#but that part of her had already spent years being slowly suffocated by the rage that had come to define her life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years

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“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me?

Special thanks to @shineestark for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected.

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood.

~Enjoy, little peaches~

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules.

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved.

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without.

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home.

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her.

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together.

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night.

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever.

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract.

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked.

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind.

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do.

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye.

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind.

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened.

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one.

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for.

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all.

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her.

Without her.

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most.

You were hurting alone.

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces.

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface.

They asked if you wanted to see her.

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking.

And you kept saying no.

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor.

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this.

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve.

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long.

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately.

“She’s... back?”

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible.

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks.

Billie had been back for two.

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half.

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not.

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no.

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory.

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life.

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe.

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had.

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away.

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning.

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could.

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time.

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep.

Over and over again.

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern.

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating.

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face.

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing.

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth.

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying.

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed.

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move.

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss.

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to.

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes.

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you.

Billie Dean Howard.

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped.

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before.

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend.

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart.

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket.

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch.

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her.

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room.

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone.

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer.

Time passing. A cruel joke.

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink.

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence.

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said.

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life.

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were.

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life.

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before.

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up.

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch.

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else.

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up.

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken.

“How could I be, when you’re here?”

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together.

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile.

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her.

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.”

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket.

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface.

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking.

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.”

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!”

“And then you came home.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said.

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her.

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off.

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left.

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking.

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again.

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again.

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch.

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly.

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.”

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all.

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place.

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again.

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped.

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing.

Except you didn’t.

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream.

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window.

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt.

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to.

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself.

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...”

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before.

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.”

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not.

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth.

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand.

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what.

She watched you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend.

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you.

It was easier.

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest.

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.”

“She was the one who told me to come over.”

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.”

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,” Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face.

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.”

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared.

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place.

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again.

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move.

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare.

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched.

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her.

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything?

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes.

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours.

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were.

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking.

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you.

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization.

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!”

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding.

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone.

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.”

And that’s when you moved.

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone.

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know.

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could.

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth.

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again.

You couldn’t lose her again.

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide.

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently.

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts.

All from her.

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen?

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one...

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god...

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you.

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor.

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie.

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her.

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her.

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline.

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain.

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear.

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony.

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep.

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived.

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her.

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home.

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds.

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt.

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair.

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream.

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air.

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way.

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault.

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost.

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out.

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away.

You just wanted to look at her.

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love.

A world of forgiveness.

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze.

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up.

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly.

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair.

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.”

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her.

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?”

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet.

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone.

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk.

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal.

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear.

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her.

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up.

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat.

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you.

If that isn’t love.

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again.

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving.

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful.

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours.

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight.

Her mouth.

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake.

“Ow, fuck, shit.”

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed.

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?”

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower.

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?”

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered.

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone.

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper.

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her.

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg.

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you.

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago.

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed.

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking.

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?”

Her heel tapped. Once.

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain.

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics.

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help.

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you.

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain.

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered.

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form.

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut.

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment.

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.”

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue.

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected.

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling.

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay.

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go.

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you.

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart.

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you—

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously.

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.”

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath.

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there.

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in.

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished.

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head.

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes.

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely.

But it was always gone as soon as it came.

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later.

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed.

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie.

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep.

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes.

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself.

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together.

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that.

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts.

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers.

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far.

Billie. Your Billie.

Over and over and over.

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed.

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation.

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even—

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there.

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric.

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach.

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back.

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone.

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later.

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous.

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think.

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks.

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it.

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall.

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten.

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts.

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again.

Ever again.

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness.

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her.

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal.

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave.

The floor creaked under your foot.

Shit.

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched.

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope.

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps?

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet—

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long.

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant.

And now she was here.

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds.

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time.

One step at a time.

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner.

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words.

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you.

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way.

And here she was, doing it again.

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness.

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night.

You swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say?

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask.

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before.

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch.

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes.

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked.

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you.

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.”

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now.

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked.

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again.

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her.

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you.

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile.

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back.

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company.

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head.

You scoffed.

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare.

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it.

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came.

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you.

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing.

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything.

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away.

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you.

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked.

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently.

Her pants.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes.

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom.

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed.

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once.

She was afraid you were going to change your mind.

That’s why she was rushing you to bed.

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip.

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.”

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency.

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were.

You could never forget how beautiful they were.

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check.

You nodded.

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse.

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets.

Billie hummed.

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry.

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by.

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep.

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess.

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets.

You startled, whipping your head around to face her.

But no, she was asleep.

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep.

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin.

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did.

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this.

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before.

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before?

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up.

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point.

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth.

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say—

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg.

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force.

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it.

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her.

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of.

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed.

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you.

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting.

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers.

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs.

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again.

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up.

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down.

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth.

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp.

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you.

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest.

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours.

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.”

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore.

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart.

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides.

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation.

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together.

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world.

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying.

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before.

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away.

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.”

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back.

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try.

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.”

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step.

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched.

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs.

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands.

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip.

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.”

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?”

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs.

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand.

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.”

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her.

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool.

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you.

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers.

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours.

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.”

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip.

“Shit.”

“I told you.”

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.”

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will.

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.”

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter.

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t.

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar.

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to.

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...”

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat.

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there.

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion.

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers.

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried.

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool.

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer.

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her.

“Shut up.”

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours.

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips.

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance.

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck.

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings.

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.”

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly.

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones.

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides.

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you.

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading.

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch.

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you.

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs.

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently.

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong.

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer.

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra.

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh.

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here.

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up.

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra.

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance.

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.”

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove.

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?”

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh.

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.”

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room.

“So you got her to eat?”

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip.

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle.

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow.

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added.

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly.

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her.

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist.

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door.

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?”

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point.

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist.

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin.

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends.

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave.

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.”

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you.

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck.

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach.

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you.

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly.

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there.

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off.

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door.

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers.

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up.

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?”

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different.

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled.

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time.

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey @mssallymckenna + @raleigh-ocean (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

#billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #billie x reader #ahs #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #american horror story #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom #ahs imagine #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Note

Bucky got kidnapped by a villain!reader who wants revenge and is toying with the reader who thinks she has the upper hand. He finally stops messing around with her before taking her right there and then with a hot and passionate non-con sex like he has always been dreaming all this time he had been obsessing over her,stalking her and watching her from afar. Surprise,suprise! 😱🖤 And can you also please add Bucky enjoying being tied up by the person he's obsessed with for a long time? 🙈❤💕

I kinda united these requests because I felt they were similar, but if you would like to see a story other than the one I’ve done, please let me know <3

P.S. I’m honestly not sure if I was able to do well with this one because I couldn’t write the non-con part. I’m very sorry about that. Please feel free to call me out for it 🙈

Till Death Do Us Part

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Soldat!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, mentions of abuse and non-con, brainwashing, stalking, kidnapping.

Words: 2000.

____________

It took you months to plan this operation and years to track down the Asset once he left Hydra. Captain and his lovely paper soldiers were hiding him well from the organization, and you had spent lots of time trying to hunt him down, but you weren’t concerned with it. You were a great one for waiting, day after day tracing Avengers and collecting bits of information to finally locate Winter Soldier, the first Soldat out of many. Funny, Steve Rogers and others really thought their friend was the last one.

You had to be grateful to the Soldier, one of your masters said. It was because of him you were kept out of cryochamber for so long. It was also because of him you still served as an Asset, trained by the fearsome Soldat himself. Since he left, you were considered one of the very best Soldiers of the organization, and it was partly a reason why they made you track him down.

The other reason was your intense hatred for the man who had been methodically destroying you after you became a part of Hydra decades ago.

You didn’t know why he chose you. Of course, you weren’t the only one he trained, but the only one Soldat raped time after time. He used you like you were made to fulfil his desires, not to become a tool in your masters’ arms. In the end, you had never felt like an Asset while Winter Soldier was still looming behind you. You were a broken toy Hydra was using for murder while Soldat treated you like a doll, taking whatever was left of you for his own pleasure. No memory suppressing machine could wipe this out of your mind.

You grew used to it. Years of training and abuse and complete control were enough to made you as submissive as others. However, the thought of stabbing the Soldier in the chest had always lingered somewhere at the back of your mind. You hated him more than any of your masters. They were evil, of course, but only the Soldier knew what it meant to be an Asset.

And he still chose to destroy you even more than Hydra did.

Of course, when your masters made you hunt him down, you were as eager as you had never been before. You had very little human left in you after all those years of serving, but anger and deep hatred were among those few emotions you could still feel. They made you keep going day after day when you were beaten for returning to your masters empty-handed.

But you knew you would eventually find him. Despite him being a very good Asset, Soldat wasn’t perfect. He would slip up, eventually. Besides, he was trying to return that human part of him that died in Siberia 70 years ago, and it was his mistake, indeed. Only the Soldier stripped of humanity could win against the other Soldier. Captain America might be an exception, but you’d make sure Steve Rogers wasn’t anywhere near Soldat when you got to him.

And now he was there, chained to the memory suppressing machine, metal rings binding him, grim and exhausted from a fight. He didn’t look any different to you, his dark long hair still dirty, his eyes deep and dark, his body as big and muscular as you remembered. But he was there, with you, completely harmless, disarmed, unable to hurt you. It was the first time it had ever happened, and you felt a strange wicked feeling rising in your chest. Was it happiness? Satisfaction? You didn’t remember feeling anything like that before. Maybe it was what people called joy.

You needed him to undergo mind treatment before taking him to the other location. Naturally, Hydra still wanted him, but you weren’t afraid of Soldat’s return. You beaten him. You bound him. You were stronger than you had ever been before, and no Asset could do to you what Soldat did. It was your time to be his tormentor.

Little did you know it wasn’t you tracking him, but Barnes hunting you down. After his escape most Hydra’s operatives went in hiding, and cryochambers were relocated which made his task more difficult, but he was determined to find you.

Yes, Bucky knew he treated you wrong. He still remembered all the things he had done, and he wasn’t trying to sugarcoat them. Nevertheless, he wanted you back. He needed you, and, more importantly, you needed him. You needed to get your life back, your privilege to be human. You needed to be treated like a person, not a tool.

And Bucky needed a family.

Despite all his attempts to have his life back, he just wasn’t that smiling young boy who left Brooklyn in 1943. Maybe he was finally free of Hydra’s brainwashing thanks to Shuri, but he still didn’t feel fully human. Steve couldn’t understand him - in fact, no Avenger could. Even Natasha didn’t know what being an Asset meant, how badly it changed him. Of course, Barnes couldn’t blame Avengers. He was just so, so lonely.

Bucky needed a family, Steve said. It would give him the reason to fully recover and find his place in this strange new world they were forced to live in. Look at Clint, he said. Whatever was happening to him on the missions, he was always coming back to his wife and kids. They were his world.

But there was just one woman he remembered loving, the one who was with him through his darkest days when he wasn’t him but the Soldier. Maybe it was the Soldier who loved her, not him either, yet Bucky wanted her as much as that monster. Was she still there, in her cryochamber, waiting to be awaken and given orders by her masters?

He knew she was.

As you took a round piece of black plastic to put in Barnes’ mouth before wiping his memories, he suddenly chuckled, looking up at your stony face. He could tell you were tired, desperate for rest, lonely and forgotten by everyone but Hydra and him. You needed to be brought back to the world. How many decades had passed since the time when you were kidnapped? You had no one but Barnes.

Yes, he was bound by all those metal rings, but he was prepared for all of it. Stark and Steve and Banner had helped him a lot when he revealed there could be more Winter Soldiers aside from the ones who were already murdered. More than that, Shuri was now waiting for him to bring you. If she was able to wipe Hydra’s brainwashing, Bucky would get finally what he wanted.

But first he needed you to lower your guards. Though he wouldn’t have a problem with overpowering you, he didn’t want you to get even more hurt.

“Хозяева будут тебе рады.” (”The masters would be pleased to have you back.”) You said, and Bucky lifted the corners of his mouth a little.

“А ты?” (”Will you be happy to have me back, too?”)

He barely blinked, and you took a swing to his jaw, making him grunt and squeeze his eyes shut for a second. Your hand was still quite heavy, and you could put any other guy down with one blow. Not him, of course. Never him.

Licking a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, Bucky felt he was getting harder and bit down on his lower lip. It was odd, but, for some reason, he enjoyed being tied up by you, having you think you controlled him while he just needed to lift his finger to break free. Did you know how much he loved you? Did you know how much he still cared? How desperate he was to give you all that Hydra took away years ago?

Barnes knew you wouldn’t forgive him now despite his best efforts, but with the help of Shuri he would imprint it on your brain: you needed him. You needed him to love and protect you after all years of abuse you suffered. He was the only one who could really understand you - and the only one to save you from the world’s most vile organization SHIELD had been fighting for decades.

When you brought that piece of black plastic to his mouth again, Bucky had stretched his metal arm, and the rings binding him fell to concrete floor with a loud thud. You reacted momentarily, backing off and aiming your gun at him, but Barnes was much faster, catching the bullet with his metal hand. Oh, he could see you were surprised despite that blank expression you wore when he jumped at you, sweeping you off your feet. You fought him furiously, trying to punch, stab, and kick him, but the more you fought, the more you realized the Soldat was still somewhere there inside him. Instead of rage, now you felt fear suffocating you.

No, no, no. You wouldn’t let it happen. You wouldn’t let the Soldier take you again. Being disposed by Hydra was better than this.

However, Bucky didn’t give you a choice, injecting a syringe into your neck the moment you broke his rib. Where did he hid it? Didn’t you take away anything you deemed dangerous before binding him?

“I love you,” he said, watching you going limp on the cold concrete floor, your body slowly giving up. It was a drug made by Banner - he could calm down even the Big guy with it.

“We aren’t... capable.” You hissed through your teeth, helplessly trying to make your body move but failing again and again. Fuck, no, no, NO, NO! NOT LIKE THIS! IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!

In a matter of minutes you were no stronger than a child of a cat. No, it was called somehow differently... A kitten. No stronger than a kitten with your arms and legs giving out as Soldat lifted you up from the floor while you stared at the dirty ceiling, feverishly looking for a way out of this. How long did that drug need to be out of your system? How much time the Soldier would have? It would be enough for him to relocate you somewhere, you knew it. You’d be back into that limbo, enraged, frightened, and used. Your masters wouldn’t try taking you back.

“Stop struggling.” Bucky said as he made you drop your head to his chest, placing a little device on the lock preventing him from leaving, and in the next second something beeped, forcing a heavy rusted door to open. “I came to help.”

You reacted just like he thought you would, and a part of him was happy you could still feel at least some emotion. He thought about you being so strong that even Hydra couldn’t wipe off your personality and destroy you beyond repair. Even though you hated him with every fibre of your being, Barnes could work with that. He was relieved you felt something for him at all.

“I can help you heal. I’ll bring back the real you.” He whispered as he dropped a tender kiss to your forehead, and you clenched your teeth until it hurt.

“I will stab you in your sleep.”

Barnes laughed at that, going up the stairs in almost complete darkness and carrying you as if you were the only treasure he had ever had, forgetting about his own wounds. He had so much that had to be done to give you your humanity back. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be fast, but he was prepared to wait just like you waited for him all those years after his escape.

_________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @soleil-dor @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @iheartsebastianstan @stargazingfangirl18

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier #yandere #requests #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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for-fucks-sake-h · 4 years

Text

As You Held Onto Me - Five

a/n: Hiiiii! Welcome to the final chapter of ayhom! I’m SO excited to finally be sharing this with you. It’s been a long time coming. Huge, huge, HUGE, thank you for my loves for supporting me through this story @idk-who-she-is @andwhenshesays @oh-honey-styles I couldn’t have done it without you. And to anyone that celebrated today - Happy Mother’s Day 🌸you’re amazing and deserve the world! Alright babes, I hope you all enjoy this! xx

CATCH UP ON PREVIOUS PARTS HERE

Rated: M, mature // Word Count: 4.9k

Sometimes, love can feel like it’s everything. And sometimes, we hope it can be.

***

- Friday, September 27, 2030 -

You turned the shower’s water off, messily shaking your hand through your sopping hair as you slid the glass door open with your other hand and grabbed your hair wrap off the hook. You were quick to flip your head upside down, twisting the cotton towel around your hair and securing it at the nape of your neck. Your heart was fluttering the tiniest bit as you grabbed the plush bath towel to dry yourself off. Lotion was hastily applied as you stood at your bathroom counter, and some oil was frivolously smoothed through your hair, your towels discarded in a ball next to your feet, deciding you could take care of them later.

You were eager to join the party down the hall.

With a pep in your step, you flicked your ensuite light off and made quick work of throwing on the first pair of shorts from your pj drawer, your sopping hair clinging to the material of an old, worn out Kiss shirt of Harry’s that you had conveniently confiscated years ago. And with some fuzzy socks quickly pulled on, you headed to the room at the end of the hallway, laughter becoming more prominent the closer you got.

You already felt like your heart was in your throat as you paused at the door, slowly creeping it open as discreetly as you could. The vision in front of you never got old.

Their laughter was infectious, practically identical in the way their noses creased and dimples etched into their cheeks. They sat on the bed, side by side as they both leaned back against the headboard, ankles crossed in the same way, most likely laughing at one of Harry’s horrible jokes. They weren’t horrible to her though. No - to her, they held the moon in the sky.

“Finally,” Harry chuckled when he noticed you.

You shot him a look, one that he’d been on the receiving end of plenty of times throughout the years, and one that had a slight curl of your lips that you desperately tried to keep at bay as you walked over to them.

“Hi, mommy!”

You leaned down to kiss her head before sitting on the bed beside her, intertwining your arms as she rested her head on your shoulder.

“Hi, love. Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah! How was yours? We missed you!”

This was what you lived for - getting home after a long day to spend the evening with your two favorite people.

“Good, happy to be home.” You kissed her head once more, your eyes flicking up to meet Harry’s, a warm smile spread across his face. “What have you two been up to?”

“We got some stuff for tonight, didn’t we baby?” Harry nodded at your daughter, encouraging her to share.

“We got face masks,” she beamed at you as you dropped your mouth open in excitement. “And daddy picked out a yellow nail polish.”

“Did he now?” You smiled, warmth encasing your heart at how happy she looked.

“Yeah! We were just waiting for you,” she nodded, her eyes fluttering fondly as Harry kissed the back of her head.

“Go grab them, love.” He nodded with a smirk pulling at his lips.

She was quick to crawl down to the bottom of the bed, practically skipping out of her room.

“Where’s she going?” You laughed.

“They’re refrigerated face masks, love. All the rage.”

“Ah, I see.” You smiled, taking in his ruffled hair and soft hoodie, the thin layer of facial hair that scattered across his jaw and upper lip.

He leaned down onto one elbow, inching himself closer to you. “We missed you.”

You breathed out through your nose as you ran the backs of your knuckles across his jaw, leaning down until you could rest your forehead on his. “Missed you too. I’m just glad she still wants to do this,” you admitted softly.

“Me too, baby.”

He extended his neck enough to softly slant his mouth over yours. He was warm and tasted like the honey you knew he put in the tea they had while you were still at work. With one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, he pulled away, chucking two fingers under your chin.

He was gone way too soon, leaving you blinking at him as your daughter entered the room. Harry must have heard her coming and didn’t want to get caught. He was the one that got yelled at for “always being all over mommy” after all. The thought made you smile fondly as you watched your daughter set up the nail polish, some nail art stickers, the face masks and even a small bowl of M&M’s for you to snack on.

“Can’t believe my baby’s gonna be ten years old tomorrow,” you shook your head in disbelief.

She crossed her feet under her legs before smiling up at you, “Don’t cry, mommy.”

“I’m not gonna cry,” you scoffed.

They laughed in unison, the same boisterous laugh escaping their mouths at the same time. And you couldn’t help but laugh too as you blinked the tears from your eyes, enamored with the life you and Harry had created.

Every year, you had spent the night before her birthday as just the three of you, even when she was too young to remember. It was your tradition, one of many that your little family had created over the years. As she got older, she started requesting new things; coloring night, movie night, game night - and tonight, spa night. It was special to you, and you knew it was special to her and Harry too.

“What should we talk about?” Harry asked as he extended his left hand onto his daughter's knee as she opened the nail polish jar.

“When you asked mommy to marry you,” she smiled brightly.

Harry laughed, watching as she carefully painted the yellow polish on his first finger. “How many times can you hear that story!”

She giggled softly before her eyebrows crinkled in concentration, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, the same way Harry’s did. “Hmm, okay when you first met? Or when you told grandmom and grandpop you wanted to live together!” She rattled off stories you’d told her numerous times, her eyes trained on neatly painting her dad's nails.

“How about a new one?” You suggested.

You looked over at Harry, a smile pulling at his lips as he chimed in, “Yeah, was thinking when you were born?”

***

- Tuesday, September 28, 2020 -

It was like you could see the bright overhead lights before you even opened your eyes. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the harshness and groggily taking in your surroundings. A warm bed, soft socks, a faint beeping sound - it all started filtering into your senses as you came to. It was almost blissful, being unaware and waking up to a fresh day.

Except reality started to quickly set in and your heart rate began piterpattering as your eyes focused in on the band that wrapped around your waist and the dopplers that were attached to the sides of your belly. You suddenly felt way too warm. The blanket laying across your legs felt suffocating, the hospital gown itchy against your skin.

But the machine to your right - the one with the beeping, tracking your daughters heart rate - that settled you.

“Hey, welcome back,” Jess smiled as she checked the machines you were hooked up to. “Gave us a nice scare.”

“What happened?” you spoke roughly, your voice cracking around your dry throat.

“You passed out. You were dehydrated, babe.”

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“And your blood pressure is through the roof…”

“Fuck,” you breathed out again. “Preeclampsia?”

She hummed in response as she sat on the edge of your bed. “You’re okay, Dr. Wood is here. She already has you on the magnesium and everything looks okay so far.”

“How long do we have until she has to come out?”

Preeclampsia; a pregnancy complication characterized by high blood pressure that, if not treated, can lead to organ damage. And the only treatment is to not be pregnant. So you knew your baby was coming out sooner rather than later. Magnesium; a drug used to prevent seizures in women with preeclampsia, could only be administered for so long.

“She’ll be in to talk to you soon, but they want to get you on Pitocin right away, see if it can jump start you into labor. They don’t want to mess around with it babe.”

You sighed, already anticipating that answer. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Is she okay? Charts look alright?”

“She’s doing great,” Jess smiled, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You released a deep breath, settling back into your pillow more. “Shit... did you call Harry?”

“He’s on his way,” she nodded.

You relaxed a bit more just knowing he would be with you soon. And as if his ears were burning, your hospital room door burst open and your frazzled husband eagerly stormed into the room.

“Christ baby! You okay?” He rushed as he practically power walked to the side of your bed, sitting down parallel to Jess. “Hey, Jess,” he shot her a quick glance and a smile before bringing his worried eyes back to your face.

She laughed as she stood, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“I’m okay,” you chuckled as Jess pulled your door closed, taking in Harry’s messy hair and creased brows. “Was dehydrated. Passed out,” you chuckled. “And... I have preeclampsia.”

His warm hand cupped your cheek, fingers tucking behind your neck as his eyes flitted across your face. “Shit, babe. What does that mean?”

“They’re gonna induce me.”

He nodded as he processed what you were saying. “When?”

“Now,” you smiled. “It’s okay,” you breathed when his eyes widened.

His other hand went to your belly, fingers spreading across the roundest part. “Is she okay?”

“Mhm. She’ll be a couple weeks early, but she’s okay. I’m considered full term.”

“Shit, so she could come today?”

You nodded. “That’s what we’re hoping for. It’s not ideal, but we’ll be okay.”

He quickly leaned forward to awkwardly wrap himself around you in a hug, his face tucked into your neck. You scratched his back with the hand that wasn’t attached to an IV, breathing in the scent of his hair. He eased you in a way you couldn’t explain. He didn’t even have to do anything, he just had to be.

“Well fuck, we can be excited then? Right?” His voice was muffled as he spoke into your neck, his breath tickling you just so.

You hummed and nodded against his cheek, suddenly feeling your throat tighten with emotion. You’d waited so long for this to happen, and now it finally was, in the most overwhelming way possible. But you were excited to meet this tiny human that you already loved more than you ever thought was possible.

His hand gripped the side of your neck again, his lips finding yours with practiced ease. His taste warmed you from the outside in, completely infiltrating your senses as his soft lips caressed yours. You could feel him start to smile into the kiss, a small snicker escaping his throat as his fingers flexed into the back of your neck.

When he pulled back, all you could focus on were his glassy green eyes, knowing your own eyes mirrored his.

“It’s happening, baby.” He spoke softly as you traced your thumb across his bottom lip.

You couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at your lips, your eyes watering even more before you tugged him closer to rest your forehead against his.

***

Twelve hours. That’s how long you’d been induced before anything started to happen. It was a slow process. And even though you figured it would be, it still left the tiniest bit of anxiety to sit on your chest.

Your body was not ready to give birth, having two weeks left until your due date, so it fought the Pitocin until it literally couldn’t anymore. And you fought against the contractions the medicine brought on for as long as you could before raising the white flag and asking for the epidural, which you also knew could possibly slow down the process even more.

Hours passed as you sat at one centimeter. Every time your doctor came in to check, you held your breath in the hopes of progressing, just to be let down over and over. You’d started to discuss the possibility of needing a c-section. If your body didn’t want to let the baby out on it’s own, she was going to have to be taken by force.

It was a little past 8pm and you were passing time with Law and Order repeats, the only saving grace available on the hospital television, when Dr. Wood knocked.

“Okay, YN. It’s that time again,” she spoke softly as she sanitized her hands before pulling the latex gloves on.

Harry muted the TV from where he sat next to you, a chair pulled over to the bed to sit right next to your head so he could play with your hair.

Dr. Wood made quick work to check your cervix as you and Harry both waited with bated breath. And then her eyes lit up.

“Four centimeters.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed as you dramatically tilted your head back before laughing.

“Yes, this is good. We’re finally getting somewhere.” She removed her gloves as she walked towards the trash can to throw them away. “So I’ll come back to check again in about an hour,” she walked back towards your bed, her hands casually tucked in her coat pockets. “I think we’re going to be moving a lot quicker now. Hopefully we’ll have this baby before midnight,” she smiled. “Hope you like this date.”

Harry scratched your head lovingly, giving you the most beautiful smile when you glanced at him.

“So relax, have some ice chips,” Dr. Wood joked, “and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Thank you!” You called excitedly as you grabbed your cup from the bed tray to tip some of the ice into your mouth. “I’m so relieved,” you turned your face to Harry as you chomped on the ice noisily, letting your eyes fall closed as he scratched your head again.

“Me too, baby.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “God, she’s gonna be here soon. Can you believe it?” His voice was soft and full of wonder, it made your heart clench in your chest.

“No,” you chuckled, “but I’m ready.”

“Me too,” he kissed your head again before lowering his mouth to yours, his warm lips a soothing contrast to your cold mouth.

You were so ready.

***

“You’re doing so good baby!” Harry’s face was right next to yours, his hand gripped to your knee as you fought to keep your eyes on his.

“Good,” Dr. Wood agreed. “Catch your breath, then you’re gonna push again, YN.”

Your doctor, nurses and Harry had all been encouraging you like that for at least an hour. You couldn’t really be sure. It felt like an eternity.

“This baby’s almost here. A few more good pushes, YN. She’s right there. When you’re ready.”

You could feel your eyes watering as you looked at Harry, watching him nod along with what Dr. Wood was saying. “Doing so good. She’s almost here,” he spoke lowly, as if he only wanted you to hear him.

And for a second, it felt like it really was just the two of you.

It was like your life together - the good and bad - flashed in your mind like a movie. As if you were watching the ending credits, glimpses of your past selves and everything you had been through that brought you to this moment.

You took a deep breath, a tear slipping down your cheek as you pushed with every ounce of strength you had. You pushed, and pushed, and pushed - and then it was like your eyes looked down on their own accord to watch your daughter enter the world. And it was the most breathtaking moment of your life. The nurses were congratulating you as Dr. Wood held her up for you to get a good look at her, and your husband was praising you with his hand gripped tight to your leg and his lips on your cheek.

“You did it baby! She’s here,” he cried, kissing your clammy cheek over and over again. “Oh my god, she’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you. I’m so proud of you.” His voice was rough with emotion but his lips were soft against your skin.

You cried when she cried, and you watched with blurry vision as Harry cut the umbilical cord, feeling like your heart could burst from your chest.

Finally feeling complete.

***

- Friday, September 27, 2030 -

“You did all that for me?”

She looked so shocked by the end of the story that it genuinely made you laugh, Harry laughing right alongside you at her wide eyes and disbelieving tone.

“Yes! And I would do it again in a heartbeat. You know why?” You watched her shake her head no, her eyes still wide as saucers. “Because I would do anything for you. Daddy too. You are the best thing that ever happened to us.”

She smiled at that, blinking softly at you. She may have had Harry’s dimples, but that was your smile, through and through.

“Alright, love. It’s late. Don’t want you to be tired for your birthday!” Harry spoke up after a moment before climbing out of bed. You watched as she got herself tucked under her covers, smiling happily up to you. He leaned down to kiss her head first, then the tip of her nose as she scrunched it up the same way Harry did. And then you did the same before pulling the covers over her more.

“Good night, Rae. Love you.”

“Love you,” she whispered as you turned her light out and quietly left her room.

Harry’s hands were on your shoulders as you pulled her bedroom door closed, massaging a seemingly always present knot. “Can you believe she’s gonna be ten tomorrow?”

“Nope,” you laughed as you turned towards him, wrapping your arm around his waist as he slung his around your shoulder to walk down your dimly lit hallway. “I know I say that every year. But every year it blows my mind.”

“Mine too.”

He kissed your head as you made your way into your bedroom before separating at the foot of your bed. You pulled the covers down in silence, tossing the decorative pillows onto the floor before climbing into the crisp sheets. You watched Harry as he stripped down to his boxers before slipping in beside you, quick to pull you closer and turn you to face away from him, fitting his front perfectly against your back.

“Do you think she’s asleep already?” he asked, his breath tickling down the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer, his hips casually flexing against you.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst!” you laughed as you squirmed against him.

“What?” he exclaimed, the smile evident in his tone. “Just missed you.”

That had you humming, arching your back against him a silent plea. “Missed you too, H.” You spoke softly as you smiled into your pillow.

“Is that a yes?” He flexed his hips again with his question. “Think she fell asleep extraordinarily fast? All that pre-birthday excitement knocked her out?”

“Mm, doubtful.” Your voice lowered when you continued. “So I guess you better be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.”

His words and the deep timbre of his voice sent a chill down your spine in the same way his hand gripping your hip and his mouth finding your neck did. That was all it took for your body to warm, arching against him more to feel the way he was already puffing up in his boxers.

He sucked soft kisses to your skin as he awkwardly tugged your shorts down as much as he could before you kicked them off the rest of the way. He was quick to follow suit, pulling his boxers down his thighs so he could feel your soft skin against his own. Your ass curved perfectly into his groin, his warm cock perfectly tucked against you, his leg hair tickling the backs of your legs, his chest flush to your back as he softly bit your shoulder through your tee shirt.

His hands roamed your body - squeezing your thigh, your hip, your waist. His breathing picked up against the skin of your neck as he rolled his hips against you. You sighed happily at the way he practically massaged all your sore spots, his fingers digging into new spots every so often. And when he pulled your hair up off your neck to suck at the spot where it met your shoulder, you couldn’t help but let out the smallest moan.

You could feel him get harder the more he pressed himself against you, until he was straining against your ass cheek, hot velvet grazing your skin.

“God... I want you,” he whispered. “I always want you.”

His hand found it’s way up the front of your shirt, his warm palm cupping your breast as he pulled you even closer.

“Harry,” you breathed as he pinched your nipple just enough for a warm zip of pleasure to caress your core. He flicked his first finger across your pebbled nipple as he sucked another kiss to your neck.

“Gonna open up for me?” He pressed his hard length into you more, your legs involuntarily opening for him. “Think I can slip in?”

“You tell me.”

He bit into your shoulder again in retaliation, his hand quickly smoothing down the length of your stomach until his middle finger could slip between your folds.

“Fuck,” he spoke in a hushed whisper. “I’ll never get tired of it.” He slipped his finger lower, finding the pooling arousal waiting for him at your entrance. “Get so fuckin wet for me.”

He wasted no time pulling your wetness back up to your clit to press slow circles against you. It was amazing how quickly he could make you feel like you were on fire, even after so many years. It was something so uniquely yours. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and he used it to his advantage to turn you on as quickly as possible.

“I want it, H.”

“What, baby?” He flexed his hips into you again, his length teasing between your legs.

“You. Want you to fill me.”

“Shit,” he breathed. And then he was pulling his hand from your clit to take hold of his cock to guide himself into you.

He pushed in slow, a moan catching in your throat as you adjusted. Your hands fisted your pillow as you took in the heavy pressure of him until he was fully seated inside you, his pelvis pressed tight to your ass. He waited for you, getting the tiniest bit of smug pleasure out of your need to adjust to his size. He withdrew and pushed back in just as slowly, rolling his hips at the same torturous pace until you whimpered into the pillow.

“So good,” he moaned softly as he picked up a steady rhythm, one that had a soft clap of his thighs against yours every time he pushed in. Your back was arched, the angle hitting perfectly. He was big, and taking him that way only intensified it.

His moans were soft, but still present. And you were happy they were, even though he said he would be quiet, you didn’t really want him to. Every sound he made turned you on more, every hushed curse and choked moan, every breath and pant against your skin, it all made your arousal bubble under your skin like a dormant volcano just waiting to erupt.

“Harry,” you moaned softly as his hand traveled up the length of your side, until it could smooth across your chest and up to your throat, his long fingers cupping the front. He didn’t squeeze tightly at first, just enough to feel possessive in the best sort of way. His hips picked up pace a bit, rocking into yours steadily as you clenched around him. And when his hand did tighten on your throat a bit more, your vision went spotty with pleasure as you coated his dick with your arousal.

“Fuck… fuck,” he moaned as his hips flexed against your ass to push even deeper until you were gasping around a moan.

You whined and whimpered as he fucked you before you were panting when he released the grip on your neck to slide his hand down your body once more, fingers immediately finding your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moaned as he flicked his middle finger across your swollen bud. You were burning up beneath your skin, red hot currents of arousal shooting from your belly throughout your body.

“Come on,” he encouraged. His hips were relentless and completely unforgiving. Your orgasm was right there, dangling in front of you, just out of reach. “Be a good girl and come on me.”

And that was all it took for it to wash over you, soaking his cock more as you moaned his name and clenched down on him over and over. Your hips spasmed with it, his fingers flicking against your clit as best he could to ride the high out with you.

Your orgasm pushed him over the edge too, as it usually did, the tight grip on his cock pulling the deepest moan you’d heard from him all night. His hips stuttered into yours, his mouth pressed to your neck as he panted your name while he came.

You both went completely lax at the same time, sinking into your mattress together in bliss.

“I love you,” he breathed, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

“Mm, I love you too.”

You laid in silence for a few moments, catching your breath together as you settled, only to be pulled across the mattress, until he was standing and bringing you with him.

“Sorry,” he looked down at your pouting face. “We’ll fall asleep if we don’t get cleaned up right now.”

He kissed your lips softly as he walked you both to the ensuite, your legs feeling like jello as he carried most of your weight with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. And once you were back in bed, he pulled you into the same position you started in, with his warm skin seeping through the back of your shirt.

Neither of you had to say anything as you settled together. It was late, and you had a long day ahead of you for the birthday party. But you were both happy and loved, and your life together was everything you could have hoped for and more.

And that was how you contentedly fell asleep, wrapped in Harry’s warm arms.

***

- Wednesday, September 29, 2020 -

The soft sound of Harry’s voice slipped into your senses as you slowly started to wake from a much needed nap. You knew exactly what you were going to see before even opening your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips just at the thought.

As you slowly turned your head in the direction of his voice, cracking one eye open to check, you were met with exactly what you thought.

Harry tucked away in the chair in the corner of your hospital room next to the window, your daughter swaddled up in a security blanket that you’d picked out for her months prior, slowly rocking back and forth as he sang softly, barely above a whisper.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You'll never know dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away.

