, eyes on the food in front of him. “I don’t talk about my past.” Why did he want to tell her? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue and he tightened his jaw, trying to keep it from tumbling out on its own accord.

Cicely considered his statement as she sipped on her tea. “What do you talk about?”

The question made him look at her, her brown eyes already waiting for his. “What d’ya mean?”

“If you don’t talk about your past, then what do you talk to people about?”

He didn’t talk to people, he thought to himself. That was how he dealt with it. He only spoke to people who he felt safe with—Jack mainly, sometimes Tommy, Josiah if forced. They all knew his past, knew not to share it around. “Dunno.”

The sigh that slipped from her lips made Harry grimace. He had disappointed her and he didn’t like the feeling. “How about this? I tell you about myself, and you do the same in return. We each get a question.”

The idea was enticing, mainly because Harry desperately wanted to know more about her. She was like a period to him and he wanted to know everything that came before it in the sentence. Was it worth telling her about his past? Perhaps. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes twinkled, a playful grin sliding onto her face. “King,” she said, that one piece of information rocking Harry’s world immediately. The Kings were as notorious as Josiah was, just in a different way. They owned dozens of garment factories in Birmingham, controlled a handful of shipyards, one or two coal factories. Harry estimated probably half of Birmingham’s working class was employed by the King family and he assumed properly, by Cicely’s father.“Where are you from?”

“Church Hulme,” he told her. “Who is your father?”

He searched her expression to see if she recognized it, but she didn’t seem to. And why would she—it was nothing but a small farming town, some local businesses and a forge. “William King. How old are you?”

So she was the daughter of the head of the King family, an heiress to a fortune larger than anything he could imagine, no doubt. He knew the Kings had only daughters, but he didn’t know how many, or if Cicely was the oldest. The importance of staying up to date on the lives of the King family was never something he felt inclined to do, but now it was vital information. “22. How did you end up on that road?”

“I went riding,” she said after taking another bite of porridge. “The lightning scared my horse and he bucked me off. I must have passed out when I hit the ground.” Cicely considered him for a moment before speaking. “Where did you fight?”

Harry’s blood ran cold at her question. It dredged up memories he didn’t want to talk about. “We’re done,” he told her, pushing away his finished porridge and standing abruptly.

“Harry, wait.“ Her hand wrapped around his wrist, catching his arm as he stepped away, and the feeling of her skin on his made him have to close his eyes to get his breathing under control. Did she know what she did to him? “I’m sorry.”

“‘m not talking about that,” he said, not budging from his position.

Cicely’s thumb brushed across his forearm, the thinner skin meaning he could feel the press of her fingers on his body. “That’s okay,” she said, voice soft. “Will you come back?”

Although he probably shouldn’t, he opened his eyes and turned back around. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Her hand dropped from his wrist immediately at his question. “My father is forcing me to marry Clifford Stevens. Do you know who that is?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t exactly keep up with high society Birmingham circles in his free time. “He’s thirty and disgusting. He never even acknowledges that I might have a brain, much less that I’m a human being. If I marry him I’ll end up shut in his estate to raise his children for the rest of my life and I would rather die than sentence myself to a life like that.”

Clifford Stevens immediately became Harry’s least favorite person in the world, with the second being William King. To sentence a girl as kind, spirited, and open-minded as Cicely to a life as a glorified hostage was deplorable. “Why is your father forcing you to marry him?”

“We’re nearly broke,” Cicely said with a sigh. That was news to Harry. “Father has been losing money for years. He gambles most of what he makes away and because he’s a fucking idiot he never wins, and he hired a series of treasurers who are apparently inept at balancing the budgets. The factories are bleeding money and rather than take any responsibility for it, his solution is to marry me off with the knowledge that Clifford will bankroll my father’s lifestyle.” Perhaps it was the look on Harry’s face that gave him away, but Cicely gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t know the truth of the Kings, did you?”

“No.”

She fiddled with the cuff of her blouse as Harry considered her words. Was there any way to get out of her future? Probably not, unless she left behind everything that came with her name. Although from what she told him, it didn’t sound like there was much left. “Will you tell me about your family secrets in exchange for mine?”

His family secrets? God, where did he start. His gaze drifted across Cicely, her fingers brushing through the ends of her hair. What would she say to his answer? He supposed it didn’t hurt to tell her, since it wasn’t like she would tell anyone in his life about it. They were from different worlds, after all. “I found out when I came back from the war that ‘m not my father’s son.”

Cicely blinked at him, face softening as the words settled in. “What?”

“It’s just what it sounds like,” he said, leaning back in the chair and taking a breath. “Grew up my whole life thinking I had one father, when in reality it’s not him at all. My mum had an affair with some bloke and the man who raised me,” he spit out, hating the word father when he thought of him, “decided to keep me.” The feeling of her hand on his warmed his skin, but didn’t have the calm effect that he expected she intended. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Harry,” she murmured, calling his eyes from where her hand covered his to her face. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time someone had told him that, now that he thought about it. He had told Jack, who said, Fuck mate, that sucks. Want another pint? And that was that, but he didn’t mind it. Somehow though, Cicely’s compassion made his chest ache, his throat close up. He could feel tears rising inside of him and he panicked—he hadn’t cried since France and he wasn’t bloody going to start now, not in front of her. “I—I need a second,” he said quickly, scooting back in the chair and walking into the hallway, leaving her behind at the table.

He rested his forearms on the wall and let his head fall on his neck. Deep breaths in and out, his eyes shut, struggling to keep his brain together as his ears buzzed. They didn’t deserve his anger, he reminded himself for the millionth time, they didn’t deserve shit after the secrets they had kept from him. That his sister wasn’t his sister. The man who had taught him how to play football, how to tie a tie, wrestled with him as a kid, wasn’t his father. His fists clenched against the wallpaper, knuckles hurting from last night, but the pain almost felt good to Harry—it was a feeling he knew.

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped his head to the side to find Cicely standing there. “What?” He asked, not moving an inch, but just looking at her, trying to understand for the life of him why she was there.

Instead of responding, she ducked her head under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his body into hers.

She was hugging him, he realized.

He was frozen, unable to move. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her skin, somehow still clinging to her despite being in Balsall Heath for almost two days. The darkness of this place seemed to not even touch her, the light from her repelling all of it away. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt loosely, but just enough to where he could feel her through the fabric, her body feeling impossibly close to him.

No one had touched him like this in years. And he didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to act.

The only thing he could think to do was to lift one of his hands from where it was clenched in a fist against the wallpaper, and brush it down her hair. It was soft against his skin, the strands of it darting between his fingers and petting the rough calluses he had from years of hard work and fighting. They stung against his cuts from the past week’s worth of fights, but he didn’t care. The prospect of touching her was enough to push all of the pain away.

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding his. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and it was way too fucking close, so Harry immediately took a step back, giving her space. “Will you show me your Birmingham?” She asked him softly, voice echoing in the narrow hallway.

“What d’ya mean?”

“The Birmingham that’s your home,” she offered as an explanation. “I want to see it how you do.”

His Birmingham, the one that he had made a home, full of people who knew him as he was now. Respected him, feared him even—because what was the line, really, between fear and respect? The prospect of her wanting to understand his world the way he saw it was one he had never expected, but appreciated more than he could say. “Okay.”

Harry took her on a grand tour of Balsall Heath, them weaving through the streets with children playing, horses and cars  making their way down the thoroughfares. He showed her the factories her father owned, which he assumed she had never seen before, and he studied her as she saw the conditions of the workers her father employed. Cicely seemed to be everything her father wasn’t and he hoped that that continued to her views on labor.

Parts of Balsall Heath were more well-to-do, people who could afford to send their children to the art school opposite the public baths. But Harry showed her the parts he knew, the parts where people scrapped together money to make ends meet, where they relied on wages from people like Cicely’s father. He was thankful he had gotten her clothes from Nellie because at least at this rate she blended in more, although her nice boots still stuck out like a sore thumb. Although, he expected her being with him drew a decent amount of attention. When men stopped him to talk about a match and their children were with them, Cicely would squat and talk to them, not minding that her skirts got muddy from the unpaved roads. Harry had a difficult time understanding her when she did things like that. She was so unlike so many people of her station, and yet here she was crouching to talk with grubby children on unpaved streets with a pile of horse shit just a few feet away with a smile on her face.

For a second, he let himself consider what it would be like if she stayed. But he didn’t let that thought linger for too long.

They visited his favorite pub for a pint and she laughed at the barkeep’s jokes and charmed every man they met. Perhaps Harry should have been hesitant to introduce Cicely to so many people in his world, but at the same time he didn’t care what people thought of him. If Cicely wanted to see his world, then by God was he going to show it to her.

It was getting dark by the time they made their way back to his flat, bellies full from a roast they’d had at the pub. Harry watched her walk beside him, her eyes darting around the homes as they passed. “I like it here,” she told him, not meeting his eye. “Everyone is so nice.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Not everyone is. See all these houses?” She nodded. “In every one of them is a man who works for Josiah in some way. There’s a gun in every one of these houses for when Josiah calls.”

“Does he call?” Cicely asked, eyes finally turning to him as they walked.

He nodded, hoping that was the explanation she sought. From the way her expression changed, he assumed it was. Harry didn’t know what to do with her naivety, because it mystified him that someone could know so little of the world around them. Although, he thought as they rounded the corner to his street, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Does he ever…call for you?”

“Yes,” he responded because it was the honest answer. Even though he got to avoid a lot of the action because he specifically had told Josiah when he signed on to box for him that he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it came with the territory. Sometimes they needed all the people they could, and with someone as skilled at fighting as Harry and the experience from the war that he had, it would be idiotic for them not to call on him.

They reached his house in silence and he unlocked the door before pushing it open. She stepped in, and leaned down to wipe off her boots. He liked how she had already made herself feel at home in his space, knew that he always wipes off his shoes in the entryway on the mat, because otherwise the filth from the streets ends up inside. “Do you have a match tonight?” She asked, moving to the side.

“No.” It was his night off, but he had one tomorrow.

Her fingertips grazed the table and he watched them trail, the thought of her fingers on his skin drifting into his mind. “What do you do in the evenings you have off?”

Harry considered her question. He didn’t know, really. The evenings all passed, though, somehow. Time was irrelevant to him since the nights dragged on, plagued by nightmares most of the time. He spent a lot of time staring at the wall in the dark. Sometimes he took walks. Sometimes he drank enough to where the dreams didn’t come, but that was when it was really bad. “Nothing, really.”

Cicely rotated to see him, the sliver of moonlight those shone through his curtains hitting her blond hair perfectly. “Do you do anything but box?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

Harry hadn’t read a book since before France. “Not anymore.”

Cicely turned to his bookcase, which had collected dust from disuse. “Then why do you have so many books?”

“They make me think of my sister,” he replied, the truth shocking both of them. Gemma loved books, always had—she would be curled up on a chair all day with a book in her hands if their mother didn’t make her stop. When he was young, she would read to Harry sometimes, his childhood memories a mixture of fantasy and historical tales from his sister’s lips. Perhaps the books were his way of keeping her close.

Her fingers grazed the spines of his collection, dust falling around her. “Do you talk to her?”

“No.” He’d picked up the telephone a handful of times, ready to say the number to the operator. But then he’d think again, and set down the stand.

“I like this one.” Cicely pulled a bound volume off the shelf, her eyes dancing across the cover. “The Magnificent Ambersons.”

The name meant nothing to him. He bought bestsellers because he knew his sister did the same. Sometimes he considered reading one just to see what she would’ve thought about it. One time he almost mailed her one on her birthday. But each time, he did nothing.

“Can I read to you?”

Her voice was hesitant, nervous of what he would say. No one had read to him since the war, when his friends would read aloud their letters if someone didn’t get one. It made them feel like someone was looking out for them, even if they didn’t get a letter themselves. If it had been someone else, he probably would have said no. But it was Cicely and her voice was like his favorite church hymnal, entrancing and meditative. He would have listened to her talk for hours. So he said yes.

She directed him to lay down on the couch and he did, while she sat in the chair to the side. Harry lit a cigarette as she opened the cover, the sound of her tuning the pages the only noise except for the flick of his lighter. And then, she began. “Major Amberson had ‘made a fortune’ in 1873, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then.”

Cicely’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t know why. But then she heard a shout and a long, deep moan from downstairs. It was Harry again. Her hands pushed at the duvet and she flicked on the light by the bed. As she left his room the sound of him moaning in his sleep, words she couldn’t understand reached her ears, but louder without the muffling of the door. She didn’t bother to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

A scream, blood curdling and filled with anguish, ripped through the house, and Cicely flew the remaining few feet to the couch. The sound of Harry’s scream, sharp and frightened, shook her to her core. She just wanted him out of there, free from the clutches of whatever demon robbed him of his sleep.

“Harry!” She said, loudly, jostling his shoulder to try and rouse him. Unlike last night when she had knelt by the couch, Harry wasn’t flailing around. He was stick-straight, as if held in a straight jacket, but she could feel his pulse racing when she pressed her fingers to his sweaty skin. It was almost more frightening—seeing him unmoving but mumbling nonsense in his sleep. The only part of him that moved was his head, ever so slightly shaking back and forth, a stream of Nos leaving his lips.

“No,” he mumbled, “please, it’s too dark, please.” His words from last night were back again, and she wanted to know where he was. What endless circle of hell he had found himself in and how to dig him out of it.

She decided to do what she had done before, and tried to lift his shoulders from the couch. But this time, Harry’s body was so tense that she couldn’t lift him, as if he had made himself a thousand pounds. As he let out another loud groan, she grimaced—she had to wake him, she just didn’t know how. “Harry,” she said again, “wake up, please. Please, Harry.”

But her words didn’t seem to do anything, because the next thing she knew his scream was filling her ears, the sound ripping at her heart. Her body seemed to move without her knowledge as she threw herself on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, her palms cupping his face. “Harry,” she said softly, brushing her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Wake up for me, please. It’s Cicely. It’s safe, I’m here.”

Somehow, that seemed to rouse him, because his eyes fluttered open, his hazel eyes meeting hers in the dark. She was inches from his face, and she wondered if his sight was filled with her face just as hers was. “Cicely?”

“It’s me,” she said, brushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “You’re safe now.” She could feel the sigh that left his body intimately, her skin touching his in parts. That was when she realized how close they were, how completely improper her position was. She was on top of him for Pete’s sake. Her knees were on either side of him, their most intimate parts just inches from one another. If her elbows weren’t propped up on his shoulders, her chest would be touching his.

She scrambled to move, but Harry’s hands moved to her hips, halting her in place. Her eyes flickered to his, trying to read him, decipher what he was doing. Usually she had a hard time reading Harry, understanding what he wanted and needed. But now she had no problem. She watched him lick his lips, his pupils still blown out from the dream trained directly on her. When his grip didn’t shift from her body, but his thumbs brushed across the shirt she wore—it was his—and she knew.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cicely had never been kissed. Boys had tried, but they’d been disgusting, as had every other man she had ever known, and she had no interest in them. Until Harry, she hadn’t ever understood romance novels, the attraction people described in them. Every man who had ever showed interest in her had been boring, unattractive, and more than anything, just made her want to run in the opposite direction. But Harry made her want to race towards him at full speed, the darkness in his gaze and warmth in his heart made her want to know his stories, the way he looked at her made a part of her heart race that she had never felt before. He made her feel alive, as if she had been sleeping for nineteen years, just waiting for him to arrive.

One of his hands moved from his hip, inching through the air until his knuckles softly brushed across her jaw. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she wondered if she was going to pass out again. It couldn’t be possible to go this long without breathing, right? Because Cicely didn’t know the last time she had taken a breath, all of them swallowed up in the look on Harry’s face.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Desperately. With every bone in her body. Cicely wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like when he kissed her. She wanted to know everything about him, to uncover every piece of him like gifts on her birthday, ripping back the pieces of wrapping paper walls that kept him from her.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice one she had never heard before. It was soft, yearning, the encapsulation of everything she wanted in that moment.

He seemed to understand, because his fist uncurled, his palm moving to cup the side of her face. Slowly, his hand moved around her head, his fingers threading through her hair, the feeling of his callused hands on her skin alighting every inch in her body. Then, he pulled her head into him, his fingers on the back of her neck, delicately pressing at her skin. His eyes fluttered shut and perhaps hers were supposed to, but she wanted to see every moment of this—she wanted to know what he looked like when he kissed her.

When he did, his wet lips meeting hers, it was like returning home after a long trip, a homecoming she had been waiting for her whole life. Her eyelids shut, lost in the feeling of him, of the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips, the smell of him that she had grown to look forward to when she walked into the room he was in. Fingers drifted from her neck to her hairline, and he lifted his chin, changing the angle, and Cicely fell into the kiss. Her arms gave out, elbows falling from his shoulders to the cushions of the couch, her body suddenly flush with his.

