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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

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“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn��t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine Law catching you impersonating him…

Placing the white hat on top of your head, you wiggled it slightly to get the right adjustment. It was a slightly looser fit but it was enough to not slip off.

Crossing your arms, you attempted to pose with a menacing scowl.

“I’m Trafalgar D. Water Law.” You declared mimicking his tone.

Shachi and Penguin threw their heads back with a cackle. Ikkaku clasped her stomach and barrelled forward. Bepo jumped up with his paws in the air.

“Do another one!” He cried in delight.

Turning your back to them, you laughed before recomposing yourself and then whirled around halfway. One arm was extended, fingers and palm facing down.

“Room.” You called out, resulting in the same boisterous laughter from the crew. You flipped your hand upright in the same manner as the broody captain did. “Shambles.”

…silence.

You frowned and looked at the faces staring back at you all traces of their previous smiles gone. Had you done it wrong?

Even Bepo was looking at you funny with his jaw slack.

Looking over your hand and stance, you scratched your head. “I’m sure I got it right.” You said and glanced at your friends. “Was I not deadpan enough? Or broody? Maybe I wasn’t dramatic enough…”

“Y/n-ya.” Law called out.

Turning your head to him, you sent him a quick wave. “Oh, hi.” You said before returning to figure out what was wrong with your performance.

Recounting all the elements, it took you longer than it should have to realise that their lack of cheers was because you all had been caught by the Heart Pirate Captain.

Your stomach should have dropped, you should have frozen in fear like the rest but there was a sense of pride in you. Law was far too rigid, his reasons were valid, but a simple moment of lighthearted humour surely couldn’t hurt. Although, maybe he’d disagree if it was at his expense.

He stepped forward and you couldn’t help but internally chuckle at his unruly hair. You would definitely attempt to rake your fingers through that mess to bother him next.

He looked at his frozen crew and with a single glare, they scurried to their usual duties. Bepo squeaking in a panic before he too vanished to hide.

Law looked at you and let out a small sigh. “I told you not to take my hat.”

He reached out to take it back when you ducked and stepped out of reach.

“You also told me that I’d be back on the Thousand Sunny three days ago.” You argued.

It’s not that you didn’t love a few extra days on the Polar Tang but you were desperately missing the antics of the Strawhats and it was starting to show aboard the Heart Pirates.

Law said nothing to address the delay. He closed the space and lifted the soft fabric from your head to place it back atop his own but this time, it carried the faint scent of your shampoo.

You watched as he turned and started to walk away. With a smile, you cupped your hands over your mouth.

“Admit it, it looks better on me!” You called out behind him.

Law merely lowered his head, hiding a small smile - it definitely looked better on you.

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #law x reader #law imagine #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law imagine #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar law x reader #one piece imagine #one piece x reader

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simp-ly-writes · 7 months ago

Text

OH, BABY!

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Boyfriend!Spencer Agnew x gn!Partner!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Smosh Baby #2! The sequel nobody knew they wanted or needed that finds you walking around the office with a robotic baby and leads to you and Spencer realizing that getting another cat was the best choice for now.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, established relationship, no mentions of pregnancy only wanting to have kids later, children, light swearing, domestic fluff, fluff, suggestive themes, attempt at humour.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,000~

─ · · A/N: This was so fucking cute and wholesome to write, thank you so much @itgirlcat for the wonderful idea. So much love your way! 🫶

─────── · ·

"You're kidding me," was all you could think to say while deadpanning towards the camera that a crew member held closely to your face. Their ominous laughter ran down your spine as all the blood drained from your face, 'I am NOT ready to be a parent.'

And next thing you knew you were being lead into a dark room, a singular bassinet laid there in wait as you took steady steps towards it. To your surprise, Tommy jumped out from seemingly nowhere as you screamed and ducked down behind the bassinet.

"Throwing your own kid in the line of fire... and I thought we couldn't get a worse parent than Angela-" Tommy began to say, spinning around the bassinet for you to see a small robotic baby staring back at you.

"Hey, I was a good fucking parent, and we all know that!" Angela yelled from across the room as the house lights came back on and you were unsure of where one bit ended and another started.

"So let me get this straight, you want me to... watch over this baby for the WHOLE day? I have work, and responsibilities-" you began to ramble, somewhat dreading the day ahead as the robotic cries started to drown your senses.

Tommy picked up the baby, giving it a kiss o the head before shoving it in your arms and showing you how it worked as you quietly nodded along. Now taking a closer look to what the infant was wearing: a small Smosh games hoodie seemingly custom made with a little pair of jeans and leather boots to match.

"OMG ITS SPENER!" you yelled out in excitement, all worry and your ability to listen to the instructions going outside the window as you placed the baby on your hip and walked straight to Spencers desk to show him apparently his new son.

─────── · ·

Turning past the kitchen/break room and into the office spaces, you walked along the faux-glass walls before reaching your boyfriend Spencers shared space with Damien and Shayne, the later two no where to be seen as Spencer sat hunched over his desk. Infamous can of Kickstart within reach and a framed picture of the two of you just to the side of it.

You remember that picture fondly when you accompanied him and his family on vacation back to Florida, touring where he went to school and grew up brought a smile back to your face. Especially the baby photos what were all across his parents' home walls, you look down to baby Spencer, silently asking them if they are ready themselves- not truly expecting an answer you clear your throat and watch as he fixes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns around.

"Hey! How're..." Spencers sentence slowly falls off as he takes in the little person within your arms with a raised brow. Shock is raised in his eyebrows, a certain softness in his gaze as he moves to stand, greeting the robot in your arms with a soft whisper. "And who is this little guy, lookin' very handsome."

"Mhmm, I guess so..." you sass back- Spencer can only scoff in return. You try to hold in a laugh as you pass over the baby into his arms, taking in the sight with a tilt of your head and matching his earlier tone, "This is Spener, my... baby..." you are unsure of how to properly address the situation and by the sour expression of unsureness on your face has Spencer laughing wholeheartedly.

"I can't believe you cheated on me," he fakes a sob, holding the baby closer to his chest as you wrap an arm around him. "You know I could physically never, Spencer. I mean we both are still virgins!" you state towards the camera with a wink that Spencer joins and in that moment Shayne and Damien appear back from their break.

"Spener and Spener!" Damien greets with a wide smile, pulling you away from Spencers side with a hug before sitting down at his desk and Shayne does the same, not even batting an eyelash to the scene before doing a double take.

"What the fuck you guys?" Shayne states in disbelief, now at a full stand one more, only to let a sigh out in relief as he takes a step closer. "Oh, we are doing another one of these videos? Do you think you are going to be a better mom than Angela-"

"I heard that!" Angela yells from seemingly no where yet appears right behind you, wagging her finger in Shaynes space as Amanda steps out from behind her. "I hate these babies," Amanda states, looking disgustedly at the robotic creature as it gets passed around the friend circle before ending up in her arms.

Its robotic screeches happen once more as everyones gazes snap towards you and the keys swirling around in your hand. It takes you a moment to realize why everyone is staring at you before you take the baby out of Amandas arms and towards the couch behind Spencers desk and take a seat.

Pulling up the back of baby Spencers hoodie you insert one of the keys into its back, praying for it to be the right guess upon first try- it was not. Pulling it back out, irritation growing over the deafening cries as you can hear multiple people moving around their offices. Ians just behind you all, God I hope I don't get fired for this. You joke to yourself before the cries stop once more, apparently it needed a diaper change.

─────── · ·

Over the next few hours, you bring the baby into every meeting both in person and across zoom. Into the bathroom as you had to turn the face away from you, feeling utmost awkward with your fake child. And even on videos and live streams, your favourite of which was trying to make bits with it... them- in Try Not To Laugh.

Lets just say its easier said than done getting the right costume to put with a baby carrier strapped across your front. The TikTok you filmed for the main channel was doing increasingly well as comments flooded in, loving to see you with baby Spenner walking around the office and how everyone also worked with baby Spencer.

─────── · ·

Your day continues outside of the office as you and Spencer sign yourselves out of the office and decide to make a home video on your phones cameras. Taking the baby to the grocery store as you look over the various baby foods, baby Spener sitting in the cart as the actual Spencer rests his hand across your hip or the small of your back, walking with you and the cart through isles while picking up things you both actually need for your apartment.

"Babe do we need more eggs or did we grab those last week?" Spencer asks from down the isle as you look over the snack selection, now bouncing baby Spener in your arms. "No, we have some left still," you call back before pointing at the various colours and designs for the two of you.

Spencer smiles warmly, crouching down beside you both as he takes a photo and pulls some chips from the isle, placing them in the cart. "Park next?"

"I like the sound of that." And to the park the three of you go, some part of you did feel like a bad parent, holding the baby in your lap while going onto the main roads without a baby seat in the back. Yet you remind yourselves this is just for the video, not an actual baby, its just a robot.

While at the park, you take a short video of Spencer and... Spener going down the slide together. You push them lightly in the baby swing and go on the sea-saw together before taking a walk on the beach to end the day. Watching the sun set over the water you turn to look at Spencer to see him already looking down at you.

"You know... I don't think I would mind this being our future. Not anything soon... but I really like the idea of this later," Spencer comments, looking for your reaction before matching your smile as you lean to put your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist. "How about another cat for now?" You tease yet a part of you is being very serious in that moment, feeling as Spencer stills before rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb.

"What would we name them?" Spencer asks, looking down at the robotic baby in your lap that is now in nap mode... or more likely out of batteries as you both forgot to return to the office.

"Well... I do like the name Spenner-"

"Oh fuck off," Spencer whisper-shouts, yet you can hear the smile in his words as he shuffles to look at the side of your face.

"Okay, but how about Spoons or like Crash... Bandit?"

"Cyclops? Dee?-"

"-Last name twenty?"

"Read my mind babe."

