#i was hoping to have one more thing done before october but ive just been too busy and all the in progress stuff is kind of long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finniestoncrane · 3 years ago

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I am truly depraved for your scarecrow and I love him, just the way you write the rogues is chefs kiss and that's the first thing I wanted to say

Second thing is a request with said scarecrow (its spooky month why not yknow?) Wondering if you could write wax play with a male reader please (not at all because Ive been burning pumpkin spice melts pfhaha)

Hope you have a good October and wish you well n all as always Finnie !

Flickering

Arkham!Jonathan x Male!Reader, word count: 1.2k oops uh oh guess who else has pumpkin scented candles ready to use on his partner 👀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: wax play, nudity, tiny bit of fear play, sensory depravation, reader has a dick and is referred to as a good boy

The room was dark and dusty, the feeling of unease that came with it not having been occupied in an indeterminable length of time. There were so many rooms in Arkham like that. Abandoned, forgotten, whole wings that were left to rot. And now you were in one, laying back slightly on a medical chair, waiting. Obviously, the intentional anticipation was meant to leave you uncertain, nervous. Afraid. That was the bread and butter of your expected partner though, the underlying pleasure for him in all of your activities.

As if on cue, you were aware of a flickering light from the corridor, which was now dimly lit in the glow, shadows shifting on the walls as the source of the glow came closer to you. Until Jonathan was there, standing in the door frame, holding a small plate upon which the candle stood.

“Very scary.” You tried to sound almost insolent. You’d found that an element of misbehaviour was something he appreciated, and it worked. Letting down his usual stoic visage, Jonathan Crane allowed himself to smile.

“Is that…Can I smell pumpkin? Are those pumpkin scented candles, Jon?” He nodded lightly, beginning to approach you. The room felt better with him in it. Perhaps because of his company, but more likely because Jonathan was now the scariest thing in the room, and you trusted him implicitly. “How very ‘on brand’ of you.”

Scoffing at the remark, he brought his dry and calloused fingers across your wrists, letting his fingernails drag delicately along them before he began strapping your arms under the degraded leather restraints, rusted buckle clanking as he tugged to make sure everything was tight. Once your arms were done, he moved to your legs, allowing himself a brief moment to gaze over your body from where he stood at the slightly angled chair, admiring your commitment to being completely nude here, vulnerable in the dark.

“So…are you going to stand there and stare at my dick or are you going to get on with it?” You winked at him, aware that maybe you were being a bit too much of a brat. Jonathan was a man of few words, and so when he only nodded silently in response, you let yourself lean back into the chair, gasping as he kicked the lever and brought your body down flat, a soft giggle emanating as you settled into the new position.

“You enjoy the element of surprise?”

“Immensely, as well you know, Jon.”

“Then, might I suggest a blindfold? Sensory depravation might heighten the pleasure…or the pain.”

“Do it.”

Reaching into the pocket of his tattered pants, he produced a small slip of dark material. As he lifted your head up to wrap it around, he pressed a soft, cool kiss to your forehead, before tying the scrap of fabric tight behind your head and laying you gently back down. In the darkness he had created, you waited, body responding positively to the lack of stimulus, as goosebumps formed and your swiftly stiffening cock twitched in anticipation.

A sudden drop on your chest, warm and pleasant, but shocking enough to have you arch as much as you could past the restraints. Jonathan stood to your side, shushing you softly and stroking your arm to soothe the nerves he so loved to inflict upon you.

Three more drips before you could ascertain that it was wax from the candle he held. Here in the darkness, it was the sole source of light, warmth, and was teasing your skin. The closer he held it to the skin, the warmer it felt. Jonathan was controlled though. He was aware of your responses, even if you weren’t in tune to them yourself. Immensely pleasurable, carefully orchestrated, he let a long trail of drips travel from your chest to your abdomen, letting it stop just as it came close to your now completely erect cock.

“Jonathan…” You were so aware of how breathy your voice was, how desperate you must have appeared writhing under the restraints, desperately trying to ask for more without sounding too needy.

“More?”

“More.”

“Please?”

“Please, Jon.”

His cool hand, almost clammy, rubbed the ever-sensitive head of your cock, pressing it down to lay your length flat. Starting from the base of the shaft, he dripped the wax, closing the distance between where he held the candle and your body as he moved up closer to the tip. The increased heat, no time for the wax to cool down, had your breath hitching as you pursed your lips against the moans that tried to come out, aware that the echoes of the almost empty room might alert any lingering staff to your location, interrupting your sordid little date.

As he kept his palm firmly on your head, he picked at the other drops along your length, teasing them from the skin now that they had cooled in the frigid air of the room. Delicious notes of pleasure rumbling from his chest at the way you bit your lip at the feeling of the wax teasing at the skin. But before you could get used to the gentle caress, Jonathan pulled back.

“Do you trust me?”

“I…yes.”

“Good.”

His presence seemed to disappear from the room. He was completely silent, to the point you weren’t sure if he had left. There was no breath, no shuffling, not even the sound of fabric moving.

“Jonathan?”

Foolish to expect you might be able to tell from the echo whether or not he was still there with you. Panic began to set in as you considered that he might leave you here, tied up, blindfolded, completely at the mercy of whoever, or whatever, might find you.

“Jonathan!”

“Scared?”

“Christ!” You jumped, ratting the buckles of the restraints, the bed shifting under you as you shook in terror.

“Shh…shh…”

Before you were able to speak again, your breath was lost when the searing heat of the wax hit your throat, apple’s Adam the target first before he began to let it drip up and down, allowing some of it to pool in the gap where your collar bones met the bottom of your neck.

“Jon…”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

You stayed silent, lips pressed tight together against the pain, which stung and then subsided as the wax dried. Aware of the growing adrenaline, you could feel yourself tensing up, a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach surging as Jonathan placed one hand against your cheek, still shushing you, soothing you against the tingling, smarting, deeply arousing touch of the wax against your now surely reddening skin.

“Good boy.”

The growl under the words was all it took to set you off, cock twitching hard as you came, hands-free, spilling onto yourself, staining in white against the orange of the wax. You mewled pathetically as he drew the candle down, a clink as he set the plate to the side. His nails, lightly scratching your temples as he pulled back the blindfold. You looked up into his clouded eyes, searching for emotion, but you were met with his signature stoicism again, before he pressed a silent kiss to you and began unbuckling the restraints while he hummed a soft tune.

#finnie writes #batman #fanfic #riddler x you #scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #rogues gallery #batman rogues

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orphancookie69 · 2 years ago

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My Infertility Journey: Part 4

Yeah, future me needs to go in the past and tell past me to not be crazy. Well, they have not arrived yet-part four starts. The sooner I get in the drivers seat the sooner I park my car in the winners circle I hope....Just hopping on late? Here is Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

August 2022:

A week after the ERA comes a cycle. This is highly unusual as it does not normally come that soon. Second half of the month is the start of round 4. Initial ultrasound and bloodwork scheduled to see if the body is on the starting line. Now let’s talk about the definition of insanity, it is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. Based on the ERA, I am perfectly fine and we have been doing this with proper timing-so initially they said we are going to move forward with no changes. At consultation, they mentioned adding Intralipids-IV injected twice during the process. I am open to this idea, more than the anti-coagulants, because I think my body can only handle so many injections. I only have two more embryos at this point, and while I want to make sure they have the best odds of sucess-there are physical limitations of being...ya know...human?

The results from the blood work came back, my hormones were too high. So they are having me wait and we will reassess on next cycle. I am happy that this news came from the doctor, I felt like it was better to wait and give the body a break. But for some reason, it felt like it would not have as much credence as it does coming from the doctor backed by “data”. I am looking forward to my break and plan on getting a family trip to Havasu in before my next cycle. PARTAY! No but otherwise this is a great time to hunker down and see if I can’t get some good training in for game day. Using muscle stims, heat, massage, and exercise to promote healing of the area. Maintaining diet and exercise to see if I can’t lose anymore weight before then.

September 2022:

Have I ever mentioned how much of this process is PLAYING THE WAITING GAME? But waiting has its own perks. So far just waiting for a cycle to come, estimated to come around the middle of the month according to P Tracker, and see if hormone levels are good enough to move forward. Also, I am (heavily) playing with the idea of implanting two instead of just one. My own doctor says the odds are better with just one, but I have heard a lot of other doctors/patients have success with 2. Part of me really likes the idea of implanting both and having this be the last round, for better or for worse. We will see what the doctor says.

So my body decided to get stuck in “period limbo” this cycle. I get all the feels but none of the results. Doctor did a “wellness check” on me and decided to reset my cycle with a week’s worth of Birth Control. Then we are going to move on the next cycle. I picked up my prescription and then took them, one a day, for a week. My doctor puts me on Enskyce, and man I usually get all of the side effects: migraines, nausea, and lack of energy.

October 2022:

Body goes into cycle and then on Cycle Day 5, we went in for an appointment. Ultrasound and bloodwork looked good, we updated my thyroid panel as well. Now starts injections and the new element this time-intralipids. They are to be done at a third party facility, Oso Home Care in Irvine, in week 4 (before transfer) and after transfer. I am (attempting) to schedule an appointment with Oso Home Care after my next Ultrasound/Bloodwork appointment with Fertility Care in Brea. Ya know the one appointment(s) before implant. It is kind of crazy how much happens in a month.

Drugs: EV (Estradiol Valerate), Dex (Dexamethasone), P4 (Progesterone), hCG, Valium, Doxy (Doxycycline Hyclate), Medrol (methylprednisolone),

Vitamins: Baby Aspirin, Prenatal vitamins (NAC, Prenatal, Omega 3, L Arginine, Coq10, Myo Inositol, D3)

Suggestions: Keto diet/Fasting, Exercise, Proper Injection Guidelines.

Price: $5,000+ (Fertility Care), $100+ (MDR Pharmacy), $550 (Oso Home Care),

Here are some Injection Guidelines:

Before: Ice the area

During: Inject the right area, Massage it after

After: Walk it off a bit, Use a heating pad

In Between: Arnica, Massaging to promote healing

Check: Infection (red, raised/bumpy, burning, itchy)

Note: Injections are intramuscular, and depending on the injection, there are only so many spots you can inject. Just because there are other muscles, does not mean you can use them even if your areas are “out of commission”. You just gotta keep them in commission!

The phone tag that was had was fun by all? Honestly as much as this is not my first rodeo and this should not worry me, the intralipids worry me a bit. Really the scheduling process being the slowest thing ever doesn’t help anything either. Be careful when doing research too, it is not always as helpful as you would think to know what you are signing up for. Also, the slow time between the first and second appointment where there is only an injection every 3 days is lovely. So I barely got my appointment for the intralipid place, if I did not call, that might not have happened. Then went in for the next ultrasound, the last one before implant. Ultrasound was good and blood work was TBD.

This starts the next phase of the process. From here we add 4 hCG shots, add 2 times a day of p4, and continue with EV every 3 days. Also, for the hCG...the first injection has to be in the back area, but the smaller ones can go in the stomach to give the back a bit of a break. Round one of the Intralipids happens. The dexamethasone comes off the schedule just before implant-a couple of meds get added for a couple days around implant. Implant happens, this time it will be a boy (currently between the names Roland and Kai). After implant it is suggested for up to 3 days of rest. Then we move into November (after playing the waiting game) to confirm the pregnancy.

Oso Home Care...Intralipids: Its a cute little place in Irvine. Kind of disorganized and busy but it would seem a lot people go to a facility like this. I got there early. I spent 2.5 hours in the chair. Yeah, kind of a long time. The gals that work there are sweet, but I don’t like how they had to prick both my arms to get it to work. I felt strange after? I am not sure how I was supposed to feel. Based on when I left and where home is, it took an hour to get home. But I hope in the future that since I am already in the system that booking is easier, and I kind of have a better idea of what to expect. Dress comfortable, don’t bring a book.

