#feeling sad about it lads i’m sure another will pop up by it said it was removed by | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years ago

Text

alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary.

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage.

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy.

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere.

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear.

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand.

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you.

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went.

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself.

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name.

Adler hated you for it.

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.”

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them.

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it.

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised.

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you.

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade.

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong.

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground.

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance.

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you.

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly."

“And what was he?” Diego pressed.

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose.

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted.

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised.

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut.

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry.

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast.

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game.

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear.

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils.

Drag them down with their own fear.

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit?

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration.

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied.

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl.

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away!

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?”

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.”

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture.

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter.

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred.

Ah, you thought, and there it was.

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man.

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant. Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival.

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone.

What were you?

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap.

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor.

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?”

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother.

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious.

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?”

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were.

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.”

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway.

“Well, she sounds hot.”

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.”

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?”

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out.

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him.

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!”

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor.

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions.

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully.

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring.

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom.

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw.

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness.

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole.

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley.

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade.

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed.

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you.

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain.

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation.

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind.

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly.

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying.

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance.

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here.

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street.

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing.

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop.

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure.

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago.

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.”

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage.

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long.

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage.

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing.

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago.

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront.

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours.

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes.

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.”

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter.

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you.

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs.

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego.

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.”

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you.

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out.

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful.

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now.

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it--

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form.

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.”

You ground out a harsh laugh.

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.”

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit.

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him.

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form.

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you.

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight.

All he had wanted to do was help, right?

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him.

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego.

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain.

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged.

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.”

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau.

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow.

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.”

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin.

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded.

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused.

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow.

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is."

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--"

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming.

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you... pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered.

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none.

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze.

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours.

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth.

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere… washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne.

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form.

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body.

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long.

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed.

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage.

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple.

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed.

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.”

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze.

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him.

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured.

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most.

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness.

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own.

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room.

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent.

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression.

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off.

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this.

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening.

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough.

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you.

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips.

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts.

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.”

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched.

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you.

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release.

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high.

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment.

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room.

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this?

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce.

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself.

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out.

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?”

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn.

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope."

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey.

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair.

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do … No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.”

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin.

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight.

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness.

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you.

Ouch.

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles.

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood.

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar.

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?”

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek.

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat.

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.”

Your hand left Diego’s face.

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid.

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed.

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee.

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition.

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand.

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed.

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.”

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand.

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.”

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation.

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion."

Diego smiled at you.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.”

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?”

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt.

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.”

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand.

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys.

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?”

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...”

At Diego’s urging look, you continued.

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.”

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another.

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.”

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable.

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“They’ll like you,” he promised.

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions.

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours.

Luther blinked. “How did you know?”

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ "

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter.

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!”

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met.

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve … run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin.

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink.

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves?

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard.

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled.

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own.

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly."

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one.

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief.

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably.

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst

2K notes · View notes

elfyourmother · 2 years ago

Note

What is your beef with The Aitiascope? Only if you don't mind me asking.

Really a couple of things.

From a design standpoint it’s just wack and boring af. I mean basically every dungeon from the Dragonsong patches on is essentially a tunnel on rails but the better ones do a bit better of a job of obfuscating that and Aitiascope didn’t even try. Here is the magic wall, pull to it. Here is another wall. In an area that is supposed to be vast and boundless it stuck out for all the wrong reasons. The bosses are so damn forgettable I legit had to look up who they were because I deadass didn't remember them at all aside from Amon and I couldn’t tell you any of the mechanics

I could forgive all of that if the storytelling there was good but that’s really my biggest beef with it, from a meta standpoint I hate that dungeon because it’s probably the most blatant example of Endwalker’s biggest weakness to me, which is the clumsy and ham fisted attempts at manipulation of player emotions. It’s something this game generally avoids doing, which is why it sticks out so badly to me the rare times it does. And AS really genuinely felt like the writers looking me dead in my face and saying, “okay, I know we have not treated the deaths of these other characters with the same importance as Haurchefant, so here is their spotlight moment and please forgive us"

The thing is, I’m the type of person who is very stubborn and defiant when it comes to the perception of folk trying to manipulate my feelings and when I feel writers trying to hook puppet strings on me it has the entire opposite effect. I emotionally check out and start looking at my watch waiting for the shit to just end.

Ysayle showing up at the end as Shiva was downright tone deaf to the point I found it insulting. Sure I get what they were going for, “oh look, how clever, she’s recreating the ice boulder mech from Syrcus Tower’s Amon fight so we can hide. because you know she’s Ice themed” but all of that (quite bizarrely!) forgets that “Shiva�� the Primal was a construct born of Ysayle’s self-aggrandizement-as-coping mechanism, something that was really a product of trauma more than anything, and imo it retroactively makes a mockery of her Azys Lla moment to have her just pop into that form in the Aetherial Sea like it’s nbd. That she willingly took that form again to save WoL et al, despite knowing it was basically a manifestation of self-delusion--that meant something. To have her just randomly do it again out of nowhere. And vaguely dehumanizing if I’m honest. After the shitshow of E8 back in ShB there is literally nothing I want to hear from this game about Ysayle anymore.

In short the whole damn thing just served as a reminder of why I’m an Everybody Lives kind of writer. I didn’t hate this dungeon because of that, ftr. I hated it because it really felt like they were beating it into the ground to the point it was tragedy porn, it was peak “look how sad it is your faves died. so sad. are you sad again yet?” writing. Like I said, when I sense that it has the opposite effect. I don’t feel grief, I just feel anger at them literally beating dead horses. (Between this shit and garbage ass DSR I sincerely just want the game to keep Haurche’s name out of its mouth at this point.) We didn’t even need this shit either, is the craziest thing to me about it. Every last one of those characters had a genuinely touching reference/moment elsewhere in the course of the story. Estinien and Alphinaud talking about Ysayle’s dream after Vrtra revealed himself to his people was like the one time this game has done right by her since Azys Lla. Even that scene with the Fortemps lads was fine. Please, if you have to keep going to this well (and you really really can stop now, game), can we just allow these quiet moments of dignity to stand on their own? We don’t need magic buffs and ghosts in the afterlife. Jesus H.

The trial at the end is really what saved that segment of the story for me but the funny thing is it was the canary in the coal mine to me for Ultima Thule, which has all the problems of this place but even worse. Because it’s a whole damn zone of it combined with the most gobshite pacing since the trolley nonsense in ShB and writing so hamfisted I was literally cringing in secondhand embarrassment for most of it. And just like AS it was the trial that saved it.

tbh AS just confirmed my preference for characters surviving and growing and healing, even stumbling and taking steps backward at times, instead of being tied up like forgotten loose ends or shoved onto buses for Teh Dramaz, with extreme prejudice even. AS illustrates to me why killing characters off should absolutely be the last resort, and why it has to be done with care. Because it’s very rare that stories can handle the aftermath properly, it’s a very tricky thing to get right. Eventually, even in stories that initially do, the temptation to make the player/reader/viewer wallow in it for cheap emotional hits inevitably becomes too much to resist.

#looks like it’s ranting time tonight lmao #y’all done got me started #character death cw #negativity cw #bisho has opinions #anonymous #ask bisho

9 notes · View notes

mxchellesworld · 4 years ago

Text

Attraction and Repulsion

Harry Styles x Reader

Synopsis; Where Harry is too much of an asshole for a proper relationship but too good in bed for you to leave

Warnings; mean!harry, arguments, name calling, smut, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, impact play, choking,

a/n; harry styles fans come get yall juice!! ok i wont lie this kinda seems all over the place but i like it anyways. hope yall enjoy and please send some feedback:)

***

You thought it was real funny. It was absolutely hilarious how the whole world saw Harry as a sweet lad who wears big trousers and has fun nails. But you saw him for who he really was. Harry Styles was mean. Plain and simple.

But you loved it.

And as much as you tried to deny it, you both knew it was true. You were like magnets. When you weren’t absolutely repulsed by one another, starting an argument, you were wrapped up in each others sheets feeling the strongest attraction you’d ever felt for another person.

You were always stuck in a limbo of back and forth. Arguments and name calling over the phone leading to quick hang ups and the eventual knock on the door signaling he was there to deal with you the only way he knew how to put you in your place.

You were drawn to him like a moth to flame. And just like you, he was also too stubborn to admit that he’d want anyone else but you. No matter how cocky he got flaunting the fact that he could get any person in the world with just a smile and wink, he knew he’d never actually do it.

Under all the petty acts and insults there was the smallest bit of adoration he held for you and you only.

You had been lounging around your apartment when your phone chimed. It was one of your girlfriends sending you a link to a newspaper article. You hadn’t bothered to look at the title on the message before clicking on it and seeing the large cover photo on your screen.

Right there Harry and some model getting cozy after his last show. Big bold letters on the teen magazine reading ‘HARRY STYLES AND NEW BAE???’. You audibly scoffed.

It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend so you couldn’t really do much about it, you thought ignoring the small sting in your chest. Shaking off the feeling you skimmed the rest of the article then replied to the message, “she is kinda hot, maybe he’ll give me her number lol”

With that you threw your phone on the other side of the couch and started to get up. It was 3pm a little too early in your book to start drinking at home and especially too early to start letting him ruin your day.

Maybe it was time to start looking at other people. You were hot and single, living in a big city with other hot singles, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find someone to get in a stable relationship with or at the bare minimum a good fuck for the night.

So you did what anyone else does and picked up your phone once again, going straight to the app store. Right on the front page was tinder and just for good measure you added bumble. Making the accounts were easy enough but selecting the pictures for your profile was tricky. You wanted a good amount of selfies and body shots. Cute pictures but also something risky enough to catch the eye.

Soon enough you were already swiping and giggling to yourself about the future prospects you had lined up. Meanwhile in a city about a few hundred miles from you Harry was sitting with a frown on his scowl on his face in the same predicament you were in earlier that day.

He was in his hotel room packing up and getting ready to head back home when his phone chimed. He looked over to see if it was his manager or someone from crew with any updates on departure times however it was one of his close friends.

At first he was expecting a sports update or an invitation to go to a bar when he got back but instead it was a screenshot of your tinder profile. When had you gotten that? he thought to himself.

It wasn’t like he could get mad since he knew he didn’t treat you the best. But that was just your dynamic, deep down you both cared for each other and even then it made for the best sex of his life.

Looking back down at the glowing screen he swiped through the few screenshots he was sent. Various pictures of you out with friends. The one that got him was a picture of you in the bathtub, your body was covered by the porcelain yet just enough of your chest just was showing in the mirror as you gave the camera your best sultry look.

Yet the real kicker was the bio where you included him in your top artists. He scoffed and shook his head, biting his lip as he clicked out from the messages app. Instead he called up his manager to get him on the fastest plane back home. If the blood wasn’t rushing to his face he knew he’d be hard as a rock but for now he’d save that frustration for when he saw you.

You knew tinder hookups were easy to get but you didn’t know just how easy. After spending the day scrolling away, putting your phone down for food and subtle chores you landed a ‘date’, which you really knew was ‘lets get tacos before we fuck on my couch’.

You had planned to meet at 8pm at some restaurant by your house. At 6:30 you started to get ready slowly, taking your time in the shower, shaving, the works. You had your music connected to a speaker getting yourself excited for the night.

Who wouldn’t be? You needed this. This was your time to get all dolled up and get to cum from someone other than yourself or the man who makes the vein in your forehead pop when you think about him.

You put on your sweet smelling lotion and head to your closet looking for an outfit. It was starting to get warm so you settled for a black t-shirt dress that fell to mid thigh with tan heeled booties. You pulled out a jean jacket to put on top in case it was windy.

After finishing your hair and makeup, it was nearing 7:30 and you were back on your couch fixing up the pillows and picking up any misplaced items in case the night led you back to your place. Suddenly you heard a knock on your door, the same hard 3 rasps which only meant one person.

Your heels clicked on the hard wood as you made your way to the door, unlocking it and opening it halfway, “What do you want Harold,” you said unamused.

“You look pretty,” he said pushing past you, ignoring the annoyance in your tone.

“Wish I could say the same about you. Now what do you want? I’m busy and I have to leave soon,” you said rolling your eyes.

He took a seat on your previously neat couch, spreading his legs and putting his arms up on the back. The way he looked you up and down sent chills up your spine, “What did you get a date that quick? The internet works wonders doesn’t it love”, he said rolling his neck.

“How did you know abo- actually I don’t care. As a matter of fact I do have a date and I’m meeting him soon so if you don’t mind leaving,” you said picking up your jacket and purse, “Why don’t you call that one girl from your show? She probably misses you.”

He let out a short laugh before pushed on his knees to stand back up, “Ah I see what this is. You’re jealous and you think going on a little date with some nobody would hurt me.” The cockiness was just seeping out of him.

“Pull your head out of your a-,” you started before he cut you off.

“No no you’re gonna listen to me angel. We may not be together but you belong to me. No one else can ever touch you or fuck you as well as I can,” he said leaning in to whisper in your ear.

It was almost sad how easily he could have you crumbling. Just then your phone dinged. It was a message from the guy, Danny? You couldn’t remember at this point.

“Answer it sweatpea, tell him you can’t make it.”

You were really debating it. On one side this could be your chance to finally tell Harry to fuck off but on the other you knew it would be hard to replace him and you weren’t even sure you completely wanted to. That was a whole other layer of emotions to dig through.

You looked back up at Harry, one of his curls falling into his eyes which were filled with lust. The way his tongue peeked out to slip over his pink lips gave you the answer you needed.

“Fuck,” you whispered unlocking your phone. Quickly you typed out a half ass apology about your sister needing you to babysit, even though she lived out of state, he didn’t need to know.

After you hit send your phone was quickly plucked from your grasp and pushed into Harry’s pocket. You didn’t think much about it when his lips pressing onto yours was acting as a great distraction.

He pulled away lightly mumbling a “taste like strawberries”. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve giggled.

You moaned into his mouth pulling him by his loose button up shirt into your bedroom. It was a routine you had almost perfected at this point with little stumbling or need to grab onto the walls as a guide to make sure neither of you hit any corners.

Your lips never left each others in the feverish mess of kisses. Each one making you grow needier and needier. Your fingers worked quickly in trying to get the buttons on his shirt undone. You felt his warm ones wrap around yours halting your movements.

“Not so fast, you think I’m gonna let you off easy for what you did today?”

You huffed out, “You did the same-”, again he cut you off.

“I get to do whatever I want because you know who I am,” he finished trailing his thumb over your bottom lip, slowly tugging it down. All you could do was nod.

“Say it then.”

“Harry Styles,” you whispered out.

You could see his pupils get bigger with each syllable. It was his favorite thing, the power, the dominance. He got off on his own name. But so did you, the thought alone made you clench your thighs as you were in the moment.

His hand came up and tapped on your cheek, a small implication of what you knew he could do, “You’re gonna have to be louder than that lovie. Don’t worry though I’ll let you try again later.”

He backed you up until your legs hit the bed, pushing you down. You slowly crawled back, pulling your jacket and dress off as he worked on his belt and pants. You made quick work of kicking off your boots and settled into the plush sheets.

“Hurry up Styles. I think Danny could’ve made me cum at least twice now,” you said sliding a hand down to your panties. That move would bite you in the ass but the risk was worth it.

You let out gasps at the touch of your fingertips, moving your hips, doing anything to put on a show and hopefully have him give you what you wanted quicker.

He eagerly got on the bed, trapping you under his knees. His hands quickly ripped yours away from where you needed them most, pinning them over your head. He leaned down, face inches from yours until you shared the same breathe.

“You just want to be punished don’t you? Don’t worry I’ll help you get it through that stupid little slutty brain of yours,” he finished with a sadistic smile.

You nodded frantically moaning out pleases. His hand came down on your cheek, the chill of his rings pressed against the now warm skin on your face. His nails raked down until his hand was snuggly hugging your neck.

You tilted your head back giving him more room to squeeze and mark as he pleased, “Please Harry, want you to fuck me already.”

He tutted his lips giving your neck one last squeeze before he pulled away. “I think we should work on your patience,” he said moving down to your spread legs.

His warm hands pulled on the lace fabric on your hips, scoffing at the visible wet patch, “Don’t tell me this was all for old Danny-boy.”

“No Harry its all for you,” you mewled as he let his fingers swipe through your folds. It was evil how he was leisurely propped up between your legs teasingly circling your aching bud, switching between blowing on it and nipping at it.

You already felt the tears springing in the corners of your eyes. So little was doing so much. Just a little more and you could cum right then and there. And he knew it too.

“Oh you better not cum. I’m not gonna be very forgiving if you do,” he trailed off almost laughing. He never let up, quick circles on your bud making your body tense up.

“Ple- no.. oh god Harry,” you whined out. You felt your juices gushing out of you as you reached your peak. He never let up on his motions, going even faster on your overstimulated clit.

“God you’re so pathetic. Such a whore you just had to cum,” he punctuated with a slap right on your pussy.

At this point you were sobbing. Your head was swimming in the pleasure. You tried to apologize but the words weren’t coming together, just broken whimpers and mixes of sorry’s.

His hand came down on your sensitive cunt two more times, each one had you trying to close your legs but he was quick to keep them open with a bruising grip.

“Please.. Harry.”

“Please what?” he said taking in your shivering frame.

“Please fuck me! Want you to cum inside me, mark me so everyone knows i’m yours!” you spoke out breathlessly.

Quickly he flipped your over, pulling your hips up so that your pussy was on display for him. He groaned as he swiped the tip of his weeping pink cock over your already puffy folds.

With a long stroke he filled you completely. Your nerves were on fire and he hadn’t even started. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips for leverage on his thrusts.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Such a good little whore just for me to ruin,” he gritted out. He kept a steady pace, quick and deep making sure to hit your sweet spot each time.

Your nails were digging into the pillows for dear life. Eyes shut closed as your mouth fell in silent screams and jumbled phrases of pleasure. The only thing on your mind was HarryHarryHarry.

“Wanna cum again.. oh my god.. Plesse Harry fill me up! I need to feel it,” you said arching your back further. You felt each vein slide along your spongy walls making sure to clench around him and milk him for all he was worth.

His grip on your never let up. He let his hand come down on your ass cheek. Once again the rings contrasting the heat radiating off of you, “That’s it cum for me baby. I want you to scream my name when you do. Can you do that love? Shit , tell me who fucks you this good? Who’s cum do you want spilling inside you?”

You all but screamed a “Harry Styles” letting your neighbors know just who was with you that night, nights before, and nights to come.

The sweet noises and screams of his name had Harry’s cock pulsing inside you, ready to burst at any moment.

One look down at where you connected and he was sent right to heaven. Your cute little pussy creaming right on his cock had him shooting his load deep inside you.

You both gasped and groaned at the feeling of him filling you to the brim. He stilled his motions and you all but collapsed onto your bed.

You felt him lean down once again, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear before whispering, “You think Danny could’ve done that?”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #chellewrites

279 notes · View notes

redwinterroses · 3 years ago

Text

RIIIIIIIIIGHT SO.

I just finished chapter 13 of Dog At The Door and holy hot cross buns batman if you're not reading this fic you NEED to. It's literally one of the best written fics I have ever read in my life and I've been reading fanfiction for over 15 years, lol.

I went back and reread the entire fic to lead up to chapter 13 and I decided to treat it like I used to treat things I had to read in college so I took notes as I went and please I am warning you this post is incredibly long. Almost 3k words. PLEASE do not hit that "read more" button unless you're good with having to scroll past it all and also spoilers ahead. Proceed with caution.

~*~

Rereading Dog at the Door reactions (spoilers, obviously):

· Doc finding Ren’s body to be cold and for a second thinking he’s actually dead—my heart

· “That’s Ren, alive and kicking.” Oh…no, Doc. No it’s not.

· The first “Where is my hand?” hits different the second time through

· Gah the ice and winter imagery ALL over the place—my English degree brain wants to watch and see if that shifts to warmth at any point as we go? Thoughts for future Red to think.

· It’s fascinating to me to see Doc constantly thrust into the prey role. This is a guy who is very much not that person normally, but something about the Red King is beyond anything he’s really encountered before—or at least not since Dinnerbone—and it pushes him into an entirely new role that he clearly chafes in

· “I should get back to work on your new arm soon,” he says, making a mental note to add claws to the fingertips. Honestly Doc why tho. XD

· “It feels like something Ren would want him to do.” </3

· Side note: I just watched Doc’s freaking hour long shulker farm vid, and that’s making it a lot easier to hear his voice in this fic

· I’m more curious about the hand.” New Ren laughs a bit at his own words, as though there’s something funny about that phrasing. I MISSED THIS LINE THE FIRST TIME THROUGH

· The bead curtain being cursed hippie treasure XD

· The fact that Doc just so quickly accepts that Ren is gone—maybe not permanently, but at least for now—is kind of heartbreaking. Because you know he hasn’t really accepted it, he’s just… deciding not to feel anything about it. Just nod and move on and pretend you don’t need to stop and cope with the possible/probable death of your best friend and the fact that Someone Else is wearing his skin. That’s so sad.

· “high-fiving the finished hand with his own metal hand.” Aww… Doccy.

· “He shoos away the images of New Ren holding him up by the throat supervillain-style and turns around.” Hmmmmmmm want that fanart. Scary New Ren/RK is good stuff. (post-chapter-13 Red popping in with a WHAT THE HECK)

· “that makes him seem like a ghost in Ren’s body.” YA KNOW. LIKE HE IS.

· Okay side note time: why is the Red King here? Ya know? Like – in 3rdLife the idea of a possessing spirit of bloodlust makes some sense. But why stick around? Was RK trying to escape the 3L server, or was this not deliberate? At what point did he take over from Ren—at Black Heart Altar? In which case, was the whole idea Ren’s to begin with, or was he influenced? Maybe it happened the first time Ren died? The Red King took over then—or at least started to? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

· Wait more theories—what if RK is connected to the ????? entity that spoke to Martyn when he died? In which case, cMartyn said he was considering making that canonically a Watcher (he ended up not doing it, but he also didn’t do anything that contradicted it either). I’m not saying RK is a Watcher… but boy he sure does stare a lot, don’t he.