You knew this scene, having caught the same exact visual a few times already. You watched him sing it over and over, his index finger softly tracing over her cheek, his eyes never leaving her face. It made your heart ache in a way that you knew you would never get tired off.

You watched him quietly, only speaking once he was quiet for a while. “Hi.”

Wet eyes reached yours, a smile spreading on his face as a rogue tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t say anything - just silently lifted from the chair to come sit with you, tucking himself next to you on your bed.

“Mommy’s up, Rae.” He spoke softly as you rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at your beautiful baby. A perfect mix of you and him.

You smiled as you turned to place a kiss on his shoulder, the smell of your laundry detergent present on his freshly changed clothes. You felt a kiss to your head, prompting you to lift your own to meet his soft gaze, his lashes still wet with happy tears.

He kissed you slowly, pouring his love from his soul to yours. It was quick and it was sweet, and you found yourself silently sitting next to your husband, watching your dream come true sleep, blissfully aware of the hold she had on both of you already.

You smiled at her, all of the possibilities of your life to come at the forefront of your mind as you spoke softly.

“Our little ray of sunshine.”

***

Thank you so much for reading and coming on this journey! To anyone that has ever struggled with infertility or miscarriage - I’m sorry. I love you. You are not alone.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know your thoughts. I would love to hear from you! xx

Masterlist

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #ayhom

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acatnamedpusheen · 4 years

Note

Hello! Could I get something angsty with yoongi, with 30 on the prompt list? Thank you!! ☺

Hiii! Thank you for your request! I hope you enjoy this short fic! I've been looking for an angsty promt lately.

!This is the last non Got7 request I'm writing!

Prompt No.30: Fight gone awry

"You always say the same thing!" you yelled at him "that your going to change, that you're going to be there for me." tears were threatening to leave the corners of your eyes and his cold and calm expression as he stood there opposite you, seeming like he was a mere listener, made you feel as if you were trapped in a one exit alley.

"But nothing happens, nothing ever happens, Yoongi" your voice was getting shaky. "you're hardly ever there for me. What's the point anymore?"

"Look, Y/N, you know how it is with work-" he began but you cut him off, tired of the same old excuse.

"Yeah yeah, I know, work. I've been patient with you for the past 3 years, understanding that your career is something I shouldn't interfere with and possibly even more important than me. I'm sick of it Yoongi, I miss you. Why do you have to be locked away in that studio all the time when you're not practicing with the other members?" it was impossible for you to hold back your tears anymore but you kept talking in between sobs. "why can't you spent just a little more time with me? I can't stand this loneliness!" you paused sobbing even harder as you hid your face in your hands.

"When we started dating, you knew what you were signing up for Y/N. You knew that idol life leaves almost no free time yet you wanted to move forward." you could sense the anger boiling up inside him. "And you should know that it's hard enough for me constantly thinking that I have a girlfriend expecting my attention every day." his last sentence made you raise your hand to look at him again, trough tear filled eyes.

"So you're saying that I'm suffocating you? That I'm being paranoid for seeking time with you?!" you scoffed still trying to process the hurtful words that had left his mouth.

"Don't act all hurt as if you were oblivious to what you'd be dealing with." he pointed at you, his gaze full of rage piercing right through you.

"Of course I'm hurt when I'm neglected by my own boyfriend! At this point I'm convinced there's someone else..." it was only logical for such thoughts to cross your mind and you didn't hesitate to voice them.

"You take that back Y/N. This is nonsense and we both know it." he growled through gritted teeth.

"I'm not changing my mind unless you prove me wrong." you folded your arms in front of your chest, standing tall with confidence, believing you had finally discovered the root of the problem.

You had never not in a million years seen his next move coming: His hand flew across your cheek making you gasp in utter surprise. The painful sting caused your eyes to water again as you placed your palm over the spot you were sure was turning red.

There was a long pause where none of you could look each other in the eye, quietness settling in. Yoongi was slowly coming to realise that he had actually hit you, yet didn't know what to say at first.

"Y/N-" he began hesitantly not having a full sentence already formed in his mind, but you were quick to cut him off once again.

"Don't, just don't. It's over... I'm sorry I even bothered." your expression bore such pain, it broke Yoongi but he too understood that it was better for the both of you if you parted ways.

"I'm leaving and won't be back tonight. I'll make sure to take my things as soon as possible. Goodbye, Yoongi." without looking at him again you picked up your bag and phone before exiting the front door, headed for your best friend's house.

There was suddenly a deafening silence surrounding Yoongi. Had he really hit you? Did he actually loose control in such way? How could he act like a total monster over nonsense? It was over now. He wouldn't have to worry about a girlfriend waiting for him every night knowing those were the few hours she would get to see him, cheering for him, doing her best to help him during difficult days. Now he could drown in his own world, inside that studio, all day, just him and his music. And that was better, or so he thought.

#bts #bangtan #min yoongi #kpop #yoongi x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #suga #yoongi scenarios #yoongi angst #bts reaction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts suga #bts yoongi #bangtan boys

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

Text

“Forget what I said,

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left.”

- Falling, Harry Styles

A/N: the long anticipated third installment of “that angsty threesome story.” this shit hurted y’all. that’s all i’m gonna say. hope you enjoy :)

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring masterlist

word count: 13k

content: A N G S T, drunk sad!harry, melancholic relationship flashbacks, and Niall being an amazing friend. oh and lots of pining pain

preview:

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons.

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.”

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution.

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence.

or Harry and Y/N breakup after the incident and the next two months are the worst either of them have ever known

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It’s poetically ironic, if you ask him, and he felt like the universe was playing a cruel game at his expense. Though it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.

The length of time that had passed was coincidentally parallel to how much time he had spent sitting on his couch that dreaded Saturday morning— which had been two hours and thirteen minutes— wringing his hands, boiling in his regret, and waiting for her to come out of their bedroom with a verdict on their relationship.

When Y/N had finally surfaced from her hiding spot, she had barely acknowledged him other than a few one-worded, snipped answers to his questions. She was headed out, she’d said, and that she would return later. Her path had been straight for the front door and the body language and aura she had displayed from the frame of their room door to the frame of the front door had been enough to clearly communicate a simple message: Don’t come after me.

He had followed her to the edge of the corridor that led to the exit, but he knew better than to chase her once she was out of the door. He remained put and watched her walk out without so much as a glance back.

She needed time, he had assured himself. Y/N needed a chance to cool off on her own and smothering her would do nothing but dig him further into the hole he was already neck-deep in.

In hindsight, Harry should have gone after her. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, or maybe it wouldn’t have at all, but all he’s aware of now is that he’d never know.

The minute she got back, a few hours later when the sun had just finished dipping over the stretch of forest that extended beyond the balcony of their apartment, he could immediately tell he had to prepare for the worst.

From the second Harry had met Y/N, he had always been able to read her. It’s something he prided himself in and something he always admired about the connection they shared— that it had been instant. It had been one of those rare pockets in life when he met someone and clicked with them automatically, so effortlessly that it was almost fictional. He’d always been a hopeless romantic and he had his mother and sister to thank for that; growing up with two women who constantly fed him stories about true love and the importance of emotions had molded his relationships down to the very core. And through that characteristic, which had been engraved within the man he had grown into, was how he and Y/N so easily came to be.

Harry had been able to read the nervous excitement she was wading through on their first date, watching her with fond amusement as she had contemplated the menu, trying to pass as nonchalant but being betrayed by the obvious cinch in her brows.

He had been able to read the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, eyes absorbing her features like the pages of a novel. He had picked up on the metaphors she depicted in the form of wine-swollen lips twitching with longing anticipation. He had picked up on the similes that translated into her slowly dilating pupils, the glittering specks of color that shimmered in the depths of her irises dancing with anxious enthusiasm as his face drew closer to her’s. He had picked up on the analogies that painted themselves onto the warm, supple skin of her cheeks as he cupped the side of her face with the palm of his large hand, fingers tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear as he thumbed over the faint smile lines chesiling themselves into existence along the edges of her mouth, her action thick with enamored awe.

He had been able to read just how taken Y/N was with him the first time they had slept together. It was certain in how she had clung to the bare, sweaty muscles of his shoulders as her nails clawed memories along the soft sides of his torso, her head dangling over the edge of the kitchen island to allow him the intimate comfort of pressing hot, wet moans to the searing skin of her throat. He had whined and shuddered as he’d spread her open over the cold marble surface, fogging it with the heat of their conjoined bodies, the air tinged with the scent of desperate sex and blurbs of orgasm-drunken praises that to this day he can feel burn his lungs. Barely coherent mumbles of “God, been needing you for the longest time now.” and “Fuck, you’re an absolute dream.” and he had even made himself susceptible to some of his deepest vulnerabilities, confessing how quickly and dangerously he was falling for her in a breathless little whimper of, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Tiny zaps of invisible electricity had passed through her fingertips and into the flexing tendons of his back, revealing that she was just as scared and jittery and needy and absolutely whipped for him as he was for her. He had never been able to read her better than at that intense, emotion-packed moment, and he knows he’ll cherish that wordless instance of assurance for as long as he lives.

The only other occasion that competes is the first time Harry had known Y/N loved him. They had planned to go bar-hopping with their friends but, in a spur of laziness and utter disinterest, had decided to stay back. The night had been filled with board games and hot chocolate and half-burnt quesadillas because Harry had bought a new panini press that he didn’t quite yet know how to work. He knew she loved him when he beat her at CandyLand for the third time in a row and in a whirlwind of victory dancing, he had knocked the coffee table with his knee and ended up with cooled cocoa all over his striped pajama pants rather than in his belly.

He knew she loved him because she wasn’t upset that she’d have to help get the stain out and she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten marshmallow goo on the carpet and she wasn’t angry that his silliness had ended with her favorite vase rolling across the ground. All Y/N had been focused on was Harry and that ridiculous wide-toothed grin of his, her own lips nestling into an endeared smile as he giggled out of sheer shock at his ruined pants, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back against the couch cushions. Through teary, delight-blurred vision he saw her staring at him with this doe-like gaze, her eyes soft and glossier than he’d ever seen them, a tender laugh evident on her cheeks. Her eyebrows had been slightly furrowed with a type of disbelieving wonder at the utter moron she had chosen to share her heart with, but specifically at how she loved him all the more for it.

That’s when Harry had read that she loved him and she had confirmed it with words about ten minutes later as they both sat on their knees against the ground, scrubbing at the mess he’d made and sharing soft little snickers under their breath.

In the end, all of these milestone moments in their relationship had all funneled through his mind the minute Y/N had walked back into the living room on that forsaken day, hours later. They all sped past the inside of his eyelids every time he blinked, each one dissipating with each step she drew closer. She had stood before him as he sat forward tensely on the couch, forearms propped on his knees as he grasped his knuckles nervously, though they had stopped cracking ages ago.

It all flashed back to him like a film on fast-forward and it was because for the first time ever, he wasn’t able to read her face and it fucking terrified him.

Y/N’s eyes were the first factor that had given away the impending end. Even at the darkest of times, Harry could always count on Y/N’s eyes for support. They had always held a permanent admiring warmth towards him, even beneath clouds of rage or annoyance or worry. They had been empty that day.

Her lips had been etched into a emotionally-detached straight line, though the corners dipped down ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were void of any wrinkle, groove, or lifting that would suggest even a smidge of sensitivity and somehow her cheeks seemed more sunken in, as if the last couple of hours had aged her years.

Y/N had approached him with her hands cradling each other before her stomach, footsteps heavy against the carpeted ground, muffled yet somehow loud. She’d taken a seat before him on the glass coffee table, knees pressed together tightly and unintentionally brushing his as she settled her hands into the crease between her inner thighs, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world was using her back as shelf, the flyaway hairs that had fallen from her ponytail kissing along her jaw and caressing her temples almost apologetically, as if trying to comfort her for what was next.

Y/N hadn’t spoken a single word before Harry was already breaking down.

It wasn’t dramatic or spontaneous like the break-up scenes in the rom coms he often fancied; it was quiet and concise. The hot tears streamed down his cheekbones and followed the slope of his sharp jaw, squeezing out of his tear ducts and rolling along the bridge of his nose, itching the very tip, to which his instincts responded by spurring him into wiping away the water with the front of his shoulder.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her out of self-hatred and shame— how could he be as selfish as to cry when everything that was about to unfold had been solely of his doing. He knew he didn’t deserve the best outcome, but he had hoped for it. Prayed that she could find it in her tattered heart to grace him with the option to rebuild what he had so recklessly torn down. He didn’t deserve it and he’d felt like he never would, but he had promised himself he would try and earn it if she gave him the chance.

But that was just the hopeless romantic in him flaring up again. Reality was sharper and much icier.

Harry had taken in a deep, trembling inhale, feeling it cut his lungs and tug at the pit of his stomach. He’d released it in stuttery spurts through his nose, back muscles contracting with dread. He found it in himself to uncoil one of his index fingers, gently grazing the curve of Y/N’s right knee with the bed of his nail.

She’d tensed up momentarily, toes curling into the rug below her feet, but didn’t shed him away. It was the first time he’d touched her since last night and though it made her feel sick to her stomach, she figured she’d allow it as a parting gift.

The air stood still for a few elongated seconds that seemed to drag out for an eternity. Finally, one of them spoke up.

“Y/N...” Harry had choked on the singular word, swallowing thickly in an attempt to recuperate.

The syllables seemed to lodge in his throat, outright refusing to emerge, likely due to the fact that he spent the day soundlessly moping to himself. He forced them out anyways in a low croak.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“I know.”

Harry had cleared his throat softly, mind treading through his jumbled thoughts to try and sew together a worthy sentence, the pad of his forefinger tracing down the visible threads of Y/N’s worn jeans.

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

Though it’s the truth, it sounds feeble and pathetic. His words had then started tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or rhythm but simply in an attempt to communicate his rawest emotions.

“That’s not an excuse or anything, but I just want to make sure that you know. And if I knew all of this was going to happen, I would’ve never brought it up in the first place. You’re important to me— I hope that all the time we’ve spent together shows that— and to lose you over something like this…” Harry pauses, choking up at the sheer notion of having to let her go. He continues his speech slowly to avoid another mishap, though it quivers nonetheless. “To lose you over something that was so stupid on my part would tear me to shreds, Y/N. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There’s nothing I can do now except apologize until my voice gives out and pray that you give me the chance to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it and I know that the damage I’ve done could be beyond repair, but I also know that I will spend every second trying to mend it if you allow me to. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I know we’re young and that it sounds dramatic and I’ve been told a billion times over that I love too deeply for my own good but I don’t care because I know it’s the truth. Without even the slightest bit of doubt.”

His words had echoed across the walls of the flat, the dim buttery light of the single lamp in the living room casting their seated shadows over the creme surfaces. The dark silhouettes of their bodies seemed to absorb his message, picking it right out of the air and engulfing it into the ominous shade.

All that could be heard was Y/N’s faint breathing as she processed his confession and the occasional sniffle on his part. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds— Harry had counted. A frail distraction, but a distraction either way.

A deep inhale had cut off his mental stopwatch and he could tell Y/N had cried recently before arriving because the air had to force itself through her stuffy nose. His index finger had twitched anxiously against her knee. He found himself counting again, this time the target had been the thin lines of the rug beneath the reinforced glass of the coffee table. He hadn't known it then, but his urge to count whatever he could to pass the time had been the start of what would later develop into a coping mechanism.

“I don’t know what to say.”

It had only been a day but Harry had missed the sound of her voice more than he’d ever care to admit. She was talking to him rather than at him and it was enough to halt the fresh flood of tears that had been gathering across the glossy sheen of his irises. It was a victory, no matter how small.

The sentence she spoke, however, was a whole new battle he had to face within itself.

The words hurt, but luckily, they didn’t cut. There were dozens of harsher possibilities of what could’ve come out of her mouth and that makes him thankful for what he’d received.

Harry had shifted in his seat, pulling the sleeve of his old Greenbay Packers sweatshirt over his free hand and tucking his arm across his stomach. His other hand remained on Y/N’s leg as non-intrusively as possible. “Is there anything you want to get out? Anything at all? I want to hear it no matter how bad you think it is. I deserve it as much as you deserve to express your feelings.”

He hadn’t noticed when, but at some point he had absentmindedly tilted his head up to look at her. What brought it into clear attention was when she did the same and their eyes met.

Y/N’s expression had crushed the oxygen from Harry’s lungs.

He had hoped it would be different after everything he had said. That her eyes would hold some form of love within them, even if it was shrouded with sadness and disappointment. He had aimed to draw an ounce of forgiveness from her that he could cling onto and expand; he had aimed for redemption.

Instead, her eyes held the same barren gaze that she had doted when she had walked in— vacant acceptance.

Her own speech had confirmed his worst fears.

“I don’t know if we have a future together. All I know is that right now, I feel like I could never forgive you for what you did. Watching you treat someone you barely knew the way you treat me made me feel like what we have isn’t real. Sex can be something both meaningless and meaningful and the lines between those two is finer than most people think. And even though I know in my heart that you’re telling the truth about not feeling anything towards her, I just can’t let it go. I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that you called her what you call me. That you kissed, touched, and held her the same way you do me. You made her feel the same way you make me feel. And the whole time, I was sitting there watching you do it, begging you not to and trying to communicate to you that you were crossing the line and you didn’t even notice.”

Y/N had lifted her hand from her lap, running the back of her wrist across her cheeks messily. Harry could see the tears sparkling on her lashes and he felt like his chest cavity was going to collapse in on itself.

When she had spoken again, her voice was tight and packed with all of the pain she’d been holding onto since the incident happened.

“You took all of the private little things that had built our relationship and shared them with someone else just to get your dick wet.” She releases a short spurt of a laugh, miserable and humorless, her palms smacking down against her thighs as she shrugs her shoulders for emphasis. “Intimacy is the most important factor of genuine love and you went and tossed it around like it was nothing. We’ll never be able to regain that; not in the way we had it before. I don’t know if I could ever trust you with it again. I shared myself with you because I love you— we opened up to each other in that way because we worked up to it. And now that you so carelessly let yourself have it with someone else, I’m too disappointed and hurt and fucking terrified to let you see me vulnerable like that again.”

Y/N had locked her eyes with Harry’s and his heart had shattered into a million shards.

They had been swollen and bloodshot, tiny red veins webbing across the dull white, scraping at her irises and relentlessly chipping the color from them. There was no twinkle left whatsoever; the specks that normally decorated around her pupils had completely defused, disappearing into the murky sea of the muted shade behind them.

“You broke my fucking heart, Harry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you pick up the pieces.”

He had never heard her say his name like that, so dismal and void of emotion. He’d never felt more unworthy of love than at that moment and he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He’d fucked up and now he had no choice but to marinate in it for the rest of his days.

The process of separating was painfully fast.

As it turns out, when she had left the morning after everything had happened, she had gone to visit Niall.

Niall had been the mutual friend that had introduced Harry and Y/N in the first place so, naturally, Y/N’s first instinct had been to seek his counsel. She had kept the details of the breakup to herself but from how distraught she had seemed when Niall had opened the door to his flat, his hair sticking up at weird angles and his eyes crusted over with sleep, he had known it was not on good terms. She had stood there with dried trails of tears staining her cheeks as her entire body shook like a leaf and the second he had opened his arms caringly, she immediately collapsed into them, violent sobs wracking her body unapologetically.

The Irish lad was as big-hearted and supportive as friends came and it was seen in how he offered her the spare room in his apartment that was normally occupied as a home gym.

“I haven’t had a roomie since I was twenty but as long as y’don’t leave your dirty underwear in the living room, I think we’ll get along just swell.”

With Niall’s help, Y/N had finished moving out by the end of that same week.

They did the brunt of the job while Harry was busy at work, though there was an awkward instance when he unexpectedly came home early on the last day of moving.

Luckily enough, Niall had been the one retrieving the last couple of items so Y/N was saved from the ordeal.

The two men had contemplated each other, Niall standing with the cardboard box tucked beneath his arm while Harry stood parallel to him stiffly, keys grasped tightly in his fist. Harry didn’t know how much Niall knew of what had happened, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth, so he had remained silent until the blue-eyed boy finally spoke up first.

“Mate, I don’t know what happened between you two or why, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this torn up before.”

Harry had sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in forlorn agreement at Niall’s comment. This was Y/N’s indirect way of telling him that the reason behind their breakup was meant to be kept a secret amongst their friend group. It was one last act of kindness towards him on her part because both of them knew that if word got out on what had happened, everyone would likely turn on Harry and shun him out. Y/N didn’t want that for him— despite everything, she found herself genuinely wishing him the best because she still loved him. A part of her always would, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it.

The last thing she needed was to cling onto bitterness and make him suffer; it would be counterproductive considering her end goal was to move on. The whole situation would stay hidden and hopefully everything would eventually blow over.

Avoiding each other proved trickier than expected in the beginning, but it gradually became routine amidst their everyday lives.

Y/N avoided grocery shopping at Harry’s favorite market and he proceeded to change the coffee shop he went to every morning before work, well aware that it was the one she fancied the most due to the specific brand of creamer they carried. Y/N insisted on the second closest movie theatre whenever she went out with her friends for a film, knowing that Harry liked the one closest to Niall’s apartment because it was smaller, more homey, and did free refills on popcorn and drinks. Harry started frequenting the gas station near the twenty-four hour gym instead of the one near Y/N’s place of work and started doing his early morning jogs at the park on the opposite side of town, which wasn’t too bad considering it was only about a ten minute drive. Y/N stopped going to art museums all together— they were mainly Harry’s thing, either way.

When it came down to their friends, they did the best they could. Whenever there would be a plan to go out for lunch, dinner, drinking, or any other event, they made sure to invite one and not the other, alternating turns. It kept the situation fair, though birthday parties were much more complicated. Staying on opposite ends of the club or flat would have to do.

No one ever questioned the breakup too thoroughly, thankfully. All Y/N told them was that it ended really badly and that what was best was that they stayed clear of each other. Harry stuck to whatever he learned Y/N had said, brushing off the occasional curiosity thrown his way with a tired, “I’d rather not talk about it, yeah?”

They were grateful to all of their friends for not pushing for details too much and respecting their privacy. Family members were harder to shake off, but both managed to keep things under wraps with the right amount of sternness.

///

Three weeks and four days had gone by, according to Harry’s calendar, and things were remaining seemingly civil. That is, until Harry had a bit too much to drink on the fifth day and ended up drunk calling Y/N as he sat on the floor of his kitchen, eating from what he was sure was an expired box of Cheerios while counting floor tiles and wondering why the fuck he even liked tequila in the first place.

The phone had rung three times and then the line abruptly cut off, sending Harry right to voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N! Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone right now, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

His eyes had immediately begun to water as her voice crackled through the speaker of his phone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard it and he hates that he had almost forgotten its gentle trill. The bright chime of her words were so different than the last time he’d heard her speak— her tone was easy and good-natured rather than dismal and hurt and he missed when she would regard him that way. Now, it was directed at a random person on the other end of her phone line who she might not even know and for some reason, that made his stomach twist.

The Cheerios had started to taste funny so he opened the cabinet across from his spot on the ground and chucked them in the bin. He had then leaned back against the wall of the kitchen island, head repeatedly thunking against the polished hardwood as he redialed her number and waited, tiny hiccups plucking at his vocal chords and shuddering his shoulders without consent.

This time, it had rang only once before cutting off, meaning that she knew it was him and that she was actively delicining.

But Harry’s stubborn and insistent— which admittedly are some of his worst traits— and the fact that he had been shit-faced had fueled these characteristics. He’d continued to call her another four times before the line was finally picked up.

His voice had filled with enamored relief as he quickly sat up, a weak smile starting to spread his cracked lips. “Y/N, hi, I—”

“Harry, you gotta cut this shit out, man.”

It wasn’t Y/N. The person speaking had a much deeper voice with a smooth, raspy undercurrent covered in a heavy Irish accent. Their tone held a stern yet concerned edge.

“This isn’t good for either of you. You’ve got to try and move on, H.”

It was Niall and he was on Y/N’s phone and Harry could feel himself about to vomit.

He had forced himself to speak, clutching his stomach with one hand as if it would keep the bile from rising. His words came out slurred and numb, tongue feeling heavy and unbelievably large in his mouth. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s asleep and you should be, too. It’s three in the morning.”

Harry’s brows had cinched down angrily over his lashes. Somehow, in his muddled brain, he was able to form a coherent train of thought about the current situation. If Y/N was asleep, that meant her phone had probably been on a nightstand beside her bed or splayed across her duvet or even on the floor considering she had a habit of twisting and turning too much. If Niall had picked it up, it meant he had to be in close proximity to her. It meant he had been in her room, possibly in her bed...

Harry’s throat burned as acid rose from his stomach.

“I wanna talk to—”

He was cut off by the alcohol he’d had earlier resurfacing and splattering across the off-white kitchen tiles he’d been counting.

The spluttering noises filtered through the phone crystal clear, much to his friend’s disgust.

“Jesus, Harry, just get yourself together, will you?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Niall’s voice had come through again, gentler and less annoyed. “Do you need me to come over and help?”

“No.” Harry had blurted out with panic evident in his demeanor. He’d wiped at his soiled mouth with the sleeve of his black Nike jumper, staring hollowly as the mess before him traveled across the cracks of his floor. An all too familiar swelling had started to fill his tear ducts. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.”

Apparently, it had been the third time he’d drunk-called in the span of two weeks, though he didn’t remember the first two times. He did remember this third time though— the stench stuck to his sweatshirt for a while.

///

The next month that followed that cursed Friday night had been significantly better for Harry.

He went out with friends and actually had fun more times than not, as long as he didn’t let his mind wander to what Y/N could be doing since she wasn’t with the group. Slowly but surely, he began to mend.

The movies had always been his and Y/N’s favorite date idea so the first couple of times he’d gone out to see a film after the breakup had been tough, but he’d powered through the rough patches. Their favored seats at the very back of the cinema had gradually just become exactly that— seats. He was eventually able to enter a theatre without even as much as a glance to the last row. When Harry would go out to eat, he relearned not to order in excess anymore since he wouldn’t be needing those extra fries or two extra beef tacos or those couple buffalo wings she used to pick at religiously. Going out for drinks was easier on his wallet now that he could drink both of the two-for-one Happy Hour shots, the only issue being that sometimes he’d forget and order the next round while he had a perfectly untouched whiskey shot right there. He had sworn off tequila— he could still feel the way it had seared his throat, somehow manifesting an aftertaste of honeyed cereal.

Niall usually went out with the rest of the gang, but not as much as he used to and that bothered Harry extremely— bothered him to the point where he’d get the overwhelming urge to tear his hair out if he allowed himself to amble in his head too much. He hated being the jealous type, especially when he was no longer entitled to it. Especially not when Niall was such a nice best friend, willingly present for him on the nights where things went downhill and he needed someone to pick him off the ground— literally— and tell him that he would be alright.

The days Niall missed out were spent with Y/N and it wasn’t a secret. Harry had heard about how much closer they’d gotten recently through conversations that would happen across the other side of the booth, when his friends thought he wasn’t paying attention or that he was too sloshed to be properly present. He wasn’t, though. He was hyper-aware of every anecdote and syllable exchanged and it would make his mouth go sour.

One night, he had drummed up enough courage to ask Niall outright about Y/N. They’d been out bowling and the Irish brunette had been standing off to the side waiting his turn, sipping on a pint and cackling his ass off every time Adam rolled the ball into the sideline gutters.

Harry had been standing next to him for a while, leaning back against the machine that redispensed the bowling balls, taking tiny gulps of his third white rum margarita. The liquor filled his tummy with a certain type of empty warmth that numbed his better judgement and before he could talk himself out of it, the words were escaping his lips in a low, sheepish tone.

“How’s Y/N?”

Niall had paused mid-sip, his entire body going rigid for a second as he kept the rim of his large glass perched at his lips. He had then pulled back from his beer, licking the froth off his Cupid’s Bow and craning his neck to acknowledge the green-eyed boy directly.

“She’s doin’ good. Treading through the bills and tryin’ t’fill the rest with thrills, like we all do.”

Despite the light nature of his response, Niall’s accent had been heavier and Harry’s not sure if it was due to the alcohol or the tension-packed subject of conversation. Probably both.

Harry had nodded his head slowly— casually— and taken an ice cube into his mouth, cracking it with his teeth in the way Y/N used to scold him for. He had stared intently at the condensation gathering around the tips of his warm fingers for a few heartbeats before looking back up at Niall with aching curiosity.

“Is she happy?”

The Irish bloke had opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking over what he had been about to say. That teeny fraction of time filled Harry with enough nerve-grating suspense to that he was sure he’d pop a blood vessel.

Niall had cleared his throat softly, sighing tiredly through his nose. “She’s better than she was right after the split.”

Harry hates that Y/N’s doing better. He knows how petty and selfish it comes off, but he can’t help it. If she’s doing better without him, it means she might never need him again— it means he’s replaceable to her. He can hardly fathom that thought without the backs of his eyes prickling.

Harry had swallowed thickly, nose stinging and jaw clenching. “Is she seeing anyone?”

Niall tilted his cup against his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the beer, grateful for its help in making this talk way easier. He’d given Harry a sympathetic slink of his head. “I don’t think that’s the type of question you should be asking, Har. One day, you might not like the answer you get.”

Harry’s fingers had tightened around the stout cylindrical glass in his grasp, rings biting into his skin. His voice came out strained but unwavering. “Is she?”

His friend’s blue eyes had flitted across different points of his face, sussing out Harry’s attitude and whether he could be convinced to back down on this specific topic.

When it was obvious he wouldn’t budge, Niall sighed heavily once again, this time through his lips. “She’s not, no.”

Harry can’t quite place a name to the flood of emotions that had crashed into him like a tidal wave. The closest he can relate the experience to is breaking the surface of an ocean of suffocating uninformed doubt, instead filling his lungs with illogical optimism and stunned relief.

There was hope for them, even if the sliver was fine as a hair.

Harry had found himself drawing closer to Niall, eyes doe-like and pleading, the neon lights of the bowling alley washing his face out with bright purples and drunken blues. “I wanna see her.”

“You can’t.” The objection had been quick and authoritative, causing Harry to blink as if he’d just been smacked between the eyes.

“Why?” It was a stupid question— he knew why. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of them.

“Because you’re only going to set yourself back. And even though you might not be thinking of the consequences it could have, I am, and I’m not going to let you hurt her or yourself more than you already have.”

And that’s when Harry realized that Niall knew. He’d heard the whole story.

The guilt-ridden young man had broken eye contact, looking down at his scuffed heeled boots. “You know.”

“She told me a while back.” Niall’s confirmation had hung across Harry’s shoulders like a lead jacket. “You fucked up, mate. Bad.”

A weak, remorseful, “I know.” was all he could muster.

“She knows you didn’t mean it, but I don’t know if you can come back from this, H.”

Harry repeated his previous phrase, but this time, it had been heavy with a form of undignified recognition. He was slowly coming to terms with the crushing possibility that he might never get her back.

He’d downed the last of his drink, feeling it reluctantly settle into his stomach. He had then locked gazes with Niall once again, his own conflicted and needy, which in turn caused his friend’s to mold into one of deep worry and pity.

“Will you just...Will you tell her that I love her so much. That I love her to the point where it’s pathetic. And that I’m so fucking sorry. That a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of her and that I’d give fucking anything to earn her trust again...And that I found her Sherpa jumper under the bed and washed it in case she wants it back.”

Niall had snorted lightly, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s ability to be so unintentionally pure even under the most stressful circumstances. He’d tossed an arm across the jade-eyed boy’s loaded shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was very obviously needed.

The reluctance had melted out of Harry in less than a breath, his arms wrapping around Niall’s torso, face pressing into the shorter man’s broad left shoulder. The tears he was holding back were evident in his quaking voice. “I miss her.”

Niall had remained silent for a while, not wanting to push any more boundaries.

He had made due with running his palm across the expanse of Harry’s back in soothing circles, only speaking up when he felt his mate’s tears seeping into his knitted sweater.

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah? You’re gonna get through this.”

Niall wasn’t entirely sure if his words were the truth. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for his best friend, so he comforted him to the best of his ability and prayed that whatever happened in the couple’s future would bring them closure.

Harry had gotten home that night feeling deflated and more regretful than ever. The emotional exhaustion had fused into his muscles and joints and he’d ended up collapsing on the couch, too depleted to take the walk down the corridor that led to his bedroom.

His sleep was restless and worthless, as it tended to be of late, but it beat having to sulk consciously. The pain was less sharp and his sorrows were covered in a hazy fog that somehow made everything bearable. He slept well into the afternoon and awoke with a mean kink in his neck and a dull thumping in the back of his skull— karma, obviously, for his lack of self-care and shitty drinking habits. Nothing coffee couldn’t fix.

///

As it turns out, Niall had struggled some to pass on Harry’s message to the intended party.

Y/N had been sitting on the couch when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, snuggled cozily in a Friends blanket Niall had gotten last Christmas in a game of White Elephant. She had been so focused on an episode of Master Chef that she hadn’t even heard him unlock the door.

Y/N had momentarily glanced away from her show when she saw Niall enter the living room through her peripheral vision, watching as he toed off his rusty brown Clarks boots, kicking them into the corner beside the television stand. “How was bowling?”

“It was good! Mitch beat me by two points but, frankly, I think he cheated while I went to refill my pint.”

Y/N had scoffed in amusement, taking a sip of the chamomile tea in her Mickey Mouse mug, shaking her head distractedly. “Can you even cheat in bowling?”

Niall had shrugged his navy blue peacoat of his shoulders, draping it over the backrest of the worn recliner that was perpendicular to the couch she was currently inhabiting. He’d arched his eyebrows challengingly. “Obviously there has to be a way ‘cause I never lose. And especially never to Mitch and his shitty hand-eye coordination.”

Y/N had set down her mug in the small hole created by her crossed legs, the warmth of the drink radiating through the ceramic cup and seeping through her cloud-patterned pajama pants, heating her inner thighs soothingly. Her expression had then matched up to his, brows raised tauntingly. “Or maybe you were just off your game.”

Niall had slumped into the old recliner, sighing heavily as it creaked and extended. The Irish bloke had snuggled deeper into the cushioning of the seat, absentmindedly wiggling his toes in their rainbow polka-dotted socks before giving his housemate a pointed look. “Maybe you should shut up and go back to watching random people make squash noodles.”

“Actually, it’s eggplant ravioli.”

“Actually, that sounds like arse.”

A round of bubbly laughter had belted out of Y/N and it had been contagious, the same type of giggling escaping from Niall’s lips. Then, comfortable silence had fallen over the two as they centered their attention back onto the cooking show.

Niall hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic. There was no real proper segway into conversations about exes— he didn’t want to upset Y/N with the sudden intrusion on her healing process. But he had made a promise to Harry.

Aside from the obvious negative factors, mentioning him would also give Niall insight into how she was currently feeling about the entire situation. He’d be able to accurately gauge what her emotions had resolved on the matter and therefore be able to give Harry a solid response on whether he had any chance left for reconciliation. He’d be able to confidently tell him whether hanging on was worth it or if letting go was the best choice.

Though Niall and Y/N had been living together for almost two months, she hadn’t started opening up to him fully about the breakup until three weeks in. And even with the whole story laid out bare for him to examine, Y/N shared very little of her mending path with him until they were five weeks in. For a while, her version of “opening up” was simply telling him what had occurred and he’d had to fill in the rest of the mental and emotional blanks himself.

It had not been hard to come to the conclusion that she had been feeling like utter shit right after it happened— insecurity was awfully present as well as the haunting weight of thinking she wasn’t enough. Though Harry had put those worries to rest the day they had separated, they still lingered in her subconscious, constantly poking and prodding and picking at the membrane of recovery she had developed around her heart.

Y/N had felt numb for days after she had ended things. Boiling anger had created a buffer for the pain that was dwelling just under the surface and it had powered her for about three weeks. Then, at four in the morning on a random Thursday, her real emotions had burst through the fine cracks that had been webbing themselves into that unstable wall of rage.

She’d had a dream about him that was actually a memory. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the scene as it had been one of many alike— they had been cuddling on the couch. But for some reason, it cracked something inside her.

It had been scarily vivid to the point where she could feel the ridges of Harry’s finger pads tenderly passing over the skin of her exposed arm as she had laid between his legs, her head nestled into his strong chest, ear drums thumping with the sound of his relaxed heartbeat. She could feel his breathing, pectoral muscles rising and falling with penetrating inhales that had fallen into rhythm with her own. There had been faint movement above her and a sudden warmth had erupted across her forehead, his lips flushing caringly between her brows. The heated glow had washed down her temples and nose like syrup, vignetting her mind with a feathery, sleepy haze. It dripped over her tingling cheeks and buzzing ears, running down her neck and infusing into her chest, calming her from the inside out. He had whispered something unintelligible against her skin, his deep voice warbled as if he was talking underwater. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, the mellow, pleasant tone of his voice was enough to lull her. She had never felt happier, more fulfilled, and more at peace than at that moment.