Ovation Fertility...Implant: I always forget COVID never stopped being a reality for hospital establishments. I always forget to bring a mask to these things. Arrive 15 minutes early in Newport Beach, take a Valium an hour before. Implant goes well-go home and rest. Also, if they let your partner in-film the implant.

Implant day is a day of rest, and this time I am trying to take two more days of rest after. I am an awful patient and this is hard for me to do. Post transfer we ran low on p4 so we transitioned to 1/2 crinone and 1/2 p4 for the every 12 hour injections. There are enough drugs on hand to get through to the pregnancy test and once confirmed, we stick with this or go all crinone. I don’t remember my last boys’ implant well but this time around, my left uterus feels like a battle zone a bit.

Trimester Breakdown:

Part 1: 10/7-1/8

Part 2: 1/9-4/12

Part 3: 4/13-7/15

November 2022:

An appointment was set up to have a blood draw/pregnancy test on 11/7. What was the time like before? I felt most, if not all, the symptoms. Pray tell, what are the symptoms of the first trimester?

First Trimester Signs: Nausea, Metallic Taste, Foggy Brain, Cramps, Tiredness, Breast Tenderness,

For me, and according to old wives tales, boys are supposed to be worse. This round definitely felt different as I felt very sore for up to a week after implant. Google says this is ok but man, it was kind of odd. The first blood test of Week 4/5 happened and TBD. If this goes well, I go two more times-two days apart. In theory the HCG a pregnant body produces should double every day. The first time you are able to view anything on an ultrasound is week 6. The next, and final, intralipid appointment would also happen that week.

The first blood test was good and positive, the next blood test the values should of doubled...and they did not. They increased but did not double. The office wants me to see the third test before jumping to any conclusions. The second blood draw was a 15% rise. The third blood draw was a 66% rise, so they kept us on the schedule and we scheduled the first ultrasound at 6 weeks 4 days. They also had me schedule my second, and last, intralipid appointment for that same day. Prior to going to going into the first ultrasound, there were 50/50 odds that this is a viable pregnancy.

We went in for an ultrasound and there was a gestational sac, but nothing that could be seen in the sac. They did a blood draw, to confirm the hCG is rising as a pregnant body should be. I had an intralipid appointment but they wanted me to move it, and wait for the results. The beta was rising, so we stay in the game another week. Order more drugs from MDR Pharmacy and scheduled another ultrasound for the end of the week. The intralipid appointment was moved to the same day as the next ultrasound.

Oso Home Care...Intralipids: This trip was shorter, already in the system and they have an idea of how quickly you take the liquids and what not. I believe this time was about 3 hours?

Also, I am keeping track of my weight, as women who are overweight before need to be careful how much weight they put on. When I checked on it, I actually had lost weight. Between my keto diet, morning sickness, and other pregnancy symptoms. In the first trimester one can lose a bit, but should this trend keep up in the second trimester...we got problems. Went in for the next appointment and while it was still not where it was supposed to be, there was improvement in both Beta (blood draw) and ultrasound findings. By this time I am almost 8 weeks along and there should be some major organs created, like the heart.

December 2022:

The next ultrasound would be interesting as it was kind of the determined trip to “call it”. Why would I want to call it? Because since implant, it has been very “we don’t have good news but we have not bad news so keep injecting”. And the body can only take so much for something that they said was most likely to end in bad news? But the doctor makes a good point that while certain things should be in place by this appointment, babies can be “past their due date” so if they are slow to grow, as long as they grow, it is fine? As the train carrying the passenger, the “limbo” is annoying as hell.

The Week 8 Ultrasound: Yeah, so that went about as good as that was going to. The doctor finally called it. It is sad, bumming, annoying, frustrating, relieving yet unwantedly so. They are three options to resolve this round: to let it happen naturally, use drugs to help “speed things along”, or get a D&C. For now, we are going to cancel medications and assess in another couple of days. Did a blood draw to see where the beta is, and establish a comparison point for declines in the future.

For the next blood draw, I could of gone to my Fertility Care office-but with us at the sad end of the process-and them not being part of our insurance-we decided to finish the process in slightly more complicated insured way. They ordered the blood draw at Quest Diagnostics. I made an appointment and the results were sent to Fertility Care. I have seen some insurance that covers infertility, but for the most part that is a sad joke. Some jobs cover that too. If you need that as an option, it’s worth looking into.

Pay attention to your body. I had sharp pains on my lower left abdomen area the day before the blood draw. Like, bad enough to make me basically pointless the rest of the night. The next day they continued, and I called it in. I am now on the alert for heavy bleeding and those pains, as the combination means bad news. But should be signs the body is starting the miscarriage process. To speed things up, they put me on Letrozole and Acetaminophen-COD. This will be my first time having a drug induced natural miscarriage.

Four pills at night for 7 nights, bleeding can last up to a week. Blood was being drawn at Quest Diagnostics and the beta hcg was going down. I used pads for a week to “measure” how much I was bleeding, more than two pads in two hours was bad news. Blood draw to see where we were at, luckily enough for all involved-there was no hemorrhaging. The second week of miscarriage recovery-less blood, less medications, but no less feels? Research shows it could take up to 6 weeks for my body to get back to “normal”. There are some herbs and vitamins I can take to help, but mostly it was rest and food and relaxation.

So, what happened? While there are no answers, there is a scientific name for this. Funny how that works out huh? Here is what I think happened:

“ A blighted ovum, also called an anembryonic pregnancy, occurs when an early embryo never develops or stops developing, is resorbed and leaves an empty gestational sac. The reason this occurs is often unknown, but it may be due to chromosomal abnormalities in the fertilized egg.” (Source: https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/pregnancy-loss-miscarriage/expert-answers/blighted-ovum/faq-20057783)

Because this is an IVF process, and everything is tested and in some ways controlled, I doubt it is because of any chromosomal abnormalities. But it is crazy how many variations of miscarriages are out there. And really, even in the same person’s journey-no two are the same. Oh to know so much yet so little.

Honestly, this is a very tough process. I am not sure what to think. Doctor thinks we should implant (IN ME) the last embryo, possibly changing nothing, and see if it works when I am mentally and emotionally ready. For now, the only thing for sure is its BREAK TIME. Is it too soon for a surrogate? I don’t understand how I can be such a medical mystery. It is a very strange feeling.

#my infertility journey #IVF #in vetro fertilzation #round 4 #pixabay #ERA #intralipids #rant #cvs pharmacy #birth control #enskyce #fertility care #oso home care #ovation fertility #surrogate #quest diagnostics #anembryonic pregnancy #miscarriage #blighted ovum

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ss-trashboat · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,502 times in 2022

That's 1,171 more posts than 2021!

412 posts created (27%)

1,090 posts reblogged (73%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@chrissybxo

@ss-trashboat

@sybilius

@zumo-san

I tagged 1,449 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#wrasslin - 743 posts

#queue - 610 posts

#my beloved - 387 posts

#trashy yells - 180 posts

#my art - 105 posts

#wrasslin yells - 86 posts

#traditional art - 72 posts

#fan art - 72 posts

#trashy watches tag league - 66 posts

#wrestling fan art - 54 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#ive known salty for close to 12 years now cause i started talking to her cause i loved her art back then and she was so nice

My Top Posts in 2022:

and here we draw hands and shirts for adam cole bay bay ~

29 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

Wrestleblr Secret Santa

welcome! this is just a fun little thing to spread some serotonin this holiday season. not necessarily holiday related, but something to pick up our spirits this holiday season ~

here is the form to fill out (i hope it works i haven't made one before lol). there's something for everyone here: writers, gif makers, editors, all artists welcome!!

i will be accepting applications for a week so they will close at midnight est on december 4th. then i will start assigning people! will be done through tumblr messenger so if you're not cool with that let me know please.

pieces are due to your partner by the end of the year, december 31st, but you absolutely can post sooner! if something comes up and you're unable to complete, let me know! we will have an option to be a back up artist, and i will also be a back up artist for anyone that's unable to complete on time.

most important, have fun! this is a super casual thing (i've never thrown one of these before so it's a learning process lol) so enjoying yourself is the most important thing. let me know if you have any questions, and share to tell your friends!!

43 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

happy death before dishonor day, part two. beloved boi yoots, cause ofc i had to get all those emotions out of my system oof

45 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

hey guys

so i wanna put together a fund of sorts to get night back to the states for a con in february. not much has been fleshed out as they're just announcing people, but there's a sentimental one for night and i just really want this to happen. cause who knows when we'll get to do this again. and i just. really miss my best friend

i know this is a long shot, especially before the holidays, but any little bit helps. i'm linking my ko-fi here that has the goal. i have some tiers set up as well as commission options. i'll also add the art i have for sale over time too.

share and tell your friends. let's start 2023 off great for night <33

55 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

babe made me a sheet to make things easier to share, but im taking sketch commissions! these will be on smaller paper, around 5x7 and 7x9, and can be shipped to you! only one person per page tho as they're smaller. will also do non-wrestling. these are for trip funds so please share and tell your friends!!

68 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #not bad for my first real year on tumblr #also crying at all those tags on yoots ; ;#thank you guys for being so nice to little ol me <33

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starsstruck · 5 years ago

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shampoo bottles

a friends with benefits gone wrong. harry can’t bring himself to get rid of everything you’ve left at his place after things fall apart. beat up red cars, crumpled sweatshirts and of course, shampoo bottles.

based off the song “shampoo bottles” by peach pit.

pairing: harry x reader words: 6.9k rating: M

a/n: this is just a little something i had inspiration for ! like i said its based off the song “shampoo bottles” by peach pit (great song great band). its an OU but im not regarding tour dates or quarantine or wtv, i just have dates so its easier to follow since i go back and forth a lot ! its a bit of a different writing style than ive done before so hopefully everyone likes it ! would love to hear what you think, and enjoy !

***

November 20th

The shampoo bottles taunted him.

The worst part was Harry wished they weren’t empty. He wished that there was still even a drop left in them so that he could rub it through his own hair. Although having milked them of their last contents weeks ago, they still sat in the corner of his shower.

The smell lingered on them. The sweet smell of some flower, maybe some orange blossom, he didn’t ever really know. All he knew is that he was addicted to the smell, and seeing the bottles sit in the corner as he showered made him feel like he could smell them, like he could smell you.

He remembered the day you brought the bottles over, claiming to be annoyed with the way his shampoo just wasn’t the same. The idea of you smelling like him brought a heat to his stomach, he liked the smell of your shampoo even better. And now the bottles sat there. Taunting him.

October 15th

“What’s with the bag?” Laughing as he pointed at the bag in your hand, he wondered what you could possibly be bringing with you to the washroom.

“Brought my own shampoo,” you pulled a bottle out of the canvas tote bag around you were holding, smile wide on your lips. “And some other things. Hope you don’t mind.”

He jutted his lips out in a mock pout. “What’s wrong with my things?”

“Don’t like your shampoo.” You hummed, disappearing behind the still open door frame that led to the washroom. “Don’t worry! I still like your nice moisturizer, does wonders for my skin.”

He scrambled up in his sheets at the sound of the shower turning on. Standing in the door frame of the washroom, he watched as you pulled off your underwear and dropped them aside. He knew that you could feel him watching you, and that you were pretending not to notice or care.

Stepping into the shower, shutting the glass door behind you as you let the water hit your back. He stayed where he was for a minute, until steam was beginning to fog the glass door that separated you two and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Let me do that,” humming as he stepped into the shower next to you, just as you were reaching for the shampoo bottle that you brought.

“Awfully nice of you,” moving aside slightly, you passed him the shampoo bottle. Moving around so that he stood directly in front of, you letting you stand under the stream of water. Squeezing some shampoo out onto his hand, he put the bottle down and rubbed his hand through your hair.