· Holding the screwdriver like a dagger—mmmm

· Okay funny thought: all this frost, RK’s gonna need to be real careful about rust lol. And straining the metal, tbh, all that freezing and thawing is going to have an effect but the rust idea is making me laugh

· Until I realized it would look like blood and it’s not funny anymore

· “Renbob is in the beanbag stuffed next to the driver’s seat” right so is this where Renbob sleeps because I have been wondering—

· “something about having two people look like Ren when neither of them are makes Doc stop to take a shaky breath” *sob*

· “Renbob clears his throat, looking up at Doc with a smile that is so obviously fake that it hurts.” Ugh the LOT of you stop repressing everything you’ll give yourselves a collective hernia

· “he’ll probably have to break the news to the other hermits, too, Iskall and False and all the others.” All these painful lines I somehow missed the first time through

· Awww warm air comes in when Renbob opens the door—with the flowers and everything, Renbob is so easily associated with spring, I love this contrast.

· Aaand there it is, yup, RK is shocked to see his face on Renbob, and Renbob is shocked to see that this is so clearly Not Ren.

· They both recover pretty quickly, though. Survivors, both of them.

· RK calls Renbob their “ferryman” and I’m not sure if I was supposed to get “crossing the river Styx” vibes from that But I Did. (does RK think he’s dead? That they’re all dead?) (post-chapter-13 Red here with a little bit of wordless screaming.) (and also a bit of pride that I picked up on this.)

· “And what a help you’ve been! Fixing me up, replacing my hand.” Hi yes, 911? there’s a dagger stabbed into my feels.

· “he’d rather remember rage than see another person’s heart break.” Dang that’s such a raw line. Oof.

· ”the Red King says, his voice hoarse with tears.” Really interesting that this blood deity can feel such emotions—like, anger or even fear, I can get. But to see this entity upset to the point of tears is fascinating.

· “There is a crown on Doc’s workbench.” Right, yeah so like—is RK unwillingly manifesting these artifacts? Because that’s wild, man. …how long before he manifests an “enchanter”?

· “I’ve never seen it [the crown] clean before.” Okay that definitely implies that maybe RK didn’t come around until after Black Heart Altar?

· “The Red King has the crown in his lap when Doc turns back around, claws gently tracing over the engravings, leaving frost patterns behind.” I really wish I had art skills because there’s this image in my head of a drawing of the crown held in RK’s hands, with his face (one eye glowing, one in shadow) reflected in the surface, and frost patterns following behind a claw that’s daintily tracing the surface. But I can’t draw so—

· RK asks for a change of clothes. What was he wearing when they rescued him, I wonder? The Red King outfit with the fur capelet? Or Ren’s Stargazer outfit? Which begs the question: where does Stargazer fit into all this? Was Ren’s return to Hermitcraft RK free, but when he came so close to dying to Sith, RK found that as a gateway to take over? (Post-13 Red here, Looking Intently at this note.)

· Awww… the image of a one-legged RK clutching new clothes to his chest and hopping down to change in the bathroom… That’s weirdly endearing. He’s less menacing when he stands up somehow. Less lurking, maybe.

· Oooohhhhh he messed up his back sleeping on the floor. Gotcha.

· Doc keeps telling himself (and RK) that saving him and working on these parts is “the right thing to do” and while he’s not WRONG I just want to see him realize that it’s not only the right thing, it’s realistically the only thing, because if he didn’t, then he’d have to deal with the fact that he’s lost his best friend and we can’t have that.

· “I don’t need to eat” ummmmmm no hold on this definitely implies that RK is possessing a dead body and I’m not okay with that where is Ren

· LOLOL “I can’t stand to see [you do] this” is such a raw line to be about watching Doc eat cereal with his hands

· “The voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does.” Ugh, Doc. This isn’t the first time he’s lost a close friend to Something Else, something otherworldly.

· “All of them are waiting for him, waiting for him to do something more, something better—” aaand there it is. Doc’s characterization in this fic in a single sentence.

· Doc waking up and thinking he’s seeing Ren and RK’s hesitation and the gentle “I’m not Ren”—OH MY HEART

· RK’s coffee = Renbob’s friendship bracelets

· Randomly can I just say that I love how RK’s dialog is all in italics? It concerned me at first because I thought it was going to keep pulling me out of the narrative, but instead it really just feels right. Also I’m looking forward to the moment when he says something and it’s not in italics because it’s REN and oh my lands please give this to me I beg you (post-13 Red here with a bit more mindless screaming)

· “watch your tongue with me, Atlas, because I’m the one person you can pass the sky to.” Okay okay okay—English studies brain coming out. This suggests that there is a burden RK and Doc can share: something Doc is currently struggling against that only RK can help him with. In the moment, I don’t know if this is really fair of RK to say—after all, Doc does technically have Renbob too, if we’re just talking about Doc’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. In fact, if that’s the context, then Renbob is a much better fellow-Atlas because he and Doc have known each other much longer and they’re both dealing with the loss of Ren. BUT, knowing about the upcoming conversation where Doc and RK both realize that they’ve lost someone (Ren for Doc, Martyn for RK) this line suddenly has a lot more weight. Again, I don’t think that in that moment RK quite has the right to pull this zinger. But in later context, it turns out to be true after all. They are the only two with this particular shared pain.

· Doc upset with himself because he can’t get over his “stupid hang-ups” DOC MY LAD. “I’ve lost my best friend, you’re in his body, and I don’t know how to process any of these emotions” is not a “stupid hang-up” PLEASE stop blaming yourself for everything!?

· “I’m so tired” in the middle of his nightmare—oh my gosh. That hurts so much for some reason.

· I also very much wish I had the ability to draw the image of Doc with tears on his face, staring dead-eyed down at his workbench while RK looms over from behind, pinning his wrists to the table with one metal arm and one frost-bitten one, a look of exasperation and concern on his face. Why can’t I draw the things

· “How do you know Etho” “I watched him die.” OW ow ow ow ow

· Doc takes this as calmly as only someone used to living in a world where death has low consequences can. Oh. Oh—that means… huh. Doc isn’t used to losing people permanently on any basis, especially not death. So no wonder he doesn’t know how to process Ren being gone (I can’t bear to write “dead” there). He literally doesn’t have context for it… and what context he DOES have is like—I mean, Etho and Bdubs came back. Ouch.

· “Twenty-five.” The Red King makes the number sound like a threat. Yet another banger line I missed the first time through. Imagine waking up and thinking you’re in 3rd Life again but instead of 14 players there’s almost twice that many and you think you don’t know any of them.

· I still don’t quite understand the “when was etho added/should have known there was something different” bit or why RK is so emotional about it… but I have trust that it’ll make sense at some point. (post-13 Red: ...is this something about the fact that he thinks he's dead...so he thinks Etho has died before? Like, that 3rd Life wasn't Etho's first hardcore? ...I feel like I'm almost grasping this but I'm missing an element somewhere.)

· And now a sword. RK. My man. You need to stop manifesting things—especially when they scare the ever-living daylights out of you.

· I absolutely adore the in-universe lore that Fire Aspect is a PvP enchantment because it threatens dropped loot, and yeah I very well might steal that. (Along with something I read at one point who-even-knows-where that Knockback is a coward’s enchantment, because I love that too.)

· He really shouldn’t. / Doc picks up the sword by the scabbard and hands it to him, hilt extended. Doc you already trust this guy so much and you don’t even know it—but is it just because you still subconsciously trust the face he wears? Or is it something deeper?

· Ugh, the “I was supposed to kill someone for him” conversation/scene is SO FREAKING GOOD

· “I don’t want it. Not like the crown.” Why, though? Why doesn’t he want it? Because it’s more to do with death than kingship? OH. Oh, I hadn’t even considered that. I’ve been thinking of RK as this like, god of blood and vengeance but maybe he’s not. Maybe he hates the bloodshed (“the blood! It’s drippin’ in me eyes… I’ve been blinded by the violence…”) just as much—more?—than Ren did/would have. Huh. That’s a new facet.

· Oh my heart the “have you ever lost someone and it was your fault” line. Dagger to the feels. Dagger to the feels.

· This like… “I’m on a roll and even though I know I should stop I really don’t want to” mode? Man. That’s relatable. Especially when you’re working to avoid dealing with something else.

· “Not making it for you—it’s for Ren” oh ouch ouch ouch the denial suddenly breaks through it’s okay, Doc I’m with you on this

· The second time reading through it’s far clearer that Doc has a blind panic attack here—when he starts rambling that Ren’s coming back, he’ll be there for season eight and RK goes to…do whatever he was going to do and Doc just blanks out. The manic productivity should have been a warning sign, the poor guy is crumbling.

· “Doctor” and “he’s not sure he deserves that title right now” UGH Doc needs a hug someone please hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Someone please hug me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

· “his hand on his throat” over the scar from the Red Winter axe? </3

· “I did do that. I have done that.” RK admitting to it actually having been him in Doc’s nightmares?

· Okay sorry the conversation about beating Dinnerbone will never not be funny to me

· RK mentions that people used to call him m’lord or Ren, and then mere minutes later you have “Ren. You couldn’t save him because of me, could you?” He knows exactly what’s going on here. Not maliciously, but he’s no dense-head, he’s put the pieces together. (post-13 Red: MOST of the pieces. Most of them.)

· Watching Doc slowly stop fighting his nightmares—like, the first time, he fights. The second time, he accepts it but still struggles. And this time… this time he gives up before it even starts. That hurts, man.

· Good grief the whole “get my head chopped off” / “you really don’t want that” bit. O.O I’m not sure what emotion I’m feeling but I’m Feeling An Emotion.

· “Snow’s new. Dream’s not.” </3

· …Doc’s not gonna be a fan of snowier-snow after this trip…

· "Dr. M77" Actually he’s Doc Monster, RK, but we’ll let it go. XD

· OKAY BUT THIS EXCHANGE? The “how are you feeling” / “better” / “you’re a bad liar” / “I said better not great” that’s such a good exchange and I don’t know why every other time I’ve ever seen it used they stop at the lying accusation? Doc with the snappy comebacks, man.

· Aaah, Doc and RK, two establishment bros bonding over a shared disdain for hippies.

· The bit about the fella who wore an iron helmet and called it a powdered wig—fear is in my heart. *shoves Scar into an obsidian box and blocks it closed*

· “Who was Ren to you?” </3

· Doc is more than willing to spread the flames, to sear his loss into RK’s bones. / The king’s face stops him. Ren’s face stops him. Holy CRAP is that a good set of lines. So much going on there, and ALL of it good.

· Again. I wish I could draw. I would draw RK sitting on the edge of the bed, gently hugging a collapsed-in-on-himself Doc. </3

· “And I hate the devil that forced us apart, that mixed my blood with his.” *adds another layer to Scar’s obsidian fort*

· OKAY STARTING CHAPTER THIRTEEN I made the mistake of logging into Tumblr earlier and saw people screaming so I’m sure I’m not ready for this but here we go

· Oh no RK has been hippie-ified

· “You started a paramilitary organization because you have hay fever?” *dies laughing*

· Ugh I need to go back and watch s6 I’ve only seen the tail end of Mumbo’s side of things and there’s so much I don’t know.

· HAHAHAHAH I do know the trident bit though—

· Wait he said Scar

· PANIC

· “Kingslayer. bloodthirsty. Time King. The coward. And the mastermind behind it all, the loyal soldier to the very end, the whole damn reason either of us are in this mess.”

· HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY—

· “Is this the afterlife I deserve? After everything, this is the hell I’m going to endure?” I AM SCREAMING

· Doc pinned to the wall with ice, struggling to breathe—I CAN’T WHAT IS HAPPENING

· ((You know I’d get through this a lot faster if I stopped pausing to write reactions—))

· “A break in the ice. A whisper of spring.” Symbolism. Symbolism.

· “Ren was dead when I found him again,” NO I REFUSE TO READ THIS

· “don’t use the hand I built you to hurt yourself” DOC. SIR. MY HEART.

· RK don't run, RK get back here—what are you—

· I

· JUST

· ACTUALLY

· SCREAMED

· AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

· *several long moments of just breathing*

· *rereads*

· Holy crap on a garbage cracker with an extra serving of what-the-heck sauce

· REN

· Okay lol okay hahaha calming down

· I literally threw myself back in my chair away from the computer reading that last paragraph. I don't usually... physically react to things I read. LOL. Heh. I’m. Ah. I’m not emotionally invested in this or anything.

· Holy crap.

· Okay. Okay. Okay.

· Um.

· Great chapter, guys. Awesome stuff. Really good. I’m absolutely okay right now and it’s all totally fine.

· …please enjoy your break and get lots of rest and I very much look forward to the return of this fic you have no idea.

· I need to go breathe for a little bit.

EDIT: no, you know what--I'm not going to be a nice polite fangirl over here and quietly hope y'all see this I'm straight up tagging you, @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands. THANK YOU but also how dare.

#The only reason I'm even posting this is for my own remembering later #and i guess if fluffy or solar want to see my mindless ramblings -- go nuts #long post #redwinterreacts #redwintertalks #dog at the door

86 notes · View notes

all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years ago

Text

And now we’re four.

summary: a family of three becomes a family of four.

word count: 2.9k

Based on these requests:

“i love my little shy boy, it's so cute!! what do you think about artemis getting a little sibling? like maybe one of his friends is getting one and he asks y/n and harry if he can have one too? or maybe y/n and harry are actually trying for a baby? the thought of artemis with a little baby sibling is killing me omg”

and

“I absolutely love your shy!boy series! Harry, Artemis, and Y/N are just so damn adorable together. I was wondering how all three would handle if (Y/N) was pregnant?”

and

“Hii ! I’m in love with your shy little boy series !!!! I was wondering if maybe you could write something about Y/N being pregnant, and Harry being over the top obsessed with her pregnancy/ the little bub and how Artemis would react?🥺👉🏼👈🏼”

and

“Hello! I’m absolutely obsessed with the My Shy Little Boy series! Can we get a blurb about Artemis calling Harry, on Y/N’s phone, in the middle of the night because he’s scared?”

and

“Can you do one where Artemis is curious as to why one of his classmate's mum has a bump on her tummy and when he finds out why he keeps asking for a little sis/bro🥺”

a/n: i’ve got many request to expand this little family so i thought i’d give it a go! Sorry for taking so long!

you can find more of my shy little boy here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

February, 2020.

Ever since signing those papers, no one could wipe off the smile in Harry’s face. The endless amount of love he had for his family only seemed to multiply. Despite how sad he felt after he couldn’t give the concert the night before his birthday, he still spent the best day with the love of his life and his son.

Unfortunately, that was the calm before the storm. The following weeks Harry would be very busy doing promo for the album. He had some interviews and shows between Los Angeles, Washington and the last stop would be New York.

Y/N and Artemis had to go back to London when their long weekend was over, to return to their normal routines. Although at first the little boy tried to throw a fuss, Harry was quick to promise it would only be for a short time and he’d call every single night before he went to bed so Artemis could talk to him about his day.

It was always the same with them, Artemis had this strong attachment to Harry, one that he devolved as soon as he started trusting him more. Not that Harry would ever complain, the feeling was mutual honestly. The two of them were inseparable, Artemis wanted to do whatever Harry was doing all the time and the latest loved every single second of it.

One year into their relationship, Harry started buying matching outfits for him and Artemis, claiming he wanted them to match at all times. It was the cutest thing for those who get the chance to watch it.

“Promise you’ll call every night?” Artemis asked Harry, who was crunched down at his eye level. He had big, crocodile tears rolling down. Harry’s heart broke as he pulled his little boy for another hug, squeezing him tight to his chest.

“I promise, monkey” After one last squeeze, he let go of Artemis and went back on his feet. “Please call me as soon as you land” He now told Y/N before embracing her.

“I will. I love you so much” She said before closing the short distance between her lips and his. Harry hummed into the kiss, memorizing this exact moments so the following weeks won’t be so hard to live. “Have a safe flight”

“You too, baby” He pecked her lips one more time before looking down at his son. “You gonna take care of mummy for me, champ?”

Artemis nodded while whipping his tears and taking a deep breath. A voice called their flight and that was their call to leave. Harry would be flying to Los Angeles later that day so he needed to get going too.

He looked at his family one last time and sighed, already missing them. It will definitely be hard, but he was confident they’ll pull through.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

Harry woke up in the middle of the night because his phone wouldn’t stop ringing. He groaned before sticking one arm out of under his pillow and started to look for it. When he found it, he groaned even louder when he saw what time it was.

Without even looking at the ID, he answered the phone. His voice was deeper than usual and he was still half asleep but he managed to mumble ‘what’ to the other line.

“Daddy?” a shaky voice in the other end of the line answered him, making Harry jump out of the bed, immediately alarmed by the tone of his son’s voice.

“Hey, bud. What are you doing awake? Where’s mummy?”

“Daddy, I’m scared”

“Everything’s okay, baby. Tell me where you are”

“In yours and mummy’s bedroom” he mumbled.

“And where is mummy?”

“In the bathroom” he paused to take a deep breath. “I asked the voice in mummy’s phone to call you” Harry and Y/N had been teaching Artemis how to call them during an emergency using Siri.

“It’s okay, sweets. Can you tell me why are you afraid?” Harry was really hoping Artemis just had a nightmare or something, because he already felt powerless being miles away from them.

“I couldn’t sleep so I wanted to ask mum if I could sleep with her but when I entered the room she wasn’t there” He paused to breathe. “She’s throwing up in the bathroom, daddy. What do I do?”

In Artemis’ little six year old mind, he was responsible for his mum because Harry told him to take care of her. Before Harry could respond he heard how a door was opened and Y/N’s voice at the other end of the line.

Harry waited until Y/N had her phone back to talk again. “Hey, I’m sorry he woke you up” She said.

“He told me you were throwing up, are you okay?” Now he was worried for her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I caught a stomach bug” She sighed. Y/N was now laying on her side of the bed while Artemis was cuddled to her side. “But I’m okay now”

“You sure?” Harry passed a hand through his face, rubbing the sleep off.

“Positive” She hummed. “When are you back?”

“Just two more weeks, baby. Please tell me if you’re still feeling bad tomorrow”

“I will. I bet it’ll be gone by tomorrow” She covered a yawn with the back of her hand.

“Would you put me on speaker? Wanna say goodnight to the lad” She did what Harry said and moved the phone closer to Artemis so he could hear clearly.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, monkey. Will you get some rest now?” Artemis hummed a yes. “I’m counting down the days to see you, kiddo”

“Me too, daddy”

“Good night, baby. I love you”

“I love you more” He yawned, cuddling even closer to Y/N. He was much more relaxed now that his mummy was okay.

“And I love you, Y/N”

“I love you, H. Sorry for waking you up again”

“No, please. Wake me up anytime, lover”

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

March, 2020.

Y/N’s stomach bug hasn’t gotten any better. She kept throwing up every day, so Harry decided to change his flight and come home earlier than planned. He was supposed to go to Los Angeles for another week, but it was mostly to visit some people while he was still in the States so he figured he could do that other time.

He was waiting for his flight to be called, bouncing his leg anxiously. He couldn’t wait to go back home and do absolutely nothing but spend time with his family until it was time to go on tour.

His phone started ringing so he grabbed it from the pocket of his jacked and smiled when he saw his mum was calling him.

“Hi, mum” He said cheerily.

“Hi, darling. How are you?”

“I’m good, waiting in the airport for my plane”

“I thought you would stay there until next week?”

“Y/N isn’t feeling great so I’m flying early” He shrugged. Taking the decision to change his flights wasn’t a hard one, his girlfriend was sick and it was his job to take care of both her and his son.

Anne smiled even though Harry wouldn’t be able to see her. “That’s nice. I’ll give her a call to see if she needs something”

“Thanks mum. I’m sure she’d appreciate that”

They kept talking for a little more, catching up. He was looking forward spending more time with his mum once he was back. “Harry” Anne called him.

“Yeah?”

“When are you gonna pop the question, son?”

“What question?” He asked, accent thicker.

“You know which one” He could feel his mum rolling her eyes. “When are you gonna ask Y/N to marry you?!”

“I won’t discuss this over the phone, mother” he chuckled. “Besides, I just made you a grandma recently, woman. Give me a break” Harry joked, making her laugh.

“I’m sorry! All I’m saying is you already have a son together, why not tight the knot?” she paused, dramatically sighing. “I’m getting old and I’d appreciate to watch my children get married”

He rolled his eyes. “One, you’re not old so stop that. And two, you have other child” A voice called Harry’s flight. “I gotta go, mum. I’ll call you when I land”

“Please do. I love you, honey”

“I love you more”

A long trip was waiting for him so he got comfortable on his seat after sending a quick text to Y/N. He’d be landing before lunch, meaning he would be able to pick Artemis up from school. He closed his eyes, hoping to take a quick nap during the flight.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

Harry landed one hour before Artemis was supposed to get out from school, so the car he called drove him directly home. He thanked the driver and got his stuff out of the car, when he crossed the gates of the house, he saw Y/N’s car parked.

Y/N had told him she called in sick again because the headache she had in the morning was too strong that one of her mothers had to take Artemis to school. He was starting to get worried, thinking it could be something else and not just a stomach bug.

Opening the door, he called for his girlfriend but got no answer so he walked right upstairs to the master bedroom where she found her curled up in the middle of the bed.

“Hi, baby” He cooed, soothing her out of her sleep by caressing her cheek. Her eyes flutter open and a smile appear on her face when she saw him knelt down beside her, inches away from her face. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better. Gemma was here earlier actually, she brought me soup”

“That’s nice” He smiled softly. “I’ll go pick Artemis up, okay? Then we’ll go to the doctor”

“The doctor? Why?” she said, supporting her weight on one of her elbows.

“To check up on you. Perhaps isn’t a stomach bug” he shrugged, sitting on the empty space of the bed.

She wanted to protest, but she knew Harry would insist until she said yes so she nodded, flashing a little smile at him. “Okay, we’ll go”

He leaned to kiss her forehead, pleased with her answer. He looked at the clock in the wall and sighed. He should leave now to make it on time to Artemis’ school. “I’ll go for the monkey, okay?”