Harry had always been the one factor that could drown out the static of her troubles with the simplest caress of his touch. He could make any problem sink away just by cupping her jaw and thumbing over her cheekbones. Could make the end of the world creak to a stop just by knitting his mouth to her’s. Could melt away any obstacle by brushing his palm over the dip of her spine. He had always been there, and at the time, it had felt like he always would be. Through that assured remedy of relief, she had been able to live her life one step at a time, bracing even the worst moments with a clear mind and strengthened energy, all because he stood behind her— with his warm hands and consoling aura— every inch of the way.

Y/N didn’t have that anymore and though she pushed it down and claimed it didn’t phase her, she was falling apart inside.

It was only a matter of time before it came rushing out all at once.

She had jerked awake from the dream as if she’d been stabbed, face wet with tears, her pillowcase dampened to the point where she would have to replace it. The breakdown that followed hadn’t included any screaming or slamming or stomping; it had been quiet and concise, much like Harry’s on the day she had left.

She’d laid on her side, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees to her chest, drawing into her body as if it could keep all of her feelings from spilling out. Heavy tears had swelled her already bloodshot eyes, her entire face stinging as fresh sheens of water washed down the dried saltiness of the ones prior. Her nose had run so badly she’d had to resort to using an old t-shirt as a tissue. The sounds that had escaped her were low and broken— cracked, stuttery whimpers with no real words behind them. The noises were just another outlet for the aching to seep out; her eyes just weren’t enough.

Her back had hunched over as she constricted into herself even further, burying her face into her sopping pillow, feeling hot tears soak into the saturated fabric. She could barely breathe that way and it helped calm her down some— no air meant no sobbing. No sobbing meant she was on the way to picking the pieces back up to put herself together again.

It took her awhile to come to her bearings. Her body had stopped shaking but the tears didn’t seem to want to go away. It irritated her that she couldn’t control this— she hated not being able to do anything other than just drown in it.

Without meaning to, she had released a gut-wrenching growl of frustration that tapered off into another round of heart-breaking sobbing. Her stomach throbbed, the pain so deep it was almost palpable.

Y/N had hoped the pillow would muffle it enough not to wake Niall, unaware that he was already up. He’d awoken on his own, making a trip to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He’d been sipping at it slowly, mind still stuck in a meaningless dream, when the sudden noise had echoed down the hall that led to Y/N’s room.

Niall rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, irises grey with sleep. He had blinked a few times, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass down carefully onto the marble counter, trying to limit any sound interference as his ears strained to listen for any more crying. He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t imagining it in a half-unconscious stupor.

But no, it was very much real. If he focused enough, he could just barely hear the soft sobbing coming from his friend’s bedroom. He had a good guess on what it was about.

He’d stood still for a moment, mulling over what he should do. His first instinct had been to go in and comfort her, but with more thought, he wondered if it would be better not to meddle in her grieving out of respect for her privacy. He knows that if he were crying over a bad breakup, he’d want to be left alone. But he also knows that shouldering a burden like the one she’d faced could put anyone in a really dark place; he wasn’t just going to stand around and let her crash and burn.

Niall had wandered down the corridor attentively, footsteps light as to not startle Y/N. He’d turned to knob to the door with immense care, pushing it open with his shoulder and peeking in.

The crying had stopped abruptly, which gave away that she knew he was there. He couldn’t see much in the dark room— the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the curtains didn’t do much for the fact that he was lacking his glasses— but he could see the silhouette of Y/N’s body curled up under the duvet, trembling ever so slightly with the effort of keeping in her sobbing.

Her housemate had cleared his throat to get rid of the gravel in his dormant voice, as well as to fully alert her of his presence. His words had still come out in a raspy croak, but at least they were understandable. “You alright in here?”

Y/N had sniffled feverishly, desperate to put out a collected facade. She hated when people saw her so vulnerable without her anticipating it.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.”

Her voice had cracked near the end of her response, giving away that she wasn’t good at all. The air had been silent for a moment, then Niall’s muddled footsteps thudded against the thick carpet.

Y/N could feel him standing behind her, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, the soft scent of his ocean-scented deodorant tickling her itching nose. “Are you sure?”

There had been no response other than the comforter tightening around her frame. Her hair was splayed across her face in a wild, matted mess, keeping him from being able to read her features.

Niall had sighed heavily and then the bed had dipped with his weight, sheets shifting and springs squeaking as he settled into place beside her, swinging his legs up onto the mattress.

More silence followed, Y/N refusing to budge. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this considering he was still friends with Harry; she didn’t want to split him down the middle or force him to take care of her alongside her ex. She knew Niall too well, certain that he had been offering help to Harry, too. She’d heard him answer the array of drunken phone calls on her behalf so she wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma. She’d heard him leaving the house at unintelligible hours only to return smelling like Harry’s favorite vanilla cinnamon candle. She’d even found one of Harry’s t-shirts (which she had gotten him herself) in the laundry basket, which had probably been lent to Niall after an alcohol-related accident.

Niall was too kind for his own good— too caring. Y/N had learned a lot about him in the time they had lived together and the one characteristic that stood out more than anything was his savior complex— his default setting to provide love and assurance to anyone that needed it, no matter the stress it put on himself. She didn’t want to take unfair advantage of that.

Her friend’s voice had torn her out of her guilt trip, loaded with adamant concern. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this room until I know you’re genuinely better so stop being stubborn and let me help.”

She’d jerked suddenly when she felt his large hand coast up her back. His touch was gentle and nurturing, squeezing her shoulder expectantly. It wasn’t hard for her to let go into him.

Y/N had turned towards Niall, hand ducking out from beneath the duvet cocoon she’d swaddled herself in, moving her hair out of her splotchy face. Their eyes had locked and she’d immediately felt the remaining anguish flush out of her system.

The look on his face was so kind and protective and it made her feel safer than she had in the last couple of weeks. Even in the limited lighting, she could see his eyes were glossy with the genuine desire to help her heal, inviting her to share her problems with him, silently promising that they could shoulder the weight of it together. She didn’t have to fight this on her own.

Y/N had spent the rest of the night in Niall’s arms, crying into his chest and utterly drenching his Eagles t-shirt, though he didn’t complain once. He had kept his lips pressed to the top of her head, running his warm palm up and down her shuddering back and telling her that she shouldn’t bottle up her feelings— that it didn’t make her weak to show them, that openly sorting through them with someone else would make it less scary, and most importantly, that it was “okay not to be okay all the time.”

For the next month or so, Y/N and Niall’s heart-to-hearts had been a real breakthrough for her. All of her undealt fear and self-doubt no longer badgered her anymore— it was almost all gone. She hadn’t felt this emotionally liberated since before the split and she could feel the shards of her heart welding themselves back together, ushering her into a more healthy, serene state of mind. She was on the road to her old self again and the relief it brought was otherworldly.

It could be seen physically, too. The bags under her eyes had faded and her face carried a certain rejuvenated glow that it had lacked for weeks. Her smile and laughter were buoyant and loud again, not hindered by any inner conflict anymore whatsoever. When she went out with her friends, she didn’t find herself mentally checking out in the middle of conversations or movies or drinks like she had plenty of times before. She actively participated and engaged in events instead of just going through the motions and it felt so fucking good to get a taste of actual joy for the first time in so long. Things were looking up, and though she still had that hole in her chest that only Harry could fill, she was learning to deal with it in a beneficial and independent manner. It was okay not to be okay all the time.

///

All of these instances had scattered across Niall’s eyes, whirling around in his skull as he sat back in the old recliner, trying to decide if he should pass on Harry’s bowling alley message onto Y/N. He knew she was doing way better, but he didn’t know if hearing from Harry would break her all over again. He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want the sheer sound of his name to send her into a self-destructive spiral for the rest of her life— she had to learn to cope with him being mentioned regularly because it was bound to start happening again. People couldn’t walk on eggshells around both of them forever.

And Niall also needed to know where she stood on her relationship to the British boy— whether she was willing to give it another shot or whether it was best to tell Harry to move on completely. They were adults, after all, so questions needed to be answered and ties needed to be either tightened or severed for good.

“Harry was there.”

“I know, Niall. That’s the reason I wasn’t.”

Her tone had taken him by surprise. It had been jokeful and amused, holding no obvious resentment he could detect. It’d been a good start to the Ex Talk, if Niall had ever seen one, as long as it didn’t turn into her using humor as a deflecting mechanism.

“He asked about you.”

Y/N’s hands had tightened around her mug, crossed legs shifting her weight. She had broken away from the television screen, meeting Niall’s cautiously hesitant gaze. Her eyes had held an emotion that he couldn’t quite place— it was mostly blank, but it held a smidge of something he could only think to refer to as pained curiosity.

When she’d spoken again, it had been soft and fragile. “What’d he say?”

Niall had leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping onto his parted knees as his fingers sifted together, chin resting on his knuckles. His voice had been as cautious and hesitant as the look in his sky blue irises. “He said to tell you that he misses you and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’d do anything to earn your trust again, that a day doesn’t go by that he doesn’t think about you, and that he loves you so much ‘to the point where it’s pathetic.’ His exact words.”

Y/N had been quiet for a while afterward, the TV droning on in the background with chefs running around kitchens, cursing about food burning and incorrect ingredients. Niall hadn’t pushed her on an answer; he’d simply sat back with his hands flat across his belly, allowing her all the time she needed to process the speech.

When she finally spoke up again, her voice had been taut, strained by the heaviness of the message she’d received. “Anything else?”

Niall had intentionally left the lightest part of the conversation for the end, hoping it would provide her with some form of ease, as minimal as it would be. “Yeah, he said you left your Sherpa jumper at his place and was wondering if you wanted it back. If I were you, I’d say yes. Fleece sweaters are fuck-you-in-the-arse expensive.”

His comment had the intended affect, his heart fluttering with relief as he watched Y/N’s face break into a huge grin, eyes crinkling as airy laughter bounced all around her. Some of the tension in her body remained, but most of it had dissipated out. A fraction is better than none.

Y/N had managed to talk through her giggles. “Yeah, I think I would like my sweater back, actually.”

“Great!” Niall had clapped his hands together once, head wobbling in a jerky shake for silly emphasis. He’d pushed his palms against the armrests of the recliner, catapulting himself onto his feet and pointing at Y/N playfully. “I’ll get that sorted for you, then. Now, if you need me, I’m gonna be in my room, passed out on my bed for the next twelve hours, neck-deep in a beer coma. Feel free to check if I’m breathing every now and then, yeah? Got a dentist appointment next week that I’d hate to be dead for.”

Y/N had sat on Harry’s words for the next week or so. They hadn’t spurred her into a meltdown (as she’s sure Niall had worried they would), but they did loiter in the back of her mind, keeping her awake past appropriate hours by playing her heart strings like a violin.

There was one part of the message specifically that took up a chunk of her sleep more than the others, scattering inside her head and running along the crevices of her brain, the meaning behind it stirring the pit of her stomach into a hollowed frenzy: I love you so much to the point where it’s pathetic.

That one measly sentence carried so much baggage to unpack.

Harry’s choice of words were transparent on how he was dealing in the aftermath of the split.

Y/N knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was— it had been obvious in the way he had put her on a pedestal for the entirety of their relationship, constantly showering her with all different types of affection to let her know how much he cherished her. It ranged from the simplest gestures— like keeping her favorite chocolates stocked inside the pantry at all times— to extravagant actions— like randomly buying her an expensive necklace she’d stared at for a bit too long at the mall. He was always aware of her, always going out of his way to show her how much he loved her, and she had never felt more appreciated than when she was with him.

When it came to expressing that love verbally, Harry only ever connected it to words that carried positive connotations. Words like, “truly,” “madly,” “deeply,” “immensely,” “entirely,” and “wholeheartedly.” He wanted her to know that when he thought of her, any negativity was immediately expelled from his mind; she could always make him happy, no matter what.

This being taken into consideration, one can understand why Y/N had been utterly baffled when Niall had told her that he’d referred to his love for her as “pathetic.” It gave her insight into just how hard he was taking the breakup— hard enough to the point where he was so desperate to get her back that he felt pathetic. This told her that he loved her so much he was willing to admit that it was sad and pitiful, especially since he was a grown man, and especially because they’d been split for just over two months. That span of time is long enough for a person to at least start moving on; long enough for someone to sever themselves from that stage of hopelessly clinging to what once was and to look forward to what the future could bring.

But instead, Harry had allowed himself to regress back into a lapse of needy pining, pleading with Niall— and in public, no less— to tell her that he missed her so much it was embarrassing; that he cared for her to the extent that it was humiliating; that he loved her to the point where it was miserable. He wanted her to know that what he had done had been tearing at him nonstop since it happened, that it would likely haunt him for years to come, and that he would never forgive himself for it.

All of these confessions weren’t any different than what he had told her the day they had broken up— they were the same bullets he’d hit when he was sitting before her, teary-eyed and distressed, begging her to give him another chance. However, for a reason unbeknownst to her, they penetrated deeper this time, slamming her square in the chest like someone had punched through her ribs, squeezing her heart with their fist.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally let go of the splintering anger she’d been clutching onto from that day, which had likely blinded her from absorbing the rawness behind Harry’s apology. Maybe it was that she’d had weeks to work through all of her jumbled emotions, finally untangling herself from the bitterness that had been clouding her mind for what felt like ages. Maybe it was just the simple notion that she fucking missed him— missed him more than her pride would ever let her admit.

Missed the way his nose would scrunch up in distaste when he didn’t agree with something, the way the edges of his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, missed his boyish giggling and how it would go up in pitch when he laughed too hard. She missed the way his dimples would carve into his cheeks when he smirked, the way the little mole under the left corner of his lips would jolt with the slightest motion of his mouth, and the way his large, warm hands would feel as he would knot their fingers together, his thumb caressing over the tops of her knuckles.

Y/N missed the way her head would sink into his chest when she would hug him, his arms cradling her against his body while he played with the ends of her hair. She missed the small group of freckles at the base of his neck— missed tracing them with her lips while he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into spontaneous giggles at the feathery sensation. She missed the way he smelled, like mandarin shampoo and musky, spiced deodorant and his ocean salt cologne and that stupid fucking candle.

Y/N had remained on the fence for a few days about what to do, mentally jotting down the pros and cons of reaching out to Harry to make amends. The defining moment had been the day she’d gotten her sweater back.

///

Niall had gone out with Harry to see a movie, returning home with the Sherpa jumper hung across one of his forearms, tucked into his elbow. He’d held it out for her between his thumbs and index fingers, flapping it back and forth triumphantly, eyebrows arched with dramatic glee as a huge goofy grin buckled his cheeks. “Look at what we have here, then!”

He’d tossed it towards her on his way to the kitchen, belting out a cocky, “You’re welcome!” over his shoulder before disappearing behind the archway.

The minute Y/N had caught the hoodie in her arms, the scent hit her like a bus. It invaded her nostrils without permission, sending a sharp ache through her chest.

It was perfectly faint since Harry’s smell never tended to be overpowering— he had a very light hand when it came to cologne, well aware that too much could be agitating. That being said, the brand he used was potent even when dispensed in small amounts, so it’s salty sea aroma usually lasted through a couple of washes. He had probably nonchalantly chucked the jumper into the laundry with his clothes, which had resulted in the smell being strung through every single thread of the fabric.

Beneath the initial layer of his cologne laid the softer scent of the vanilla cinnamon candle that she knew too well. It was tender and homey, just the right ratio of sugar and spice, its cozy undercurrent enveloping her in familiarity.

It launched her into a round of fleeting flashbacks.

The fractions in time consisted of a winter day spent snuggled on the sofa under thick blankets, half-empty mugs of hot cocoa discarded on the coffee table and a Netflix show drawling on aimlessly in the background. Not a single soul had paid attention to the screen; Y/N was too busy straddling Harry’s lap, planting wet, sloppy kisses down his throat as he dangled his head over the side of the armrest, hands gripping her hips needily as she rocked against the bulge in his sweatpants, a dreamy, pleasure-drunken smile adorning his swollen lips. Low hisses and weak whimpers had resonated from deep in his chest, rolling off his tongue as his mouth had absentmindedly fallen open at the warmth growing between her thighs. Her fingers had twisted into the loose curls along the back of his skull while she’d gasped his name all breathy and whiney along the underside of his jaw, working herself against him at a desperate pace, his palms trailing underneath her pajama bottoms to grope at her ass.

Harry’s voice had been distant and echoey in the memory, but it made her cheeks sizzle nonetheless. “God, I love you so fucking much. Could spend the rest of my life between your thighs...Could spend the rest of it anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Another flashback had shuffled forward like a deck of cards. This one was of a foggy, rainy evening spent napping soundly in their bed, limbs tangled messily with their bodies half-naked, her heated lips pressed to the lulled pulse that throbbed beneath Harry’s flushed neck. His hand had been petting over her mussed up hair, mouth pressed lovingly to the ridges between her brows, smoothing them out in order to defuse whatever was troubling her in her dreams.

She’d awoken, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep, her mind partially conscious as she had taken in a long inhale, blowing it out through her nose. Harry had run the pad of his thumb over her lashes gently, helping her get rid of the blurriness that had taken her under. She had blinked up at him drowsily, a watery smile spreading her buzzing lips. Harry hadn’t said a single word and he didn’t have to— he’d just stared down at her over the tops of his lightly colored cheeks, the right edge of his mouth flicking upwards in endearment, his bright jade irises glossy with fondness. He didn’t have to say a single word because his expression silently told her everything she needed to know.

Y/N had snapped out of the memories in the blink of an eye, a sudden tickling sensation bristling down her cheeks. She’d reached up to touch her face in confusion, the tips of her fingers coming back wet, the water glinting cruelly under the dim lighting of the living room. Her brows had furrowed in objection, both at her tears and at being so abruptly yanked out of moments in her life when she had been the happiest. Her body reacted out of instinct, desperately searching for a trace of him to clasp onto, her hands fumbling to bring the flouncy material of the sweater to her nose.

She’d taken a saturated breath in, the pleasant odor hugging her trembling frame and kissing her heart. The tears had then started flowing freely across her waterline and down the bridge of her nose. They had seeped into the fleece hoodie and she’d immediately jerked back from it, not wanting the treasured item to suffer the same fate as most of her pillowcases. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her have to wash it— she refused to let the comforting aroma leave her.

Y/N spent the next three days in that jumper, only taking it off to shower. She wore it religiously, taking it to work, to the superstore when she went grocery shopping with Niall, to lunch with a friend, to a doctor's appointment she barely paid attention to, and even to bed. In the span of seventy-two hours, she had developed an addiction to the scent that was woven into the fluffy article of clothing, needing to have it around her at all times in order to function properly.

It was sad, really. It was just a smell and she knew it would eventually fade away, but she just couldn’t help herself from wanting to be wrapped in it every second of the day. It reminded her of a time in her life when everything seemed flawless— where there wasn’t a gaping hole in the center of her chest that could only be filled by the one person who had accidentally hurt her beyond compare.

Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the flood of memories that the stupid hoodie had fished out from the corner of her subconscious, where she had shoved them with the intent of never looking back. They loitered her dreams, broadcasting over the inside of her eyelids for hours on end, dissolving away when her alarm blared beside her ear, leaving her with a hollow feeling toiling at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how long she could deal with it, but her sanity was starting to wear thin, cautioning her that she had to do something or else she’d go absolutely mad.

On the night of the fourth day, Y/N finally cracked.

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It is currently 11:43 PM, meaning that in a meer seventeen minutes, it would be two months and fourteen days since the split.

Harry is laying in bed, as far away from his digital clock as possible, watching a random Christmas movie that Netflix had recommended, one hand buried in a bowl of kettle corn that he’d already refilled twice as the other holds his phone an acceptable distance above his face.

The movie is cliche, if he’s being honest; something about Santa Claus dying and passing on the torch to his dead-beat son that didn’t want it, so it ended up going to his overly-perky younger sister instead. The twist was supposed to be that a woman had never been Santa Claus, but he could see that ending coming from a mile away, what with her natural ability to get along with kids and the fact that she dressed like a literal Elf on the Shelf. It’s heart-warming in the way that all Christmas films are and it had the witty humor one would expect it to, alongside a cute furry animal sidekick that people couldn’t help falling in love with.

But it just didn’t really impress him. The message is sweet, the execution could’ve been better.

Yet, he only deemed it fair that he finish the movie. He’s already three-fourths of the way done and though the intended surprise was obvious, he might as well see it through.

In the middle of the climax scene where the young woman was putting on the Santa suit for the first time, his phone dings with a chime he hadn’t heard in too long— two months, thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-four minutes, to be exact.

Harry had been so startled he’d dropped his phone on his face.

“Ow! Fucking hell!”

He sits up in one quick, stiff motion, the hand knuckle-deep in the popcorn bowl flying up and knocking the dish upside down, the sticky kernels rolling across his disheveled duvet. The sleek black device falls into his lap, nose pulsing in pain as it had taken most of the heat, his caramel-coated hand rubbing messily along his flannel pajama pants to try and get rid of the stickiness. He then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to stifle some of the stinging, bumbling to get his smartphone into the palm of his clean hand.

The screen lights up with a text message and Harry blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it in some type of pain-induced hallucination.

But no, the message is very much real and it’s authenticity sends him into a dull stupor for a minute. He comes back to when the phone vibrates with another ring, alerting him for the second and last time that the person he wanted to talk to the most had actually reached out to him; it was in his best interest not to keep her waiting.

Y/N: Hey, are you free to talk tomorrow?

#siac #Sharing Isn’t Always Caring #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles angst #angst #harry styles fic #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb

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spicysoftsweet · 3 years

Text

Chapter 8

Masterlist

Baji Keisuke was the king of mixed signals, Kumi decided, the thought leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

There was a part of her that wondered if that night had been a dream, if she had been so hurt she’d manage to dream up a situation where Baji’s feelings for her were crystal clear now that she wore her heart on her sleeve. There was another part of her that wondered if she’d conjured up every good thing about him in her head to ignore the type of person he actually was.

The type of person who would do this.

“I’m fine.”

Chifuyu pulled away from Kumi’s hands that slowly reached for the bandages surrounding half his face but not enough that she couldn’t gently touch the sides of his face with her shaking fingers, moving his head from side to side to get a closer look.

Kaksi fumed nearby and Takemichi paled, wondering if it was wrong to have gone to the two girls for intel as Kumi’s eyes ran over Chifuyu’s injuries. Kumi was gravely silent, her mind clearly racing a mile a minute despite the neutral expression she bore.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Kaksi yelled, genuinely and righteously upset. She had been tolerating his odd behavior towards her, towards Kumi, towards everyone so far, but this - this was possibly the last straw for her.

If he could do this to his friend, then what was the point?

“He has a reason,” Chifuyu started, but Kaksi wouldn’t have it.

“Bullshit! You can barely see!”

Kumi let her hands drop to her side and nervously ran a hand through her hair as she took a couple steps. Chifuyu gave her a once-over, unclear of how to gauge her reaction and then turned back to Kaksi whose fists were clenched and positively vibrated with rage.

“It was a…,” Chifuyu paused, unsure if he really needed to explain all of this to these girls, then continued, “test of faith.”

Kumi let out a sudden nervous laugh, crossing her arms. “So he goes to church now?”

She was somewhere between upset and irritated, then apologized for being curt.

Takemichi suddenly spoke up.

“Baji left Toman for another gang called Valhalla... Which was what I was going to talk to you about, but it seems like you didn’t know,” he said, a little bit of disappointment in his voice. "We were at their hideout and then this-"

Chifuyu shot him a glance that suggested he was talking too much and Takemichi paled before trailing off.

Kumi’s eyebrows furrowed. He had been wearing Toman’s garb when he came to see her just days ago… or had she just imagined it?

“Did something happen?” She asked. "Like a fight or something?" At least to her, Toman had always been Baji’s priority; she couldn’t imagine him suddenly changing his mind now, unless there had been an incident.

Plus he had talked to her like nothing happened, but then again, she had felt like something was strange about him for the past few weeks.

What else did she not know?

Takemichi shook his head, and Kaksi grew impatient, both with the fact that Takemichi had no useful information to offer and the simple fact that he knew things that she didn’t, that Kumi didn’t, and she still had no idea where this guy had come from.

It was suspicious - maybe she was even a little jealous - how quickly Takemichi had gotten Mikey to open up. Something she had wanted for so long-

She didn’t know why she was thinking this way, back to the matter at hand.

“Where’s Valhalla’s hideout? We’re going there right now,” Kaksi declared.

Chifuyu let out a small incredulous laugh before his eyes widened when he realized she was dead serious. He looked at Takemichi who looked genuinely horrified, then at Kumi whose eyes were lowered, now deciding that her fingers and thumbs were suddenly very interesting to her. He couldn’t sense the turmoil inside her, and Kaksi was too righteously upset to notice by now.

Maybe Kaksi needed an outlet. She’d spent enough time feeling sorry for herself and now was ready to raise hell.

“Where is it?” She repeated to Takemichi.

Takemichi startled and Chifuyu gave him a warning look.

“Don’t tell them, Takemitchy.”

Kaksi glared at Chifuyu.

“If you don’t tell us, we’ll go find it ourselves. It won’t take a lot of asking to find out if it was that easy for you guys to find, after all,” she threatened. “Let’s go, Kumi,” she said, now grabbing Kumi, who seemed lost in her own world, by the wrist.

Kumi resisted as Kaksi pulled, and this actually surprised her.

“I-I don’t want to see him,” she finally admitted in a small voice, not looking up. “Or Kazutora,” she murmured. “I think we should just stay out of it this time.”

Kaksi genuinely appeared to be in shock.

“What?”

Kaksi let go of her arm gently, her rage fading slightly.

“Kumi?”

Kumi looked up at her, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said, a tear finally breaking loose and rolling down her cheek.

Was he good? Bad? Kind then not? Did she even know him? Even if he supposedly liked her now, she couldn’t forget that he was once her bully in some capacity, especially looking at Chifuyu’s battered face now, she wondered if there was something she was missing, and if he’d snap at her too.

Don’t hate me if I mess up.

What did that even entail?

Kaksi walked over to her crying friend and put her arms around her. “You don’t have to come if you’re worried, I get it,” she reassured her.

Kumi nodded.

“But I’m going,” she continued, pulling back now. Kumi’s tears had the opposite effect, making Kaksi even more adamant that she give the two - at the very least, Baji - a piece of her mind. “Takemichi, you’re coming with me,” she insisted.

“What?!”

Kaksi was already off, somehow in the right direction, and Takemichi and Chifuyu found themselves following suit before they knew it.

---

The smoke that greeted the four of them - Kumi had decided she wasn’t going to let her friend go on her own after all - was suffocating, even though the doors to the abandoned arcade were still technically closed.

Kumi held onto the sleeve of Kaksi’s shirt reflexively, slightly behind her and with her other hand subconsciously raised before her. Yes, she’d been around delinquents for the past two years, but she’d never been in or even close to the fray, and without having even stepped foot to breach the hideout, she could already tell she and her best friend were in incredibly hostile territory. Just the simple act of stepping over a ‘no trespassing’ had set her on edge.

“Now that you see it, will you go home already?” Chifuyu finally said, exasperated. The four of them had stalled in their advancement, possibly because Kaksi had had a moment of clarity, and Chifuyu expected them to go back.

However, the glass doors suddenly slid open, revealing a couple of grunts that were clearly low on the hierarchy. The taller of the two unnecessarily mature-looking teenagers looked at the four of them, probably having kept watch from outside, and laughed once he saw Chifuyu.

“You’re here for another beating? Didn’t have enough?” He jeered.

“And that scared bitch from Toman is here again, and he brought extra bitches with him!” The other laughed, hands still shoved in the white Walhalla jacket uniform as he threw his head back. Before Kaksi could turn and start running, he’d already grabbed her by her hair and started to drag her inside despite kicking and screaming.

Kumi screamed after her and tried to pry his hands off her friend but immediately was scooped up from behind and restrained by the second watchman.

“Fuck!” Chifuyu hissed, running in after the two of them, cursing himself for having tried to call Kaksi’s bluff rather than firmly telling them to mind their own business. He hadn’t anticipated either of them actually being this stupid, and now...

He threw a punch that connected with Kaksi’s captor’s back, but wasn’t enough to get Kaksi free, narrowly dodging a heavy kick launched in his direction.

“Let go of me, you piece of shit!” Kaksi shrieked, thrashing as Kumi began to wail for help, muffled by the clasp of a dirty hand over her mouth.

The shuffling of hands and fists and kicks right outside the hideout was loud enough that the inside stirred with excitement. The two girls were dragged in along with Takemichi and Chifuyu closely behind, brought in by additional gang members.

Kumi, and even Kaksi, were afraid enough by now, being ogled by all these strange boys, more unfriendly and harsh-looking, jeering boys (and probably some adult men) than they’d ever been in their life.

This had been a terrible idea, Kaksi thought, as fire tore through her scalp from the hold on her hair.

“Hey, we got visitors!” The first boy, grip on Kaksi’s hair still unrelenting. The taunts and whoops and leers grew louder, as they were brought to the leaders of the crew. Kaksi considered for a minute that she was done for - she knew what some gangs could do to a girl like her.

But Kazutora would never be part of those gangs, right?

“You’ve got what?”

Kaksi gasped, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Visi-”

The harsh thwock of knuckles hitting flesh almost silenced the crowd, and Kaksi felt herself get yanked backwards as the man dragging her toppled backwards.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit!” Kazutora was on top of the crumpled body in seconds, dealing additional punches on either side of the teen’s face, his teeth bared in a vicious expression.

Kumi gasped as she watched the growing crowd freeze as Kazutora laid into the young man’s face, and the one who had restrained her released her immediately and set her down on her feet, surprising her even. From just a few feet away, she noticed Baji, also in Valhalla garb, new and nothing like the Toman uniform, glaring past her, his fists clenched as though he were itching for a fight as well.

The guy who had let go of her bowed, begging Kazutora to stop on behalf of his partner, and the young man paid him absolutely no mind, until another young man laughed loudly.

“Kazutora, we get it, she’s off limits,” he chuckled, as he walked forward. Kazutora paused, expression still frozen, then turned to look at Kaksi and frowned before getting to his feet.

He opened his mouth as though he planned to say something, then changed his mind. To Kumi, he looked blankly, then asked flatly,

“Did these bastards tell you where this place was?”

Kazutora pointed directly at Chifuyu and Takemichi’s general direction, the two also frozen in place as they stared at the bloodied pulp on the ground.

Kumi froze, then nodded slowly then shook her head quickly.

“T-they didn’t want us to come… but Kaksi forced it so-”

Baji stepped forward at this time, giving her a harsh look, mean enough that she could feel her stomach turn, then walked towards Chifuyu. Chifuyu actually flinched, a microscopic action, but Kumi and Baji both noticed, and the latter might have even been angered by it.

“Did I hit you too hard the other day or not hard enough?” Baji spat. “Why the fuck would you bring her here?” His fists clenched tighter and he leaned forward and before Kumi knew it, she’d moved closer to him, pulling his arm gently.

“Please stop.”

He shrugged her off instantly, staring down Chifuyu. Kumi tried again, while Kaksi froze in place watching the two of them. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen Baji this upset.

“Kei-” Kumi murmured. Her hands reached for him again, hesitant just from the hostile energy that seemed to radiate for him, and before she could touch him, he whipped around and turned to her, eyes wild.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snapped.

There seemed to be a sudden stillness to the air, or maybe Kumi just imagined it, as she recoiled at the harshness of his voice. Before she could come up with something to say, he continued.

“Don’t you get the hint?” He continued. “Get lost. ”

Kumi’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment she thought about the first time she’d met him, where instead of this twisted frown he sported right now, the face red with irritation and grit teeth, he’d sported an amused smile like he could swallow her up at any moment.

Get lost.

Had he ever liked her? He hadn’t, had he?

It had all been in her head, this idea that he was a good person with some bad qualities, and that she could look past them, that it could be different, because at least he liked her, right?

Before she could burst into tears, Kaksi seemed to move like lightning in between the two of them, and forgetting where she was, who she was, why she was there, her hand drew back to slap Baji across the face. He stopped her before her palm made contact, and Kaksi glared at him as he held on to her wrist.

“You fucking asshole,” she hissed.

He didn’t say anything, but let go of her arm. Kaksi let it drop to her side.

“You changed,” she told him. She laughed bitterly, glancing at Kazutora as though to imply that this applied to him too, as Kumi finally lost control over tears that were welling up in her eyes, letting them stream wordlessly down her cheeks.

The young man, tall and brown-haired with an almost perpetual leer to his face, who had mocked Kazutora’s sudden fury again laughed, louder this time.

“Are you bringing your relationship problems to the gang? Do we need a rule that says don’t mix business with pleasure?” He said, clapping, truly rioting as Kumi tried to manage the sensation of her heart shattering.

Baji’s eyes didn’t leave Kumi, still shaking with something between anger and confusion and maybe an instant bit of regret, he wasn’t sure, but she suddenly sniffled loudly, then looked him straight in the eyes, fiercer than she had for the past two years that they’d known each other.

“Fuck you.”

He may have been taken aback by the severity of her words, but he didn’t show it, stone-faced for a moment before looking away.

It was for her own good, right? Do what was necessary and apologize later.

Don’t hate me.

Valhalla was different from Toman. Someone like her, a deer in headlights, could genuinely get hurt.

Please don’t hate me.

He tried not to look back as Kumi hurried out of the glass doors alone. Part of him wondered if he should go after her, but instead he diverted his attention back to Kaksi who had dug in her heels.

Despite the uneasiness that took over Kaksi, standing there surrounded by so many dangerous and much stronger people than her, she decided that walking away from Kazutora now wasn’t an option. Takemichi and Chifuyu stood behind her, waiting for her to realize there was nothing she could do or say to reason with her ex-boyfriend or Baji.

She still had to try. Kaksi moved forward, walking past Baji and grabbing Kazutora by his arms, attempting to shake him, anger more than anything else taking over her now. Baji muttered in annoyance but knew better than to interfere. He wished she wasn’t so stubborn sometimes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, loud enough to express how she felt, but low enough that not everyone could hear.

Kazutora didn’t say anything, watching her with those eyes she didn’t recognize.

“Kazutora, please,” she begged. “This is not where you belong.”

Her ex-boyfriend chuckled, clearly not taking anything she could say seriously.

“And where do you think I belong?”

“With me!” she exclaimed as if the answer was evident. “With your friends! With Toman! With Mi-”

“Don’t fucking talk about him!” Kazutora yelled his turn to hold the girl, violently shaking her.

Baji watched the scene unfold, surprised by the harsh way his friend handled Kaksi, but not displaying any real emotion. The way he gripped her arms and pushed her back then pulled her in was very different from the way he would normally gently hold her hand and bring it to his lips. For a moment Takemichi and Chifuyu were afraid of what Kazutora would do to her, but it seemed that Kaksi was the most afraid as she burst into tears still firmly held by her ex-boyfriend.

Kazutora stopped moving, automatically releasing her as his eyes widened. He didn’t want to hurt her; Kaksi was the last person he wanted to see crying which was why he didn’t want her here. He wished that she could understand how he felt, the fury that Mikey brought each time Kazutora thought about him. But all there was and all she could see was madness in his eyes and in his actions.

Kaksi didn’t understand him anymore, she couldn’t understand him. For a moment she wondered if she ever did? Yes, of course. She used to know Kazutora like the back of her hand. But the young man standing in front of him wasn’t the boy she had fallen for years ago and she was afraid she would never have him back.

Tears kept rolling down her cheeks and she realized only confusion and sadness remained inside of her. She wanted to speak but she couldn't find any more words. Kazutora took a step back, looking at Takemichi and Chifuyu instead.

“I should fucking kill you for having brought her here,” he said. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Kazutora gave one last look to the girl and it was while wiping off her tears that she walked away. Takemichi and Chifuyu followed her closely. But she wished she could have left with Kazutora and Baji by her side too.

#baji x oc #kazutora x oc #tokyorev #off target effects #collab fic #mae.writing #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers #longfic

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possiamo-andare · 4 years

Text

Midsummer pt.5: JJ Maybank (Finale)

JJ x Reader

MASTERLIST

word count: 9k

a/n: this final chapter of Midsummer is dedicated to @shawnssongs for being the kindest soul when I was writing this series.They always had something nice to say and uplifted my spirits when I thought I had nothing good to write. You were my inspiration so thanks buddy!! I’m so sad to see this series come to an end but it has been so much fun. the first part of Midsummer has over 1,000 notes and I am so happy with all the feedback I received. Thanks to everyone who commented, liked and reblogged. You are angels!