Harry’s hand moved from her hip to curl around her lower back, tugging her impossibly close to him as their lips parted and met again. It felt like there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them and Cicely didn’t want any. Their noses were pushed against each other, foreheads touching, lips moving in a dance they somehow both knew by heart. She pushed her fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. A sound left his throat, and Cicely went to move her fingers, thinking she had hurt him.

“Do it again,” he mumbled.

Cicely’s eyes flickered open, studying him with her lips just a centimeter from his. He looked at her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—it was a look she had never seen but one she wanted to see for the rest of time. So she brushed her nails across his scalp and slotted their lips back together, squeezing his hips with her knees. Under his shirt she could feel his heart racing, and she wondered if he was as affected by what was between them as she was. Because for her, it felt like her world had become Harry, even though she had known him for only two days. Somehow, he was her every thought and she didn’t want another thought to grace her mind ever again.

Harry shifted his head, nudging at her jaw and pushing it up so that her neck was stretched out. In rapid succession, he pressed soft kisses to her jaw and Cicely’s head lolled back to make room for him because it felt so good to have his lips on her skin. Then, his tongue flitted out and licked over her pulse point, making her squirm against him. His hands gripped her tightly in response, before ducking his head down, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

A breathy moan left Cicely’s mouth, mixed in with the undertones of Harry’s name. It seemed to spur him on, because he opened his lips and sucked on her skin softly. It was a sensation Cicely didn’t even know what to do with, how to process, but she knew it felt good, so she held his head to her skin, urging him to continue. Which he did—laving his tongue against her tender skin in between nips and harsh sucks, and when she looked down and saw the mark he had formed, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She just pulled his head up to meet hers, desperate to have his lips back on hers again.

His hands fell to her waist, clutching at his shirt that hung there. When he pulled at it, the hem crawled up, leaving her thighs mostly exposed to the cool air inside the room. But to Cicely, her flesh was burning from Harry’s touch and the cold air was welcome, and she didn’t mind that more skin than was appropriate was on show. She had a desire within her for Harry to see all of her, every inch of her skin if he would keep making her feel like this.

Harry seemed to not notice her exposed skin until his palms drifted downwards and gripped her skin, his eyes fluttering open and his lips pulling away from hers. “Cic—“

“It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing at the hair on his forehead. “I trust you.” And she did. She trusted him more than she did anyone else in her life, who had just let her down in a series of lies and cheats. He was the first person to take her for as she was, not demand her to be some prim and proper version, to show her the truth of their life, even if it was in pieces. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know it all, she knew enough. Enough to know Harry could never hurt her, at least, not in the ways that mattered.

His head bent, and he rested his forehead against hers, sucking in air and quick puffs. “We—we should stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, barely trusting her own voice in the moment. She didn’t even know what it was that she wanted, but it was everything, anything he would give her. She would take scraps at his table, if it meant one more moment in his arms.

Harry pushed her hair behind her ear, and then let his fingers fall to the mark he had left on her skin. She thought she could see a blush rising to his skin and it made her smile. “I want you to be sure,” he told her earnestly. “And I—I haven’t done this in a long time. I need…I want it to be perfect. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did, and the fact that he wanted her to be sure made her trust him even more. Because even though she wanted it, she had barely thought about it. Cicely was impulsive, and her impulses had a tendency to get her into situations she regretted, and she didn’t want to regret a moment with Harry. “Will you come back to bed with me at least?”

His breath shuddered, eyes closing. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, and she thought she had an inkling as to why.

“Harry,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his brow bone. “Your nightmares don’t scare me. I want to know every part of you, even the dark bits.” That made his eyes open, his pupils found her in the moonlit room. “Will you come to bed and tell me about them? It doesn’t have to be everything, I just want to know how to help you.”

Slowly, he nodded. She scooted back, letting him sit up on the couch. Tentatively she pulled her knees up from the couch and dropped back to the floor, coming to a standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers to help him up. He was a disheveled mess, his hair standing in all directions, and she realized it was from her. She liked it, seeing the results of something she had done on him.

With his hand in hers, they walked up the stairs to his bedroom, to the unmade bed she had been sleeping in before. Knowing he would be hesitant, she got into bed first, scooting against the wall and turning, so she could watch him get in behind her. The moment his head hit the pillow, the duvet cover around his waist, Cicely leaned into him, wanting to be close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm cautiously wrapped around her, holding her to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, just inches from the nipples with barbells through them, the ones that she wanted to see again but didn’t know how to ask about. The bed suddenly smelled like a mixture of them, a new scent that she already adored. She hoped she didn’t have to go to bed again for a long time.

She brushed up and down his chest over his shirt, drawing light lines across his skin. After a few minutes of just lying there, Harry cleared his throat and began to tell her the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes. “I’d barely been there a few weeks,” he said softly. “It was still all new to me, the landscape of France, the sound of bullets in the distance, the smell of smoke and dead bodies in the air. We were in this open field, the only protection was an occasional tree, but we spent all of it in trenches.”

His voice was like gravel, rough in the silence of the room, and Cicely kept rubbing at his chest, hoping it would keep him calm enough to keep going. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter how bad it got. “There was this massive offensive in motion from the French, and we were a piece of it. We were supposed to take Arras, to gain a strategic advantage against the Germans, break the deadlock we were in. All of us were itching for action, something just to keep our minds from spiraling in those fucking trenches. I’d never really been in battle before, so I didn’t know what it was like. But god, the minute we started moving, when we came up out of the trenches and the firing started, it was like the world was ending.

“Everyone around me was dropping, partly from the German fire, but more so from the shells from the air. It was so loud—they don’t tell you that, how loud war is. Your ears never stop ringing, and you’re almost able to like, drown it out for a second? But then something goes off near you and your whole body is jolted and it draws you back to the Earth. And I was just trying to like, reload my gun, right? And keep my body from shaking. Jack was there, and he was telling me to keep it together—that’s how we met actually. He found me on the field, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t reload.

“It went on like that for days. Weeks, even. We made it three or so miles on the first day, but we also lost so many fucking men. We had to figure out who was gone, and it was easier to figure out who was still there. We made it into the town and there were all these houses with no roofs, tanks covering every inch of the road. It was like walking through the end of the world. And you can’t sleep, but you also can’t do anything but sleep because it’s this bone exhaustion you’ve never felt before in your whole life.”

Cicely could feel the fast beat of his heart and his voice was speeding up, the anxiety settling into his bones. “I’m here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder where her head laid. “I’m still here.”

His head shifted, tilting to his chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel like I did, on that battlefield. Everything I knew before that moment was gone. It was just echoes of the dark trenches at night, the feeling of rats crawling across your boots and the niggling feeling that you can’t go to sleep because something might happen. And the death...I think I stopped believing in God on that battlefield, because how could any God ever want that many men to die? And for what, a few measly miles that didn’t even fucking matter in the end?”

“How many did you lose?”

He paused before answering, but when he did his voice cracked as he said the number. “158,000. There were conflicting numbers, but that’s the one I heard the most.”

Cicely couldn’t even wrap her head around that number. What did 158,000 people look like? Who were all of those 158,000 people? Who were their families, their children, their loved ones? How many lives were changed forever by those days? “I’m glad you survived,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t want to say she was sorry because that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Not in comparison to everything that had happened.

“For a long time I wasn’t,” he said.

“What changed?”

His fingers brushed through her hair, tender, soft caresses that made her eyes flutter shut. “A girl who showed me there was still someone left inside of me.”

Cicely looked up at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the light bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night, the curls of his hair. “You know what I see when I look at you?” He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Someone who has experienced more pain, hurt, and loss than any one person should be allowed to. But who still manages to be kind, to be generous, to care. Someone with a life worth living, someone who is worth loving.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly. “Someone who is worthy of everything in the world.”

She felt the tears on his cheeks when he kissed her, their lips molding together just like before. His hands gripped her face, as if he couldn’t have her close enough, and she didn’t blame him. She wished with every kiss she could drink away the pain inside of him, pull it from him piece by piece until none remained. But she couldn’t. She could only hold him and tell him who he was to her, that he was everything to her, someone she didn’t know was waiting for her out there in the world. But who now she couldn’t imagine a life without.

The days melded together in beautiful technicolor. Seven days had passed since Cicely had woken up in Harry’s bed, and each one made her more thankful it was him who had picked her up on the road. She stood in the crowds during his matches, cheering his name with Tommy and becoming less floaty every time she had a pint. At the end of each night, Cicely cleaned the blood and sweat from his skin with a tenderness he had never experienced, pressed kisses to his forehead and told him how good he did. Each night in the pitch dark, she chased away his nightmares with reminders that she was there, she was real, this was real and the battle wasn’t. He clutched the shirts of his she continued to sleep in and held her close, letting the beat of her heart and the exhales from her chest lull him back to sleep.

He hadn’t slept this well since before the war.

Cicely had discovered a new routine. While Harry was meeting with Josiah and Jack, training, or just generally out of the house, she went next door and helped teach the Rollings children to read. She had stumbled on Pippa and Clarence the morning after she had kissed Harry, almost stumbling over them in the daze she carried. They were playing outside and she had a book under her arm, a plan of finding the nearby park and reading for a few hours. But when she stopped and apologized, Pippa asked what she had, and at the sight of the words and Cicely’s description of what a book was, she was intrigued. After asking their mother, Cicely began to spend her mornings with the children curled up on their couch or at their small table, or even on their front steps, teaching them their alphabet and how to sound out words, how to form sentences and read them on the page. They were ravenous for learning and their mother was happy to see her children entertained by someone who wasn’t her for a change, so Cicely quickly became a fixture in the house.

When she had told Harry, he gave her a small smile, the first one she had seen, and a quick peck to her forehead. It was exactly what she needed from him, a vote of support and nothing more. In the afternoons she washed the blood stains from Harry’s clothes and towels, or carried water into the house and ran herself a bath, a task well worth it. One time Harry almost walked in on her and the flush on his cheeks made her almost let him in. But that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her naked body for the first time, so she squealed for him to shut the door and he did, none the wiser.

After he had told her about France, about the demons that followed him into the night, the secrets between them fell away. It was if a damper had been lifted, and at night when they laid in bed, he shared more about his past and she told him of her family, the life she was supposed to live. She tried to avoid the topic of the future, because it made them both anxious. It felt a bit like they were living in a bubble, as if the outside world and its pressures were nonexistent. One morning Harry brought up how they hadn’t heard anything from her family, and Cicely nodded in reply. She had thought about it many times, and she didn’t quite have an answer for it. Although maybe Harry was just so far from the expected answer that she would never be found.

Just as she was starting to settle into the prospect of her life becoming this permanently, her past came knocking. She was with Pippa and Clarence on Harry’s front steps, their own ones being swept by their mother. A book was spread open on her lap, one she had found at a bookstore for children, and she was helping them decipher the sentence. She could feel eyes on her, which at face value wasn’t something to worry about—people were always looking at her, at the new person in the neighborhood, although once they found out she was Harry’s, they stopped. But this time, the feeling of someone watching her didn’t let up.

So when they reached the end of the page, she looked up in search of whomever was so interested in her. And what she found were the eyes of a policeman, the black uniform and intent stare raising the hair on the back of her neck. She knew immediately what it meant, that this wasn’t some normal policeman, because the ones in this area normally didn’t pay her any mind. Josiah had made clear she was not to be trifled with the minute Harry had told him that Cicely was with him, for all intents and purposes.

This policeman, though, wasn’t from around here. He stuck out, the shine of his shoes a bit too bright, the cocky attitude obvious from a mile away. He didn’t know the people or the area.

Which could only mean one thing.

Her father had found her.

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan​

PART TWO

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Soldier Boy (Part 2)

Summary: The reader spends the day with Dean getting to know him some more when she catches him in a lie and discovers one of his most dark secrets...

Masterlist

Pairing: Superhero!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, mentions of death, angst

A/N: Enjoy!

____

“So how old are you, Solider Boy?” you asked the next day as you walked around the park. 

“Thirty,” he said with a smirk.

“Solider Boy’s been around since the second world war. So. How old are you really?” you asked.

“I was eighteen when I was injected. I’ve aged very slowly. I do age, but it’s slow. They...I shouldn’t talk about this stuff,” he said, kicking at the ground with his boot. “Ah, fuck it, it’s in the news anyways.”

“The compound V?” you asked and he nodded.

“First successful try right here. I was still going through puberty so it took,” he said. “I guess. The science is very complicated they said. They just said you want to serve your country and I signed up.”

“What year were you born?”

“January 24th, 1926,” he said. You paused and he chuckled. “I know some women aren’t into older men.”

“I must seem like a child to you,” you said, walking again and crossing your arms.

“You’re twenty nine. I’m thirty. What’s such a big deal about that?” he smiled.

“You’re sweet,” you said. You dropped your hands by your sides, Dean taking one of them in his. “Old man ain’t wasting his time.”

“Keep it up, kiddo,” he laughed. You laced your fingers together with his hand and smiled as you looked at him. A flannel and t shirt. Jeans and boots. A baseball cap on his head. He looked so ordinary and yet he was the first superhero in existence. “I’m sure you’re wondering if I ever had a family.”

“A bit. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you said. 

“No, I want to. I don’t talk to anyone anymore. Aside from the people at Vought to try and get in The Seven but that’s like beating a dead horse at this point,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently I’m too similar in the market sector as Homelander. Go ‘merica and color scheme and that shit. I didn’t ask to be the leader or anything. I just...want to get off the kiddie squad, go do real shit out there, help people, not the stupid stuff I do now.”

“Maybe that’s why you don’t fit on The Seven. You want to help people, you don’t care about the photo op,” you said.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” he said. “But to answer your other question you didn’t ask, no, I never had a family. I had parents and a brother but they’ve all passed away. All my friends are gone. It never seemed right to love a girl and have a family and watch them all grow old and...honestly I didn’t want to watch my children grow older than me and die. I can’t imagine anything worse than outliving them.”

“You’re a good man, Dean.”

“I had the occasional acquaintance, don’t get me wrong. But it was always casual, no titles, nothing formal.”

“Is this casual?” you asked. He shook his head and you bumped his shoulder. “What’s different this time?”

“A chemical made me this way. Maybe a chemical can unmake me this way. We are so advanced now compared to back then. Maybe I can age normally with some other combination. Maybe I’m stuck like this forever. I just know that the numb pit inside of me woke the fuck up when I met you and it has been quiet for a very, very long time.”

“My mom’s quiet a bit older than my dad. Age gaps don’t scare me,” you said. He chuckled and you held onto his arm. “You don’t sparkle like the twilight guy though right?”

“Oh my God, no,” he laughed. “No sparkles here. I do make sparks when bullets bounce off of me though.”

“Well now you’re just bragging,” you said. You rested your head on his arm, thinking back to a movie you used to watch as a kid, Solider Boy the lead in the thing. “Dean.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you just lie about not having a family?” you asked, pulling away from him. You knew you could have let it go, should have let it go for the sake of the mission but damn you were pissed off at him for lying to you. You crossed your arms and he frowned, going over to a nearby bench. You sat down next to him, Solider Boy rubbing his hands together. “You were in this movie my brother loved so I watched it all the time. He was a huge fan and he would never shut up about you. I never paid much attention but I remember. You had a wife and kids once.”

“You’re gonna leave after I tell you this part,” he said, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m gonna leave if you don’t tell me the truth right now. You will never see my face again. You promised you would not lie to me. Out with it Dean.”

“I wasn’t always a good person. It’s very...difficult to stay good when there’s so much bad around you. When there’s no consequences.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“My son and daughter died hating me, thinking I was a monster. They died because of me. That was the breaking point for me. I walked away after that, I started over. I’d turned into this thing I didn’t recognize. I became Soldier Boy. Dean Winchester...he died back in that war. Not until the nineties did I realize what had happened to me. So I left. Went away from the world. Brought Dean back to life and Soldier Boy came back but different. Good this time. Greed, corruption. It’s not happening this time. Then you said...you made that comment about me being naive, that I’d turn eventually into an asshole supe like the rest of them. I’m terrified of that happening to me again. Maybe that’s why I like you, cause you’ll remind me not to be a monster again.”

“Why do you call yourself a monster?” you asked quietly.

“The first time I killed someone, I was mortified. The last time I did it, I laughed. It made me happy. I hurt him before I did it even. I stopped caring about people. My wife wanted a divorce. I thought she was hot, she fit my image. I told her I didn’t want one so she took some pills and told me she’d rather die than live with the devil. My kids were young adults, late twenties. I snapped at them when they blamed me for their mother’s death. My son hit me so I pushed him and he hit his head. My daughter ran out, afraid of me and was hit by a car. They died because I didn’t want to lose my image. I wasn’t even that upset at first. I thought a widow superhero, that’ll boost my numbers.”

“If that didn’t…” you said, Dean running his hands over his thighs. “What made you change?”