─────── · ·

When you both return to the office the next day, everyone looks anxiously at the baby as you hold it up like Simba and announce. "It is out of batteries, we win these!!!" you cheer as the office claps and joins you. Courtney running over to give you a hug as Tommy takes the child finally from your hands.

"Ready to see how you did?" Tommy asks in a teasing tone, already leading you away from the group as everyone gets ready to start work for the day. The cameras are already set up in the set you started this experiment in, now literally seeing it in a new light as the crew had placed lamps around the room and a small carpet on the floor to create a more homely atmosphere.

"Did I kill it?" you question as Tommy stares at the back lights of the infant with speculation before putting back down its hoodie and placing them gently back in the bassinet. "(name)..." Tommy starts as you can already hear the dramatic sound effects being added in post-production.

"Tommy..." you tease back, leaning more closely in as he too does the same, your noses almost touching before you both pull back with a laugh. "Well, I can officially say that you did NOT in fact kill the baby, and you did better than Angela, congrats! But the bar was already on the floor-"

"I. Am. NOT. A. Bad. Parent. You take those words back Tommy!" Angela shouts once again, turning up in the most unknown of places and all you can do is laugh, loving this bit of the video before doing your outro to the camera.

"Thank you all for getting through this video, if you see a new fuzzy child on either me or Spencers instagrams in the near future... you now knew why," you laugh a bit before continuing. "So please like, subscribe, share this to all your friends and family to show them how much of a better parent you could probably be than me!"

And the camera fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Another Smosh Baby?!

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 8.36M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago it's official... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and spencer are couple goals. like did anyone elses heart hurt during that montage. i would sell my literal soul to have that at least once in my life, even if just for an hour or two...

↳ username88 woah okay my dude, do you want to talk about it because damn? ↳ username01 god i was really in my feels when i wrote that shit lol...

username20 Those "Angela not being a good mom" bits throughout the video were so funny. It was like something out of a horror film mixed with looney tunes logic XD

username14 24:01 That montage was giving me the UP movie scene and I was not ready to cry like that on my lunch break 😭 ughhh why must they be so perfect with one another

username54 Anyone else wondering where Tommy keeps getting all these kids from? LMAO /positive

username70 OMG (name) and Spencers new cat is so cute!!!!!

↳ username88 OMG OMG OMG, what did they end of naming she/him/them??? ↳ username70 They ended up adopting a stray, she is called Dee! (last name twenty)! ↳ username88 so cute! i am so happy for them 😭🫶 ↳ username70 me too, me too. 😭

username19 (names) change up from the start of the video is so visually poetic, the arts department and editing bay were both COOKING on this one. Chefs Kiss! 😘

username30 15:24 yeah sure... you both are virgins mhmmm.

username45 when (name) and Spencers wedding happens its going to be a civic holiday, i'm telling you this now. we all are not readddyyyy for itttt

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I wrote this surprisingly quickly- hope you all enjoyed, let me know what you want more of or if you'd like to see something different! 😄

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2

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the-kr8tor · 2 months ago

Note

hellooooo!!

i had to lock in for our king hobat 😌. maybe hobat or IPOB hobie comforting you after the loss of someone important to you.

kinda the idea that vampires are “scary” and then it’s just him holding you while you cry, kissing your tears away, stuff like that is just a sweet little moment to have. and obviously hobie’s imortal so it’s all a little confusing for him, but he gets there eventually.

possible spider trio appearance..? 🤨

-🐊

Omg new anon! Hello! Thank you for requesting, I hope you like it!! ❤️

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood, CW death, In pursuit of blood au, vampire au, vampire hunter! Reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

Navigation

Hobie heard the front door close from all the way inside his coffin. With a smile, he rushes in, one sock on and the other missing in action. His bat form bobs and weaves through the house, dodging furniture and vases. His pajama pants that have loose elastics from wearing it too much almost fall down as he reaches the foyer.

“Darling!”

The smile on his smile fades when he sees you covered in crimson and smelling of dried iron. It's not yours, he knows it isn't just by the smell, but that doesn't mean he's not worried.

“What happened?” He asks, red eyes glancing at the smattering of drying blood on your cheek.

You struggle to find your words, voice left in the same place where you screamed in terror and grief. You sniff, sleeve wiping at your shell shocked expression, accidentally spreading blood all over your chin and nose.

“S–Shit, I think I need a shower.” You walk past him, not meeting his eyes. Your footsteps are heavy, laden with fatigue and sorrow.

Hobie doesn't think twice in grabbing your arm, gentle yet firm. “Are you hurt?” He asks, ducking his eyes to meet with your downturned ones.

You shake your head, “don't think so, Hobie.” Your eyes gravitate to his hand, lithe fingers wrapped around your elbow, veins popped up as he reins in his own emotion of seeing you like this.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't think so.” You repeat your own words, as if saying something else would have you crumble down to your feet. Taking your arm away, his fingers brush along your blood soaked sleeve as he lets you go.

Hobie follows behind you, silent and giving you space with a concerned pair of eyes. He stares at your stiff shoulders, where your back is the only pristine place that he hasn't seen a drop of blood on you. His mind whirs with every step, worried about you. Sharp nails dig into his palms as he hears your shuddered breath, not a pained one, no, but a quiet sob.

You enter your room, all filled with your hunter family memorabilia. Wooden stakes, silver daggers and dried herbs tacked on the ceiling.

You pause by the doorway, shoulders moving up and down, an indication that you're still breathing. “Where are the others?” You ask, still turned away from him as you subconsciously pick at the blood underneath your nails.

“They went to the shops, said somethin’ ‘bout buyin’ snacks.” Hobie matches your tone, brow furrowed, knowing that the reason you asked about their whereabouts is because of your own anxieties. “Can I help you— please let me help you, darling.”

“What would you know about this?” You chuckle but with none of the humour he's used to.

“You'll be surprised at how much ‘m familiar with it.” Filled with trepidation, he reaches for your hand, fingers grazing along your own, waiting for you to reciprocate.

“He's dead.” You say, not flinching away nor leaning against his touch. “Just like that.” Your tone is small, not what he's used to. And none of your confidence and bravado.

“Who is?” With one step closer, he can sense your restrained sobs through his chest.

“A cousin. A hunter like me.” You inhale, hot tears streaming down your face that you refuse to let Hobie see.

“‘m sorry.” He tries to hold you fully but you move away and quickly enter the bathroom with a slam of the door. A frown is etched on his face, he should leave you alone, let you be. But he has done that before, not to you, but a thousand years of love and loss— he won't make that decision ever again. Especially to you.

With a deep exhale, he enters your room, and knocks at the bathroom door. With Hobie's strength, he could always rip the door from its hinges or kick it open. But instead, he sits down in front of it, legs crossed on the shaggy carpet, and eyes staring and unblinking at the barrier.

After ten minutes of your muffled sobs that you tried to hide with the running faucet, you close the water and inhale deeply.

“Why are you s–still out there, Hobie?” You ask through the door.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, voice just as gentle as before.

The door flings open, revealing your red eyes and tear stained cheeks. “No, I don't want you to go.” You run towards him as he receives you with open arms.

Hobie cradles you in his arms as he maneuvers you towards his lap. You hide your face on the crook of his neck as your fists bunch around his shirt. His hand is shielding the back of your head whilst his lips rests upon your temple, whispering reassurances.

“I couldn't save h–him.” Your sobs wrack your whole body, prompting Hobie to hold onto you tighter, blanketing around you. “He was just a boy, younger than Pav and they let him hunt without any help.” You cry against his skin, broken words reverberating through his whole being. “Why would they do that, Hobie?”

“I don't know, love, I don't know.” His heart cries for you, fingers gripping into the back of your shirt as he cradles you.

He could tell you that your hunter family have always been like that, pricks. Hell, that's how he met you, on your first hunt, scared shitless in front of a banshee. But shit talking your own flesh and blood wouldn't bring back the dead nor will it help you. Instead, he keeps telling you that it's not your fault, that you did everything you could have possibly done.

“He called me, I was too late.” You place your head on top of his shoulder, eyes staring at the thousand year old pin prick scars on his neck. “I held him when he was just a baby.” Leaning away to look at him, you gasp at the bloodied tears rolling down his cheek. “Why are you crying? You didn't know him…” you gently wipe his tears with your thumb. “... he's human, and you're— you.”

“My heart might not beat anymore, but it still feels.” Hobie grasps at your hand, laying it atop his jaw and leaning against your touch. “Dying doesn't mean I lost my humanity, love.”

You put on a brave face, eyes brimming with unshed tears and lips wobbling. “I'm glad you're not like them. You're more human than they could ever be.”

Hobie softly smiles, moving down to place a heavy kiss on the corner of your eyes and down to your wet cheeks. “You're too good for them, promise me somethin',” you gaze at him with the same tenderness. “Don't turn up like them, yeah?”

You nod, reaching around the back of his head to push him further down towards you and letting his head rest on the space on your neck.

“I promise.”

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luveline · 2 years ago

Note

you did this with Steve and James but I would love a Remus fic where they are play fighting and he accidentally hurts her

for u my love boyfriend!remus x reader

Remus can be intimidating when he wants to be usually, but on top of you like this with a huge smile on his face and his eyes lit with excitement, he's the opposite of scary.

"I'm gonna make you sorry," he threatens.

You have your hands joined and held in front of you, pushing him away so he can't kiss you. You never know how you and Remus get into these situations, playfulness bordered by a fierce competitiveness that means neither of you are willing to back down, no matter how badly you'd both like a quick kiss.

"You couldn't make a puppy sorry, Remus," you say, huffing at the strain and effort it takes to hold him up when he's this desperate to reach you.

He ignores your hands, his fingers squeezing yours brutally in hopes you'll give in, and ducks down into your space anyhow. The bed groans beneath you as your squirm away, pushing your hand (with his still twined into it) against his handsome face.

"You suck," you trash talk, "and you won't win!"