Y/N cuddled back in bed, sighing happily because Harry was finally back home. Her boyfriend smiled at seeing her getting cozy as he stood up from the bed. Harry went back downstairs and out to his car to drive to Artemis’ school.

Walking inside of the building, Harry greeted a couple of parents he knew. When he reached Artemis’ classroom, his smile grew bigger at the sight of his boy chatting with a little girl who was sitting next to him.

Artemis looked up and his eyes lighted up when he saw Harry. “Daddy” He stood from the little chair and ran towards him. “Daddy, you’re here!”

“Hey, monkey” Harry caught him in his arms. “I missed you. Are you ready to go?” His son nodded excitedly. “Go pick your backpack up” When he went back on his feet he recognized someone entering the classroom. “Cece?”

“Harry? Hi?” The blonde, pregnant woman smiled at him. “How are you?”

“I’m great, how are you? When’s the baby arriving?”

“Two months or so, we’re very excited”

“Well, congratulations. Hope it goes well”

“Thank you. Worst has already happened anyway, morning sickness was a bitch” She laughed. Harry chuckled too, something clicked on his brain, a small possibility crossing through his mind.

Could Y/N be…?

“Daddy, let’s go!” Artemis came running back.

“I’ll expect you and Y/N for the baby shower” Cece said.

“Of course. Take care, okay?” Harry smiled one last time before taking his son’s hand to walk out of the classroom.

“Daddy, what happened to Ximena’s mum?”

“What do you mean, mate? She’s pregnant”

“Pregnant?”

“She’s gonna have a baby. Ximena will be a big sister”

“How does it work?” he asked confused. “She looks… different”

They reached Harry’s car and Artemis let his dad pick him up to put him in the car seat. “Well, is because there’s a baby growing inside of her tummy”

Artemis let out a little ‘ohh’, processing the information his daddy had just told him. “So Ximena will get a sister or a brother?”

“I didn’t ask Cece, baby” Harry went in the driver’s seat and started the car, driving away. “But either of them will be perfect”

“Can I get one?” He suddenly asked, kicking his legs back and forth.

“One what?” He already knew the answer but he wanted Artemis to say it anyway.

“A brother or a sister. I’d like one, please”

Harry breathed a laugh at his boy’s politeness. “Is not that easy mate. Takes a while”

Artemis didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride, singing along to the songs on the radio. Harry kept thinking about the possibility of Y/N being pregnant herself. It would make sense to him, all the mornings she’s been waking up to throw up, how she said to him over the phone that her nose was very sensitive lately, how her boobs kind of hurt all the time and lastly, one that Harry didn’t want to mention, how she’s been gaining a little weight.

They passed through a drugstore and Harry made an impulsive decision to stop there. “Are we home?”

“Not yet. I need to grab something real quick, let’s go”

They went inside and Harry grabbed a couple of pregnancy tests of one of the shelves. “What are those for?” Artemis asked.

“Nothing, baby. Let’s go” After he paid, they walked back to the car to continue their drive home.

The arrived and Harry sent him to clean up so he could go with Y/N. When he entered the room Y/N was exiting the bathroom. “You threw up again?” He asked, setting the plastic bag on the bed.

“No, I just wanted to pee” She smiled. “Where’s my baby?”

“Washing up” He smiled back. “So, I saw Cece today”

“Really? How is she?”

“She looks great. She also said she wants us on her baby shower, by the way” She hummed. “She mentioned how at the beginning of her pregnancy she had terrible morning sickness”

“Where is this going?” She asked confused. She sat on the bed and saw the bag. “Harry…”

“Look, it’s a possibility”

“I’m not pregnant” She assured him.

“Just take the tests, please. If it’s negative, then it’s negative”

“What if it’s positive?”

“Then we’ll figure it out” He took her hands. “Please”

She sighed. “I already know this will be negative” Y/N rolled her eyes but took the bag anyways. “And I just peed, fuck” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Go check on Artemis while I take these”

Harry nodded and walked out of the room and to his son’s bedroom. He found him sitting on the floor with a picture book in his hands. “Daddy, I’m hungry”

“Let’s get you some lunch then, kiddo”

They went down and Harry let Artemis help in the kitchen, he was fixing something quick for lunch while waiting anxiously for Y/N to finish taking the tests.

“Harry?!” He heard from the top of the stairs.

“In a minute!” He exclaimed back. “Wait in the living room for us, mate. Turn on the telly, we won’t take long” Artemis nodded, walking towards the bedroom and doing what his daddy told him.

Harry ran upstairs to where Y/N was. “Have you look at them?”

“No, not yet” she sighed. “You do it”

“One line means negative, two lines mean you’re pregnant” He repeated the sentence over and over again. He closed his eyes for a second before letting out the air he was retaining.

He gasped when he opened his eyes and saw it.

Two lines.

With tearful eyes he took another test and saw the same result so he took the third one and smiled when he saw every single one of them had the same result. He looked at Y/N, no words needed.

“We’re having a baby” He said as he let tears roll down his eyes.

Y/N smiled before tears formed in her eyes as well. They were having a baby. She was going to be a mother again. Unconsciously, her hands travelled to her stomach. “Well, it wasn’t a stomach bug, wasn’t it?”

They both laughed through the tears as Harry took her in her arms, careful to not squeeze her too tight.

Harry’s heart was about to explode for the amount of love he was feeling right now. There was an actual baby growing inside of Y/N. He bowed to himself he’d be at all times for her, he won’t leave her side for any reason. He wanted to live the whole process. He could already imagine himself with his future newborn in his arms, so delicate and pure.

His heart and soul belonged to his family. But it wasn’t divided in two anymore. Because they weren’t three anymore. And that couldn’t be more exciting.

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

taglist!!

@myfavfanficsever @odetostep @la-cey @cock-a-doodely-doo @awkwardbullfrog @mellamolayla @moorgannn @bagtan-serendipity @awesomebooklover17 @finelineribs @sunnybusiness @beanholland @sweetenerstyle @cronias13 @vhsharry @maisley @seasidecrowbar @stylesfics-xx @autumnpauley20 @fineline-hs1

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluffy imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff fic #dad!harry

1K notes · View notes

mysweetgeo · 3 years ago

Text

I Need You (Part 11)

Summary: Sequel Series to the Do You Want to Know a Secret ? Series. Reader accepts a job as a photographer for a band as they begin a tour mid-1966, what happens when she finds out that she knows them ?

After the last concert in Germany, specifically Hamburg, the six of you headed back to the hotel, and while Brian wanted to stay in, the five of you that remained decided to head out to the pubs to celebrate a successful concert.

You all were squished into a booth, and you were sat between George and John, and John had his arm slung around your shoulders as the two of you were gulping down pint after pint.

You were drunkenly singing a Buddy Holly tune as you swayed back and forth in the booth knocking shoulders with both George and John.

George had noticed that you and John both weren’t slowing down with the drinks so he decided he’d better, to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

You linked arms with John and gasped, a brilliant idea coming to your mind, “John! Can we have a sleepover?!” You asked, nearly shrieking.

John grinned, “Yeah! A sleepover!” He agreed enthusiastically.

George bit his lip to bite back the bitter comment that was sure to come out if he opened his mouth.

“And Geo can come too!” You said, whipping around to wrap your arms around George’s neck.

“Sure, darling,” George drawled, never having been able to say no to you.

“Yay!” You said with a giggle, holding onto George and pulling yourself so you were straddling his lap while giving him a tight hug.

George held your waist for support, obviously not complaining about you being in his lap.

Paul whined from across the booth, “What about me? Can I come?” He looked at you, begging with large puppy dog eyes.

“No!” John shrieked, suddenly speaking up.

Paul visibly pouted and whimpered, obviously upset.

You pouted your lip when you saw Paul so upset, “Of course you can Paulie,” you said with a gentle smile, moving out of George’s lap to lean across the table and hold his hand. “And you too, Ringo,” you said, reaching out for his hand as well.

While you held the other lads hands, George was holding onto your waist, not only to steady you but also just to have you in his close proximity.

Paul’s face split in a grin and he leaned across the table to plant a kiss on your lips, which you instantly recoiled from, retreating back into George’s arms.

John and Ringo watched the scene unfold, seeing how George’s arms tightened around you as you placed your hands on top of his on your stomach.

“Don’t ever do that again, Macca,” George threatened, his eyes turning black in anger.

“‘m sorry, love, I didn’t mean anything by it—“ Paul tried to explain but no one was having any of it.

Your eyes were still wide in shock as your grip on George tightened, needing to feel some source of comfort.

Sensing that this scenario wasn’t going to dissolve itself, Ringo spoke up, “I think maybe Paul and I should go back to the hotel, ‘m sure he didn’t mean any harm,” he spoke, standing from the booth and letting Paul climb out after him.

“I’m very sorry, (Y/N),” Paul whispered as he and Ringo walked away, in a voice that was barely audible.

You just nodded, not trusting your words as you watched the pair of them walk away.

“Well that sure was a mood-killer, eh?” John said with a huff, taking a large gulp from his pint, as he slid Paul’s half empty glass towards himself.

You nodded as you took a large drink from your glass, downing the remaining contents in one gulp.

George held you close to his chest, seeing as you were still somewhat startled by Paul’s actions.

You turned your head to look at George, your hand reaching up to caress his jaw, “Georgie? Can you get me another pint?” You asked in a sweet voice, which nearly caused George to burst out laughing, your romantic gesture greatly contrasting the words that came from your lips.

“Of course, darling,” he answered, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, “but I have to get up in order to do that.”

You whined contorting your body so that your top half was pressed against his chest, “No,” you whimpered, your arms wrapping around his neck as faux tears appeared in the corners of your eyes, “don’t leave me.”

“Let the lad get us a pint,” John complained from beside you, “he’ll only be gone a minute anyhow.”

You frowned at his bluntness, though you slid yourself out of George’s lap and released him from your clutches, “Okay,” you said in a very sad voice.

George’s heart ached to see you like this, even if it was something as silly as this, “I’ll be right back, princess,” he whispered, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek just before he walked away.

When George returned, he found that you were sitting across from John where Paul and Ringo had been not long ago. You had told him you moved because he was ‘annoying you’ and because he ‘smelt bad’.

George set two pints on the table, one for you and one for John, before settling into the seat beside you.

“We’re still having a sleepover, yeah?” John asked, swirling his drink around in his glass.

“Well, duh,” you deadpanned, “what else do bestfriends do.”

“Well, you and George are ‘bestfriends’ and I’m sure that you two have done the deed. So if you’re interested—“ John began but was cut off by George.

“Not gonna happen, lad,” he said in a threatening tone.

You giggled at the exchange, leaning against George’s shoulder, “We haven’t done anything, Johnny,” you said.

“Obviously, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife,” John muttered, though both of you could hear it.

You blushed and looked down, smiling softly as you felt George’s arm wrap around your shoulders.

“You two make me sick,” John said, complimented by a fake gag.

“Oh shush,” you said, grabbing your pint and taking a large gulp from it. “After I finish this, let’s go back to the hotel.”

The boys nodded in agreement, and sat in silence as you and John finished your drinks.

You and John had your arms intertwined as you walked the streets back to the hotel, George following closely behind.

The two of you were drunkenly singing ‘That’ll Be The Day’ as you stumbled towards your room.

“All your hugs ‘n kisses,” you slurred, gripping onto John for dear life as George ushered you both into the lift.

“And your money too!” John chirped, hiccuping as he did.

“Well,” you drawled, “y’know you love me baby.”

John sputtered out a slew of words that didn’t hardly resemble the lyrics, causing you to burst into a fit of giggles, gripping onto George’s arm to steady yourself.

The two of you continued the song, skipping into the chorus as you sang in an ear piercing unison.

You got off the lift at your floor, pulling the two boys to your door as you suddenly remembered that you didn’t know where your key was.

“I’ve got it, love,” George murmured, coming up behind you and placing a hand on your back as he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door for you.

“Oh! My hero!” You cheered, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking his cheek.

John let out a groan as he plopped himself on the bed, “You two best not fuck each other while I’m in the bed,” he said, being as blunt as humanly possible.

You rolled your eyes and detached yourself from George as you ran and launched yourself onto the bed, narrowly missing John’s body as you landed.

“Sometimes, I wish I could zip your mouth shut,” you said as you rolled over onto your back and scooted towards him.

John gasped, feigning hurt, “That is so mean! Take that back right this instant!” He shrieked.

“Never,” you said as you sleepily curled into his side, “Where’s my Georgie?” You asked, popping an eye open to look for him.

“Right here, love,” George answered, climbing into bed beside you.

You grinned and turned your body around to wrap your arms around his small frame, “Mm, I love this,” you said with a sigh of pure comfort.

George grinned and held you close to him, running his had up and down your back.

John whined, obviously jealous of the contact you and George were sharing, and crawled on top of you and George, wrapping his arm around you both and nesting his head against George’s shoulder.

George grunted at the sudden added weight, but didn’t voice any complaints as the three of you laid in silence.

You looked up at George with a drunken smile, “Hi,” you whispered.

He couldn’t help but grin at your expression, “Hi,” he replied quietly, as to not wake the beast that was now snoring and drooling on George’s shoulder.

Your breaths mixed with your close proximity, and you could only get closer to each other.

Soon your noses were pressed against one another as the two of you giggled.

Everything was funny to you in your drunken state.

Until it wasn’t.

Tears began pouring down your face and George’s smile and laughter were soon wiped away with a look of concern and worry.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asked, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“It’s my fault,” you sobbed, leaning into George’s touch.

“What’re ye talking about?” He asked again, moving so that John naturally fell off of him and behind him on the bed.

“If I’d have just come to London with you, we would be together,” you cried, tears falling in large streams down your cheeks.

“Oh, love,” George sighed, pulling you to his chest. “My dear, sweet girl,” he whispered, “none of this is your fault, we were so young, and we weren’t ready for each other.”

You continued to cry into George’s chest, “I—I just love you s—so much, Geo,” you managed through body-rattling sobs.

“I love you too, so so much,” he murmured as he ran a hand over your hair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Forever and ever, my darling.”

You fell asleep with your bodies intertwined, leaving no space between the two of you, and John tucked under the blankets behind George’s back.

#love #george harrison #the beatles #john lennon #music #paul mccartney #ringo starr #george #beatles x reader #george harrison fic #1966 #female reader

29 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Been . . . a DAY 1/3

Yeah, I've got WIPs, but yeah, this came to me. My oldest, years ago, had to pee really bad and NO ONE would let me use their bathroom. An insurance office, of all places, took pity on me, and my kid proceeded to pee on their bathroom floor. I burst into tears, and the woman there hugged me and told me how her kids peed in all kinds of places when they were potty training. The people were so nice, they refused to let me clean it up. I've never forgotten that act of kindness, and I likely never will. So that's the inspiration for this story which will have three parts.

Summary: Emma Swan bursts into Killian's life in spectacular fashion - when her three year old pees on his office floor. Nevertheless, Killian is mesmerized by this tenacious woman. Perhaps fate will let them cross paths again . . .

Rated: G

Words: Just shy of 2k

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite (sorry if I forgot anyone - I am really tired right now!)

Chapter One:

“Can we use your bathroom, please?”

Jones & Jones Accounting Firm isn’t your stereotypical lifeless, silent establishment, just as the Jones brothers don’t look like your stereotypical accountants. Nevertheless, the frazzled blonde bursts in upon a moment of intense concentration. It’s tax season, after all. Killian takes in said blonde, her hair a wild disarray and tension in her shoulders. She’s clearly not having the best day. A squirming three year old grips her hand, doing what Liam and Elsa always call “the potty dance.”

All four employees of Jones & Jones (it technically should be Jones, Jones, & Jones, but Elsa said that was far too pretentious) hurriedly assure the woman, “yes, yes, of course,” leaping to their feet, hovering, oozing politeness, and pointing to the end of the hall to the facilities. The woman practically weeps in relief.

“Pee pee now, Mama!” the child cries, and his mother scoops him up, holding him out in front of her as she races for the toilet. It’s another maneuver Killian is familiar with thanks to Liam and Elsa - or his nephew, to be more specific.

The blonde - he really wants to know her name - sets the boy down in front of the toilet. In her haste she doesn’t even bother to shut the door.

It’s too late.

Before she can even get the child’s pants down, a yellow puddle is spreading at his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps to the adults still unhelpfully hovering.

Then she starts ugly crying. Somehow, Killian knows this is out of character for her.

The boy begins to cry in earnest too. Liam and Elsa race off, most likely to take care of this, as the only two adults at Jones & Jones with kids. Ariel, who knows nothing about personal space and has never met a stranger, puts a comforting arm around the blonde.

“It’s okay, lass,” Killian assures, “really.”

“How can it be okay? We burst in here and peed on your floor!”

Killian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling or pointing out that only the lad did the actual peeing.

Liam appears with a roll of paper towels and a mop. “Accidents happen,” he tells the young mother cheerfully. “Potty training?”

“Yes!” the woman practically wails. “He’s three, so I know we should be done -“

“Ours is three too,” Elsa interrupts as she pushes a stack of clothes into her arms, “and he still has accidents. Which is why I have a spare set of clothes in my desk drawer.”

“Oh, spare clothes,” the woman mutters, shuffling through the massive bag slung over one shoulder. “Shit, he peed on those yesterday.”

He continues to sob as Liam lifts him out of his yellow puddle.

“So take these,” Elsa insists once again. “My name is Elsa, by the way.”

“Emma,” the blonde answers with a trembling chin as she takes the clothes, “and I never fall apart like this with strangers.” She chuckles sardonically. “Hell, I don’t do it with people I do know, but we’ve just had the worst time. Henry said he had to go, but every shop on this street said no when I begged for a bathroom. I was trying to buy him a pair of shoes. I mean, who the hell opens a kids’ thrift store and doesn’t put in a public bathroom?”

Killian once again bites his lip at the heat in her voice. He believes her when she insists that she rarely falls apart. She’s feisty and tough as nails - no question.

“Well,” Liam says, stuffing the wastebasket with sodden paper towels, “I’ve gotten most of it so you can change your lad out of his wet things. I’ll mop up when you’re done.”

Emma looks at each of them in turn, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Why are you all being so nice?”

It’s clear from the way she says it that kindness has been rare in her life. It makes Killian wonder about the boy’s father. She isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t around. Whoever he is, he’s done nothing to ease that look of mistrust in her eyes.

“Because it’s clear you’re having a rough day,” Killian tells her gently, “and we’ve all been there.”

“Some of us literally,” quips Liam, and Elsa laughs.

“Your office was the sixth place I tried,” Emma whispers. “I never would have asked to use a bathroom in a business office if I wasn’t desperate.”

The boy - Henry - is still sniffling. “Was I a bad boy, Mama?”

“Oh baby, no,” Emma croons, falling to her knees before her son. “Even a big person might have had an accident holding it as long as you had to.”

Her soft voice melts the little boy, and he collapses wearily into his mother’s arms for comfort. Emma obliges, heedless of the child’s smelly dampness. She’s a good mother, that’s clear. The businesses on this street however? Killian clenches his jaw as he mentally ticks them off: the thrift store Emma had mentioned, a sporting goods store, a ladies boutique, a children’s book store, a jewelry store, and then Jones & Jones. Every single one had no reason to deny the desperate mother and child an exception to their “employees only” restrooms.

“Next time, love,” Killian says to the resilient mother before him, “you just stride right back to the bathroom no matter what they say.”

“Yeah,” Ariel agrees, anger flashing in her eyes, “I understand why they might not want a public bathroom, but surely they could see it was an emergency.”

“You just tell them it’s either let you use their bathroom or your kid’s gonna pee right on their floor,” Elsa grumbles. She’s clearly pissed - pun completely intended - or she wouldn’t have spoken with such poor diction.

Emma laughs, her face more at ease than it has been since she arrived. “I’ll remember that next time. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And potty training is definitely a desperate time,” Liam commiserates.

They leave Emma and Henry alone then so she can change his clothes. When mother and son exit the bathroom, they both look much calmer.

“I can’t say thank you enough,” Emma tells them. “I’ll come back by tomorrow to return the clothes.”

Elsa waves away her offer. “No worries. Those are pretty worse for wear. Ian won’t miss them, I promise.”

“Ian Jones, I’m guessing?” Emma asks. “That’s a nice name.”

“It’s a nickname, actually,” Liam tells her from where he’s mopping the bathroom. “He’s named after this git of a brother, over here.”

“Oi, but you did name him after me, didn’t you?” Killian shoots back.

“Nickname, huh?” Emma asks with a tilt of her head and a teasing smile. “Short for . . . ?”

“Killian.” Is it just his imagination, or is she flirting with him? “Killian Jones.”

He extends his hand, and she takes it.

“Emma Swan.”

A last name! His heart soars. “It suits you.”

Emma’s smile brightens even as she rolls her eyes. No, it isn’t his imagination - she is flirting. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones with kids who pee in my office.”

She tilts her head back and lets out a full-throated laugh. It does something to his heart - makes it expand or something equally cheesy. Her cheeks are pink as she looks at him while tugging at the ends of her hair.

“So . . . um, I still feel kind of bad about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and he notices the light dusting of freckles there.

“Well, you could make it up to us by staying and having dinner. It will be here any minute: sub sandwiches and practically a whole salad bar. Ariel always orders way too much.”

“It’s better than running low!” the redhead snaps indignantly.

His smile wavers as he watches a shadow pass over Emma’s face, dimming her eyes. It’s as if he’s watched a wall fall back into place. She shuffles her feet, and ducks her head. Henry meets her gaze, popping a thumb into his mouth.

“I . . . um, think this is a Happy Meal kinda night - right kid?”

“Yay!” Henry cheers, bounding up and down in that jerky way toddlers always have. “Ticken nuggets!”

“Chicken nuggets,” Emma corrects.

“Dat’s what I say,” Henry retorts with a frown.

Killian catches the boys gaze and winks at him. The boy giggles before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Then Killian regards Emma again, weighing the risk of his next question, but he has to know.

“His father is expecting dinner too, perhaps?”

Emma’s eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s made a serious tactical error. “He certainly isn’t expecting it from me, wherever the hell he is.”

Killian ducks his head. “Apologies, lass.”

Emma sucks in a breath, then lets it out slowly. When she speaks again, it’s with measured calm.

“I thank all of you again, but we really need to go.”