“I found a drawing my daughter had made me when she was small,” he said. He took out his wallet and unfolded a laminated sheet of paper holding it out to you. It was done in crayon, a few stick figures with one of them wearing a superhero outfit and the word “daddy” written above it. “She loved me once. I ripped it away from her. I found that cleaning out the house and I realized what I’d done. I’m worse than any bad guy there ever was for doing that to them. I stopped caring. When you stop caring is when you lose those bits of your soul. They break off until there’s nothing left. I am a monster, Y/N. Nothing I ever do can make up for it and save whatever shattered pieces are in there. But I owe it to my kids to be good and stay good.”

You handed the sheet back and he tucked it away, his wallet going in his pocket as he stared out at the trees across the path. 

“I understand if you would no longer like to see or speak to me again. Or if you want to slap me in the face. That’s also acceptable,” he said.

“What year was all of this?” you asked.

“They died in ‘92. Then I ran away to Kansas, worked as a farmhand for a while,” he said. He rubbed his palm and stared down at his lap. “Just...be careful at night and try to stop walking down alleys for me, okay?”

“Why are you saying that?”

“I’m never going to see you again after you get up from this bench.”

You stood up and he let out a sigh. You took a step to your left and sat down closer to him, turning your head as Dean looked so horribly confused at you. You couldn’t walk away. It wasn’t an option. But while you knew you couldn’t walk because of the mission Butcher had you on, you didn’t want to. There was so much self-hate inside of Dean he hid well and part of you ached that he considered himself sub-human.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Dean. What happened to your family was horrible but they were accidents. Your daughter, your son. Your wife, did she even let it sink in for you before she did that? If I was married to someone and they suddenly asked for a divorce my gut reaction would probably be no too. I’m not saying you didn’t play a part but those were her actions that trickled down and affected the rest of you. Letting yourself become corrupted means you’re human. We all make fucking mistakes. Yours are a little big, I admit that. But you try to make up for it. All you can do after the fact is try and you’re doing that. There’s a soul in there Dean. If there wasn’t this wouldn’t be eating you alive. Cut yourself a break. I gotta process everything you said but I’m not walking away. Promise you will never lie to me again and I can promise you that I won’t judge you, no matter what you’ve done.”

“I’ve been around 95 years and I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said. “That’s a good thing. I will never lie to you again. I swear. I’m sorry. I was...frightened of telling you who I was deep down. I like you. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s the first bit of happiness I’ve felt in a long time and I don’t want it to go away just yet.”

“It’s okay that you were scared. Maybe on our third date we can have a less intense conversation. We can talk about how you’re older than sliced bread,” you teased. 

“You youngin’s don’t know how good you got it,” he chuckled. You took his hand into your lap and he smiled. “Not a monster to you?”

“No. Just be a good guy and I’ll be happy,” you said. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, Dean looking you up and down.

“I wish I knew you when I was a dumb kid that let them shove that stuff in me. I never would have said yes if I had a girl back home.”

“Well, from now on, maybe just ask if you think I’d be proud of what you were doing. If the anwer’s no, maybe don’t do it,” you said.

“I’m gonna keep that one,” he said. “Also did you subtly drop that I’m getting another date despite all of that?”

“You told me the truth, even though it was hard. That’s why I like you too,” you said. “Plus you’re really old so you must have like, sex down to perfection by this point.”

“Gonna blow your fucking mind,” he teased. “Eventually. I know things are different nowadays but…you’re special. You’re not a hookup.”

“When you’re ready, you let me know and we’ll go from there, okay?” He nodded and you gave him a hug, Dean hesitant at first but he quickly relaxed into it. “You alright?”

“Been a long time since I had a hug is all.”

“You need one, just come to me,” you said. You sat back and he smiled. “So. Let’s go do something fun. You look like you could use it.”

“Night,” murmured Dean as he kissed you at your doorstep that evening.

“Night,” you said, not moving away from him just yet. His ears perked up and he forced himself away. “Trouble?”

“Yeah. Nothing major. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Bye Dean,” you said, watching him take off running far faster than any human man could. You smiled as you locked up, a loud thud coming from your kitchen. You unlocked the door and looked around. “Hello?”

“For such a nice house you have an incredibly small kitchen,” said Butcher as he walked out with the bottle of your nicest bourbon.

“Oh come on, that was a housewarming present,” you said.

“I swipe you some more,” he said, taking a long swig. “How’s it going?”

“Good. We got close today but Butcher you seriously can not come back here again. Dean was this close to coming inside tonight.”

“Dean. I thought he was Solider Boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You want to wind up like his last broad did? You give him the puppy dog eyes and then we make a move,” he said.

“I’m starting to think we might get further with sugar over spice. Billy he wants to make up for his past. If he gets into The Seven he could be a serious asset.”

“Are you going soft on me?” he asked, an edge in his voice. 

“Let me work him the way I know best. Trust me,” you said.

“Don’t forget what this is for. You call when you’re ready,” he said. “Don’t take too long.”

He left out the back and you sighed, running your hands over your face. Sure, Dean had done some bad things in the past but who hadn’t? He wasn’t playing you, he had no reason to. The part of you that wanted revenge was still there but he didn’t cause your brother to die, not really. He was simply a prime target at the moment.

You swallowed and went to the kitchen, taking the bottle of alcohol to the family room. You sat on the couch and took a swig, letting it burn your throat.

You didn’t want him to get hurt. You liked him. A lot. Maybe you could convince him to go away, be someplace safer. Your head turned when you got a text, the alert saying it was from Dean and him asking you if you wanted to get out of the city and go hiking tomorrow.

Maybe that’d be a good time to tell him the truth. He was bound to find out eventually and if he got mad, at least you’d be the only one in danger. Billy’s voice was at the back of your head but you ignored it. He’d been angry for too long, couldn’t see the good in people anymore. Dean wasn’t what you thought he was at first. He was good deep down.

You’d tell Solider Boy the truth tomorrow and hoped you lived to see the next day.

______

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Arthur as a protective Dad

Alrighty friends, I know I haven’t really touched my writing requests in sometime. I have been having to deal with some pretty complicated family issues and other things in my life, and I just haven’t had much time or energy to write. But it really is all your support that keeps me going! 

This request is from a user on AO3:  arthur dealing with micah after he sees him being a creep and harassing his teenage daughter. I know that sounds dumb but i just love protective and angry arthur (that kind of angry from him feeds my soul)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Everyone knows that Arthur is the ultimate definition of protective. He’ll put himself between a bullet and any of the girls in camp. With you, he’d do even more. However, none of that comes close to what he’ll do for his daughter. Whatever she asks of him, he’ll do his best to find a way to make it happen. 

When it comes to keeping her safe, no one dares to mess with Arthur’s daughter. Not in camp, not in the town camp is closest to. A man had once tried just flirting with her in town once. She’d politely asked him to stop but he hadn’t taken the hint. Arthur had walked in and seen not long after. The man ended up with a broken nose and shattered cheekbone. No one harrasses Arthur’s daughter. 

Which is potentially what drove Micah to try. 

Micah is well known for ruffling everyone’s feathers. Even Dutch’s on occasion, but only when Micah is feeling rather confident. But Arthur is his favorite person to upset. Micah has tried to get to him by antagonizing him, but Arthur usually would just tell him to stuff it and move on. 

Micah has tried bothering you to irritate Arthur, but you were too good at handling yourself. Arthur would usually watch just in case he needed to step in, but he personally found it incredibly sexy how you’d whip around to Micah and verbally attack him. It didn’t take long for Micah to realize that to make you mad would end up in getting his ass whipped. The honest truth is that Micah is scared of what you’re capable of if he really pissed you off. 

So that left one last resource to bother Arthur. His teenage daughter. You and Arthur have been together for longer than she’s been alive. If it had been modern day, you’d be described as high school sweethearts. You’d gotten pregnant when you were 19. While it was difficult for both you and Arthur to be parents at such a young age, you couldn’t ask for a better father. 

Arthur says that your daughter is a miniature version of you, except she has his eyes, but you see so much of him in her to believe that. She’s strong, she’s had to be with this life. You and Arthur had debated at first of breaking out of the gang when she was little as the life really wasn’t good for a child, but the problem was that both you and Arthur were too loyal to leave. However she toughed it out and turned out to be a relatively average girl. You couldn’t be more proud. 

It’s been especially tough for her these past few months, but it has been for everyone. Blackwater changed everything. You have to give Abigail credit, if your daughter was as young as Jack is, you would’ve tried convincing Arthur to leave. Then again maybe not. After all, you have just as big of a bounty on your head as he does. But it doesn’t change the fact that right now, things are tougher than ever. Especially now that Sean’s dead. 

You’ve lived in a lot of unlikable places, mostly out west. Shady Belle is probably one of the worst you’ve been in. It’s hot and muggy all the time. You prefer the dry heat of the desert. At least your clothes dry out there. Not only that, but out in the west, you don’t have to be afraid of the water for the most part. Here, monsters dwell beneath the surface. 

Micah has been getting more and more cocky these last few weeks. You haven’t liked it as it seems like he’s getting more under Dutch’s skin, but you’re sure Dutch will wise up. After all, he has Hosea to help him and Hosea surely doesn’t like Micah. 

Arthur has been getting slightly suspicious of Micah lately too, but he’s been so busy running around to really do much. Your poor husband. You’ve done everything you can to help him, but there’s no denying that most of the camp rests on his shoulders. 

It’s a few days after Jack has been returned. You’ve insisted to Arthur that he stay in camp for a while as he’s been running around like crazy since Jack went missing. It’s clear he’s exhausted. It’s a good thing too because Micah has been keeping his eye on your daughter, and not in a good way. 

Micah really is growing too confident out here. He’s never dared bothering your daughter before because you and Arthur are the people he’s frightened of getting truly angry. However, it’s almost like he’s trying to absolve that. 

The first few days, Micah has tried to tease her but subtly so that you wouldn’t stab him. He knows that unlike Arthur, you won’t care about keeping the peace within the gang if someone really makes you mad. You’re easier to control when Arthur is around as he seems to be the only person who can calm you down. 

Now that Arthur is here and taking a break, Micah has been much more confident. There was one day when your daughter had been reading in the gazebo. Micah had gone over to her and tried to flirt with her. It was clear she was creeped out, but being a teenager she didn’t really know how to push him away. Arthur had seen her face though and he’d marched over. 

“You leave my daughter alone, you creepy bastard,” he’d growled inches from Micah’s face.

“Relax, big man, I’m just having a friendly word with her.” 

“I catch you near her again, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” 

Micah wasn’t foolish enough to stick around then, though it did make him chuckle (mostly he did it to try and continue bothering Arthur). However, he’s been continuing to do things like this. You certainly haven’t liked the way he looks at your daughter. Of course he tries to do it when he thinks you can’t see, but certainly when Arthur can. 

You’re standing next to Pearson, listening to Hosea talk about the potentials of Saint Dennis. Arthur’s over next to the fire, talking with John. Just as you’re about to go over to him and talk about things, you see your daughter running into camp, tears streaking down her cheeks. She’s sobbing. Arthur stands up and walks briskly over to her. 

“Sweetheart, what-” he starts.

“Micah, papa! He… he tried to touch me!” she sobs into his shirt. 

His face immediately goes red, so does your vision. “That son of a bitch!” you holler. You’re about to stomp over to the edge of camp where that bastard is. Arthur holds out a hand and stops you, his other arm wrapped tightly around his daughter. 

“Let me handle this, darlin’. I ain’t given’ that bastard any more reason to hurt my family.” Normally you’d ignore him and go marching off, but something in his eyes tells you to listen. It’s that look you’ve seen only once or twice, but it’s the look that even made you nervous in the past. It’s the look he reserves for only those who he truly plans to kill. 

He holds onto his daughter for a few more seconds, trying to calm her down. Then he gently pries her off of him and guides him over to you. “Stay with your mama, okay? I’m going to take care of things, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head and then pats your shoulder. You nod and fold your arms around your girl. That look comes back to Arthur and then he turns away, marching over to where Micah is.

“Come on, honey,” you say to your daughter. You guide her over to the barrel of water near Pearson’s wagon to get her a drink to calm her down. If you weren’t so confident in Arthur’s ability to protect his family, you’d be pulling out your revolver and shooting that asshole right now, but you know you don’t need to. 

Arthur’s marching over to where Micah was last seen. As he passes his horse, he spots his repeater. It won’t be needed, not for this. He’d prefer to do it with his bare hands. Micah has been a growing problem that he’s tolerated, but he will not accept that man putting his hands on his little girl. 

He reaches the spot his daughter was, but of course no one is there. After looking around, he spots Micah standing near the river on the outskirts of camp. Good, it will make cleaning up his corpse easier. 

As Arthur stomps over to him, Micah turns around and gives him a cocky grin. “Morgan, what are y-” He’s interrupted by Arthur’s fist slamming into his face, breaking his nose. As Micah buckles down, clutching his bleeding nose, Arthur grabs his shoulders and thrusts his knee into his gut. 

“You put your filthy hands on my daughter!” Arthur roars as he continues to beat Micah to a pulp. Micah tries to fight him off, but he’d been caught off guard by Arthur’s ferocity. 

“I didn’t do nothing to your daughter!” he howls as Arthur kicks him. “She’s lying!” 

“Bullshit! You been harassing her for days!” 

Arthur kicks and punches him a few more times before he straightens up and pulls out his revolver, standing over Micah. The man below him puts up his hands, trying to make Arthur see reason. 

“You ain’t gonna kill me, Morgan. You can’t. Dutch would… would never allow it.” He spits blood from his mouth. 

“Oh Dutch ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, you creepy bastard. No one touches my daughter and gets away with it.” 

Micah tries to chuckle. “Dutch ain’t gonna like you shooting someone in camp.”

Arthur smirks at him and puts his revolver back. “Oh I wasn’t plannin’ on shootin’ ya, Micah. Just wanted to see you squirm. Nah, you ain’t worth wastin’ a bullet on. But don’t mean I ain’t gonna kill ya.” 

Arthur kicks Micah again to keep him on the ground, then he kneels onto his chest and wraps his hands around Micah’s throat. Arthur rarely likes watching people die, he hates seeing their blood on his hands. But Micah is different. Micah personally wronged him and his family. He will not tolerate anyone touching the most precious thing in his life. 

After a few moments, Micah finally lies still and Arthur releases his grip on him. Arthur stares into his glassy eyes. “That’s for my daughter, you son of a bitch.” He then drags the body into the river, not wanting it to be seen anymore. 

As he walks back into camp, massaging his tired fingers, your daughter breaks out of your grasp and runs over to him, burying herself into his chest as his arms wrap around her. 

“Papa,” she sniffles into his shirt. 

“You’re okay, pumpkin. That bastard ain’t gonna bother you anymore.” He knows, as he holds onto his daughter, that he will have to go and explain things to Dutch. He’ll do that later though. All he wants to do is take care of his child. You can’t help but smile. Arthur doesn’t usually cuddle with you in camp, mostly in thanks to the teasing from other people saying he’s a big softy, but he’s never pulled back from cuddling with his girl. He’s proud to show people how much he loves her. You walk over and wrap your arms around her as well, pinning her between you and Arthur. One of his hands slides over your side, showing you how much he cares about his family.

[msbelmonttepesbelnades]

Hello there! I hope You're doing well, even if You're busy 💦I was wondering if you could write something (short fic or HC) about a shy s/o who tries to befriend with Alucard & Hector, but they being cold or even a little bit aggresive (after What happened in s3, no spoilers if you didn't watch it yet!) but s/o is determined to helps them even receiving nothing in exchange; because s/o loved them after all & just want Hector & Alucard to smile genuinely again 💔

A/n: I added issac. Since I’ve been gone so long I’ll be doing bonuses ;)

Befriending Alucard & The Devil Forgemasters

Alucard

He’s cold.

Colder than dry ice.

You wandered onto the grounds of the castle.

Wounded and weak.

He was going to leave you there.

But, he’s not a monster.

Yet.

He stood over you, looking down with a vacant expression.

You smelled like blood, sweat and ... horse piss.

He knelt down to roll you over on your back to look at your face.

My my, aren’t you a cute one.

He’ll take you in after all but, only until you’re able to stand on your own two feet again.

When you finally come to, he’s leaning against the canopy bed post.

“You’ve been sleeping for 16 hours. Once you’re fed and smelling...better. Leave.”

You had no recollection of how you ended up there.

Even so, you weren’t ready to leave.

He seemed lonely. He wore it on his sleeve, despite the cold exterior he sported.

You found yourself in the kitchen, he was nowhere in sight but, a plate of freshly foraged food and cooked fish sat on the table.

Alu watched from the shadows, fighting the faint smile threatening to crack his stone face.

The way you swallowed and inhaled the food reminded him of a child.

He frowned.

After you ate the food you moved to bathe.

You gawked around to make sure you weren’t being watched.

Ever since you arrived you felt as if eyes were on you.

They were, he was just good at hiding.

He watched you bathe, so serene and beautiful.

When you finally dressed, he confronted you.

“Leave.”