JJ rarely slept in his bed. He had these fleeting, but clear, memories of his mother with her caramel hair and blue eyes, reading the Giving Tree to him. She sat on the edge of the bed, petting his head and she read to him, changing her voice when the tree spoke. As a child, it amused JJ but now, he couldn't think of that book or his bedroom without getting emotional. It didn't help that his father erased any memories of his mother around their house. The books she read to him were burned. The family pictures of a once lovely but poor family were discarded in the trash. JJ's father forbade the mention of his mother's name to the point where JJ started to forget what she looked like or what her name was.

The only time he ever slept in his own bed was when John B. couldn't have him over and that rarely happened. John B. knew his situation and always made his home available. When his father went missing at sea, he needed JJ even more than before and welcomed him into his home twofold. Loneliness was contagious in that household and as much as JJ appreciated John B.'s hospitality, he was suffocating.

Then she came along. You walked through those double doors with your arm through Rafe's in that beautiful dress and JJ knew he was done for. You had made him feel something in Peterkin's office but he suppressed those feelings and soon enough, he thought they disappeared. He had chalked it up to just a crush and when it disappeared he thought he was right. Then, that night, he knew it was more than that. Then, you kissed him. He had kissed you first because he had that 'screw it' mentality but he never thought you would reciprocate those feelings. He had no idea why you kissed him but you did and you wanted to be around him. Most girls never saw JJ as anything more than a Pogue and he thought he was okay with that. Now, he knew he would never be the same.

You stirred beside him as he reminisced over the last weeks. He had never slept so soundly in his own bed before. Slowly, as to not wake you, he tightened his grip and your body and pulled you close. He usually hated sleeping on his back but he never thought of how uncomfortable he was when you were so peaceful beside him.

"Hm?" You grumble, completely unaware of what JJ was thinking beside you. You rubbed your eyes and looked up from the crook in JJ's neck. "Morning."

JJ smirked, feeling terrible he had woken you up. "Sorry."

You smiled, shrugging. "I had to wake up eventually." You glanced at the clock on JJ's cabinet and squinted. It was 9am. "We were supposed to get up one hour ago!" You move away from JJ, pushing the covers off your partially naked body.

You hurriedly bend over, looking for your shorts and tshirt. Some time in the middle of the night you had put your undergarments back on but for your tshirt and shorts, they were still on the floor. As you pull your shirt over your head, you feel JJ move from behind you. You know what he's about to do before he even gets a chance to do it but decide not to pull away. Instead, you wait as he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his lips against the nape of your neck and you smile, the gesture tickling you a little.

"Harry Styles?" He laughs as he points to the flip flops on the floor beside his bed.

You gasp, quickly flipping over the sole of your shoes so he can't see the embarrassing drawings on your old white flip flops. "I was ten!" It was a stupid drawing of a heart with an inscription of your favourite One Direction member's name. You had meant to get new shoes but you had never grew out of your old shoes and thought no one would see it, much less your boyfriend.

"Is that who I need to be for you to stay in bed?" He teased, poking your side. You jumped from your seat in his bed and squealed, his teasing embarrassing you. You pull your shorts up and zip them closed as JJ watches your flushed cheeks turn a brighter red.

"You could never be Harry. Sorry." You joked right back, finally slipping into your shoes.

JJ finally sits up, his shorts him yesterday now on the bottom half of his body. "Rude!" His eyes go to his feet for a moment and you can hear him whisper "How does it go..."

"JJ!" You giggle, knowing exactly what he was going to do before he even had to do it.

"Straight off the plane to a new hotel!" JJ screams, playing an air guitar. You cover your face, embarrassed for him. "Just touched down, you could never tell. Big house party with a crowded kitchen -"

"Okay!" You finally jump over the bed and reach for JJ's mouth so he can stop teasing you.

He pulls away but stops singing. Instead, he reaches for your neck and pulls you close. You can see it in his eyes and you indulge him, letting him kiss you. Surprisingly, his breath does not smell and you feel a little self conscious since you know yours does.

You are the first to pull away. "I have to brush my teeth."

JJ nods, smirking. "That bad?"

You gasp, slapping his shoulder. "Rude."

He chuckles but nods, guiding you out of his room and to the bathroom that is closest to the front door. JJ opens the door to a very small bathroom with not even a shower. He goes in first, looking under the sink for a clean toothbrush. Once he finds one, he hands it to you and exits the bathroom. It's so small that there can only be one person inside at one time. JJ gives you a chaste kiss one more time before you step inside the bathroom and close the door behind you. You turn on the facet and slowly your mind wanders as you brush your teeth. As much as you know you shouldn't be smiling just because you're brushing your teeth, you can't help it. You can't seem to believe you're in JJ's house, brushing your teeth and actually acting like a couple. Nothing about your relationship so far has been normal. From buried treasure to murder, your relationship was never as peaceful as it was now. You sang a little song as you rinse your mouth, the smile still on your lips. However, once you shut the faucet off, your little happy bubble popped. Just a few feet away, you heard yelling. In seconds, you peered out the door and looked for where it was coming from. You saw that the front door was open and, as quietly as you could, you tiptoed closer to the front of the house. The door was wide open and the closer you got, the more you heard.

"What are you doing?" JJ raised his voice, finally walking in front of the door. At first, you thought he was speaking to you but he wasn't facing you. Finally, you saw as his father walked past him, a wad of cash in his hands.

JJ had been getting dressed in his room when his father arrived home after a night of gambling and liquor. He had not entered his house, only sitting on the singular chair on the porch. JJ’s father rarely was inside his own home. It reminded him of his wife and he had suppressed all his feelings over her. The less time he spent inside, the less he would think about her. JJ had initially approached his father with a coy smile on his face, handing the man the money he stole from the drug dealer. His father seemed happy and, for the first time in years, actually praised his son. Now, his smile faded as he watched his father stuff the money into a canister.

"I'm gonna take this south and triple it..." He trailed off, his mind in all different sorts of places. It was clear he was still drunk.

"Dad, that's my bail money I owe you." JJ pleaded, his eyes filled with worry. Your heart broke as JJ's father walked straight to JJ, gripping onto his collar.

"What'd you say boy?" He yelled, pushing JJ away from him. "You are nothing! Always getting in trouble. Wish you were never born."

JJ had heard these phrases before. His father was a predictable man and used the same insults. Before, they rarely affected JJ, mostly because his father was drunk. Now, however, it was different. The words were the same but the feeling they gave JJ was different. It had been so long since any parental figure had shown him even a small amount of love and he was getting tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. This time, when his father called him nothing, it stirred a type of rage JJ had never felt before.

By the time JJ realized he was fed up, you had enough as well. You had only heard this come out of his father’s mouth once and yet it already affected you. You couldn’t imagine how JJ could handle all these years. He had more self control than you thought. You were about to step in and take the pressure away from JJ but before you could do so, JJ lunges at his father, pushing him through the screen barrier around the door. The sound of both of their bodies ripping through the material makes a loud noise and you gasp. Although that sound scared you, the sound of JJ's body hitting the grass makes you scream. You push the screen door open and run to JJ who is on top of his dad, punching him viciously.

"JJ!" You scream, trying to pull your boyfriend off his father.

All JJ sees is red and he doesn't even hear your screaming. Tears stream down his face and he continues to punch his father. "I'm not a failure! You did this to me!"

He continues his assault on his father, only once allowing him to get the upper hand and giving him a few good punches to the mouth and sides. JJ had learned how to take the pain. For years, his father beat him and after a while he built up a resistance to the abuse. Now, he barely felt the punches his dad lay into him, only concentrating on punching his dad as hard as he could.

Only when you grab onto his fist, blocking him from punching his father again, does his mind clear and he realizes what he's done. He falls back, watching as his father crawl away from him. You wrap your arms around his body, asking him if he's hurt but he doesn't answer. He looks down at his hands and looks in horror as he sees his father's blood all over his knuckles.

"JJ, are you hurt?" You ask again, cupping his face. He only shakes his head, his eyes still on his father. His father has gotten up from his place on the ground and now moves in front of you and JJ.

"Get rid of her before anything happens." JJ's father taunts, a beer bottle in his hands. You gasp in horror and wonder if JJ’s dad tried to hit him with a beer bottle. He walks past the both of you, not bothering to make eye contact with you. "Us Maybank men only hurt our women."

You don't know what to do. You heard the horror stories. You knew, to some extent, how terrible of a father JJ's dad was but never this. You try to ignore the man and look back to JJ, who seems to be zoned out. He's grasping his hands together and whispering to himself. You're scared. JJ's never like this and now that he seems to have broken entirely.

"JJ..." You call, trying to wake up from this nightmare.

JJ shakes his head, pushing you off him. This action hurts you and knowing the words his father has said really has cut him deeply. JJ shakes his head, getting up from the floor without your help. He winces as he does so, his father getting in some good punches before JJ got the upper hand. You follow behind him and call out to him but he ignores you. He can't seem to shake the words his dad said to him about all the Maybank men hurting the women they love. That was more true the more JJ thought about it. His grandfather drove his grandmother to drink which ended up killing her. They were never perfect and constantly arguing. When JJ's parents gave him to his grandparents for the weekend so they could party, JJ thought it would be a break from all the fighting his parents did but he was wrong. And his mother... She was gone because of his father. All the women in the Maybank family had bad endings and JJ couldn't do that to Y/N. She deserved better. She was better.

"Where are you going?" You asked as you watched slip on his sneakers.

"Don't follow me." JJ grumbled, tears threatening to spill. Although he didn't want to leave Y/N, he knew it was for the best. He couldn't ruin her life. He never wanted his dad’s words to affect him so much but his father’s words had planted a seed in JJ’s mind and it was growing in seconds.

"Is this because of what your dad said?" You follow after JJ, watching as he clutches his stomach. Before he can walk farther away, you run in front of him and place your hand on his chest, stopping him from walking too far away. "JJ?"

JJ can't bring himself to look at you. "You shouldn't have seen that."

You shrug. "It's okay. I did and I love you."

JJ's head snaps up, glaring at you. "Stop." He hates that you’re being so supportive right now. All he wants for you to do is to leave.

Your face contorts in confusion. "JJ -"

JJ pushes you away and walks past you. "No, leave me alone."

You stand in awe, watching as he walks farther and farther away from you. Finally, you feel the tears bead down your face and you realize that JJ has just broken up with you. A hand goes to your temple, the confusion giving you a headache. JJ just broke up with you and you don't even know why.

Kie was the only person you could talk to. Sarah was with John B. and you knew the second you vented to Sarah with John B. around, it would get back to JJ. The last thing you wanted JJ to know was that you were getting advice about him to someone else. Kie was friends with him but you trusted her more with keeping secrets. You found her at the Wreck with Pope. The second they saw you enter, they knew something was wrong. You didn’t have to say much. The second you sat down beside Kie, Pope excused himself so the two of you could be alone. You had kept most of your tears from falling. Your entire walk from JJ’s house to the Wreck consisted of you trying your best not to look like a crying mess. The second Kie asked you what was wrong, however, you began to cry. You barely got two words out before you began to weep. Kie let you cry and only held you as you did so. When you calmed down, you finally spoke and told her what was going on. You told her about the fight and JJ’s reaction afterwards and she said nothing, not interrupting you once. When you finally finished, she took a few moments to think of the right response before speaking.

“I hate JJ’s dad.” Kie scoffed, making you smile.

“Yeah, he sucks.” You agreed.

“JJ loves you,” Kie begins, holding onto your hand. “I know. He’s never been like this with any girl. If he’s got any sense, he’ll realize how stupid he’s been.”

You nod. “What about his dad?”

Kie shakes her head. “He’ll never change, but he should not be ruining his son’s life. He’s already ruined it enough.”

You place your head in your hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Be there for him. Even if he doesn’t think he needs you, he does. Wait it out for today. By tonight, you should talk to him.” Kie explains, patting your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

You stand up, looking to the kitchen where Pope is acting as if he heard nothing. You almost want to smile because of how adorable Pope is acting. You finally look back to Kie, nodding to her. “So, can I help you guys with anything before we meet with Sarh and John B. tonight?”

Kie stands up beside you, smiling. “Of course you can.”

All things considered, the tasks Kie and Pope had to do were not complicated. Kie would go to the nearest Home Reno store and buy all of the equipment she could afford, while Pipe would go to his father’s dock and get the more expensive equipment for free. You decided to tag along with Kie instead of Pope, the sole reason being that Pope would have to sweet talk his dad into giving him the equipment and you being there would raise a lot of suspicion. You and Kie drove to the Reno store in her parent’s car, listening to music and talking intermittently. After she had consoled you, things between the two of you seemed way more mellow. It seemed like you were closer and without Sarah around as often, you couldn’t be more happy you had another girl to talk to.

When you pulled into the parking lot, you and Kie were happy to see that the lot was virtually empty. It was still mid morning so you both expected it to slow, but you were still pleased it was so deserted. It would look very suspicious to see two teenage girls buying rope, pulleys, and hammers so the less people saw, the better. Too many people gossiped in Figure 8.

“Let’s get to it,” Kie smirked at you, walking into the first aisle. You followed after her, unsure of where to go since you had never stepped foot into this store before. You had been to the Home Depot only a few blocks away but that place was way smaller and the signs were easier to read. Now, you blindly followed Kie as she guided through each aisle, looking for the items you needed.

“How long do you think it needs to be?” You asked, extending your hands as Kie made you hold one side of the rope as she measured it.

Kie shrugged, grabbing a pair of pliers and cutting it abruptly. “Hopefully this is enough.”

Slowly but surely you both made your way around the store, now pushing a cart that held the long rope and hammers. It had been easy to find the large hammers; they had their own section. Unfortunately, the pulleys were not as easy. Soon, five minutes turned into ten and you realized that neither Kie or you knew where they were kept.

“Do we need them?” You asked, pushing the cart beside Kie as she glanced through the next aisle.

She shrugged. “Last time, we pulled John B. down but our hands were burning. It would be easier if we had a pulley.”

You nodded, imagining a tired Kie pulling John B., who was definitely yelling at her to hurry up. The scene you conjured in your mind was hilarious to you and when you giggled, Kie looked at you with a puzzled look on her face. You could tell she was about to question what you were laughing at but before she could, someone spoke from behind the both of you.

“Y/N?”

Your blood turned cold, the hair on the nape of your neck standing up. With a defiant look on your face (scared to show that you were surprised), you turned around and came face to face with Topper and Rafe. Both were dressed like asshole frat boys, black helmets in their hands. You knew they both rode motorcycles, only adding to their ego. Last time you had seen Rafe, he had broken into your home and now, although you were scared, you were more angry. Although, in that moment when you were hiding with JJ, you never thought of punching him but now you did. The blood rushed to your face, thinking of grabbing the nearest hammer in your cart and using it.

“Hi.” You glumly said, watching as Kie stood beside you, defiant just like you.

“Where’s my sister?” Rafe asked, stepping closer to you and Kie.

You shrugged. “Off with her boyfriend.”

You could hear Topper scoff from beside Rafe. “That thing is still going on?”

You felt a surge of confidence, wanting to defend Sarah. “Hi Topper. Still jealous?” Topper glared at you, saying nothing. You both knew he was but he wasn’t about to admit that to you. You looked back to Rafe, your eyes narrowed. “What do you want from her?”

Rafe chuckled, glancing at Kie and rolling his eyes. “We know you idiots stole money from Barry.”

You frowned, pretending to be oblivious. You were not about to rat out JJ, even if you were on a break. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Topper scoffed again, this time speaking. “What are you guys doing with these Pogues anyways?”

You glared at Topper. “Maybe because they don’t dress as if they’re frat boys from the early 2000s.”

Kie chuckled from beside you, mumbling a thank you. Topper only rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Topper was not quick witted enough to have a good comeback so he stayed quiet, looking to Rafe.

“What’s this I hear about you and Maybank?” Rafe asks, stepping closer to you. Topper stayed put, knowing the both of you were about to have an uncomfortable conversation.

You shrugged, trying not to show how the mention of JJ hurt you. “Why do you care?”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because a few weeks ago you were my girlfriend and now you’re with some nobody.”

This time you scoffed. “For a nobody, you sure are interested.” You pause for a moment and, without allowing Raf to rebuttal, you spoke again. “I’d like my key back.”

Rafe’s brows contorted in confusion but then shot up in surprise. You could see he was trying to control how he reacted but your comment had surprised him so much that he seemed flabbergasted. “How -”

“How did I know you were sneaking into my house like a stalker?” You cut him off, watching as his face turned bright red. Topper seemed just as shocked as him, clearly not knowing that Rafe was sneaking into your house. “I just do. Leave the key on my porch.”

You heard Kie giggle from beside you. You looked at her and smiled. She was the first to turn around and you followed after her, not bothering to look back at Rafe and Topper, both of whom remained quiet since you spoke. When you both were far enough away, Kie was the first to speak.

“What the hell Y/N?” Kie chuckled, pushing the cart into the next aisle.

You pointed forward, finally spotting the pulleys laying on the shelf in all their glory. “I didn’t know I had that in me.”

You were right; you had no idea. But you were slowly realizing, with the help of your new friends, that you were capable of more than you thought.

Once all of your items were paid for, you took the liberty of driving back to the Wreck. Pope had said by the time you and Kiara drove back, he would probably already be there. He didn’t think it would take long to convince his dad to use his equipment, even if it was for one night. Pope had promised the two of you that it would be, in his words, ‘easy as pie.’ All Pope had to do was tell a small lie; a seemingly easy thing for a teenager to do. Yet, as you parked beside the Wreck, Kie pointed out what you already suspected.

“He’s not here.”

You nodded, not bothering to unbuckle your seatbelt. There was no point to exit Kie’s car if Pope wasn’t here yet. Kie followed you, not moving to unbuckle her seatbelt either. “Should we go see if he’s still with his dad?”

Kie shrugged, watching the Wreck through her window. “Probably.”

You smiled, putting her car in reverse. “So much for ‘easy as pie.’” You chided, glancing at Kie and watching her smirk.

As you drive to Mr. Heyward’s dock, a place Kie said he usually was at, Kie and you stayed silent. It wasn’t an awkward silence like the ones you shared with her before. Now that she was friends with Sarah again, you both felt at ease with each other. As you drove, your mind wandered to JJ. You really tried not to think about him but every time you tried to divert your mind somewhere else, it went straight back to him. It was almost as if your brain was trying to tell you to confront your feelings head on. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

As much as you hated it, your mind went to a certain memory. The midsummer festival where you finally got to know JJ. You remembered how you felt that night. That night, you weren’t sure what it was let alone describe it but now you knew. Enchantment. You were completely enchanted to meet him. He was never your first choice for a boyfriend but the more you got to know him, the more you realized he was the only choice that mattered. He was more than anyone gave him credit for. So many people in Figure 8 saw him as a womanizing blonde with an ego the size of Russia, but he was more than that. He was caring. He cared so deeply about his friends, taking the fall so that Pope’s future wouldn’t be threatened. He was patient. He understood my caution and didn’t rush me. He seemed to care too much about what people thought of him, even if he would never admit it. He cared if Kie or Pope were upset with him. He cared that people saw you both as a weird couple since he was a Pogue and you were a Kook. JJ Maybank had more heart than anyone on OBX and you were so glad you gave him a chance. But now, it might be all gone because of JJ’s father. He had put that doubt in JJ’s mind and you could only hope JJ would soon realize he didn’t need to protect you from himself.

“You okay?” Kie asked, breaking you away from your thoughts.

You pulled the car over, making sure the car was properly parked before you answered. “Yeah. Just distracted.”

Kie nodded. “I know you have a lot in your mind.” She started, waiting until you were both out of the car before she continued. When you met back up in front of her car, she spoke. “We’ll see JJ in a few hours.”

You don’t say anything, only looking across the boardwalk. You knew what Mr. Heyward’s boat looked like, seeing JJ and Pope drive it on the ocean a few times. Although you had trouble spotting Pope and his dad, Kie spotted them right away. In moments, she pointed to the left side of the dock. You followed her finger, your eyes finally landing on Pope and his dad who seemed to be in an awkward conversation.

“Should we wait?” You cautiously asked, watching as she didn’t even answer your question and instead walked past you and towards Pope and his dad. You shrugged, following Kie even though you were sure intervening in Pope’s conversation with his father would only bring agony.

The closer you got to Pope and his father, the more you were able to listen to their conversation. At first, it was all mumbles but when you were six feet away from them, you could hear the confusion in Mr. Heyward’s voice.

“No way Pope.” He grumbled, loading bags onto his boat.

“Hi Mr. Heyward.” Kie spoke politely as she approached the two men.

Mr. Heyward glanced towards Kie and smiled. At first, he did not see you but the second you did you wish he hadn’t. His face instantly fell and he scrambled to wipe his hands on his pants. He seemed a little flustered and you were embarrassed because you knew why. Your father regularly picked up groceries from the trips Mr. Heyward went on all over OBX. Your dad spent a lot of money on Mr. Heyward’s groceries so you knew Mr. Heyward was confused as to why you were with Kie. You were even more embarrassed when he extended his hand, a polite smile on his face. To be kind, you shook it briefly.

“Hello Mr. Heyward.” You finally said, watching as a confused look crossed over both Pope and Kie’s face.

“Hello Y/N. What can I do for you?” He smiles, looking at Pope.

Pope shrugged, glancing at you. “She’s hanging out with us dad.”

Mr. Heyward frowned, scratching his head. “I see. I didn’t know you were friends.”

Pope frowned. “She’s dating JJ.”

Mr. Heyward looked even more confused, almost startled. You got this a lot. In the weeks since you started dating JJ, you had told a total of two people including your mom and dad. They had the exact same reaction as Mr. Heyward. Although they were confused as to why you would date a Pogue, they dare not say anything to you. As long you were happy, they didn’t dare to voice their opinion. It didn’t help that their faces scrunched up like they just bit into a lemon every time you mentioned JJ though.

“I see.” Mr. Heyward said cautiously, trying not to show his surprise but failing. “Now, Pope has told me that you plan to help him with his project for his scholarship and you need some materials. Is that true?”

You nod sweetly, glancing at Pope who was biting his nails. You wanted to roll your eyes. If he was acting that anxious as he lied to his dad, no wonder Mr. Heyward was so suspicious. “Yes sir.”

Mr. Heyward nodded at you and then looked at Kie who had the same fake smile on her face. “That true Kiara?”

Kie nodded nonchalantly, clearly better at lying than Pope. You figured anyone else was better at lying than Pope. “Yep.”

Mr. Heyward’s eyes narrowed, not entirely believing you all but deciding to do so anyway. “Fine, get it and go.”

Pope laughed, clapping his hands together. “Ah, thanks dad.”

You bid Mr. Heyward a polite farewell; you and Kie sweetly smiled until you both turned around. Pope followed slowly behind you, dragging the harnesses and helmets in a brown sack. As you all walked, he tried to call after you and Kie but you both ignored him. When you guys finally approached Kie's car, you were the first to turn around and watch as Pope continued to drag the sack behind you. After minutes of watching him struggle, he approached the both of you, his breath heaving.

“Thanks for the help.” He grumbled, throwing the sack onto the floor in front of Kie who was now slowly turning around. You could tell she desperately wanted to laugh at Pope and she was trying so hard to control herself.

“If you knew how to lie, we wouldn’t be here.” You teased, a smirk adorned across your lips.

Finally, Kie let out a breathy laugh and soon you joined in. Both you and Kie could no longer control yourself and soon you were both laughing hysterically at Pope. At first, he was not smiling but the longer you both laughed, the bigger his smile became. Soon enough, all three of you began to laugh together as if you hadn’t been lying two minutes ago.

In that moment, you never felt closer to Kie and Pope.

After the eventful afternoon you, Kie and Pope had, you all decided to head back to the Wreck for some food. You had promised each other that it would only be for an hour at the most. You had wanted to go back to John B.’s house where you knew JJ would be and you wanted to try and talk to him one last time. Unfortunately, you lost track of time and before you knew it, Kie was on her fifth story and this time it was about how she was almost bitten by a shark. The sun was setting and you had been there for hours, laughing and talking as your new friends entertained you.

“I swear!” Kie yelled, placing her hand over her heart.

You shook your head, indignant. “No way.”

Pope nodded along with you. “You might think you can fool Y/N, but I know that never happened.”

Kie chuckled, taking a sip from her glass that was half full of her third glass of lemonade. “I swear to you guys. That shark almost bit me. Got away within an inch of my life.”

You and Pope looked at each other and dramatically rolled your eyes. You spoke first, teasing Kie. “Are there even sharks in Figure 8?”

Pope nodded, pointing at you. “Y/N’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shark in Figure 8.”

Kie shrugged, taking a bite out of a french fry before speaking. “Well, it might’ve not been a shark -”

“I knew it!” Pope interrupted. Kie gasped at his interruption and threw the half eaten french fry at him.

“Well it definitely looked like a shark!” Kie defended herself, reaching for another french fry.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. As Pope and Kie lightly argued about Kie’s fabrication, you looked over your shoulder and watched as the sun set. The sky was a huey purple tonight with a hint of orange. You loved the sunsets in Figure 8.They seemed so peaceful and serene, something the other side of OBX rarely displayed. Although technically the other side of OBX was supposed to show people the lap of luxury, the atmosphere showed a different side. Yes, everyone was rich but they were also very unhappy. You envied Kie and Pope, although you would never tell them. You knew that they would laugh and ask you what there was to be jealous of when you lived in such a beautiful house. Although that may be true, your home never felt as cozy and warm as the places here. Here, there seemed to be a true sense of family. Neighbours seemed to look out for one another while in your neighbourhood, you weren’t sure if you ever met your neighbours.

“Hey,” Kie called out to you softly, touching your shoulder.

You shook your head slightly, trying to break away from your thoughts to listen to what she had to say. “Yeah?”

“Let’s go see JJ.” Kie gave you a polite smile, almost trying to comfort you. You knew it was because JJ was still a sensitive subject.

Surprisingly, you didn’t protest. As much as you wanted to stay here for a little longer, you knew that you would have to talk to JJ eventually. Besides, when you all met up to get the gold tomorrow, you knew you had to talk to him then. He was unavoidable so you decided might as well get it over with. Kie decided it was best for her to drive to John B.’s house. Pope was a terrible driver and she could tell you were way too nervous to stay focused right now. You wished that it wasn’t true but you knew Kie was right. Even as Kie drove, your mind was in a million different places and you realized Kie was right in not allowing you to drive. Another thing you had to thank her for.

The sun had fully set and now was dark, making the drive to John B.’s house a little more risky. Thankfully Kie had made it there in one piece. You thought your heart would beat out of your chest as Kie parked in John B.’s driveway. With a deep breath, you opened the passenger side door and climbed out. Pope, Kie and you all congregated near the trunk of Kie’s car and started to whisper to each other. You weren’t exactly sure why you all were whispering but you didn’t bother to question it.

“Where are we putting everything?” Kie asked, peering over the trunk and looking at all of the equipment they had successfully retrieved.

“Sh.” Pope shushed Kie, only upsetting her.

“Excuse me?” She whipped her head around to Pope, glaring at him.

At first, you were going to give Pope an earful but then you heard it too and you found yourself shushing Kie as well. “Shh.”

Kie looked puzzled as you shushed her but when everything went quiet, she heard it as well. It was bubbles. The noise a machine would make when it was producing bubbles. You peered over the side of John B.’s house and found a trail of lights leading to the backyard. You didn’t know who was there but whoever was there, but it sounded as if they were in a hot tub.You didn’t know if John B. had money but you were sure he couldn’t afford a hot tub.

“What’s that?” Pope whispered, looking in the direction you were looking in only moments before.

Before anyone could give him an answer, Kie ran forward and towards the sound. Apprehensive, you ran alongside her while Pope was the last one to run. As he trailed behind, both you and Kie got closer to John B.’s backyard and, soon enough, entered his backyard. What you saw stunned you.

“What did you do JJ?” Pope asked first, standing in front of his friend.

JJ was, in all his glory, sitting inside a hot tub. With small lights dangling above his head, he relaxed in a newly bought hot tub. It was the largest hot tub you had ever seen, bigger than the ones at pools. JJ had placed floaties shaped as swans and flamingos inside the hot tub along with floating glasses filled to the brim with champagne. He had a shit eating grin on his face but hid his eyes behind glasses. When you all stood in front of him, he finally slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose and smirked as he observed each and every one of you. When his eyes gotto you, you could instantly see how drunk he was.

He chuckled, looking at Pope. “I got a jet going straight to my butt right now.” Pope sighed, JJ’s response not really answering his original question. Just as he was about to speak again, JJ did instead. “Y’all should get in immediately. Ya hear?” JJ slurred his words, pouring himself another glass of champagne. He thought out a pathetic ‘salut’ before gulping down the glass of champagne.

You stood there dumbfounded.You had been to parties where JJ was shit faced but he never was like this. He was aggressive all the other times you had seen him drunk but now he just seemed pitiful.

Pope looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “How much did this cost?”

JJ grabbed the entire bottle and chugged it before responding. “Uh, well, with the generator, the petrol and, oh hey, express delivery,” he started, pretending to calculate the amount in his mind. You watched as Kie’s shoulders dropped and her head tilted back in despair. He had used so much of that money. Your hands went to your mouth, hanging off every word and hoping that he hadn’t spent all of it. “Pretty much all of it. Yeah.”

Pope’s mouth hung open as did Kie’s. You refused to react, still in total shock. “All of it?” Pope angrily said back to JJ, confirming his worst fears.

JJ smirked, avoiding eye contact with you. “Yeah, all of it.” He almost seemed proud.

“You spent all the money in one day?” Pope said in disbelief, clasping his hands together.

JJ nodded, his head bouncing back and forth. He was hammered and everyone knew it. “Yeah. Burned a hole right through my pocket. But I mean, like, c’mon guys, like, look at this? Finest in jet based massage therapy. That’s what they told me.”

You looked to Kie but she was staring at JJ, her mouth still hung wide open. JJ seemed to notice her facial expression the same time you did because he turned his attention to her. “Kie what? Can’t a man have a little luxury in life? C’mon,” JJ asked, his tone shifting to anger. He took off his glasses before he continued. “All this scrimping and scraping, I mean guys, you only live once. Right?”

“JJ -” You said, the emotion evident in your tone. His cheek was black and blue along with his right eye. The beating he received in the morning was now turning to nasty bruises.

“Stop!” JJ looked at you and yelled. “You always get what you want. Am I not allowed to get the one thing I want? Enough of this emotional shit, get in the cat’s ass.”

Kie finally spoke, her voice just above a whisper. “The what?”

JJ smiled at his joke, which made no sense to any of you. “The cat’s ass. That’s what I named her.” He stopped for a minute but then his eyes lit up again and he reached over the hot tub and grabbed something. “Oh, hey yo, I almost forgot.” He pushed a button and suddenly, a disco ball that hung from a strung above him turned on and water started sputtering out from all sides of the hot tub. “Huh? Yeah, that’s right, disco mode.”

“Are you kidding me?” Pope began to lecture, the most angry you had ever seen him. “You could’ve paid for restitution.”

“Or literally given it to any charity!” Kie butted in, just as angry as Pope was.

“Or better yet, you could’ve helped us buy some of the supplies to get the rest of the gold out of the well!” Pope added, pointing to the truck that had all of your supplies.

JJ rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly distraught over Kie and Pope’s anger. “Ok! Well you know what?” JJ yelled over the sound of the jets, finally standing up. You gasped as you saw his abdomen but he continued to speak. “I didn’t do that! I got a hot tub!”

“Oh my god, JJ.” You whimpered, stepping forward to get a better look. If you had thought his face was badly bruised, his abdomen was a thousand times worse. There were nasty black and blue splotches all of his stomach where his father had punched him. You knew his father had gotten some good punches in but you never thought they would be this bad.

“For my friends. A hot tub for my friends. You know what? Screw friends. I got it for my family.” JJ softly said the last part, almost as if he felt weak. He looked to you finally and you saw the emotion in his eyes. “I got it for my girl.”

“JJ, I -” Kie started to say, all of the anger suddenly gone from her face and was replaced with worry.

“Look what I did.” JJ said, turning around in one spot and looking at the entirety of the hot tub. “Look what I did for you. Alright? Look at this.”

You looked to Kie as JJ’s back was turned to you and you saw her eyes brim with tears. As if she could read your mind, she looked at you and you both started to cry together. As the tears rolled down your face, JJ turned back around.

“JJ…” Kie started again, a tear sliding down her face.

“No, stop.” JJ held his hand out, pleading with her to stop crying. “Stop being emotional, it’s fine.” But it wasn’t. The second he reassured Kie it was fine, he looked down to the water and you watched as JJ himself started to cry.

You couldn’t watch this anymore. Without allowing JJ to have time to push you away, you climbed into the hot tub and lunged at him, hugging him as tightly as you could. He instantly hugged you back, forgetting about the last day and weeping into your shoulder. Kie was right behind you and hugged him on the other side. Pope was after Kie and before long, you were all hugging each other.

“I can’t take him anymore!” JJ cried into your shoulder, leaning against you.

You stroked his hair and tried to comfort him the best you could. Kie and Pope helped you, patting him on the back and hugging him tight. No one spoke as JJ cried, not exactly knowing what to say. You stayed there for what seemed like hours. It was enough time for the jets to turn off automatically and then the only noise was JJ’s weeping. He weeped for a long time but no one stopped hugging him. You wouldn’t let yourself let go. You couldn’t let go. He was in so much pain and he had always tried to cover it up the best he could but now all his walls are crumbling. Finally, he seemed to calm down and stop crying. When you were sure he was calm enough, you all let go of him. Pope was the first one to exit the hot tub and Kie was the second. Finally, you and JJ exited together. Kie ran to her car to grab a towel to dry JJ off as you and Pope guided him to the hammock near the water. When Kie returned with the towel, you silently thanked her and wrapped it around JJ. It seemed like ages before anyone spoke. You, along with Pope and Kie, had I idea what to say to JJ. There seemed to be nothing good enough to say so, for a very long time, you all said nothing.

Finally, JJ spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Kie said, looking at you.

You, Kie and Pope looked at him, almost surprised JJ was apologizing. Kie sat on the ground in front of JJ as you sat beside him and Pope stood beside Kie.

“I do.” JJ mumbled, his voice hoarse. “I spent that money when I should’ve never stolen it in the first place.”

You rubbed JJ's arm, consoling him gently. “It’s okay. Besides, I like the hot tub better.”

Everyone seemed to smile as you joked. Even JJ gave you a small smile. As the giggled died down, it became quiet between all of you again. This type of quiet, you had never experienced. It was almost as if there was so much to discuss, everyone just decided it was better not to say anything.

Finally, JJ spoke. “I’m kinda tired. Can we all just go to sleep and start all over again tomorrow?”

You looked to Kie and Pope who were already nodding. When you looked back to JJ, he was only looking at you. You nodded along with Kie and Pope. Although you still wanted to talk toJJ about what happened, you knew he deserved to rest.

As you all got situated for the night; Kie bringing blankets from John B.’s house to his backyard and Pope draining the hot tub, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not over.

You had not lay your head down for more than five minutes before you were woken by the sound of someone rustling around. Your eyes flew open, not at all tired. Although your day was tiring, you couldn’t sleep. There was too much on your mind. You sat up from your place laying on the blanket and looked around to see where JJ was. He was no longer beside you. Your heart dropped.Your mind instantly went to the worst case scenario as you imagined where JJ could be.

You got up from your place on the floor and made your way inside John B.’s house, where you hoped JJ would be. The second you entered his home, you saw a light in his kitchen on and smiled. Your heart relaxed a little. You knew you couldn’t completely relax until you knew where JJ was. As you made your way down the hall, you kept your eyes out for any noise signalling where JJ could be. Finally, you heard a sigh coming from the last room on the right hand side of the hallway. Slowly, you opened the door to see a quiet JJ sitting on the edge of John B.’s bed with a book in his hands.

“JJ?” You whispered, trying not to startle him.

JJ looks to you and weakly smiles, closing the book in front of him and placing it on John B.’s nightstand. “Hey.”

You move across the room slowly and sit beside him, reaching out to hold his hand. “How are you?”

JJ shrugged. “I’m tired but I can’t seem to sleep. Does that even make sense?”

You smile, nodding at him. “Yes.” You both stay quiet for a moment but soon your curiosity has peaked and you need to know the answer to a question you have. “What’s that?” You ask, pointing to the book JJ had put on the nightstand.