They all talk over one another assuring Emma that it was no trouble at all, but she practically dashes out the door. When it closes, sadness sweeps over Killian at the thought that he’ll probably never see her again.

“Well, you sure mucked that up, little brother.”

Killian glowers at Liam. “Shut it.”

“Leave him alone, babe,” Elsa admonishes gently. “He had to find some way to make sure he wasn’t flirting with a woman who was already taken.”

“You think she was flirting?” Killian asks.

Ariel snorts. “Please. For a minute there, she was practically melting at your feet.”

Killian groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You’re right Liam. I mucked it up.”

“I don’t think so,” Elsa muses, her gaze drifting to the door Emma Swan had just exited. “I think her walls flew back up before you probed about Henry’s dad.”

Killian sinks dejectedly into his desk chair. “And now I’ll probably never see her again.”

“So what?” Liam shoves the mop back into the broom closet before heading back to his own desk. “You only talked to her for like ten minutes.”

“There was an instant connection, though.” Ariel clasps her hands together and practically swoons.

“And you never know,” adds Elsa, “the two of you may cross paths again.”

Killian frowns as he stares at the spreadsheets on his computer screen. He hasn’t been immediately affected by a woman in this manner since Milah. Liam’s right - it’s foolish to read much into their brief meeting.

Yet he can’t help hoping that he’ll see Emma Swan again.

#cs #cs ff #captain swan #modern au #first meeting #mommy!emma #single mom emma #little henry #fluff #humor

60 notes · View notes

berrynarrybanana · 4 years ago

Text

Deck the Halls - pt. 1

A/N: Ummmm.....so this is kind of like a Christmas fic, but it turned out very different than I expected it to. It’s more of a...wintery suspense type thing with an actual lengthy as fuck plot, but the romance is strong from the beginning. I tried to keep it in one post, but the word count is simply too much for me to put in one post. I plan on updating everything that I have so that you all can indulge in the story while I finish it up. I know that this might not be everyone’s cup of hot chocolate, but I hope that some of you enjoy it! I haven’t really done anything of this nature before, so I’m kind of nervous about the whole thing. I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday, and I can’t wait for us to ring in the new year together! I love you all loads!

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, smut, fluff....other things i can’t remember at this moment?

November 1

Harry is walking through the snow.

The soft sound of snow crunching under his boots and the wind whipping around him is all that he can hear at first. He feels cold, but he’s been colder than this. His hand feels warm, though his hands are bare. He glances down, his eyes locking on an emerald green mitten. He feels the fingers in the mitten flex, gripping his hand tightly. He trails his eyes up the arm covered in a light green coat, freezing when he sees the curly tendrils of snow white hair draped over her shoulder. He knows instantly who it is, and he knows exactly how this dream will end.

When his eyes finally land on rich, berry red lips, he feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s never seen her face before this. She’s usually drowning by the time he gets to the lake, already under the block of ice as the man with blue hair holds her under. He can’t help but stare, taking in the beautiful and ethereal features of her face. It’s almost as if she isn’t real at all, from the color of her skin to the pointed tips of her ears. The hair was strange, but he’d gotten used to the beyond platinum shade over the years. It wasn’t so shocking to him anymore.

Harry turns his attention from the girl when he hears a twig snap, his gaze dropping to the snow covered floor of the forest they've been walking through. He wasn’t sure why they were walking in the woods, or where they were going, but he was happy to be spending time by her side. He was happy that he wasn’t watching her die for once, her beautiful face still full of life as her lips moved. She was talking, but he couldn’t hear a word that she said. All he could hear was the wind and the snow, a whistle and a crunch echoing in his ears as if he had winter sounds playing from a quality stereo.

He hated that he couldn’t hear her.

He hated that he didn’t know where they were going.

But suddenly, it all becomes clear.

The lake.

“Don’t.” Harry croaks out through chapped lips, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to get her attention. Her lips stop moving as he pulls her closer, but she offers him a sad smile. “We shouldn’t-”

“It’s alright.” He can finally hear her voice, the sound something akin to Christmas bells being softly run in the middle of the night. “We have to go.”

“You can hear me.” He breathes out, his eyes stinging due to the wind, and the inevitable tragedy that’s about to occur. “You can hear me and I can hear you.”

“I guess so.” She glances up, an amused smile curling the corners of her lips as she hums out.

When she looks back down at Harry, he loses his breath.

“What’s your name?” She asks, turning her back towards the lake, giving him her full attention.

“Harry.” He whispers the word, almost as if he’s afraid for anyone else to hear it. “I...who are you?”

“I can’t tell you.” He watches her face fall, her expression going dismal. “But I want to.”

“You can tell me anything.” He moves closer, squeezing her fingers. “Talk to me, love.”

“I can’t say it.” Her brows furrow in frustration. “It won’t come out, no matter how hard I try to say it.”

“Why is this happening to us?” He presses, moving his feet closer. “Why do you drown every single time? Why can’t I save you?”

“I don’t know.” She glances down, her cheeks losing their glow. “I wish that you could save me, Harry.”

“I’ll try harder this time.” He gulps, his throat tightening as tears threaten his eyes. “I’ll try harder to save you, I promise.”

“But you won’t save me.” She looks up, her own eyes glossed over with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Harry. It was meant to be this way.”

“No, I don’t believe it.” He shakes his head. “I can save you.”

She shakes her head, slowly backing away from him.

“We have to go now.” She says softly, her feet carrying her towards the iced over lake.

Harry notices a pair of skates dangling over her shoulders.

“No, don’t go.” He reaches out for her, but she continues to move away. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to.” She steps onto the ice, the soft cracking noises causing Harry’s eyes to grow wide with panic. “Save me, Harry.”

And just like that, it’s all over.

November 2 Harry’s POV - Age 21

Harry pushes the door to Paradise Records open, watching a few flakes of paint fall to the concrete stoop outside of his shop. He made a mental note to buy some paint to touch up the door before the holiday season started.

He could feel the frustration creeping up his spine at the mere thought of Christmas, and it was times like these that he wished the world had sympathy for those who hated the holiday. He hated to give into the global phenomenon, but it did bring in enough business and revenue to keep the shop afloat until the annual summer sale rolled around in June.

He sipped at his bitter, black coffee, walking into the record store with a relieved sigh. This was truly his paradise where he escaped from the demons that haunted his mind. For a split second, he was finally at peace after the grueling nightmare he endured. That peace was quickly disturbed by the jingling of bells from the front door, causing Harry to frown as he turned on his heels.

“Another beautiful day in paradise, eh boss!” Niall clapped his hand down on Harry’s shoulder on his way towards the checkout counter, causing Harry to bite back a whine of discomfort. “How are you today?”

There were knots in Harry’s shoulders causing him pain, and most of them were caused by the cheery Irish lad pushing behind the checkout counter.

“Good morning, Niall.” Harry turned towards the boy with a sarcastic smile. “Why are you always so bloody loud.”

“You knew I was loud when ya’ hired me, I put it under my strengths on my job application.” Niall called out as he walked through the beaded curtain to the back office, whistling a tune that made Harry’s ears ache.

“I didn’t know that you were a fucking foghorn, mate.” Harry hiked his leather bag higher up on his shoulder, fighting off a yawn as he followed slowly in Niall’s footsteps.

“Did you have a long night?” Niall popped out from the beaded curtain, causing Harry to jump as he made it behind the counter. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, long night.” Harry grumbled, shutting the employee gate at the end of the counter. “You watch the front for a few hours, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.”

“Sure.” Niall nodded as Harry pushed through the curtain. “If you need anymore coffee, just let Mitch know. He’s stopping at Java Java before he comes in.”

Harry pulled out his phone, typing a quick text telling Mitch not to get Niall coffee.

He didn’t need any more energy.

He needed a proper nights rest.

Harry sat down at his desk, putting his coffee by his keyboard with a heavy sigh.

There wasn’t enough espresso in the world to fix the aching in his head caused by the nightmare he had last night. In the sixteen years that he’d been having the recurring nightmare, he was never able to talk to her in the dream. He was still haunted by the beautiful sound of her voice when she spoke to him, but he was mostly haunted by the sound of her desperate pleas for help. But his feet were frozen solid to the ground as the man with ice blue hair held her under the water. He emerged from the cracks in the ice this time, pulling the girl under with him as she screamed for her life. Harry remembers screaming for her until his throat was sore, but when he woke up this morning, he felt fine.

Harry brushed his palms over his face, inhaling sharply as he tried to push the image of her face from his mind. He didn’t need to spend the rest of his day thinking about her. He needed to get to work. There was a lot that he needed to do in preparation for Christmas. Every single year, parents and Uni students would come into Paradise Records and buy out his record players, and usually all of his Christmas albums. He’d already pre-ordered Christmas albums, but he needed to get in contact with the shipping company and the manufacturer to make sure they all arrived on time for the Christmas sale.

“Hey boss,” Niall’s sudden shout made Harry flinch, muttering a curse under his breath at the Irish lad. “Gemma is here.”

“Tell her to come back.” Harry called back, reaching into his bag in search of his glasses with his left hand while he booted up his computer with his right hand.

He hated wearing glasses, but Gemma bought them for him last Christmas when he opened the shop, insisting that they would improve the quality of his eyesight by blocking out the blue light in most devices. He did notice a slight difference in the quality of his vision after using them.

“Look at you, a dapper young man in his glasses.” Gemma pushed Noah’s pram into Harry’s office, the toddler screeching out the second his eyes landed on his uncle. “Alright, young man, Mum isn’t superwoman. I can’t move that fast.”

“You have five seconds to hand me my nephew before I start screaming with him.” Harry teased, looking at Noah with a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, mate.”

“It’s been three days, not three months.” Gemma huffed out, unbuckling the straps on the pram until Noah was free of restraint. “Alright, you can stop your crying now dove, uncle knobhead is right here.”

Harry scowled at his sister, leaning up to grab his nephew by the waist with ease.

“Harry.” Noah screeched, patting his palms against Harry’s cheeks. “Hi.”

“Hi, bubba.” Harry kissed over Noah’s face, causing him to giggle out as Gemma found a seat on the opposite side of Harry’s desk. “You know he’s not going to leave here without throwing a fit, right?”

“I know.” Gemma let out a breathy laugh laced with frustration. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry settled Noah in his lap, resting his hand on Noah’s lap so that he could entertain himself by playing with the rings on his uncle’s fingers. “What brings you by?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about Christmas.” Gemma said softly, watching Harry’s face change from curious to furious in two seconds flat. “I know, you still don’t feel ready to celebrate after Mum and Dad, but I think we should start easing back into it. Noah is getting older, and we’ve got friends who-”

“I’ll do it for Noah, but I don’t want to celebrate with other people.” Harry interrupted. “I still don’t get how can you be okay with it, Gemma? They died because of some stupid Christmas tradition.”

“So are we supposed to hate pancakes now?” She tossed her hands up with an eye roll. “You drive a bloody car, don’t you? The pancakes didn’t kill them, Harry. Some reckless driver knocked into their car.”

“It’s not-”

“You’re being childish, Harry.” Gemma snapped at her younger brother, shaking her head. “Christmas isn’t the thing that killed Mum and Dad. I know that it sucks, having the anniversary of their death on your favorite holiday, but you have to deal with this. You can’t keep pushing it off like this.”

“I can, and I will.” He said, clearing his throat as his sister shook her head. “I don’t want to be happy without them on such a terrible day, Gemma.”

“I really think you should talk to someone about this.” She sighed, brushing her palms over her thighs. “I think it would do you some good to work out the issues you have surrounding this whole thing. I’ve been talking to someone since it happened, and it’s really helped me cope.”

“I don’t need help.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Gemma.”

“It’s not fine, and the fact that you don’t seem to realize that worries me the most.” She whispered. “You’re drowning in your own grief, and I can’t save you.”

Harry froze, his eyes snapping back to his sister.

“What did you just say to me?” He asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I said it’s like you’re drowning in your own grief.” She said slowly, tilting her head with narrowed eyes as Harry stared back at her like she’d stepped on his foot. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because…..” He paused, licking over his bottom lip as he inhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was best not to mention the nightmares, or the girl. “Nothing.”

“There you go again.” She let out a bitter laugh, smacking her thighs. “You can’t keep everything bottled in forever, Harry.”

But this, I should keep bottled in.

“It seems to be working out alright.” Harry shrugged, searching for something to change the subject. “How are we on presents for little man this year? Did you get everything on your list?”

“Yeah, nearly.” Gemma mumbled, picking at a loose strand of thread on her scarf. “Niall has helped me get most of the shopping done when I’m at work. He’s truly a godsend, Harry. I’m so happy he lives close by, and that Noah loves him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at his sister, previous suspicions about Niall and Gemma creeping back into his mind. He always knew there was something between the two, but he could never get a straight answer out of either of them on their feelings. Gemma swore that he was only a friend, and a good neighbor. Niall swore that he only hung around Gemma to hang out with Noah. Harry pressed his lips together, watching as Gemma’s cheeks turned pink, the soft color giving away their secrets in an instant. Normally, she was better at hiding it.

“What?” She squeaked out, shifting in her chair.

“You slept with Niall, didn't you?” Harry said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “You finally bit the bullet and slept with him.”

“Harry, Noah is right there.” Gemma’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t say things like that in front of him!”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Gemma! Who was watching Noah when you were getting it on with Niall of all people!” Harry asked, his brows lifting up towards his hairline. “Noah doesn’t know what that means, calm down.”

Gemma snapped her mouth shut, sinking in her chair.

Harry wasn’t really mad, but he enjoyed teasing Gemma.

Niall was a good guy.

“My poor nephew.” Harry tutted, shaking his head before he pressed a kiss to the soft ginger hair on top of Noah’s head. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll make sure to dock Niall’s pay to help out with the therapy you’re going to need when you’re older.”

“Alright, we get it.” Gemma grumbled, crossing her arms with a frown. “I’m a terrible mother and a horrible sister.”

“Hey.” Harry snapped, turning his attention back towards his sister with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “I never said that, and I never will. I’m only teasing you because you slept with fucking lucky charms out there, I’m not shaming you as a woman or a mother in anyway. You’re allowed to have fun, Gemma.”

“I know.” Her lips curved into a smile as her brother nodded, glancing at Noah as the toddler tried to pull off his Grateful Dead ring. It seemed to be his nephew’s favorite ring, and Harry couldn’t wait until Noah was old enough to wear it himself. “I’ve raised you well.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes with a playful snort. “I just don’t want to hear about you and Niall’s sex life ever again, capiche?”

“Got it.” She nodded, trying not to smile. “He’s a really good guy, Harry, and I really like him a lot. I would also love it if he could spend Christmas with us.”

Realization dawned over Harry as he looked at his sister.

So that’s what this is about.

“You want him to spend Christmas with the three of us?” Harry asked. “Like, as a family?”

“We’re gonna ease Niall into it, but I think so.” She softly laughed. “Noah adores him, Harry, and quite frankly so do I.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at his nephew with hesitation.

These two were all that he had left in the world, and bloody Niall was trying to take them away.

But maybe she needed someone like Niall in her life to balance out all of the bad that loomed over her head. The Irishman was supportive, and positive no matter what situation he was in. He was loyal and kind to everyone he met, and he was honest, and genuinely the best at giving advice. Harry hated to admit it, but Niall was everything Harry used to be. He couldn’t be that positive influence that his sister and nephew needed anymore, but Niall could.

So maybe he needed to let them move on.

“Yeah.” Harry whispered. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Gemma smiled. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I can’t believe-”

“Oh, actually-” Gemma held up her hand, interrupting Harry. “I am also asking that you won’t kill him when I leave.”

“That’s asking a lot.” Harry blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m definitely allowed at least one punch, Gemma. My best mate slept with my sister, c’mon.”

“Please don’t punch him, he bruises like a peach.” Gemma groaned.

“How do you know that?” Harry’s brows lifted before they fell, a look of disgust washing over his face as Gemma pressed her lips together. “That’s fucking gross! I didn’t need to know that!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Did you tell him?” Niall’s head poked into Harry’s office. “Did he call me his best mate a second ago?”

“I’m going to punch you.” Harry lifted his free hand, pointing at Niall. “You’re lucky I have Noah in my lap, mate.”

“But I bruise like a peach!” Niall looked at Gemma with wide eyes. “Did ya tell him, love?”

“I did.” She nodded, but she pursed her lips in defeat. “I can’t help you with this one, Ni.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Niall groaned. “I knew I should have taken those self defense classes with you Gem.”

Harry watched Niall sulk out of his office, Gemma glaring at Harry before she got up to follow her new loverboy. Harry rolled his eyes before glancing down to Noah. The toddler dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, lifting his uncle’s hand up to chew on one of his fingers with a sparkle in his eyes.

“This is your fault, mate.” Harry said softly, not a stitch of malice in his voice. “I’m only agreeing to this because I love you more than anyone else in the world, and I expect you to change my nappies in return when I’m old, do you hear me?”

“Harry.” Noah gurgled out, a gummy smile melting Harry’s fake stern expression. “Harry, hi!”

“I love you.” Harry pressed soft kisses all over Noah’s face. “You’re my favorite human... even if you don’t have any teeth.”

November 3 Holland’s POV

Holland felt like she was going to vomit as she walked through the halls of Santa’s workshop.

As the elves watched her with judgmental, licorice colored eyes, her palms started to sweat, and her feet moved faster. Her father requested her for an urgent meeting, but Holland truly had no idea what it could be about. She hadn’t told anyone about her dreams, afraid that people would think she was crazy for having them. She was used to the dreams, but last night’s dream put her on edge. Something was different about the situation, and it wasn’t just the fact that she knew the boy’s name.

For the first time since they started, she saw his face.

She would admit without shame that she would die over and over again in her dream if it meant she could look at him. His hair was shoulder length and the strands curled up at the end. He had a beautiful set of candy pink lips that Holland wanted to taste with her own, and gorgeous jade eyes that were almost translucent. She spent most of her nightmare staring into them, trying to see into his soul as if it would help her find him.

But it didn’t work.

He was still just a stranger to her.

A stranger named Harry.

As she approached her father’s office, she felt her palms become slicker than they were before as her heart pounded faster and faster in her chest. She reached down for the doorknob, turning it before she pushed the heavy wooden door open. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed the three, ominous figures standing off to the side of her father’s desk. The vibe that they gave off sent shivers down her spine as the little hairs on her arm stuck up to warn her of danger.

“Come in.” Her father ushered her in, and Holland’s feet followed the command without hesitation. “Holland, I would like for you to meet the Council of Elders.”

“Hello.” Holland offered them a small wave, her body shrinking nervously as they glared back at her.

Their dark robes were just as creepy as the large, wooden walking sticks they carried.

“Young child.” One of the men spoke up, holding his hand out to her. “Give me your hand.”

Holland looked towards her father, afraid to take a stranger’s hand.

“Go on, Holland.” Her father said. “Do as they ask, my dear. I promise that they won’t hurt you.”

Holland moved closer to the man with jet black hair, sliding her fingers into his palm.

A shock greeted her senses, causing her to gasp and jump.

“It’s alright.” The man whispered. “Close your eyes, show me what you see.”

When Holland obeyed his order, Holland thought of the lake.

Her entire dream played out in her head, almost as if it were on a television screen instead of in her mind. The closer they got towards the end, the harder Holland gripped the man’s hand in her own. The end was the part that she hated the most, the part that tore her apart.

“Holland, baby, please breathe for me.” Harry’s palms brushed over her cheeks, tears streaming down his own as he tried to bring her back to life. “I need you to wake up, Holland! I need you.”

The dream finished with Holland on the ice, Harry sobbing into her neck.

He did know her name.

“My, my, my.” The man spoke, tutting his tongue. “It seems that I was right after all.”

“Right about what?” Holland whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly in attempts to clear the tears from her vision. “How did you know about my nightmares?”

“Because I rule them, my dear.” The man spoke. “I’m Morpheus, the god of dreams.”

“Oh.” She whispered, still in shock. “You make those happen?”’

“Most dreams are of my creation, but not yours.” He said. “Your nightmare is crafted at the hand of someone else, a master manipulator that has conned his way into using someone else’s magic.”

“Morpheus, I would like to know what in the sleigh bells is going on with my daughter-”

“Kristopher, this is not your place.” The shortest of the three men hissed, his chubby cheeks turning red.

“Now, now…” The only woman spoke up, a sly smirk on her black painted lips. “Erotes, Kristopher is merely concerned for his offspring.”

“If he was concerned about her well being, Ma’at, he would not have split her from the boy-”

“Erotes.” Morpheus drawled out. “He could not have known about the boy.

“He should have known.” Erotes turned back to Holland, offering her a soft smile. “To be parted from the other half of one’s soul is a pain I would not wish on my worst enemies. I sincerely apologize on behalf of myself for letting you be away from him for so long.”

“I don’t understand.” Holland looked from Erotes to Morpheus, her brow furrowed. “What does-”

“Things have changed, haven’t they?” The man hummed out as if Holland were a specimen that he was examining in a lab instead of a girl.

“He knows my name.” She whispered. “And I know his name.”

“And you didn’t know it before.” The man narrowed his dark eyes, staring at her with a curious grin. “How is that, little elf?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to pull her hand back, but the man kept her fingers in a tight hold. “I just...I had the first dream when I was five, and it’s always been the same up until last week. It was all the same until suddenly I saw his face, clearer than it’s ever been before. I said his name like I’d known it all along and then….when I was drowning I saw him for the first time.”

Holland cleared her throat as it started to tighten, trying to regain her voice.

“You saw who did it.” The man spoke. “You know who it is that is trying to kill you both?”

“I do.” She nodded, licking over her lips nervously. “It’s Jack Frost.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Kris spoke up from his desk, his chair scraping across the wooden floor as he stood up. “What does Frost have to do with this?”

“The boy that you exposed yourself to as Santa sixteen years ago on Christmas night is your daughter’s other half.” Erotes said. “They are two souls created from the same star, the brightest star, and their love for each other has been tainted by your ignorance. The moment you laid eyes on the boy, you should have contacted me.”

“He reminded me of Holland, but I didn’t...” Kris said. “He had that same glow that she has in her eyes, I remember that much about him.”

“Their souls were forged from the ash of the Christmas star.” Morpheus said. “Other than you and your son, these two are the last people on earth with true Christmas spirit and it is their job as children of the Christmas star to instill that spirit into the souls of everyone they meet.”