He didn’t want you there. He wasn’t smiling and well, it’s not like you could defy him.

He wasn’t above killing you just because he can.

Cause he would and will if you refused.

‘No?’

He genuinely wasn’t expecting you to say that. He believed he looked scary enough.

You stood your ground.

‘You’re all alone here, this place is like the catacombs..’

He creased his brow, he didn’t care if you were right.

His sword came flying at you, the tip pointing at the side of your temple.

You flinched, you couldn’t hold up that front anymore.

He saw past that, and it amused him.

“Leave I won’t ask again.”

You weren’t going to take your chances with a sword pointed at your head.

You left.

Albeit, you stayed in the woods.

He couldn’t stop you from living out there, he caught sight of you trying to fish for yourself one day. A comical sight.

During the early morning he halted in his tracks. At his feet was a small pile of foraged food.

Was this from you?

Everyday, for the past week you left food at the foot of the castle doors for him.

He ignored it each time.

It wasn’t until there were no more signs of your presence in the forest did he care about where you were.

Never miss something until it’s gone.

He didn’t bother looking for you though. Assumed you just gave up.

It’s expected.

One cold night there was a loud crash in the depths of the wine cellar.

He wasn’t in there, he wondered if an animal got in.

That’s when he found you, in the corner under a table, sleeping.

It was freezing but, it didn’t compare to being outside.

He left you there.

At least you weren’t dead.

That same morning he caught you rummaging around his pantry.

You didn’t have time to process anything.

He pinned you down to the table and hovered over you, baring his fangs.

“I knew you were a thief.”

You stuttered out, but nothing coherent spewed forth. You could only shake your head, trying to reach down into your satchel.

He did it for you, still holding you in place. As he looked into your bag he saw a bird, a small wounded bird.

It reminded him of you.

He let you up with a frown.

“You were making sure it didn’t freeze and starve to death, I see..”

He was now conflicted, he almost killed you for being a good person.

He was turning into his father lmao 🚩

“Fine. You and the bird can stay here. Just..leave me be.”

He left again.

As weeks went by Alu kept his distance, you tried your best to close it but that proved to be difficult.

You knew you were getting somewhere though, because he smiled.

“You named the bird Lisa?”

Hector

He’s got a nice little room for him, it beats laying naked in a cell right?

Lenore gave him a “servant”

If Hector needed anything, you were to let the the vampire Queens know.

And so you sat with Hector, he was silent and he never looked your way.

You were a vampire, and yet charged with his remedial task?

He didn’t understand.

‘Do you need anything Hector?’

“Stop talking to me.”

That’s as far as you get with him when you ask.

You don’t press him.

Lenore said he might try to choke you out but she said she “tamed” him so it should be fine.

You bring his food, his work tools, and books.

Never does he acknowledge your presence.

It’s like you’re a ghost.

As you set down his plate you move around to clean his room.

He wasn’t doing it himself and Lenore wouldn’t stand for a messy or dirty forgemaster.

He ignored you for a good thirty minutes.

For twenty-five more minutes, he watched you.

You were quiet, introverted and shy.

You were only just doing your job and being polite for these past few days.

He was being nothing but awful to you.

Not that it bothered him, in the slightest given his treatment by the vampires.

Carmilla and Lenore more specifically.

Your reservation is what drew him in ultimately.

“You don’t have to clean this you know.”

‘You aren’t so, I do. Lenore doesn’t like messes.’

Hector scoffed at the mention of her name and looked away from you.

Still he was cold, but he talked more.

“I’d like to go out for a walk if that’s possible.”

You escorted him on a stroll through the castle grounds.

When you two stopped by a balcony over a snowy cliff he sighed out.

“I’m trapped here, forced to create an army...I should’ve died back in Dracula’s castle.”

You frown, reaching out to touch his face he quickly smacked your hand back and stared at you hard.

“Don’t touch me. I know how all of you vampires see us humans.”

He was bitter.

“Food, or a pet play thing. I will not let you do the same to me, Lenore did that just fine.”

He left, walking back to his little corner of the castle.

A few more days a had passed.

Your attitude did not falter towards him which only confused the forgemaster.

He was an asshole and yet you were kind.

The only one to show him a shred of true kindness since he’s arrived there.

“What’s your name?”

He randomly asked, you look his way a faint smile on his face.

Was he finally going to open up?

Isaac

A traveler you were, there was a lunatic old man who had someone you loved dearly under some kind of mind control spell.

You sought out to free them, or so you thought.

You passed the old forgemaster woman a while ago.

Finally you came across what looked to be a mass genocide.

You looked around in horror, seeing night horde creatures and bodies littered around the entire area.

You were going to run but a giant winged beast dropped down in front of you.

What the fuck is that!!!

You fell back and crawled back as it dawned on you.

You were about to get eaten by a monster.

All you had with you was a a measly little curved dagger.

You gripped it tightly, if this was your fate you weren’t going to go down easy.

“I see you’re a fighter.”

Who said that lmao.

No one was in sight, before you knew it the wingged beast swept you up.

It dropped you on a stone walkway that lead to the castle Issac took over.

You scrambled to your feet, holding the dagger out as the creatures of the night began to surround you.

“Why have you come here?”

That same voice..

It only made you look for it harder, you twirled your head to the left and then to the right

Finally a man in a cloak and dark clothing showed his face.

Staring at you blankly.

“Speak now or be eaten”

He wasn’t giving you much of a choice so you told him.

He looked you over before looking away from you.

“Whoever you’re looking for is long dead, they’re likely one of my night creatures.”

Issac’s red eyes drifted over to catch your expression.

It wasn’t sad, you looked to be relieved more than anything.

Were you different than the humans he has come to know?

‘They’re no longer suffering.’

His eyes widened, he wasn’t expecting to hear that.

He was silent for a brief moment, still undoubtedly curious about you.

“Yes..that is true.”

Everything you came there for was gone you had nothing, you looked over at Issac and he met your eyes.

Subconsciously your cheeks warmed a bit and his eyes narrowed.

‘Are...you gong to make me a creature of the night?’

“That entirely depends on you.”

He twirled his knife idly, a faint smile on the corner of his lips.

“I can’t have you leave yet, prove your worth as a human then maybe I’ll consider letting you go.”

You wondered how you could do that, by the way he spoke you could tell he was a man of deep intellect.

You knew just how to prove your worth.

“A conversation?”

He pondered it, and accepted. A conversation on philosophy and morals.

He wondered if he’d like what you had to say.

After a few hours of talking he seemed to be content.

The views you both were akin to on another, he didn’t protest to you staying a bit longer than you first intended.

He liked hearing you talk.

After all, you had nowhere to go and Issac was the kindest human you’ve met in quite a long time.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Interrogation

15/06/2020: Sooo, hi there. Me and @marshmallow--3​ were talking (once again) and we got to talking about how assassins would react while being interrogated. Naturally, I like my dark fics + my hurt/comfort fics, so this came out. It’s an experiment than unashamedly spans 4.5K words, but I enjoyed writing it and after a bit of convincing I decided to post it. I worked surprisingly hard on this. I also like putting my characters through their paces. This can also be considered as an ‘asshole writing 101′ course for me bc everyone knows I need it lmao. Okay, enough justification; just... here -- have Jacob needing a lot of hugs :) heed the warnings, friends -- you have been warned. Spoilers for the fic in the warnings, btw

Feedback is greatly appreciated :D

Also, mainly GN!Reader (apart from the first scene) :)

Italics are thoughts bt-dubs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, beaten for information, abduction, sick mention, PTSD mention, Night terrors, naked mention (sfw we good)... Yeah I got a bit carried away here :3 (if I missed any please lmk)

----------

“Jacob, we need that intel.”

“Why does it have to be me? I prefer to have my weapons on my person, if you don’t mind.” Jacob was sitting at the desk everyone was talking around, feet crossed on the desk.

“Maybe it’s because it’s a Gentleman’s Club, and women don’t necessarily fit in; if they find a single blade on you, the entire mission is compromised.” Evie looked pointedly at her brother. 

He looked to you for help, but you held your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me; she’s got a point.”

Sighing, he rose to his feet, leaning against the wood and drumming his fingers against it. “Fine. Who am I tailing again?”

----------

“Weapons, please.” Evie stopped him before he could go anywhere.

“What weapons?” He smiled innocently at his sister, while you scoffed amusedly from behind her. 

She said nothing, and instead held her hand out expectantly. Obstinately, Jacob relented, pulling out his cane sword and giving her his thigh holster. “All of them.” 

His kukri came out of his waistcoat.

“All. Of. Them.”

His gauntlet was reluctantly confiscated. As was his revolver.

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine!” He reached into his boot and pulled out another knife. “How did you know?”

“I saw you hide it.”

When they were finished, you walked up to him. “Be back by tonight. Alright?” You kissed him softly. He broke apart and gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” As the train came to a stop, you watched as he blended into the crowd at the station, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

----------

The courier Jacob was supposed to tail wasn’t too hard to find. Bowler hat, stocky build, weird scar on his cheek… All he had to do was get close enough to hear the password, get in and get out. 

But first, he had to follow him there. In unfamiliar territory. No gangs, no Rooks.

Jacob left his top hat on the train, opting for using his hood as an added source of anonymity as he stalked his target. The streets were busy, and he lost eyes on the man’s bowler hat once or twice, but all in all, it was going smoothly. They were halfway down a street when the target crossed the road and went into an alleyway, sparse of people. 

Jacob looked both ways before crossing after him, walking through as naturally as possible, in case he runs into people he would rather avoid. The road took him into a clearing blocked in by buildings, but not a man in sight. His brows furrowed, confused at where his target could have gone. Looking around, he saw that there was only one exit, and that was behind him. There was no way the target could have circled back around without him noticing.

“Wait a second…” 

There were multiple small clicks, before multiple people came out of nowhere, all pointing firearms at him. Jacob raised his hands in surrender, taking small, calculated steps backwards. “Let’s just take it easy for a moment; I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Our boss wants you alive. I couldn’t really care. It’s best if you cooperate, Mr Frye; I’m thinking you’ll put up less of a fight dead.” The hammer was pulled down with a resounding ‘click’ for good measure. The more Jacob observed, the more Templar crosses he could find. 

Oh, for the love of--

Before he could react, two feet came into contact with the back of his knees, and he was forced face down to the ground. His shoulders were pinned as his arms were forced behind his back. He blindly managed to hit someone with his elbow, but it never released any pressure as he felt thick rope cinch around his wrist and knotted tightly, lest he manage to break free of them. “Are you certain we can’t come to some sort of agreement?” His words came out half mumbled, as his face was pushed against the mud.

All too suddenly he was pulled back up to his knees, a very gruff sounding “Get up,” mumbled in his ear. The one seemingly in charge of this whole operation stood in front of him. Sounds of an approaching carriage came closer. Assessing the distance between the two, Jacob smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m spoken for.” 

The man standing over him didn’t react. “Do it,” he said to the people holding him. 

Jacob’s jaw was prised open before a rag was forced in, a bag coming over his head a moment after. He was pulled roughly to his feet and couldn’t get a stable footing before a force threw him backwards, landing on the floor of the carriage with his hands trapped under him. A noise escaped his throat. Jacob could only hope to use his sense of hearing as he shuffled backwards to lean against the door behind him, as multiple people entered the carriage and shut the door -- to supervise, no doubt. The wall was hit two times, and the horses began to trot.  

The journey was the only time he could hope to escape; who knows how they’d be keeping him once they arrived.

He couldn’t help cursing himself under his breath, but it was only comprehended as a random noise to the others in the cab. Jacob began to wiggle his fingers, digits searching the wall behind him for something sharp, like a nail or some splintered wood. His fidgeting must have been noticed, because someone lightly kicked his leg. “Don’t even think about it.” He felt something cold press against his temple, a click sounding in his left ear. He held an involuntary breath as light chuckles rippled around the carriage.

“Forgive me for not finding this funny…” he quipped inwardly.

The gun barrel mockingly shoved Jacob’s head to the side, a silent threat, before withdrawing. 

He had a three mile long argument to have with Evie after this.

He tried to swallow, pushing down the rising anxiety in his throat. Is there a way out of this that wouldn’t end with a bullet in his brain?

There must be.

His fists clench and unclench restlessly as he thinks. Or, tries to think.

All he could decipher was the carriage turning right, pressing him against the wall behind him, before stopping. There was a long moment of waiting, before the door he was leaning against opened. He fell to the ground, the air knocked out of him. Without giving him a moment to collect himself, hands grabbed his arms and pulled. His orientation was in shambles; he couldn’t figure out which way was where. 

There were momentary pauses as doors opened, and just as he had begun to breathe properly, he was shoved. His balance was thrown off, and wood bit into him as he rolled down an incline. He hit the floor ungracefully, half haphazardly dragging a knee up; he was pushed down some stairs. Stifled groans were muted by his gag as they yanked him up again, pushing him down onto a chair. Multiple people tightly bound his ankles to the legs and his wrists between the rungs, the pressure pinning him down causing his heart to skip a beat. 

He hated this feeling of restriction; of being exposed. He knew he had no control. He knew he was fucked.

His head began to throb, no doubt an injury from his tirade with the stairs. As the people around him left, he tested his bonds. There was no give whatsoever; the rope bound his wrists to the rungs behind him, pulling his shoulders taut. He tried lifting his leg; he could bounce them, but that was it. It was instinct; the restless energy needing a bigger outlet. His anxiety was palpable, and he found himself exhaling through his nose multiple times in an attempt to calm himself down. He tried to look around through the material over his head, increasingly desperate, though he knew his chances of escaping were low now that they had him exactly where they wanted him. He briefly wondered whether he’d ever see natural daylight again. 

… Shit.

He had no idea where he was; if he got out, then what? He’d have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

If he comes to it.

Resigning himself to wait, he sat straight, challenging his bonds every now and then, hoping that the next time would be different.

It didn’t take too much longer for the door to open again, but the fear inside him was painful, squeezing his heart in an iron fist. He strained his ears, and heard multiple light footsteps, followed by a distinct pair of slow and heavy ones. They screamed authority as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The bag was pulled harshly from his head, light blinding him as he squinted, trying to acquaint himself with the area around him. Jacob tried to swallow his anxiety as he took in the newcomer’s appearance; easily over six foot, and built of pure muscle. 

Bloody hell.

Someone came up to him and pulled the gag out of his mouth. He tried re-introducing saliva as the man came closer, his small entourage disbanding around the room behind him. 

“If this was so urgent, couldn’t you have booked a bloody appointment?” 

The man chuckled, though there was no humour in his tone. He rubbed his wrist before he swung at Jacob’s cheek, whipping his head to the side.

His jaw was seized and pulled to lock eyes with the six foot tall interrogator. “I won’t stand for that; understand?” His voice was low and rumbled maliciously. Jacob glared at him defiantly, heart pounding in his ears. He responded by spitting blood in his face. The man recoiled violently, wiping the substance out of his eyes. Jacob exhaled amusedly through his nose. 

Once the man recovered, he chuckled again. “Cute.” He walked over to Jacob, bending down to his eye level as he rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s start with an easy one; what’s your name?”

“Ethan.” He was met with a punch to the gut. 

“I forgot to tell you; these first few questions? I know the answers to them. I know when you’re giving me bullshit.” He grasped his hair and harshly pulled. “Let’s try again; your name.”

He said nothing and was considering lying again, until the man gave another rough tug, threatening to yank his hair right out of his scalp. “Jacob.” He relented through gritted teeth, seething in frustration. His hair was released.

“Nice to interrogate you, Jacob.” The man took a step back and leaned on a table a few feet away. “I’m the Boss around here. See how easy things are when you cooperate?”

The assassin rolled his eyes. 

“Now, I was told that you were, as you put it, ‘spoken for’.”

Jacob raised an unimpressed brow as he tried to hide the hitch in his breath.

“Who is it? A woman? A man?” Jacob left his expression unchanged. “I don’t judge!” The ‘Boss’ raised his hands. “I bet I can guess their name: Henry, Evie… Y/N, perhaps?” Jacob raised his chin and clenched his jaw, an involuntary defensive move as he listed his closest friend, his sister, and his lover all at once. 

“You see,” the Boss sighed, pushing himself off the table. “Even if you don’t say anything, you’re just as good to us as bait. If you speak now, you could be saving everyone a headache. Just remember that.

“Now; why were you tailing that courier?”

----------

The session ended with a condescending backhand. “We’ll pick this up again later.”

Jacob smiled mockingly. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Once he was finally alone, his defiant front dropped, and he allowed himself to feel the pain in his torso. He groaned as he shifted in his seat, his ribs aching from the inside. He knew he wouldn’t give them any information, no matter how hard they tried to extract it. He instinctively tried to hold his side, but to no avail. His tongue ran over the cut on his lip, busted open time and again. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been; hours or days. But he’s tired, thirsty, and in pain. He can barely keep his eyes open, but his anxiety has kept him awake; an insomnia he could never quite shake. He was too tired to expend any of it physically; it was brewing inside him like a bad cup of tea. He couldn’t stop thinking about the threat of you, Evie, and even Henry. Even so, unless he could be sure his information would be able to counteract that, he kept it to himself.