JJ smiles when he sees what you’re pointing at. It’s almost as if there is a memory tied to that book and you start to think there is. “JB’s journal.” JJ answers, watching as you smirk, surprised at the answer.

“Didn’t know John B. journaled.” You admitted, glancing at the book again before looking back at JJ.

JJ nodded, grabbing your legs and letting them drape across his. “Not anymore. Kid gave up after two weeks.There’s only a couple entries before he dad went missing and they talk about our stupid antics.”

You raise your brows, nodding happily. “I’m very familiar with those.”

JJ smirked, reaching up to cup your face. “Speaking of stupid,” he started, sighing a little before continuing. “I’m sorry for what happened this morning. I let my dad -”

“JJ,” You cut him off, not allowing him to apologize. “You don’t need to.”

“No,” JJ argued, now both of his hands cupping your face. “I do. I let my dad get into my head and ruin things for me.”

“But JJ, what you put up with is far too much.” You argue right back, making JJ smile at your stubbornness. “I want you to know you can come to me.”

JJ nodded, letting go of your face and standing up, your legs falling back beside the bed. JJ extended his hand out to help you up and you gladly reached out even though you didn’t need his help getting up. When you were standing, JJ did not let go of your hand and instead guided you out of John B.’s room and down the hall.

“JJ,” You whispered, letting him lead the way because you truly had no idea where you were going. “Where are we going?”

Suddenly JJ stopped and opened another door to another room. With only a smile on his face, he nudged you inside and followed behind you. When you realized what room you were in,you couldn’t help the smile on your face. You were in a closet. The deja vu hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Y/N…” JJ whispered, getting your attention.

When you looked at him, he leaned forward and captured your lips in his. At first, you were taken aback and didn’t react but you quickly recovered and kissed him back. You thought back to the word you used to describe how JJ made you feel; enchanted. It was like the first time all over again. It was always like the first time with JJ. You wondered, years from now, if the kisses would feel the same. You knew they would because it was different with JJ.

Finally, when you pulled apart, JJ spoke. “I love you so much it hurts.”

You smile wide, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I can’t explain how much I love you.”

JJ smiled just as wide and you and pulled you close.He smelled wonderful. He smelled like home. “Promise me, no matter what, we’re gonna be together.”

You nodded confidently. “No matter what.”

You both were not aware of the future and what it would bring. You didn’t know of the things John B. would find out in the morning on his boat ride with Ward. You didn’t know about what you all would have to do for John B. tomorrow, including evading the police. But even if you did know, your promise would have never changed. Because in the end, it was always going to be you and JJ.

The End.

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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ISN’T THIS NICE | MILO & DANI

PLACE: The Summers family home TIMING: 9:12 PM SUMMARY: Dani sees another chance to put Milo out of his misery, only the setting is far less than ideal WRITING PARTNER: @surmamort CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of addiction, alcoholism

Realistically Milo had always known that returning to his parents’ house was inevitable, something he needed to do. But returning so soon after his death felt stupid, and reckless. Not in the way he usually enjoyed. Two months had passed, and he was still being battered by calls, and texts from his mom, asking if he was okay, demanding he come home to his family, insisting he should be in a rehab facility, and not carelessly roaming the streets. If the Summers still hadn’t taken the hint, then him showing up on their doorstep was only going to complicate trying to cut them out of his life. That being said, he wanted his wardrobe, he wanted his comic books. He missed the things in his life that inherently made up Milo, and most of them were here. Night was only just beginning to fall, he had taken a chance in arriving early. It was very possible both of his parents were at the hospital, but also very possible they were already at home together. Without breaking into the garage to look for their cars, he really had no way of knowing. There were no lights shining from the front of the house, but the office they shared was towards the back of the building. If they were working from home, he was only going to find out when it was too late to turn back. He had tried to listen for heartbeats, breathing, shuffling papers, literally anything that might give away their presence. But apparently he had overestimated his abilities. It was why, after hesitating on the porch for more than a few minutes, he eventually let himself into the house.

Carefully closing the door to avoid making any sound, when he turned to face the hall it was dark, and shadowy. Despite that, he was able to see everything. Every shape, every detail, every pattern, every surface. It seemed each time he felt as though he might be getting used to what he was, the universe liked to send him pointed reminders of just how weird things had become. Eyeing the table beside the door, there were keys in the bowl, and the faint smell of his mom’s perfume seemed to linger in the air. It was accompanied by the scent of air fresheners, and the polish his dad used to clean the glass frames hanging above the staircase, proudly displaying his varying degrees. It was familiar, but overwhelmingly so. Like his entire childhood was being pressed down upon him, every smell, every item, every memory he had in this room… almost too much. Almost enough to make him turn around and leave. Glancing up towards the mezzanine level, he wondered if he would be able to make it to his bedroom without being seen. If he only focused on his stealth, if he tried to utilise his new agility, then it might be possible. He had done it before on many occasions. Hell, he had done it drunk. It didn’t feel like too much of a stretch, but so many of these expeditions required outright luck. And he wasn’t sure luck had been on his side, as of late.

Just get in, and get out, he thought, swiping a ten dollar bill and a handful of change from beside the key bowl, slipping them into his pocket as he made a hurried mental note of the items he wanted to take. Clothes, as many as he could fit, a handful of his favourite comics, if he could find his dad’s prescription book then a few blank prescriptions certainly wouldn’t hurt, and his laptop. In and out. You can do this. Swallowing the strange sense of anxiety in his chest, he tried not to think about how close he was to his mom, about how much he missed her, and began to make his way towards the staircase. His foot had barely connected with the first step before he heard the front door beginning to open. His senses on high alert, he spun with unnatural speed, freezing in place as he waited for his dad to enter the room, to catch him in the act as he made an effort to avoid the very people who had raised him, who had supported him over the years. Only, he realised almost immediately that it wasn’t his father. It was Dani. Dani who had tried to kill him more than once now, Dani who wanted him dead, Dani who had followed him into his family home. She was moving as slowly and as swiftly as he had been, clearly attempting to catch him off guard, and he felt a sudden surge of anger course through him. If she wanted to hurt him there was nothing he could do about it, but she was trespassing, she was on his parents’ property, bringing her toxicity, and aggression into the home they had both grown up in. It filled him with rage. How could she taint this space after everything? How was she expecting to look his parents in the eye knowing she had tried to kill their son in the entryway of their home? Glaring at her silently, his expression an equal mixture of shock, and frustration, he threw out a hand to stop her where she stood, doing everything he could to keep his voice low so that nobody would hear him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He hissed. “Don’t do this, Dani. Not here.”

Dani rarely had nightmares. Despite the horrors that crept in and out of her life, she rarely held onto them with her heart. Every moment was a chance for collapse if she didn’t get her head on straight. There was no point in being scared. Being scared meant being vulnerable. However, the way that the tide ripped her apart, the feeling of being dragged over the river bottom’s surface-- the feeling of suffocation. It woke her up every night, and it continued to be just as jarring as the moments she had experienced it. Dani had been up against plenty of different monsters, but none of them had created a rag doll of her the way that the combination of the water and the selkie had. It made her stomach churn thinking about it.

So Dani decided to go on a walk. The moon was nowhere to be seen in the sky, but there were plenty of stars. The street lights flickered, but were bright enough to aid Dani’s already superior night vision. However, as she crossed the street, planning on going deeper into the neighborhood, movement caught her eye. She saw him, and she blocked out the part of herself that hoped it wasn’t him, that she had mistaken the stranger for somebody else. But as he slinked into his house, Dani knew that it was him. She froze. What if his parents were home? She couldn’t let him hurt them, even if sometimes they were annoying. They were still humans. Dani sprang into action, following after Milo silently. Just as he had, she slipped through the door.

The sound of his voice was loud against the silence. She looked up at him through the darkness. His tone accusatory, her eyebrows knit themselves together. “You shouldn’t have come back here.” She wished he hadn’t. No, Dani thought to herself, it’s good that you did. The weight of the dagger strapped to her wrist-- wood, bone, and silver dipped into her palm as she flicked her wrist. She gripped it tightly. “I live next door, Milo-- you expect me to just let you go? Even here?” She motioned around them. Despite the fact that she’d hate to kill the Summers’ son in their own home, it needed to be done. He was no longer Milo-- he was a ghost of who he once was. Not even a ghost, a replication with a stilled heart and a thirst for violence that, if he continued on any longer, was bound to unleash. “You can either die here, or you can run and you can die somewhere else. Your choice.” She kept her gaze steady, listening for any noise-- were his parents home?

Why? Milo thought, his rage only growing stronger. Considering he had spent years doing everything he could to avoid the place, he was incredibly offended by being told he should never have returned. “This is my home.” He whispered, a sharp edge to his voice. “You don’t get to tell me I don’t belong here.” Watching her through the darkness, he stayed frozen, avoiding sudden movements in the same way prey might when being observed by a predator. It struck him that their positions really should be reversed. But underneath everything, his indignance, his offense, his anger, his bitterness, he was just as scared as he had been upon waking up a vampire. Just as scared as he had been when Dani first decided to attack him. He was so tired of being scared. He was tired of everything. Worried if he moved before she did, she would use it as an excuse to jump on him, he waited at the bottom of the staircase. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. “I know you live next door,” he snapped. “I didn’t think you’d be watching my fucking house. My parents have nothing to do with this.” Even here? She said it as though the building meant nothing to her, as though they didn’t have a million shared memories inside these walls. There was no fondness, no appreciation for how close they had once been. It meant nothing anymore.

Swallowing his anxiety, he knew she was never going to stop. If she wasn’t successful now, she wouldn’t rest until she had forced a stake through his heart, had watched the life drain out of him, and his body crumble to dust. It made him feel sick. “My choice is for you to realise you’re being the monster here.” The words were strong, and he made it incredibly clear that he meant them. She was going to kill him in his childhood home, she was going to kill him when his parents might be inside the house with them. His Mom was going to vacuum the hall, straighten his father’s degrees, tidy up the clutter, without ever knowing she was standing where he had taken his final breath. His dad was going to drag his golf clubs from the garage to polish them in the living room, was going to kick off his shoes by the front door after a long, and stressful day at work, was going to slip outside in the early hours of the morning to watch the sun rise from the front porch with a coffee, not knowing his only son had died quite literally yards away. “Mom and Dad took care of us!” He continued, unable to help himself. His anger was spilling over, forcing words to escape him. “They took care of you, how could you even think about doing this to them, Dani? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Is it? Is it really?” Dani recalled the number of times that she had begged Milo to come home. The glass bottles acted as wreckage beneath her sneakers as she fought against every instinct to go in and take out the monsters who had taken him from her. If Dani were a different person, then maybe she would have simply knocked Milo out and dragged him back by force. Looking at him now, maybe that’s what she should have done. If she had acted on that impulse, would he still be her Milo? Would he be a healthier version than he had been in the past? Would he still have a heartbeat? His words shake her from her thoughts and she can’t help the laugh that splits from between her lips. “Oh, come on-- I’m not watching your fucking house.” Though, it might have done her some good to do so. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be stupid enough to show back up, especially knowing she was next door. “I saw you go through the front door while I was outside.” She didn’t know why she was reasoning with him-- there was no point in doing so. “No shit your parents have nothing to do with this. It’s not them I’m concerned about. Tell me, do you want to rip out your mother’s throat?” Maybe a little too harsh. This wasn’t her Milo, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

Dani had been used to the excuses that Milo would throw at her. She never allowed herself to be angry with him. Instead, she prided herself on acting as his savior. Dragging him home, or to 24 hour diners in order to help him sober up-- rubbing circles into his back during the worst of it. She remembered the amount of times that she had 911 on speed dial, waiting for the day that she’d find him. Only, she hadn’t. He had been found by somebody else, and now he was this creature, void of life. It was her fault he was like this. She thought back to the moments in the woods, the exact timing that she understood what she had to do. Her recollection did not sway her, but it certainly made things more complicated than what she dealt with in the cemetery, or under any other circumstance. “Do you think they’d love you if they knew what you turned into?” Dani said pointedly, “I don’t think so.” They had still loved him despite his slipping through the cracks-- despite the amount of times he had betrayed them, so who was to say they would look past the monster that he now was? Dani would not wait to find out. She approached him slowly, “you’re going to hurt people-- God only knows how many you’ve hurt already.” She didn’t typically talk down the vampires that she was trying to kill. Instead she’d lunge, wrestle, and kill. Milo was different, and it was excruciating. “I have to do this,” Dani said after a moment, her voice tinted with nothing but anger, “because if I don’t, who will you hurt next?”

Milo didn’t know how to counter the question. Dani was right, technically this hadn’t been his home in a very long time. But he wasn’t about to admit that to her, especially not given the circumstance. He had done so much to get through to her, begged her to understand, sent her texts recounting sentimental memories, given Athena the shirt to pass along… nothing was working, nothing was going to work. If she was willing to do this, here, and now, then it was over. How could he fight for their friendship when it had disintegrated so rapidly? Become so painful, and complicated that thinking about it consumed him with grief... He wasn’t expecting her to deny watching the house, but he also didn’t trust her to be honest with him. So he narrowed his eyes, his chest burning with each unnecessary breath as he fought against the urge to raise his voice. And then she caught him off guard again, causing him to flinch at the mention of hurting his mom. Blinking tears from his eyes, the image was so real, so visceral, that he knew it was going to haunt him. He had a difficult relationship with his parents, but he loved them. More than he could put into words. The idea of seeing either of them in pain was abhorrent, it was unthinkable. “No.” He said quietly, his voice firm, barely louder than a whisper. “But you’re trying to kill her son so don’t tell me you give a shit about her wellbeing.”

Falling silent again, letting her words hit him with the same amount of force she usually reserved for her fists, he didn’t know. He couldn’t answer her. They could never find out what he was, that much had become obvious to him. But a small part of him was desperate to believe they would accept him. They accepted him as gay, they accepted him as somebody who enjoyed using drugs, albiet begrudgingly, and with obvious disappointment. There was no real reason to believe they wouldn’t try to support him through this too. Slowly reaching up to brush away his tears, he didn’t break eye contact, hoping that would stop her from suddenly lunging. And maybe it worked. She didn’t immediately attack, but he noticed her take a careful step towards him. He couldn’t see a weapon, though he knew she had to have one. Where could he go? What could he possibly do to fight back against her? “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was still seething, still fierce, and defiant, despite the overwhelming onslaught of emotion. He didn’t understand why she was apparently so convinced he now lived to attack people, bite people, kill them without hesitation. He had never wanted to do those things before, and yet she assumed his nature had changed. His appetite had, but with Harsh’s help that felt under control. He felt under control. And he cared. The only person he had ever been content with harming had been himself, that was still very much the case. “No, you don’t.” He countered, gripping the banister of the staircase, his knuckles white with the pressure. He could feel his fingertips denting the wood, but he didn’t release his hold. “Who are you going to hurt next?” He asked pointedly, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. They ran down his cheeks, but this time he let them fall. “Milo Summers…” He whispered, his voice cracking as she continued to approach him. “Your friend, Dani. Orion’s friend… Allison, and Oliver’s son.”

Dani knew that if she allowed any part of this to affect her, that it’d be over. She recalled the conversation she had with the hunter in the woods shortly after Milo had escaped. Dani thought about how she had him pinned at the University, only to be thwarted again. Now was her chance. The location was in no shape or form ideal. Of course she didn’t want to kill Milo in his childhood home where his parents would unknowingly walk over his ashes-- of course not. Voicing the fact was another thing. A weakness. Dani’s grip tightened on the dagger as Milo spoke. She let out a cold laugh. “You’re pretending that you’re still her son.” When Dani had first begun to train, she had questions-- plenty of them. Jeanette had done her best to answer them. The texts, too. Other hunters with worn hands and scarred necks spoke their stories. Though Dani wouldn’t consider herself as fearful, it was what they had to say that made her believe in the monstrous things that grew at the roots of White Crest. Milo had sprouted from that very darkness. It was terrible, but Dani didn’t have the time to be sad.

“I’ve lived in this world longer than you have, Milo.” She wanted to add on that it was she who had protected him, as well as his family from it for so long, but her defeat was laid out at his feet. He stood as a monument, embellished in her failures. Dani watched him carefully as he took a step back on the staircase. Oblivious to the way that his hold dented the bannister, Dani shook her head, “My friend died.” Her tone was void of any emotion-- the anger and fear that she held in the quiet moments alone buried deep. She refused to address them, especially when she had him so close. “As far as Rio goes, he’s an idiot.” Dani glanced to her right, picking up a picture frame, chucking it at his head. Hopeful that it’d act as a distraction, she ignored the sound of the glass shattering against the wall and she lunged at him.

Milo continued to watch Dani, blinking away fresh tears as they formed. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he could see her mind working impossibly fast. Only now did he realise she was holding a dagger, and he wondered whether she might be imagining driving it through his chest. Flinching again at the sound of her laughter, her words cut through him, sharp, and cold. Why was it so impossible for her to believe he was still who he once had been? He couldn’t understand her level of blind conviction. “I’m not pretending…” He said, his voice quiet as he tried to resist feeling utterly defeated. He wanted to escape this, he couldn’t afford to lose all hope. For their friendship, maybe. He was beginning to feel that might be inevitable, but not for his continued survival. He had so much to live for. “I know.” He insisted. “But clearly you have as much to learn as I do.” He wasn’t sure why he was still trying, but he couldn’t stop himself. This was Dani. He had never felt a need to filter himself around her before. In fact, he had always been honest with her. More honest than he had been with anybody else in his life. She never judged him, she never used his words against him, or shared what he had said in confidence. How could this be the same person now? Standing before him, ready to kill. “Yeah, he did. But he’s still here.” He begged her to listen, his body still tense as he waited for her to make the first move.

Even when he knew it was coming, she managed to catch him off guard. The mention of Rio distracted him, left him with an urge to defend his friend’s intelligence, and then a frame was shattering against the wall. For a brief, ridiculous moment, he wanted to shout at her. That was one of his father’s frames, a degree the man had worked to achieve. One he displayed proudly in the hall where people could see it, where he could talk about everything it meant. Sure, it was also a reminder of how he had failed his parents, of how accomplished they both were, how accomplished they had been hoping he might grow to be himself. But it was also tied to many fond memories, and he hated that. He hated that Dani knew and still chose to destroy it. In the split second it took him to feel his rage boil over, she had lunged towards him. His arms already raised to protect himself from falling glass, he reacted instinctively. If he could only get to the door. He just needed to reach the door. Barrelling forward to meet her, using his anger to fuel the action, he pushed back with every ounce of his strength, twisting Dani so that she was forced back against the stairs. He stumbled over his own feet as he backed away, scrambling to reach the front porch before she could right herself.

In the back of her mind, Dani knew that maybe she was crossing a line. Killing Milo in his own home where Mrs. Summers would have to walk over it, high heels making imprints in what was left of her son. Though, if she believed Milo were truly gone-- that this was not her Milo, nor Allison’s son, then the idea of him being killed inside his childhood home shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. Dani could see the recognition on his face, as well as the fear-- but there was something else. Anger. She had to get this over with. The longer he was alive, the easier it would be for him to hurt others. It’d only be a matter of time before Jeanette realized what was going on, that Milo was no longer Milo and that Dani hadn’t taken care of the problem yet. Even now, her mother was only a yard-- if that, away from what was currently transpiring.

Before she could get a grip on Milo, he was knocking her back into the stairs. Almost immediately, the wind was knocked out of her. Dani gulped in air, quickly regaining her composure and got to her feet. She was lucky she hadn’t broken entirely through the staircase. At least Milo was finally fighting back. As he tried to run, Dani reached out and grabbed the back of his t-shirt. She yanked him backwards, aiming to make him stumble. She quickly threw all of her weight into him, sending them both to the ground. “How many more times will you run?” She growled, using the majority of her strength to wrestle him down. The sound of the door in front of them opening caused Dani to look up. Horror flickered across her features as she saw the Summers’ walk into the house, their faces contorted with disbelief, fear, and surprise.

Dani didn’t respond to his words, and Milo couldn’t say he was surprised. She had been talking for too long, he could see her expression shift to one of determination, and disconnect. She was forcing herself not to see him for who he was, forcing herself to take action. For a moment, he thought maybe he had bought himself enough time, but then she grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards before throwing her weight on him, pushing him in the opposite direction. It would be enough for anybody to lose their balance, and for what felt like the millionth time, he tumbled to the floor, hitting the hardwood with enough force to do some serious damage had he still been human. He already knew he had no hope of reaching the door before she was on top of him, so he decided to fight back instead.

It went against so many of his instincts, but he only needed her to falter, or get distracted. Just one opportunity to bolt… She had fallen with him, and was already working to trap him in the same way she had outside of the college. Her breathing loud, and heavy in his ears, he moved beneath her, desperate to find some purchase so that he would be able to slip out of her grasp. “As many times as it takes… for you to realise... you’re wrong about me- Dani, stop!” His voice was strained, and quiet. He wasn’t sure she had even heard him, but she did stop. She stopped and stared upwards, looking suddenly like a deer caught in the headlights. In his distraction, he hadn’t heard the sound of the door, and their scent managed to reach him before he saw them both. Falling still himself, he followed her gaze, tilting his head back to look up at his parents from where he was currently pinned to the floor. The look of confusion, and shock on their faces was about what he might expect. Though he didn’t have time to feel any relief. In seconds that shock turned to their usual guarded expressions, the stern and level headed approach they often took when they were forced to deal with his problematic behaviour. His mother was the first to speak. He longed to hear her protect him, defend him, say something to get Dani to leave him alone. But he was beginning to realise that wasn’t how this was going to play out.

“Milo, stop it. You’re going to hurt her!” She said, her voice curt, and assertive. The sound of his mom breaking the brief silence was enough to spur on his dad, who jumped suddenly into action. Moving forward, he gestured for Dani to get off of his son, but not in an aggressive, or defensive way. He was understanding, and gentle, subtly checking her for injuries. It was then that Milo was able to see what they thought was happening, and his stomach churned uncomfortably in response. How many times had Dani brought him home? On occasion she would catch him sneaking out, or stealing, and insist on making sure he didn’t get away with it. This wasn’t the first time his parents had caught them in a compromising position. And this wouldn’t be the first time Dani had pinned him to the ground when he was under the influence, a desperate attempt to save him from himself. They knew that, his parents knew that.

“Milo, stand up.” His father’s voice was equally as measured, lacking the soft concern he had reserved for Dani, and he felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what Dani was going to do, or say. He only knew he was powerless to stop what was happening.

Dani worked quickly to slide her wooden dagger back up her sleeve and out of sight. She shifted uncomfortably on top of Milo, only beginning to slide off when Milo’s dad walked around, guiding her off of him by her elbow. He was gentle with her, and it took Dani a moment to realize that they had no idea what was happening. Mrs. Summers turned on the lamp and Dani blinked rapidly against the sudden burst of light that flooded through the hallway. She glanced at Milo who looked… upset? She could hear her heartbeat, quick and loud. She knew that Milo could too. He’d know she was nervous. Shit. While Dani knew what she had to do, she hadn’t actually wrestled with what it meant to kill Milo in his home. She had done it under the guise of protecting him, but hadn’t put faces to the names that he spoke-- she chose to ignore them. Until now. She had known from the moment that she saw Milo in the woods that night, when he felt different, that this would be far more difficult than she could have ever imagined. She cursed herself for allowing her feelings to get in the way, even now.

Dani looked between Milo’s parents and him. It felt like she was being thrown back into the nights where she’d catch him trying to sneak out his window after she had brought him home, only for her to climb it and wrestle him to the ground-- to prevent him from slipping past the care that the Summers’ had for him. She backed away from Mr. Summers and looked towards his mother, a careful smile directed at the pair of them. “He wasn’t--” She bit her lower lip, “he wasn’t hurting me. It’s fine.” She wasn’t sure if she was defending Milo, or if she was defending herself from the idea that he’d ever be able to hurt her.

Dani looked at Milo who seemed severely dejected. Something short of anxiety began to crawl and bubble at the base of her throat. She worked to slow down the quick beat of her heart as best as she could, swallowing the air in the small room that only seemed to be growing smaller. As a distraction, Dani walked backwards and purposely knocked against a table, a small figurine toppling to the ground. “Oh, sorry.” Dani knelt down to pick it up and looked to meet Milo’s gaze. For the first time since he had turned, she saw her friend. He wore the same expression he typically had when he had run-ins with his parents. “I uh-- I should get going.” Dani couldn’t do this here, not now. She’d come back later tonight. She’d watch the house and make sure that Milo wouldn’t hurt his parents.

Milo waited patiently for Dani to remove herself from him, staying where he was on the floor, entirely overwhelmed by the situation. There were so many things wrong with this, so many things he couldn’t think about, not without dissolving into tears. And he couldn’t afford to. Dani was still here, she was still dangerous. Although he had to hope she wouldn’t try anything in front of his parents. Surely, even she was above that level of violence. He wasn’t hurting me. It’s fine. He had no way of knowing whether she was trying to make the situation better or worse. Was she assuring his parents that he wasn’t being violent, that things were as okay as they could be? Or was she encouraging them to believe she was saving him, she was holding him back from making another self-destructive decision? He swallowed, feeling fresh tears run down his cheeks, only to get lost in his hair as they fell towards the hardwood behind his head.

Continuing to stare at Dani as she knocked over an ornament, when she bent to pick it up she intentionally caught his gaze, but her expression wasn’t filled with loathing, or anger. Not in the way he had expected. She was looking at him, and for the first time since his death, he felt as though she might actually be seeing him. Did she have any idea how hard this was going to be? Was she even going to consider the fact that he had been avoiding his parents to avoid acknowledging he could no longer be a part of their lives? Everything he had lost was inside this building, and it hurt. It hurt more than he would ever be able to say. Flinching suddenly at the sound of his father’s voice, he shakily forced himself to his feet. Only a few seconds passed before Oliver had his fingers under his chin, tilting his head back to observe his pupils in the sudden light of the hall. He heard his mom close the door, locking it behind herself as though she could keep him in if she only made a little effort. Or maybe she was trying to hide him from the neighbours. Hide what a mess her son had become. “...’m not high, Dad.” He muttered, pulling his face out of his grip. Brushing away his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, he sniffled, wishing he could be almost anywhere else. Anywhere but here, with these people, under this circumstance.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Milo. You know the drill.” Milo set his jaw, chancing a glance towards his mom who only gestured silently to the downstairs bathroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come home and not been asked to take a drug test. On multiple occasions he had heard his parents fighting over whether it was even a beneficial demand. You already know what the test is going to say, Ali. Why are you doing this to yourself? His father’s voice was never angry, but always tired, always disappointed. Laced with the question of how this had become his life. Wouldn’t you rather know, Oliver? Know what our boy is doing out there? Isn’t it better to know…

There was no way around it, he knew that much. The idea of leaving Dani alone with his parents terrified him, but what else could he do? Brushing past his childhood friend, he heard her insist she should leave as he pointedly slammed the door to the bathroom, opening the cabinet above the sink to pull out the box of home tests. Tearing open one of the cards, finding the designated cup his parents saved for such glamorous occasions, he listened to the conversation taking place outside of the door. His mom’s voice was soft, filled with concern, and affection. She was talking to Dani like she was grateful.

“Please don’t feel like you need to leave, Dani… we owe you so much, we all do. We have cake, you know? Maybe we can all have a coffee?” She was trying to entice her, to make her feel as though she couldn’t say no. Staring at the mirror above the sink, devoid of his reflection, he silently willed his parents to open the front door, to usher Dani out of it and never let her back into the safety of their home. But unfortunately telepathy wasn’t an ability he had inherited. Not that it would matter, they almost never took his word. Uncapping the bottom of the thin, white card, he dipped the strip of material into his urine sample, watching as the liquid was absorbed. After ten seconds had passed, he reapplied the cap. Washing the cup, and his hands before re-emerging from the bathroom, he already knew what the test was going to say, he already knew he was going to fail it like the thousand previous tests he had been forced to take. But apparently just being willing to provide them with proof was enough to give his parents some illusion of control. He would never understand it. “Dani wants to go.” He said, his voice blunt, an edge to it as he pointedly refused to look back at her. He handed the white card over to his mom, who was already holding out a hand to take it. “Let her go.”

Dani watched as Milo wasted no time in brushing past her. Would he run? Would he make a chance escape through the window-- No, Dani thought. There was no window in that bathroom, not from what she could remember. She stared ahead, down the hallway towards where Milo had disappeared. She barely registered Allison’s voice in her ears, but forced her gaze away from the bathroom door. It’d only take her a few strides to make sure that he hadn’t escaped. No, she couldn’t do that. Not with his parents there. Not when Mrs. Summers was offering her cake. “No really-- that’s… That’s okay.” Dani felt like a deer in headlights. She had the vampire behind the door and his parents right in front of her who were clearly ignorant to the fact that their only son was now a part of the living dead.

Dani decided, for a brief moment, she’d give Milo his privacy. She turned her attention towards his mother and looked down at the bag that she held in her hand. “Oh, you must try this-- it’s from the bakery down on Main St.” Dani opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again once Milo had appeared in the doorway. She recognized the drug test in his hand. She had seen it plenty of times. Most times, she sat on the couch while she listened to the Summers’ argument just outside of the bathroom. Dani glanced back at Milo, only now realizing that there were tears blotting the collar of his shirt. She shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of him, his parents, and the lamplight that seemed to illuminate far too much of the hallway. She glanced at the test, not catching the result. Was he still using? Even in this state?

“That’s um, that’s okay.” Before Dani could insist on leaving again, she felt Oliver’s hand on her shoulder. She looked up to meet his gaze, forcing the small smile to stay. “Oh, come on. We haven’t seen you in awhile. Just a quick slice.” She looked back to Milo. Her heartbeat had quieted some, but the anxiety was still there. How was she going to get out of this? She couldn’t sit a foot across from Milo and not do anything. What if Jeanette sensed him for some odd reason? Before she could further object, she felt a nudge in the direction of the kitchen. Probably a means for privacy between Milo and his mother. Shit. Dani found herself being directed towards the kitchen island while a low conversation followed her.

Milo could sense Dani’s tension, even with her standing behind him. No doubt she was waiting for him to try and make another escape. But it felt so pointless. Not only would she find him again, he would be leaving her with his parents. What if she used them to try and draw him out? He wanted so badly to think she would never stoop so low, but he didn’t know her anymore. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what she might be capable of. The atmosphere in the hall was odd, his parents had fallen into their usual routine of moving between disappointment, and pretending there was nothing dysfunctional about their family. And Dani… it didn’t look as though she was willing to turn down his mother’s offer. Namely because his mom was clearly so determined to convince her to stay. Cake. From a bakery. It was painfully desperate, to the point that he almost couldn’t bring himself to be angry. His mom took the test from him, clutching it tightly in her hands before setting a timer on her phone for the results. She shot him a pointed look at his words, as though she couldn’t believe he would be so rude to the woman who had just pinned him to the floor and tried to kill him.

“Milo.” She used the same tone she had been using for years. It reminded him of being a child, of making simple mistakes during his piano lessons, or talking back when he was instructed to go to bed. “You know as well as I do that if it weren’t for Dani you would be-” She broke off, for a brief second he saw genuine emotion cloud her expression, fear maybe, and heartbreak, as she tried not to dwell on the death of her son. If only she knew he was already dead. Dani hadn’t been able to save him. Nobody had. Turning his attention back to his father, who seemed to sense Dani’s hesitation too, he caught her eye, watching as Oliver put a steady hand on her shoulder. His dad was using a far more gentle tactic. He could still hear her heart pounding in her chest, still hear how shocked, and anxious she was. Good. He thought bitterly. Suffer with me.

“She threw one of your degrees at me.” He said. He knew it was petulant, but he couldn’t stop the words from escaping his lips. His dad seemed to suddenly notice the glass on the staircase behind him, the shattered frame, and the paper that had escaped it. A frown creased his brow, but he didn’t look upset.

“She also brought you home.” He countered, and Milo knew there was absolutely nothing he could say in return, not without giving away too much of what was really happening. He opened his mouth anyway, hoping something of use might come out, but he was interrupted by the sound of an alarm. His mom silenced it quickly, reading the results of his test without reacting to the information.

“One out of five.” She said finally, forcing him to hold her gaze as she spoke. “I suppose we should be proud. That’s better than last time.” Milo held his tongue, he wasn’t sure whether she was trying to guilt trip him, or embarrass him in front of Dani to make a point. He could barely remember his last results, he was pretty certain two out of five of the recognisable substances had tested positive. Maybe even three. “Opioids.” She muttered quietly, in answer to his father’s silent question. And then the moment was over. She readjusted her bags, forcing a smile onto her face, before making her way into the kitchen. “I’ll put the coffee on.” She called, flipping light switches as she moved throughout the house. He stayed where he was, powerless to stop his dad as he encouraged Dani to follow.

“Come on, Dani. It’d mean a lot to us. After everything...”

Dani winced at Milo’s words. She shot him a look as if to tell him to cut it out. He didn’t want them to know what he was and he had pleaded with her not to kill him in his own house, and yet he was hellbent on trying to twist the situation, to reveal what had happened, and for what? The two of them had been through this time and time again. Milo was chastised while Dani was praised. It had made her feel guilty then, but Dani refused to let it make her feel guilty now. Not when they were wrong; when they didn’t even realize who and what was under their roof. She wanted to shout at them. Can’t you see? Can’t you see that this is not Milo! He’s dead!

It was no use, because Dani knew that even if she whispered his true existence, they would not believe her. It’d go against her code, too. Despite wanting to get rid of him once and for all, she couldn’t out him to his parents, not when they weren’t supposed to know what vampires were in the first place. Dani flexed her fingers and averted her gaze when the timer went off. She listened to Allison speak, her tone reserved and precise. She kept her gaze on the wall where the degree had once been. So Milo was still using. Dani hadn’t been aware that the undead were susceptible to drugs. Usually, Dani would interject-- she would tell them that she had found him in time, that he didn’t mean it. That he was trying to get better.

This time, Dani stayed silent. It seemed as though something broke in the air, because Allison was moving towards the kitchen quickly, the bags in her hands shuffling against one another. She followed after Milo’s parents, every step feeling as if there were weights in her shoes. It was like a constant alarm was going off, her senses going wild. Vampire, vampire, vampire! She could see him, but she couldn’t touch him. This was worse than in the woods. Worse than with Rio. Dani jumped slightly as Oliver handed her a plate. He let out a laugh and Dani tried to smile. She looked at Milo before setting her own plate down on the table.

“I didn’t--” Didn’t do anything. Doing something would mean he’d no longer be here. “Sure.” Unlike usual, Dani didn’t have any witty quips to shoot at Milo as they prepared for their sit down. Instead, she stayed silent, like a fly to a wall. She waited for him to speak, to run, to tear their throats out. Would he? She couldn’t be sure. “No coffee for me, please.” Dani raised a hand to stop the fourth mug from being filled. “Water is fine.”

Milo stared at Dani, disbelief written across his features as she told him to stop with a pointed look. Why should he? She had started this. Because of her, old wounds were now being opened, and he had absolutely no way of escaping the pain. He was going to have to sit across from his parents and pretend things were normal, he was going to have to look two people in the eye, knowing he couldn’t stay in their lives. Knowing, no matter how much they worried, how desperate they were for him to come home, it was no longer an option. Cutting them off had been his choice, and now that it wasn’t his choice, now that it was being forced upon him, he was beginning to wonder whether he had ever really wanted them gone. When his substance abuse was announced to the room, the silence that followed was deafening, it pulled him out of his thoughts. Dani wasn’t going to defend him this time, she wasn’t going to insist he was okay, or doing better, or at the very least trying to do better. There was no lying to herself, or lying on his behalf. Only a cold, empty distance between them both that seemed impossible for either of them to cross.

Listening quietly to his mother as she began to busy herself in the kitchen, it didn’t take long for Dani and his father to join her. He knew if he stayed in the hall it would be a matter of seconds before somebody came to find him, convinced he would be attempting to climb out of a window, or steal one of their prescription books. They didn’t need to know the latter was partially why he had returned. Taking a deep breath, glancing down at the glass littering the hall, he begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen, his jaw still set as he hovered in the doorway. The scene unfolding before him was so twisted. Seeing his parents being warm, and affectionate towards the person who had now tried to kill him on three separate occasions made his stomach churn. They were treating her like a daughter. His father was the first to take a seat at the kitchen table, and Dani settled next to him while his mom continued to find ways of distracting herself, ways for her to pass the time until she was forced to confront the awkwardness of the situation. Eventually she set down four plates, each holding a slice of cake, and a generous helping of whipped cream, before turning her attention to the coffee pot.