"I always win," he says, which isn't explicitly true.

"No! You give me the giggles and I can't fight back, you cheat!"

Remus presses harder against your palms. "I don't cheat! Dove, I swear to fuck, if you don't let me kiss you–"

"You'll what?"

"I'll kiss you!" he warns.

And there it is, he's making you laugh, and when you laugh you get distracted and your resolve weakens. Your arms shake in his hold as you do. Remus sees an in, pressing forward hard. You startle and he startles at your startling —he tries to back off, but you know he's already falling forward. You flinch and pull your arm up, fingers tangled in his, too late to shield your face as his chin connects with your nose with a loud smack.

You both curse at the same time. Tears are instantaneous in your eyes, the shock of a whack to the nose inescapable.

"Ouch," you whine, though you have enough sense to see the humour in the situation. You're a little winded. Remus really did fall smack dab on top of you. "You okay, babe?"

Remus pulls your hair by accident as he pushes himself off of you, and your hiss visibly panics him. The fog of pain clears from his expression, and your sweetheart hurries to check you're alright.

"I'm fine, are you okay?" he asks, hand on your face, turning your chin up to better see your nose in the light. "I'm so sorry, dovey, I don't know how I– fuck, your nose is bleeding a bit."

"It is?" you ask. Remus is quick to press his sleeve to your nostril, which feels quite tender, now that he mentions it.

"Oh, no," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. His palm is warm, the roughness of his pen-wrought callus familiar against your skin. "Dove, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

You blink hurriedly. "No, I'm not crying. It's just 'cos it hurts."

You don't mean for it to come out that way, you're trying to explain that your tears are because he's hit you in the face with his face and there are delicately interconnected systems under the surface being disrupted, but Remus takes it for an admission of pain and goes berserk, which is to say he dotes on you as though you've broken something. Soft kisses pressed to your cheek, whispered reassurances. You try to tell him it doesn't matter, that he's being too much, but it's so wildly nice to be cared for that the words get stuck in your throat.

"It only bled a little," he reassures. "Do you want me to get you an ice pack?"

You nod silently, enamoured with him, wanting to bask in the warmth of his attention just as long as you can.

"Okay," he says, climbing off of you to leave and find one. He doubles back before he reaches the door, and when he leans over you, he smiles wryly. "Told you I'd get that kiss, didn't I?"

You laugh breathlessly and let him kiss you. He's very cautious to avoid your nose.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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reveluving · 2 years ago

Text

the bump in the night ; rick flag x reader

summary: someone made Mrs Flag cry, and her family is not having it.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, shadow-magic f!reader, reverse comfort & humour!

a/n: this AU is based on this piece I made a while back, 'cause you already know I can't do this special without hubby Rick and the kids! hope you enjoy it & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

'For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.' ;

Coming home to his daughter's hugs had become an everyday thing if Rick didn't have to work overtime, but if the flicker of sadness in her eyes was anything to go by, something had to have happened while he was away.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.”

It was the same thing she told her brothers when they got home from school, and just like them, it was enough for Rick to get the whole picture.

Ah, Mrs Bedford. Or as the neighbourhood youngsters, children and teenagers alike, like to call her 'the modern witch of the road', and not in the cool way. Her husband was no better, always bugging you at any given opportunity. The worst part was Mrs Bedford always antagonized you for it, even if she knew you didn’t entertain her husband’s behaviour. It was also extremely hypocritical of her, considering she herself has tried to make her move on Rick. A lot. Only to be met with disappointment each time.

Her children were just as bad, too, to put it lightly.

“What did she say?” It was the green light Irene needed before she explained what had happened to a T, courtesy of her father’s eagle eye. Unlike most days, it was just you and Irene visiting the park since your sons had football practice.

The two of you were feeding the ducks when Mrs Bedford came up to you.

“You on your own?” Was the first thing she asked you before you questionably said ‘yes’, despite Irene being there too, and the little girl realized Mrs Bedford wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about you and your ‘possibly tainted history’ if her father or brothers were around in the first place.

“I don’t know what you did but I can see it in your eyes, Flag. You’re no saint. You can fool the others with your little flower shop and your so-called angelic kids, but not me.”

Though Mrs Bedford knew nothing about your powers or your time in Belle Reve, instead, spewing hate out of jealousy and hatred for you for being the favourable neighbour, she wasn’t completely wrong. You have hurt people, you’ve even killed some, but they were for the greater good. Since your freedom from hell on earth, you’ve barely used your umbrakineses. It wasn’t until the birth of your children, to which all three of them gained your abilities did you realized you couldn’t run from who you really were—it wasn’t right nor fair to them.

Then, telling them your story as a criminal and how their dad was once your enemy was another thing. You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it was certainly not amazement and sparkles in their eyes. As they grew older, they began to make sense of how their parents somehow knew people like Aunt Harley, Uncle Robert and hell, even Nanaue.

And at that point in time, Mrs Bedford reminded you of Waller, turning you into submission as you could do nothing but listen to her make a mockery out of you for turning over a new leaf. Irene had to watch your face drop as the woman insulted you, and she knew she had to tell her family about it.

Irene insisted that she was fine about heading home early, even if you tried to convince her otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to do something about that glazed look in your eyes.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, a tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn't help but apologize to her, to everyone if they were with you then. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you seemed weak over a bunch of words or their fate of ending up with you as the wife and a mother of their family.

Irene shook her head, hugging you with her face in your tummy.

"You're not a mean person, mama. You're the nicest and coolest mama we could ever ask for, and we love you."

It was simple, something you've heard of thousands of times in your lifetime, but you very much needed it today.

Ever the sweet girl, she accompanied you as you lay in your bed, telling you random stories about what she painted during art class or what she ate at lunch, anything but the time Mrs Bedford’s son, Kyle pushed her off the swing while his older brother, Blake laughed and praised him for doing so. You didn’t need to know that.

Not yet.

You listened with a warm smile, embarrassed but nonetheless thankful for how observant she was of your feelings before eventually dozing off.

Irene was careful yet quick to jump off the bed, running downstairs to shush Richie and Ethan as they returned home.

The more she explained, the brighter their eyes unnaturally glowed. Richie was starting to look like their father as he crossed his arms, listening to her like a police officer, while Ethan seemed like he was already thinking of ways to counter the Bedford’s undignified acts.

Basically, the Bedfords were not the greatest people. Each and every one of them.

Though they had a myriad of ideas, they weren’t sure how much their father would appreciate it, even if it was for your sake. Still, they thanked Irene for being there for you, promising that something would be done, no matter what it would be.

For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.

After an unexpected nap, you came down to find your kids huddled on the couch, whispering and hushing each other. Curious, you approached them.

Ethan was the first to notice you, offering you a grin before showing you what was in their hands, “Look, ma, I think we got it.”

You leaned in to take a closer look, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of life on their palms. There, they showed you the differing mass of shadows they conjured, a tougher one you just taught them about a week ago. You have always loved this trick as a kid, and it only aided your sanity when you were by your lonesome in the penitentiary. In a way, you were replacing what life truly was by making your own, even if they were temporary because there was no telling when or if you’d ever be free.

Yet, here they were, prompting joy and pride as they held the wispy animals of their choice; Richie with what seemed to be an adorable little puppy, Ethan creatively emulated a bioluminescent jellyfish and Irene…

Oh, Irene.

She scarcely remembered how much you loved making her laugh by conjuring butterflies when she was still very little if not for the twins confirming it.

The butterfly was as small as her hand, but the wings were majestic, idly flapping before flying over to you, leaving cloudy black trails and landing on your outstretched finger.

You stared at their creations ever so lovingly, already on the brink of tears. You were just as mad at yourself for doubting your worth, and your potential, just because of the things you had to do in the past, for the sake of the person you were now.

You embraced Irene in a tight hug before pulling your boys in as well. You sniffled, absolutely joyous and blessed to be surrounded by the most loving people. Nothing could deter you from this, not even as the shadow puppy yipped and chased the jellyfish and butterfly in excitement. Your cat, Tofu, must’ve heard the commotion, too, as she came from the kitchen to check, only to be frightened and jump on the couch with you as the puppy came running to her.

Rick finally arrived about two hours later, coming home to hear laughter before he saw Irene running across the room, followed by Tofu and the shadow puppy in tow. The jellyfish laid on Richie’s head like a nest whereas the butterfly decided to make Ethan’s shoulder its home as they hung out with you on the couch.

“Daddy!” Irene greeted him before running over to him. He didn’t question the questioning look she gave him just yet and instead, hoisted her up, laughing as Tofu and the puppy pawed at his bootlaces.

“What’s going on here?” He raised his brows, amused by what could be described as a fever dream of a sight.

“The kids learnt how to make little lives.” You giggled, allowing Rick to sit next to you as you scooted over.

“And I got a new hat,” Richie gestured to the jellyfish, who he has now dubbed as Jelly. As if it understood, Jelly immediately floated away, leaving Richie’s hair flattened, “Never mind.”

You shared a laugh as he deadpanned before you turned to Rick, “Was work okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. Decorated the place today, actually.” He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery and showing you and the kids the spookily tacky decor that furnished his workplace.

“Did you really paint ‘dead inside, don’t open’ on the entrance door?” The twins gawked.

“Fitting, ain't it?” Rick joked, prompting smiles and chuckles from you once more before falling back on the couch, “But at least I’m off tomorrow, so I was thinking we could eat out for dinner.”

“Oh! We should head to Pop’s since they’re also offering their apple betty.” Ethan suggested.

“Well, I think that’s a good idea, so,” Richie trailed off, raising anticipation from the rest of you before jumping off the couch and running up the stairs. Ethan and Irene simultaneously gasped before the former took his sister out of Rick’s arms to chase their brother together. You and Rick could only watch with delight as Tofu and the shadow creatures followed them too.

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t pry if you weren’t ready to tell him.