His chin rested on his chest, and he was on the verge of passing out when the door opened again, causing him to jump and tense at the sudden loud noise. “Sorry I’m late; this is the only time I could slip in.” 

The Boss took in Jacob’s tired eyes. “Did I wake you? Such a shame.” He laughed at his own quip. 

“It’s fine; my schedule was open.” Jacob tried to bite back.

“Seeing as you weren’t doing so well answering our earlier questions, I decided to start on some different ones, this time.” 

Jacob furrowed his brows. “What makes you think that I’d tell you anything?” 

The Boss revealed items he was hiding behind his back. “Are you thirsty?” 

Jacob tried to smirk at the jug and glasses, though it wasn't as wide as before. “Kind of you to offer.”

The Boss poured out all the water into a few glasses. “You can have as much as you want; just tell me what I want to know; what have you learnt about our current… agenda? Any heists being planned that we need to know about?”

There’s a few moments of silence, before Jacob spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We’ve decided to go on holiday for a few weeks, actually.” 

The Boss huffed humorlessly. He grabbed a glass of water and brought it near to Jacob, before chucking it over his face. Trying not to react, Jacob only flinched. The liquid made the cuts on his face twinge. “That’s for lying.” Discarded on the table sat a pair of brass knuckles, spiked and gnarly. He picked them up, sliding them over his fingers before clenching a fist to test his comfort. 

“I’m going to ask you this one more time…”

----------

“You’re going to be here for a long time, Frye. Get comfortable.”

Not likely.

The last words spoken to him felt like hours ago. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, his body forcing him to sleep by shutting down. Slumped forwards in his chair, his arms were the only thing holding him upright. His shoulders were numb. He tested his bonds again, as if they would magically loosen after all this time. Fingers stretching, he tried to get blood black in his hands. He rotated his wrists, wincing as the rope pinched his raw skin. His leg began to jump of its own accord once he was faced with his own hopelessness again. 

How long would they keep him alive for? How long until help comes? They must have realised that he was missing by now, right? 

He heaved unsteady breaths out of his lungs; keeping his composure was becoming increasingly difficult, and he was looking at the increased likelihood of coming face to face with his own mortality a lot sooner than he would have liked. 

The only reason why he hadn’t starved was because of someone who came to feed and water him once a day, though he can barely stomach solids. “It will get easier if you tell them the truth.” They kept saying the same things over and over again. 

“Stop it.” Jacob didn’t want to hear any more; his mind was conflicted -- whose side were they on?

“Just tell them what they want to hear; it will make it so much better for you.” 

Jacob clenched his jaw and remained silent. 

“Otherwise, they’ll keep beating you.” They prodded Jacob’s ribs, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, refusing to make a sound. They took off his coat a while ago, exposing his body for more beatings. “Food for thought,” they said as they left him in silence once again.

The only other time he would get contact with another human being is when they’d take him out of the room for a bathroom break; they’d undo the rope before rebinding his hands in front of him immediately, dragging him to the bathroom before he’s forced back into the same chair again, waiting for the cycle to repeat.

The familiar tell of nausea was growing, and his stomach had stopped holding down the food he’d been given. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. 

----------

He was awoken by a series of noises that blended into each other, incomprehensible from the next. 

The door opened, and the Boss walked down the stairs, a serious expression on his face. “You have visitors, Jacob.” A fist came into contact with his gut, and for the first time his pain was vocalised. Though still stifled, the noise was noticeable. “It’s a shame, really. We were getting somewhere with you. Hopefully those allies of yours won’t be as stubborn.” 

He grabbed a cloth and balled it up, being met with almost no resistance as it was pressed into Jacob’s mouth. “Not a sound.” He crossed the room at pace, unsheathing a knife as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

The aftershocks of the assault on his gut still had him wincing, but as he heard gunshots and cries above him, he began to panic.

People he cared about could die, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

With every bang that erupted above him, his heart rate increased. He tried to weakly pull at the ropes again, and made a hopeless noise through the fabric in his mouth as he got nowhere. He was frustrated, anxious, and scared. The future was completely out of his control. 

His body wouldn’t listen to his mind; it was slumped in the chair, all but exhausted. He couldn’t breathe. Fear clouded his mind, the adrenaline pushing him to his limits. It wasn’t until he tasted the salt in the gag that he realised that a few tears had escaped. He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t him. He needed to stay calm.

I’m not usually the praying type, but if anyone at all is up there, keep them safe…

Please…

“Please…” It sounded like a groan but he said it; he was never one to beg, but he’d do anything to know what the hell was going on up there.

Everything stopped when he heard it.

“Jacob?” 

He barely moved, his mind clouded, but his heart swelled in relief at the voice -- a relieved noise that became stifled in his throat. But then, he remembered what was said to him.

He was bait.

He flinched as the door was kicked down, fists weakly clenching behind him. Footsteps came down the stairs. 

 He heard someone kneel in front of him. “Jacob? Hey, it’s me.” His face was taken into gentle hands, and the fabric was taken out of his mouth. “Jesus… Can you open your eyes, Jacob?” Slowly, he did, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You were in front of him, visibly relieved at his responsiveness.

“No… Please, leave.” He tried to pull his face out of your hands.

“They’re dead, Jacob. We’re safe; you’re safe now.” 

The ropes around his wrists broke, and he gasped in pain as he fell forward into you, hands slowly coming up to grasp your arms. Evie had moved to Jacob’s ankles, quickly cutting his bonds. “We were given false intel from the beginning; it was always going to be a trap.”

You pulled back. “Can you walk?” 

Jacob nodded, the action dizzying him. You pulled his arm over your shoulders and pulled him to his feet, hissing in pain at the movement in his torso. You stood him up, but he began to crumple almost immediately. Evie half caught him, copying your movements. 

Slowly but surely, he was brought out into the open. It was overcast and miserable outside (not the greeting he was expecting). His vision swam with flecks of green. How you managed to bring Rooks out here, he didn’t know. 

Gang members helped him into a carriage that was parked out in front, and you followed, helping him onto the seat. You lowered him down so he was lying on his back, his head in your lap. “How did you find me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a long story.” You pushed his hair out of his eyes, observing his wounds in worry. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner.”

Jacob smiled softly and grasped your hand, rocking with the gentle movement of the carriage. “You came; that’s what matters.”

The soothing motion of your thumb over the back of his hand finally convinced his brain to shut down, engulfing him in the comfort of sleep.

----------

He was back in the cellar. Except this time, he wasn’t alone. There was someone across from him, he couldn’t tell who it was, but they were familiar. And they were screaming. There was no way for him to get them to stop, even as he began to beg, to plead, to volunteer information if they would just stop hurting them…

He startled himself awake, gasping. His eyes were open and alert, with his skin covered in a sheet of sweat. 

He wasn’t in a cellar; he was in a bed. 

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Everything is fine...

He tried to sit up, but before he moved an inch a pained gasp left his lips. He clutched at his torso, as if holding it would stop the pain. Once it began to subside, he lifted the sheet off of his body. He was shirtless, and he was wearing clean breeches. He raised an eyebrow, but that was low on his list of priorities. Instead, he saw green, blue, and purple bruises saturating his skin. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, no doubt securing a few broken ribs. He threw his legs over the side of the pain, pausing at the fresh wave of pain washing over his body. His eyes were closed as the door opened somewhere, causing him to jump slightly. “Jacob, you’re awake!” 

He looked up and smiled when he saw you come towards him. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Over a day. Um, did you call for me, just now?” You heard him scream for you, most likely in his sleep.

“No, why?” He furrowed his brows as he watched your expression.

You decided to not pry, and instead let him tell you of his own accord, whenever that may be. “No reason; I must have been hearing things. Listen, you need to rest for a bit longer. You’ve taken a lot of damage.”

“Nonsense; I’m fine now.” He went to stand up, but sat back down as his world began to spin. “I’m not staying here… wherever we are.”

“We’re in Lambeth Asylum. We took you straight to Florence Nightingale.”

“Where’s Evie?”

“I finally got her to rest; she hasn’t been able to sleep at all since…”

“Sounds like her.”

“What happened, Jacob? When you didn’t come back that night, I thought you went to the pub or something, but you still weren’t back by the next day. How did you end up outside London?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. One moment, I was following a man in a bowler hat, and the next I was ambushed by about fifty Templars.” Your lips quirked at the exaggeration. 

“I was so worried, Jacob. They almost killed you.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than fisticuffs to take me out.” 

You took his face in your hands. “While we’re here, you need a bath.”

“And here I thought you were going to be romantic.”

“Aha. Cute.”

The word echoed in Jacob’s mind as you prepared the hot water. Absently, his hand ran over his bandages, replaying the memories in his mind. 

“Jacob!” 

“Huh?” He didn’t realise he was staring off into space until you looked at him with concern. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, fine.” 

You went over to him and helped him up, supporting him over to the tub. “Get in.” 

“If you wanted to--”

“Don’t finish that sentence; we’ve seen each other naked enough times.” 

He chuckled, undressed and slowly sat in the warm water, with help from you. “What about the bandages?”

“I’ll replace them afterwards; they’re there to keep your ribs in place.”

As Jacob washed his lower half, albeit slowly, you got a clean rag and dipped it in the water before turning his face towards you. You wiped the grime away from the open wounds on his forehead and lip. “Ow.” He didn’t flinch, but he still voiced his pain in a deadpanned tone. 

“Sincerest apologies,” you teased, for a moment it was silent, with Jacob watching you intently, before he nudged your hand away, leaning in to kiss you. It was a kiss he never thought he’d give you so soon; the ‘I-thought-I’d-never-see-you-again’ kiss. You broke apart, knowing exactly what he was feeling. “It’s alright now,” you reassured, swapping the rag for hair oils. He returned the smile you gave him, allowing himself to breathe.

You poured water over his head as you tilted it back, shielding his face from the liquid. Then, you massaged his scalp, watching as he slowly became more relaxed. 

“What do I have to do to get this more often?” he murmured softly.

“Just ask,” you laughed. 

“What do I have to do... to do this for you?” You washed out the suds in his hair, sweeping it back. 

“Again, ask -- wait until you’ve healed though.”

“If I must.” 

----------

On the outside, Jacob was healing fine. 

On the inside, scarring was plentiful. 

He was back on the train after a few weeks, glad to be somewhere he could call home. Though his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. 

Walking around the carriages, he was mostly doing desk work; Evie’s way to keep him off the streets until his body was healed. 

Night terrors frequently plagued him. He’d bring you into his arms at the end of the day, but as he fell further into his subconscious, he began to heave out frightened breaths. You would sometimes wake up when it was at its height, but other times his cries for help, his begs and pleads and calls of your name as he startles, would sit you up straight. You’d wake him up as gently as you could, waiting patiently for him to realise where he was and who you were, the fright slowly dissipating. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright.” You’d hold him as tightly as he held you, as if you’d never hold each other again. “You’re safe; I’m safe. We’re okay.” These were the only times Jacob revealed just how hard the recent event had hit him, preferring to lock it away and pretending it wasn’t there instead of facing it for what it is.

Slowly, he’d recover.

Slowly, he’d heal.

Slowly, everything will return to normal.

[euphoniumpets]

The red princess | The weeping monk x reader

Summary: The castle. Their skilled warrior. The king who once fell in love with a woman that only turned into a tragic love story. His curiousity won over him and ran way with the woman who he loved. But maybe the history was repeating all over again and maybe Father carden was right about her? 

Authors Note: here it is, the fanfic all of you guys have been waiting for. Also, I’m so happy to see that this small family is growing bigger and bigger and want to thank you guys for all the support and love you guys have given me. Also, consider this fanfic is like an AU? the red paladins is royalty and so on, and yes, I did with the only one bed cliqué. sue me lol (don’t do it). Also, this will be a miniseries with three parts in it. I was thinking of just doing two parts buuut, nope, ain’t doing that. ALSO I DID A ROYAL AU STORY ON MY ACCOUNT ON WATTPAD!! go check it out once i announce that i’m done with the layouts. 

As usual the tag list for the ppl i love that i want to see their reaction: @purerepelsdirt @parabatai-winchester​

Warnings: ehh, violence? men ogling at reader, lancelot is being a softie and father carden is being an asshole, this will contain smut in part two. 

The red princess. 

Was not an uncommon name that whispered around the fey folk and the people who lived around her. Everybody knew who she was. How powerful but yet innocent how she acted. Innocent but she can kill a human being with an blink of an eye. 

That was her story behind the gates of the red paladin camp but her story is different on her perspective. Before she was the red princess, she was just an ordinary girl, the daughter of Father Carden, the leader of the red paladins. 

Before she became a princess, her father met a lovely lady named Ravenna. Her beauty mesmerized the others and even her own father who fell in love with her. Their love was unique but it quickly dissappeared because he saw the behind of her figure. Who she really was before she died and gave birth. 

That’s why y/n were locked up in the castle in the first place. After the birth of y/n, her father knew that she would be exactly just like her mother. A liar, an abomination. but maybe y/n were more than just an liar and an abomination.

That was lancelot’s thoughts when he first saw the red princess. Father carden had given him an assignment inside the castle and he crossed a hallway where he haven’t been there before. It was almost odd because he used to roam in every single hallway in the big castle and he didn’t stumble on the strange door. 

The door to the room intrugied him. He wanted to know what lies behind the door but he knew that he couldn’t cross it. Because he knew that he would get caught and being punished what he had just done. 

After walking past by the door several times, he gave up. He would consider that he was weak. That he couldn’t beat the curiousity that streamed through his veins. Finally, he gripped the handle and opened the door. 

The room was similair to the rest of the rooms that existed inside the castle. ‘’Who the hell are you?’’ Snapping his gaze from the bed, he met the eyes of e/c. Her wavy long hair to her waist and her white dress that covered her perfectly figure. She looked like an angel that had fallen down from the heaven, lancelot thought. 

Before Lancelot could say anything because he was star struck by her beauty, she let out a huff. ‘’You don’t have to answer, I know who you are,’’ she responded with wide eyes. Lancelot wanted to smirk at the satisfaction but held a unfazed expression. ‘’You do?’’ His deep voice filled her eyes as he watched her smirk from the window. 

‘‘I’ve been watching you ever since,’‘ She replied as the two of them kept staring at each other. ‘‘And do I get to know who you are?’‘ He questioned after a long silence. He watched her smirk. ‘‘You wouldn’t belive me if I told you,’‘ He raised his eyebrow as an challenge. ‘‘Try me,’‘ And that was how he met the daughter of the red paladin. 

-

It has been several days since Lancelot had visisted you from the chamber. He didn’t know why he did it. He thought he was stronger to keep his curiousity behind him. And he was afraid that father Carden would notice that he had been visiting his daughter. 

But that didn’t stop him. He kept coming into your chamber every now and then at night and at day when your father was not in the castle. Y/n would lie to herself that she began to feel something for the mystery boy. 

However, it has been years since she stepped outside of her room. The longing of going out and feel the sun and the air around her. The awful pit in her stomach when she would get when she would see her father. 

Y/n didn’t know that her father killed her mother. Because just one secret that she had from him. She didn’t know why she was locked in a room and all her father would say that it was for her own protection. 

Her days used to be surrounded by darkness but ever since Lancelot had stepped inside her room, it has been filled with light and butterflies. She didn’t know if he felt the same about her. 

But Lancelot did feel something that he hasn’t felt for ages. Love. When he opened the door into her chambers again, he noticed that something was wrong with y/n. It was nighttime and her father had just visited her in the day time. 

He didn’t visit her often because of his duties and that he wanted to ignore that he had a daughter born with abominaiton. But this time, it surprised y/n that he wanted to visit her. It wasn’t because of her but because of them. 

He had noticed that one of his best warrior had acted strange. So, he ordered someone from the castle follow Lancelot behind and he discovered that he was with his daughter. He had threatened her by that he would kill her if she was with him again. And not by only that, he would have to kill lancelot too. 

‘‘Hey,’‘ He replied softly as he took off his hood and placed it on the wooden chair. He watched y/n stare off in her thoughts by the window with a concerned expression. ‘‘What is it?’‘ He questioned her as he placed his hands onto her shoulders as he turned her around. 

He watched her close her eyes before she looked deep into his eyes. ‘’He knows,’’ She replied in a hushed voice. ‘’He knows about us, and he won’t stop if we will continue to keep seeing each other,’’ She replied with fear in her voice.

‘‘y/n, I will do anything to protect you and me-’‘

‘‘No, he will kill us both,’‘ She cut him off with tears in her eyes. 

‘‘We, we can’t see each other, I’m sorry,’‘ She whispered. For the first time in his life, Lancelot felt the heart break in his heart. 