“Jack Frost wishes to kill them both to absorb that power for a different use, of course.” Ma’at spoke up, drawing Holland’s eyes from Morpheus. “In the wrong hands, their power can be used for evil things.”

“When Frost kills them both, he will kill Christmas.” Erotes tutted. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, Kringle. The humans wouldn’t know what to do without Christmas, it would be horrible.”

“So what do we do?” Holland looked at Morpheus, swallowing around the lump in her throat as he looked down at her.

“We must keep an eye on Jack Frost.” Morpheus spoke. “And you must find your soulmate. He has suffered great tragedy, and his Christmas spirit is nearly gone. You must save him, and restore his power if you wish to properly fight for your lives.”

“Both souls must be pure in order for you to fight Jack Frost and his twisted magic.” Ma’at said.

“You must go to him, Holland.” Erotes said. “You must be by your beloved.”

“I don’t have any clue how to survive in the real world.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know where to find him, or how I would even begin to restore his Christmas spirit. I’ve never been trained on that kind of thing.”

“Look at me, Holland.” Morpheus snapped. “I have faith in your ability to do this without failing, but my faith in you is nothing if you don’t believe in yourself. Let that be the lesson you learn during this mission of yours.”

“Without Christmas, the rest of us will cease to exist.” Ma’at said. “The entire world of magic relies on you.”

“I will take you to him in six days time.” Erotes said. “He is in London.”

She swallowed, clenching her fingers into fists at her side.

“Alright.” She said softly. “What do I need to do to prepare myself?”

“There is a book you must read.” Morpheus said. “I will send it to you as soon as I return to my own realm. You need to practice your Christmas magic, little elf.”

When Holland blinked, the council of elders was gone without a trace.

She turned around to her Father with wide eyes, her mouth open in shock.

“What in the sugar plum just happened?”

November 7 Harry’s POV

Harry felt like he was one gust of winter wind away from falling over.

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him as the days grew shorter and the nights colder.

Fighting off sleep to avoid the violent dreams that plagued his mind at night wasn’t helping, because no matter how hard he tried to fight it off with caffeine, or cold showers, he ended up falling into the ominous forest in his mind where he would inevitably watch the girl die the same way that she always did. But the blue haired man was getting bolder, taunting Harry with icy smirks and snide remarks. Harry could never retaliate with his feet frozen solid to the forest ground however. His eyes were always glued to the girl with snow white hair as she cried his name out, his heart breaking in his chest as he accepted the cruel fate bestowed upon them.

She was fighting so hard to stay alive, and it killed Harry knowing that it was never enough. He spent a lot of time trying to convince himself that it was just a nightmare, something that the darkest parts of his brain conjured up to punish him. But with each passing night that he stared into the girls eyes, he started to think that he was wrong about that. His brain didn’t conjure this dream up at all, it was real. It made him feel insane, of course, thinking that some recurring dream with two strangers in it wasn’t a dream at all, but a reality. But he couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was a premonition, not a figment of his imagination.

That girl was real, and Harry cared for her.

They weren’t just friends in the nightmares, they were lovers.

At this point, he was considering committing himself to an insane asylum so that he didn’t end up accidentally telling someone about these dreams. If he told anyone, they would surely look at him like he was loony, and he couldn’t really blame them. It was a weird situation, and he didn’t have anyone he could confide in.

“Why do you look like you’re in pain?” Niall nudged Harry’s foot with his own, lifting his pint up to his lips as Harry snapped out of his thoughts. “You’ve been staring at the table for like, five solid minutes. Do you have heartburn or something?”

“I don’t have heartburn, you prick.” Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing his own pint from the table before he tipped it back. “I’m still upset with you for sleeping with my sister.”

“Here it goes.” Mitch inhaled, trying not to laugh as he reached for his whiskey. “Styles, I don’t think talking about your sister’s sex life with your best mate, while your drunk, is a good idea.”

“Yeah, what Mitch said.” Niall shifted uncomfortable as Harry slapped on a fake scowl, sending it towards the blonde boy. “You’ve already threatened to punch me-”

“I’m still going to.” Harry said plainly. “Of all the women in the world, you had to pick my sister.”

“Mitchell, help me.” Niall whined, glancing over at the brunette with desperate eyes. “I don’t want to die tonight.”

“I don’t think that I can help you.” Mitch shrugged his shoulders, catching the wink Harry sent his way. “He might actually kill you.”

“I might.” Harry shrugged, sipping at his beer. “I might save it for a rainy day, who knows?”

“Jesus.” Niall scoffed, shaking his head. “I better call my Ma and tell her I love her then.”

“Niall, I’m kidding.” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I’m happy for you both. I think you’re good for her, even if I hate to admit it.”

“Really?” Niall let out a sigh. “Because I really like her.”

“I know that you do.” Harry nodded, sitting his pint glass on the table. “And I know that you love Noah just as much as you love her.”

“I really do.” Niall’s lips curved up in a secret smile. “They make me happy.”

“And the end of the day, that’s all we can really ask for.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. "But I don't want to hear anymore about how you bruise like a peach or what you get up to in your spare time.”

“That’s fair enough.” Niall nodded.

Harry lifted his pint glass, downing what was left before he stood up.

“Where are you going?” Niall’s brows furrowed. “It’s still early!”

“I’ve got to open the shop tomorrow.” Harry reached for his jacket, sliding his arms in. “I don’t want to be late….or hungover.”

“I think you’ll already be hungover.” Mitch laughed. “I can open if you’d like me to, I don’t have any plans tomorrow.”

“Nah, you spend time working on those guitar skills, shredder.” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Niall. “And you, treat my sister to breakfast or something you lowlife.”

“Will do.” Niall laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “We’ll drop something off for you with Noah?”

“I’d like that.” Harry mumbled, offering Niall a tight lipped smile. “Alright lads, you be good.”

“Same to you.”

Harry waved at his friends before he made his way out of the pub.

He walked towards the end of the street, looking both ways before he ran across.

His building wasn’t far from the pub, but the wind whipping around made it feel like a twenty mile trek in the tundra. Harry was shivering by the time he made it into his building, his feet carrying him slowly through the lobby and towards the lift. He stepped in, using his elbow to press the button to his floor as his teeth started to chatter. The landlord was going to get an earful about the temperature inside the building tomorrow, Harry would make sure of it.

He stepped off of the lift, fumbling his fingers around in his pocket until he made contact with his keys. He pulled them out, glancing down until he found the one that opened his flat. As he walked down the hall, his mind went back to the girl. He could almost smell her familiar scent in the air, berries and clove filling his senses with every step he took. He was sure one of the ladies that lived down his hall was burning a winter candle with the same scent.

It was the only explanation.

When he made it towards his door, he heard a soft gasp.

He lifted his head up, his eyes growing wide as he saw the girl from his dreams standing right across the hall from his flat. She was staring at him, her pine colored eyes wide with disbelief and her berry red lips parted with shock. Her hair wasn’t as white as he remembered, more honey colored tones tied into the strands to compliment her skin. Harry stopped in his tracks, his heart slamming against his rib cage as she blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if she were trying to bring herself back into reality.

Harry swallowed around the nerves in his throat as he took one step forward.

Just as his foot landed on the ground, she fell to the floor.

Harry felt like he lost all of the air in his lungs, vivid visions of her body falling through the ice playing through his mind. But this time, he could do something about it. He rushed forward, grabbing her arms with his palms to lift her up as her head lolled back. She was limp, her body heavy and warm in his hands. He was shocked by just how warm she was, her skin was usually ice cold by the time that he got to her. He felt the tears blurring his eyes as she lay there.

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Get up!”

Her eyes snapped open at that, the dark shade of green greeting Harry like a breath of fresh air.

He was stone cold sober when he yanked her against his chest, holding her tight in his arms.

“I can’t breathe.” She gasped out, her hands tapping his shoulders. “Harry?”

He pulled back, staring back into her eyes with pink cheeks.

“How are you here?” He asked her, licking over his lips.

“Um, I don’t really have an answer for any of it.” She cleared her throat, glancing away from his gaze with shy eyes. “I just kind of...ended up here?”

“Did you take a taxi or something?” He asked, confused when she laughed. “Do you live in London? Have you always lived in London?”

“To be honest with you, I think that I teleported here.” She said slowly, like she was unsure of the response he might have. “That might sound insane to you. I know you only ever see stuff like that in Dr. Who, but um, it’s kind of real?”

“You sound like a mad woman.” He whispered, his eyes flitting over the features of her face, taking it all in. “But for some reason, I believe you.”

“If you think that was mad, wait until we dive into the fun stuff.” She said softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, if I’m being honest with you.”

Harry nodded, loosening his grip on her arms.

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asked her. “Or do you plan on teleporting back to wherever you came from?”

“Um, that’s my flat.” She pointed to the door just next to them. “I’m staying there until...well, until I can go home.”

Harry suddenly felt drunk again, his mind swirling with information as he let go of her.

She sat up on her own, clearing her throat as she brushed her palms over her thighs.

“I’m gonna get off of the floor now.” She said softly. “Is that okay?”

“Just promise me that you won’t faint again.” He felt his brows pull together in concern, panic flashing into his heart. “Please?”

“I will try not to.” Her laughter still sounded like bells. “Um, so, I know your name-”

“But I’ve never learned yours.” He finished for her, standing up before he offered his hands out to her. He pulled her up, pressing his hand against her hip when she stumbled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” She offered him a smile, one that genuinely comforted him. “I’m Holland.”

Holland.

“Holland, baby, please breathe.”

“I did know that.” He cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck as his cheeks grew warm. “I guess….I guess I forgot about that part of my dream.”

“Our dream.” She pressed her lips together, fighting off a smile. “I have the same one.”

“How do you know both of our dreams are the same?” He asked, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Maybe mine is different from yours.”

“I think I die in each version of the dream, Harry.” She said softly, trying not to laugh when his face paled. “But, I’m here now, in the flesh!”

“But you’re going to die.” He said slowly, anger rising in his chest. “That’s not funny.”

“No, I’m not going to die.” She was firm with her response, holding her chin up proudly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I refuse to die like that, it just won’t do.”

“I don’t think you can control it.” Harry said, his voice bleeding with frustration and disbelief. “You are a mad woman.”

“I’m not.” Her berry lips pushed out into a pout, and Harry nearly dropped to his knees. “I’m very smart, and extremely sane, Harry. I just….I happen to know things that you don’t!”

“Things like teleportation?” He asked, his brows lifting towards his hairline. “You look different, did you know that?”

“No.” She said. “Why do I look different?”

“Your hair is normally white.” He lifted his hand, grabbing a few strands gently. “And your skin is normally like the snow.”

“I suppose it would be weird if I walked around London looking like that, eh?” She asked. “I can’t exactly be myself in this world.”

Harry knew what that was like.

“I think you’ll be just fine.” He whispered. “You’re still beautiful.”

“Well, I should probably go inside.” Holland said softly. “I’m quite knackered from all of that teleporting and stuff.”

Harry felt panic start to rise in his chest again.

She was leaving him.

What if something happened to her while he was just across the hall?

He would never forgive himself.

“You’re…” He felt his palms get sweaty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I’m sure.” She nodded. “I’ve done a lot of research on this place, so I think I’ve got the hang of everything.”

“This place, as in the complex or this place, as in earth?”

“This place as in London.” She snorted. “I’m from Earth, gumdrop. I just come from a very small, remote island near the arctic.”

“Are you really from earth?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Because I could have sworn you fell from heaven.”

Harry watched her cheeks glow like they did in the beginning of his dream.

“You’re cheeky.” She said softly. “I learned what that means by watching Skins. By the way, those children should all be on the naughty list, they’re horrid.”

Harry froze, watching Holland as she shook her head.

“You still believe in Santa?” He asked her softly, as if he were afraid he would startle her.

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes grew wide, but she was quick to look away. “Who doesn’t?”

“Most of the world.” He cleared his throat. “Most of us don’t even like Christmas.”

“Gumdrop, by the time I’m through with you, I’ll have you singing Christmas Carols with Santa himself.”

“If there’s one thing you should know about me, Holland-” His voice was low as he spoke, frustration bubbling in his chest.. “It’s that I will never love Christmas or anything that has to do with that bloody holiday.”

He pulled his hand back, turning on his heel before he slipped his key into the lock.

He could feel Holland’s eyes on his back, but after the comment he made, he needed a little time to cool down. Sure, Holland was someone that he had dreamed of meeting for most of his life, but he didn’t really know her as a person. He drew the line at Christmas with anyone, and she was no exception to his strict rule. He pushed into his flat, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Seconds later, he dropped his head against the door with a heavy sigh.

“Maybe this is another dream.” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Wake up, Harry.”

But when he opened his eyes, he was still standing in his apartment, and he could still smell the sweet scent of berry and clove.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x ofc #harry styles original fic #harry styles x original female character #harry fic #harry au #harry writing #my writing #harry fanfiction #harry fluff #harry x ofc #harry styles holiday fic #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles christmas

100 notes · View notes

sylvanfreckles · 3 years ago

Text

Sick Day

Just posting an old fic from my AO3 account. You can read it on that website here, it was a gift for someone who reviewed one of my other stories (I have been known to offer bribes in the past).

Summary: When Jack is stuck at home recovering from bad chest cold, all he wanted was for someone to spend time with him. And with Sam and Dean on a case and Cas working on an angel problem, that leaves Mary...and Rowena. Now, if he can only convince them to stop trying to out-mother each other and just be his friends maybe he would actually feel better.

...

Having the flu, as Dean put it so succinctly, sucked.

Never mind that Sam had scolded his brother up and down the bunker that Jack didn't have the flu, that what he had was a serious chest cold, Dean had kept calling it the flu until Sam stormed off to dig up a hunt to shut his brother up. After all, Mary was planning on spending a few days at the bunker brushing up on some current affairs and helping with some translation work for a novice hunter out in California, so it wasn't like they were leaving him alone.

Except, Jack reasoned as he tucked his blanket a little tighter around this legs, it would be nice if Sam or Dean had acted like they wanted to stay with him. Castiel was helping Heaven—they'd found an angel hiding on earth and he was trying to convince them to go home to help power up Heaven, but Naomi was refusing to send anyone else so he was the only one who could do it. So it was just Jack and Mary left in the bunker, and without the noise of the other hunters or one of his dads the whole place just seemed empty and sad.

Jack loved Mary, he really did, but just...he really wanted one of his fathers. Sam had said their case would only last a few days and Cas was coming home as soon as he could (and called or texted whenever he was able) but it just didn't compare to having someone here. His phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Jack's face lit up when he saw Rowena's name on the ID screen. “Row-” he broke off to cough away from the phone, “Rowena?” “Jack? Oh, poor boy, you sound awful,” Rowena's lilting accent was colored with sympathy, and Jack wiggled further down on the couch and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm sick.” “Oh no, that's just awful. My poor wee lad.” “I'm okay. Sam says I should be better in a few days.” Dean, of course, said he was probably going to be sick for the rest of his life, but even through the haze of NyQuil Jack had realized that was a joke. “Yes, Samuel. Is he there? I've tried to call him but he isn't answering,” “No, he and Dean are on a case,” Jack twisted away from the phone to cough again. “I see. Well, how about Castiel?” “He's been gone on angel business for a few days, but he should be back soon.” Rowena was silent on the other end of the phone. Jack frowned and pulled the phone away, checking that they were still connected. “Rowena?” “And...they left you there? Alone? And sick?” “Oh, no, I'm not alone. Mary's here.” Rowena was silent again for a few minutes. Jack turned the phone away to cough into a tissue, careful to throw it in the trash can to limit the spread of germs. “Well, if the boys aren't there, I suppose I can stop by myself for what I need.” Jack was blowing his nose, but he picked the phone up again as soon as he was done. “You're coming?” “Just to look for a few things,” the witch commented, but there was something warm in her voice. “I'll bring you some of the remedies I used to take when I was a lass. We'll have you back on your feet in no time.” Before Jack could argue, Rowena had hung up on her end. He let his phone drop into his lap and rested his head against the couch. At least it would be nice to see her again, he thought. He was pretty sure there weren't really any cures for a cold (at least Sam had said so, and even Dean admitted Sam was probably right about almost everything), but the bunker seemed so empty with just him and Mary that he was looking forward to another visitor. “Jack?” Mary was leaning into the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands. “Did Cas call again?” “No, that was Rowena,” Jack replied. He drew his feet up so the blonde woman could sit at the other end of the couch and pass him the mug. It was herbal tea laced with honey—the warmth always helped ease the ache in his chest while the honey soothed his scratchy throat. “She said she needed some information, but since Sam and Cas aren't here she's just going to stop by to look for it herself.” “Oh.” Mary's lips tightened into a thin line. He knew Mary had grown up viewing witches as nothing more than another monster, but he held out hope that she could someday at least see Rowena as an ally. After all, Bobby and Jules and most of the hunters from the apocalypse world had learned to accept Castiel, so there had to be hope for Mary and Rowena. “Thank you, Mary,” he said, after taking a sip of the tea. “You always make it so strong, I like it.” Mary's cheeks reddened. “Well, herbal tea isn't really my strong suit,” she replied. “If you wanted coffee, now...it would still probably be pretty strong.” “I like it like this,” Jack repeated after another sip. “Sometimes when I make it I just leave the teabag in while I drink it.” “You rebel,” Mary teased, patting his knee. “How are you feeling?” He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” Mary leaned forward to rest her hand against his forehead. Jack closed his eyes, leaning into the touch just a little. Her hand was cool and dry, and just a little rough with callouses in the same places as Sam and Dean. She smelled nicer, though. He still didn't understand why it was somehow a taboo for boys to smell like strawberries, no matter what Dean

said. “You're not running a fever,” Mary commented. “At least not a high one. Is your cough any better?” Jack started to answer, but had to turn to the side to cough into another balled-up tissue. Mary's smile was sympathetic and she patted his knee again. “Maybe a little. Just get some rest, Jack.” “Wait,” Jack caught her wrist as she stood to leave. “Sam downloaded some old movies before he left, do you want to watch one with me?” “I wish I could,” Mary replied, gently brushing some of his hair out of his face. “I just have so much work to do right now. Maybe later.” He tried to keep the disappointment off his face as she left the room, but as soon as she was gone Jack sunk back down into the couch and picked his phone back up. Movies were just less fun by himself, and he didn't always understand the references. Cas had sent another update, at least—the angel he was talking to was living near a bird sanctuary, and he always sent Jack colorful pictures of parrots and songbirds and an old, scarred pelican the sanctuary workers had named Admiral. Not as good as having his father here, certainly, but it was nice to know Cas was thinking of him. Jack closed his eyes, letting his phone rest against his chest. Later couldn't come soon enough. * * * “Jack?” A cool, soft hand on his forehead gently pulled him out of sleep. “Mary?” he whispered. “No, dear. It's Rowena.” He cracked his eyes open to see the witch leaning over him, brilliant red hair cascading over one shoulder. “What time is it?” She glanced down at the gold watch on one wrist. “Almost seven in the evening. How are you feeling, Jack?” Jack grunted and shoved himself up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand. “Better?” Rowena gave a little laugh, sitting down on the edge of the couch near his knees. “Was that a question or an answer?” “Both?” She gave another of those little, tinkly laughs and patted his knee. “Well, now I'm here, I'll have you back to health in no time at all.” He smiled at her, but had to bend over to muffle a cough in one hand. “Sorry.” “No apology necessary, Jack,” Rowena assured him. He fumbled for the tissue box but found it empty and jerked back in surprise when Rowena offered him a handkerchief. “It won't bite you, my dear. And it can be washed.” “Ah...thanks.” Gingerly, Jack covered his mouth and nose to cough. Rowena shifted around to place one hand on his back and rub gentle, soothing circles. “You poor thing,” she murmured. “And the boys just left you all alone?” “Mary's here,” Jack reminded her, when he could speak again. Rowena sniffed daintily. “Yes, of course. Lady Winchester. Well, Jack, I'll just pop over to the kitchen and put this on the boil,” she said as she stood up, picking up a paper grocery bag. “I've got a few things to check while it's stewing, but we'll have you right as rain soon.” Jack swung around to put his feet on the floor, fighting a wave of dizziness. “Rowena? Sam told me to just keep taking this stuff,” he explained, gesturing to a package of extra-strength cold medicine. “Maybe...could you just bring your research in here and we could watch a movie instead?” The witch scoffed at the packaged medicine. “Nonsense, Jack. Trust me, I'll have you up on your feet in a matter of hours.” With that, Rowena marched out of the room with the paper bag clutched close. Jack slumped back against the couch, head pounding and sinuses clogged. He really, truly was feeling better compared to the last few days. Just...lonely. A crash from the kitchen had him sitting back up, and with a sigh Jack shuffled to his feet and pulled his robe closed. He could hear raised voices as he got closer and realized Mary and Rowena were in the middle of a heated argument over something. “...need your...witches brew,” Mary was saying as Jack approached the door. “We were doing just fine without you.” “Oh, fine, of course,” Rowena's voice was sharp with scorn. “Explain how you burned tomato soup, then?” “It's harder than it looks,” Mary protested. “And it's not burned, there's just stuff stuck to the bottom of

the pan. That happens every time.” “This?” Jack could hear something scraping, and really hoped Rowena hadn't just taken a metal spoon to one of Dean's prized nonstick pans. “This is burned, dear. See how it's gone all dark and bitter? You actually burned the soup, no wonder the poor boy is ill!” “What would you know about taking care of a sick child?” Mary demanded. “I have raised a son of my own.” “Who became a demon! At least my boys have never done that!” Rowena gave a dark laugh. “Oh, dearie, there's so much you don't know.” “And what's that supposed to mean? Sam and Dean are good men.” “Oh, no one's disputing that, Mary. I'm merely suggesting that they became good men because of your absence, rather than in spite of it.” That was enough for Jack. Before Mary could make her retort he shoved his way into the kitchen, his dramatic entrance made somewhat pathetic when he stumbled into a chair and had to hang onto it for dear life. “What are you arguing about?” “Jack!” Mary rushed to his side, turning the chair around and trying to push him to sit down. She was trying to be calm, but he could see the angry flush in her cheeks and feel her hands shaking. “What are you doing up? You should be resting!” “Did we disturb you?” Rowena asked, straightening his robe and brushing his hair back. She almost appear unaffected, but her lips were tight and she kept glaring over at Mary. “Poor boy. I apologize, it won't happen again.” Jack shook them both off. “Why were you fighting?” When neither woman answered he folded his arms, though he did sit down as his cold made him feel weak, and attempted his best Dean-stare at them. “I want to know.” “Mary burned-” “Rowena was-” They started at the same time, but both stopped to glare at each other. Jack sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I really don't need all of this.” “I'm sorry, Jack,” Mary rested one hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “We'll keep it down.” “Aye,” Rowena placed her hand on his other shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You just trot back to bed. I'll take care of the mess here and bring you something in a wee bit.” “I was making soup,” Mary replied, her grip tightening just a little. “I'll bring you some soup.” “If you can call it soup,” Rowena sniffed. Her hand was tightening as well. It was almost uncomfortable. “I'll clean up this disaster and bring you some real food.” “Okay, that's it!” Mary leaned over Jack to get in Rowena's face. “I've had it with your little insults! No, I'm not a cook, but John and I survived just fine even if I burned the soup now and then!” “Oh, yes, of course,” Rowena replied. She leaned over Jack as well, until his vision was all but blocked by the two women. “That would by why you had such a long, happy marriage, hmm? Oh, wait...you died.” “Enough!” Jack stood up, pushing the two apart. He swallowed down another cough and took a few steps away so he could turn around and face them, waving his hands to include the two of them as well as the disaster in the kitchen. “It's all of this! I don't need this! Cas is away on important business that couldn't wait, and Sam and Dean wouldn't have left if I wasn't going to be fine. I don't need you to do this much for me!” “Jack,” Mary held her hands out, trying to soothe him. “I'm sorry, I got carried away. We just want what's best for you.” “But you never asked me! You just keep trying to be my mother!” Jack pushed both hands through his hair and turned away. He hadn't meant to say that...hadn't meant to express the awful, bitter feelings that kept bubbling up. “Jack?” Rowena was at his side, one hand on his elbow. “Is something the matter?” He sighed, turning around again so he could face both of them. “I already have a mom,” he explained, feeling that little twist of pain and love and regret that formed in his stomach whenever he thought of Kelly. “A really, really good mom. And I have Cas, and Sam and Dean. I just...I don't need another mom. I really...I just wanted a friend today.” Mary had looked down, blinking back tears.