“Come on, Milo. Sit.” She encouraged him, pausing briefly as she passed where he was standing, running a hand through his hair in the same way she used to when he had a nightmare, or was struggling to sleep. Steeling himself, he ignored the ache in his chest, the longing for her to hold him like that again, and tell him everything was going to be okay. He took the seat on the other side of his dad, opposite Dani who he continued to stare at, willing her to feel his conflict, the agony she was forcing him to endure. The cake in front of him smelled good, but no longer like food, no longer like something his body wanted him to eat, and so he pointedly ignored it. Would that make Dani uncomfortable? Yet another reminder of the fact he was no longer human. Probably. “I thought everybody was drinking coffee these days.” Allison tried to make polite conversation. “Aren’t the kids going to Starbucks for just about anything? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” She held up the coffee pot as though that might convince Dani to change her mind, and started to ready the three cups she had waiting on the counter.

“You can’t buy drugs at Starbucks, Mom.” Milo muttered under his breath. It was his fallback, making things more difficult than they needed to be. If he could hold his parents at arms length, maybe he could ignore how badly he wanted to break down and cry. He could be gone by now, he could have his clothes, and his laptop, and be safely at home with Harsh.

“Milo.” Oliver’s voice was low, a warning, and he scowled down at the table in response. His mom chose not to hear his comment, handing drinks out to everybody before taking a seat herself, finally acknowledging the tense atmosphere with a smile he could only assume was forced.

“There. See, isn’t this nice? To have everybody back together again? Almost like when you were kids, right Dani? Milo? The amount of fun you both used to have at this table.”

When Allison began to talk about Starbucks, it took everything in Dani’s power not to laugh. She stared down at her plate, watching as a slice of cake was added to it. Were these people really that oblivious that their only son was no longer their son? Had they been so used to his change in demeanor because of… She looked up at Milo. The same dejected expression still flickered across his features. If looks could kill. Dani picked up her fork with no intention to actually eat, but she began to push around the chocolate and creme. It dawned on her then, that with their son missing-- over two months, the Summers’ were joining together to eat cake. Were they even actively looking for him? Had it only been her who did?

When Milo made his quip, she suppressed the familiar shit-eating grin that begged to curl at her lips. She coughed into her shoulder instead and straightened up in her chair. Things were tense, more tense than ever before. The amount of times that she had brought Milo back didn’t compare to this, not by a longshot. Now, Dani had no intention of saving Milo-- or, at least, not in the usual sense. She wanted to save him, but by shoving a stake into his chest. The longer she stayed seated around the Summers’, old patterns blooming before her, the more she realized that this wouldn’t be a one and done type of staking.

At Allison’s words, Dani looked up to meet her gaze. She was expecting an answer. “Oh. Um.” She refused to look at Milo this time. “Sure, yeah. Sorry-- I have um, a big test that I’ve been studying for. I’m just tired.” It was a blatant lie, but they didn’t need to know that. Milo obviously would.

“Do you remember,” Oliver started with a laugh, “when you kids would build forts in the living room? Then you’d get bored, so you’d go to the back yard and pitch a tent.”

Dani remembered those moments vividly. They ran wild in her dreams-- she and Milo-- able to be together, the simplicity of their childhoods. She hadn’t ever dreamt that it’d come to this. She had tried so hard to prevent this. “Yeah, I do.” Dani kept her gaze trained on her plate, her fork grinding against the china. No matter how hard she wanted to try, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pretend that this was normal. She wouldn’t be able to provide the Summers’ the smiles that they were grasping at straws for. Things were not the same, and they never would be again.

Glancing over at Dani when she coughed suddenly in response to his comment, it wasn’t lost on Milo that she had hidden her face. He couldn’t bring himself to hope, it was too painful to imagine a world where she accepted the fact that he was still very much himself, but he could have sworn she was repressing her amusement. One of his hands reaching to grip the edge of the table, his touch was gentle, and familiar. As children hiding beneath it one day, they had rebelliously decided to sign their names in Sharpie against the underside. He couldn’t feel the evidence of the ink, but he knew it was there, beneath his fingertips. A memory that was so tangible, so close. Evidence of how deep their bond ran, and how awful it was that Dani was desperate to shatter it. Offering his childhood friend a look when she decided to mention a test, he knew it was irrational to be so angry about her guilting his parents, especially when he so often manipulated them in the same way. But they were his parents, and after everything she was trying to take from them, she had no right to be so callous.

“Oh, don’t apologise, Dani.” Allison hurried to assure her. “Honestly, it’s refreshing to see someone so young take their studies seriously.” Great, Milo thought to himself. A compliment for Dani, and an insult for him. His grip on the table tightened, but he was careful not to dent the wood. More aware now than he had been when Dani had first taken him by surprise. Briefly turning his attention to his father, he seemed as determined as his wife to keep up pretence, he wished he could block his ears, or get up and leave. but neither felt like a genuine option. Not now. He didn’t need this, he wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

“My ambulance tent was outside. The indoor fort was the hospital… we had too many patients, we were forced to expand.” He said, in a begrudging response to Dani’s quiet admission. His voice was barely louder than a whisper as the details came flooding back to him. How many times had he played doctor with Dani? Convinced that was what he was going to be when he was older, too young to question what his parents were telling him. Wincing just a little at the sound of cutlery against china, it was a horrible noise, one only exacerbated by his sensitive hearing. He stared at Dani as she twisted her fork, willing her to drop it. “Stop.” He told her, his voice firm, positively dripping with irritation. No doubt she would do the opposite, all too aware of his new abilities causing him discomfort, but the demand escaped him before he could hold his tongue.

“Okay.” Letting out a huff of breath, Oliver ran a tired hand down his face. Already halfway through his cake, he carefully set his fork down before looking between Dani and his son. “I don’t know what has happened between you two tonight, but Milo, you have been gone for months. Can you please allow us to enjoy your company before you disappear to shoot up in some alleyway? Is that really too much to ask after everything you put us through?” His voice, as always, didn’t hold any anger. But it was tense, and Milo was begrudgingly forced to admit the man sounded exhausted. He always assumed, when he was missing, that his parents sent texts, and attempted to call him out of obligation more often than genuine concern. They had decided worrying was a waste of their time years ago… hadn’t they? A detriment to their own wellbeing? Allison reached out, linking fingers with Oliver, smiling sadly at him with unguarded affection. He did everything he could to shrug off the guilt weighing on his chest, but looking at his parents, it proved impossible.

“Just for tonight?” Allison’s voice was softer somehow, but laced with a desperation he was all too familiar with. “Milo, I know you don’t want to be here… but you’re here now. You too, Dani. We won’t keep you long, but we miss you… we miss both of you. It just means so much to have you home...”

Dani inhaled sharply as Milo began to speak. She did everything in her power to keep her gaze on the plate in front of her. Why did he bother picking apart stories from when they were young? It was silly, thinking that they were the same children who loved things like face paint, climbing trees, and playing hospital. The only time she had ever been able to be normal had been with Milo. Now? Neither of them were normal. Far from it. Their relationship had suffered under the crosshairs of her duty and his rebirth. She dug the fork into her plate even harder at Milo’s words. She glanced over at him and let it drop, the clatter louder than anything else that night.

She picked up her mug of water and took a sip, not realizing just how dry her mouth had gotten. Dani drained the cup and Allison was quick to refill it. When Oliver began to speak, Dani dropped her gaze back to the plate. The creme was smeared against the pink and blue flowers, making a mess of what could be considered a beautiful dish. Growing up, Dani had always appreciated that about the Summers. They cared about beauty. Maybe a little too much, but they cared. Jeanette cared only for necessities. Most of anything that the Edwards owned was cheap and easy to replace. Save for their weapons, of course. Once upon a time, Dani would have told Oliver some ridiculous, one-off story in order to take the heat off of Milo. She knew how exhausted they all were-- Milo, because what he was doing wasn’t his choice, and his parents, because they were worried. Dani only ever wanted Milo to be safe. The longer she kept her mouth shut, the more foul she felt.

The ache in Dani’s heart would have to be inspected at another time. She didn’t have the capacity to reason with the guilt she suddenly felt, not while in Milo’s presence. Deflated, Dani took another quick breath between her teeth. There was no use in staying around for much longer. She wouldn’t be getting Milo tonight, and despite his control, or lack thereof, Dani had to trust, not in the vampire, but that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill his parents with Dani only a few doors down, her eyes unleaving from the very house he claimed to hate so much. “I would love to, but--” Dani hurriedly took her new burner phone out of her pocket-- a clunky brick that she’d replace once she had the money, “my mom actually needs me home.” She forced a small, polite smile towards Allison and Oliver, ignoring Milo entirely. “Besides, you should really talk.” She finally looked at Milo, “if you need me, I’m only a few houses down.” A threat. To him, letting him know that despite her absence in the house, she would be able to come back in a heartbeat, should anything happen. Without allowing the Summers’ to object, Dani raised a hand in goodbye and quietly slipped out the back door. She waited until she was far enough away from the house to allow herself the time to process what had just happened. All of the anger she felt in the beginning, before his parents had arrived-- it was gone. Now, nothing but sadness and exhaustion filled her heart.

How was she going to kill him?

Unable to stop himself from flinching as Dani dropped her fork, Milo continued to watch her, struggling to discern her expression. What was she thinking? Her usual anger seemed to have faded away over the course of the conversation, only to be replaced by something impossible to recognise. Refusing to acknowledge his father’s words, he found it far easier to stare at his childhood friend. He could see in the way her body was tense, the way she was poised on the edge of her seat, feet flat against the floor, that she was preparing herself to leave. He knew his parents would be disappointed, the saviour of their son was letting herself out, but the wave of relief that washed over him was strong. At least for now, he could relax. He had so many things to focus on, so many emotions to process. Not needing to worry about Dani becoming violent made everything easier. Albeit, not by very much. Glancing down at the brick phone she pulled out, a frown creased his brow when he realised it was new. He had so many questions but he was smart enough to understand that asking them wouldn’t grant him any answers. Either she had blocked him, or she had bought an entirely new device to make sure he couldn’t contact her. The thought hurt, but the pain was dull now. He was slowly becoming used to it. Seeing his mom open her mouth to argue, he cut her off before she could speak. “Dani wants to go, Mom. Just… just let her.” He muttered. “It doesn’t matter.” Looking up at Dani, shooting her the same pointed glare she had given him earlier when she had tried telling him to stop, he wanted to do so many things. Throw something at her, scream, physically force her outside, cry, get high... “No, we shouldn’t. There’s nothing to talk about.” He countered, his tone forceful, and sharp as he held her gaze. Screw you, Dani. Screw you and all of the pain you’re causing me.

Steeling his expression, making it painfully clear he understood her thinly veiled threat, he stayed where he was, waiting for her to leave before allowing himself to exhale. The threat was out of sight, but not out of reach. He needed to remember that. She could get to the house in a heartbeat if she wanted to. Listening to her as she walked to her home, crossing the lawn instead of taking the path, when her footsteps began to fade he became very aware of his parents. They were both watching him, concern written across their features as they sat in a mutual silence. “I’m not staying.” He hurried to warn them, pushing away from the table, and getting to his feet. Both Allison, and Oliver followed his lead. It was clear by the way they caught each other's eye they had already accepted that would be the case. “I just- I need to get some things, and then I’ll be gone, okay? So you can stop worrying about how your son is such a fuck up, and how I’ll just- I’ll embarrass you in front of the neighbours or fucking-” He broke off suddenly, caught off guard by his mom as she pulled him towards her, enveloping him in a hug. Holding his breath, too comforted by the close proximity to want to risk any potential bloodlust, he felt tears sting at his eyes the moment his father decided to join them. Standing in the kitchen of his childhood home, in the arms of his mom and dad, the people who had raised him, who had once made him feel so safe, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking down. He fought it for a brief moment, but sobs soon began to wrack his body and he wrapped his arms around them too, holding them as close as he possibly could without hurting them both.

“Shh, shh… We love you, Milo.” Allison pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We love you so much… you make mistakes, you do. And you know we don’t agree with your decisions, but you’re always going to be our son. And we’re not embarrassed by you… never.” Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he knew he wouldn’t be able to last very long before the scent of blood began to tempt him. But he was determined to make the most of it while he could. This was all he had been really craving, and all he had been denying himself. Because as much as he needed his parents to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay, everything wasn’t going to be okay. They didn’t know it, they had no way of knowing it, but this was essentially a goodbye.

#c:dani #milo and dani #addiction tw #alcoholism tw

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saeransangel · 4 years

Text

Fine Line

Spencer Reid x Reader

*Trigger Warning*

Warnings: addiction(use of narcotics/opioids), swearing, angst

**This is in NO way condoning the use of drugs or glorifying/romanticizing addiction... Many of the things in here are based off personal experiences I’ve been through in the past. I know how draining and horrible it is. This is a vent piece for me. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with reading about drug use.

The reader starts to fall into a rough group of friends while occupying time when Spencer is away. As Spencer starts to catch on to her blossoming addiction, the reader admits she needs help.

Word Count: 2496.

You and your boyfriend, Spencer had finally gotten into bed together after a long day. He had just gotten back from a case in California and was completely exhausted. You on the other hand, were still recovering from a party you went to yesterday. You were told the night was fun, but it was all a blurred memory to you. After about three hours of sleeping together, the phone rings. It was Spencer’s cell.

“Hello?” He answered, his voice sounded tired and drained. You both knew it was the BAU calling. You sighed in annoyance. He had just gotten back, you haven’t gotten to spend any quality time together in two weeks and it was putting a strain on your relationship. Neither one of you said anything, but you could feel it. It was starting to feel different. The connection between you wasn’t as strong as it always had been, and that worried you. But you were too scared to bring it up. Not that there was ever time anyways.

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Spencer said after a while. He hung up the phone and got out of bed, careful not to disturb you, though you were already awake.

“Spence, again?” You sighed.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I should only be gone a few days, then we can spend all week together.” He promised. You knew he was trying and it was just apart of the job, but recently it’s been too much. You’ve spent too much time away from him.

“You said that last time, Spencer.” It came out more aggressive than you wanted and you instantly felt bad.

His eyes softened as he looked towards you. He sat down beside you and embraced you gently. “I really am sorry, Y/N. I love you so much, but this is my job.” He sounded so upset, knowing he hurt you. Slowly, you melted into his arms and wrapped your own around his slim figure.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just miss you so much when you’re gone.” You whispered, almost tearing up at the thought of being without him again. It might seem dramatic for only a few days, but he was your moral compass. It was hard without him around.

He kissed your forehead and gave you one last loving embrace before grabbing his Go Bag and leaving the bedroom.

As you lied back down into the now empty bed, you felt like you were sinking already. What was the point of this relationship if it was a constant revolving door of leaving and being together? Before you could get too deep into your thoughts, you heard a ping sound come from your phone.

“Hey, Y/N, I know we just raged together last night, but I miss you so much already lol! Come to my place right now. Zoe is bringing the usual. It’s gonna be fun!!”

It was your friend Sam inviting you over for a party...at 2 am. You sat and stared at the message, wondering if it was a good idea to go. Your body still hadn’t fully recovered from last night, but you didn’t want to be alone tonight. You shot back a quick response and put some different clothes on that were fit for this type of party. As you headed out the door, your body was already feeling excited for the rush this night was going to give you.

When you arrived at Sam’s house, you took a deep and shaky breath. Was this really what you wanted to turn to? Finding comfort in a six hour euphoria? Whatever your better judgement told you, it was too late. You were already getting out of the car and walking up to the house that was flooding with people and blaring loud music. You stepped through the front door and took in your surroundings. Sam, Zoe and a few other people you recognized were sitting on the large sectional couch, passing a blunt around with each other.

“Y/N! You’re here!” Zoe shouted over the music. You approach the group with a vibrant smile. You took the blunt from Sam and took a long drag off it. The smoke filled your lungs. It felt good, you slowly started to relax.

“You look like shit.” Sam said bluntly. “What happened to you?”

A long sigh escaped from your lips. “I’m still a mess from last night I guess.” You replied trying to just laugh it off.

“It’s more than that, tell us what’s wrong?” She pushed. You didn’t really want to tell her, but at the same time you needed to vent. They were always there for you. Why was now any different?

“It’s Spencer. He’s always leaving me because he has to go fly across the country to do whatever it is he’s doing!” You didn’t mean for that to sound as selfish as it did, and you knew if Spencer ever heard you say that he would be crushed. He loved you unconditionally, and here you were acting self-centered and mean. “He’s means well though, I know he loves me. But it’s hard someti-”

Zoe spoke up. “Save it, Y/N/N. We understand.” You gave her an apologetic smile. You shouldn’t have said anything. Spencer is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, even if he was gone more often than you would like, you loved him and he would never talk about you like this. The feeling of missing him was being overtaken by the guilt you felt from talking about him leaving. Tears welled in your eyes. You looked down to try and hide the fact that you were now a teary mess.

“Y/N/N, we’re here for you.” Sam said while rubbing circles on the small of your back. The music was blaring so loud you almost didn’t hear her. You recognized the song. CANT SAY By Travis Scott. You smiled, remembering all the amazing ragers you went to with Sam, Zoe, and the others.

Your reminiscing was cut short. You noticed Zoe placed a small bag on the table that everyone was sitting around. There where small, circular, white pills inside. Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Is that...” Your voice trailed off.

“Oxy? Yes, ma’am it is.” Zoe smirked. You instantly got the feeling you shouldn’t have come tonight. In the past you struggled with a lot of substance abuse issues. Opioids in particular. It started after a surgery, Valium, then Hydrocodone, then it escalated to Oxycontin. You even rolled on molly every so often. But you went to rehab about three years ago. You were clean, apart from the occasional marijuana use which seemed to becoming more and more frequent.

“I don’t know if I should. I haven’t in years.” You try and protest. They didn’t seem to care. Zoe grabbed two out of the bag and held them out for you. Upon reflex, you opened your hand and watched as the two pills fell into the palm of your hand. The whole group was looking at you, waiting. Sam popped one into her mouth and swallowed it. She looked eagerly at you. Part of you didn’t want to throw all the years of sobriety down the drain, but the bigger part of you wanted to stop feeling the guilt and the loneliness you felt when Spencer was away.

You didn’t even remember putting them in your mouth, you just remember the feeling of them sliding down your throat. After about twenty minutes, you felt the effects of the narcotic. Your body felt light and weightless. Your thoughts were cloudy. Why were you even here? This is fun right? As you danced through the crowd with your friends, you felt a moment of euphoria as ypu forgot the reason you came here in the first place.

Two Days Later...

You woke up on a scratchy couch that was definitely not apart of your home. You took in your surroundings, head pounding. You were still at Sam’s house. You grabbed your phone to check the time. It was probably late the next day...

“It’s been two days?” You gasped. You shot up, looking for Sam. Her house was so big, you didn’t even know where to look. Luckily you didn’t have to go far. She was in the kitchen with Zoe and another guy named Jared. They all laughed and turned towards you as you walked in.

“Look who decided to wake up,” Zoe teased.

You glared at her. “It’s not funny.” You spat. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only, like ten hours, chill.” Sam laughed awkwardly.

“I got here Friday night, its Sunday now.” You were growing impatient. So many questions raced through your mind.

“Yeah... we were together partying all weekend, are you okay?” Zoe urged.

“I don’t remember anything except for Friday night.” You admitted. Instinctively you checked your phone again. Your eyes widened.

Missed Calls: Spencer Reid(16)

Upon looking further you found dozens of texts, to which you replied, “At Sam’s party!” You had no recollection of sending that.

Spence: What?! Why are you with her??

The most recent text was from a few hours ago.

Spence: Hey angel, I’m just checking in on you... You’ve sent me one text the past couple days. Are we okay? I love you so much. I’ll be home in a few hours. Please call me.

Your heart broken into a million pieces. Your free hand covered your mouth in an attempt to stop the sobs from coming out of your mouth. You stared down and the phone in your shaky hands. He knew who these girls were. He knew they always were trouble and fueled your addiction in the past. You knew he was concerned for you. The thought of him being upset and not being able to see you was suffocating. Zoe and Sam rushed over to you right away.

“Hun, what’s wrong.” Sam pleaded with you. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You hated them for doing this to you. For doing this to Spencer. You hated yourself even more. You needed to get out.

“Get away from me.” You cried. Fighting there grip, you pulled away from them. You ran into the living room and sat on the floor, back leaning against the sofa.

The two girls followed you into the living room, worried looks strewn across their face. Before they could say anything, the doorbell rang. Sam paused before going to open the door.

“Spencer...” She exclaimed surprised. You looked up. The tears wouldn’t stop falling now.

“Y/N, where is she?” He said sternly and he pushed his way through the door. He looked around for a minute before his eyes finally fell on you. He immediately rushed over to you. The look in his brown eyes told you that he knew what you had done. You knew you looked like a mess. It was a dead give away.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” You sobbed. His warm arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought you couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t mind. You needed this.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/N. We can get through this. I promise.” He whispered. You closed your eyes and melted into his comforting touch.

“Is she going to be okay?” Zoe pressed. “I mean, you keep leaving her to go do God knows what. Did you know that’s why she came here.”

Spencer’s grip on you loosened. He leaned back to get a good look at you, trying to see if it was true. NO. This was not his fault. Not after everything he’s been through. You’d be damned if you were going to let him think this was his fault too.

“Shut up.” You said venomously. She shot you a confused glare. “Don’t you ever speak to him like that EVER!”

“What? I’m trying to defend you?” She shouted. You couldn’t believe her. You couldn’t believe yourself. Everything felt like it was spiraling.

“You’re not defending me. You’re trying to drive the one person that loves me away!” You were screaming now.

Zoe walked closer to you, she was in your face. “At least I care about you!” Her voiced boomed through the house.

“If you really cared about me you wouldn’t have gave me the fucking drugs in the first place.” You wailed. Spencer grabbed you arm. Your head whipped back to look at him. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You let out a despondent sigh at the sight of him. You never wanted any of this. You just wanted him to stay. Now look what happened.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed Spencer guiding you out the door. He put his arm around you, and without another word to Sam or Zoe, you got into his car.

It was silent for the whole car ride home. You were thinking of all the ways to apologize to him, all the reasons he had to leave you, all the reasons why you didn’t deserve him. When you both arrived back to his apartment, you broke down.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. None of this is.” You sobbed.” It’s all mine. I’m sorry. I love you so much. Please, don’t lea-”

You were cut off by a pair of strong arms embracing you. How did you get so lucky to have a man like Spencer in your life? “Y/N, it’s okay.” He cooed.

“It’s not!” you cried, pushing him away. He looked confused and sad, which only made you cry more. “I’m supposed to take care of you. You’ve gone through so much with your job, your mom, everything. You don’t deserve this, Spence. I don’t deserve you.”

He examined your weak figure before giving you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. “If there’s one thing you have taught me, Y/N, it’s that it’s okay to need a little help sometimes. Recovery is not linear. Slip ups can happen. I know you didn’t want this, but I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” He declared. He slowly wrapped his arms around you again and you let him. He held you as you cried and he didn’t let go even when you stopped the relentless sobbing. His soft hands traced patterns on your back while he listened to your breathing regulate.

“Nothing you could ever do would make me leave you.” He whispered. “Because I love you. Nothing can change that.”

You kissed his neck delicately, amazed at how insanely lucky you were to have him around. “Thank you Spencer. I love you so fucking much.” He held you tighter, letting you know that you were safe and everything was going to be okay.

A tear slipped down your cheek. But this wasn’t from sadness. It was from adoration. You knew with your full heart that Spencer loved you, and he was going to get through this with you. One step at a time.

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spellbound-banshee · 5 years

Text

Kylo Ren - I Knew It

WARNING, THERE IS A RISE OF SKYWALKER GIF BELOW THE CUT! IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT PLEASE DO NOT CLICK BELOW THIS HAS BEEN A PSA THANK YOU

Summary: You help Kylo come to the Light Side.

Warnings: fluff, angst, RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: listen i know this is a total cop out for the ending, and i know it’s probably cheesy and redundant to do it this way, but it was one of the only solutions i could come up with. also in this, he doesn’t kiss Rey, he just saves her for the good of the galaxy (cuz that wouldn’t work with you two).

You were a part of the Resistance.

Kylo was a part of the First Order.

You realized soon after meeting him that he was a haunted and broken soul, needing to be fixed. Since you were both pretty strong with the Force, you knew how consumed he was with guilt after killing his father, and he knew that you felt all the sympathy in the world for him. This angered him greatly, he tried so hard to kill Ben Solo that he quickly realized he was being torn apart from the inside just from one conversation with you.

You still had the star on your stomach from where his lightsaber had sliced at you. After that, you’d spent a lot of time away from each other, yet you still felt this undeniably strong connection to him. You felt his pain, just as he felt yours. So when you felt him die, the scream you let out could be heart lightyears across the galaxy.

Immediately, you ordered your ship to turn and go to where you felt him, letting the Force guide you to him. Even though you hadn’t spoke in years, even though he hated your guts, even though he could still be Kylo Ren.

You didn’t even wait for the ship to land before you jumped out of the doors and down onto the building. The pilot screamed after you but you were blocking him out, forcing yourself to feel what was left of Ben’s energy.

Once you got to the bottom of the building, you pulled your lightsaber off your belt, the green light illuminating the way. The architecture was dusty and clearly standing on no foundation, you realized you had to hurry and make as little damage as possible. With caution to the wind, you ran to the very middle of the coliseum, desperately looking around and realizing calling his name would do no good.

Suddenly, you saw a body, covered in ash and scars lying towards the left of where you were standing. “Ben!” You cried out brokenly, immediately rushing to his side and dropping to your knees. The impact seemed to shake the ground a bit but your hands were already on Ben’s body. You checked for any signs of scarring, wounds, internal damage, but there were none. Then you realized how weak his Force was, and the conclusion you came to was clear.

Throwing your lightsaber down, you rolled up your sleeves and took some deep breaths, preparing to give a big chunk of your life to the man below you. Closing your eyes, you put your hand over his heart, and felt your power flowing through your veins. The transfer was more painful than you imagined, and you felt yourself growing weaker the longer you waited for him to wake.

Eventually, you had to stop because you feared you might pass out. You shakily took your hands off his heart and started sobbing, burying your face into his damp long sleeve. Your whole body was shaking and you interlocked your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. You seemed to stay in that position for hours, your knees growing weak from the hard surface below and your body aching from the transfer.

And then you felt it.

The hand you were so desperately squeezing slowly began to squeeze back. The chest your head was resting upon started to rise up and down weakly, and you quickly pulled your head from its place. His eyes opened slowly, attempting you comprehend what was going on around him. Panic clearly showed on his face, but as he was looking around his eyes stopped dead when they focused on you.

His lips parted slightly and his eyes grew wide, attempting to sit himself up but being too weak to do so. “Stay... just stay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He coughed slightly, and you began to see traces of tears forming in his eyes.

“I- I... what?” His normally deep, controlled voice was weak and broken. “(Y/N)... is it... is it you?”

You nodded, his hand regaining feeling and squeezing against you harder. Now he felt as if he had to sit up, and through the pain his body straightened itself. Even sitting, he was still taller than you. He couldn’t comprehend the fact that you were there, in front of him, especially after he felt himself die. “(Y/N).” He whispered your name again, his other hand moving to your shoulder and squeezing it slightly.

“Ben...” And that’s what set him off. He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and pressed his forehead against yours. You were finally together again, yet you were surprised he was so happy to see you; you thought he hated you.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” His hand now moved to your lower back, pulling you into an awkward hug before his touch started to move to your stomach. Seeming to feel something, he sucked in a breath, and it was clear his fingers were moving over your scar. The scar he left. “You... you... what did you do?”

“I had to, Ben. You know how much I...” You paused, unable to form the words, “I missed you. I couldn’t lose you, not when you have so much left to do with this good inside of you.”

He pulled away from your forehead to look at your face. You moved your hand to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over one of the thousands of beauty marks that littered his face. He searched your eyes, full tears beginning to cloud his vision as a happy smile spread across his face.

He felt so overwhelmed, so utterly loved that you would give most of your life just so he could live. He’d tried to kill you, treated you like shit and yet you still came for him when he needed you. Your words guided him, your connection was strong to him as well and he knew that he loved you, he knew that you would be the one to change him.

You were both so close, feeling each others weak, panting breaths against your faces. By some indescribable power, you were both drawn to each other, inching closer and closer until you suffocated on each other’s scents.

Then, your lips finally collided.

Sparks seemed to erupt between your lips and you felt your entire body flow with euphoria. Your bodies were finally sharing the energy you’d both kept inside, the feelings you’d tucked away for years and years, the longing. Your hand carted through his dark hair to tuck it out of his face, your other hand on the back of his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His cold hands brushed across your cheeks, the other going to your back to support his own weight on you.

He held you tightly, as if you would float away any second, as if he would wake up at some point and everything would be a dream. You sensed his energy and just pulled his hair slightly to remind him that you were there, that you weren’t going anywhere. At this, he groaned softly into your mouth, so you took the opportunity to slide your tongue between his. He responded with another soft groan and attempted to pull you closer to him, which made you smile.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered breathlessly as he pulled away, “God, I’m so sorry. I treated you like shit and I don’t deserve your-” You put a finger to his lips to shut him up and shook your head, just the simple gesture made his racing heart slow just a bit.

“It’s okay. You’re okay now, you’re with me. Let’s start new, yeah?” His face showed a clear dumbfounded expression, searching your eyes again to see if you were even a real person. The thought made you chuckle a bit. He pulled you in for a tight embrace, tears falling onto your bare shoulders as you held him as tightly as you possibly could.

“A thousand thank you’s could never express my gratitude towards everything you’ve done for me.” He shook his head and kissed your shoulder, attempting to stop the trembling from overtaking his body. You didn’t need to respond, you just stroked his back gently with your nails, rocking him back and forth slightly to make sure he was grounded.

His grip was still tight on you, and you were beginning to get concerned, you never knew Ben to be this shaken up. Though, he’d just died, that would be enough to fuck someone up. Using what was left of your power, you decided to look inside his mind, possibly to set some ease.

He was terrified. He’d always felt so utterly alone and controlled by another’s destiny when in reality he felt like a scared kid trying to figure himself out. When you came into his life, he realized what connection could feel like. However, his enforced rage and hatred for the Light Side forced him to hate you, to despise what you’d done to him. He’s consumed with guilt, for killing his father, for his mother’s death, for the wounds and pain he’d inflicted onto you. You didn’t deserve him, his baggage, his demons, his rage. He hated himself for what he did to everyone, hated what he’d become, and now he needs guidance more than ever.

Feeling his pain, tears began to slip out of your eyes as well, pulling him closer to you and stroking his hair with another hand. “You deserve the entire galaxy, Ben.” When he noticed you’d been in his head, he straightened a bit, but found himself relaxing again once you began to ease his mind. “I’m here for guidance, I will always be here for guidance, you know this. I’m so sorry for what they’ve done to you, your past, your blood. You don’t deserve this amount of self-hatred, you don’t deserve to feel like this. I wish I could take it all away from you.”

He couldn’t breathe. He felt so overwhelmed with your love. It surrounded him, filled his lungs suffocated him, filled his veins enough to make his heart burst. He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, letting out another sob before pulling away and grabbing both sides of your head for a searing kiss.

It surprised the hell out of you, and you were hesitant to respond but you just couldn’t help it. The energy, the love, the emotion. You could feel it all, his pain was yours and your pain was his.

He felt himself smiling against your lips until he broke into a soft chuckle, still holding your face softly. He kissed your cheeks, the top of your head, and ended at the tip of your nose, making you smile softly. “Is it too early to say... I love you?” In response you just scrunched your nose and shook your head, stroking the side of his cheek and pressing kisses to different beauty marks.

“As much as I’d love this to continue, I think we should get out of here before this whole establishment collapses on top of us.” He chuckled at your remark and sniffled a bit, slowly hoisting himself up, pain shooting through his side. “Hey, hey. Take it slow, I’ll get you up there.” He nodded weakly and put his arm around you, bracing himself for the jump you were about to take.

You smiled as you came back into your quarters to see a shirtless Ben sleeping peacefully on your bed. You’d patched up the rest of his wounds and left to get him some water, but decided it was best to not wake him. Setting the water down, you got into bed beside him, sighing as you felt the warmth of your comforter fall against your body. You quickly realized how exhausted you were once your eyelids started to get heavy, so before you drifted you snuggled up next to Ben.

Pushing his hair out of his face, you placed a gentle hand on his body and nuzzled yourself into his shoulder, smiling.

“I love you too.”

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fantastic-secrets · 4 years

Text

Butterfly Wings [2]

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Ichimaru Gin, Aizen Sousuke

Warnings: Threat of Violence, Dubious Consent, Oral Sex

Word Count: 1.9k

[Part 1]

When no more uncharacteristic, unsettling incidents occurred, even when the two men were alone together, Gin allowed himself to relax slightly. As he'd hoped, Rangiku hadn't come to Fifth Company, instead taking a position in the Tenth. Still, even though it wasn't the worst case scenario, it wasn't the best, either. If she'd been able to join the First or Second… but as he'd truthfully admitted to Aizen, she was nothing more than an ordinary, average shinigami. Shiba-taichou didn't seem like he would be an impediment to Aizen's plan, but Gin had secretly resolved to cut him down if he ever got in the way, before she could be exposed to danger.

Since she'd graduated from the academy, though, Rangiku seemed to have much more free time, which she sometimes spent trying to cajole Gin into spending more time with her and others. For the most part, he managed to brush off her invitations with vague excuses about work, all the while being acutely aware of warm brown eyes following him. Aizen already knew that she was the only person that Gin really talked to besides himself, so Gin struggled to maintain the illusion that he didn't have any particular feelings for her. If his fukutaichou seized upon the idea that she was his weakness, Gin had no idea what he might do. From what he knew of the other man, he was just as likely to pick her for his experiments as he was to promise Gin that she'd be perfectly safe from them. Still, he couldn't refuse all of her invitations, so he'd occasionally end up on the sidelines as Rangiku simply celebrated life while he quietly accumulated others' discomfort and distrust despite being a model shinigami.

He was returning from one such gathering when the soft grinding of a door sliding open caught his attention. Looking in the direction of the noise, he saw Aizen standing in the doorway of his rooms, a freshly lit taper held in a candle holder. Once their eyes met, the older man disappeared into his quarters, leaving the door open. A quick glance around told him that nobody else seemed to be present--it was late, after all--and the only light in the compound came from the fukutaichou's room, since everyone else was likely asleep. Silently, he obeyed the unspoken order, following the flickering light until he paused on the threshold of what was clearly Aizen's private quarters. The man himself lounged casually on a futon, his robes draped loosely around his body.

"Come in and sit down," Aizen suggested, his tone no different than if they had been in his office. Gingerly, Gin stepped into the room and knelt beside his commanding officer. For a brief moment, a sly smile slid across Aizen's face as he reached out to clasp Gin's thin, pale wrist. Gin's mind had barely begun to process what was happening when it froze at the touch of cold steel at his throat. Suddenly, the bloodlust in the room was nearly suffocating, and he held himself deathly still, certain that any movement would be his last.

"Aizen-fukutaichou? What're ya doing?" he asked quietly after a long minute of silence, once he was certain his voice wouldn't shake. The feeling of overpowering dread lessened slightly, though it didn't dissipate, and the keen blade continued to rest against his neck. Even if he'd been inclined to reach for his own weapon, he couldn't do so without alerting the other man, whose hand remained loosely encircling his wrist.

"What does it look like to you, Ichimaru-kun?" The more formal method of address, which Aizen hadn't used in years, confused Gin. Of course, that wasn't to say that he couldn't think of a reason for this whole scenario, but he would never admit to it out loud. Still, he had a feeling that his usual blasé attitude wouldn't fly in this situation, either, so he chose to remain silent, studying Aizen's expression even as the other man studied his. In the end, the older man was the one to break the silence with a light chuckle, withdrawing his blade and setting it aside before releasing his grip on his subordinate.

"I apologize for that, Gin," he said, full of sincere contrition that Gin didn't believe for a moment. "I'd only wanted to surprise you. You're quite skilled at hiding your feelings behind that mask, so it's always a pleasure to see something else. And, of course, I'd also hoped that I could see your eyes again. Most people seem to think they're red, you know. It's an understandable mistake, given your coloration. Is there a reason you don't open them normally?"

"Ya said yourself that ya didn't want others seein' them, right?" Gin replied with a smile, the aforementioned mask back in place over the turmoil of his thoughts. "But even before that, this is just how my eyes are. Walkin' around with 'em wide open would be like ya walkin' around with yours shut. 'least, long as I can remember, I've always been like this."