-

The next day Lancelot was in a hurry. He had planned to escape the castle and take y/n with him away from her father. As he packed his belongings, he heard the door to his chambers made a knocking sound. He felt his heart beat faster and he froze in his tracks. 

With a fast movements, he tried to cover the belongings. ‘’Who is it?’’ He questioned out loud. ‘’It’s father carden, my son,’’ He gulped. He tried to not show any fear against the man who had took him into the castle and treated him like a son. 

He gripped the handle as he put an unfazed expression. He watched the figure of father carden as he greeted him and stepped aside os he could enter his room. ‘’I see that you’re going somewhere?’’ He heard him speak behind him as he frowned. He turned around as he closed the door behind him as he spotted the messly cover up on his bed.

‘‘Yes,’‘ He replied with his deep voice. Father Carden turned around. ‘‘I know about the little affairs you have with my daughter,’‘ He told him as he stepped closer towards Lancelot. ‘‘I warn you boy, you do not want to be with her,’‘ He warned him. ‘‘Why is that? So you can lock her up and leave her to rot?’‘ He sneered. 

He scoffed. ‘’I’m locking her up for protection from the horrible world we live in,’’ He explained, Lancelot clenched his fists in anger. ‘’You’re leaving her to rot,’’ He growled. Father Carden snickered slightly towards him as he shook his head. 

‘‘Listen to me, Lancelot, she’s brainwashing you, look at you! you’ve turned soft for her,’‘ Father carden sneered. ‘‘This is not what I have trained you to be,’‘ 

‘‘You can’t stop us, we’re leaving tonight,’‘ He told him as Father Carden scoffed. ‘‘I don’t think so, the only thing y/n will be recieving tonight is your dead body,’‘ Father Carden said as the guards stormed into his chambers. 

-

Y/n tried to pack her belongings as fasts as she could. Ever since the threat she had gotten from her father and the plan that Lancelot had told her about few days ago, she agreed to escape the castle with him. 

The door banged open as she immedietly took the sword that Lancelot had given her. She relaxed when she saw Lancelot storm inside her room and took the bag. That was not the only thing she noticed from the stress behaviour from him, but she saw the blood at his face.

With wide eyes, she rushed towards him in concern. ‘’Lance, what happen-’’ she gasped as she felt when he took her by the wrist. ‘’We don’t have time, y/n, come on!’’ He urged her as the two of them ran out of the castle. 

- 

Y/n didn’t know how long they have been riding. It seemed that it was midnight and that they neared a village far away from the castle. The horse stopped as y/n watched Lancelot hop off the horse before he helped her too. She landed on the ground with a thump. 

‘‘You’re alright?’‘ Lancelot asked her quietly. She smiled tiredly towards him as the blood had almost dried from his face. She wiped some of the blood gently. ‘‘Exhausted, but I will be fine,’‘ She answered as he nodded. 

He took off the bag from the horse and all the belongings before he tied the rope against a branch. Turning her gaze, it seemed that they were at a hostel and a pub. 

‘‘Stay close,’‘ She heard him whisper in her ears when she noticed some men were oglig at her. She nodded with fear written on her face as she walked closer to him. Y/n was filled with curiousity since she had never been outside from her room since long she could remember. 

Suddenly, a woman stopped in front of them. ‘’It seems that you two have been wandering for a long time,’’ The woman replied with a smirk on her face. ‘’We’re looking for a room to stay for the night,’’ He responded as the woman walked closer to him. 

Y/n looked at her with a weird look before the woman’s eyes trilled down on her. With a decieving look on her face, she trailed her fingers slightly on y/n’s face. Lancelot gripped his sword tighter. ‘’So, beautiful...’’ The woman whispered before she looked towards Lancelot. 

‘‘Fine, ‘‘ The woman replied. ‘‘But it has a price,’‘ She replied as she glanced towards you as you looked at her with a fearful look. ‘‘No, she belongs to me,’‘ He growled. ‘‘How about I give you money?’‘ The woman looked at him with interest.

‘‘How much?’‘

‘‘I have 1000 silvers,’‘ Lancelot replied. 

‘‘Give me 400 silvers, just because you have a beautiful woman next by your side,’‘ Lancelot gave the money to the woman as she led the two of you through the hostel. She opened the door as she gave you a smirk before she left the room as you looked at her with a confused look. 

Turning your gaze towards the room, it was decent. Only problem though it was that only one bed and y/n knew that this night was going to be an interesting night. 

[zims-left-shoe]

My gay little heart thanks you for contributing to the Gaz community with your recent post, haha. May I please request a Gaz x reader where Gaz is gay panicking and the reader is confident and flirtatious? Some spice or implied would be neato but if not that’s totally cool too!

Of course you can!! I absolutely love writing for Gaz x female reader, I had something already planned before I got a couple asks for her. I hope you like it!

I sat at the table, lunch tray filled with barely edible garbage sitting in front of me, untouched. Scanning the room for my idiot brother, my eyes landed on him across the cafeteria, picking a fight with Zim...again. He was a senior in high school and yet he was acting like he was still twelve. Groaning, I pulled out my Game Slave from my bag to play away the rest of lunch. I don't remember how many minutes had passed by after I had booted up the game, but it couldn't have been many.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" It was a girl's voice, one I had never heard before. I looked up, meeting eyes with her. Her h/c hair framed her face, a slight smile tying her features together. Still, I said nothing. I had only sat with Dib at lunch ever since I could remember. Neither of us had many, if any, friends. We were just too weird. "It's just, I'm new here, and you're sitting alone. I thought we could both use a friend." I felt my eye twitch at her words. She really didn't care about the things she said, did she? She had confidence. I gave her that much. 

"Tch." I said nothing, eyes returning to my game, fingers beginning to button mash once more. I expected her to walk away, find someone else to sit with. Probably the popular girls. She was pretty enough. Instead, she did something that surprised me. This girl was always full of surprises, it seemed to be. Setting down her tray, she took a seat right across from me. She took a single bite of the food and learned her lesson immediately. My eyes darting from my screen to this new girl, I watched her gag and push the tray away.

"Wow...that's bad. I mean, really bad." A chuckle spilled from her lips. "Note to self: bring your own lunch. No wonder no one else is eating." I let out a huff, hoping she would just go away. She was annoying, but annoying in a different way than my brother or Zim. She was just too...nice to me. We both sat in silence, the only sound coming from my Game Slave and the dull hum of the cafeteria. Finally, she spoke again. She just wouldn't quit, would she? "You got a name?" Clearly, she was talking to me. 

"Gaz." I muttered, not looking up from my game. Sure, it was rude, but I didn't care. Despite my sour attitude, she perked right up, as if she was the happiest person alive to get my name.

"I'm Y/n."

. . .

"Hey, Gaz!" I was jolted awake by the slam of my bedroom door as it was thrown open, my stupid brother just barging in. If I was more with it, I would have beat his ass for not knocking, or even coming in at all. He ventured even farther into my room, not stopping until he was at the edge of my bed, where I was currently sitting. "I just came in to ask you if you could tape Mysterious Mysteries for me tonight, I have some serious-" He cut himself off, eyes seeming to catch something. "Oh, what're you drawing?"

"Huh?" My brain was still fuzzy, and before it even registered with me what he was talking about, he snatched a sketchbook from my lap, one that I forgot I had with me. I realized that I had fallen asleep while drawing, and it suddenly hit me what was in that book. Every nerve within my body awake and screaming with anger, I jumped up, trying to take it back. Unfortunately, he had several inches in height on me, and could efficiently hold it out of my grasp. "Give it back!" Despite my efforts, now that we had both grown up a bit, we weren't exactly on level playing fields anymore. He gazed at the page, an eyebrow quirking.

"Is this Y/n?" I felt heat rush to my face, wanting to both kick the shit out of him and disappear right on the spot. "Wow, I didn't know you drew people. You should show her-" In his admiration of my work, he had left himself vulnerable. I kicked him in the shins, hard, ripping the sketchbook from his hands. Once I had it secured, I shoved him out of my room. 

"If I see you in my room again you're a dead man, Dib! Do you hear me?!" I screamed after him as I slammed the door in his face. Chest rising and falling rapidly, I flopped back onto my bed, glancing back to my sketchbook. I couldn't stop the sigh that had escaped.

This sucks... I thought, pulling my sketchbook in close to my chest and screwing my eyes shut. How did she manage to make every day hell for me? She had been that way since day one.

-

Yawning, you twisted the knob to your first period classroom door, opening it and walking in, eyes scanning the room for a certain purple-haired goth. You felt every part of you that had been previously exhausted fill with energy as you strode over to your table that you shared with her. Setting your things down, you greeted her with a smile.

"Morning, Gaz!"

"How are you always so damn cheery?" She groaned, fixing you with a glare. She was not a morning person. She was never pleasant with you until around lunch. And even then, she was still an asshole to everyone else. 

"Because I get to see your gorgeous face every morning." You watched as her cheeks became dusted in a light pink. She continued to stare stupidly at you for a few seconds before her usual demeanor set back in.

"Whatever."

“Anyway. Maybe we could hang out after school today? I feel like I haven't gotten to see you in forever." 

"You see me every day at school." She wasn't saying no. And after being her friend for months now, you knew her well enough to know that she wanted to. You just had to let the usual song and dance play out first. 

"You know what I mean...please?~" You asked, despite knowing her answer always had been yes. You flashed her the doe eyes, laying your head on her shoulder and wrapping your arms around her. 

"Okay! Yes! Just get off!" She pushed you out of her personal space, hard but not aggressive. You knew she actually enjoyed your behavior, or else you wouldn't do it. She liked to present herself as a tough lone wolf who can and will beat you into the ground, but you knew her to be a secret softie. She often showed a different side when it was just the two of you, although she would always bring her bitchiness back at school. 

"Great!" Huffing, she pulled out her notebook, still pretending to be irritated with you. She thought her charade was convincing, but you could read her better than she would ever know. All it took was one look at the pink that stained her cheeks, the way she froze at your slightest touch or even the most subtle flirtatious phrase. You knew much more than you would let on. You wanted to hear it come from her, when she was ready. However, that didn't mean you wouldn't nudge her a bit. Sometimes, some people just need a good shove.

"You can come over to my place. My brother is going to be out hunting aliens or some shit, and my dad is working like always." Her tone was no longer sharp, in fact she seemed rather passive. 

"Sure, that's fine by me!" You had never been to her place when it was empty. Usually Dib was around, or her father, or on the rare occasion, both. You felt butterflies fill your stomach, not from nerves, rather unadulterated excitement. Maybe this was it. Maybe she would let you in on what was supposed to be kept so secret. Would she finally show her hand? You hoped so. She always played everything so close to the vest. Although you were able to see what she held, you would never let her onto that. You had your own poker face. 

-

The air was warm, gradually edging closer to unpleasantly so. It was the type of weather that meant summer was closing in, as if you couldn't already tell by that anxious buzz that was ever present in your classes and in the hallways, especially from the seniors. The absence of any breeze didn't help things, and you knew you would be sweating within a few minutes. Luckily, you knew the Membrane house to be not too much farther. Your backpack seemed to weigh more the longer you walked, so you decided to distract yourself. 

"So, you excited to get the house to yourself when Dib graduates in a few weeks?" You asked, your question the Trojan horse for your actions. You brought your hand closer to hers, brushing your fingers against her own casually, something that could be disguised as accidental. Or, it would be, if you didn't proceed to do it again...and again...and again. She didn't address it, but you could tell by the way her gaze shifted that she was not ignorant to it. 

"I wish. He's not going to college, at least right now. Taking a gap year, or something. He still wants to be a paranormal investigator, but dad wants him to get a degree in science. This gap year was their compromise." She fished her hand into her pocket, the clinking of metal reaching your ears as she searched for her keys. 

"Each is hoping the other gives in over the next year, huh?"

"Exactly. But it ain't gonna happen. Both of them are too stubborn for that." More jingling noises sounded as Gaz put the keys into the door, twisting until the click of the lock was heard. She let you in first, calling over her shoulder to you as she closed the door after you. "We can just go to my room. Not much to do out here." You had been to her house enough times to know where it was without guidance, and even if you hadn't you were fairly sure you could find it first time without help. The door was decorated with a menacing 'Keep Out' sign, and many skulls, horror dolls, and band logos were painted onto the wood, most likely by Gaz herself. The inside, usually kept dark, was bright for once. It was a rare occasion where the shades were drawn, and light could be let in. The walls were still painted a deep, almost black red, but the sunlight really did make everything brighter. Band posters covered the walls hiding most of that previously mentioned paint. The sheets on her bed were black, she covered her carpet in a black fluffy rug, her desk was black, virtually everything was black besides the various disturbing stuffed animals and dolls that were strewn around her room. There were many who would feel uncomfortable in a room like hers, but you had adjusted and learned to love it, just as you had learned to love her. 

"So, what do you want to do?" You turned to her, already feeling her lighten up now that you were both alone. 

"I have an extra Game Slave. Think you can beat me in Bloaty Kart?" She smirked, pulling out her handheld consoles from her bag and a drawer in her desk, tossing one to you. 

"Of course." You both knew you couldn't, but regardless, you would put up a fight. Hopping up on her bed, you booted up your games, ready to watch Gaz wipe the floor with you. Intensely staring at the screen, you held down the buttons you were supposed to, furiously dancing your thumb on the D pad. "Oh, come on! Not fair!" You cried as Gaz hit you with a flying pizza, preventing you from even getting close to her. "Why are you able to hit people behind you? That should be illegal." You pushed your bottom lip out, scooting closer to Gaz until your shoulders were touching. You leaned into her heavily, trying to shove her a bit to throw her off her rhythm. It didn't work, but it was worth a shot.

"You're not even trying!" Gaz's words were broken by pearls of laughter, a beautiful sound in your opinion. Things were ramping up in game as the final lap commenced. You had finally managed to catch up to Gaz, and the two of you were close to neck and neck as you both closed in on the finish line. Despite being close, you knew you couldn't beat her without illegal tactics. 

"Oh, I'm not trying? Fine!" Just as the finish line was only a few kart lengths away, you turned your head towards Gaz, leaning in to plant a big kiss on her cheek. She seemed so stunned by your action that she dropped her Game Slave, her character stopping just before the line, letting you win. "Sorry, cutie. All's fair in love and war." You watched Gaz' expression morph from stunned to panicked. Her normally squinty eyes widened to the size of saucers, her jaw set, fingers curled in tight to her palms. You could see her nails digging in harshly, sure to leave deep crescents when released. Her appearance resembled a frightened animal, and she soon lashed out like one, too. She put her hand on your shoulder, shoving you away from her harshly. You almost tumbled off of her bed. This was the most aggressive you had seen her act towards you in your entire friendship, and although all you wanted was for things to work out, you wondered if you had overstepped boundaries. That maybe there was a line that shouldn't have been crossed. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Her voice was raised and shrill, yet she still refused to look at you. 

"Gaz, I-" You attempted to apologize, beginning to doubt your impressions of her. Maybe you had everything all wrong. Maybe she didn't like you the way you liked her. If that was the case, she probably didn't want anything more to do with you, since you had been so persistent. That was the last thing you wanted. You were okay if she wanted to stay friends. But you didn't think you could handle losing her entirely.

"God, what's your problem?!" She spat, every word dripping venom. Her eyes were overly shiny, the sign of tears forming. You didn't want to push her. You let her get angry. If she wanted to scream at you, that was fine. You would wait. You sat away from her, keeping your distance, not afraid of her. Just afraid of hurting her. "I just...you're just so...do you even know what you're doing to me?" Her voice had quieted, her shoulders slouched. Those tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled down her cheeks. She looked utterly helpless as she looked to you for the first time. You felt a pang in your heart for her. You had been there once. You had been where she was, scared out of your mind at your own feelings, those desires you could never escape from. Not wanting to lose those you cared about, terrified to admit everything to yourself. Despite how badly you wanted to reach out and hold her, to tell her everything was okay, you knew you had to wait. She still hadn't said all that she needed to. And so you sat still, not saying a word, hands folded neatly in your lap. Your eyes were trained on your chipping black nail polish, remnants of the last visit to Gaz's room. You couldn't bear to see her cry, but you knew it was necessary. So you kept looking down as you waited. After what felt like ages, she spoke again. "I like you...more than I ever wanted to." Those words were all that you needed to hear. 

"Gaz..." The room still had energy, but it wasn't as suffocating. Everything felt lighter somehow now that all of her cards were on the table. Now, it was time for you to show yours. You crawled back over to her, movements slow, always watching her body language to make sure she wouldn't be uncomfortable. The second things got to be too much, you would put on the brakes. The final few tears slipped down her cheeks. You brought your hands to her face, wiping them away with your thumb. Nothing else needed to be said as you leaned in, gently placing your lips on her own. She seemed so fragile in that moment, you were afraid you would shatter her like glass. You pulled away, searching her face for any sign of discomfort. "I like you too. I thought that was obvious." Joy swelled in your chest as you felt Gaz's demeanor completely shift from underneath you. She no longer seemed petrified, rather, an air of confidence similar to your own radiated from her. Sometimes, you just needed a good breakdown to get back on track. 