“Yeah,” You nodded, gazing down for a moment before continuing, “Something happened earlier but…”

“Richie! You better not lock the door or I swear to God!” Ethan’s voice rang out from upstairs, followed by Irene’s ‘language!’, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement.

“It’s all good now.” You reassured him. You knew you could’ve told him, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. You had children to nurture and a husband to take on the world with.

“The Bedfords?” He guessed. If it wasn’t them, then it had to be Mr Walker.

“The Bedfords,” You confirmed with a tight smile, “I’m just more upset that Irene was there to hear it.”

You didn’t explain any further and Rick took it as a sign to drop it. If they were able to make you this upset, then it was best to ask the kids instead.

“I’m sorry,” He pulled you to his chest, planting a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead. He rubbed your back, sighing at the very mention of that family. Rick loathed that they were influential enough to be one of the higher-ups of the school’s PTA, though he was confident that money was involved in it too. He hated that they were reasons why you’d come home ranting about how Mrs Bedford bugged you again, or when he had to make sure Mr Bedford knew he was making a promise and not an empty threat whenever it involved their kids and his, "You know I can talk to them."

It would do no good, but it was worth trying.

"No, you know how the Bedfords are. Don’t worry, okay? Not now,” You kissed the inside of his palm before pressing your lips against his, soft, sensual and safe. Rick moved forward, deepening the kiss as held the nape of your neck. You pulled away but not before nuzzling his nose, “We should be celebrating.”

He nodded, though he knew it would only linger in his mind for a while. Still, he adhered to your wishes, standing up before offering you his hand to get ready, “Right, right. Shall we?”

You snorted, placing your hand in his the way a princess would when a prince asks for a dance. Unexpectedly, he twirled you around, wrapping his arms around you he pulled you in, chest to chest. You playfully smacked him, though it did very little to wipe off the pleased look on his face as the two of you headed to your room.

You and the boys were the first to head out to the front yard, chatting and evaluating the decors of the houses while waiting for Rick and Irene.

“What happened today?” He asked his daughter quietly as they stood at the front door, helping with her shoes while she slid on a jacket.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” She whispered back, swinging her arms as she watched her father tie her shoelace, “Like, really mean stuff. No one was around except us so she was kinda loud, too.”

Rick fumed, clenching his jaw as he could already hear and picture whatever nonsense she loved to spit out.

“Mama got kinda quiet when we came home, and then she started crying. About how she’s sorry she was a criminal and how we’re ‘stuck’ with her powers.” She added. If anything, she and the boys thought your abilities were the coolest thing to have ever happened to them.

He shook his head—who wouldn't crack after being subjected to their ways for so long? He hummed, hiding the seething resentment by ruffling Irene's hair.

"Can you help me distract your mother while I talk to the boys for a bit?" She nodded diligently, skipping over to you before Rick called out to his sons, "Need some help, boys."

They rushed over, glancing at you before Ethan spoke up first, "She told you?"

"Yeah." Rick replied as he locked the door.

"Can't we do something about it?" Richie asked with a frown.

"You boys are not punching Blake again." Rick reminded them with a small smile.

"You didn't seem to mind it," Ethan mirrored his father's amusement, "He was yelling at our teammate and encouraged his troll brother to push Irene off a swing."

"I'm mad, too," Rick was more than mad, but he couldn't let his emotions run wild, "Look, we'll think of something, alright? For now, just make sure she's happy."

That's all they ever wanted.

The drive to Pop's was a lively one, and so was the dinner itself. Though you knew you'd be thinking about Mrs Bedford's words every once in a while, the smiles and laughter of your family were already a welcoming distraction as it is.

Midnight rolled around, and everyone had returned to their rooms with sore cheeks and a full stomach. You were the first to slip under the covers after a shower, hoping you wouldn't be too tired as you waited for Rick, though it didn't work.

By the time Rick got out of the bathroom, you were peacefully asleep, your face just a breath away from your husband's pillow as his scent soothed you like no other.

Rick smiled to himself, changing into his PJs before sitting on your side of the bed. The dip roused you from your slumber just a little.

"Rick?" You murmured, fluttering your lashes tiredly.

"Forgot to get some water," He caressed your cheek before bending down to kiss it, "I'll be back."

You mustered a closed-eye smile and before you knew it, you drifted off once again, lulled by the way he patted your back.

Once the coast was clear, he moved off the bed, silently slipping out and closing the door before heading over to the twins' room. He knocked on the door, just enough for them to hear before doing the same with Irene's door and headed downstairs.

Rick sat down at the dining table with a glass of cold water, arms crossed and lost in his own thoughts before hearing light footsteps approaching.

Richie, Ethan and Irene carefully pulled their chairs back before taking a seat, and just like that, the discussion began.

But it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere and at some point, they just started shit-talking.

"Man, I wish coach would just kick Blake out." Ethan groaned, his head falling back.

"Tell me about it. He's shit at quarterback." Richie clicked his tongue.

"Boys." Rick warned them, partially because his youngest was listening.

"Sorry." They apologized but Irene didn't seem to mind.

"How about…" She chimed in, tapping her finger on her chin, "We scare them?"

"Like…?" Richie cocked his head, hoping she'd say more than just that.

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool since it's Halloween and stuff. And, well, maybe we could use our powers, but I know mama and daddy wouldn't want that." She shrugged, pouting because she hadn't thought it far enough.

"It would be a miracle to scare them without using our powers in the first place," Richie sighed, looking over to his father, "What do you think, dad?"

No reply.

"Dad?" Ethan followed suit as the three of them raised their brows.

“How far are you in your shadow puppet practice?” Rick asked out of the blue, staring ahead as though imagining whatever idea he had played out.

“Uh, pretty far, I think? Ma taught us how to merge our shadows into one if we wanted to make a bigger animal.” Richie answered, earning affirmative nods from his siblings.

“How big?”

“Like, this big!” Irene opened her arms wide to let him know just how big of a monster they would be able to make if they wanted to. They haven’t, there was no reason to, but the more their father asked, the more it piqued their interest.

Rick thought it through for a moment. It has been a while since he has seen you make that one particular lifeform, but it was worth a shot. If it were able to render Waller speechless, then it’ll definitely make the Bedfords piss their pants.

No actual attacks, and definitely no killings. But he’ll make sure they shudder at the mere thought of Halloween. Put the fear of God in them. They had it coming, too, stomping on other neighbours’ happiness for years just for the fun of it.

He just had to play it safe.

He slowly broke into a sinister smile.

“You three ever heard of a hellhound?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: ahh hubby rick <3 ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

#reve's quirky reverie 🕷#— reve's reverie 🌹#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x f!reader #rick flag x you #rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #colonel flag #colonel rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #tss 2021 #tss #joel kinnaman #husband rick #hubby rick

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wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos · 3 months ago

Note

hey bestieee how about prompt 41 with darren vapes and josh king?

PIBE Fanwork Week Day 4: DARREN VAPES THURSDAY!!

Josh…wasn’t supposed to be in this house…mansion…whatever.

He was technically breaking and entering, though to be clear he hadn’t broken in really, he’d just…entered. Whether or not he’d been avoiding the cops when he’d done so was beside the point.

It’s not his fault the city had no sense of humour regarding silly string and public monuments.

He and Kat had lost track of each other and he’d ducked into the open door of a big house he was almost 98% sure was empty.

Based on previous experience the cops would give up and he’d go on his merry way.

But then Josh heard a noise in the room to his left.

78% sure.

Josh knew he should probably just sit quietly in the hall and hope it was just a squirrel or a mouse. But he’d always been too curious for his own good.

Creeping slowly to make sure he didn’t alert whatever it was with the creaking of the floor boards, Josh advanced.

Just as he was about to peer into the room, Josh froze, interrupted by a voice.

“Sometimes you don’t quite know where you are, whether you’re up or down, or left or right. It’s the choice between staying where you are or movie forward,” said a deep gruff voice from the other room, pitched up like he was asking a question, and then inexplicably Josh smelled cotton candy vape.

Perplexed Josh leaned forward to see who was speaking, peeking just around the hallways.

It was a man. Taller than Josh, at least six foot with dark brown hair, covered by a grey fedora that matched his long grey trench coat, which was not so successfully hiding broad shoulders and a muscled physique.

The man was rifling through the contents of one of the desks which allowed Josh to look uninterrupted at his profile.

His square jaw was accented by a five o’clock shadow, which completed the chiaroscuro effect on his face. The man’s nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken at least once, breaking the completely clean-cut illusion, this man had probably been in at least one fight.

Josh swallowed.

He should just go, the cops had definitely given up by now. But his luck had run out. The flood boards creaked underneath his feet and the man whipped around, facing Josh and pointing dramatically.

Josh’s head held three thoughts.

One: Fuck fuckity fuck

Two: This man was extremely handsome.

Three: Josh recognized him?

This man was Darren Vapes, famed detective, who as far as Josh knew wasn’t real.

Like yes Josh knew that the character Darren Vapes was based on a real guy from the 40s, but this wasn’t that guy.

This was Darren Vapes, famous detective and fictional character Josh had worshipped when he was younger.

He’d also, looking back, probably should’ve been clued into his bisexuality at that point and not twenty years later when his girlfriend had pointed it out. But that was beside the point.

Right now Darren Vapes was here in front of him, and he didn’t know what to do.

So of course he said something stupid.

“What are you doing in my house?” he asked, crying to look like he hadn’t been creeping around as well.

“I was in his house,” Darren Vapes said not looking directly at Josh and instead on a wall on the other side of the room “Was the house part of the mystery? Was he part of the mystery? Could he be the key? Maybe to inside the mystery, I needed to get inside of him…inside of his head.”

Josh blushed. He couldn’t help it.

“What’s your name? Where am I?” Darren Vapes asked, looking at Josh with piercing green eyes.