“Feels nice,” you shut your eyes, Harry watched water droplets fall down your forehead that end up getting caught in your eyelashes. He brough both hands to your head, massaging the shampoo in. Taking extra time to rub his fingertips into your scalp, enjoying the content smile on your lips as you leaned into his touch.

He knew you, he knew you well. In this moment he knew that you were doing it on purpose: the small moans in the back of your throat as he rubbed his hands against your head, the way you arched your back slightly, and the way you titled your head back in the same way you did when his head was between your thighs.

Tilting your head in his hands so that the stream of water hit your scalp, rinsing out the suds. The smell around him was only of the sweet orange blossom mixed with something else, he could never put his finger on it.

“All done,” he grinned, tapping your eyelid gently. He watched as you rubbed the water from your eyes, blinking them open to gaze into his.

He kept his hands around you, dropping to your shoulder as he pulled himself closer to you. Semi hard length pressing into your thigh, your eyes dropped down and were soon followed by your hands. Jolt sent through his abdomen as your warm hands wrapped around him, lightly tugging and pulling.

“’s nice,” he mumbled, feeling the blood leave his brain and relocate between his legs. Your grip tightened around him, thumb rubbing over his tip in a way that made his hips buck into your hand. His grip around you tightened when your eyes met his again, tongue darting out to lick water from your lips.

His legs nearly buckled when you dropped down to your knees, remaining under the shower stream. He didn’t mind being in the colder side of the shower, especially if you were going to be on your knees in front of him.

“Want to get me in your mouth?” His voice nearly surprised him at its hoarseness. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had you like this before, it was just that every time you had your hands on him it drove him completely crazy.

Watching your slow nod, Harry wrapped a hand over your head, tugging on the recently washed strands as he encouraged you. Not able to take his eyes off of you as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, slowly easing him into your mouth until your lips met where your hand was still wrapped around him.

“Look so good like this.”

November 20th

His hand didn’t do you justice, but it was all he had. It was like the smell of your shampoo filled his senses every time he stepped foot in his shower, no every time he stepped foot in his washroom. Every time he saw those goddamn shampoo bottles sitting. Untouched.

He just couldn’t bring himself to throw them out.

Nothing could clear his mind. It had been weeks, and nothing he did could get his mind off of you. Maybe that was his own fault. He knew it was his own fault. His place was littered with traces of you.

Part of him probably got something out of his pain, but he didn’t care.

Not when he couldn’t bring himself to clean out his bathroom, because of the way your toothbrush sat so nicely next to his. Or the way you had brought him some organic soaps, claiming they smelt really good and were made out of all kind of nice essential oils.

He couldn’t even bring himself to use that bar of soap, knowing the more he used it the smaller it would get, and soon it’d be gone.

But his wallowing really hit an all time high when he found your sweatshirt.

He really thought you had taken all your clothes with you. You didn’t leave a lot of them at his place to begin with. Clothes being the one thing you claimed you didn’t need as you helped yourself freely to his closet.

But when he was going through said closet, he found a bunched up blue sweatshirt he had forgotten he kept.

September 2nd

It was an odd rainy night, and Harry didn’t feel like going out. He was no stranger to poor weather, but the rain seemed to be the last thing he needed to decided that he would rather stay in. Relieved when you had shared his opinion, agreeing to come over with a bottle of margarita mix. It was just the two of you, Harry just wanted a calm night in with his friend and maybe a couple drinks, ones they could make themselves.

Soon you were seated on his couch, leaning against the armrest with your feet pointed towards him. Cozy in your sweatshirt, gripping your drink tight between your fingers.

“Would you let me draw one for you?”

You spluttered out a laugh at his request. “God no!” Your laugh deepened when you glanced up at him. “Nothing against you, Harry. Just want a professional to do it.”

The movie put in was long forgotten, now facing each other and talking about where you should get your first tattoo. You had told him what you wanted to get, you just had no idea where it should go.

“Fine,” he huffed, playfully of course. His head felt hazy, couple of drinks have come and gone and he was still nursing another strong cocktail in his hands. “So, where are you gonna get it?”

“That’s the problem,” you muttered, taking a big sip of your drink. “I don’t think I want it really visible, like not on my arms or anything.”

Harry nodded, knowing that you were nervous about regretting a tattoo. “You thinking maybe around your ribs?”

He watched as you lifted your sweatshirt a bit, finger tips brushing over your ribcage. “I don’t know – heard it hurts really bad there.”

“Not too much,” Harry thought over his own experience, although knowing you were a bit more uneasy with needles.

“I was thinking like,” you patted the spot where you hipbone was. “My hip. Kind of cute, no?”

He bit back a smile. “Very cute.” The alcohol spoke before he could. He thought it was much more than cute, he thought that a tattoo on your hip was the best idea you’d had in years.

“Plus it’s kind of,” you paused, licking your lips. “Intimate.”

He sucked in a breath. He didn’t like the idea of someone else finding your tattoo. A tattoo that he was helping you figure out. He didn’t like the idea of someone kissing it, of someone peeling off your pants and being delighted to see a little tattoo there, just for them.

It was selfish of him, and he knew it wasn’t right. The two of you had both been single for a while and he had gotten so used to having you around, he was getting jealous at the thought of someone taking you away from him.

“You’re out of it,” you giggled, after a moment too long in silence.

Harry broke himself out of his daze. “’m not drunk,” he muttered into his glass, although he was. And the alcohol was clouding his mind, and he didn’t know what to do about it. “Hip is a really good idea.”

Mentally wincing at how eager he sounded, he watched as you nodded, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “Think it’ll hurt a lot?”

He chuckled to himself. “It’s a tattoo darling, course it’ll hurt a bit. I can come wit’ you if you want, hold your hand and all.”

Smile broke out on your face, teeth no longer gnawing on your lip. “That’d be nice,” humming as you placed your drink on the table in front of you. “Did yours hurt a lot?”

“Couple of them were a bit more painful, yeah.” He nodded, honestly not really remembering. “Get used to it after a while. One’s on my chest were probably the worst.”

“I like your butterfly,” you moved a foot out, nudging his thigh with it. “I would be too scared to get something that big though.”

“You’ll see,” he laughed. “Once you get one you won’t be able to stop.” He mindlessly trailed his hand over his shirt, where his tattoo rested.

“Don’t know about that. I don’t know if I would want a too many,” you hummed into your cup. “I do like all of yours though.”

“Yeah?” He sat up straighter. “Which ones your favourite?”

You sit up straighter as well, shuffling towards him a bit on the couch. “Can’t choose just one.” He tried not to jolt when your fingertips met his forearm, gently trailing up and following the lines of his tattoos. “What about you?”

He was silent for another moment too long, watching your fingers move up his arm. Finally glancing up at you, meeting your eyes with a lazy smile. “Don’t know either.”

“You’re completely pissed,” you laughed at his slow response, his hand moved without thinking, and pinched your cheek.

“Maybe,” his mouth and hands were working without his mind. “Skin is burning hot darling.” Hand smoothing around your face, he moved away for a second to place his drink next to yours on the table before tapping your forehead with a cool fingertip.

“’s cold,” you laughed, eyes shutting in a slow blink. “I heard,” you paused for another moment, as Harry brought his hand away from your face. “Heard tattoos feel like a bunch of little scratches.”

“Something like that,” he hummed, not being able to recall any tattoos he’s ever gotten in this moment.

“It’s like,” he moved his hand to your waist, lightly pushing under your sweatshirt. If he weren’t so close to you, he would’ve missed the little gasp that left your lips. “Like this.”

His nails weren’t nearly long enough to properly scratch at your skin, but he slowly dragged them along your ribs. “But faster, and it’s a needle.”

“Doesn’t really sound like the same thing,” your laugh sounded nervous, nearly breathless.

“Not really no,” he laughed lightly. Shuffling even closer to you, leg pressing against your knee. The smell of your shampoo overwhelmed him, he had always loved it and in his intoxication, it was the most potent smell ever.

“What are you doing,” your voice dropped down to a whisper. Where his hand had earlier been on your cheek, he pressed a little kiss.

“I’m just,” Harry didn’t know what he was doing. He just wanted to feel your skin under his lips, he just wanted to be close to you. “Helping ya’ out with tattoo ideas.”

He pressed another series of kisses to your cheek, eliciting a sigh from your lips. You didn’t push him away, and his hand that had been scratching at your waist gripped onto your skin.

“’s just me,” he babbled. “Skin’s so warm, can’t help –” he breathed in deeply, hand on your waist moving to your knee. He gently pushed your leg aside as he settled himself in closer to you. His lips were by your jaw, and he wanted so badly to feel your own mouth under his. “– can’t help m’self.”

You didn’t move under him, except for a single hand coming up to grip the neckline of his shirt. “Le’ me,” he pleaded, voice low. “Please, let me.”

You tilted your head up a bit towards him, lips ever so lightly parted. “Go ahead.”

He took that as all the invitation he needed, mouth sliding from your chin to cover yours. He sighed into your mouth, knee coming up to the couch as he repositioned himself.

He kissed you deep, tasting you for the first time and not able to get enough of it. Your hand on his shirt slid around his neck, gripping tightly onto his skin as you pulled him closer. His hand gripped your leg, thumb rubbing small circles through the loose materials of your sweats.

“’s good, you’re so –” Harry couldn’t form one coherent sentence. He wanted to feel you everywhere, he wanted to cross this uncharted territory and feel your skin on his. A part of him, a tiny part of him in the back of his head was telling him this wasn’t right but he was pissed and he wanted you. Badly.

“Harry,” your voice was a dream. He had moved his mouth down your jaw again, this time biting and licking as he moved down your neck.

“Jus’ wanna kiss – want a taste.”

He lifted himself from you for a moment, helping you reposition yourself so that you could lay on your back, Harry hovering nearly awkwardly over you but he didn’t care. It was a flurry of lips on skin and quick moving hands. He pushed a hand under your sweatshirt, delighted in finding you not wearing a bra, while you shared lime flavoured kisses.

You were pushing your hips against his, rubbing against him in a way that made his breath catch in the back of his throat. He was hard and heavy in his sweatpants, drunk enough that he if he kept grinding against your hip in the way he was now, he wouldn’t last very long.

“Fuck,” you whimpered from under him, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple under your sweatshirt while his mouth met yours again.

He snaked his hand down your tummy, only hesitating when he met the band of your sweatpants. “Want to,” he panted, “wanna feel you.”

“Yes.” The single word was a moan from your lips, as his hand pushed past your pants. Fingers snaking under your underwear, he nearly choked when he pushed through your folds.

“Fuck me,” he never wanted to leave you. “You always get this wet?”

You only whimpered from under him again, head pushing into the cushion of the couch as he circled your clit. He focused on the way you whined and pleaded under him; the way you jolted when he pushed a finger inside of you, and then two.

You were warm, he couldn’t get over how hot your skin was all over and how much it made him melt. His lips were gliding all over your skin, sucking sweetly on your neck and moving roughly over your mouth. Catching your moans into his open mouth as if he could keep them forever.

“I – Harry please don’t stop,” you were squirming underneath of him. Arching yourself off the couch, pushing yourself against him.

Rush through his body at how desperate you sounded, at the way his name was moaned from your lips. “Cum fo’ me darling,” he curled his fingers inside of you, pushing every spot that made you gasp.

He worked you over the edge, eyes narrowing on every move you made. And when you clenched around his fingers, thighs clamping together and back rising from the bed, he wished he could stay in this moment forever.

After a moment you peaked your eyes open, lazy smile on your lips as he pulled you in for a deep kiss. Wet fingers slipping out from under your sweats, gripping your skin.

“So gorgeous, you – fuck –” he bucked into your hand as he felt you palm over his bulge. Your lips pressed into this straining neck, your turn to lick and bite at his skin while you grabbed at his cock over his pants.