"I hoped that was the case." A slight smirk graced her face as she gripped the collar of your shirt in her hand, yanking you into another kiss. This one was much less delicate, her lips moving against yours in an almost hungry manner. Pulling back after a few moments, a shit-eating grin stretched across your lips.

"I see you like the way I taste." You teased, pressing your lips against hers once more. You decided to go a bit further, trusting that she would let you know if she didn't like something. Grabbing her bottom lip in your teeth, you waited until she opened her mouth to question you, taking the opportunity to slip your tongue inside. Despite probably never kissing anyone before in her life, she was keeping up with you as your tongue worked its magic. After exploring her mouth a bit more and seeing what reactions it earned you, you parted, letting her breathe. "You may kick my ass in video games...but just know when it comes to this...you're the one getting schooled." Your words came between large breaths for air. 

"Oh yeah? Who decided that?" Her tone was full of mock defiance. She wanted to be a bit of a brat, but you knew that, deep down, she was just glad that everything was finally out in the open. She placed her hands on your thighs as you straddled her, tracing circles into them. You shook your head, grin still ever present. Bringing your lips to her face, you kissed just off the mark from her own, trailing kisses down her jaw.

"I did." You spoke as you were still peppering her with kisses, feeling her squirm underneath you. You guessed she was ticklish. You resumed pressing kisses to her skin until you had reached her neck. Her hands moved to lose themselves in your hair as you focused on one single spot, giving it an experimental nip to gauge her reaction. Her hands clenched your hair like it was a lifeline, her breaths irregular. One of your hands found the hem of her shirt, toying with it in your fingers as you continued to bite her neck, leaving softer kisses to replace your nips. All the while, the only thing to leave her mouth was your name, albeit very breathily. Pulling away from her neck, your lips crashed into hers once more, overjoyed just to be able to be there in that moment. You moved together, keeping time with one another. Everything in that minute felt like it was supposed to be that way. If asked, you would have both said that your lips were always meant to fit together. For Gaz, the world finally seemed to make sense. She finally understood why no one at school had caught her eye before you, why she was just so not into whoever Dib or her father tried to introduce her to during their brief stint at matchmaking. Everyone always thought Gaz was a cold, heartless psycho who just wanted to be left alone. You could be certain that was completely untrue. 

You felt a hand snake underneath your shirt and up your side, Gaz's fingers dancing along your skin. You couldn't help but shiver, and Gaz smiled against your lips. You vowed that day to do anything for that smile. 

Just as things were perfect, when it seemed that the stars were aligned and that nothing could ruin the moment, the universe just had to prove you wrong. The door to Gaz's room was thrown open, a familiar voice that you dreaded to hear reaching your ears.

"Gaz, you'll never guess what happe-" Dib stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes rested on a sight he never thought he would see. His sister underneath her friend, lips locked and hand up her shirt. His face was the color of his enemy's uniform, all the way to the tips of his ears. "M-My bad, I'll come-come back later." Despite saying he would leave, his feet felt as if they were planted to the floor, unable to stop staring, even after you had pulled away. 

"GET OUT!!" Gaz shrieked at the top of her lungs, reaching out and grabbing hold of one of her stuffed animals, rocketing it towards Dib. That seemed to kick Dib's ass into gear as he zipped out of the room, the stuffed animal colliding with the closed door. Gaz's cheeks were stained in red, and you would admit your own felt quite hot as well. An awkward 'I-can't-believe-that-shit-just-happened' laugh tumbled from your lips as you crawled off of her, sitting down beside her. There was no recovering from that, the vibe had been officially killed. Not just killed. Publicly executed. 

"Wow...how long do you think it'll take for him to look me in the eye again?" More laughter erupted from you, and this time Gaz joined in.

"Probably about six and a half years. And then eight more before he'll finally be able to talk to you." It was a joke, but you figured that, knowing Dib, it probably wasn't too far off the mark. "Jesus, I've told him a thousand times to knock first. Or to just stay out of my room entirely." She crossed her arms, blowing a strand of purple hair out of her eyes.

"Well, on the bright side, he'll probably obey that rule from now on." She nodded silently, a serious air settling around her. 

"One could only hope." She ended her phrase with a sigh, head leaning back to rest against the headboard of her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. A quiet moved in right then. You understood why. There was a heavy question that needed to be addressed, although you thought you both already knew the answer. You contemplated on asking it, but figured you'd let Gaz. You were okay with everything, and you wanted her to be the one to bring things to the table. That would be your way of knowing what she was ready for. To your relief, she finally spoke up, her eyes drifting back to yours. "Maybe we could...ugh, you know..." She trailed off, refusing to say the words. You had always been able to tell from day one based on your interactions that she had low EQ, and that she would be a lot tougher and more reserved when it came to admitting feelings. That was fine by you. You were much more open, and were willing to guide her through the process of learning how to open up, at least to you for a start.

"Be girlfriends?" You finished for her, watching as she nodded, relieved she didn't have to be the one to say it. You pretended to contemplate it for a moment, over exaggerating the way you tapped your chin, pretending to be in deep thought. "Hmm, I dunno...that's kinda gay." You couldn't keep your straight face for long as you busted up laughing, clutching your stomach. Your laughs and giggles were smothered when Gaz reached for a pillow, shoving it into your face.

"You're stupid." You threw the pillow down, pulling her into a hug, loving the smile on her face that continued to grow.

"But you love me anyway." You sang into her ear as she stayed put in your arms, her own arms finding their place around you.

"Yeah, whatever." That was the first time you had heard a whatever that she had spoken ever be laced with nothing but love and affection. You were so undeniably happy in that moment that nothing could ruin it for you, or for her. Not even paranoid ghost hunting brothers who barged into rooms without knocking.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 36

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 36: Kate finds herself feeling more safe and trusting with Tommy even as he struggles to reunite his family. 

            They tried to make the best of the remainder of their holiday, but the news of the alliance put a damper on things. They returned to Arrow House with the promise that Tommy was going to get right to work on trying to reunite his family. Ada was meant to be leaving for Boston in the next week, but Tommy put her to task one more time before she left.

            “Tom, I’m on thin ice with them as it is.” Ada reminded him.

            “This isn’t about pride anymore; this is about survival. If they want to survive then they should consider listening to me.” Tommy insisted from behind his desk.

            “That’s your problem. If what you’re saying is true then you need to make it a joint effort instead of just controlling everything like always!” His sister snapped.

            He threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, I’m trying my best!”

            Ada frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll tell them what you told me. I guess it’s up to them how they want to respond.”

            Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ve done all I can. I want you all safe.”

            She sighed and nodded. “I suppose this wasn’t just your doing.” The history with the Changrettas was long and winded but she knew each of her brothers had a play in the matter. No one could fully blame Tommy. “I’ll talk to them.”

          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            Out in the stables, Kate was grooming Blue before he was trailered to Mays so he could be trained. Initially, Tommy said the gelding wouldn’t need to be there for long. They weren’t training him for the track like Buchanan. But then, he made the unfortunate error of getting on Blue just to see how he would take to the bit.

            The warm-blooded thoroughbred-cross threw him so hard out of the saddle, he had a hard time getting up for a minute. Tommy assured Kate he could break the gelding in if he had the time. But decided it would be in everyone’s best interest to hand him over to May for training.         

            Despite the horse’s aversion to a saddle, he was very well-tempered on the cross ties. Kate enjoyed spending time with him, making his coat shine, and giving him pats and treats. Blue took a liking to her even in the brief time he was there before going to May’s. Along with dancing again, it was nice to have something to distract her. And she needed a great deal of distraction.

             “You’ve made alliances too.” Alice reminded her, on their first meeting after Kate and Tommy returned from Scarborough.

            “I know,” Kate mumbled.

            “You probably have more people on your side than that asshole has on his. And, he’s coming to us. He’s not going to send all of his men over here, that leaves his home base vulnerable. He has one army. Can’t be more than twenty people. You have armies in Birmingham and London. Everything’s going to be okay.”

            Kate nervously chewed on her fingernail. “Tommy’s family is still all over the place though.” She pointed out.

            “Well, that’s Tommy’s problem to sort out,” Alice said. “He knocked down those fences, he’s the one that’s got to repair them.”

                       Kate was ruminating on that idea as she led Blue back into his stall. As she locked the latch, Tommy came into the stables. She could sense the irritation coming off of him as he strode down the aisle.

            “Did Ada come by already? I was hoping to see her before she-”

            “She left.” He answered curtly. “Sorry.”

            She hung Blue’s lead line up on the stall door. “That’s okay. I could always call her later. I was just hoping to see her before she leaves for Boston.”

            “Yeah.” He mumbled, not really listening to what she was saying.

            “What did she say about everything?”

            He shook his head. “Not now.”

            But before she could protest, he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Despite hoping he meeting with Ada went well, Kate suddenly felt the urge to forget everything. Tommy took her breath away when he pressed her up against the polished wood door of Blue’s stall. If he was angry or upset, it didn’t show. Instead, there was a deep yearning for her.

            “Tom…” She breathed against his lips. “Bring me upstairs.” She pled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

            By the time they reached the second floor, Kate got a little nervous that it would all fall apart again. That she would have another episode.

            Tommy felt her hand in his tighten. “We’ll take it slow.” He promised. “When you need to stop, we will.”

            She pecked his lips before he opened the bedroom door for her. “I don’t deserve you.”

            He felt quite the opposite. After all, he was the one who kept her at an arm’s distance for so long. Even though it was torture for him, he still did it.

            But now, she was cradled in his arms, straddling his lap as he undid the buttons of her dress and she undid the buttons of his shirt. She carefully undid each little marker of his outward appearance. The cufflinks, the tie clip, the pocket watch, the waistcoat, all set aside.

            It was rare, in Tommy’s experience, to move so slowly. In anything, but in intimacy especially. He could recall many fabric ripping, missing buttons, and torn stockings in his past. He even thought Kate might’ve been a fan of the art of frantic sex. At one point at least, daring and witty as she was. But things had changed for the both of them. Perhaps they needed to be slowed down for their own good. They’d been hurt by others, the world, and each other. There was much healing to be had.

            “Alright?” He asked as she slipped out of her dress.

            “Yeah.” She agreed.

            “Lie back.” He helped her onto the bed, propping up a couple of pillows for her.

            Although Kate felt self-conscious, she reminded herself that she was safe. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she felt his lips on her stomach, she jumped slightly but giggled. “Sorry, I’m ticklish sometimes.” She admitted, opening her eyes to see him smile.

            His hands were resting on her hips, his thumb smoothed over a faded scar on her navel. “I don’t tell you how beautiful you are.”

            Her cheeks warmed. “What are you talking about? Yes, you do.”

            “I don’t tell you enough.” He kissed over the scar before finding her lips again.

            She wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled his familiar scent. The scent of whiskey, cologne, and cigarettes mixed with a hint of the hay smell from her time with Blue. It was soothing and she kept herself grounded by knotting her fingers in his hair and repeating his name over and over in her head. Sometimes it slipped past her lips as she reminded herself she was safe because she was with Tommy. Her mind wasn’t going back to Boston, back to the nightmares she endured. She was right there in Warwickshire with the man she loved. The man she knew would never hurt her.

            “Keep going.” She begged.

            “I don’t want to push you, Kate.” He brushed a curl from her face.

            “You’re not. I’m here with you right now.” She touched his cheek. “I’m safe with you.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The late afternoon sun was finding its way through the part in the curtains. Kate was curled up in Tommy’s arms, elated at the hurdle she had overcome. Her trust for Tommy was sky high and she felt as though their bond deepened.

            Both of them had gone for so long without pure, uninterrupted intimacy and it really showed. Normally, Tommy wouldn’t be caught dead lounging around in bed in the middle of the day. But for once, no one could tear him away from Kate. As if to prove his own point, he pulled her closer and kissed her neck.

            She purred softly and entangled her legs in his. Opening her eyes after dozing off for a bit, she smiled up at him. “I’ve never seen you like this.” She remarked softly.

            “Like what?” His hand ran soothing lines up and down her side.

            “Calm. Just…not on edge.” She silently noticed warmth in his blue eyes that was so rare. Perhaps when he was younger it was more common to see. But the summer sky blue was so vibrant and heart-warming. Knowing she made him happy made her heart skip a beat.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Her brow wrinkled a bit. “Don’t apologize. It’s been such a hard time on everyone and you’re carrying a big burden, Tom.” She ran her fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. His eyes closed as he gratefully leaned into her touch. “I just want to be there to ease your burden like you ease mine. It’s only fair.”

            He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I don’t hear the shovels when I’m holding you.” He whispered.

            There was no need to explain. Kate knew. When Tommy held her at night, she didn’t see Santo’s body bleeding out, or her mother’s body being dragged out of the river. She didn’t hear the screams of people as Santo burned her building down or the sound of him shouting at her. It was all near silent. All she could hear was Tommy’s soft breathing as he fell asleep against her. His familiar scent overwhelmed her with comfort. His heart beating near her was mesmerizing.

            “I love you.” She whispered into his hair. “I love you more than I could ever put into words.”

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[phenomenal1500]

The Blood In My Veins | Black Sails

Chapter 49: We Ain't Twisted Monsters

For Chapter 48: His Damned Demise click here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"By stirring resentment, finding sympathetic ears, reminding them that Charles Vane was once the best of them... still is the best of them. My parents were agitators. If we are to win this war, that may be exactly what we need. By the time I'm through, the governor won't be able to hang Vane out of fear of losing the street." Flint watched the men on the beach waiting by the sloops to leave and he sighed, staring at his horse before giving the reins to Bones. He was the one who had to save Vane and Naida.

~~~

While staring at my feet the one thing had happened which I never thought and hoped to happen again, being chained.

I heard the lock of my prison being opened and the sound of soft footsteps could be heard from the right of me while I kept my eyes on the dirty floor.

I couldn't care less who it was.

After a moment of silence, I finally looked up, seeing the one I hated the most.... Eleanor.

She inhaled deeply with a nervous look in her eyes behind her fake confidence and while she glanced down at me sitting on an old bench she rolled out a letter and cleared her throat before speaking up.

"I, Charles Vane, do hereby plead guilty to the charges of treason and high seas piracy. I understand that the sentence for my crimes is to be hanged by the neck until dead. It is my hope that in exchange for this plea I might be spared the humiliation of a public trial, and that my execution be carried out.... privately and mercifully."

She swallowed before watching me with fury, stepping towards the damaged table to lay it down as I furrowed my eyebrows, not even caring about what she had said.

"At noon tomorrow, you'll be transported under guard to the bay, where you'll be boarded onto the Shark and sent to London to face a Court of the Admiralty. Agree to this plea, and the governor will endorse it. We'll see to it that it is heard favorably and your experience in London will be short and dignified. Refuse to sign it, and your experience will be anything but."

I sighed before confusion and annoyance filled me and I lightly shook my head before my voice echoed through the prison cell.

"You came all the way down here to ask me to beg for mercy? What a fantasy this must have been for you. Well, even if I did sign that, we both know how empty the victory would be, seeing as you don't give a shit about my piracy or my treason. The only crime of mine that angers you is the one that no one else cared enough about to even call a crime." I scoffed at her. No matter what, I would do anything in my power to make her fail at her so-called victory. "Am I wrong? Is the murder of Richard Guthrie mentioned anywhere on that page?"

"You fucking coward." Eleanor hissed through her teeth as she watched me like I was a dead man already and I just grinned at her.

"When Charles Vane takes something from a man, he looks him in the eye and gives him a chance to deny him. It's all bullshit. It was always bullshit. You stole my father from me in the dead of night like a tank fucking cutouts, and you did it because your weren't man enough to face me, to show yourself. So you found the lowest, cruelest, weakest feed imaginable and acted it out upon an innocent man with whom you had no quarrel.... knowing that I had finally begun to build something with him, that I was finally able to see the good in him."

She raised her voice at me and her eyes became bloodshot as I expressionless glared up at her, clenching my jaw before rolling my eyes at the cold hearted woman, already knowing this was going to be a long fucking conversation.

To be honest I couldn't fucking care less what she had to say.... I just hoped so badly I could see Naida one last time before I would be hanged.

~~~

(POV Naida Jones)

Sprinting through the busy streets with my ripped dress, tears wetted my cheeks as I thought about the news I had heard; Charles, about to be hanged by the fucking governor.

I had shook my head after the news was brought to me, not believing it at first, and afterwards I had made my way to the fortress where I was told he was being kept before pounding onto the fort's doors.

Nobody had opened up, nobody cared about my screams or cries, nobody.... literally nobody in that fucking fortress cared.

I had stood before that fucking locked door all day and all night, crying with my back against it.... and here I was today, heart pounding into my chest as I watched Charles standing before the gallows with tears in my eyes.