“I’m Josh,” he replied, still trying to suss out if this guy was a super in character cosplayer “You’re in Mountport…in my house.”

“Mountport,” Darren Vapes began to monologue again, Josh watched as his focus slide away “The name was a contradiction, mountains near the sea? Was this a trick? Was this a trap? Josh meant to confuse me. To confuse Darren Vapes. He’d succeeded, of course, a feat not achieved by many.”

With a lightning-quick move, Josh found himself pinned up against the wall, one trench coat-clad forearm forcing his chin up. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed again.

“Why are so nervous, Josh? Darren Vapes asked again “Have I fallen into your trap? Have you conspired to trap me in Mountport?”

“No! Absolutely not,” Josh panicked, clearly, it was time to come clean “Listen this isn’t my house, I’m not trapping you, I didn’t even know you were here. Just trying to avoid the po-some people chasing me.”

“You lied?” Darren Vapes narrowed his eyes, at him.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Josh stammered, he couldn’t help it. His face was So Close To His. And Josh had eyes. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

Darren Vapes suddenly turned, letting Josh go.

“Is a lie really a lie if you don’t want to tell it?” Darren Vapes said “or does it get smaller, smaller and smaller like a worm. And do we really think about worms? Do we care about their actions? Do we take offense?”

Josh was pretty sure his childhood gay awakening had just called him a worm…which was weird.

“You’re forgiven, Josh,” Darren Vapes said before striding out of the room “Perhaps I will see you again, but for now, the mystery awaits!”

Josh heard the front door open and slap, once again leaving him alone, with no proof of his encounter but the remnants of cotton candy vape.

What the fuck had just happened?

He sighed, thoroughly convinced that he had just met a fictional detective in real life, and it had been kinda hot.

About on par with time lords and elevator curses.

At least Rachel and Kat would believe him. Janice would probably make fun of him.

Mountport was so fucking weird, man.

#play it by ear #pibe #pibe fanfic #i fully did this one last #because i didn't know what to do #thank you cj for the ask because omg #anyway don't think about it too hard #darren vapes was josh's gay awakening #pibe fanwork 2025 #darren vapes thursday

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la-petite-lapin · 1 year ago

Text

Double the Love | Part Nine

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.5k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, mentions of nudity, mentions of sexually explicit content, OC has anxiety, communication, polyamory, M/M/F

A conversation and a confession

Simon doesn't say anything for a while. I sit next to him silently, waiting for the words I know are coming. Knowing that they're going to hurt.

I've accepted it. They're probably going to want to move out after this. God - how am I going to explain this to John...

"We thought you needed space today," Simon starts softly, his gentle tone soothing a part of me that I didn't know needed soothing. "We... I've messed up today. I should have shown you more affection. I shouldn't have let you doubt this."

I blink up at him, dazed and bewildered. He's going to have to spell this one out for me.

Like he's reading my mind, he explains, "We really like you, Tali. We didn't want to scare you away after how intense last night was." There's another beat of silence as he glances at Johnny, still fast asleep, and adds, "I think this a conversation that all of us need to be present for."

They like me.

The realisation sets in like a freight train. They really like me.

A giddy feeling somewhere between excitement and confusion creeps in, all but erasing the sadness I felt just moments ago. Simon looks at me, head cocked to one side like he can sense the heavy mix of emotions swirling around inside of me. There's a glimmer in his hazel eyes as he carefully watches my expression.

"Can we... can we wake him up now, please?" I know that it's selfish, but I need to know that this is resolved. I need to know that they both feel the same so that we can move on. So that I can think and plan and mentally prepare myself for what people are going to say.

Oh God.

What are John and Gaz going to think? The people I work with? I'd like to think that I don't really care about the opinions of others, but I do. Deep down, I do. Strangers can be judgemental and mean - especially where poly relationships are concerned. Shit, what about PDA? That's going to draw unwanted attention and...

"Hey, love." Simon gently squeezes my hand with his, scarred fingers surprisingly gentle against my much smaller ones. "Where did ya go?"

I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my throat is, and how my knees are shaking. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About this. Us." When he squeezes my hand again, I carry on, shifting closer to him on the sofa until I'm tucked seamlessly against his side. "People are going to judge us."

There's a pause before Simon does something that surprises me. He barks out a laugh. A loud, gruff laugh that startles me for a second, almost making me jump.

I look up at him like he's gone mad, and he looks back at me, eyes twinkling with humour as he smirks. "You really think that's going to be what they focus on, princess? I walk around in public, 6'7, dressed in all black with a bloody mask on. Johnny's hardly a wallflower either. You really think people will be rushing to judge the sweet, beautiful woman walking around beside us?"

Well, when he put it that way, I suppose they wouldn't.

"I mean, there's always going to be a chance that some people will, but fuck 'em. I've caught enough stares to last me more than a lifetime. 's like water off a duck's back." Some of the amusement leaves his tone, eyes solemn again for a moment as he adds, "But seriously, love, if they don't know us, then why should we bother what they think? It's something Johnny said to me when we first started going out. I used to get so fucking stressed out about people looking at us and whispering shit. Just wanted to rip their heads clean off their shoulders. But it's not our problem - it's theirs."

I nod slowly. It seems to simple when he says it like that. I know it won't be, but it gives me hope. Hope that - one day - I'll be as nonchalant about it as Simon is.

There's a grumbling sound from the other end of the sofa. One that draws both of our attention. "Wha's all this about problems and heads?"

Si and I look across at the same time, meeting a pair of heavy-lidded, confused bright blue eyes.

"...and so Tali thought we weren't interested, and that we were ignoring her," Si says, rounding off his summary-version of our conversation to a now wide-awake Johnny.

"Right," the Scotsman says, cradling a mug of black coffee like it's his firstborn. "Well, respectfully, tha's a bunch of shite." He turns to me with wide eyes, and I try not to look sheepish. "Ye know that now, right?"

I offer him a small smile. "Right," I repeat.

The three of us are still in the living room - myself tucked back into my armchair, and the two of them sitting on the sofa facing me. There are some important matters that need to be discussed, questions that need to be asked, and ground rules that need to be laid. Things that won't get done if I'm sitting next to either of them. It'd be all too easy to get lost in their eyes, snuggle up to their ridiculously toasty body heat and drag them back into their room for round three.

I need to stay focused for this.

"So, what does this make us?" I ask, hoping that I don't sound as nervous as I feel. I'm surprised that I'm not physically shaking.

Johnny shrugs, glancing from Si back to me again before saying, "Our girlfriend. Partner. Take yer pick," just as Simon says, "Whatever you want us to be."

"I think I'd like to be your girlfriend, if that's okay." When they voice their more than enthusiastic approval, I turn to my next question, a nervous smile forming on my lips. "What will you tell John and Kyle?"

Simon frowns at my obvious hesitance, the movement tugging at the scars around his mouth. "Captain Price we can leave to you, if you're more comfortable that way. And Gaz... we can tell him we're together whenever you want. He's pretty open-minded."

I swallow thickly. "They're both coming over at the weekend."

There's a beat of silence before Johnny starts laughing. "Making plans with our friends without us already, lassie? We've only been together for half-an-hour."

My cheeks heat up and I fight the urge to get embarrassed. "John made then plans, not me."

Simon grins. "I think it's cute. It's good that you get along with Gaz; he's a nice lad."

We're getting side-tracked!

I clear my throat, all business once again. "There's something else that I need to tell you."

They both look at me, expressions holding varying degrees of concern and blind acceptance. They're looking at me like I hung the moon.

I know that it probably won't change the way that things are between the three of us, but I'm still nervous. Because - technically - I've been lying to them since we met.

They still don't know that I'm Alex's sister.

"Did Price ever tell you how he and I met?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I watch as it dawns on them: he never did. Regardless the pair stay silent, giving me the space to take a deep breath and continue on.

"We met over a year ago, when he came to inform me that my brother had died."

Simon's face turns a sickly greyish-white hue. "You- you never told me that he was military."

On the other side of the sofa, Johnny's expression darkens. "I didn't even know that ye had a brother." He pauses, eyes locking onto mine as he says, "But... if the Captain came to tell ye, tha' means... he was somethin' to do with our lot."

Si's head starts shaking before I can even get the next part of my confession out, like he knows exactly where this is all about to go. "My name - my full name - is Talia Keller. And my... my brother's name was Alex. Operations Officer Alex Keller."

Johnny lets out something between a groan and a choking noise. My heart is beating in my throat, palms clammy and chest too tight. Simon isn't even looking at me anymore; he's looking at the floor, the walls, the ceiling... anywhere but me.

"I... how? Alex never told us he had a sister." Simon sounds borderline frantic. I try not to let that statement hurt me; try to remind myself that it has no bearing on the love that my brother felt for me. Catching the look on my face, Simon adds a broken, "I didn't mean it like that."

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted me to walk over to him and tell him that it's all a lie. One big, sick joke. That I actually met John through a friend of a friend, or some other totally normal circumstance. Not via a death notification.

"Calm down, Si," Johnny says suddenly, his soft, placating tone cutting through the room. "Calm down and let our lass talk." Blue eyes lock onto mine, offering me endless reassurance. "Carry on, love."

I clear my throat, hands clenching and unclenching into fists at my sides as I will myself not to cry. "Our parents died when we were young, and Alex joined the army when I was still just a kid. He was all I had left after our grandmother passed. And - when he died - John came to the flat to tell me he was gone." I remember the crushing weight of the loneliness I felt in those days that followed, and it brings a weak, bitter smile to my lips. "But he didn't just tell me and go. He left his number and he made an effort to be there when I needed him. He pulled me into his life; kept reaching out even when I was too stubborn to see that I really needed him around."

Johnny frowns, and I can see the unshed tears shining in his eyes. "But... why didn't ye tell us, love?"

I shake my head, my own tears falling freely. "I don't know," I say, honestly meaning it. "I just... I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be easier? So that you wouldn't pity me for it?"