“That’s it,” he praises, hips bucking against your hand. Your fingers trickled under the band of his sweatpants, gripping him blindly. Your other hand was patting his shoulder, nudging him with a muffled voice. “Harry, move up a bit.”

He scrambled up to his knees, pulling you up with him until he sat with his back against the couch with you on his lap. You were pushing up his shirt, kissing at his neck while your hand gently jerked him off.

“Jesus you’re –” he fell into your touch, leaning against you. The whine that left his throat as your hand left his cock came from deep in his chest. Watching closely as you spat into your hand before shifting over him again.

He couldn’t help the way he gripped your thighs as you worked your hand over him, until he was bucking his hips into your hand. A whining mess, begging you over and over again to keep going, to not stop and to never leave him.

“You are – fuck,” he held you tight as he dropped is head in the crook of your neck, breathing uneven as he came on your hand. After a moment he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, helping you off the couch with wobbly legs to get the both of you cleaned up.

November 20th

He remembers that day like it was yesterday. The way you whined and whimpered under him for the first time, the way he found himself intoxicated (and not just by the alcohol).

Shy smiles were shared as he offered you stay the night, too late and both still too intoxicated to drive. You had decided you were too hot in your sweatshirt and grabbed one of his shirts instead. He pulled you in close under his sheets, kissing over your exposed skin and wanting to melt in the warmth coming off your body.

And apparently, you had completely forgotten about your sweatshirt.

The next morning neither of you said anything. Nothing of the sorts was even brought up again until a week later when you guys were out for a drink and he suddenly ached to have you under him. He had kissed you outside the bar, pulling you home with him until you were sat on his thigh grinding and moaning against him.

It had continued that way for a couple more weeks, neither of you really making any mention of it except for slipping hands under clothing and stealing kisses after a couple drinks.

That was, until you had sex for the first time. He was barely drunk, only needing one drink as an excuse to call you. Bugging you nonstop from outside the bar, wanting you to be there with him. He had managed to get you to drive over and pick him up, in your sweats and his shirt because you had been just about to go to bed.

You had walked him into his place, making sure he drank two glasses of water before he pulled you into bed with him, saying that since you were already ready for bed you may as well just stay the night there with him.

Cuddling into you, he couldn’t help kissing his way down until soon he had you on your back with his head between your thighs. Telling you over and over again that it was a ‘thank you’ for coming to pick him up.

But it wasn’t enough for him to grind against the mattress, while he pulled an orgasm out of you. He was greedy, he wanted another one, he wanted to feel you everywhere.

He eased you up to your knees, bending you over on the mattress with your ass in the air while he fumbled with the condom. It was everything he could’ve dreamt of and more, so much more. He couldn’t get enough, and didn’t think he ever would. Holding your close against him, chest pressed to your back as he praised you endlessly. You were just as warm around him as you were his fingers, and he had to grip you so tight to make sure it was real.

Both ending the night passed out side by side, he knew the next morning he needed to say something.

September 19th

“Bit sore,” you laughed, following him around the corner from the washroom. He was getting some breakfast ready, and the sight of you standing in his shirt and nothing else made him want to take you over the counter again.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, mind worrying over what to say next. “I – last night was fun, yeah?”

Leaning against the counter next to him, grabbing a handful of grapes from the bowl in front of you. “It was,” you voice was quiet, nearly timid.

“I –,” he paused again, unable to form the sentences he wanted to. ‘I like fooling around with you’ or ‘I like fucking you’ didn’t sound nice rolling off the tongue. “I like doing… what we’re doing. And I want to keep doing what we’re doing. If you do too.” He bit his lips together, mentally cringing at how awkward he sounded.

“I do too,” you said, averting your eyes from his as you nodded. “Both single, and it’s been a while, and…” Harry was relieved to see you also didn’t seem to know how to voice your feelings. “We’re friends.”

He nodded slowly, watching your every move. “Then, we’re doing this? Don’t need to wait for an excuse to have you come over anymore?”

Laughing lightly, you finally met his eyes. “Yeah,” you voice was airy. “But if either of us meet someone or need to end it, we do. Right?”

“Right,” he nodded, almost too eagerly and the new agreement. “What do you want for breakfast?”

November 23rd

Apparently, he couldn’t escape you outside of his house either. Deciding that wallowing by himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere, he thought that maybe a run would help clear his mind. It worked, for a good ten minutes before he stopped dead in his tracks.

Blocks away from his place he saw a red car parked. The same make and model of your red car.

Was it you? Could it be you? What are you doing so close to his house? He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks, not since the fight that made you leave in such a rush that you left your shampoo bottles in his shower.

Tentatively walking towards the parked car, not seeing the pendant that you kept hanging off the review mirror. He decided it was too risky, that if it was your car, he wasn’t ready to see you, especially if he was snooping around your car.

But the car was still there the next day. Deciding fuck it, and walked towards it, hoping he didn’t look suspicious for whatever reason. As he got closer, he saw for a fact that there was no pendant hanging from the review mirror, and that those dents by the door were not there.

It wasn’t you.

He didn’t know if he was upset or relieved. He almost missed those dents on the door, always telling you to get it fixed. Stubborn as always, constantly telling him that “I don’t need to get it fixed if it doesn’t affect how it drives.”

That car was the last thing he saw before you left his house the last time he saw you.

November 5th

“What are you feeling for dinner?”

You hummed, opening up his fridge to stare at the contents. “We can make…” you were mumbling to yourself, examining the contents. “Do you have rice? We can make a stir fry,” you squinted in the fridge.

“Sounds good,” reaching through his cupboards for a pan, as you grabbed a cutting board and a knife, always preferring to chop the vegetables. “How’s your week?”

“Fine,” mumbling from where you stood across from him in the kitchen. “Work was the same, not to stressful right now which is nice. I, uh –”

He looked up at the hesitation in your voice. “I had a date.”

He nearly let go of the pot in his hand. He felt his stomach dropping, happy to be occupied with turning on the stove as he didn’t have to face you. “Yeah?” trying to keep his face calm before turning around to you again. “With who?”

“A guy from work,” you were averting your eyes, twisting the ring around your middle finger. You were nervous, he realized.

“How’d it go?”

“Okay,” you shrugged, looking down at your hands as they worked chopping the onion on the board in front of you. “We um –”

Finally you looked up at him. “We didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Didn’t do it for you?” He tried to joke, but based off your expression he realized that really wasn’t what he should’ve said.

“Just thought you should know,” you looked away from him again, voice quiet. “Since y’know, we’re…”

Condoms had been long forgotten between the two of you. It was a silent agreement, that one should tell the other if they were going to be having sex with someone else. But for some reason, Harry had never imagined that conversation happening.

“Are you,” he tried to not let his voice shake. “Are you telling me you want to sleep with him?”

“No,” you shrugged slightly, pushing the onion around with the knife. “Don’t think that’ll happen. Just thought you should know.”

He willed himself to seem unbothered. “Okay.”

Back towards you again, pouring some oil into the pan on the burner. He could feel you watching him. Spinning back around, he saw you with your lips pressed to a thin line.

“What if I did want to sleep with him though?”

“You said you didn’t.” He desperately needed to change the subject.

“But what if?” For the first time, he realized he couldn’t read what you were thinking.

“Are you saying you want to end this?” Avoiding the question once again, he hated himself for the way he did it.

You blinked quickly, as if physically affected by his words. “I mean no, but,” you paused, and he panicked over what the end of that sentence would be. “What we’re doing its not – I mean what are we doing?”

He hated the tone of your voice, he hated how anxious you sounded. But instead of wrapping you into his arms like he wanted – and should have – he tried to swallow back any feelings he thought he might have for you. “We – we’re both taking advantage of the situation, no? Both being single and all.”

Your eyes narrowed on him. “So that’s it then? Call me over when you’ve had a few drinks and your hand isn’t enough to get you off?”

Fuck. “Darling that’s not –”

“Don’t. I practically live here, Harry. It’s not just ‘taking advantage of the situation’.”

The oil popped on the pan behind him, burner getting too hot. Swearing under his breath, turning back around to shove the pan off the heat. “I have half my things here. Wasn’t like this when we were just friends.”

Facing you again, he breathed out a sigh trying to calm himself down. “You didn’t have to bring your things over.”

You snapped your head up at his words. “That’s a low fucking blow.”

Suddenly you were moving away from him, away from the kitchen. He swore to himself again, hating himself for the way he handled the conversation. He hated himself for the way he avoided where the conversation seemed to be heading, to having him admit he wanted more from your relationship.

Calling your name behind you, watching with wide eyes as you grabbed your bag form the table, throwing it over your shoulder. “What are you…?”

“’m leaving.” Muttering as you brushed past him, heading towards the door.

Fuck. “Wait no,” he reached for your shoulder, hating the way you shrugged him off although you still spun around to him. “I – I didn’t mean it like that. I just,” he needed to say something, anything to get you to stay. “What are you saying?”

You sighed, dipping down to tug on your shoes. “I don’t know what I’m saying Harry. Maybe,” you sighed, gazing up at him. You looked tired, and sad. He hated it. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should stop.”

All his blood left his body. No. “You want to stop?” This time he wasn’t able to hide the shake in his voice.

“I gotta go Harry.” You turned away from him, reaching for the doorknob.

“Wait,” he repeated your name over and over. “Don’t leave please –”

You refused to look at him, spinning away from him. He continued calling after you, pleading you to come back but soon you were backing out of his driveway and turning around the corner.

November 24th

In hindsight, he realized he should’ve just told you he wanted you all to himself. He didn’t handle it well; he knew that then and he knows it now.

What he didn’t know at the time, what he refused to let himself think was that he wanted more with you and probably always had.

Recalling the first-time boundaries were crossed when he kissed you; the jealousy he felt when he thought about someone else being able to see the tattoo on your hip.

He remembered when you had gotten that tattoo, the skin still sensitive and wrapped in protective plastic. He still kissed at it, pulling small whimpers from the back of your throat.

He supposes that boundaries were disappearing when you started bringing over and leaving your things at his place, including those goddamn shampoo bottles. You were right to question him over the nature of your relationship, but he was too stupid and stubborn in the moment that he chose to push you away instead of admitting his feelings.

Fiddling with his phone in his hand, opening and closing your contact in his texts. He had drafted countless unsent messages, but had ultimately left you in radio silence.

And how fucked was that?

He didn’t care if it had been three weeks, or two weeks and five days to be exact. He pressed his phone to his ear, holding his breath as the phone on the other end rang.

After the second ringer, he was sure you wouldn’t pick up. He was about to end the call altogether, not having the heart to face your voicemail when a quiet “hello” spoke through the line.

“Hi,” he couldn’t breath. “It’s me – it’s Harry.”

“I know,” your voice sent a jolt through his chest.

“Didn’t think you would pick up.” He laughed humourlessly, realizing in all the fake conversations he had with you in his head he never really was prepared.

“I can hang up if you wan –”

“No,” he spoke quickly. “Sorry I just…” I love you. “I just want to talk to you, need to talk to you.”

You remained silent on the other end. “Can we meet? I can come over are we can get coffee or anything, up to you, I just need to see you.”

You were silent again, and he needed to check his phone to make sure the call was still ongoing. “I can be at yours in 15.”

His heart flipped. “Yes, that’s perfect. I – yes, see you soon.”

It was probably the longest fifteen minutes of his life. He spent it pacing around his place, trying to tidy up but ultimately not getting anything done. By the ten minute mark he was sure you weren’t coming, but right on time you were pulling that beat up red car into his driveway.

The sight of you was making him flush. Seeing you in his space, in his company like nothing had ever changed.

“How are you?” He could hear the nerves in his own voice.

“Fine,” the word was muttered, as you tentatively sat down on his couch. The very spot he had first kissed you, he realized.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, Harry, I’m not here to chit chat.”