Rowena had looped her arm through his and was studying his face with a gentle expression. “My poor lad,” she finally murmured. “I never meant to try to replace your mother, Jack. You just seemed so lonely...I just wanted to take care of you.” “Yeah,” Mary came close enough to take his free hand. “I guess...we just thought we knew what was best and didn't even think about what you really wanted.” Jack let out a relieved sigh, letting the two of them guide him back to the chair when his legs started to shake. “Can we please just watch a movie together? That's all I wanted.” “Of course,” Rowena said soothingly. “I'll take care of the dishes here, and maybe Mary can find some snacks.” “And make tea,” Mary offered. “Nice and strong, just how you like it.” Rowena pulled a face, but this time Jack knew it was because the witch didn't approve of the way he drank tea. “That would be great,” he said. “I'll set up the projector.” * * * “Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted the angel as he got out of the Impala. “You're back early!” “Susanna agreed to return to Heaven,” Cas explained. “How did your hunt go?” “Oh, just the best,” Dean replied. He hefted his bag up to his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Poltergeists are just so much fun.” “Do you need me to heal you?” Cas asked worriedly, looking over Sam and Dean for injuries. “He's just being a baby,” Sam said. “The poltergeist didn't hurt his shoulder, he just won't admit that he's old and can't take the cold as well as he used to.” “I am not old,” Dean retorted, leading the way into the bunker. “Besides, if I'm old you are too.” “That doesn't even make sense,” Sam complained, but fell silent when his brother pulled up short. “Dean?” Dean held a finger to his lips and gestured to the small office they'd been using as a kind of family living room. There was a projector running one of the old black and white movies Sam had found. Jack was on the couch, fast asleep, head tipped back at an awkward angle and breathy snores rasping out of his open mouth. To his right, Rowena was curled up on the couch beside him with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Mary was at the opposite end of the couch from Rowena, her feet resting in Jack's lap and her head down against her chest. “Think he's feeling better?” Sam whispered. “Hope so,” Dean replied, turning away from the room with a grin. “Looks like he was in good hands.” Sam shook his head, casting one more look at the sleeping trio. "I don't know, I kind of feel like it was the other way around."

#supernatural #fic #fanfic #jack kline #mary winchester #rowena macleod #jack and rowena and mary frienship #sick fic #cameo from the boys #friendship #fluff #angst and feels #family feels #sick jack kline #caring mary winchester #caring rowena macleod

14 notes · View notes

sailtoafarawayland · 3 years ago

Text

Entwined: Family Outtakes Ch. 3

Summary: A little bit of Wish Captain Cobra bonding from early on in the Entwined universe.

Rating: G

AO3 - FF

Chapter Three: An Unexpected Emergency

Henry lunged forward, nearly leaving his seat on the couch as he slammed the joystick home and button mashed to gain the last kill of the round, letting out a whoop of victory. He scrolled through the stats while his friends went for another bag of chips, pausing when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Pulling it free and glancing at the screen, he saw the house number pop up under his mom's name. That was weird – as far as he knew she was at work with Killian, and Hook didn't typically call him. He frowned, immediately worried. They did live in Storybrooke after all, and even though things had been peaceful since the Black Fairy, there was always that lingering worry that any day the other shoe would drop.

“Hello?” he asked, raising the phone to his ear and moving from the couch to the window, pushing aside the curtain and glancing down the quiet street to make sure there were no signs of strange colored clouds billowing.

“I'm glad you answered, lad,” Hook's voice came through the speaker, his discomfort clear in the heavy exhale that followed. “I've a bit of an emergency at the house.”

“Have you called Mom?” Henry was already moving back through the living room, motioning to his friends that he had to head out as he grabbed his bag and shoved his feet into his sneakers. “Are you okay?”

“Perhaps emergency was a tad overzealous, but I – I didn't want to disturb your mother or Killian at work. Is there any chance you could stop back in?”

“I'm already on my way,” Henry reassured, wondering what could have gotten his...well, not his dad, and maybe not quite his stepdad yet, but Hook had certainly slipped easily into a space above 'his mom's boyfriend', and Henry knew one day he'd care for him the same way he did Killian, the man who had become a father figure to him. “Can you tell me what happened? This isn't like a curse thing or something, right? Because if it is, we should really – ”

“Not unless you consider this bloody machine accursed,” Hook spat on the other end of the line, several more curses that Henry was pretty sure his mom would not appreciate him hearing following alongside the sound of something clanging against metal.

“I'll be home in five minutes, okay?”

“Aye,” Hook sighed, “You've my thanks, lad.

Henry nodded and smiled even though Hook couldn't see him.

“Just try to keep everything in one piece until I get there. See you in five.”

Henry took the steps to the front door two at a time, the handle leaping out of his reach as Hook yanked it open, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly as he ran his hand through his hair.

That was what made Henry notice the bubbles – clumps of frothy bubbles clinging to Hook's ear and streaks of them dissipating along the edges of his jaw and between the strands of his hair.

“The bloody washer box is possessed,” Hook growled, stepping back and letting Henry inside to shoulder his bag onto the floor, his eyes widening as he took in the steady stream of suds pouring out of the laundry room and into the hallway. “I thought I'd help with some of the laundering, and I've seen your mother do it often enough – put them in the front, pour the lye into the box, push the buttons, and then they come out clean.”

“Yeah,” Henry hesitated, stepping gingerly across the damp floor and peeking around the corner into the laundry room. “I guess you could say that's about how it works...how much soap did you use?”

“Your mother just pours it in, so I did the same – and all seemed to be going well until I came back down to this. I've pushed every button on the bloody thing, but it won't stop.”

The lights across the top of the washer were a steady blue, the drum still churning out an ungodly amount of suds that bubbled and fell from around the door seal, making their way across the floor. Stepping carefully, the tile slick beneath his sneakers, Henry made his way to the machine and held the power button, hoping that would solve the issue, but the washer ignored him, all of the lights staying stubbornly lit.

“I guess we'll have to unplug it,” he grimaced, glad that the cord was at least accessible above the unit.

“Unplug it?” Hook questioned, standing in the doorway, the bottom of his jeans damp from wading through the bubbles.

“Yeah,” Henry, muttered, heaving himself out of the water and entirely on top of the machine, making sure his sneakers weren't touching anything wet. “You might want to back up, so you're not in the water – and just, don't touch anything with your hook, okay?”

“Aye, that sounds simple enough,” Hook agreed, glad to be relieved of the burden modern technology presented. He backed across the hall and dropped to the bench seat, hook in his lap.

Henry carefully gripped the edge of the large plug and – after a tense moment of quiet prayer that he wouldn't get shocked – the rhythmic shushing of the machine came to a sudden halt, the bubbles crackling meekly from around the door as it stopped agitating.

“Well done, lad!” Hook called, getting up from his seat and peering into the laundry room, his hand running wearily through his hair and dislodging a few more bubbles. “I was beginning to think not even magic could have ceased its destruction.”

“No magic here,” Henry smiled, waving the gray cord in his hand. “Machines don't work in this world without being plugged in – this thing's kind of like its heart, so when you take it out, it – ”

Henry stopped as Hook's smile faltered and disappeared, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, gaze dropping to the floor and fingers tightening against his palm.

��Hook, I'm sorry,” he rushed, dropping the plug to the top of the washer and sliding back to his feet, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. It wasn't as if he didn't know Killian's history, and he knew that Hook shared almost all of it – including the thing that had cost him his hand and turned him into a revenge-obsessed pirate for hundreds of years. “I shouldn't have...that was stupid, I – ”

“It's quite alright, m'boy,” Hook sighed, the tension slipping away from him as quickly as Henry's words had brought it on. “I've lost many things in my life,” he said, stepping forward and clapping Henry on the shoulder, “but I've gained much as well.”

He couldn't help but smile at the weight of Hook's hand and the way the sadness in his eyes was tempered by joy – it was the same look he'd seen so many times in his own mom's eyes, and Killian's as well.

“We're gonna find her, I know it,” he promised, lips tightening with determination. “My mom won't stop until we figure out how to fix your heart, and neither will Killian – it's kind of what our family does, we always find each other – and we've never let a curse stop us before. We are going to get her back.”

“I hope so – I think you'd love Alice. She has an imagination just as big as yours, and a love for books as well, though you'll have to explain the – what are they again, video games?”

“Yup, and I bet she'll love them too. I can't wait to meet her.”

Hook nodded, stepping back into the hall and surveying the mess around their feet once more.

“Well, I suppose I should see to cleaning this up, and you're free to return to your day off, lad – I can't thank you enough. Learning everything there is to know of this realm, it's not been easy, and I hate to be a burden.”

“You're not, you should have seen Killian and...well, a lot of other people too when they first got here. Maybe next time just, use less soap – like way less soap.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Hook saluted, eyes narrowing as he stared down the washing machine. “I certainly never imagined I would lose a battle with the bloody washing box. I think perhaps I'll leave the laundering to either Killian or your mother in the future.”

“At least the floors will be clean,” Henry shrugged, grinning as he headed back toward the front door, Hook's dry chuckle following him as he picked up his bag and headed back out. “I'm gonna check in with Regina, but I'll be back for dinner...it's not fish, right?”

“I think by the time I'm finished righting this mess, it's likely to be pizza.”

“Perfect!” Henry called back, shutting the door and skipping down the steps.

There were no curses clouding the horizon, no Leroy running down the street screaming, no Black Fairy plotting to tear apart his family – life was good. It was better than good, and even though they'd yet to find a solution to Hook's cursed heart, Henry knew it wouldn't be long – he just believed.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #entwined #sailtoafarawayland #wish hook #henry mills #wish captain cobra #captain cobra

20 notes · View notes

kuroos-moon · 4 years ago

Text

When Tragedy Becomes of Blooming Romance

pairing: Akaashi x reader

genre/s: fluff to angst

— Falling in love is dreamy and all, especially when it’s with Akaashi Keiji; but the probable pain of parting could be twice the amount of the happiness, couldn’t it?

seven months ago

“Akaashi-kun! I can sit here right?” Your eyes bright as they meet his sleepy ones. That was the first time you ever spoke to him, though definitely not the first time he took notice of you.

He rubs his eyes, not fully believing that you of all people would talk to him this fine and early morning. “Uh, sure,” he mutters, subtly scanning the room only to see there were too many available seats aside from the one beside him.

He looks at you as you give him a toothy smile along with a short thankful nod, placing your bag on your desk and taking a seat. “Ohayo,” he says under his breath, causing you to snap your head towards his direction. “Ah! Sorry I forgot to greet you!” You apologize, face flustered. “It’s alr-”

“Ohayo Akaashii!” You cut him off, causing him to seal his lips shut. You were indeed loud, but you made him smile too— internally at least. He nods at you before turning away, placing his chin on top of his hand as he glanced outside.

You mimic his actions, though you weren’t glancing outside, you were looking at him, the both of you finding what you see beautiful nonetheless. “Y/n-chan?” He softly says, the sound of your name out from his lips leaving you surprised, your cheeks now tinted with pink.

His voice sounded too sweet and fragile, too quiet for you to hear but loud enough to drown out the sound of your own heartbeat; nothing less to be expected from Akaashi Keiji, the quiet boy you loved to admire from afar.

“I was wondering why you sat beside me,” he says, and you decided then and there that his voice would be your calm and destruction all at the same time.

“I was feeling gutsy today,” you say before thinking your words through, “finally had the courage,” you add, swearing your mouth just spews out things on its own sometimes. Embarrassed, you shift on your seat, fidgeting with your fingers as you now look the other way.

“I see,” is all you hear him say.

Classes start, things have been a bore so far, not to mention your short attention span. The last period before lunch draws in, and to your dismay, you had to write an essay about what made you happy— there’s a lot, how were you supposed to fit your ideas in?!

Akaashi begins writing, wasting no time as he scribbles his thoughts down elegantly and with ease. His attention’s shifted as he hears you groan from beside him, rummaging through your bag; his eyes drifting to the blank sheet on your desk, he assumes you probably lost your pen.

As to not disturb the quiet room, he merely pokes your side gently with his pen, eyeing you as you look at him in surprise. “Than-” you purse your lips immediately when he brings a finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. “Thank you,” you whisper as the butterflies go wild in your stomach when your fingers slightly brush the setter’s soft ones.

He’s done with his essay, not really feeling like submitting ahead because he’d be the first one. He takes his leisurely time to observe his surroundings— wait no, who cares about his surroundings? He wanted to observe you, as if he hasn’t done it enough ever since highschool.

“Wait, I forgot to include my dogs,” you mumble to yourself, an involuntary small smile immediately finding its way to his lips. Adorable as always, y/n-chan. You weren’t doing anything special, you were simply writing, stopping every once in a while as you were in obvious thought before you happily scribble down again.

His brows raise and his lips part, a surge of too overwhelming feelings filling his chest. It was unfair, however ordinary you act, you made him feel too much, like how you take in the sunrise through the city’s edge, and the sunsets that reddened the blue sea.

“Akaashi-kun,” you say his name, Akaashi setting aside the emotions that literally came out of nowhere. “Are you done with yours?” You ask, fighting the tingles you felt as you look each other in the eyes for seconds too long.

He shortly nods, looking away from you. “Then shall we hand it in together?” You ask, sounding hopeful. You didn’t even have to ask twice as he wordlessly gets up from his seat, too flustered to utter another word; waiting for you to get up as well so you could walk up front with him behind you.

four months ago

“Keeijjjiii!” You scream, an instant smile forming on his lips at your loud voice as he gets some books from his locker. “Keiji,” you say again, now standing beside him, slightly leaning on the locker beside his.

“Ohayo, y/n-chan,” he greets without looking at you. You slightly pout at the nonchalant lad before you, opening his locker door wider so that you could see his face. “Ohayo, love of my life,” you smile brightly and he offers you a slight chuckle in response.

“Did you eat breakfast?” He asks you after finally closing his locker. “Yes sir,” you grin and he nods in approval before the both of you make your way to class. He may not have known you knew, but you were very much well aware of how he was secretly placing a hand underneath your bag to lighten its weight on your shoulders.

“What are you smiling about?” He asks, glancing down at you. “You,” you say with no shame, it’s been like this everyday anyway; constant flirting and Keiji brushing them off thoughtlessly.

He sighs at the look on your face, a smile now on his lips when you looked away from him. “You make me smile too, y/n-chan,” he says, looking ahead and maybe overthinking a little too much whether he should take it back or not. “I know,” you smugly say, and all he could do was laugh a little as you put him at ease like how you always do.

two months ago

“I told you not to wait,” he sighs, your arms wrapping around his waist as you hug him from behind. “It’s already late y/n,” he mumbles, holding your hands in his to warm them up. “I’m sweaty too,” he adds, stroking his thumb over your skin.

“Y/n?” He asks in concern, you were oddly silent, staying still as you rested your forehead on the back of his shoulder. “Keiji, I need a hug,” you meekly say and he immediately knew something was wrong. “I’m sorry for popping in all of a sudden after your practice,” the guilt in yout voice making his heart clench, he doesn’t want you to feel bad about it.

He untangles your hold on him before he turns around to face you, hugging you against himself. “It’s okay,” he mutters, leaning down to your ear, “I needed your hug too.”

You both stay in that position for a while, Akaashi patiently waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong and you knew he was expecting you to. “I love you Keiji,” you say, your voice muffled and you could easily feel him tense and freeze up against you.

“For real, I’m in love with you,” you whisper, your hand clutching on his shirt tightly as you nervously await his response. He lets out another sigh, and you had no idea in hell whether it was a good thing or not. “And I loved you first y/n,” he says, lips brushing lightly against your ear.

one month ago

“I’ll head to practice,” he informs you, ruffling your hair as you both stood on the last step of the stairs. “Don’t strain too much,” you pinch his cheek, Akaashi quick to pull your hand away before he nods at you.

“I love you,” you call out, watching the flustered Keiji turn on his heel to face you once again as his ears turn pink in embarrassment. “Y/n lower your voice next time,” he lightly scolds, but you return his look with a pout, “don’t you love me?”

“I love you, y/n,” he says in a quiet voice, “then ask me out already,” you stick your tongue out at him but he only smiles, his eyes holding all the love in the world as they look at you.

three weeks ago

Bokuto sighs from beside him. “What’s wrong Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, looking at the seemingly depressed owl that sat beside him on the bench during their break.

“Promise you won’t laugh at me Akaashi,” he pouts and the former nods at him. “There’s this girl, she’s majestic, she’s really really pretty and nice,” he sadly says, looking down on the floor. “What’s the problem?”

“Y/n L/n’s too good for me,” Bokuto sighs, head falling back, oblivious to the fact that Akaashi had short-circuited almost immediately. “You guys are pretty close, can you tell me what kind of stuff she likes? I talked to her a few times when she waits for you in here,” he pouts, looking at his friend.

“And I’ve never wanted anyone more than her, Akaashiii,” he dramatically says. “Please say you’ll set us up,” Bokuto puts on his attempt to look like a cute puppy.

Akaashi clears his throat, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll see what I can do, Bokuto-san,” he says in a low voice, guilt, hurt and confusion making it hard for him to breathe all of a sudden.

present

Bokuto grins down at you, as you laughed at the joke he just said. “Do you wanna watch me practice later, y/n-chan?” He gleefully asks you, excitement in his eyes but you couldn’t help the sad expression you wore at his words when you remember Akaashi.

“It’s okay! Totally okay if you don’t want to,” he nervously puts his hands up before him. You were about to respond to him when you see the all too familiar raven-haired setter blended in the crowd inside the halls, your eyes glued to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry I have something to do, talk to you later Bokuto-san!” You hurriedly call off, making your way to Akaashi. “Keiji!” You call, you knew he heard you, but you also knew just as much that he’s pretending to not hear. He’s been ignoring you for almost a month now and you plan to show him just how stubborn you are.

“Keiji,” you breathe out, momentarily caught off guard when your eyes meet again. He glances down your hand that was holding his, he knew he shouldn’t savor this moment too much but he can’t bring himself to pull away, he missed your too much that it ached for every single second of everyday, a non-stop reminder that he has hurt you and that he was hurting too.

“Keiji, please, stop this already. Are you really gonna let this on forever?” You desperately say, your brows furrowed as you look up at his eyes that seemingly held no emotion. “I told you y/n, I’m really sorry but I was confused, I don’t want you to wait for me to ask you out— I just can’t imagine myself being that for you,” he softly says.

“I’m really sorry y/n, you’re just not the one for me,” he says with finality, your teary eyes twisting the blade that pierced his heart. Without thinking he lifts his hand, about to cup your cheek, about to do such a sinful thing— is it really too bad if he kissed you right now? Can he really not be with you?

“Akaashi Keiji, I love you, please don’t do this to me,” you whisper, and he was about to say those words back too. He was so close to pulling you in, to lose himself in you, to have everything back to normal; but from behind you he saw his best friend, the senior he had so much to thank for.

“I’m sorry y/n.”

You watch him as he walks away, knowing fully well that when the love of your life Akaashi Keiji decided on something, there was just no turning back.

205 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 4 years ago

Text

Best Teacher, Part 1 || Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader

Summary: y/N is a pureblood Slytherin best friends with Harry Potter, but not yet that close to the Weasleys until she’s invited to spend Christmas with them.

PART 2 HERE

PART 3 HERE

A/N: So yeah, we’re not even close to Christmas, but this idea popped in my mind and I had to write. Yes, out of nowhere I got into this Harry Potter vibe, who can explain?

*gif below not mine

Being friends with Harry Potter had always been something you were proud to have achieved. Harry was not only a nice guy and great friend, but he was also very famous, so having his friendship gave you some kind of popularity that being a Slytherin you would not have achieved on your own.

You couldn’t exactly point a finger to when your friendship began, but it was around your second year. Now, that you are a fourth-year student, your friendship is really solid. You care deeply for Harry, proving your loyalty to him many times by now.