"You're quite obliging, aren't you? I really do hope you're not this way with anyone else, or I might have to kill them." Though it sounded like a good-natured joke, there was an edge to the statement that made him wonder how serious Aizen was. Deliberately, the fukutaichou stretched into a sitting position, placing a hand on Gin's shoulder and pushing him down. When he started to loosen the younger man's shihakushou, everything clicked together.

Gin wasn't so innocent as to be unaware of sex, though he'd never engaged in it himself. Nor was he ignorant of the fact that, especially in the worse parts of Rukongai, rapes sometimes occurred. He'd seen the looks of some men when they saw Rangiku, leers that filled him with a cold rage that was only sated when their hot blood spilled at his feet. But he'd never considered that Aizen might want this from him, whether from actual desire or as another test of loyalty. He didn't have to fake the tremor in his hands as he reached up to wrap them around Aizen's wrists in a reflection of their earlier positions, not pushing the man away, just holding them. Still, it was enough to make the fukutaichou pause, looking up at a pale, drawn face devoid of its usual smile.

"Is this your first time? Or is it just that you're opposed to having me as your partner? If you don't want to do this, you only need to tell me so."

"It… it ain't that I don't like ya. I'm just surprised. I don't think there's ever been anyone who wanted me like this. And I respect ya, fukutaichou, but I dunno if I'm capable of lovin' anyone, either. I toldja before, didn't I? I don't have a heart. So I don't want ya t' end up disappointed, or hurt."

Aizen laughed, a warm, soft sound, as his right hand shifted to rest on Gin's chest. "I don't think you could ever disappoint me, Gin. For now, I'll be satisfied with just your body while I try to capture your heart, if you'll give me the chance. I think you sell yourself short, though. You're quite beautiful, in an unconventional way; I can't be the first person who has ever wanted to do this to you."

He leaned down to press a soft kiss against Gin's lips, his tongue lightly probing. Hesitantly, the younger man released his hold on the other man, though his body remained taut with tension until Aizen pulled back, leaving a breath between their faces.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle… this time, at least. I'm glad that I'm your first, so I don't need to break any bad habits," Aizen murmured. The words sent a chill through Gin, and a dark smile spread over Aizen's face as he felt the brief tremor. When Gin didn't make any moves to resist or push him away, a flash of satisfaction appeared in Aizen's eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he continued to undress his subordinate, tracing the defined muscles under the thin, pale skin as they were exposed. Despite the harsh training he must have gone through to graduate from the academy in just one year, Gin's skin was remarkably smooth, with few traces of scars. But for each one that he did have, Aizen's fingers traced its edges, lingering for a long moment before continuing their work.

Finally, Gin was fully disrobed, and Aizen sat back to take all of him in. The younger man's body seemed tense enough to snap, unable to conceal his nervousness laced with a touch of fear. Again, Aizen smiled, his eyes fixed on Gin's face, as he grasped Gin's cock. The touch made the silver-haired man flinch, and a shudder ran through his body as Aizen began to stroke him into an erection.

"Relax. I want you to enjoy this," Aizen murmured, every inch the considerate lover. Gin's body was slow to respond to his ministrations, but it eventually did, and he flinched again as the older man lowered his mouth over his engorged head. The tension between them changed as Aizen's tongue swirled around him, his dexterous fingers playing along his shaft with an ever-changing pattern. He seemed determined to keep his subordinate on the very edge of ecstasy as ripples of pleasure spread through the young body.

"Aizen… Aizen-san… please…" Gin wasn't even sure what he was asking for, and just when it seemed that he would be pulled under and drowned, the other man swallowed him deeper, just before Gin's hips thrust upward and he emptied himself.

Once he'd fallen limp, Aizen pulled himself off, crawling back up the pale body to clamp his lips over Gin's in another kiss. A trickle of something warm, salty, and a little bitter slid into his mouth, and Gin's first instinct was to spit it out, except that Aizen had drawn back and placed a finger over the younger man's lips, a light touch that forbade him from opening his mouth until he had swallowed it.

"That's good, Gin," Aizen praised him softly. "And you taste exactly as I imagined. Go ahead and rest; we'll talk more in the morning."

When he moved to pull the covers off his futon and over the younger man, Gin sat up, protesting as he drew his discarded clothes around himself.

"I can't letcha do that, Aizen-fukutaichou. Ya need t' sleep too. I can just go back t' my room. 'sides, it prob'ly wouldn't be good for your reputation, if people found out."

"They won't find out, just like with the former third seat. It would please me if you stayed, Gin." The reminder of the incident that had brought them together made Gin fall silent. He still wanted to ask how the man had pulled off that cover-up, but he wasn't sure if Aizen would answer him truthfully at this point. Yes, it would probably be better to wait a little longer: with this change in their relationship, he had a chance to establish himself more firmly in Aizen's plans and gain his trust.

If Aizen knew what he was thinking, he gave no sign of it. Instead, apparently taking the silence for assent, he nodded toward his futon. "It'll be more comfortable there. Don't worry about me; there's still some work I need to finish up, but I'll join you later. I won't do anything else tonight, I promise."

Hesitantly, Gin obeyed, rearranging the blanket on the futon before lying down. He watched quietly as Aizen worked by the flickering light of the candle, listening to the soft scratch of his pen. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted into sleep with the older man's profile burned into his eyes.

#bleach #fanfic #fan fic #Ichimaru Gin #gin ichimaru #gin #aizen sousuke #sosuke aizen #Aizen Sōsuke #aizen #mine

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

For the Post Studio AU, what was the hardest part of escaping the studio? For everyone? Like, recovery wise, what's the hardest part for the inky Joey Drew Studios crew?

Oof, where to start with this one... I'm gonna set a few exceptions aside that didn't end up in the Cycle but that were still affected by the studio's descent into madness.

Henry Stein - Being a war veteran Henry was already dealing with PTSD and his old injuries, so being stuck in the studio for five long years repeating the same thing over and over, reopened a few psychological wounds he was working through. Coping with double the survivor's guilt isn't easy, especially when he lays awake at night wondering if he could have stopped Joey if he'd just stayed, but Henry is a stubborn son of a gun. He finds ways to march on and does his best to help everyone else.

Sammy Lawrence - The sacrificial cult murders are hard for him to forgive himself for. He's resentful of his own shattered mind, and is stuck in his own personal loop of being unsure of who he is. Surely he's not Sammy Lawrence anymore, nor does he fit the bill of Prophet. When he ends up spitting up the ink that forms Andy (aka Wanderer/Wandering Sin Bendy) he also ends up with a new hurdle to deal with, which is this mischievous cartoon that looks like a character he absolutely loathes, but who is connected to him in a way he might dare say is more like a parent-child relationship than god-subject. Needless to say Sammy needs time and a little bit of affection to bring down the self-loathing walls he's slowly built up. Once he's learned to reach out to others for help instead of being a prideful mule, he'll finally be able to start mending himself.

Jack Fain - He honestly believed he'd never see his husband again, and that nearly broke him. Then when Henry and Linda managed to contact him, Jack was instead afraid that he'd be rejected because he wasn't human anymore. Jack's insecurities made it hard for him to heal and work his way up back into a semblance of humanity, after all who'd ever be able to love a lump of ink that smells like your bathroom plumbing? Thankfully he was wrong and his husband was more than willing to welcome him back into his life. They have 20 years worth of grief and longing to work through.

Susie Campbell - It takes a while for Susie to forgive herself for what Alice had done in the studio (what she'd allowed her to do). But unlike many of the others she can't afford to sit still. As one of the more humanoid survivors she is tasked with helping Allison with groceries and, as such, is confronted with 20 years worth of change. Once she has time for herself she spends it in introspective silence or straight up just writes about it. She ends up uncovering a talent for literature and becomes a self-made successful "fiction" author. Her specialty? Sci-fi horror.

Norman Polk - Norman's life is a living hell even as he is rescued. He's lucid most of the time but (if provoked) he can easily switch back to being a feral mess. The silence is also suffocating to him, so he gets incredibly antsy if there isn't much happening. Combating his wanderlust is difficult so he coped by walking in the woods, often getting lost unless he's accompanied (which is a rule Henry immediately sets up). The most he does at first is to sleep all day and walk all night. Once he gains more of his self-control however, things begin to look up for him. It helps to have an emotional support dog that can keep up with him, as well as having people in his life that treat him like a person still. His little cartoon "child" also brings out the more tender side of his less lucid state of mind.

Allison Pendle - Like Susie she has little time to sit around and wallow. She has many responsibilities and as such is always busy. The only time she has to think and let herself cry is when she's in bed. Thankfully Tom is there for her, even if he can't talk anymore. Being held is enough for her though.

Thomas Connors - At first he's furious at being stuck as a mute cartoon wolf. He feels useless being unable to get a job and help provide for the cabin, and sitting around twiddling his thumbs was never something he liked doing. The only way he has to cope is helping Lacie figure out how to sort out Bertrum's situation, try to find a way to fix Norman's speaker and hearing, as well as keeping an eye on everyone when Allison and Susie leave to go into town. Running outside like an unbound dog alongside Buddy also helps. Freedom and exercise go well together in keeping him nice and active.

Shawn Flynn - He is incredibly frustrated about his size and lack of speech. He used to be a very loud and boisterous man, so being rendered a giant mute unable to convey his thoughts in a meaningful (albeit crude) manner makes him feel a bit isolated. His size also makes it difficult for him to get back into toy-making, but he'll be damned if he doesn't have at least one thing to do with his hands. Most of the time he spends hanging out with Grant who needs a little bit of supervision. He hopes his company helps the depressed mess his dearest friend has become.

Grant Cohen - There's a lot going on in his head, so most days are spent laying around just sleeping. He has very little motivation to do anything, and mostly only trusts Edvard (the Edgar clone that has a piece of his soul) and Shawn. His best days are spent reading or even listening to the radio. That's enough proof that he's unwell but at least coping in his own way. His is very slow progress, but still progress.

Buddy Lewek - He misses his family dearly, and it was hard having to accept he's never going to be a productive member of society, much less see the changes of a progressing civilization. Still Buddy is young. He finds things to busy himself with, enjoys being able to live free and without fear, and still practices his drawing with great gusto (even if he never quite gets Bendy's head right). He won't admit it but running wild like a rowdy pup is actually quite nice. He illustrates Susie's novels.

Abby Lambert - She was in very bad shape like Grant, depressed and suicidal, but was lucky enough to be reunited with her family early on. The occasional letter she sends shows she's doing well and getting better each time a new letter arrives. She feels a little bad that not everyone is as fortunate as her to have the support of their loved ones... Some don't have families to return to at all and that just doesn't sit right with her.

Bertrum Piedmont - Hates life a little less with each attempt Lacie makes at improving his living conditions. Being a stationary amusement park ride takes a toll on one's sanity, so it's normal that Bertrum is incredibly antisocial at first. Fortunately he's slowly warmed up to everyone as time goes on, and the one thing that bothers him is being unable to show his appreciation for the stubborn idiots who keep trying to help him. Inadequacy is a bitch to someone who's used to giving his all.

Lacie Benton - She's a living animatronic and she hates it, but now that she's not immobilized and that Tom built her a new arm, she can actually move on with her life and try to sort the real issues. Starting with Bertrum and Norman who definitely need a bit of refurbishing to live a better life. Surprisingly Bertrum is easier to sort out than Norman, who gets just a little too upset when she touches his speaker or wires...

Emma LaMonte - Like Jack and Abby she got lucky enough to go back to her family. Being as determined as she is, she also managed to regain her human form pretty quickly. Her perfectionist nature may have made her difficult most of the time, but now it's certainly worked in her favor. The one thing that she can't cope with is the memory of once having no legs to speak of... It chills her, the thought she'd never be able to dance again.

The Ink Demon - Binky needs to learn how to people and that in itself is already hard. Learning to cope with the monstrous things he did to everyone else is a whole new can of worms... Luckily the toons seem to like him a lot. It helps to not be cast aside. Henry also makes an effort to teach him as best he can, and show him the affection and understanding that Joey never did.

Joey Drew - Fled the country once he realized Henry broke the cycle. Can't deal with the fact he was wrong and that his life's work amounted to nothing, so he avoids dealing with it altogether. He's a wanted man, not by the law but by Henry's own righteous fury and desire for justice, as well as Linda's protective rage over her husband.

Wally Franks - He's the one that got away, so he carries a lot of survivor's guilt on his shoulders. Wishes he'd been able to help in the past, so once Henry contacts him for help finding everyone's families he jumps at the opportunity to do right by his old coworkers. He's the one who gets Norman a dog that wouldn't just flee from him, and he'll donate funds to keep the cabin afloat whenever things aren't doing so good. He visits a lot too.

Dot - She couldn't believe that the people she was sure as hell were dead actually survived Drew's madhouse of a studio. She had to pinch herself when she reunited with them however, because she wasn't expecting... Well... This... She feels responsible for Buddy being stuck as he is because she couldn't save him and instead saved herself. She's taken it upon herself to locate Joey and expose his monstrous actions.

Linda Stein - Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. This lady was not scorned by her husband, but she sure has a bone to pick with Mr. Drew. Luckily for her, Henry feels just as vindictive as she when it comes to Joey's obscene cruelty. Linda does her best to help everyone at the cabin, and gives her all in helping her husband through listening to the things he dare not tell his therapist... Needless to say she's heartbroken that her beloved had to go through two separate hells only to be expected to move on once he got out...

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #Post Studio AU

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armahydrica · 4 years

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AJAX: KINDNESS, EMPATHY AND EMOTIONLESS CRUELTY - THE AMBITIOUS TALE OF A DREAMER -

Part ONE. - TIME IN THE ABYSS -

( Prone to change; canon-compliant till Patch 1.1 & all Friendship notes so far.)

Driven by the many tales he had dwelled in ever since his young childhood, Ajax has always felt that he belonged somewhere else – far away, still beneath the same sky yet seeing things no one else would dare to imagine. Truthfully, the life among his family had become quite dull over the latest years before he turned fourteen – feeling that he was now, perchance, old enough to follow his own path. Never being the one to properly plan ahead, his departure was all but sudden, hastily arranged and without any goodbyes. Sneaking away in the middle of the night, smelling the approach of a mild snowstorm to easily cover his tracks, he left for the nearest woods with naught but his father’s old short sword he had previously stolen and some leftovers of the simple bread his mother had prepared the day before.

However, having not expected for the snow to become as deep and the raging storm to hinder his sight as much as it did, the young Ajax merely kept walking forward in order to not freeze to death in the icy coldness. Drenched, with the coldness numbing all of his limbs and flushed cheeks, he could no longer recognize the path he had taken nor the one he had to take in order to leave the forest as soon as the storm ceased – filling his heart with fear for the very first time. In sheer panic, desperately attempting to find the way back on any road, he forgot what he had learned ever since he had been a young child – as it completely slipped his mind to always watch for any potential danger. And, ultimately, he had been found – by a pack of hungry wolves who chased him through the thick layers of snow.

No, the boy was by far not a proper fighter back then; not even knowing how to properly unsheathe the sword he had stolen – running for his life in sheer horror. His inexperienced slashes had done naught but to provoke the pack, howling in pure agony behind his back. Just as he thought to have finally escaped his pursuers, one gigantic brown bear found the exhausted and trembling boy, feeling endangered by his trespassing. Having barely any strength left inside his limbs, Ajax knew he had little hope to escape the sharp claws ready to tore his flesh apart – quickly deciding on the only remaining option he had to survive. Running over a fallen stump over an open chasm, he hoped the bear would either give up its pursuit or crash down into the depth by following him.

Yet the plan backlashed; and the boy lost his own footing, falling deep, far too deep. Closing his teary eyes, ready to die, he closed his eyes to await his death.

And yet the pain never came – the fall never ended. Feeling the already icy air becoming even colder and so much harder to breathe in, he reluctantly opened his eyes once again to see too many colors shimmering in front of his very eyes – seeing pitch black darkness surrounding too many wonders, too many horrid moments to never be told. And then, just as he thought he was lost in this madness for all eternity, his body met the cold ground, pushing all air out of his lungs. This was not his home – there was no pure white, no warmth, nothing but darkness and inhuman shades of beings he had never seen before.

Horrified, he ran as far as he could with his remaining strength – feeling the air burning his lungs and throat, threatening to suffocate him. And then the world turned black and cold. When he could finally open his eyes again, he was – as he believed – inside a cave; with a pair of shining eyes carefully watching him. The shade, as he was unable to see its face properly, belonged to a woman – a woman who would introduce herself as Skirk. She threw his father’s old sword in front of his still paralyzed body, asking why he carried a weapon if he had not the heart to use it. She sounded all too accusingly, almost bored.

Why are you running away from death if you are too scared to fight it, she asked in the same monotonous tone. Would it not be easier to just die now instead of tormenting yourself with this crippling fear?

Too afraid to speak for a moment, Ajax believed for a slight, threatening smile to form in the woman’s shade. She did not move for a while until he found the strength again to move his very fingers. Feeling as if he was seeing straight into the reaper’s dead eyes, the boy bit his lip and considered his chances to escape – and as the woman’s dark shade slowly rose in the shadows, revealing a long sword inside her hands, the boy’s fingertips tightly grabbed the grip of his sword in sheer reflex. Clumsily jumping back to his feet, he held his sword upright – just in the right moment to block her attack which was surprisingly weak.

Have you finally come to your senses to fight, she asked with a merciless grimace and an amused tone.

That’s right. The world will spit you out again if you are not strong enough to oppose it. The weak will always be eaten, only the strong will prevail. But if you are weak, how can you become stronger and oppose your fate? Do you know the answer?

Withdrawing her sword once again the shade watched him and the boy remained heavily breathing from the previous effort to block her attack. He remained silent for a moment, considering his chances to escape instead of wasting more time with her – but somehow he knew that she would not let him; that it would be in vain to even try to escape this nightmare on his own. His thoughts returned to his family – what would they think if he never returned? He thought of all those brave heroes his father had told him about whilst fishing with him from dawn to dusk – who always opposed their fate, fighting for something greater.

They became strong because they knew what they were fighting for, the boy answered surprisingly confident in his answer. They always knew that losing was not an option and that they had to win, no matter the price, he quickly added, uncertain whether his answer was deemed good enough.

Yet the weird grimace of the shade just grew until she left out a shrill laughter, too inhuman in fact.

Oh? You do not survive by just wanting to live and become stronger. Dreams are meant to be crushed. If I tell you that it would be all too easy for me to kill you now, what would you do? Will you fight for your reason to stay alive or will you fight to become stronger and take me down yourself?

The grip around his short sword became tighter, almost tearing his skin apart. And then the shade moved slightly, coming a bit closer so that he could stare into a dark pair of eyes – almost as if she could feel his hesitance.

I see ambition in your heart. I see the thirst to prove yourself. But you lack the courage and strength. If you are hesitant, I’ll kill you. But if you want to learn how to oppose all odds, how to become death yourself, follow me. I’ll teach you the ways of chaos.

And with those words the shade turned around, going deeper into the cave as if she awaited his answer. For a few minutes the young Ajax considered the possibility of taking a sharp turn and running away, but somehow he had been drown to the short demonstration of power he had seen – ultimately making him to follow her deeper into the heart of darkness.

Skirk was a merciless master – she cared very little for his wellbeing; whether his bones broke or whether he might be impaled by falling stalagmites. This was her ideal truly - if he was unworthy to be alive the boy would simply die and she would more than enjoy such sight. And yet she showed patience, begun at the basics and never for once attempted to truly end his life. Which would be, as he quickly came to realize, as easy as breathing for him.

As soon as he had mastered to use his father’s old short sword in one-handed combat, she begun to teach him how to dualwield – and as soon as he mastered this step as well, she showed him different types of weapons for him to choose from. Not a single day midst the coldness of the darkness passed when his face would not be pressed into the mud; when he would not stare up to see her smug grimace upon proving who was the strongest among them. In the end he was even strong enough to slay the beasts of the Abyss.

Ajax had never been able to even remotely match his master’s strength, however. No, until the very last day he had spent with her she never raised her sword again – nor did she ever used her second arm to defeat him. The months which had passed had left its scars on him, sharpening his gaze on the same when his master sent him back to his own world again, wishing him to bring havoc upon those who dare to defeat him. As he was, as she called it, destined to become the strongest among them all.

Only a few days had passed in his world when his worried family found him in the snowy forest, tightly embracing him albeit his glance remained cold and numb – hiding the rusty, bloody short sword inside his hands which had left stains of crimson red all over the pristine white where he came from. From the corpses of a pack of dead wolves who had made the mistake to cross him again.

#;long post #; HEADCANON.

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 5 years

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Heart Of The Matter

Heart of the Matter- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Requested by @darkness-in-bright with prompts:

46. “Are you decent?” “Not morally, but I am wearing pants, if that’s what you’re asking.

126. I really want to talk to you. And not through the door.

138. “You don’t get to say anything to me!”

So for the purposes of this story- Tony didn't die, Steve isn't an old man. End Game had a happier ending. Reader is Tony’s daughter...because we all know my sheer OBSESSION with Stark readers and OCs. She was about 15 at the time of the first Avengers movie so if I did my math right...With the End Game time jump she should be 27ish. If I’m wrong...pretend I’m not. This is like 7K words and I’m not even sorry. 😂

As always likes, comments and reblogs are SO APPRECIATED. Requests are open (Avengers, Supernatural, TVD/The Originals. I do dabble in some Green Arrow and The Flash (DC TV Only please). Prompt list can be found here.

Please let me know if you would like to be added to this tag list or one of my others.

Avengers Tag List: @shreddedparchment @fanfictionjunkie1112@this-is-mycrisis

Avengers Masterlist

As Tony Stark’s daughter, people treated you differently your whole life. You were always catered to, and you kind of hated it. It took you a long time to come to terms with the fact that you would never have a normal life. When you were 12, Tony was kidnapped. The video of him that the kidnappers sent still plagued your dreams to this day. When you finally got him back and he came out as Iron Man, that had made you give up your dream of having any normality; You were happy to let it go, you couldn’t have been more proud of your father.

Tony had always been in your life. At first it was minimal because your mother used you as a bargaining chip for money. Your mother had been a girl he met out and had a fling with. By the time you were 3, you were with him full time. When Tony had found out your mother was abusing prescription meds, he cleaned his life up and fought for you. He still had his fun, but taking care of you came first. Eventually she vanished from your life after a handful of supervised visits.

While Tony was busy saving the world, you were working on your studies. You attended a private a school to help keep you out of the lime light. You remembered hearing about Captain America from Agent Coulson and were excited to meet him when you found out he came out of the ice. You didn’t know your grandparents. He knew your grandfather. You wanted to learn about a different side of him. Phil had promised to arrange it, but then Loki and the Chitauri came for New York. You had been only 15 at the time. By some stroke of luck you had gone unharmed. You had been through a lot in your young life already, and watching Tony disappear through that hole in the sky had shaken you to your core. You had been in the tower and had run outside crying. Steve Rogers had caught you in his arms and held you tight while you broke down. He didn’t let you go until Tony opened his eyes. That day forged a bond with you and Steve. He became the big brother you had always needed.

Once things had settled down, you closed yourself off from everyone, including your father. Tony had to hire a tutor for you to continue your school work because you wouldn’t leave the tower. Tony has been distraught when he couldn’t reach you. It had been Steve that had broken through your walls after he moved in to The Avengers tower. He had let you guide him through all of the pop culture he didn’t understand and he earned your trust by treating you like you were his equal, not a kid. He didn’t try to get you to talk like Tony and Pepper did. He didn’t treat you like glass the way Happy and Rhodey did. He would tell you stories about when he was a kid and how he was trying to adjust after being gone for so long. Eventually, you slowly started opening up. You told him how you were certain that being Iron Man would take your father from you too soon but that he had to do it. The world needed heroes like him and Steve. You confessed your fears of being ill prepared for what was coming in the world. You couldn’t protect yourself, and the idea that you would be a distraction from other people being saved ate at you. Steve taught you how to defend yourself, you trained with him. Tony had been grateful that Steve had helped you and brought his brilliant and loving daughter back to life. Like Tony, you graduated high school far too early. At 16, went to Columbia University to get your degree in computer science and engineering, you also minored in Business. At age 20 you had a masters degree and you were helping Pepper with Stark Industries. Eventually it would be yours to take over. You also worked behind the scenes for The Avengers. Tony had been insistent that you never went into the field, but he didn't mind you working at the tower with Maria Hill.

The time of the Accords had been one of the worst times in your life. Watching Steve and Tony fracture down the middle. You saw both sides and cried when you told Steve you had to stand with your father. No matter what, you would never turn your back on Tony. The two of you were a team. Steve understood that more than you knew at the time. You had been shattered when you found out about Bucky being the one that murdered your grandparents and the fact that Steve had covered it up. Steve had told you so many stories about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Your brain couldn’t reconcile the fun loving man and the Soldier that gave your grandparents such a violent end. Steve’s lie had hurt more than anything, yet part of you understood. You knew what Bucky meant to him. Bucky was his family and he would do anything to protect him. After all...there wasn't a thing in the world you wouldn't do to protect your father.

It had been you that convinced Tony that it wasn’t Bucky’s fault. You were a woman obsessed after Steve went on the run. You needed to understand. You had done extensive research into Hydra after everything that had happened. You needed to be able to separate The Winter Soldier from Bucky Barnes. You believed that Steve knew James Barnes best. He was rarely wrong. When you delved into the research into how they had programmed him, you felt instant regret for the rift between you and Steve. You begged Tony to find a way to forgive and move on. You had reached out to Steve a few times and met once. Steve had been hesitant, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he was afraid you would get hurt. You had to forgive him and in person and so he agreed. You spent two days with him and Sam in South America. It had been hard to leave them knowing you didn’t know if and when you would see them again. Tony knew you had seen Steve and made amends, he just wasn’t ready yet. Tony wanted to find your level of empathy, he just needed to work at it. Then Thanos happened and your world shattered again.

your father disappeared onto that space ship. Bruce has called Steve, Nat, Sam and Wanda for help. You had been a wreck when they walked back into the compound. Steve wanted you to stay behind but there was no way you were staying. At the very least you could help Shuri get the Infinity Stone from Vision. You ended up on the battlefield and watched everyone around you crumble into nothing. You were inconsolable until Carol Danvers rescued your father. When all seemed lost, you helped your father heal and settle down into a quiet life. He married Pepper and you finally had a sister.

After 5 years of despair, it was time to fight again. And while you got the world back. While the loss of Nat was nearly suffocating, you couldn't be more proud of her and her sacrifice. You had almost lost Tony when he snapped Thanos out of existence. He was never quite the same physically, but he happily accepted it to live in peace with his family knowing he had stopped the Mad Titan. It was his “one last mission” and he was lucky he made it back home.

You found anything but peace. You needed to do more than sitting behind a desk. After meeting Carol Danvers you realized that another Thanos could come your way and even if one didn’t, the world was in disarray again since the population had been restored. So, you joined the newly formed SHIELD. It was during this time you had gotten to know James Buchanan Barnes and he turned your world upside down. You found yourself getting lost in the blue of his eyes on more than one occasion. Goosebumps covered your skin any time his hands were on you during training. You had started looking forward to missions with just the two of you and then you started to realize he was like Steve. Steve Rogers acting as a over protective big brother was bad enough, you didn’t need his side kick jumping in on the mix. You thought that with all of the training you had done and how you continually proved yourself would be enough, clearly you were wrong. Bucky did whatever he could to block you out, keep you in the jet or back at the compound. You had finally had enough.

“No! You don't get to say anything to me right now." You were raging. Bucky had just gotten back from the mission that you were supposed to go on with him. He had again convinced Steve that he didn't need you. He botched the mission and almost got himself killed. He was trying to talk his way out of it and you didn’t want to hear it.

"Y/N, calm down." Bucky immediately regretted it. He saw the rage burn behind your eyes. Sam had his arms crossed in front of him, leaning against the counter of the common area kitchen enjoying the show. Bucky should have known better, you had quite the temper.

“Calm down?! God I am so sick of this! It’s because Tony is my father, isn’t it? It’s such bullshit! You needed me on that mission. I could have gotten in and out quickly and gotten all of the information off of their drives and you could have watched my back while I did it. Instead, YOU made a big "Winter Solider" splash, dropped way more bodies than necessary and didn't even get all of the information I need! These are huge drug smugglers and now they know we're after them. So now who's going to have to be smarter, work harder and get the info we need from behind the scenes? ME! NOT YOU." You took a deep breath and tried to reign in your temper. You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm not some helpless damsel. If I wasn't good enough to be in the field...Fury NEVER would have me given me the okay and Rhodey sure as hell would have put a stop to it if I wasn’t prepared. I get you're trying to gain points with my Father...because I know he doesn't want me here. But this time, your need to get on his good side fucked up this whole operation!" Naturally Steve walked in during the middle of your tirade wide eyed.

"I don't know if that language is necessary." Sam let out a low whistle, certain that your head was going to pop off your shoulders. He watched as you turned slowly and narrowed your eyes at Steve.

“Actually, Captain Rogers" the tone in your voice oozed sarcasm, "it's perfectly necessary. And you are JUST has bad as he is" you pointed over at Bucky. "You find any excuse to pull me off of missions and keep me in this tower like I'm frickin Rapunzel or something." You pushed past the two of them and stalked down the hall, slamming your door. The three men stood there quietly.

"Soooo...that went well." Sam finally quipped. Buck and Steve both glared at him. "Don't glare at me, she's not wrong. I love going on missions with her. She's smart and fast. She calculates every risk and doesn’t do anything unless absolutely necessary. She doesn't need you to protect her. I mean I get why you want to." He directed the last part of his comment to Bucky.

“What the hell does that mean pigeon." Bucky shot Sam another glare causing Steve to groan. He wasn’t in the mood for their bickering.

"Look...do I think you want to win bonus points with Papa Stark...sure. But not for the reason she thinks. You have feelings for her. You don't know exactly how to tell her or how to deal with it so you try to be her protector. She doesn’t need another man in her life trying to bubble wrap her. Tony and Rhodey have that covered. She wants to be your equal. She’s more than proven herself. And I’m not insulting you, it’s just an observation. We've been working together long enough for me to know you. I know your tells. I also see how you look at her when you think no one else is looking. Try talking to her...outside of missions. Maybe ask her out. Use some of that charm you have that Steve told us about." Sam shrugged and walked away.

Bucky swallowed uncomfortably as Steve turned his gaze towards him. Bucky wasn't sure how he would react and of course Sam had said something in front of him. Sam was right, he did have a thing for you. How could he not? You were so many things; funny, smart, empathetic, which he knew better than anyone. You were beautiful and had a smile that could light up the darkest of places. He even loved your temper. You had a passion and fire inside of you, God help anyone that got in your way.

“Look Steve, you know how amazing she is, how could I not want to be with her? She’s incredible. But I also know nothing can ever happen. I mean the age difference alone. I know how much she means to you. I’d never cross that line.” Steve smiled.

“I don’t think that we can really consider an age difference here when you, like me, spent so much time under ice. And then the fact that you were gone for 5 years. It’s not a normal situation. And yes, she does mean a lot to me. I’ve known her since she was a kid. I watched her grow up. But she isn’t a kid anymore. She’s a grown woman. It’s not up to me who she spends her time with. If I had to pick, you’d be at the top of the list. Buck- you’re not the man Hydra made you into anymore. You healed that part of yourself in Wakanda. You are a good man.”

“Tony won’t approve.” Steve smiled for a moment.

“You really think that would stop her?” Bucky laughed at that comment. But he absolutely thought Tony’s disapproval would put an end to anything he could have with you. “Tony forgave you. It took time but he moved past that. And if you end up being what makes her happy, he wouldn’t stand in the way of that. And she and Sam are right, she doesn’t need us to protect her. I’m equally guilty in trying to keep her out of the line of fire.” Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he pondered what Steve and Sam has said and headed to talk to you.

***

You were pacing in your room trying to work out your anger when there was a knock at the door. You rolled your eyes. You knew who it was without any verification.

“Leave me alone Steve.” You heard him chuckle. He wouldn’t let anger stay between the two of you. You had made an agreement a long time ago to always work out your differences.

“C’mon Y/N- I really want to talk to you. And not through the door.“ You groaned and headed over to your door and yanked it open. Steve had his arms crossed and he was leaning against the doorway.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You’re right. I need to stop putting my personal feelings for you in front of the job we have to do. I think after everything that we’ve seen and been through I just want to know you’re always safe. Your father made it clear I was responsible for you. But it’s not fair to you.”

“Thanks Steve. I’m just so sick of being treated like I’m made of glass. I can handle myself. I know the risks.”

“I know. Your more than qualified to be in the field and I trust you more than about anyone. I promise to do better. And Bucky isn’t trying to earn points with Tony. I think he just thinks that the Stark family has been through enough. You’re the one that made it possible for him to be apart of this family. Your forgiveness and understanding led to Tony’s. Being here has allowed him to get back to the person he used to be. “

“Yeah well thanks to him I have a ton of work to do.” You felt your anger deflate like a balloon. “I better get to it.” You nodded over to your desk where two huge flat screen monitors sat.

“Alright, let me know if you need anything.” You nodded and watched him retreat down the hall before you shut your door.

Bucky Barnes was under your skin. He had been since the day you met him in Wakanda. You expected this hardened soldier but found a man with an easy smile and kind eyes. Whatever monster that had lived within him had been snuffed out. It had started when you’d notice that his gaze would linger on you just a little longer than necessary. Your heart would pound anytime he was in close proximity and you were certain he had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. But it would never progress past a few longing looks and mild flirting. Bucky Barnes was determined to stay on Tony Starks good side, certainly any sort of relationship with his daughter would be frowned upon. You sighed and sat down.

“Friday- run through the files Sergeant Barnes obtained. We then need to get into their servers and find out when the next deal is going to happen so we can stop them.”

“Right away Miss Stark.” It was going to be a very long night.

***

It had been a few days and you finally got a lead to where the drug ring might be next. You were running down to the gym where you knew Bucky was. You stopped when you saw it empty and stepped towards the locker room with trepidation.

“Barnes! “Are you decent?” You yelled into the doorway. You heard him laugh.

“Not morally, but I am wearing pants, if that’s what you’re asking.” you rolled your eyes and strolled in, your heels clacking on the floor. He had been more flirty than normal the past few days. It was knocking you off your guard. He shot you a grin when he saw you. True to his word, he was wearing pants and nothing else. His prosthetic arm was on the bench, and his impressive form was still damp from the shower. You didn’t realize you were staring until he cleared his throat. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks and you stepped forward looking at the still angry scars on shoulder where his arm used to be attached. He would normally be self conscious with someone staring at him the way you were, but he saw interest, not pity. He sucked his breath in when you ran your fingers over the scar. You quickly realized what you were doing and jumped back.

“Sorry - I, uh, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that.” You had a sheepish look on your face. “Just...does that bother you?” Your head was tilted to the side.

“Not since Wakanda. Shuri fixed me up. Now it doesn’t hurt to wear the arm.” You looked up at him.

“You sure? I used the 3D printer to print skin grafts for another agent”

“Of course you did.” You narrowed your eyes at him and pursed your lips. “It’s more cosmetic now, no physical pain. So unless you think I need plastic surgery.”

“Shut up. That’s not what I meant. I’ve just never seen you without your prosthetic. Scars make a person more interesting. I have plenty of my own.” He watched you shudder. He remembered the deep cuts to your back during the battle with Thanos. You had been running to protect Peter and one of Thanos’ soldiers had slashed your back a few times. He remembered your screams from being cleaned and stitched up vividly.

“So...do you need something or just here to ogle me?” He wiggled his eyesbrows at you and winked when he saw your face go red again.”

“You’re obnoxious.” He was enjoying your fluster. “You need to get your shit. You, Steve and Sam are headed to Chicago to try and bust the drug ring. I finally found a lead.”

“You’re not coming?” He was certain after the last time that it would be a cold day in hell before you missed this.

“Well unfortunately I still have my Stark Industries responsibilities. And in two days we have a fundraiser. Please let me remind you that you three are on the guest list and help the elite open their big fat checkbooks. Don’t get killed and make sure Sam doesn’t mess up his pretty face.”

“Of course Doll.” He watched your eyes narrow again. You gave him a quick second look before you strutted out of the locker room completely flustered again. His skin still almost tingled where you had touched him.

***

You looked around the ball room at the richest of the rich. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, but you felt a cloud over you. Steve and company were successful in stopping the shipment and a few of the ring members, but the leader had eluded them again. They were capitalizing on people’s pain and desperation. It hadn’t been any easy transition back for many who were snapped away. They often turned to substances to drown their sorrows. Maybe it was because you had found out your mother had recently overdosed. You took it personally. You didn’t know the woman, she was a stranger, but she was still your mother.