He nodded, knowing you were right and sat far across from you on the couch, watching as you hugged your knees to your chest.

“I know, I –” he looked down at his hands, fiddling with his rings. “I miss you. And I’m really sorry for everything, for the way I handled everything.”

You looked up at him at his words, fidgeting with your sleeves. “I miss you too.”

“I really… I really fucked up and losing you was the last thing I wanted.” He needed to look away from you. “You were right, about us. We shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have let things get to be the way they did.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was small, calculated.

“I mean… I was being selfish. I – fuck I wanted more and I was being selfish with you.”

He tried to gage your reaction, but just like last time he wasn’t able to read your expression. “When you asked me what we were doing, when you said all that I panicked. Thought you might try and end things, I was too in my ass about my feelings I just… fucked up.”

“You wanted more?”

“I did – I do.”

You were quiet, too quiet. After a moment in silence, you suddenly stood. “I have to go to the washroom.”

He could only nod, standing as well as he watched you disappear behind the door. Grabbing himself a glass of water, having no idea what you were thinking in this moment. He was wrong before, when he thought that those fifteen minutes were the longest of his life. This moment right now seemed to last so much longer.

You finally reappeared a couple minutes later, joining him in the kitchen but still standing at a distance. He had no idea what to say, he wished for you to say something, anything.

“You kept all my things.”

“What?”

You pointed to the bathroom behind you. “All my things, my toothbrush my shampoo… figured you’d throw them out.”

He smiled a weak smile. “Would never. Can’t bring myself to. Plus, you know I love the smell of your shampoo.”

“I’m sorry I left that day.” You were fiddling with the sleeves of your shirt again.

“Don’t be, I was a dick. I didn’t know … I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. Couldn’t get my shit together. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

As you nodded, he was relieved to see your expression start softening a bit.

“I need you in my life, in any capacity. If you need time I get it, but I just can’t… I need to know you’ll be in my life.”

You were worrying your lip, slowly nodding as you took in his words. “I shouldn’t have pushed you that day. I was trying to… it wasn’t fair of me.”

“Stop apologizing darling,” he liked the way the pet name rolled off his tongue again. The two of you stood in silence for a moment again.

“I wanted more too.” Nearly giving himself whiplash for how quickly he snapped his head towards you at your words. You weren’t looking at him, eyes dropped down to where your hands tapped nervously against the counter.

“I – you did?”

You only nodded, watching as you twirled your ring around your finger.

“Never said anything…”

Glancing up at him finally, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well…neither did you. Plus, I thought I was, I don’t know, making it obvious. Spending nearly every night here and all… I was sort of trying to bring it up that day we fought.”

“Truly fucked that up, didn’t I?” He rubbed his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair up. You only hummed, and his heart nearly soared when you saw the corner of your lips twitch in a smile.

He couldn’t help the smile starting to build on his lips either, trying to swallow down his anxiety before asking you what he wanted to. “Do you still?”

“Do I still what?” You were really making him say it.

“Do you still… want more. With me.” He watched you intently, watched your eyes flick away from his; to your hands to the counter and around the room, before meeting his own again.

“Well… came over, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed through his body as he processed your words. “Is that a yes?” His words were a rush of a breath. He found himself walking across the kitchen towards you until he was standing in front of you, keeping a gap but still being the closest he’d been to you all night.

“Yes.” Every nerve in his body urged to jump forward towards you at your whispered word, but he held himself back.

“Good,” his voice matched yours: quiet, breathless.

He wanted to pull you in his arms, to push you against the counter leaving no room between the two of you but he also didn’t want to assume you’d jump right into it; maybe you’d want a bit of time, maybe you were still mad –

Any second thought flew out of his mind when the light touch of your fingertips met his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His own hand instinctively wrapped around your waist, other hand sliding to your cheek, fitting with you like nothing ever changed.

Mouth quickly met his, and it was like kissing you for the first time all over again. You were still just as warm against him, still smelt like the shampoo that you left in his shower.

Your lips were light against his at first, a ghost of a touch as you pressed yourself against him and bunched the collar of his shirt in a fist. His hand on your cheek moved to tilt your head up to him slightly, as he held you tight against him not wanting you to ever leave.

A small sigh left your lips as he took a step forward, pushing lightly back to trap you between the counter and himself. Kiss quickly deepening as you let him taste deeper into your mouth, wandering hands pushing up under your shirt.

You were tugging at his hair as he pulled small whines from the back of your throat, gripping your thigh tightly as he helped you sit up on the counter. Mouth leaving yours with a pant, he reveled in the way you hooked your legs around him to keep him against you.

“Missed you,” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “So,” lips moved down your jaw. “Fucking much.”

He loved the sigh you made at his words; he loved every sound you made. Resting his forehead on yours for a moment, lips barely brushing. “You’re so warm darling. Missed kissing you, missed being with you.”

“Me too,” you whispered, pecking a small kiss to his mouth.

“I get to be with you, right?”

“Yes,” his heart soared at the single word. He was enamoured with the smile that took over your face. “Might still be a bit mad a you though.”

His smile matched yours, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Sounds like I have some making up to do.”

#ah there was a mistake i reposted it okay !#hi yes #this is just my lil something hope u enjoy #its short and kinda dif writing #pls let me know what u think and share ! thank u love u #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

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Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

#frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #i believe in francisco morales supremacy #triple frontier #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal #oc #ofc #original character #original female character #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction

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slippinmickeys · 4 years ago

Text

Five Seconds (8/8)

If you’d like to read this work in its entirety, you may do so here.

October 24, 2018

Scully was half-elated, half terrified when her children escaped from the cabin and their captor. It removed them from harm’s way, but gave the mercenary who held them a sole focus -- herself and the child she carried, and Mulder.

Luis seemed to be even more amped up by their escape, checking his watch and trying his phone twice as often. When she rose and requested a drink of water, the man stood so quickly from the chair he sat in that it fell backwards to the floor.

He stood, twitchy and suspicious, looked at her a moment and then nodded tersely. She turned to go into the kitchen when a powerful force seized her and she stumbled, grabbing onto the back of Mulder’s chair.

“Scully!” he said, alarmed. He rose and moved to her side as the gunman watched them, tense but otherwise expressionless.

The pain wrapped around her middle and went all the way to her back. She’d experienced back labor during her labor with William and remembered the agonizing sensation. This was the real thing.

“Mulder,” she whispered, dragging her eyes up to him. She saw realization dawn on him, saw the mix of tender excitement and abject fear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, tilting his head to the side to look at her. They rarely used pet names for each other, but the sound of those words on his lips made her stalwart exterior crumple. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked at him and tried to tell him silently all the things he’d ever meant to her, and all the things he ever would.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” the man said, to Lily. “We are going to unload the ATVs off of the trailer. We are going to drive them to the camp where your family is staying. You will be on one, your brother and I will be on the other. I will have a gun to your brother’s head the entire time. You try anything, I shoot him. He tries anything, I shoot him.”

Lily nodded, and she could hear Will swallow with some difficulty next to her. “My colleague at the camp… Is he alive?”

“Yes,” Lily said, not taking her eyes off the barrel of the gun.

“Good,” he said “Do what I say, and no one has to die.”

Lily could feel the weight of the burner phone in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and sweat broke out on her upper lip. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could still use it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully grasped his hand tightly, eyes closed, breathing hard. As the night wore on and windows outside the cabin turned pale, her contractions seemed to be progressing as they ought, but she was in pain -- terrible pain -- and his heart clenched for her.

He hadn’t done this since Lily was born nearly two decades before -- holding the hand of his wife while she battled to bring his child into the world. He still felt an overriding guilt for not being there for her during her complicated and troubled delivery of William.

He remembered walking down the hallway toward her room the day he was born, his breath shaky and halting, not knowing what he’d find. There had been a strange sense of deja vu as he approached her door that night, and he had an odd mental picture — an actual phantasmagoria — flash through his mind unbidden of walking in and seeing Scully, her hair shorter than she had ever cut it, her body on the bed thin and reedy -- most definitely not pregnant. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, Scully lying on her side in the hospital bed, wires and IVs coming out of her, a nasal cannula over her ears. She wore a teal hospital gown and the look on her face was one of horrified surprise. The flash had so disturbed him that he ran the last few feet to her labor and delivery room and crashed through the door, which knocked into the rubber stopper on the wall. There Scully lay, in a pink gown, her hair long and her face pale, but smiling, their son lying peacefully on her chest.

He shook himself of the memory and concentrated on his wife.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The man had Will unhooking the ATVs as he pushed them back and off the ramp of the trailer, his gun strapped to a holster on his leg. Lily had her hand in her pocket thumbing the phone, trying to remember which button was “on” from memory. She depressed the button and the ancient phone beeped once, the sound covered by the merc turning on and revving the first four-wheeler, luck on her side, for once.

He moved to the side of the van and pulled out a mid-sized black canvas attache case that had a biohazard warning patch on the side. He secured it to the back of one of the vehicles and then winked at her. Lily’s insides went cold, thinking of her mother.

He pointed at the ATV and looked to Will. “Hop on, William,” he commanded. They had not told him their names. Her brother mounted the four-wheeler, licking his lips nervously. The merc turned to her.

“You know how to drive one of these?” he asked her. She shook her head. He pointed, impatient. “Throttle. Brake. Get on.”

She did.

“You know where to go,” the man said, then revved his engine, the noise a loud mechanical crank in the sleepy peace of the forest. A flock of birds were startled into flight from the trees above, taking wing into the autumn sky, a flutter of panicked commotion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Mulder, I need you to promise me something,” Scully said weakly. She was tiring and had refused food. She was laying on the narrow cot by the stove and he was sitting next to her.

“Anything,” he said, brushing back the hair from her forehead.

“Don’t be a hero,” she half-whispered. “I need you. The kids need you. Don’t… don’t try anything.”

Luis, listening in from a few yards away, spoke for the first time in an hour.

“‘S good advice,” he sneered.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lily slid the phone out of her pocket and took a surreptitious look down. It was on. She glanced back up to watch where she was going -- the trees here were much closer together -- saplings growing like weeds in a field. She had to swerve quickly to miss one and she heard the mercenary shout from behind her. Her quick turn had lifted the right side of the ATV’s wheels almost off the ground -- if she’d been leaning the wrong way or even at all, the whole thing would have gone over.

Straightening and watching her path on a fresh surge of adrenaline, she glanced once again at the phone -- there was a single bar of service showing. She was so shocked she almost dropped it. Licking her lips, she kept her eyes ahead and dialed 911, glancing down once or twice to make sure she’d entered it correctly. She pressed “send.” She was driving one-handed and was hoping the merc didn’t notice. Even with the roar of the engines, she could hear the phone dialing.

They were almost to the cabin. She could smell woodsmoke. If they cleared one more rise, they’d be there.

The burr of the phone ringing was the only thing she could hear.

Up the rise, she knew the ATV was still right behind her, knew that there was still a gun trained at her brother's head.

"9-1-1, what... your emergency?" she could hear the dispatcher through static.

Then she was over the hill. The cabin sat before them, a squat building standing stalwart in a field of trees, smoke leaking from the chimney and sinking to the ground like an escher painting.

She felt the machine under her go over an unexpected bump on the right side and the wheels rise up slightly. She took a chance on creating enough of a distraction for emergency services to trace her call. She leaned hard left and gravity did the rest, tipping the ATV in what felt like a slow motion fall onto its side. Lily, wearing neither helmet nor seatbelt fell hard onto her shoulder, her head snapping into the earth.

She rolled, and the machine missed her leg, but the phone went flying out of her hand, arcing through the air and into the leaf cover. The other ATV revved to catch up with her and then stopped close to the cabin on a spray of dirt and leaf pieces. Then the engine cut, and she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone several yards away cutting in and out in static.