He had other friends, but you hadn't talked to most of them yet. Hermione was kind of cool, she didn't bother with the fact that you were a pureblood and a Slytherin since you never showed any kind of prejudice against who she was — a muggle-born.

Ron Weasley, on the other hand, was somewhat of a problem. He ignored you most of the time you were with them, avoiding talking to you. He never actually said a bad thing about you — that you had proved of — but you believed he did behind your back since any of the Weasley talked to either. They never even tried.

Percy was too old for you to even have anything in common to say, besides, by now, he's no longer a Hogwarts student. The only Weasleys left were the Twins and Ginny. Ginny was too busy to have time for you, although you had the impression that she didn't like you simply because of your friendship with Harry.

The Twins, George and Fred, were kind of mystery in this matter of "do they like me or not". They were always playing jokes against the Slytherin house, so more times than often, you were a victim of their pranks. Although you didn't think it was their purpose to hit you, they never apologised. George had spoken to you, one or two words, generally, to make fun of the situation you and Harry were involved, but Fred never said a thing.

Even when he had to study a year next to you during Snape's classes (the Professor got angry because Fred and George never shut up, and made them split), he never talked to you. Staring, though, he did a lot. You couldn't help but do the same. He was beautiful — in your opinion, the most beautiful of the Weasley, maybe being a tie when it came to George — and, since he always started the stares, you didn't felt the guilt of looking back.

It wasn't like he was disgusted by you, it felt like he was just curious. Sometimes, when you got wrong with the potions, he looked scared. You couldn't blame him, because you were a real nightmare when you got some lesson wrong.

"So, what are you doing for Christmas, Harry?" you asked your friend once you met him on the corridor, after a long period of staring Fred during one of Snape's class.

Being an orphan and living with a terrible family, Harry hated going back home for the holidays, so, most of the time, he stayed in Hogwarts. You felt so bad, that you used to insist on him to come to spend the holiday with you and your family. Maybe they weren't the happiest family during the season, but you were sure your parents would try to impress Potter since they had him in a very high status.

"I'm going the Burrow" he answered, holding his books closer to his chest. By now, you already knew the Burrow was the residence of the Weasleys, and listening to that info made you involuntarily sigh. "What's wrong?" your friend looked at you, confused.

"Nothing. I was just expecting you to finally come to spend the holiday with me and maybe I wouldn't feel so sad" you explained, making sure your puppy face was out, trying to change his mind by being too cute.

He only smiled, kinda relieved. "Well, you could always come with me. I'm sure Mrs Weasley wouldn't mind, she even said I could bring someone with me"

You showed your teeth, frowning. You were sure Mrs Weasley was a nice person, you knew how well she treated Harry, but you were no Gryffindor orphan friends with her kids.

Would be nice to be around such a happy family for Christmas though.

"Thanks, Harry, but I guess I'll have to say no to that. The Weasley didn't really invite me so..." you were saying but got interrupted.

"You surely should come. I'm a Weasley, consider yourself invited" Ginny showed up out of nowhere, accompanying you two in your walk to the Great Hall.

You looked surprised. "Still, I..."

"Come, 'cause I will warn my mom and if you aren't there, she'll find you herself," she remarked, making Harry shake his head in agreement.

"Okay, maybe I'll turn up" you finally agreed, slowly bowing your head, scared of what you just said yes to.

"Now, can I steal Harry from you for a second?" she asked, already escorting him away from you.

"Sure" you answered, but they both couldn't be seen anymore.

***

When the day to leave Hogwarts came, Harry waited for you in front of the Slytherin common room. He got some stares, but he didn't seem to care, smiling when he finally saw me.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Ginny asked me to make sure you'd come. She said her mom was anxious to meet you" he answered, getting his bags from the floor.

"Still don't get it. Why would Ginny want me there? We're not really friends" you pointed out, walking down the corridor.

"I suppose she knows how much would it mean to me to have my friends around during this dark time" he answered, giving real thought to it "Shes a nice lad, Ginny"

"Yeah, I know" you commented, elbowing him, just to mess around, He blushed. "But I'm glad to be going. My parents don't believe in celebrations, so we generally just stay home, and eat dinner earlier during Christmas"

"So this will be different for you. The Weasleys stay up until late" Potter explained.

We had finally arrived inside the train.

"I think I'll like the change," you said, before settling down with Harry, Ron and Hermione in one cabin.

Ron was mostly quiet during the whole trip, but Hermione filled the silence with a bunch of random information. She was said she could not spend the holiday with the Weasleys but she didn't want you to forget to write to her everything that happened during your time there.

"Including me?" you asked, confused if she wanted you to write her as well.

"Well, of course! I need a female opinion about what happened as well" she replied, with a smile, hugging you not too tight.

You smiled back, happy with the request.

"Hermione, it's ‘what might happen’ ". It'll probably be another boring week" Ron finally spoke, shocking me to hear his voice. Remarkably because he was correcting Hermione, which is, again, a shock.

"Ha! As if Fred and George wouldn't prank anyone!" she claimed, and we all just laugh, because it was certain that they had something planned for the holiday. You just had to wait to see.

Bags in hand, you all didn't have to wait long to see Mr and Mrs Weasley in the crowd. They waved, making Ginny run in their direction. Ron walked behind her, not as happy to see his parents. Harry was next in line, leaving you with Fred and George because you were having some trouble with how heavy your bags were. It didn't occur to you that you wouldn't need as many clothes as you planned for just one week away.

One of the twins nudged the other, who then showed up right next to you. "Need any help?" the nudged one offered, throwing his only bag on his shoulder and offering you a helping hand.

It was only when you faced the twin that you realized it was Fred. He had a small freckle next to his chin that George hadn't.

The help made you confuse if you should accept or not, but George added over his shoulder. "If you don't accept, mom will be angry at us and then I'll be angry at you"

You sighted. "Okay, I'll take your help" you agreed, giving Fred one of your bags "Thanks, Fred" you added, making he amazed with the fact that you differed him from his brother.

"Always here for you" he answered, attempting to be funny, but sounding more serious than he should.

You both walked a bit faster, trying to catch up to the rest of the group. Mrs Weasley, a short warm lady was still hugging Harry in a very, very tight hug when you and Fred finally got there.

She let Harry Potter go when she caught your face. "Oh! You must be the one Ginny told me about! y/N, isn't it?" she asked, walking closer to you.

"Prepare yourself" Fred tilted his head in your direction, whispering advice. You only had time to look at his direction before being sucked into a tight hug from Mrs Weasley.

"Nice meeting you, Mrs Weasley," you said once she loosened the embrace, allowing you not just to talk but also to breath. Fred hid a smile at your side.

"Please, call me Molly" she entreated. You smiled at her, in a way of showing that you'd do as asked. She held your hand to show you where to go.

Mr Weasley only had the chance to wave at you, since Mrs Weasley was leading you surprisingly fast for such a small person, still, you managed to wave back, without dropping your bag. While walking, you could hear the laughs around you, swearing you were recognizing Fred's, because it was probably the loudest.

Harry caught up to you two, walking next to you when he commented: "I said you'd be welcomed".

***

Lastly inside the Burrow, Ginny guided you to her room, where you'd be sleeping. Fred followed you, dropping carefully your bag on the floor, just before leaving to his room.

The house was way smaller than yours, however, that wasn't a problem for you. It did feel very welcoming, with a warmth that was very welcomed in such cold weather. Ginny had a mattress on the floor for you, which was more than you could have asked, showing up like that, practically uninvited.

"I feel like I haven't thanked you properly for allowing me here, Ginny. Feels good to be around a big happy family for the holiday" you said to her when you both were going back to downstairs.

"Hey, y/N, no worries. I don't bother with a full house, and I need another girl around to handle these many boys" she retorted, making me laugh.

"Just out of curiosity, did you tell your mom everything about me?"

"Everything?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, like, I'm Slytherin and all" you explained.

She pulled her bright red hair back before answering. "Well, no. Not that it would matter. She would need only to look at you"

"What do you mean?" you were confused by what she had said, scared that you could have an evil face or something like that.

"You shine with power, y/N. That Sorting hat would be a scam if it hadn't put you in Slytherin" she explained, avoiding looking at you.

You were about to ask what she had meant with that when Mrs Weasley appeared in front of you. "Ginny, come, I need your help"

The girl followed her mom with a frowny face, not very happy with losing free time with Molly.

Without anyone to talk, you went outside the Burrow, just to stare at the sky, not knowing exactly what to do. You planned on finding Potter, but he wasn't outside once you got there.

"And Hermione thought I'd have something to tell" you mumbled, not to anyone, in particular, getting surprised when you noticed you had been heard.

"What did you just say?" a masculine voice asked, making you turn your face to look back.

Fred and George were walking in your direction, both with a smirk on their faces. With their faces a little away you couldn't differ each from the other, especially because they changed their shirts to red sweaters.

"Me? Nothing" you said, looking away from them.

"I heard something, didn't you too, brother?" one of them asked, in a mocking tone.

"I did, Freddie," George asked, sitting next to me on the grass "So what was it?"

"It what?" you replied, trying to mock as well.

Fred sat on your other side and look at you. "What did you complain, darling?"

The "darling" was like a weak spot for you, almost forcing you to confess. "Hermione asked me to write to her everything that happens during my time in here" you explained, a little angry at yourself for spilling the tea.

"Your complaint is because you hate writing?" George asked, looking at you confused.

"Definitely not, brother, she writes a lot more than necessary" Fred was the one that answered, smirking lightly.

You stared back at Fred, with a mix of feeling because of what he had said. Happy because he noticed, but interested in why he noticed.

"I do?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He swallowed hard before answering. "I, for instance, don't write a thing during Snape's class, but you can't keep your hand down".

You smiled. "Well, of course! I need to write down the things he says, otherwise, I get everything wrong. You just don't care about getting everything wrong."

"Potion's classes are only cool when there are explosions" Fred affirmed, closing his eyes for a second. You took the moment to contemplate his lovely face in the sunlight.

"Agreed, brother" George said on your side, stopping you from keeping with the stare. "So, y/N, what's your problem with writing to Hermione then?"

You pressed your lips together, embarrassed to answer. "It's just... I don't know any of you enough to have stories to tell her."

Fred and George exchanged a suspicious look before facing me again. George even replaced himself in the grass, so he could face me better.

"That's something we can resolve," Fred said, smiling while shaking his head up and down, nonstop.

"We can make you have tons of things to tell Hermione" George added.

"I bet she'll be happy to hear about everything the Weasley's Twins have been doing" Fred commented, making his brother laugh and making you worried.

"Why do I feel like I'm gonna regret this?"

"Oh, y/N, because you will" answered Fred, smiling so bright that all his teeth were showing.

***

Since you had arrived on a Saturday and Christmas was only on Friday, you, Fred and George had not many events to attend as such exchanging presents or singing carols.

The Twins planned to steal you to a bunch of activities, that, according to Fred, had all been schedule so every day you'd have a new prank to assist. Yeah, assist. They were not only making you their accomplice but also their partner.

It was late in the night, yet on Saturday, that your first task happened. You were sleeping on the floor of Ginny's room when you heard the slight knock on the door. Not used with sleeping in a crowded house, you were able to wake fast, visibly scared.

You ran your finger through your hair, attempting to look better even though you were with a sleep face in your nightclothes. You tried to open the door without waking Ginny up, but, by the looks of her, she would need a loud hard-core rock playing to wake.

"Fred? George? What are you guys doing here at... what time is it?" you asked, walking out of the room and closing the door behind you.

"It's almost five A.M. but that's not the point" one of them answered, but the darkness didn't allow you to distinguish which.

"Five A.M?" you repeated, a little louder than you planned, just to get a "shhh!" from the twins.

"Follow us, come on" one of them instructed, getting down by the stairs.

You followed, although scared of what were they planning. One of them said "Lumos" to get a little light on your way, which you were thankful, because you practically couldn't see a thing since the sun wasn't out yet.

When you arrived in the kitchen, they finally stopped walking.

"We decided that our first prank should be a breakfast one," one of them said, and you recognized it was Fred because of his pyjamas, it had an "F" in front of his jumper.

"What is breakfast prank?"

"y/N, you do know nothing about pranks, do you?" George asked, laughing a bit.

You nodded, ashamed. You were only close to Harry, and he wasn't much of a prankster. You had other Slytherin friends, but you used to only talk to them about your house points and to ask for help to study; therefore, besides not having someone to teach you how to fool everybody, you also didn't have someone to fool.

"George and I thought of a food colouring spell" Fred explained the plan to you, ignoring the fact that you had never pranked anybody before.

"Is there such a thing?" you questioned. You were not the smartest witch, but you had never heard of such spell before.

"I came up with it" Fred revealed, pressing his lips together, a mix of ashamed and proud.

You looked at him, amazed. The Twins didn't have the best grades in Hogwarts, but that was just because they didn't want to be good at academics. They were good at what they wanted to be good.

"It will turn everything mom cooks black like she burned it" George continued, going toward the stove.

He and Fred got their wands and cast the words, but you were still analysing the impact of such a prank.

"Doesn't seem like such a nightmare" you pointed out, once they had finished and were laughing a bit louder than they should.

They both froze at your words, turning their faces in your direction like you had just said you-know-who's name.

"What?" you didn't understand their shock.

"Did you just say we made a bad prank?" Fred asked, without relaxing his face.

"It's not bad, it's just simple" you corrected, much for their surprise, making they gasp with your words.

"A too simple prank? Did you hear that, Fred?" George faced his brother, not moving his body.

Oh, Merlin, what had you done.

"I heard that. I feel like she's challenging us" he answered, arching an eyebrow.

"We should not run from a challenge, though" George pointed out, squinting.

"And she should participate as well since she doubted us" Fred added, looking back at you.

"I thought I was already your partner in crime," you said, holding your laugh.

"Go back to bed, dear y/N. And be prepared" Fred advised, trying to make a mysterious face but failing.

"We'll find you when we're ready" George added, copying his brother's face.

You no longer could hold your laugh, letting it out but trying to make it not as loud as it usually was. Shaking your head, unable to conform with what you were hearing, you headed back to the stairs, to go to Ginny's room.

"She's mocking us, brother" you heard when you were going up the stairs.

"Indeed she is" the other twin agreed.

***

On Sunday morning, a black breakfast awaited you, one you could only smile at, trying to pretend you knew nothing about.

Ginny didn't seem confused though.

Sitting on the table, Fred and George laughed hard, listening to their mother's complaint.

"Do you boys know how many eggs I threw away before I realised you've cast a spell on my stove? Do you think the Ministery will be happy to hear you've been performing magic outside of school?" their mother snapped.

"Who said it was us, mom?" George questioned.

You were again able to differ him from his brother because of his jumper. This time, a green one, where Twin #2 could be read. You knew it had to be George since he was the second born, as pointed out by Hermione once.

" 'Who said it was us' " his mom repeated, in a mocking tone, using a newspaper to hit them in the back of their heads.

You laughed hard of the scene, almost ashamed of the doing until Harry and Ginny started laughing with you, which only made you wanna laugh more.

You sat down on the only left chair available, in the middle of Fred and Ginny. The 'Twin #1' fastly moved his head in your direction.

"We have planned the biggest prank ever" he whispered so only you could hear.

You smirked. "Do you guys ever chill?"

"Never" he answered, smiling back at you.

"Percy is coming by Wednesday but Bill and Charlie won't be able to come" Mrs Weasley informed while putting a fried egg at the plate in front of you.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley, you didn't have to," you said but was glad by her act since you were hungry. Even though the egg was pitch black, it still smelled genuinely good.

"Molly, dear" she corrected you.

The boys next to you sighted.

"Are you kidding me? The worst of us is coming but the cool ones no?" Fred asked, frowning his forehead.

Molly hit him in the head again. "More respect with your older brother," she demanded, but he rapidly ignored, rolling his eyes followed by his twin and Ron.

You had no idea what to expect from Percy since he didn't have much fame in his household. You remembered his appearance, redhaired just like the others, but you never talked to him, so you had no idea if he was all that bad.

After breakfast, the family got outside to play quidditch, and you, not knowing how to play, stayed sitting on the grass, just observing the game. Mr Weasley stood next to you, not sitting, but facing you still.

"Not gonna play, y/N?" he asked. "They surely are missing one"

"Oh, no, Mr Weasley. I have no idea how to" you answered, embarrassed when he acknowledge your words.

"Are you serious?" he questioned. "I can't believe the boys haven't taught you yet"

"I don't think they know" you replied, looking back at them, while they were sorting their teams.

"Hey, boys!" Mr Weasley called, making your friends face in your direction. You could feel your cheeks going red. "Can you guys teach y/N how to play quidditch? She doesn't know"

"What?!" you heard and assumed it came from Fred because he was trotting in your direction. "You actually don't know how to play?"

You shook your head a 'no'.

"Well, then, you have to learn!" George urged, following his brother.

"Come on, we'll teach you". Fred, now closer to you, reached for your hand, and strongly pulled you up.

"No, guys, it doesn’t bother me not knowing..." you started but Fred interrupted.

"You have the chance to learn with the best, y/N, let's go" he bagged, distorting his face so his eyes looked bigger. "Please"

You sniffed. "Ok, fine" you surrendered, making Fred smile. He pulled you closer to him, passing one of his arms around your shoulders. When you two passed through George, he followed you, embracing you from the other side, copying his brother.

"She's on my team!" Fred shouted to the rest of the players, causing Ron to roll his eyes, Harry to laugh, and Ginny to clap fervently, jumping with happiness.

You could now, more them before, feel the red on your cheeks, and you could only imagine it was redder than the Weasleys' hair.

"Get ready to become the best at quidditch, y/N" Fred whispered on your ear when his brother let you go.

"Oh, yeah?" you faked confusion.

"After all, you have the best teacher for yourself" he explained, which caused you to burst out laughing.

___

Part 2

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x slytherin reader #harry potter #hp #fred and george #george weasley #imagine #hp imagine #slytherin reader #quidditch #christmas #christmas imagines

472 notes · View notes

kieranfm · 3 years ago

Text

𝟏𝟏𝐏𝐌 , 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 , 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍 ; 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 ›› 𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍 + 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍

it was one of their bigger shows of the tour ; 1,200 people , 19,589 off of selling out madison square garden . so why didn’t it feel like it ? usually there was a high crackling in his veins , alighting him from the inside out , as he left behind the screaming of a crowd that wanted more . but kieran had felt more when they’d stepped off stage after playing to 520 , or even 200 , than he did coming off stage of the royale tonight . he couldn’t put his finger on it . the reason WHY it felt like he hadn’t just done what he did every other night before . the reason WHY the high wasn’t quite so bright . the reason WHY he’d caught the same look from mikey ; as he’d wished him good luck , & conan ; as they’d caught eyes during the opening notes of cheer up baby . the same look he knew all too well ; as if they were waiting for him to tip over an edge he hadn’t walked the line of in MONTHS . . . everything was good . wasn’t it ? a smile pushed its way onto his lips as his feet hit solid ground & one crowd turned into another smaller one , full of congratulations for surviving ANOTHER show . but just like the congratulations was like clockwork , kieran still found himself looking for the one person that had been missing from the start . the one person that only came in the form of words lit up on his screen . words that seemed to come few & far between — or at all more recently . maybe that was why everything felt OFF ; there had been no ‘ knock ‘em dead , baby ’ to send him out on stage with & he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on without it . hell , he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone this long without a WORD from her . but with ruairi’s hands falling heavily upon his shoulders , & an airy voice that put him on edge filled the air , he let himself be pulled along in the tide . clinging onto the quiet embers that popped & crackled away in his veins as the high fought its way through the haze of worry . she was busy . that’s all it was .

so why did it feel like something was wrong ?

it was enviable though . the way in which kieran ALWAYS found his way back to evan , because even when a whole ocean separated them he always found her way back to her . the only thing was , it seemed as if evan wasn’t finding her way back to him . because as the noise of the dressing room died away , people going their seperate ways to either begin the pack up for a day on the road tomorrow or to take their celebrations elsewhere , he’d slipped his phone from the pocket of his jacket . the cool surface settling in his palm as the glow of his screen reflected back the same thing it had done earlier when he’d given up waiting & tucked it away for safe keeping ; NOTHING . there was absolutely nothing . his top teeth gnawed at his bottom lip as he pulled up the bottom of his screen in hopes that it would reveal anything other than his own texts :

21/07/21 8:43pm 📲 i can only assume you didn’t pick up my call earlier bc you were too busy making saint valentine fall in love with you 📲 but it’s nearly 2am for you and i , personally , think it’s rude i haven’t heard ANYTHING about how it went yet

22/07/21 4:02am 📲 alright you 📲 it’s 9am there and i woke up to nothing 📲 i’m calling you the minute i finish this morning radio shit

22/07/21 9:05am 📲 i’m the one that’s mean to be the gd enigma , evan

22/07/21 10:00am 📲 well , call me whenever you’re free bc i would like to know if saint valentine swiped our best photographer from us

23/07/21 3:02pm 📲 we just wrapped soundcheck for the day and we go on at 9:15 tonight 📲 so i can talk if you’re free

23/07/21 3:43pm 📲 the lads said they haven’t heard anything from you either 📲 is everything okay ? 📲 has something happened ?