“Well look at you.” You turned to see a beaming Tony with Pepper holding onto his good arm. The arm that had been touched by the infinity stones was covered by a black brace.

“Hi Daddy.” You smiled and hugged him.

“Hi darling. Morgan misses you. She insists you come visit next weekend.”

“I know. I’m a terrible sister, I’ve just been distracted.”

“You’ve been working too hard.”

“Gee, I wonder where she gets it from?” Pepper quipped and you let out a genuine laugh.

“Well you are your father’s daughter. I couldn’t be more proud.” Tony kissed your cheek. “We’re going to make some rounds. I’ll see you later.” You nodded. You were by yourself again for a few moments and then saw Steve’s smiling face approaching you.

“Hey kid.”

“Steven.” You smiled at him.

“Ready?” You nodded and he led you up to the podium. Steve greeted the crowd and then introduced you. No matter how many crowds you spoke in front of, you always got nervous. As you approached the podium you looked out to the crowd and caught Bucky’s eye. He gave a reassuring smile that took your breath away. At some point between his mission and now he had gotten his long hair cut into a style similar to what it was before the war. He looked stunning in his tux. You cleared your throat and adverted your eyes away from the Sergeant’s.

“Thank you all so much for coming. It’s a happy occasion that brings us all here tonight as we celebrate the one year anniversary that so many of you were returned to us. I would be remised if I didn’t acknowledge the struggle that so many across not only our nation, but the world, have experienced as they’ve tried to adjust back to normal life. With that in mind, and the reason why we invited you here tonight is to announce a new program through Stark Industries that will aim to help those in need get to normalcy. The Romanova Foundation is named for Natasha Romanoff. You had to pause as your voice cracked on Natasha’s name. ”If it weren’t for Natasha’s bravery and sacrifice, many of us would not be standing here tonight. So I ask you to open your hearts and your wallets to help those of us in need as Natasha would have. Thank you.” You stepped away from the podium quickly as the crowd roared with applause. Steve tried to grab your arm but you shrunk away and shook your head. You bit back tears as you rushed towards a door towards a private balcony, grabbing a bottle of champagne on your way.

***

Bucky watched as you made a quick exit. He was going to follow you when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised to see a smiling Tony.

“Sergeant. I was informed you had a semi successful mission yesterday, glad the three of you stopped that shipment. I also heard you got your ass ripped by my daughter last week for bumping her off a mission and then you made a huge mess of it.” Bucky swallowed hard. Tony must have read his anxiety and held his hands up. “No judgment here. I made plenty of messes myself. And I don’t envy anyone that catches her temper. It burns a little. She gets it from my side.” Tony shrugged. “You know she talks about you a lot.” Tony fired off his comments quickly.

“She does?”

“Yeah...I don’t think she realizes how much she does. She has Morgan conflicted between who her favorite Super Soldier is. You or Cap. Naturally her favorite Avenger is me. I gather you and my daughter work together a lot.”

“We do. Steve or I are usually with her.”

“To protect her?”

“Yes. She’s not a super soldier, though she thinks she is.” Tony snickered. “She’s not enhanced like Wanda. But she’s a huge asset. I don’t know what we would do without her. But some of these people we’re up against are enhanced, So Steve and I, we stick close to Y/N.”

“How close is close Barnes?” Bucky paled as Tony stared him down. After a moment he laughed and clapped Bucky on his shoulder.

“I’m messing with you. Rogers and I had a conversation. While he’s not usually the type to butt in, I think he’s trying to cut through the red tape. Look, the past is the past. After everything that happened, I don’t live there anymore. The only thing I care about is that my daughter is safe and happy. I’ve been assured that the man that they made you is gone for good. And that is good enough for me. I don’t know if you know this, but my daughter and Natasha got very close in the 5 years between Thanos annihilating half the planet and when we got everyone back. She and Nat worked tirelessly with Carol and company to watch the universe. Nat’s death was hard on all of us, but especially my daughter. Today is a hard day for her. If I know her as well as I think I do, she’s hiding outside on the far left balcony. Probably with a bottle of booze drowning her sorrows. Do me a favor...go and check on our girl.” It took Bucky a moment to react but he nodded his head and started walking towards the other side of the room before Tony yelled his name and he turned. Tony approached him again. “I may be out of commission, but just remember that I still have a suit and if you hurt my daughter there’s no serum in the world that can protect you.” With that, Tony turned on his heel and walked away.

***

You tried to hold back your tears. You knew today was going to be hard. You didn’t realize how hard until you started talking about Natasha. You took a long drink out of your bottle and looked out over the lights of the nearby city. You heard the door open behind you and exhaled.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” When you heard the door shut you thought you had been left alone but then you felt the cool metal of Bucky’s hand in your shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk. I just don’t want you to be alone feeling like this.” You nodded but didn’t turn, you couldn’t face him. So instead he stood behind you, his arms on each side of yours protectively caging you in. “Is it okay if I talk?” You nodded.

“You know what I remembered first when we came back? Your face. For me, you represented redemption, forgiveness and all of the things I didn’t think I deserved. When Steve told me that you two had worked things out, that you understood, it was a huge relief. I knew how important you were to him. Tony too. I felt like I robbed him of the family he found after the ice.” He was leaning down so he could speak quietly in your ear. “Then he told me that you wanted to meet me. God, I was terrified. All I could remember was Tony when he saw that video. I couldn’t imagine seeing the monster I had been reflected in anyone else’s eyes. Saying you forgive someone is one thing, truly being able to mean it was another. But then when you all came to try and stop Thanos the first time you waltzed off that jet and gave me the biggest smile and then you hugged me instead of shaking my hand. You took my breath away. And it was so strange to come back and then realize that 5 years had gone by. For me, it was like we just picked the fight up where we left off. It wasn’t until after that I saw you were different. You were harder. More determined to keep fighting. More determined to be a pain in my ass and walk into the line of fire when all I wanted to do was make sure you were okay. Not because of Tony. But because you were the first person other than Steve to really make me feel like I was worth all of this, that I was with saving. The idea that you were going to be out there and possibly getting hurt I had to prevent that at all costs. I just wanted you protected and behind your computer at home. That wasn’t fair and I’m sorry for doing that to you. You’re strong and capable. Getting to know you over this past year, even if you were pissed off at me for most of it, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m sorry that you had to lose Natasha for me to get my life back. I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Nat- but she was an incredible person. I would give my life up in a second to bring her back.” You spun around so you could face him. Even in sky high heels he was looking down at you.

“Don’t say that! Please don’t ever say that.” He studied your tear filled eyes with a kind smile. He slowly put both hands on your cheeks and swiped the unshed tears from your eyes. “As much as it hurts, Natasha had to make that sacrifice to find peace. And loosing you would be just as hard.” His blue eyes sparkled down at you and you felt a swoop in your stomach. He stroked your cheek with his non-metal hand before he dropped them to his side. He watched you take a deep breath and visibly relax.

“I haven’t talked about Natasha much. It just makes me so sad that she’s not here with us today. That she’s not here celebrating our victory. I think not talking about her has made it harder to heal.”

“Any time you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“And I will. But not now. This is supposed to be a party.” You smiled up at him, he was impossibly close.

“Well the 3/4 of that champagne bottle you drank will make this a real party for you in a few minutes when it hits you. You tipped your head back and laughed. “There it is.” He said it in a whisper. You have him a questioning look. “My favorite laugh.” He was making you blush again. This must have been what he was like before the war and it definitely wasn’t in your imagination. The flirting from the past few days was actually flirting. You weren’t sure what made him decide to be so obvious about it, but you didn’t care. “If no one else has told you, you look incredible tonight.” You were clad in a black strapless sweetheart neckline dress with a sequined bodice and jewel embellishments down the tulle skirt.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself. I like the hair cut by the way.”

“It was time to get rid of the last thing that reminded me of The Winter Soldier...well other than the scary arm.”

“The arm isn’t scary.”

“No? Some of the looks I get say otherwise.”

“No. The metal arm is actually pretty sexy.” You didn’t even think before you said it. He had a smirk plastered to his face and this time you made yourself blush.

“You think I’m sexy?”

“I said the arm was sexy.” He stepped closer so you were leaning against the high railing again, his arms on either side of you caging you in again. You felt the tip of his nose run across your shoulder and up your neck as he whispered in your ear.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” The two of you had been dancing around each other for the last year, neither brave enough to make the next move. “If it wasn’t obvious by now, I have feelings for you. Big ones. The only question is, do you feel the same?”

“Do you really have to ask? Of course I do.” You felt his lips press against your shoulder and then your neck and it was like someone sucked the air out of you. He placed his hand in the side of your face and looked into your eyes for a moment and then put you out of your misery by pressing his lips to yours. It was like the missing piece had finally been put in its place. As you gripped his shoulders to deepen the kiss you heard someone clear their throat.

“Gross. Get a room.” Sam’s teasing voice rang out through the air. Bucky groaned and dropped his head as you peered around him to look at Sam. “Listen, this is your party Stark, you better get in there before someone else comes out here looking for you. Last thing we need is a reporter snapping a picture of this and ruining everyone’s breakfast tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah we’re coming.” Bucky’s voice was laced with irritation. When Sam had retreated back inside you cupped both sides of Bucky’s face and pressed your lips to his again.

“Come dance with me. I’ve heard you’ve got some moves.”

“They May be outdated sweetheart.” You grabbed the bottle of champagne and downed the rest of it and then took Bucky’s hand and pulled him towards the entrance.

***

“You okay? I mean you seem okay now, but I know you’re good at hiding it.” You were standing with Steve side by side at the bar. The bar that Nat would often mix drinks at during one of the many party’s your father would throw. Bucky had excused himself to go dig out more of Thor’s Asgardian liquor for him and Steve. You were pleasantly buzzed if not a little bit drunk. Your face hurt from laughing. You had spent the evening dancing with Bucky, Sam and Sam’s date. She worked for you at Stark Industries in research and development. You had introduced her and Sam a few months ago and they, as you knew they would hit it off. She was funny like Sam but tough enough to not take his shit. He needed someone to keep him in line.

“I really am Steve. I promise. It just hit me hard when I was standing up there. Bucky, he.-“ Steve grinned and cut you off.

“It’s about time. I’ve watched the two of you tip toe around liking each other since he joined us. There’s a reason you get so angry with him.” You gave him your infamous eye narrow and lip pursed expression. “Y/N- even your father knew. He encouraged Bucky to go to you.” Your eyes widened.

“He did?!” You knew Tony had let go of what happened but you never would have expected him to be okay with you having any sort of romantic relationship with James Buchanan Barnes...let alone encourage it.”

“He wants you to be happy. He’s happy. After everything that has happened he knows how important it is to say how you feel. He wants you to have what he has. He sees how Buck looks at you, how you look at him. How you talk about him. He’d never deny you that.” You looked over at your father and Pepper dancing and felt your heart swell for him. Your attention was drawn back when you heard Bucky set a glass down in front of Steve.

“God that smells like turpentine” you scrunched your nose in disgust.

“Well sweetheart not all of us can still be light weights.” Bucky grinned at you. Steve excused himself to head over to Sharon. You were happy that he seemed to find some happiness after everything. He had thought about going back and staying with Peggy. But creating a new timeline could have consequences. Plus the idea of leaving Bucky behind what inconceivable. You watched as Bucky downed his drink and shuddered a little bit. You both laughed and then he put his hand out as a slow song started playing over the crowd. You placed your hand in his and led him lead you to the dance floor. His one hand found the small of your back and pulled you flush against him while your other hand was still in his. You placed your free hand on the back of his neck, enjoying the feeling of his freshly buzzed hair. He kissed you lightly and you enjoyed being so close to him. If anyone would have told you this was how you would spend your night, you would have laughed at them.

“So my father gave you his blessing I hear?” Bucky let out a throaty laugh.

“And then threatened my life if I ever hurt you. He said he still has a suit.” You laughed and rolled your eyes.

“That sounds like my father. I’m glad he did. I’ve been hoping you’d make a move for a long time.”

“You could have made a move on me you know.”

“True- but you’re old. I didn’t want to offend your old fashioned ways.”

“You wound me.” You gave Bucky a grin.

“Speaking of old fashioned...your dance moves are pretty nice.”

“Oh yeah?” He flirted. Before you could respond, gun shots rang through the air and a group of men bounded in the room with semi-automatic weapons.”

“That’s the leader of the drug ring. Samuel O’Brien.” You were wide eyed and pulled away from Bucky. Samuel narrowed his eyes at you.

“So I assume it’s you and your friends that took want was mine. Now, I’ll take what is yours.” You watched as his eyes locked on your fathers. Before Bucky could stop you, you ran towards your father and pushed him out of the way as a bullet sank into your abdomen as the both of you crashed to the ground. Your ears were ringing and it seemed like everything was moving in slow motion.

“Dammit Y/N! You shouldn’t have done that!” Tony cried out as he pulled his jacket off to put pressure on the bullet. You couldn’t speak. You locked eyes with your father for a moment and then everything faded to black.

***

You felt pain, white hot searing pain. Your eye lids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as you struggled to open them. As the white room came into focus you heard the steady beeping of a hospital monitor.

“Y/N?!” You slowly glanced to your right and saw the worried looks of your father and Steve Rogers. Your father had jumped up and was fussing over you and you groaned. “What? What is it? What hurts?”

“Everything.” You saw Steve reach over and click a button on your IV.

“Thank God you woke up.” Tony ran his hand over your head and kissed your forehead. You started to feel fuzzy again and felt yourself slowly slip from consciousness from the pain meds Steve had sent into your veins.

You didn’t know how long you had been out for as you slowly blinked your eyes open again. You felt the heat of someone’s arm next to yours. When you looked to the side there sat James Buchanan Barnes with his head resting on his arms. You picked your hand up and slowly ran your fingers through his hair. It took him a moment to wake up. He slowly picked his head up and gave you a sleep smile.

“Hey.” You whispered.

“Hey yourself.” He sat up and pulled his chair closer and took your hand. “Any pain.” You shook your head no. “Good, I mean they have you pretty drugged. Jesus you scared the shit out of me. I can’t believe you did that.”

“He’s my dad.” Was all you could say. “Did you get him?”

“Yes. We got every damn one of them.”

“How long?”

“You’ve been unconscious for almost two weeks. Most of it was medically induced. There was a lot of damage and internal bleeding. They tapered you’re meds down and it took two more days for you to wake up. We thought we were going to lose you. I thought I lost you and I just finally got you. Not that you belong to me.” Bucky sighed and stopped talking.

“You didn’t lose me. And if you’ll have me, I’d love to belong to you.” He pulled your hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“I love you Y/N...I think I have for a long time. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t pull through.” His voice caught with emotion.

“Hey- Bucky- I’m not going anywhere. I love you too.” He wiped a tear that slipped from your eye. He stood up and leaned over to place an gentle kiss on your lips. Your recovery would be tough, but you would get through it with Bucky by your side.

#avengers imagne #avengers imagines #avengers #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #bucky barns imagines #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #james buchanan barnes

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screamingatanemptyroom · 5 years

Text

I Refuse to be a Named Character pt 2

Happy Halloween everyone! Here is part 2 of the nameless side character story. I was so amazed at the response to it, thank you to everyone who commented or sent me messages. It really made my day. This story will probably be 4-5 parts. If all goes well part 3 should go up tomorrow!

Part 1 linked here.

Enjoy!

_____________________________

“So are you Chloe’s twin sister? You two look so alike!”

Graham, the story’s hero, smiled handsomely at me, closing the distance between us.

I grunted in response, otherwise ignoring him as I reluctantly led his group into my small home. One young woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, clutched an infected wound at her side with a groan as she walked. I helped her to my bed, uncovering the wound and gathering medical supplies to treat her with. I kept my face nonchalant, projecting a calm air, but on the inside I was bitterly complaining.

Stupid hero. Stupid plot. Even in the middle of the forest they manage to find me? Just what does a poor girl have to do to avoid these harbingers of doom?!

Unaware of my inner raging, Chloe had already stepped forward a bright smile on her face.

“Sister! I was so worried about you!” She reached out, and ignoring my efforts to step away, managed to pull me in for a tight hug. I struggled briefly, feeling uncomfortable. “I thought you were dead!”

I was happy that Chloe was still alive. Despite the bitter way we parted, I had never wanted anything bad to happen to her. But that didn’t mean I was pleased with her bringing the story’s plot right into my backyard.

I pulled away from her grasp. “I’m still very much alive.”

“Why did you never mention you had a sister, Chloe?” Graham’s face was mildly confused as he stared at her. Chloe froze, and I smiled to myself as I settled back next to the injured girl. Chloe obviously hadn’t talked about me, as she didn’t want Graham to know she had abandoned me, but how was she supposed to explain it now?

Her answer was apparently to cry loudly.

“I thought she was dead! I was so sad, I just couldn’t talk about it!” She sniffed back further tears, looking pitifully up at the story’s hero. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I just didn’t dare hope…”

I tried to hold back my laughter, and it came out in a suppressed snort. Chloe glared daggers at me for a moment, before turning back to Graham with a sad expression once more. He reached out to pat her shoulder, handing her a handkerchief to dry her tears.

“It’s okay, Chloe, I’m happy you were able to find her again.” His smile was so bright it was almost blinding.

Shuddering, I turned my attention to the wound in front of me. I carefully cleaned the dirt and dried blood, mixing herbs to stop bleeding and prevent infection to pack in her wounds. The actions reminded me of doing a similar task for Luke years ago. Smiling idly at the thought of him, I briefly touched the bracelet at my wrist.

I hope he’s doing well. His last letter said he was fine… but I would feel better if I could see him. Even though we only spent a few months together, I missed talking to him.

As I sat there, lost in thought, I slowly noticed that the room was silent. Glancing over, I caught sight of Graham’s face. His friendly smile was gone, replaced by a serious expression. His gaze was fixed on my bracelet. I felt uneasy, and tugged my rolled up sleeves down to cover my wrist, but even after his view was blocked, I felt his eyes still watching intently.

“Where were you and Chloe before you escaped?” His voice was quiet, but I felt a chill run down my spine.

I kept my attention back on his injured companion, wrapping the wounds while I answered. “At the household of one of the minor Lords.”

“…” The silence dragged on, causing a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, but eventually he turned away, starting a different conversation as if he had never asked in the first place. The tension drained from the room, and I felt myself relax slowly.

_____________________________

Later that evening, I sat out on my porch, my weapons close at hand, staring up at the sky. I was drained. I had spent so much time living in solitude since Blade left (not that she had been one for social interaction even when she lived here), that the now full house with all the chatter and noise was giving me a headache. I rubbed my forehead, looking at the stars, feeling lost. There was a sense of foreboding, of an inevitable fate bearing down on me that I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried.

“Do you need to talk?” At the sound of Graham’s voice I groaned quietly, turning towards him, feeling slightly ill at the sight of the overly-sweet smile he wore.

“No.”

He seemed undeterred by my unfriendly tone and expression. “It’s okay, I just want to help you. Everyone here has been through terrible things, but we’re stronger now that we’ve banded together.” His voice was earnest, his eyes kind, as he sat down beside me.

I inched away from him. “That’s nice.”

“You could join us, you know.” His smile widened. “Be with your sister again. And the others? We’re much closer than mere companions. We’re a family, you know? And you can be a part of our family.”

It sounded so simple when he spoke. As if I would be happy and welcomed with opened arms. I glanced at him, idly wondering if he had given a similar speech to all the other young women in his group. If they had joined out of loneliness, a desire to belong, slowly falling in love with the man who had welcomed them so gently. All of them thinking they were special to him, when he only saw them as tools to be used to achieve his goals. And he wanted me to join them?

Even the thought was suffocating. “I prefer to be alone.”

“No one wants to be alone.” He sighed quietly. “I was once like you. Not trusting anyone, thinking the world was against me. If it weren’t for your sister Chloe finding me… believing in me… I don’t know where I’d be.”

“…” I stared up at the stars, not caring enough to answer.

“We could really use your help, to be honest.” He laughed, a self-deprecating gesture. “To tell you the truth, I’m not just a simple traveler…. I’m a prince.”

Was I supposed to be impressed? I tried not to roll my eyes. Stop trying to drag me into the plot!

Graham stared intently at me, and seemed disconcerted at my lack of reaction. “Did Chloe tell you already?”

“No.”

“Oh…. Well, maybe you understand then. Being a prince in Armaria isn’t all that special. I’m just one of many sons that lecherous old fart has. The real challenge, the real test… it’s the throne.”

Graham stood up, obviously filled with restless energy, and began pacing back and forth as he continued.

“There’s three tests that one must pass to be named the sole heir to the throne. First is simple, you must possess the token of affection passed from the king to the mother of the son in question. For those women who bore my father multiple sons… well she has to choose who she thinks is the strongest.” He paused, looking down on me as if wishing to gauge my reaction to these words.

I shrugged, bored at hearing again the exposition from a book I didn’t even like. Graham finally frowned at this, tugging at a something at his collar before holding it before my eyes. It was a beautiful strand of pearls, with a small golden amulet hanging from it. “This is my token, handed to me by my mother before she died. It will stay with me until I’ve successfully reached the throne… after which I will give it to my one true love as an engagement token.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations, who is the lucky girl?”

“… I’m not sure yet.” He hesitated before he spoke. “I’ve yet to fall in love… but I feel that it could change soon.” His words felt loaded with meaning, and he was smiling charmingly at me again.

It honestly made me feel sick. I had never liked Graham’s character even in the book. For all that he seemed nice and friendly, he was too… disingenuous. Too willing to tell his companions what they wanted to hear. To easy to abandon them to their horrible deaths. The fact that everyone praised him as a hero while he did so made it all the more chilling.

Even Lucien the villain is better than him. I thought suddenly. He might be a violent killer, but at least he’s open and honest about it. This “hero” makes me want to keep a hand on my wallet and sleep with one eye open!

“Well, good luck with that.” I answered him unenthusiastically. I hoped sincerely that he didn’t choose Chloe. Whichever “true love” he eventually picked would have a difficult time with this dishonest man.

Graham laughed at my answer. “How rare to see a girl like you who doesn’t covet anything.”

“I covet plenty of things.” Safety. Silence. Separation from the plot. “Just nothing you can give.”

“All the more reason to have someone like you at my side.” He sat down again. “The second task is much more dangerous, you see. One must travel to the Northern Desert. The place is crawling with dangerous animals and large lawless bandit gangs. Each gang leader has a Tarif, a small amulet that serves as a symbol of their undying loyalty. To reach the third and final test, a prince must be able to acquire one of these Tarifs and bring it back to the Western City.”

Seeing he was finally done, I shook my head. “It’s seems like you already have a good group here. You should be just fine without me.”

“We need someone who can track. And it wouldn’t hurt if she could hold her own in a fight too. “ Graham sighed. “Lula, the girl you just patched up, was supposed to help with tracking the bandit gang, but now… there’s no way she would survive out there while recovering from an injury. We need you.”

I smiled at him, and he seemed to relax for a moment, obviously feeling confident that I would agree.

“No.” Standing up, I turned to walk away, only to have my arm grabbed and held back. I turned coldly towards Graham, who refused to let go.

“Don’t you want to be a part of something bigger? Something greater?”

Like this awful plot that kills off the majority of its main characters? “Nope.”

“You would be a part of the small group of people who placed the future king on his throne! Forever remembered in legends!”

“Not interested.”

His eyes widened at my calm answer, a faint trace of panic visible in his eyes. “What about your sister?! Don’t you want her to be safe? Shouldn’t you stay by her side as she faces danger?”

I shrugged, still trying and failing to pull my arm back. “My sister has made her own choices, as I’ve made mine. You and Chloe are different from me, going out to face danger and accomplish wonderful things.” I smiled, but it felt more like a grimace. “I prefer to stay at home. Some people are just not meant for greatness or adventure.”

“…” Graham continued to stare at me, and as the silence stretched out I became more and more uncomfortable, but I refused to show it, looking back up at the stars.

“You never told me your name.” When he finally spoke again, his voice was strangely serious. I glanced over, surprised to see a look in his eye I couldn’t quite understand. Fortunately he finally released his grip on my arm, allowing me to put some distance between us.

“There’s no need to. I’ve never been important enough to have one.” I laughed briefly, shouldering my weapons and walking out towards the forest. “I’m going out to patrol. Goodnight, Your Highness. Good luck with winning the throne.”

Graham didn’t answer me. He just silently watched, his gaze boring into my back as I left him behind.

_____________________________

I thought that would be the end of it. At least, I hoped it would. After all, I had turned down the prince multiple times; he had to give up at some point, right?

But when I woke up the next morning, it was to Chloe’s desperate tears.

“You have to come with us.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, her face pale, her hands wringing together in front of her. She looked so different from the confident girl she had been back in our world, the one who had left me behind with only an angry glance.

“I made myself very clear to your hero last night. I’m not going.” I got up, washing my face from the cold water in the basin by my bed, trying to wake myself up faster.

“You don’t understand! Graham says that if you don’t come along, he’ll leave me behind!”

“Good.” I smiled. “You remember how many of his companions died in the Northern Desert? Chopped to pieces, shot with arrows, poisoned… Better if you can meet up with him in the Western City. Then at least if you die there it will only be a quick stab in the back.”

Chloe stepped back, her face drawn. “How can you be so cruel? I can’t abandon Graham and my friends now!”

“Then follow after them. No need for me to go.”

“But…”

I shook my head, feeling frustrated. “Chloe, I’m living a happy life out here in the forest, away from the plot. I don’t want to risk my life for Graham. Don’t ask me to.”

Chloe sank down to the floor, staring up at me. “Please. I need you.” She hesitated, then reached out, her hand pulling on my pant leg. “This… this hasn’t been going well. I thought if I found Graham first, was his main support, he would see me as special. That I would be the heroine. But…”

“He still gathered everyone, treating everyone the same.” I completed her sentence after she hesitated for a long moment.

“Graham really needs someone who can track. If I convince you to come… He might look at me differently.” She sounded miserable. I tried my best not to care.

“It won’t change what kind of person he is, Chloe.”

“Please. This is my only chance.” She pulled herself to her knees, kneeling in front of me. “I’m begging you. If you do this, I will never ask for you again. You can come back here and live the rest of your life as a no-name background character. But please. You’re the only one I can rely on. The only family I have left. “

“…” I wasn’t an idiot. I knew she was using me. Chloe had always been selfish, always needing me to be the one to give in, to let her have her way. She had left me behind, never looking for me, and only now wanted to claim that she missed me, that she needed me.

Part of me wanted to laugh in her face. To ignore her and watch her struggle without me. To have her realize that she couldn’t always have her way.

But I couldn’t. Because deep down, no matter how angry or bitter my feelings toward her had become, she was right about one thing:

She was all the family I had left, in our world and in this one.

Just one more time. I promised myself silently. One last time I’ll give in, give her what she wants. Then I’ll hide away so deeply that she’ll never find me again.

“I’ll come along for the second task only. After that you and your plot are on your own.” My voice sounded tired as I finally answered her.

Chloe jumped up, excited “THANK YOU…”

“On two conditions.” I interrupted with a grim smile. “First, I want your word that after this, you will never try to involve me in this madness again.”

“Of course!” Chloe promised without hesitation. “What’s the second condition?”

“Forget my name from our previous world. In this place, in this life, I’m not someone important enough to have a name.”

“Really?” She looked shocked. “Do you really think that by not having a name you’ll be safe? That’s pretty silly…”

“Silly or not, it’s my choice. I’m not a main character, Chloe. I’m the nameless woods guide who will help your group for a chapter. After that I fade from the story, never to be heard from again. Got it?”

“Got it.”

I watched her agree with a smug grin, feeling sad.

I already regret this.

It’s just a short interaction with the plot, right? … What could go wrong?

I groaned at my own thoughts, leaving to pack my bags.

_____________________________

I sat down next to the campfire, feeling tired, although more emotionally than physically. The long day of riding on horses was tough, but nothing I hadn’t experienced before while searching for game. In fact, that had ended up being the least of my worries. The problem was the stupid hero of this story, who wouldn’t leave me alone.

Graham was annoying.

Despite his initial happiness at my agreement to help out their group, he seemed dissatisfied with my desire to not be too close to them. Which led to him trying to get me to open up.

It was giving me a headache.

At first he kept trying to have “heart to heart” talks, asking personal questions, trying to guess my feelings and motivations. When that didn’t work he began dropping “private” details about himself, acting as if I was his only confidant. (Which wasn’t very interesting, as I knew most of the things he spoke of from the book already). When I continued to ignore him he began challenging me to contests of skill, from knife throwing to archery to even smaller things like cooking. Perhaps he thought that if he could develop a rivalry with me, we would become friends?

At first I beat him quickly, trying to shut him up, but that only seemed to make him want to challenge me again. The last few times I lost on purpose, hoping he’d lose interest, but now he seemed to want to spend time “teaching me” about the skill I’d lost in. There was no way to win, so I’d gone back to ignoring his challenges.

I poked at the fire, imaging his smiling face instead of the charred wood, feeling bitter.

Doesn’t he have a whole harem to manage? Why does the hero have so much free time to bother with a nameless side character?

“We arrive at the desert tomorrow.”

Speak of the devil.

I looked up at Graham who had sat across from me, and frowned. “Should we expect trouble?”

“Perhaps. I’m not the only Prince after all.” He shook his head. “The King passed on six personal tokens to his various women, so there will potentially be five other opponents besides us in the desert.”

“How many Tarifs are there?” I tried to remember what I had read in the book, but couldn’t.

“Three. So only half of us will go the Western City to face the final test.”

“I see.” I didn’t ask any further questions, trying to ignore the feeling of being stared at.

“Thank you for helping out scare away those bandits, earlier today.” Graham spoke up again. “You’re an amazing shot with a bow.”

I shrugged. “Be pretty difficult to be a good hunter if I couldn’t shoot.” I had aimed to miss near their heads, and fortunately the small group of armed men had run off without a fight.

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here.” Graham smiled again, making me want to sigh.

“…” I’m not glad to be here, though.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” He asked quietly, after I stayed silent for a long few moments.

“Don’t have one.”

“We can’t just not call you anything. Can I come up with a name for you?”

His persistence was irritating. I found myself missing the days with Luke back on the ninth lord’s estate. We had spoken every day for months, but he had never pushed me to give him a name, or make one up. I felt somehow, that he understood me, my desire to stay out of the spotlight in this terrifying world.

I moved to touch the bracelet hidden under my sleeve, but stopped myself in time. “No thank you. I prefer to not have one.”

Graham sat back, rolling his eyes. “You’re very frustrating.”

I smiled for the first time since he sat down. “Likewise.”

_____________________________

We arrived at the desert the next morning. A large ravine separated the Eastern Woods from Northern Desert, with only a few bridges serving as possible crossing points. I grew more nervous as we neared the largest bridge, remembering in the story how Graham’s party had been ambushed here.

Fortunately Chloe had already tipped off the group. Everyone had their hands on their weapons, ready to fight at a moments notice. We slowly crossed over the bridge, and a relieved sigh broke out over the group as we touched ground on the other side. I, on the other hand, felt more uneasy, looking at the large rocks around us, many of which were large enough to hide enemies.

THUD

An arrow whizzed by my face, striking the young woman next to me in the chest. I jumped back, looking for cover, cursing under my breath.

Of course this horrible plot won’t go smoothly.

“Prince Graham.” A sinister voice called out. “I’m so glad you could make it.” A young man stepped out from behind one of the large rocks, his bright green eyes almost seeming to glow in the bright sunlight shining down. His handsome features were marred by the look of vicious pleasure on his face. He glanced at the girl who had been killed behind me and laughed quietly, making me dislike him even more.

“Corran.” Graham spat out the name, and I nodded with understanding.

Prince Corran, a secondary villain from the Deadly Crown series. He was less capable than his villainous half-brother Lucien, but still managed to kill off quite a few main characters before being annihilated by Lucien in the end.

“Do you really think you can get the crown, brother?” Corran smiled, looking around our group. “Maybe if you spent less time finding girls to fall in love with, and gathered actual warriors…”

THUD.

My arrow struck his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. I cursed, my aim had been slightly off as I shot as soon as I looked around my cover.

“WHO DARES STRIKE THEIR FUTURE KING?” Corran struggled to his feet, his pale face angry.

I stayed silent behind cover. Who would be stupid enough to step out to take credit after sneak attacking the villain…

“I did it!” Chloe clutched her own bow, stepping out with a smile. “That’s what you get for underestimating Prince Graham! HE’s the true future king, no a pretender like you!”

I groaned quietly, preparing to shoot again.

“…” Corran’s smile widened. “Very well. I had initially planned to leave some of you alive…” He whistled, and ten men stood out from cover, weapons drawn. “But since you have a death wish, I should be kind and grant it for you!”

With loud screams, they rushed forward, I fired shot after shot, disabling a handful, but as they reached our group, it was difficult to shoot without friendly fire. Fortunately several of the young women in Graham’s team were excellent swordswomen, but they were outnumbered.

I drew my sword, feeling frustrated. What happened in the book again? How did Graham escape? I struggled to remember, even as I moved closer to the fight, my heart beating nervously in my chest.

Oh wait…

As it struck me, I heard terrified screams from Corran’s men.

It wasn’t that someone showed up to help Graham…

The sounds of fighting grew louder.

Wasn’t it just that an even bigger villain showed up?

Fighting his way through the group, a strangely familiar figure cut through Corrans’ men, his blade moving faster than the eye could follow. With his help the tide turned, and soon there was only Corran left, injured and enraged.

“WHY DID YOU INTERFERE?!” His screams were answered by silence from the man who stood in front of him.

I stared at his back, feeling a growing unease. Even without seeing his face, I felt I knew him… My hand reached over, touching the beads at my wrist.

But it can’t be him… why would he be here? Unless… A terrifying thought, one I had always avoided, came back at full force. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I must be imagining things.

“If you destroy your token, I will spare your life.” The man’s quiet response caught everyone by surprise.

“You lie!” Corran scoffed. “There’s no way you’d let a threat like me live!”

The man shrugged. “Without your token, you can’t compete for the throne. Why would I need your life?”

Corran stared at him, silently struggling. I remembered from the book that he was a proud man. The idea of giving up probably sat poorly with him. But was it worth his life?

The answer it seemed, was no

“Very well.” He finally, reluctantly spoke up. He reached into his pocket, bringing out a golden ring. “I will destroy…”

An arrow bloomed in his throat, blood tracing a path down to soak the collar of his shirt. A startled expression frozen on his face, Corran’s body fell to the ground, the soft impact seeming unbearably loud in the shocked silence.

I stared over at Graham, who still held up his bow with a bright smile. Seeing the gazes of the crowd turn towards him, he shrugged. “I’m avenging our fallen teammate, Alara.”

Poor Alara. I shuddered as I thought of the girl who had died at the beginning of the fight. She was one of Graham’s most trusted companions. But she was a main character, and this terrible plot wouldn’t let her go.

The dark haired man who had rushed to our aid stared at the dead body of Corran for a moment, before turning to walk away without another word.

“WAIT!” Graham called out after him. “Are you really going to just help us and leave without saying a word?”

The man kept walking.

“Not even to say hello to your fiancé?”

He froze in his tracks. My breath stopped for a moment as he turned around to face us, praying silently that what I suspected wasn’t true.

At the sight of his familiar face, I let out the air I had held in, feeling lightheaded.

“What do you want, Graham?” He didn’t look angry or annoyed. If anything he seemed… nervous.

“Not much, brother.” Graham smiled, stepping closer. “Just thought it might be nice for you two to talk after so long apart. Even if she’s technically helping out your competition.”

“I appreciate the concern.” The young man’s smile was forced as he moved away from Graham, stopping in front of me. I studied him silently as he drew near. He was different than I remembered, he had grown taller, his face more mature and filled out. But his eyes… the blue so dark they seemed almost black… they were unchanged. A brief flash of guilt shone from them as he looked straight at me, and a helpless smile tugged at his lips.

“Hello again.” His voice was barely over a whisper, but I felt my heart beat faster.

“Hello Luke.” I paused for a moment, feeling tired. “Or I guess I should call you Lucien?”

He didn’t deny it, and I felt a pain in my chest.

He was my first friend in this world, one of my closest friends in either to be honest.

But he was also the story’s villain. The violent murderer who slaughtered everyone who opposed him? Whose parts in the book I often skipped because the descriptions made me sick to my stomach?

That villain was Luke?

I hate this story.

I looked up at the one person I had trusted in this world, feeling lost.

“I think we need to talk.”

#writing #part 2 #part 3 in process #fantasy #rebirth #violence #intrigue

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