Stars burst behind her eyes like fireworks popping in the night. When her vision cleared, the man was standing over her, his boots so close to her face that she could smell the leather. Her brother was close, but was clearly wary of the mercenary, and she saw him take several steps backward toward the cabin, his eyes on his sister and the dangerous tableau before him.

The man before her lifted a foot and she braced herself for a kick or a blow, but instead he took several steps off into the duff and then once again lifted his heavy booted foot up and this time slammed it down hard onto the staccato-voiced cell phone in the leaves, the static turning into silence with an almighty metallic crunch.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully’s contractions were extremely close together. She was lying on the cot, her face a sheen of perspiration. Mulder almost didn’t hear the sound of the engines over her groan.

Luis, who had been watching Scully intensely, his brows knitted together, stood quickly when he heard the motors. There was a chaotic sound outside and then the engines cut, close to the cabin.

“About fucking time,” Luis hissed and then was out the door, leaving it open. Mulder looked to Scully and then, very slowly and deliberately leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, “I always have and always will love you.”

Scully nodded and then another contraction pressed on her and she winced.

“Mulder, I’m feeling really pushy,” she said.

“Shit,” Mulder swore, standing without much hope of doing anything.

Scully opened her mouth and let out an unholy yowl.

And then, from outside the cabin, they heard the unmistakable voice of their fifteen year old son: “Mom?!”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Shut up,” said the merc to William from where he stood by the cabin’s door.

Lily rolled up to her knees and shook her head, standing woozily, just as the man Luis came barreling out the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Luis hissed at the other man.

“Get your panties out of your ass, Cardinal,” he said. “I’m here.”

“She’s in labor, you greasy piece of shit. We’re on the fucking clock.”

Another dump of adrenaline hit Lily’s bloodstream and she took several steps toward her brother, who was still looking at the cabin in alarm.

He nodded at Luis and unstrapped the black attache kit from the back of his ATV, walking to the open doorway, where he paused. He pointed to where Lily stood, not far from her brother.

“Watch these two,” he said, “and maybe don’t lose them this time?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“...and maybe don’t lose them this time,” Mulder heard from the doorway. The voice was familiar, and when he looked to the man’s face, he was taken over by such an unholy rage that his vision quite literally tunneled, going black from the sides.

He’d launched himself before anyone knew quite what was happening, even himself. His body hit the other man’s full force and they flew outside, landing in the duff and scattering dirt from the force of their impact.

“Krycek,” he hissed, “you son of a bitch-” and then he reared back his fist and delivered a haymaker to the man’s chin -- all the pent of fury of finding Scully at the top of Skyland Mountain all those years ago crashing back -- Krycek’s head whipped back, spraying blood onto the O horizon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d say this for her brother: his time on the ice had served him well.

Cardinal was as taken by surprise as everyone else by their father’s furious launch at the other merc, and Will, who had been standing several feet away, took the opportunity to grab his improvised hockey stick, which had been propped up by the door on the outside of the cabin and swung it with everything he had at the man. It connected with Cardinal directly across the temple; the dull, sickening thud the best thing Lily had ever heard. Cardinal hit the wall of the cabin and crumpled, sliding to the ground like bubbles down wet skin.

Her father’s head whipped around to see what had happened behind him, and Krycek seized the opportunity to kick Mulder hard, sending him flying backwards. Both men scrambled up to standing when Scully appeared in the doorway of the cabin, taking two shaky steps outside. Everyone turned to her.

“Mulder,” she rasped, looking at her husband, distraught, “I think it’s time.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder looked to his wife.

Scully then let out a scream and stumbled forward, grabbing onto a nearby tree for support. Lily dashed to her side without thinking, giving Krycek the opportunity to swing the gun he still held in his hand up to train it on both of them. Mulder’s heart rose to his throat.

From nowhere, Krycek produced another pistol, which he aimed at Will, who had been attempting to get around the side of the cabin after felling Cardinal. Mulder froze.

"This ends one of two ways!" Krycek shouted, stopping everyone in their tracks. There was a smear of blood running down his chin. "All of you dead, or everyone alive. I really don't care one way or the other."

Krycek flicked the gun once at Will, who dropped the stick and made his way over to his sister, who was still several feet away from Scully, who had taken a few staggered steps before slumping to her knees, knocked back by another powerful contraction, this one right on the heels of the last. She was panting, and swung her eyes up to Mulder drunkenly. Krycek had a gun on her and one on their children.

"All right," Mulder said, anguish gripping him, "all right."

He was out of options. He looked to the functioning four-wheeler that Krycek had come in on. Krycek could have Scully on it and to the county road in less than ten minutes. The other four wheeler was still on its side, smoking, the smell of gas and oil ripe in the air. He'd never be able to get to them.

Mulder looked at Scully. He looked at his children. Hopelessness rose in his gut like vomit, consuming and poisonous. He thought vaguely of bum-rushing Krycek once again, one last sacrifice to save those he loved.

The moment slowed to a honied drip. Five seconds to make a choice, each one ticking by more slowly than the one before it. One. He thought of Lily as a baby, of William; the newborn smell of their sweet red hair. Two. He thought of Olivia Kurtzweil, sitting across from him in his office. Lying dead on her own floor. Three. He thought of Samantha, her thick braids flying out behind her, laughing as she ran down the beach in Quonochontaug. Four. He thought of his first day of firearms training at Quantico. His instructor laying a pistol on the countertop and saying: “It takes only seven pounds of pressure to pull a trigger.” Five. He thought of Scully. Of their first meeting in the basement office, her bright seafoam eyes and her chipper little handshake. He thought of her terrified face atop Skyland Mountain, how her hands felt around his neck as he carried her all the way down. He thought of how she gasped when he touched her, of the dusky way her skin looked in the moonlight.

He moved to take a step toward her, but was shocked into stillness when a gun shot rang out out of nowhere and Krycek slumped to the ground. Mulder turned to where the shot had come from and there, standing in the middle of the Northwoods forest in a pristine white blazer and jeans stood Lauren, the archaic rifle that had adorned the deer mount on the cabin wall pressed expertly to her shoulder. Smoke wafted out of the barrel, and she slowly lowered the weapon.

“You stopped answering your phone, Fox,” she said. “We had a deal.”

XxX

Will and Lily were both facing away from where Krycek had fallen, looking at Lauren in surprise, and Mulder took three large strides to get to them before they could turn and see what was left of the man. He grabbed them by the shoulders, one hand on each of them and leaned down.

“It’s okay,” he said, in a quiet voice, “we’re all okay.”

Will turned into him and buried his face into his father’s chest. Lily put her hand over his and turned toward Scully, who was leaning against a tree, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. Luis Cardinal was still out cold by the cabin’s wall, his arm thrown out an odd angle. Mulder hoped it was broken.

“Can you guys help your mom into the cabin?” he said and both kids went immediately to her.

He heard the crunching of leaves and found Lauren at his shoulder.

“I called the county Sheriff before I came onto the property,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t know how long it will take them to get here.”

Mulder turned to her in full.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky, “You saved my family.”

“You’re all the family I have left,” she said, “and you would have done the same for me.”

He pulled her tightly to him. She gave him a brief squeeze, the rifle she was holding pressing into his hip. She pulled back.

“Please tell me Dana’s not in labor,” she said.

“Dana’s in labor.”

Lauren took a deep breath and glanced down at the man whose life she had taken not moments before.

“Don’t look,” Mulder said gently.

Lauren nodded stoically and shouldered the rifle.

“There’s another merc by the cabin,” Mulder said, “alive. Can you help me secure him? See if there’s some rope or something inside?”

Lauren nodded and headed into the cabin, and Mulder turned to Krycek and pushed him over onto his back with his foot. The man was looking straight up with sightless eyes. Then Mulder noticed several pairs of zip ties that Krycek had had secured to his utility belt. He tried not to think of what he’d planned to use them for, and pulled one from the dead man’s waist.

“We need to make this quick,” Lauren said as she came out the door, her statement punctuated by a low, feminine moan from inside the cabin. Mulder’s gut roiled.

“Let’s go,” he said, and dragged Cardinal roughly by the shoulders to a medium pine not far from the cabin door. Mulder wrenched the man’s hands behind his back around the tree and Lauren cinched the zip tie on tightly. He gave a light moan but was otherwise still.

When they trotted back into the cabin, they found both kids at their mother’s side, wearing panicked, wary faces.

Scully had settled onto the cot that had been set up near the woodstove. Her eyes were closed and her hands gripped the steel frame. Mulder asked the kids to collect clean linens and blankets from the cedar cabinet and then went back outside to pull Krycek’s body over behind a large tree, knowing he was disturbing evidence, but not caring. He didn’t want it anywhere the kids could see.

When he came back inside, Scully was propped up on pillows, Lauren kneeling next to her. They both turned to him. Scully reached out her hand and he walked over and grabbed it.

“Any sign of the Sheriff?” Lauren asked in a low voice.

Mulder shook his head.

Scully winced and squeezed his hand, gritting her teeth.

“Her contractions are one on top of each other, Fox,” Lauren said.

Lily had drifted over and spoke from Mulder’s elbow.

“Can you give me and Will something to do?” she said, “he’s kind of freaked, and so am I.”

“Hey Will,” Mulder said, “can you take the bucket to the pump and bring us water?”

“Yeah!” Will jumped up and grabbed the bucket by the kitchen wall and scooted outside quickly.

“Lily,” Mulder said, and she looked up at him. “Do you think you can help your mom?”

“Yeah, I can,” Lily said, and went to Scully’s other side.

Scully looked up to Mulder.

“I’m feeling really pushy,” she said once again and gave him a this is serious look.

“You pitch, I’ll catch,” Mulder said easily, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel, and moved to the end of the bed. He helped Scully pull down her leggings and get situated back on the bed.

Scully was breathing hard and took another deep breath, trying to slow herself down.

“Lil,” she said, pausing to close her eyes and breathe through her nose, “you hold one knee, Lauren will hold the other.”

Lily nodded bravely and grabbed her mother’s leg firmly. Lauren did the same on Scully’s other side.

Mulder could see a bright thatch of hair already crowning between Scully’s legs and grabbed a clean towel, reaching forward.

“Oh my god,” Lauren said, just as Scully gave another almighty yell. The baby’s head was all the way out. One more push and Mulder caught his second son as he careened into the world, registering his complaints loudly for anyone who would hear them.

Will came banging through the door just as Mulder was placing the child on Scully’s chest, a full bucket of water sloshing over where it hung from his hand.

“The Sheriff is here!” he said, as he took in the sight before him.

“Come and meet your brother,” Scully said, smiling tiredly, sweat beaded on her brow.

EPILOGUE

Lily stood in front of the building nervously twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, over and over; a tic she’d had since childhood. Her father was parked not quite a block up the avenue waiting for her -- not totally out of sight, but enough to afford her some privacy. She glanced at his car's taillights once and then looked back at the old building with its colossal white columns and bright red brick.

She knew Travis's schedule well enough that she shouldn’t have been surprised when he emerged from the double doors of the Old Engineering Hall, but her heart skipped a beat anyway.

He was several steps out when he noticed her standing at the base of the old cement staircase, and he pulled up short, cinching his backpack once contemplatively before continuing his descent. He stopped in front of her, but made no move to touch her or talk. He merely looked at her, waiting for her to say something.

She gave him a tentative smile that he didn't return.

"Hi," she finally said.

"Hello," he said. He didn't sound angry or upset, merely expectant, maybe a little resigned.

She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She couldn't think of a thing to say -- where to possibly start telling him her story. He must have sensed how overwhelmed she was, as he took a breath and said, not unkindly:

"You were supposed to meet me for lunch. You never showed up."