what the HELL was going on ? surely if something had happened to her eloise , or isla , would have called him . . . no — no , she was busy ; caught up in editing photos for saint valentine . he’d seen how focused she could get on her work sometimes & with him not there to pull away physically the time could EASILY get away from her . but that did nothing to settle the cloud that dampened the glowing embers that were a sad excuse from his post-show high . the bottom of his phone tapped against his palm as his eyes lifted to focus upon the wall above the wooden clothes rack his jacket hung on . it didn’t make sense though . . . she’d been shooting for saint valentine . she would have called after that . she SHOULD have called after that . where the hell was she ? “ you okay ? ” conan’s voice forced his eyes to refocus , bringing him back down to reality , & turn his attention towards him . silence passed between them for a split second as kieran tried to place the look hidden within conan’s features . they’d been friends all their lives . he wasn’t imagining the smothered worry hidden within his eyes , “ what do you know ? ” “ what ? ” he lifted his phone towards conan , “ evan — ” & there it was , the flicker of worry break through the cracks . it was all he needed . “ i asked you earlier if you’d heard from her . ” “ i haven’t . ” “ but you know why she’s not answering me , don’t you ? ” “ guys — yo , what t’e fuck’s going on — ” but kieran ignored ruairi as he watched conan’s jaw work from side to side , “ what the fuck aren’t you telling me , conan ? ” but it was mikey’s voice that answered him & kieran’s eyes snapped instantly towards him , “ it’s not his fault , kid . i told him not to say anything until after the show . ” kieran’s gaze flickered towards conan for a moment , noting the apologetic look in his eye , before he looked back at mikey . “ i , we , needed you out there with a clear mind . ” “ why wouldn’t my mind be clear ? ” mikey’s hand lifted to rub at his jaw before he pointed towards the couch in the middle of the room , “ come sit down . i have something to show you . ”

the nausea had set in the minute he’d taken a step towards the couch . but the minute mikey had handed him the article brought up on his ipad & begun to explain , kieran felt SICK . his fingers curled around the edges of the ipad tight enough to press harshly into his flesh . no — NO . this wasn’t happening . it made NO fucking sense . Bex & The Found’s Kieran Walsh Confirm Rumors are True . . . speculated to be growing intimately closer . . . make it known outside of their inner circle . he couldn’t stop reading it . he couldn’t stop starring at the photos . hoping that any moment one of them would yell gotcha or the article would simply vanished . but no matter how hard he tried or how long he waited , nothing changed . the words were still there , plain as day & painting him as a liar . the photos were still there , plain as day & painting him as an ASSHOLE . this couldn’t be happening . “ why didn’t you tell me . ” his voice was low , dangerously so . “ we needed you to have a — ” “ a clear fucking head , i know . but T’IS — ” he tossed the ipad onto the table between them as dark eyed focused on mikey , “ you should have fucking told me as soon as you found out . ” “ jani only called me this morning .” “ it’s been out for T’REE fucking days , mikey . ” his hands jutted out towards the discarded ipad , “ what t’e FUCK has she been doing for t’ree days t’en ? she’s our fucking pr manager isn’t she ? isn’t it her job to look out for shit like t’is ? ” “ kieran — ” conan’s voice broke through the haze & his fingers curled into a fist as he turned towards him , “ what ? ” “ take a breath . ” kieran’s gaze darted frantically over conan’s features . but as conan held his gaze , the anger within him teetered & his breath hitched in his chest . evan had to know this was all bullshit . she HAD to . . . but the timing of it all was too much to gloss over . the photo had come out on the 21st & he hadn’t heard a SINGLE thing from her since . she wasn’t just busy . she believed it . his voice cracked as he spoke , “ this is evan . ” “ we know . ” it was then he took a look around at the four that sat along side him . features sharpened by anger softening as he dragged in a deep , shaky breath , “ t’is is all bullshit . ” but as ruairi’s features broke from a second kieran’s brow arched , “ is it ? ” “ i’m sorry ? ” “ well — i just mean , DID somet’ing happen between you two ? ” he froze for a moment . processing ruairi’s words & trying to figure out if he’d heard them right . but before he could even form a reply , a pillow was thrown directly into ruairi’s face with a heavy thump from conan’s direction . “ what kind of fucking question is t’a , mate ? ” “ okay , okay — stupid question . ” ruairi fumbled with the pillow down as he brought it down his lap , kieran rolling his eyes as he let out a breath & bring a hand to rub at his forehead . if it was ANYONE else , it would have be the last straw . but as ruairi’s gaze darting between four faces that looked at him expectantly , kieran couldn’t be mad as he explained “ but look . i told you i t’ought she seemed t’ be weaselling in a lot of places that are usually made for evan & she seemed to cling onto you so — i t’ought since no one seemed to WANT to ask it , i'd ask it . just t’ be sure . ”kieran’s hand dropped to his lap as he shook his head , exhaling a breath , “ i’m not cheating on evan wit’ bex . ” he paused for a moment as his fingers linked together , eyes darting towards the screen of mikey’s ipad , “ you all were t’ere . we were taking her back t’ t’e bloody hotel because she was DRUNK . ” his gaze were frantic once more as they darted between conan , ruairi & , adam , before settling on mikey , “ we know , kid . but we’re not the ones you need to be telling that to right now . ” he was right . it had been THREE days since this had dropped & all he’d said to evan was things about her god damn saint valentine job . he’d kept the whole walking out of the interview from her to stop her from freaking out over rumours of him being with bex . but now here it was plastered across a website for all to see . he didn’t want to think what was going on in her head . “ yeah , yeah , you’re right . ” his hands were shaky as he reached for his phone jean pockets , so much so that it took a few attempts to be able to press her name on his list of recent calls before he brought it to her ear . one ring , two rings , three rings , four rings . . . voice message . he pulled the phone from his ear & hung up . “ fuck . ” “ it’s early in the morning t’ere , right ? she’s probably asleep . ” adam , always the voice of reason . “ fuck t’at . she can wake up . ” ruairi , an idiot but the most inline with the thoughts in his own mind . she did make him promise to call no matter the time . “ try again . ”& he did as took in a breath as he pressed her contact again , lighting his phone up before he brought it to his ear . & he tried again & again & again . he tried until finally , the line on the other end broke . he sat up straighter , forcing everyone around him to tense . nothing . no voice message . he took the phone away from his ear for a moment to see the time ticking over . “ what’s going — ” but kieran waved ruairi away as he brought the phone back to his ear . hesitating for one more second before he finally spoke , “ evan ? ” another pause , “ don’t hang up . please . ” he shifted to the edge of the couch , “ i can explain everyt’ing . ”

#𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 / kieran + evan .

6 notes · View notes

detroitbydark · 4 years ago

Text

Every Dog Has His Day

Chapter 3

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: Good boys, fuck boys, and the things between

Warnings: Aggression toward women.

A/N: does anyone feel like I should put Mando’a translations in at the end? Would it be helpful?

——-

“Good morning GAR. It’s 0400. What does “o” stand for? Well I can think of a few things but let’s go with Oh maker, I’m ready to hit the rack. Any boys in white care to join me?”

Hound would. In a heartbeat. In a Coruscant minute.

Hound is in the gym early. Really early. He’s never needed much sleep to function at his peak but 0400 is stupid o’clock even for him. He passes the time until the mess opens lifting while Grizzer snores near his armor across the room. Right now the massiff is using his rolled up kama as a pillow and Hound wonders idly how hard it’s going to be to clean the drool off. He’s alone with his thoughts and the radio.

He falls into the steady rhythm of sets and reps. He wasn’t a small vod by any means. There’s been a joke in his batch that the settings had malfunctioned on his pod. He was only a half an inch taller, but he was thicker than his batchmates, not commando big but enough to be noticeable in a line up. Lifting weights kept his bulk from atrophying. He didn’t mind the small layer of fluff over his muscles but he wanted them strong and ready for whatever the Grand Army called him to do.

The radio plays quietly over the weight room’s audio channel. Nuna’s smokey voice is a highlight too late to save a very bad week. Two bombings and a half dozen threats (most, copy cats) had kept the Guard on edge and high alert. He and Grizzer had worked them all, tracking and searching wreckage for survivors. Hound glances at his partner. One too many dead bodies had left the massiff feeling dejected and down. Not even his favorite tug toy or a big meaty bantha knuckle has been able to cheer him up. Hound isn’t feeling much better.

He’s not sure what was causing the surge but he knows he’d give just about anything for it to be over with. On top of that (and a far better distraction than the chaos and death of terrorist attacks), there was still the matter of Nuna herself that had him spun out of sorts. They’d had fun at the Fete, even if it had only been a short time. She hadn’t been faking that and he certainly hadn’t. Maybe he’d come on too strong with the call but, honestly, he’d thought it was cute. Maybe he’d embarrassed her?

He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. It was how he’d gotten his name. Tenacious like a hound. The trainers on Kamino had joked that once he was on a trail he wasn’t giving up ‘til he completed his prime objective.

His prime objective now was getting Nuna Skii’s commlink. And a date.

It didn’t matter that Rule had teased him after his on-air brush-off or that Ryk had given him a look that said he didn’t believe he'd had lunch with anybody let alone Nuna Skii. Hound knew though, and he knew that she’d had fun. If she hadn't, why had she smiled so brightly when he’d asked her questions? Why had she braced her hand on his arm and dissolved into laughter when he said something that was, admittedly, not as funny as it sounded in his head?

The barbell comes to rest on the rack with a clatter. Grizzer looks up from his nap, his great tongue licking lazily at his maw.

“Do you think I’m being stupid?”

The massiff stares blankly.

“Well, yeah, but she did seem interested.”

Grizzer rises slowly, stretching with a groan before ambling over to his partner and laying his head in Hound’s lap. He manages to roll onto his back without losing contact. Hound reaches down to scratch his leathery belly.

“Yeah, well, there’s something about her I really like. I think I should try again.”

Grizzer whines.

“But how, you ask? I’m not sure, bud.”

“In bigger news, it’s the end of the week and I think we all deserve a bit of a treat, don’t you?”

Grizzer turns toward Nuna’s voice and lets out a happy sound. Hound laughs.

“No treats before breakfast, Grizz. You know the rules.” The massiff offers his handler a sad pair of eyes and Hound shakes his head. “Not gonna fall for that.”

“Tonight ladies and lads we’re having ladies’ night at 79’s. Come find yourself a battle buddy and if one of you lucky listeners can find me I may have a special surprise just for you!”

Hound listens intently. Ryk and Rule were sure to be down for a night out after the week they’d had. The Commander has been busy keeping his assistant working late so he likely wouldn’t be game - not that Hound could blame him - but Thire might be convinced. Since the scuffle with the 501st boys a few weeks back the buddy system has been in play. The more the merrier as far as he was concerned. Now all he had to do was find a way to talk to her.

———

“If you pull on the skirt one more time, I swear to the maker I will end you.”

Nuna rolls her eyes at Tully’s threat. The skirt was too short and the Pantoran was out of her fekking mind if she thought this wouldn’t be the way the rest of the night played out.

“I dressed you pretty for a reason. Stop trying to ruin it.”

“I look like a cased sausage.” She tries - and fails - to keep the whine from her voice. Tully softens and grips her shoulders gently.

“First off, if that's the case, you are the sexiest sausage I’ve ever seen.” Nuna stifles a laugh behind a pout. “Second,” Nuna winces as her friend punches her in the shoulder, “There’s more where that came from if I hear one more second of negative self talk tonight. Got me?”

“Kriff Tull-“ Nuna rubs at her shoulder. “Fine, I’m the sexiest sausage Coruscant has ever seen. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

The Pantoran laughs and leans forward, placing a smacking kiss on the shorter woman’s head. “I love you and your issues,” she mumbles.

“Can we just have a drink now?”

79’s is packed. Shebs to gett’se. There’s the usual mix of clones from various divisions and battalions crowded in small groups of grey and white with pops of color signaling who they were to the world. There’s also a large contingent of women - every species, color and shape known to man. Nuna smiles happily as she brings her drink to her lips only to frown a moment later at the deep plum smear of lipstick on the glass.

“No transfer my ass,” she grumbles as she takes another long pull. Tully bought the first round, and whatever it is is sweet on Nuna’s tongue like star cherry candy with the familiar burn of booze behind it. It’s good but if she fills her night with more of them she’ll be nursing a killer hangover come morning. “I’ve got the next round.”

“As if I was going to let you get away without paying your fair share.”

Nuna rolls her eyes as she finishes the last of her drink. She’s already feeling just a little bit more loose and relaxed. Her hips move in a mindless, lazy figure-eight to the driving thud of the bass. Not her favorite, but Nuna loved to dance nearly as much as she loved music. Well maybe not that much, but certainly a close second.

Back home on Irmenu both had been frowned upon by the Priesthood and if they didn’t approve it was almost heretical to go against them. It hadn’t been ‘til she’d been exiled with her parents that she’d heard her first real music - outside of mindless chanting - and her first experience with really letting go and letting her body take over. It was freeing. Liberating. It was at that moment that she’d known she wanted to work around it, to be part of it somehow, for the rest of her life. It had been the driving force for so long that she had a hard time looking outside of it. Maybe that was how she’d gotten to nearly 25 and had nothing but a paycheck and an empty apartment to keep her company. Tully tries to say something over the noise of the speakers.

She had Tully too. A better best friend no girl has ever had.

“Have you finished yours yet?” The Pantoran holds up her glass, shaking the lone ice cubes around for show. Nuna holds hers up to show hers in the same state of emptiness.

“Ready for another?”

“You have to ask? Pony up girl. It’s your turn.”

There was something nice about the anonymity of her radio persona. As she moves through the crowd she doesn’t need to worry about being recognized or stopped by a fan looking for a picture. The one disappointment was that she still had to wait at the bar like everyone else.

She taps on the bar once to get the tender’s attention. The Twi’lek woman gives her a nod and the finger gesture for ‘one moment’ before quickly changing it to ‘two moments.’ Nuna blows a breath from the corner of her mouth. Ok, maybe a little notoriety wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. She’s waiting patiently, hip pressed against the bar, booted foot tapping along to the beat when someone taps her on the shoulder.

“Nuna?” She cringes at the voice, doing her best to press a convincing smile into place as she turns. “Hey, I thought that was you.” She flinches when a long thin finger flicks at one of the curls she’d managed to cultivate in her short hair. It bounces merrily as she looks into the face of the last man she’d hoped to see.

She only has one to go off of but, as far as exes went, Nuna was fairly certain she had one of the worst. All of the things she’d once found incredibly handsome about Alistar S’uun were now… what did Tully refer to him as?… ah yes, smarmy.

She’d been lonely and wholly too innocent to get involved with him when she’d first arrived in the Triple-Zero, but that hadn’t stopped her from losing her heart - and other things - to the arrogant son of a bantha. He’d been all slicked back hair and clothes that screamed money. He’d taken her to nice places, introduced her to important people. She’d thought it was love until she’d walked in on him and his assistant one day when she’d stopped by to bring him lunch.

To say it ended badly was an understatement, but she’d been lucky. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a standard year. Lucky until tonight.

“Alistar,” she greets, tucking her hair back behind her ears, as if it would stop him from touching it if he wanted to. Alistar did what he wanted when he wanted, and you either dealt with it or got out of the way.

“You look great. Lost a few of those troublesome pounds?”

A wave of annoyance washes over her as she glances back over her shoulder and toward the bartender. She just needed her karking drinks so she could make her escape. The Twi’lek is still occupied further down the bar.

“How have you been?” she asks, ignoring his questions and the undertones it entailed.

“Oh you know, doing a bit of this and that. Father is letting me take some of reins on the new acquisitions-“

“That’s lovely, Alistar. I’m very happy for you,” she lies through her teeth. His father was a shipping magnate and nepotism had been good to Alistar.

Nuna glances toward where she’d left Tully and sees a flash of red and white talking to her. Her heart stutters only to realize that it’s not the now somewhat familiar armor Hound wore. The trooper is somewhat smaller, less broad through the middle. The tell-tale snarl is missing from his helmet.

“I hear that little radio show of yours is still doing well.”

Here it comes, she thinks. This was always how it started. Alistar would make some little undermining comment and she’d get upset. Inevitably she’d be crying and he’d tell her she needed to get a sense of humor. Nuna could see it all unfolding before her eyes, but this time she wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I always knew you had a face for radio-” he smiles widely holding his hands up, “Oops! you know what I meant, right Nunz?”

“Yeah, Al, I got you loud and clear.” Her smile is forced and she grits her teeth with such force she’s surprised one doesn’t crack. “So it’s been lovely catching up but I’m going to go find Tull-“ His hand catches her upper arm as she turns to leave. She regrets wearing the sleeveless top Tully had picked out. She doesn’t like the feel of his skin against her own.

“Still friends with the Pant? Maker, you really are desperate aren’t you? Stay and talk for a while. I’m better company.” She shakes off his grip, his smile now beginning to look just as fake as the one she’d been wearing.

She promised herself wasn’t going to take the bait, really she wasn’t, she was better than that… but he’d brought Tully into it.

“She cares about me more than you ever did.” The smile is gone now and Aliatar’s pale brows arch up in surprise at the venom in her voice.

“So are you laying like a cold fish for her to fuck you too? Low standards-“

She turns to move again, puts one foot in front of the other, before he yanks her back. The heel of her boot slips and her stumble only makes his grip tighten. Her arm twists in a way that sends pain shooting like wildfire from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers.

“Don’t you dare walk-“

Nuna had never hurt so much as a fly in her life, but the blinding rage that rises up from her gut does something to her. Before she can even comprehend what she’s doing her balled up fist is connecting solidly with Alistar’s face. He doubles over while Nuna whines, snapping her hand back to her chest before beginning to shake it roughly. The pain she’d felt in her arm was nothing to what her knuckles were feeling now.

“Kriff, Kriff, Kriff,” she grits out, flexing her fingers.

“Why you dumb little nerf cow-“ She glances up to see Alistar take a step toward her. Something akin to fear prickles at the back of her senses. She’d seen that look before in his eyes. It scared her now like it had back then.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Red and white armor steps into Nunas view. “What seems to be the problem here?” Hound's voice is easy going as his head swings from Nuna to Alistar, who is rubbing his jaw, his other finger jabbing accusingly in Nuna’s direction.

“This little bitch-“

“Alright buddy” Hound holds a hand up calmingly “I’m going to stop you right there. Let me clarify-“ he turns to Nuna fully. Her heart stutters as he pulls the hand she’s cradling close to her chest up for inspection. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” he asks quietly.

“I was just trying to leave and he grabbed me. It hurt,” she tries to tamp down the tremble in her voice, “I just wanted him to let go.”

Hound gives her an unreadable look. His thumbs stroke gently over her knuckles. Something warm springs to life in her belly that takes the edge off her discomfort.

“Hey, you! Clone,” Alistar’s voice rises up, “I demand this woman be arrested. I’ve been assaulted. You’re in the Guard. Do your job.”

There’s a tic in Hound’s jaw, really the only thing that gives the slightest hint of his annoyance as he turns back to the other man. A small crowd is gathering around them, mostly clones with a few civilians scattered in.

“Ok friend, first it’s Sargeant. Second,” he glances around and Nuna sees familiar colors of clone armor; blues, yellows, and reds surrounding them, “From my vantage point it looked like you were hurting the lady.” The clones around them nod in agreement.

“Oh this is just fracking great!” Alistar laughs, throwing his head back and taking a deep breath before glaring between Hound and Nuna. “You’re fucking her aren’t you?” he spits at Hound before rounding on Nuna, “You’re fucking government property now? That’s low even for you.”

Nuna feels tears welling up. She didn’t want to do anything now but go home and get away from the looks she just knew were coming her way. She glances down at her feet. When she looks up Hound is grabbing Alistar by the shoulders. His movements are quick, efficient, and practiced.

Hound tips Alistar forward just enough to bring an armored knee up into the other man’s unprotected gut. Alistar doubles over with a strangled wheeze, gripping at the bar for support before sinking to his knees. Hound turns his soft eyes to her.

“You’ve never punched someone.” It’s not a question. He takes her hand again, thumb stroking over her tender knuckles. “Wiggle your thumb,” he encourages, offering her a bright smile when she does.

“Ok. Good. It’s not broken,” he announces to himself, “Never wrap your fingers around your thumb. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Nuna nods mutely.

“So what you want to do is-“ he proceeds to shape her hand into a fist. His big gloved hands completely envelop her smaller one as he tucks her thumb against the outside of her balled fingers. He presses it firmly as if to make the point that this was where it was supposed to be.

From the way he’s acting, she’s more inclined to believe she’s part of one of the ‘girl power’ self defense classes at the community center around the corner from her apartment as opposed to a clone bar. Hound is pleasant- no, he’s nearly perky.

“See how much nicer that looks? Certainly safer for your hand.” Nuna hears a few clones around them hum in agreement. Surreal. “Now, it wasn’t a bad first swing, but you didn’t follow through.”

“Kriffing… seven hells,” Alistar wheezes behind them. Hound makes a sound in his throat to catch her attention from the other man struggling to stand up.

“What you need to do next time is follow through. The target isn’t his jaw. It’s this magic little spot behind his jaw. Do you understand?”

Nuna’s eyes are drawn to Alistar who is rising to full height, murder written in his eyes.

“Hound-“ she tries to warn him but he merrily waves her off.

“Let me show you, ok?” The big man turns without missing a beat and his fist makes its best attempt at going through Alistar’s jaw. Her ex crumples into a heap, platinum hair disheveled, onto the sticky bar floor.

“Kriffing glass jawed pretty boy,” Hound mumbles as he turns back to her just as jovial and happy as he’d been devouring the nerf skewers and talking about Grizzer at the fete.

She hears a small cheer of “Oya!” go through the gathered ranks as a few clones grab the unconscious man by the shoulder and the rest begin to disperse back to their various areas.

“See? Just like that.”

Nuna swallows hard, bites back a nervous smile and finds her voice. “Just like that?”

“Yup.” Hound rocks back on his heels. “So do you wanna come have a drink with me- us?”

He sounds so hopeful, like pulling the whole Jedi Knight in shining armor bit hadn’t won him at least a little favor. She nods and he gestures for her to move ahead of him, leaving the other troopers to see her unconscious ex out the door.

Hound takes up a position behind her, his hand hovering over her hip to guide her toward the table his brothers stood around. Tully is already there with a serious look on her face.

“Are you ok?” She takes Nuna by the shoulders, looks her over.

“I’m good. I promise.”

“Maker I hate that no good piece of bantha spit.” One of the Guard behind her chokes out a laugh. Tully’s eyes fly to Hound, narrowed and assessing. “So this is the guy?”

“I’m the guy? What guy?” He looks at Nuna questioningly. Something mischievous sparkles in his gentle brown eyes.

Nuna feels her cheeks heat up as she bites out her friend's name. Tully ignores her.

“You bought her lunch at the Festival of Life?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you called into the show to ask her on a date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tully looks to Nuna and then back to Hound. “What’s up with the ma’am?”

Hound rubs at the back of his neck. His brothers snicker in the background. “Courtesy, ma’am?”

“Call me Tully,” she orders shortly, finally relaxing. Hound breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Vod? You gonna introduce us to your little friend?”

#sergeant hound #sergeant hound/oc #the clone wars #hound/nuna #grizzer the massiff

141 notes · View notes