Before Johnny can reply, Simon is standing up - crossing the living room with long, precise strides. He scoops me up from the armchair, cradling me in his big, muscular arms. I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck to hide myself away from the world, letting the tears pour out.

"We don't pity you, princess," Simon says, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. I can hear the sofa creaking softly as Johnny stands up. Can feel his fingers brushing through my hair. "Just wish you'd told us sooner, that's all."

I peel myself away from Simon long enough to manage two words before I'm burying my face back into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, lovie," Johnny coos. "There's nothin' to be sorry about."

Once we've all calmed down, Simon announces that it's time we all head off to bed. It's gone 11 and not only do I have work tomorrow but they have to nip across to the base for a meeting, so he has a point.

As Johnny and Simon rattle around the apartment, double-checking that they locked the front door when they came in earlier, and making sure all the windows are shut, I start to head off to my room. The room I sleep in alone.

"Um, where do ya think ye're going, lassie?" a voice calls out from the top of the hallway. I turn around to see Johnny standing there, his broad frame practically filling the space as he folds his arms across his massive chest.

I let out a quiet squeak. "Bed?"

Simon appears behind him, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's - our boyfriend's - head. "Nice try. Get your arse into bed. I'm not in the mood to chase you tonight." With an adorable flash of vulnerability softening his battle-hardened features, he adds, "I want to cuddle."

Melting inside, I backtrack down the hallway and push their door open, hopping into what used to be my bed.

After a few minutes, I doze off, and when I open my eyes again, I'm bracketed on both sides by the warm, muscular bodies of my boyfriends. I try not to giggle like a teenage girl internally, but it does a lot to shake off the remaining sadness lingering from our conversation about Alex.

I roll over, accidentally slamming face-first into Simon's bare chest. Instead of whining about it, he grumbles, "Are you going to sleep like that?"

I blink, pulling away to glance down at myself. After I flopped down onto the mattress, I hadn't thought to take off my clothes. Or find myself anything suitable to sleep in.

"No?"

Simon chuckles indulgently, joined swiftly by Johnny - his rock-hard chest vibrating against my back.

"Jesus, lassie, just sleep naked like us. 's easier," the Scotsman says, drawing my attention to the fact that they are both indeed naked. "Saves us havin' to move wardrobes around."

I ignore him, kicking off my jeans before pulling my shirt off over my head. I lay still for a moment before something occurs to me - another question I forgot to ask earlier. A glaringly obvious one.

"What happens after Johnny's stitches have healed?"

Silence fills the room. It makes me wonder if it's something they've been wondering too.

Johnny speaks first. "Tha' depends, lassie. We'd have to ask Captain Price. An' it depends on ye, and want ye wanna do. But we'll both have to return to active duty."

Before I can ask what that looks like for them, Simon clarifies, "That means we'll be out on assignments more often." I don't think I'm imagining the heavy note of sadness that weighs heavy in his voice as he adds, "Sometimes we'll both be gone for weeks at a time, with no way of getting in touch with you."

As much as I hate it, I've already made my peace with that part. The bit that I don't get is the living situation. When they are here, I'd like to stay with them. I can live in the flat while they're away, but what about when they aren't? It's not fair on Winnie to have all four of us staying here, encroaching on her space. This apartment is just as much her home as it is mine.

"Do you two have a place together?" I ask, more out of curiosity than anything. I highly doubt it, since they ended up here with me in the first place.

Simon shakes his head. "We never saw a need for one. When we're in the country, we stay in the barracks with the other soldiers." A frown forms on his lips and I pull back a little further so I can comfortably cup his jaw. I smooth my thumb along the length of his cheekbone. "But I don't think that's a place that I'm happy with you being in."

I open my mouth to protest but Johnny's hand appears from behind me, swatting the air between us. "Can we talk about this in the mornin'? Some of us would like to sleep."

With a soft giggle, I roll over again and press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then his forehead, and the cheek not pressed against the pillow. I settle my head into the gap underneath his chin, feeling the comfortable weight of Simon's arm come to drape over my waist and onto Johnny's. I can hear the sound of them kissing goodnight over my head, and it warms my heart even more than I thought I would.

Sandwiched between the two of them, I doze off again.

a/n: hi guys! I felt bad leaving you on a cliffhanger with that last one, so here's part 9 :) thank you so much to everyone for the kind words and support, both on posts and through messages, it does mean a lot 🧡 - lapetitelapin x

#cod #cod fanfic #ghoap x reader #fanfic #simon “ghost” riley x reader #soap x reader #callofduty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #female reader #female oc #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny x reader x simon #johnny x oc x simon #simon riley x reader #double the love #romance #ghost x oc x soap

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 2 months ago

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Tess' Sharp March 2025 - 2. Legacy

Not every teacher can say that a new rule was set because of them.

Contains a little Severus Snape and Dumbledore guest cameo, and Phineas Nigellus Black bashing, haha. A silly attempt at humour.

Legacy (1.1k)

“Always wondered whether there was a set of school rules for the faculty,” Severus Snape said, poring over the scroll Albus Dumbledore placed before him along with an (overly sweet) cup of tea, and a small bowl of sherbet lemons. His mind was still reeling from all that happened during the past few months, his heart still in pain following Lily Evans’ death. However, he had a new purpose now, he supposed, and teaching potions would surely be less horrible than spending the rest of his days in Azkaban. Surely.

“Oh, indeed, dear boy,” Dumbledore said from where he was standing, gently stroking the feathers under his phoenix’ beak, “although they are not as strictly enforced as the school rules for students. You needn’t worry about having to serve detention with Mr Filch or having to write lines.”

“Not sure when the school rules for students were ever enforced, considering all the torture your beloved Potter and dogs put me through…” Severus gritted through his teeth. Dumbledore seemed to have gone deaf momentarily, for he didn’t react to his vitriolic words at all.

Shaking his head, Snape once more looked at the (much shorter) list of rules for the faculty.

“Some of these wouldn’t even have to be here, in my opinion” he said, a little more calmly, “like this one - ‘It is ill-advised to swear in the presence of students’. I would’ve thought that’d be common sense?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with amusement when they looked at him: “Oh, but Severus - life itself writes the rules, and this particular one too is there for a reason…”

—

Aesop’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest as he hurriedly collected his things.

The words he read only a few minutes ago in the letter Diana, his beloved’s owl, delivered him burned bright in his head.

“Dear Professor Sharp,” was written there, in a neat script,

“I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Gwendolyn Wells, and I am a midwife employed at St Mungo's Hospital. I am writing to inform you that your wife, Mrs. Sharp, has recently Flooed to the maternity ward and requested immediate assistance, as she entered into labour approximately half an hour ago.

Upon my arrival, I conducted a thorough examination and am pleased to report that the delivery appears to be progressing smoothly. Based on my assessment, I see no cause for concern and therefore recommend that your wife remain in the comfort of your home for the duration of the labour, as I have all necessary provisions to assist with the delivery.

Mrs. Sharp has kindly asked me to convey this update to you, along with her request that you keep your fingers crossed for a swift and smooth delivery.

Yours sincerely,

Gwendolyn Wells”

Several times, the potions master nearly tripped over his own two feet in the effort to gather everything he needed. His coat. His wand. Some healing and pain relieving potions. He had a rather sizable stash of them at home too, but he wanted to be sure everything went well.

He couldn’t lose another child. Neither his beloved nor he would survive that…

He pretty much ran out of his classroom, through the corridor and into the Central hall, immediately turning towards the hallway leading to the Bell tower. He wasn’t surprised to see students milling about , it was the middle of the day, after all, just after lunch. Seeing the intimidating potion master rushing forward with an unreadable expression, the pupils, both younger and older, ducked out of the way, casting worried looks at him and each other.

Aesop paid them no mind - he had to get past the Hogwarts’ wards and apparate home, he needed to be with his wife.

It was only when he heard Matilda Weasley’s voice call out to him that he paused.

The Deputy Headmistress stood to the left of him, in the mezzanine overlooking the entirety of Central hall, and had obviously been talking with a student when she noticed Aesop making his way through the hall at his rapid pace.

“Is everything alright, Aesop?” she asked, genuine concern clear in her voice, “did something happen?” Aesop turned to look at her, hoping his eyes would convey that the situation was truly urgent. “Matilda,” he said, “I need to leave. Immediately.”

Merlin bless that woman, for her eyes immediately softened and her head gave the smallest of nods. Still, she remained looking at him. “What do I tell the Headmaster, Aesop?”

It must’ve been the stress of the situation. The urgency. The sheer fear he was feeling, concern for the safety of both his wife and his child. Aesop chuckled and turned around to face his colleague fully. He didn’t care who all heard what he was about to say next.

“You can tell the Headmaster that he can kiss his boil-covered arse, Matilda, because my wife is giving birth, and there is nothing he or anybody can do to stop me from being there.”

There were some stifled gasps, a few giggles badly hidden under fake coughing, but Aesop still didn’t pay the students any mind. Matilda tried her best to appear disapproving of his language, especially in front of the students, but the potions master saw the corner of her mouth twitching.

“I’ll attempt to paraphrase it to him in a way that will ensure you’re able to return to your position when you’re ready,” she said in her most professional voice.

Finally, however, a little smile graced her lips: “Good luck.”

And with that, Aesop finally ran for the Bell tower courtyard, leaving behind a gaggle of students, their emotions still ranging between shocked and amused at the sudden public display of foul language, by the feared potions teacher, no less. Matilda Weasley, however, nipped all possible conversations in the bud: “If I hear any of you repeat professor Sharp’s words, I’ll make certain you have detention with him when he returns.”

That silenced everyone. It was jarring how much her steps echoed in the silence of the Central hall as she made her way to the Transfiguration courtyard to go back to her classroom, and make arrangements for Aesop’s temporary replacement, as well as an explanation to Headmaster Black. Hopefully, Professor Sharp’s words would not get back to him… However, she was well aware that this day is going to be the talk of the student body for a while. The Deputy Headmistress chuckled to herself. Maybe there should be a rule against teachers swearing in the earshot of underage students.