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head, remembering the feeling of being pursued through the student union, of holding her father's hand and running from Darlene's house, thinking she may have gotten her whole family killed. Of running through the trees. Of gunshots and the hot ozone smell of cordite.

"I called you," he went on, "I called you like thirty times."

"I didn't have my phone," she finally said, "I couldn't-"

"-you didn't have to ghost me, Lillian," he interrupted, "I was afraid something happened to you... I was about to call the cops when I realized that I didn't actually know where you lived." His tone was serious, a touch disappointed, and it made Lily's insides feel like iced lead.

"My... my name's not Lillian," she whispered, and the tears finally fell from her eyes.

He tilted his head like a confused pup and looked at her, puzzled and upset.

So she told him. Everything. She took a breath and let loose with everything she and her family had been through for the last nine months. In a teary voice with hitching sobs, she told him about her family's genetic legacy, about going on the run, about how she had managed to feel safe and happy when she was with him, able to forget -- at least for a few hours -- about the dangers pressing on her from all sides. And finally about the last 72 hours and her life at the other end of a pointed gun.

He stood, staring at her in fascination and what looked like disbelief. When the last word of explanation had been said, she could feel her insides wilt a little in relief; everything out in the open, the last of her words falling out of her mouth and sinking to the ground, heavier than air.

“I… I would understand if you didn’t believe me,” she finished.

Just as she steeled herself for his withering incredulity and disbelief, he took one giant step toward her, dropping his backpack as he moved, and wrapped her in his thick, sturdy embrace. She felt herself melt into his caress like liquid, felt his hand come up to hold her head tightly to his chest, his fingers threading through her hair.

“I believe you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her hair.

She experienced a relief so profound she gave an involuntary sob into the solid mass of him, as he murmured words of encouragement and comfort into her ear. She figured out in that moment what love was. It was this.

She wasn't sure how long they held each other, but he didn't pull back until she did, and even then he reached out and grabbed her face in both hands lightly, his thumbs rubbing her cheekbones in a gossamer wisp.

"Jesus," he finally said, searching her eyes with his intense hazel gaze. She gave him a shaky smile and a half laugh and he dropped one hand to her arm, leaving the other on her face, which she leaned into. "I don't know your real name," he chuffed kindly, "What do I even call you?"

She smiled, sniffed -- probably unattractively, she thought -- and closed her eyes once before looking at him with affection. "I'm kind of partial to 'Frisbee,' to be honest," she said. He leaned down and kissed her with everything he was worth.

#In Conclusion #MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #XF #Fanfic #My fic

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mandelene · 5 years ago

Note

Arthur is the one who gets sick and the rest of the FACE family freak out? Whether he’s seriously ill or not is up to you. Bonus if he adamantly denies that he’s sick bc I need a character to project onto 🤣. Have a good week! 💕

Here it is! And I hope you have a wonderful week as well! 💖

Why One Shouldn’t Marry a Stubborn Englishman: A Case Study Word Count: 1424

Although Arthur barely touches his dinner on a Friday evening in mid-October, Francis doesn’t immediately see a reason to worry. His husband’s appetite is finicky at best, and there are days when he is simply too caught up in his own mind to remember to eat. It’s relatively normal behavior, and sometimes, if he pushes around his dinner, he compensates by having a large breakfast the following day.

But then Saturday morning comes and he doesn’t finish his eggs and toast either. Arthur flips through his weekly edition of The Economist, and pretends not to see the look of disapproval on Francis’s face. And that’s when the worry in Francis’s heart begins to set in.

He doesn’t even take a sip of tea. It’s tea! Arthur can’t live without his tea. Tea runs through the man’s veins!

“Is something wrong? You haven’t been eating or drinking anything,” Francis points out, and Alfred and Matthew, who are also seated at the kitchen table, stop talking about their English project and shift their attention to a now flustered Arthur.

“I’m fine. Not hungry,” Arthur replies shortly, looking down at his magazine and away from them.

Alfred gives his father a little nudge on the shoulder and adds, “You’ve been acting kinda weird. Are you sick?”

“You do look a little pale, mon amour.”

“I didn’t know it was a crime to not be hungry,” Arthur snaps, rising from the table. He snatches his magazine and swivels around to leave the kitchen, but that’s when a quiet gasp suddenly escapes him, and he grabs his upper abdomen with one hand. His face betrays a pained grimace, and the hand holding The Economist tightens into a fist.

The scene triggers alarm bells in Francis’s mind. He sweeps over to Arthur and tries to feel his forehead, but Arthur waves him off and pulls away, insisting that he’s fine and “it’s just indigestion.”

No one is convinced he’s all right, but Arthur’s stubbornness knows no bounds, and confronting him whenever anything is wrong with him, no matter how big or small, always proves to be a challenge. Matthew offers to get him an antacid from the medicine cabinet, but Arthur rejects that offer and chooses to hide away in his and Francis’s bedroom instead to brood.

“That definitely didn’t look like indigestion,” Matthew whispers once he’s out of earshot.

“I know. I’m going to have to fight him for a real answer, as usual,” Francis sighs as he’s picking up Arthur’s plate and bringing it over to the bin. He doesn’t like being wasteful, but if Arthur truly is sick, then it’s best to toss his breakfast away. There’s no chance he’s going to eat it later, and he could be contagious. “Don’t worry, boys, I’ll talk to him. He needs a little coaxing sometimes. He can be childish and moody when he’s unwell.”

“Doctors make the worst patients,” Alfred notes.

“You could say that again, mon lapin.”

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

The denial continues for the rest of the day. When Francis tries to pester Arthur into having something for lunch and suggests some soup or saltines, he is met with hostility yet again. “I’ve already said I’m not bloody hungry.”

And then, the vomiting begins. While they’re all watching a movie in the living room later that afternoon, Arthur abruptly hurries to the bathroom, holding his stomach once more. Francis trails after him, and Alfred and Matthew come along to watch the drama unfold as well, equally as concerned.

“Oh, mon cher,” Francis murmurs while Arthur retches, rubbing his husband’s back. With his other hand, he finally feels his forehead and is not at all shocked at the warmth he feels under his fingers. “You’ve caught some sort of stomach bug, haven’t you?”

When Arthur is done and has flushed the toilet, he turns to the sink and rinses his mouth. Clearly, he’s too exhausted and miserable now to be in a position to argue because when Francis takes him by the arm and guides him to bed, he follows him without complaint.

“I’ll bring some sparkling water. It always helps me when I feel nauseous,” Matthew offers, and Francis gives him an appreciative nod.

“You always tell us ‘rest and fluids’ are the most important things when you’re sick,” Alfred reminds his father, but Arthur merely lets out a small groan as he lies down.

If this is a stomach bug, then it must be severe because Francis can tell by the expression on Arthur’s face that he’s in a great deal of pain—more pain than one would be in from a simple stomach flu or food poisoning. His right hand is wrapped around his upper abdomen yet again, and his eyes are screwed shut. There are beads of sweat on his brow, and when Francis gently pulls Arthur’s hand away to touch his stomach, Arthur lets out a sharp cry that makes him jump.

Francis doesn’t think he’s ever seen him in this much agony. Even while ill, Arthur hardly ever lets on how poorly he’s feeling. For him to be in such a state…It’s frightening.

“He doesn’t look good, Papa,” Alfred says, biting his lip.

“No, he doesn’t…I think I should take him to the emergency room.”

At that, Arthur opens his glassy green eyes and grumbles through gritted teeth, “No.”

“I can’t look at you when you’re like this. You need a doctor, mon amour.”

“…Don’t need a damned doctor…”

“Arthur. Be reasonable.”

Matthew returns with the promised glass of sparkling water, and hands it to Arthur.

It appears the idea of consuming any liquid makes Arthur turn green with nausea, and he places the glass on the bedside table with another groan.

“Boys, can you grab one of your father’s coats and a pair of his shoes? I need to get him dressed—I’m taking him to the hospital.”

Arthur shoots him a fierce scowl. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ve been your husband long enough to know when something warrants a hospital visit. Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand, I’m not—”

But when he gets up, the pain flares, and he nearly doubles over. All of the color drains from his face, and Francis has him sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough. The boys and I will help you to the car. Do you want some ibuprofen or something before we go?”

“No…”

He should have seen that response coming.

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

It was the right call to bring him in—that’s what Arthur’s nurse in the ER tells Francis and the boys.

Apparently, the silly oaf is severely dehydrated, so he is quickly started on IV fluids and strong painkillers. It’s assumed he could have appendicitis and that the pain just hasn’t localized to the lower right side of his abdomen yet. But then, a CT scan reveals that his appendix is fine. His pancreas, however, is not.

Acute pancreatitis. That’s the verdict. The doctor says it was likely caused by the medication he’s been taking for his arthritis—azathioprine. The diagnosis is enough to have him admitted because it’s decided he will have to be on a course of IV antibiotics to clear up the infection.

“Honestly, only you could have an infected pancreas and claim it was indigestion,” Francis chides him, but he can’t be too angry when he knows Arthur must be feeling awful enough as is. “Fortunately, you should feel all better in a few days, you big idiot.”

Alfred doesn’t hesitate to scold him as well. “You can’t make us worry like that, Dad. You should have said something sooner.”

“Yeah, no one should have to suffer in silence until they get so sick that they can’t move,” Matthew says, holding Arthur’s left hand, which is where his IV is. “It sounds like it could have gotten a lot worse if left untreated.”

“I thought I had it under control,” is Arthur’s lame defense.

“Well, hopefully, you’ll think twice next time and ask someone for help. Now get well soon, all right? You know how much I dislike hospitals.”

“Thank you for putting up with me.”

Francis smiles and kisses his nose, causing Arthur to wrinkle his face. “Anytime, mon amour. Anytime…I love you. Now, rest. You need it. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Given that he’s already been sapped of most of his energy, falling asleep proves to be an easy task for him, and he’s out in no time.

What a troublesome man.

#hetalia #aph england #aph france #aph america #aph canada #aph face family #drabbles #sick arthur

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ellewritesathing · 5 years ago

Text

Infernal - IV

Summary: In your sleepy little town of Greendale, nothing ever slept for long. And ever since October, everything felt like it was waking up. Everything except for you, that is. One teensy trip to Hell (and an infuriatingly cute guy) later and suddenly you felt wide awake.

Word-count: 5.5k+

Masterlist Prev. | Part 4

A/N: okay okay i know you guys hate cliffhangers and i’m sorry!! hopefully this makes up for it tho 👀👀 also i’m working on some other caliban fics to post once this series is over, would you guys still like to be tagged in those??

tumblr’s formatting has been shit these past few days as well, and i think i’ve gotten most of it ironed out but let me know if there’s anything i missed!

“When she comes back to life, she won’t be scarred, will she?” Harvey asked. His voice was still full of concern, but it was softer now. A quiet kind of anxiety.

“She will not,” Caliban said.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Sabrina breathed.

You had to admit, looking at Roz all broken and put back together again was unsettling. Not any more unsettling than finding out your mom was a demon and your dad was a psychic (maybe?), but unsettling nonetheless.

“What do we do now?” you asked, arms folded over your chest and leg bouncing to distract from how uncomfortable you felt.

“You say the spell, but first, you make your offering,” Caliban explained. Eyes rolling over from Sabrina to you. He seemed to zero-in on your nerves like a hawk would a field mouse.

“To whom?” Sabrina asked.

“Aphrodite or Eros,” Caliban said.

“What am I offering?” Harvey asked.

“Your love for Rosalind,” Caliban said. “Give it up, and she’ll be restored to flesh.”

“Give it up? What are you talking about?” Harvey asked.

“Aphrodite is the goddess of love,” Caliban said. “She’ll grant your wish, but demands your heart’s desire: Rosalind.” He looked down at the statue of your friend. “Vow to forsake your truest love, then to complete the spell … kiss her. She’ll restore to flesh once more. But if you betray your vow - if you kiss her again - she’ll return to stone and will remain that way until the end of days.”