"TODAY MARKS THE SILENCING OF THE MOST DISRUPTIVE OF THOSE VOICES AND A STEP TOWARDS THE RETURN OF CIVILIZATION IN NASSAU."

My mind had drifted off to the thought of losing my only home, the only one I truly shared love with.

His blue eyes, that gave me comfort when I needed it, would soon leave its vivid glow. His body, that granted me warmth when I was cold, would soon within minutes from now be swinging limp above the square. His heart, that had beaten on the same rhythm as mine had and that was filled with love would soon stop beating for good. The man that those assholes think they know, that they dare to judge, was nothing like they told the crowd. He wasn't an untamed animal, he wasn't a monster, he was an honourable man unlike those assholes.

One who dared to stand his ground if he wanted something, one who would protect the people he loved and also cared for them, one who would fight for his freedom. That will all soon fade like it never had existed. He would soon fade away from this world, away from me and away from his unborn child. My lip began to tremble as I watched the blue eyed man shaking his head at Billy and two other unknown men, I had no idea why. He then switched his attention from them and surveyed the crowd until his piercing blue eyes stopped when he saw me, staring right into my bloodshot, watery, hazel eyes.

His gaze became soft and tried to give me the same comfort he had once did before we lost each other by civilisation. Shaking my head at him, I, for the third time, bursted out into tears.... I was so afraid of losing him. His eyes no matter what never left mine as he took a deep breath, seeing the pain in his eyes as he dropped his stare lower to my stomach.

"These men who brought me here today do not fear me. These men who brought me here today because they fear you..." the crowd had quieted down and I silently sobbed, listening to the man I loved so badly. "Because they know that my voice, a voice that refuses to be enslaved, once lived in you. And may yet still. They brought me here today to show you death and use it to frighten you into ignoring that voice. But know this. We are many. They are few. To fear death is a choice. And they can't hang us all."

Confidence and anger was hearable in his voice as he glanced up at Eleanor before taking a step back, looking over his shoulder. "Get on with it, motherfucker."

With no fear he locked eyes with me one last time as the noose was tied around his neck and in a whisper he formed the words with his lips one more time.

'I love you.'

"Proceed!"

~~~

Song: ~Insomnia ZAYN

Song: ~Don't Judge Me Chris Brown

Song: ~Wake Up Dead Chris Brown, T-Pain

Song: ~High For This The Weeknd

[jakes-eyebrows]

Beauty and the Beast AU

Pairing: Danny/Jake

Word Count: 3K

AN: I wrote this for Lulu because she gave me the idea... I hope you like it! @imacrowcawcaw​ 💕💕

Jake is Belle

Danny is Beast

Josh is Cogsworth

Sammy is Lumière

“I don’t like where this is going. If he’s falling in love with that young man we may never change back to normal.” Josh begins, he sounds worried.

“Why not? If the master falls in love and that boy loves him back, that can break the spell.”

“No, Sam. The spell will break only if he falls in love with a woman and said woman loves him too.”

Sam looks skeptical “Are you sure? It can’t be… He just has to prove he’s capable of loving.”

The pair continued talking…

Little did the clock and the candelabra know that Prince Daniel was standing right outside the kitchen listening to them. Hearing this conversation brought all kinds of questions to his head.

For a moment, the beast had hoped the spell was going to be broken soon; he was in love and he had the intention of confessing to Jake. He wanted to make it very special, even if he was not entirely sure the beautiful boy returned his feelings. He had to tell him because it felt like the right thing to do. He was convinced.

Daniel went back to his chambers where he began thinking back to the conversation Sam and Josh were having and that made him doubt himself. What if Josh was right? What if the only way to make things shift back to normal is by finding love in a woman. He can’t clearly remember everything that happened the night when the sorceress came to the castle looking for refuge. He treated her poorly, yes, and in consequence she had placed this cruel spell on the prince and everyone else living in the castle.

For the longest time they felt like they were doomed. No woman was ever going to love him back, no woman was ever going to look through the façade of the beast. Even so, the prince always held a tiny ounce of hope in his chest.

It’s safe to say everything changed when Jake arrived. Daniel felt very guilty for the way the young man had come into his life. He felt guilty for what he did to Jake’s father in the first place; he let the older man go but kept his son captive. Soon after letting the man free he regretted how he handled the situation, he made the decision blinded by his anger.

That man was surely going to alert the people in the village about the heartless beast living in the palace; no woman, no one really, was ever going to dare come close to his property. Which just about ruled out any possibility of meeting a lady.

Him and Jake had a difficult start. At first Jake refused to talk to him, didn’t want to see him and only ate in the same room as the beast because he felt obligated.

A couple of weeks passed before Jake tried to escape one night. He found a way to climb down from his room’s window. He got on his horse and ran away. It was Josh who noticed the boy was missing when he came into the room to escort him to dinner.

“Jacob, dinner is served.” The clock said as he walked in but Jake was nowhere to be found. Josh quickly spotted the window wide open and some sort of rope hanging there.

“Master, the boy is gone! I think he jumped from the window.” An agitated Josh announced.

“Oh no! You need to go find him, it’s a very cold night and it’s dangerous too!” Sam said not even trying to hide his nerves.

The prince didn’t think twice and rushed outside of the castle to go after him. It was a very cold night indeed and it was starting to snow, soon everything will be covered in white; he hoped the boy hadn’t gone too far.

He ran and ran until he heard the loud howl of a wolf, he followed the noise. He finally stopped when he arrived at the frozen lake and spotted Jake on the other side, him and Philippe were surrounded by at least four wolves. In that moment the beast acted out of pure instinct, he didn’t stop to think about the potential danger of getting in the middle of it all. One of the wolves launched itself on Jake but the prince got to them just in time.

He stood there between the boy and the pack furiously growling at them. Maybe it was all the adrenaline or maybe it was something else in him, but he wasn’t going to let them come closer to Jake. He jumped then ready to fight them all.

The beast managed to harshly throw one of them against a tree, the others launched themselves at him biting and scratching all over his arms and his back. In the end the prince defeated the pack and scared them away. He was injured and he felt exhausted; the last thing he remembers was turning back to look at Jake who was still in shock before he passed out.

Jake saw the beast hit the ground and feared he was dead. He could have gotten on his horse and leave him behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He approached the body on the ground to carefully inspect it, he was still breathing. He had a big wound on his back but it wasn’t as severe as he imagined. Jake immediately took off his cloak to cover the beast, as soon as he felt the warmth he opened his eyes slowly.

“I want to help you, you need to stand.”

The beast struggled but managed to get himself on the horse. They returned to the castle.

Something changed that night.

Jake carefully tended to the prince’s wounds. He was still afraid of the large beast but he also felt gratitude, after all he had risked his own life to save him.

For the next few days Jake insisted the prince needed to stay in bed to rest. He realized he had no choice but to keep him company while he recovered. This gave him a good excuse to go through Daniel’s bookshelves to find all sorts of interesting reads.  

And that’s how they started bonding over their love for literature. Jake was impressed, maybe the prince was not an asshole after all. He turned out to be a very cultivated and kind guy, he was a good listener too. He would quietly lay there listening to Jake talk about his favorite books and stories.

They shared another common interest: music. There was a piano in the prince’s chambers. Jake discovered it covered in dust, so he cleaned it one day and sat down by it. “Do you mind if I…?”

“I don’t mind at all. Please go ahead.”

Jake began playing a sweet melody and the prince felt himself relax hearing him play just for the two of them.

“Whoa, not so bad. I haven’t played since I was like ten years old.” Jake admitted.

“Really? You’re a natural then.” Daniel responded.

“It’s fun. Hey, come over here come play with me.”

The beast got up from bed and made his way to the piano. He figured Jake wasn’t terrified of him anymore, he sat down next to him. Jake started playing again. The beast only sat there watching, he looked down at his paws and sighed, Jake noticed this and carefully grabbed one of his paws…

“I’ll help you if you can’t remember how.” The boy offered and scooted closer to him, he placed his much smaller hand on top of the beast’s and guided him.

The prince felt his heart beating a little faster, Jake was sitting so close to him and touching him. It was a strange feeling, but it was definitely a good one.

The next weeks went by fast. Jake and Daniel had become very good friends, they spent hours talking about anything and everything. The prince was impressed by the young man too, he wasn’t like the other peasants he had met. Jake was very intelligent and well spoken, he had a good sense of humor, he was interesting and on top of that he was beautiful.

“A real beauty he is.” The prince thought.

Jake made him feel so many wonderful things he almost forgot about the predicament he was in. His time was coming. He came to realize he loved Jake but he couldn’t tell him that now. If he told him how he felt and maybe, just maybe, Jake loved him back… Then what? He had to remind himself that won’t probably end the spell. He couldn’t do that to his servants, they were his only family. Finally, he came up with the decision of letting Jake go.

A knock on the opened door interrupted his thoughts.

“Daniel, can I come in?”

Hearing him say his name made his heart jump. Still, since he’s made up his mind he thinks it’s best to keep a distance between them from now on.

“What is it, Jake?” Asked the prince with a cold tone in his voice, not even daring to turn around, he needs to stay strong. Facing Jake would probably make him slip.

Jake figures he can still try “Well, it just started snowing again. Why don’t you come outside… come play with Philippe and me.”

“I don’t have time for games, Jake. Did you need anything else? I’m busy right now.”

Daniel’s sudden change of heart makes Jake feel strange. He’s acting cold again.

“Oh… I understand. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Jake was left a little confused but that didn’t stop him. He put on his thick cloak and went outside to watch the snow and play with his loyal horse. Sam and Josh were outside too watching the young man enjoying himself in the snow.

Daniel was watching from the window, he sighed, he could hear Jake talking and laughing with his two trusty servants. His heart longed for him, he wished he could hold him, he wanted to be the one making him laugh. Suddenly, Jake looked up and caught him looking from the window. He smiled and waved at him. Daniel didn’t smile back and simply closed the heavy curtains, blocking the view.

Sam noticed the boy looked hurt. “Is everything okay, Jake?” Jake didn’t have to lie. “No. Daniel’s been acting different. I don’t know what I did.” He answered sounding somewhat disappointed. What bothered him too was not understanding his feelings, why did he care so much? It’s not like the prince and him were anything…

“You know how he is, Jacob. He’s probably just having an off day.” Adds Josh.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. Listen, let’s go inside now. You can try talking to him after dinner tonight.” Sam suggests.

Jake agreed with him. He wanted to know what was going through the prince’s head.

That night after dinner.

Jake got up from his chair, walking to the other end of the large table to sit down next to Daniel who had been lost in thought all this time.

“Can we talk?” Jake began.

“Yes, I need to tell you something important.” Was Daniel’s response.

“Good. You go first.”

It’s now or never the prince thought before he spoke again. “Listen, Jacob. I’ve been thinking and I’ve concluded that I- don’t want you anymore.”

“What?” Jake looked surprised.

“Sorry, I am sorry…” the prince shakes his head and tries again “…What I meant to say is that you don’t need to stay here anymore. I am setting you free.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Jake asks, he can’t understand the heavy feeling in his heart.

“Yes. I’ve kept you here long enough against your will. I want to give you back your freedom.”

“Well yes-yes I- that’s how it used to be but… I like to be here.” For once Jake doesn’t know what to say.

“No, Jacob. You think you like it here, but I know better. You’re still so young and have your whole life ahead of you, I’m letting you go so you can live it.”

“You don’t mean that, do you?”

“I mean it.”

Jake can’t help but feel like he’s being rejected. He’s confused and sad. Part of him knows he should be happy knowing he can walk out of the castle right now and go back to his father, back to the village, back to his life… and then what? He eyes fill with tears, he doesn’t want to cry in front of the beast so he runs up to his room.

Sam is standing by the door when Jake runs out visibly upset.

“Oh dear, what did you say to him?” the candelabra asks as he approaches his master.

“I told him I’m setting him free.”

“Was that all? Are you sure? The boy looked very upset.” Sam presses.

“He’s just confused. I told him I don’t want him here anymore, I don’t wish to keep him against his will. That’s all.”

Sam sighs “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say, master, but are you blind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jake is in love with you! And I know very well that you are in love with him too. Don’t you get it? He’ll be the one to break the spell.”

“That’s not how it works, Sam. And I do love him, yes. That’s why I have to- I have to let him go.” The prince’s heart breaks a little after saying that.

“No, you need to tell him how you feel! Don’t be a coward.”

“Don’t push it, Sam.” That’s Josh walking in the room.

“I never meant to hurt him. It’s not fair for him, it’s not fair for you either. Even if I love him, even if he loved me back. That can’t end the spell, it had to be a woman.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Sam sighs.

“Master, you should tell him how you feel. We were talking about that the other day, but maybe Sam is right, love is love.” Josh tells the prince.

Daniel thinks it’s worth a try, he wants to be honest with Jake and confess his love before letting him go. He excuses himself from the table to go up to the boy’s chambers.

He gently knocks on the door. No response, he knocks again.

“Go away, Josh. I want to be alone.”

“It’s me.” Jake feels his heart sink when he hears Daniel walk in. What now?

Jake turns away from him and wipes the tears from his face with his sleeve.

“Are you here to kick me out?”

“No, I came to apologize.”

“For keeping me here against my will? Don’t worry, I won’t hold a grudge. I’ll leave right now if that’s what you want.”

Hearing him say that makes Daniel’s heart ache, he wants to make things right. He sits on the bed, Jake still won’t face him. He’s looking out through the window he once used to escape.

“Please listen to me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I do want you here, just not against your will.”

Jake finally turns around to look at him, a gentle beast.

“You don’t know what I want. Please don’t presume you know what I want. If you knew…” he’s sniffling.

“I love you, Jake.”

“What did you say?” Jake can’t believe his ears.

“I love you. That’s why I can’t… I have to let you go.” Daniel’s voice breaks, his heart sinks when he thinks about never seeing Jake again.

“That’s all you needed to say.” Jake’s heart fills with joy, he wipes his tears again and walks up to the prince, he puts his arms around him and whispers “I love you too.”

Daniel couldn’t believe he really said it back. He held Jake tight like he’s been meaning to for a long time. They shed more happy tears as they held each other close.

The prince has never felt this happy in his life, he felt like his heart was going to burst. Suddenly, Jake noticed the prince stopped breathing, he got irresponsive and fell down on the bed. His eyes closed.

What did just happen?

“Dan-Daniel… hey, wake up! Come on can you hear me? Open your eyes!” Jake starts crying because he doesn’t know what to do. He screams for Sam and Josh.

He kneels by the bed and just sobs. Josh and Sam get to the room as fast as they can, by the time they get there they see the prince lying unconscious on the bed and Jake crying on the floor. The pair know the time for them has come too.

“Jake…” Sam calls out for him but he can’t finish that, he stays frozen in place and Josh is too. Jake looks up and sees them standing there by the door, lifeless and grey.

What’s going on? Jake has no clue, he just lays there sobbing. Did he dream it all up? What happened to the magic castle and all the living creatures in it? He cried until his throat ached and he fell asleep right there on the floor.

Hours passed. Jake only woke up when he felt the warm ray of sunshine directly on his face, the window was open. He opened his eyes, looking around, his head hurt and his neck too ‘Did I fall from the bed?’ he thought “Oh no!” he quickly got up.

Remembering last night’s events, he started feeling desperate again, he felt lost… until he looked around the room. He saw a young man laying on his bed. “Who?” he asked himself as he approached the man. He came close enough to see he was just sleeping. His chest slowly raising in falling.

He noticed the man’s shattered and oversized clothes, he was very handsome too, he had dark long hair and perfect eyebrows. Jake felt his face heating up… his thoughts were interrupted when he heard snoring. He saw the snores were coming from the two boys sleeping on the floor by the door.

Wait, it can’t be…

Suddenly, the man sleeping on his bed stirred, Jake took a few steps back to give him space. He heard the man take a deep breath before sitting up, he looked down at his human hands and then at Jake.

“Jake! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you!”

Jake kept staring at the man and his heart started racing, his eyes couldn’t believe this.

“It’s me! Jake it’s me!” Daniel said enthusiastically standing up and moving closer to the shorter man.

“Daniel?” Jake tried as the man stood closely in front of him, he looked up and stared into his eyes looking for his answer. He recognized the look right away.

His heart knew the answer before he could voice it. “It’s you! My Daniel.” They both had tears in their eyes, they smiled at each other then slowly very slowly got closer to let their lips touch for the first time.

The prince gently held his beloved’s body close. He placed one hand on Jake’s neck and kissed him deeply. They shared a long passionate kiss until they had to pull apart to breathe.

“Uhm…” someone cleared his voice “…excuse me.” That got Jake and Daniel’s attention, they looked back at the door to discover two naked guys standing there.

“See! I told you it was going to work.” Sam concluded, looking triumphant.

“Go put some clothes on, please.” Daniel said.

“It’s funny you ask us to go put clothes on when you two are probably about to take off all of yours.”

And you know what, maybe Josh was right this time.