Not that it would stop Aesop Sharp, but it was the thought that counted…

---

Thank you so much for reading. You can also check this thingy over on my AO3, if you'd like ❤️

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sharp march 2025 #sharpmarch2025 #aesop sharp #aesop sharp fanfiction #aesop sharp x reador #professor sharp x reader #professor sharp #albus dumbledore #severus snape #matilda weasley #phineas nigellus black

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raineandsky · 1 year ago

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#88

tw: home invasion, knife/stabbing

The superhero doesn’t get much warning that someone’s in their house. They glance into their bedroom, into the mirror propped up at the opposite end, and make eye contact with someone hiding in the shadows on the other side of the doorframe.

There’s a half-second where they both seem a little startled to see each other. Then the intruder leaps out of their hiding spot and makes a haphazard strike, their blown cover making their attack a blatant scramble.

The superhero steps back, just. A blade swings into the space they leave. They feel the waft of cold air breeze over their face, the quiet phew as it cuts the air in front of them.

“Fuck,” escapes the intruder’s lips in a breath, and the superhero has half the mind to glance at who on earth has the gall to break into their house.

A villain. No surprise there, really.

The villain makes another attempt at a stab, which the superhero deftly avoids. Thieving, maybe? The superhero ducks under a second swing, the blade sweeping over their head. But the villain wasn’t looking for anything. They were hiding. They were trying to catch the superhero unawares.

Fucking assassin.

The villain leaps for them again, finally finding their rhythm again after the surprise. The superhero dodges their blade and shoves them back. Their back bumps against the wall with a dull thump.

“Who sent you?” the superhero snaps. The villain replies with an animalistic snarl and another swipe of their knife. The superhero’s too close—the edge of the blade tears a deep crimson streak across their chest.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” the villain retorts coldly. “All you need to know is that I’m here to make sure you get what you deserve.”

Their chest burns. Their breathing is uneven. Shit. “Come on, [Villain],” the superhero says with forced nonchalance. “Humour a guy here. Who was it?”

“No one sent me,” the villain spits. “Your death is for my own gain.”

The villain leaps. The superhero’s mind is distant, thinking about the heat in their chest, and they notice entirely too late. The villain shoves them into the wall this time, the force of it bringing a bright flash of pain with it.

The superhero throws a punch. The villain sweeps out of the way like this is easy. “Your retirement will bring more joy than you could ever know,” the villain teases, already closing the space between them again. “To us, and to your own.”

Bullshit. The superhero heaves a breath that aches in their lungs. They throw a foot out in a vain kick that the villain barely even has to avoid. “You have brought that agency to its knees. The heroes won’t miss you.” A smile splits on their face, unnerving and cold in the low light. “[Hero] won’t miss you.”

The hero? The gash on the superhero’s chest is dribbling. Every breath is like lava is being poured into a crack in their heart. That doesn’t make sense. The hero loves them—everyone loves them, everyone, they do, they have to—

“Me and your little dog have gotten quite friendly recently,” the villain continues into the silence. “They tell me you’re quite the fuckin’ shitbag, [Supervillain].”

The hero. They wouldn’t. The hero, they– they love them. They wouldn’t.

“Liar,” the superhero spits like a curse.

“Yeah?” The villain brushes the knife against the superhero’s throat; a promise, a warning. “They didn’t send me, if that’s your concern. No, they asked me not to bother. I was sent by nothing but the love I feel for the person you’re destroying.”

Did the superhero not turn the heating on on their way in? It’s so cold. A hand sits numbly at their chest. One thought keeps sinking in their mind like tar —no, no, the hero loves them, of course they do, of course, they have to.

A whir of sirens pierces through the superhero like an arrow to the head. They grimace, and the villain turns to glance out the window at blurry reds and blues.

“Shit,” they say shortly. “Shit, you fucker.” They jab their blade disturbingly close to the superhero’s face. “If you survive tonight, consider me a recurring problem. I will stab you as many times as it takes to watch your hold on [Hero] loosen.”

The superhero’s emergency call is in their hand. Did they get that out? Huh. Those sirens must be the police, then.

“I have a lot more people on my side,” the superhero rasps, but when they have the mind to look up, the villain’s already gone.

Their chest is white-hot by now. They have to sit down. Each breath is scorching, short with pain. Agony has crept into their muscles; everything aches with exhaustion.

Well, a promise for a promise. If the superhero survives this, both the hero and the villain are fucking dead.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #tw home invasion #tw knife #tw stabbing #friends i am going to die #i have to go to a works conference. on the WEEKEND #and ive been in a lil slump after the filming last week so its been nice gettin into the groove again a lil #shame its getting immediately obliterated again by work. rip #id live in a shack in the woods with nothing but a typewriter and this tumblr account if i could

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iamjustaholeforyousir · 2 years ago

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I Disrespected You

part 8 of Look What We Became

summary: some feelings are discovered, and grand schemes are made amidst jealousy and obliviousness.

warning: angst, kissing, mention of cheating, alcohol, brief smut, jealousy, stupid harry.

word count: 3,548

minors DNI

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9

The dinner was a success, if looked at from the outside, but for you it was anything but. After Harry had left you on that balcony, you could not help but feel a sense of sadness. On one side you were glad that Harry had run to prevent Prince William from doing anything to another person and on the other you were sad that he had left you yet again for her and you felt guilty. You imagined how he would have held her and reassured her that everything will be okay, how he would wipe the tears of terror from her face as he would kiss her calm.

You decided to go back in, and find someone to stop your brain from thinking further.

Your whole night was ruined so to say, until you met gemma. She was looking beautiful as always, and her sense of humour had made you forget about the night.

But you were soon interrupted by your husband as he held onto your arm and pulled you away, no words were exchanged as he took you upstairs towards your chambers.

He never once looked back at you and you never once looked at anything but him, he seemed determined to take you, and you did nothing to protest, it was a if the world had slowed down around you, as if you had gone deaf for the world and the only thing you could hear was his breathing and yours. He did not let go of your arm till you both were inside the room, he closed the doors and lightly pushed you against them.

Your back was flush against the doors as he moved closer to you.

Your breath hitched and you suddenly became very aware of what was happening. His hands found your waist and held on to it as he came closer.

You could feel his hot breath against your face, the smell of wine was fainter than the last time you were this close, his eyes drifted from yours down to your lips as yours went on his but you were quick to look up. He closed the gap between you two, his lips felt heavy on yours, as he took your upper lip between his and slowly pulled away, and you let out the breath you were holding. It was very gentle, the way he kissed you, but little did you know it was only the beginning of something wild. His hand found you zipper and he pulled it down and your dress fell of your shoulder, your hands fly up to your chest to keep it covered and he moved closer to kiss you again, but this time it was more urgent, it was long, fast, as if he was searching for something, the room had gotten hotter, and his hands were touching the bear skin of your back, and as he continue the same feeling of frustration filled you, like it did during your bath.

You focused on the kiss now, as your lips moved in perfect sync.

Soon his hands left your back and moved to yours to pry them away from your chest, he kissed the corner of your mouth, he trailed kisses down your neck and you sigh.

It was a feeling you wanted to memorise for the rest of your life. He kissed your clavicle and peppered kisses on your chest.

You wanted him to tear the dress apart, it was getting so hot, and then he stopped entirely.

His face came to level with yours for a moment as he stared into your eyes.

He ducked down again and you felt his hands hook under your legs as he picked you up, your hands found shoulders.

The skirt of your dress now looped around your waist, and your legs were exposed.

He found your lips again and pushed his body between your legs, the feeling of pure pleasure filled your body as he provided friction to your pussy, your head hit the door, in ecstacy, and his lips found your neck.

A particular hard grind almost made you moan out loud but you covered your mouth with your hand, too embarrassed about what you were about to do.

“Don't you hide those pretty noises from me princess.” it was the first thing he had said to you, his voice was commanding, authoritative, “if i am making you feel something, i want to know exactly what it is.” he whispers against your jaw.

“Let go for me princess, I want to see you absolutely wild for me.” he moaned, this feeling, you wanted to feel this every second, you wanted to be this close to him always, you felt so loved, so desirable, so needed.

He jerks you away from the door, and takes you toward the bed, he was gentle as he laid you down, he did not let his lips lose contact with your skin.

His knee was between your legs and he encouraged you to grind against it by pulling you down on it.

That did something to you, it made you think, why was he doing this? Suddenly, what happened that made him want to touch you like this?

You take his face in your hands and gently pull him away from your chest to make him face you.

Both of you were out of breath as you looked deep into his eyes trying to justify his behaviour.

“What?” he asked, he looked scared, “princess what happened? Are you hurt?” he asked, slightly sitting up

“No, i am not hurting prince harry i just… i… why are you doing this?”

“Do you not want this?” he asked, even more concerned.

“It's not that, i just don't know why you would do this with me when you love-”

“Princess, I would not want you to be thinking about her when I am touching you like this.” he says, moving closer to you

“Yes, I know, I mean I understand, but why are you..touching me like this.” you ask him

“Are you not liking it?”

“It's not that i just don't understa-” you were cut off by a knock on your door. You turn your head but Harry keeps looking at you, you don't answer and neither does Harry, the person knocks again and this time you look at Harry as if telling him to answer.

He reluctantly gets up and opens the door, “what do you want?” he says, and you could hear the venom dripping from his voice.

“Can I come in?” a woman says. deborah.

“I am actually in the middle of something with my wife.” he says, the conversation sounded as if they both were never in love.

“You are touching her!?” she says and harry just scoffs, he turns around looking at you before he goes out and closes the door.

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you quickly stand up and press your ear against the door.

“And so what if I am? Hm? She is my wife, I can do whatever it is I want with her, I can kiss her, I can touch her, I can love her.”

“But you don't love her! You love me! And you won't just stop loving me because of what I did!”

“You have some nerve saying that! I don't even know why you would do such a thing in the first place, I came running to you to protect you from that pathetic excuse of a man and you show me gratitude by being a whore for him!”

“It was only to make you want me more! To make you realise what you had forgotten!”

“What I had forgotten!? Is fucking you the only way to show you love? And letting another man touch you in front of me, telling him how he is better at it than me, what exactly did you accomplish from it!” Tell me!”

“I WANTED TO PUNISH YOU!”

“PUNISH ME! FOR WHAT! WOULD YOU LIKE IT! TELL ME! WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I MADE YOU SIT IN THAT ROOM AS I FUCK MY WIFE SENSELESS!?”

You gasp, how could he say something like that? Why didn't you go deaf before hearing something like this?

There was a long silence.

“I never want to see you near me ever again. I don't want to see you near her again. I didn't touch her, because I was in love with you, but you, oh you jumped at the first opportunity you got! I was ready to give up my whole life for you, I was ready to leave the castle, deny the title of king if it meant living a life with you! But you just wanted to be queen, you never loved me at all, because if you did, you would have the need to punish me for something that isn't my fault. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lady I need to please.”

You quickly moved away from the door and went and sat on the bed.

He enters the room, and sits next to you on the bed. You refuse to look at him at all. You had a pained expression on your face, he touched your cheeks and you looked at him “do you think of me as dim witted?” you ask him, and it throws him completely off guard

“I never said that-”

“But you think so, don't you?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“It's coming from the fact that you don't think I will realise something is wrong when you suddenly start acting like my presence doesn't appal you!”

He remained silent, and you knew he had gathered what was going on by now.

“I am not a sword of revenge! I am a human! And just because I am your wife, doesn't give you the right to use me out of spite! You don't need to do anything with me! Like I said before, I really like you, but recently, you are making me loathe you! You.. you are using me to wash her away! How do you think I would feel!” god you hated crying, but your anger got the best of you.

“It's not that I don't want you to touch me, of course I do! It feels great when you do! But I want you to do it out of love, not because your ego was bruised by another woman!”

You wipe the tears off your face and get up, fixing the skirt of your dress, and putting your sleeves back up, you reach behind your back to close the zipper.

And damn this dress and damn the zipper, because both were not cooperating with you.

And you completely let go as fresh tears of frustration start pooling in your eyes.

And again, you feel soft hands against your back, as your husband pulls the zipper up.

“I know, i have been a pepper arse to you.” he starts

as he looks at you in the mirror.

“And you have the right to hate me, but I am not using you to get revenge. I respect you, and I would never do anything to do otherwise. Forgive me princess, it took me time to realise my liking for you, and forgive me, that this realisation came to me after such an incident. I was trapped in the prism of this fake love, that I did not want to see anyone else. I don't love, yet, just the way you don’t love me yet. I understand if you don't believe me, and I understand if you don't want to do what we were about to do. I just..i-” he cut himself off, not knowing what to say.

You turn around and look at him, “I would like some time to think on my own please.” you say and he only nods “i shall go down and bid our guests goodbye, i hope you will join me soon.” he says and fixes his dress shirt before exiting the room.

Harry went down with shame, his anger does get the best of him, fuck her senseless? Really? Those are the best words he could say? What an arse! But most of all, Harry was scared, he was scared that he had let her down, scared that she would hate him forever, scared that she might find comfort in someone else.

And that led him to the realisation that this is exactly how she must have been feeling when he went up to her a week before their marriage.

Not really focusing on the path, he bumps into someone, “watch where you are going, dickless,” said the most appalling voice, and Harry was in no mood to talk to him, “why so quiet? Hm? Now that you know I am the better man, you don't have anything to say? Where are your manners? Congratulations would be nice!”

William could really get on his nerves, but right now his wife had taken over his mind, her tears, her hands, her skin, her lips, her breath, her scent, the way she moaned, the way she sighed, the way her body was covered in goosebumps when he whispered against her skin, the way her fingers would tangle in his hair, the way touched his face, the way her hips moved against his, her, her, her, just her god he was going crazy! He ran away and he could hear William saying some shit, but he needed to find Gemma, because she was the only person who could tell him what to do.

Gemma looked at her brother, she didn't know how to start, whether she should comfort him first about the whole deborah situation, or she should scold him for the next deborah situation, or she should give him advice on how to talk to his own wife, or if she should start with teasing him for almost having sex.

So all she said was “wow.”

“Wow? That is all you have for me? Wow!?”

“I am processing all of this! And the fact that it happened in an hour or so! What do you want me to say!”

“Okay, oaky, first I want you to tell me how to tell Y/n that I am not using her.”

“Well Harry, you were using her. She is quite smart, you know, smart enough to figure that out.”

Harry just groans, “gemma! I know she is smart! Trust me, if she weren't, I wouldn't be here right now!”

“Yeah, you would be fucking her sensless.”

Harry’s whole body cringed at that, he was disgusted by that comment he had previously made.

“Look my brother, your choice of word was horrible, and you telling that to another woman, that you one you were previously involved with was an even stupider move, and now all you can do is give her some time to think and do everything in your power to please her.” she looked at him for a while, “at least that is what father does when he displeases mother.”

“Yes Gemme but it is because they are in love!”

“And you are saying that you are not falling in love with the princess? If you really think that then you are truly stupid.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If you weren't falling in love with her, it wouldn't matter to you how deeply you hurt her, i know you, you are nice to people, but someone who came in between your life and jumbled it a bit, i don't think you appreciate that s lot, as you older sister i have noticed your disdain towards change bother. And this girl changed your entire life, and now you come to me for advice and you haven't done that since you were five and fancied princess Divina.”

“I was a child then.”

“But you were smitten with her,” she says, “look, all i am trying to say is, stop denying your feelings for another woman, just because you think you are in love with one. Tell me truly bother, has it really been anything with Deborah but physical affection? She was just a pretty face, that had enamoured you, possibly seduced you, and tricked you into thinking of it as love, didnt you yourself say that she told you she only ever wished to be a queen one day. Her actions towards you were not one of love but merely shallow attempts of getting a taste of royalty.”

Harry just looked at her, confused, but deep in thought.

“Think of it as your own brother, and when you come to a conclusion, please consult before acting on it.” she says and leaves.

Harry leaves shortly after, keeping in mind his duties as the prince.

Upon reaching the ball room, he sees you, standing there, standing alone, like a lost puppy, he decides to approach you, but stops when he sees a man reach to you first. He sees as the man takes your hand and kisses the fabric of the glove gently. He sees you smile at him and bow down.

A feeling of pure hatred filled his heart, not for you. Never for you, neveragain. But for the man, touching you. Getting to be so close to you, making you laugh. And the worst part was that you looked extremely comfortable around him, touching his arm, laughing so freely, looking at the both you felt like the world did not exist and it was just the two of them.

The whole concept of rationality left Harry's body as he stormed off to the wine fountain.

You could see Harry leave from the corner of your eye, and the way he strutted away, made you concerned.

“Excuse me please Prince Benedict, I must go to tend to my husband.” you say, he gives you a sly smile, “and i must go tend to your sister, she has been gossiping with those old ladies for ages now!” you both laugh once again, and part ways.

“Prince harry? Should you think you have had enough for the night?” you ask, gently, but all you are met with is silence, as you watch him pour another glass for himself.

“My lord, I advise you to stop for the night.” you say again.

“Why should you be concerned with what I do now?” he asks, rather harshly, “perhaps you should go to laugh with your prince.”

So this is what it's about, “I assure you my lord, he is not my prince.”

Harry just scoffs, “he might as well be, when you two are so close, he is touching your arm as you are his, tell me princess, did you not like it when i touched you, was i lacking? Or have you found this prince to be a lover, if so I am completely okay with it, but a heads up would have been great before I almost vandalised you.”

“It is not the case prince harry, prince benedict is my sister, sarah’s husband. He only ever came to say hello. And as far as you are concerned, you do not lack prince harry, the only reason i was not willing to be touched by you was the reason why you had decided to touch me in the first place. I do not want to be a mere replacement, I want to be the one you cannot replace. And of course in some ways i am irreplaceable, since i am your wife, and you cannot leave me, or get another one, till the very day i die-”

“Why must you bring up your death so soon, eager to leave me alone are we?” he asked

“Those weren't my intentions at all.”

There was a long silence before you spoke up. “I really enjoyed the way you…the way….we touched,” and his head snaps towards you, “it was nothing like i had ever felt before, and if what you say is true, prince harry, that your feeling for me a similar to those of mine for you, then i would very much like us to explore further.”

“Are you sure you are not saying this because of some bullshit you were told about a wife’s honour?”

You just look down, truth be told, you had remembered your mothers words, a wife’s duty is to please her husband, and it was looking like you were only displeasing him.

He seems to cat h up to what is going on “i do not wish to make you do something you do not please to so, if you are not ready, or simply just don't please to do this, i will not force you, my actions were irrational and out of thoughts, i suggest we must get to know each other before taking a step too big, what say you?”

You look up at him a smile, it was the biggest smile he had seen you give,

“That is a lovely idea my lord.”

And a lovely idea it was indeed.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY FOR POSTING THIS SOOOOOOO LATE, BUT I WASN'T WELL, I HAD BAD FEVER AND MY EXAMS ARE COMING SOON, BUT DON'T WORRY, I WILL TRY MY BEST TO POST MORE OFTEN.

stay safe❤️❤️

@strwbrrydaydreams @remuslupinwifee @inlikea-coolway @mypolicemanharryyy @sunshinemoonsposts @stilesissaved @novalunosising @sleutherclaw @dear-mylove @kiy0hime @rafaaoli @st-ev-ie @urmomsksjdjdjsj

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