“Wait, no! Harvey, there has to be some other kind of offering,” Sabrina said, reaching out to comfort him.

“It’s a Pygmalion spell,” you said. Your voice was still full of anger, so you made a conscious effort to soften it. Taking a breath, you went on, “The myth is that to bring his statue to life, he gave up sculpting. His true love. So there isn’t really a way around that.”

“Exactly,” Caliban said. You hadn’t met his gaze when he cataloged your unease before, but now you accidentally caught his eye. Your leg stopped bouncing. Your anger flickered for a moment. “Love for life.”

“I’ll do it,” Harvey said, not leaving any room to talk him out of it. He walked towards Caliban and took the paper from his hand.

“Say the words to Aphrodite and give her a kiss,” Caliban said.

Harvey knelt down and said some heartbreaking words that you wished you hadn’t overheard before saying the spell written on the piece of paper. He gave her a kiss but nothing changed. She was still stone.

“Nothing happened!” he said, looking up.

“Caliban?” Sabrina asked, sounding equal parts accusatory and panicked.

“His offering was rejected,” Caliban said.

“What does that mean?” Harvey asked. “Why?”

“You must not truly love her,” Caliban said, like it was obvious. Unexpected, tragic, but obvious.

“That’s bullshit!” Harvey got to his feet, squaring up in front of Caliban.

“Oh, crap,” you mumbled as you uncrossed your arms and moved around Roz to get to Harvey. You slipped your hands around his arm but it didn’t stop him from simmering in place. “Harvey, calm down.”

“Aphrodite would only accept your heart’s true desire,” Caliban said, either unbothered by Harvey’s anger or uncaring toward it. Still, he pushed. “That must not be Rosalind. Must be something or someone else.”

“Shut the hell up!” Harvey yelled as he slipped out of your hands. In one quick motion, he grabbed the collar of Caliban’s shirt and threw him against the wall.

“Harvey, enough!” you yelled. You maneuvered your way between them and outstretched your hands, one palm splayed on Caliban’s yellow t-shirt and your other fingers pointing dangerously at Harvey as Sabrina pulled him a few feet back.

“What does he know? Him and his bullshit spell,” Harvey spat. “How do we know if any of this is real?”

“Why would I lie?” Caliban asked. His heartbeat was slow and steady under your hand, more interested in your intervention than Harvey’s outburst.

“Harvey,” you warned before he could say anything else. Sabrina’s attention slipped for a second and Harvey’s hand got free. He got ready to aim it at Caliban. Your voice was sharp as knives and twice as deadly as you snapped, “Harvey, drop it.”

He looked at you for a second before unclenching his fist. The frown on his face deepened as he collected himself. Sure, you picked on him the most out of your friends, but you were always the first one on his side in a fight. You weren’t sure if your shifting alliance was making him frown or the fact that he’d actually listened to you.

“I should kick your ass,” Harvey mumbled, looking over your head to Caliban again.

“Try it again and I’ll grind every bone in your body to sand,” Caliban said, tone back to being vaguely threatening and unhelpful as he straightened up under your hand.

You pushed him back slightly and turned to tell him to knock it off, but Sabrina’s voice stopped you. “Tell us what, Robin?” she asked, clearly having a conversation that you weren’t listening to.

“Among the pagans, there’s that witch, Circe,” Robin explained. “The one that turned your friends into pigs? She has powerful magicks of transformation. She could turn your friend back into flesh.”

“For someone who’s trying to earn our trust, why would you only tell us this now?” Sabrina asked.

The lull in arguing made you very aware of how close you still were to Caliban. His heart continued to beat faithfully under your palm as yours rose in your chest. Taking a breath and a step back, you reached for Harvey’s hand in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you. Caliban gave you a curious look as your hand laced into Harvey’s, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Robin said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I mean, Circe’s power resides in her hands. All she’d have to do is touch you, and she could turn you into any creature she’s ever seen before. And without magick, you’re no match against her.”

“I don’t have magick, it’s true,” Sabrina said. “But I know where I can borrow some.”

She told you about the hedge-witches and her plan to borrow their magic in order to attack the Carnival and bring Circe to the Academy. That way, she could fix Dorcas and Roz. How she was going to convince them to help her, you weren’t sure. You were tired of placing faith in people that didn’t deserve it.

“Okay, but I’m still going to look some stuff up,” you said when she was done. She gave you a hurt look as she readied herself to argue. “Brina, it’s not that I don’t think you can do this, but I don’t like putting all our hope in this one plan. That hasn’t really been working out for us lately.”

“Fair enough,” Sabrina said with a small sigh. “Ambrose is busy but you can look in the Academy’s library as much as you want.”

“Hell’s library is endless,” Caliban said, still leaning on the wall where you’d left him. He’d been so quiet that you’d almost forgotten he was there. Almost. “It’s knowledge is infinite. If there’s another way to return Rosalind to flesh, it’s in there. Not in some coven book club.”

“You’re inviting me to Hell?” you asked. Your voice betrayed you by sounding too interested.

“Only if my queen allows it,” Caliban said, gaze moving to Sabrina. His voice didn’t.

Looking next to you, you found Sabrina pulling a face. She didn’t like Hell at the best of times, and you doubted this qualified. “You’ll protect her from whatever’s down there?”

“As if my life depends on it,” Caliban promised.

“Oh, it does,” Sabrina said before turning to look at you. She cupped your hands in hers before giving you a warning. “Be careful and don’t listen to a word he says.”

“Trust me, that’s not gonna be a problem,” you said with a sigh as you looked over to Caliban. He wore an amused smirk as he held his hand out to you.

“Shall we?”

Against your better judgment, you put your hand in his. It was warm, hard in some places and soft in others, and the only thing you focused on as the hellfire burned the edges of vision and the world gave way beneath you.

---

“You know, this would go a lot quicker if you helped instead of just looking at me like that,” you said, not looking up from the millionth book you’d taken out that night.

But he wasn’t looking. He was studying you under a microscope and you were trying not to squirm. Curious.

When you’d gotten here, the first few minutes had been painful retching - hell was not made for humans. Then they were nervous butterflies and shaky hands - you were not made for the attention Caliban gave you. Then they were frantic sprints from shelf to shelf - hell’s library was not made for someone with a very specific problem.

“I’m admiring,” Caliban corrected, leaning closer in his chair. “For instance, did you know that when you’re focused, your forehead creases right there?” He touched the spot between your eyes, just next to your eyebrow. “Exactly like it’s doing now.”

You took a breath and slammed the book shut on the table, turning to give him a harsh look. “Did you know that when I’m annoyed, I have a nasty habit of choking nearby demons?”

“Is that a promise?” he asked, not having moved an inch from where he leaned in to touch your face. The two of you were so close now that it felt like there wasn’t enough air. His eyes dropped to your lips. A second passed and all he did was shake his head and collapse back in his chair. “The Pygmalion spell had the greatest chance of curing your friend, any of the spells we find now are likely to be too obscure to hold any practical weight.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” you asked, actively trying to put out the fire inside you and not be the first to look away.

“I have to admit that my motives were purely self-serving,” Caliban said as he stretched out, hands interlacing behind his head and elbows spread wide. “I wanted to spend some time with the person who risks not one, but two trips to Hell for her friends. Is that such a problem?”

“Considering you want to dethrone my best friend and enslave everyone I’ve ever met, I’m going to go with yes,” you said. You didn’t think that you could take him looking at you like that any longer, so you started piling books together to shelve later. A petty defeat.

“What if that was something I no longer wanted to do?” Caliban asked, sounding genuinely interested in your answer.

“You’d forfeit your claim to be king?” you asked, hands frozen in the air over a book of ancient curses.

“Hardly,” Caliban scoffed. You shook your head, telling yourself that you knew better, and kept piling up books. “But I’d be a more benevolent ruler.”

Disappointment warped into anger again. Your shoulders bunched up as you turned to him, and you tugged them back down as you threw the books in your hand back onto the table. “Yeah, of course, you think that’s better. That it makes all this better! You know, that’s your problem. You and Harvey are the exact same, you know that? You’re both so full of-”

“Shh.” Caliban raised a finger to his lips, looking around, which only made you angrier. Screw him for thinking he could tell you what to do. You were about to start snapping at him again when he whispered, “There’s something in here with us.”

Your arms fell back to your sides as you quieted down. You couldn’t see anything as you looked around the room, but the shadows seemed to grow darker. Darker and darker. They swirled into unnatural shapes as something rasped around you, wind blowing the pages back and forth on the table in front of you.

A plague upon all mortals who enter Hell.

It wasn’t so much spoken as it was whispered directly into your head, rattling around angrily as it ransacked your skull.

Death to the daughter of the winged and taloned demon of the night.

Caliban grabbed your hand so quickly that you barely had time to process the words he muttered furiously as the shadows crept closer. He pressed his other hand to the open book on the table as he finished and everything melted into a familiar white light.

You were retching on the edge of a forest by the time your sight came back again. Clutching onto Caliban’s yellow t-shirt to keep your balance, you tried to stand up straight again.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, still out of breath as you frowned at your surroundings. You didn’t recognize any of the trees or the way the land crested and fell to knit together. “And where are we?”

“Those were the wraiths of reapers,” Caliban said. He held onto your arms to keep you upright as he assessed the forest in front of you. He looked back down at you, a little more coldly than you were used to. “I told you that day on the shores to be careful in Hell or you’d draw something out.”

“It’s not like I was trying to!” you snapped, anger giving you the strength to push him away and stand on your own. You shot him a glare and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Could have fooled me,” he said. Anger tinged his words and you pulled back slightly. Cold was one thing but anger was another. “With such a dark cloud around you, it’s amazing you didn’t call the hounds themselves on us.”

“Okay, you know what, why don’t you just-” A sharp pain shot through your head and your threat died on your lips. You took a breath and rubbed your face. Humans weren’t made for back-to-back teleporting. But you weren’t human anymore, were you? “Let’s just try to get out of here in one piece, alright? Now, where exactly is here?”

Caliban clenched his jaw and his gaze flicked back to the forest before settling on you again. “When the wraiths appeared, the quickest way to get out of here was to place us in the safe haven of the spellbook. The only problem is that with all the wind … I'm not sure where we ended up.”

“Well, what was the book about?” you asked, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you looked around the forest. You couldn’t tell if the forest felt wrong because something was off or because of how things were between you and Caliban.

“Petrifaction in Greek myths,” Caliban answered. “So chances are we’re either in the myth of Pygmalion-”

“Or Medusa?” you guessed, eyes settling on his. He nodded and you bit the inside of your cheek. “So how do we get out of here?”

“We wait for the story to run its course,” he said. “We don’t have to get involved?” you asked hesitantly. He shook his head and a knot in your upper back untangled. You could get out of this safely as long as you let Medusa turn some long-dead people to stone. It felt too easy. “Then let’s find a place to wait this out.”

You chose a direction and started walking, part of you waiting for Caliban to say something and another relieved that he was letting you walk in silence. It gave you the chance to think about everything Lilith told you earlier.

“The cloud is starting to come back,” Caliban warned after maybe an hour of walking. “Are you going to tell me about what’s bothering you or are we going to wait and see what comes out of these woods?”

“I’ll take my chances with the wolves,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder. He cut the nonchalant smile you threw at him in half.

“No.” Caliban caught your arm before you could swing it back around and then stopped walking. “We’ve got nowhere else to hide if something comes after us.”

Maybe it was his steely resolve or the fact that he actually did seem concerned under that well-worn apathetic safety blanket of an expression, but you felt some part of you cave. You couldn’t tell him about Lilith - you couldn’t tell anyone about Lilith - but maybe you could talk about something else.

“What did you talk to Sabrina about when you went to Hell?” Caliban leaned back slightly and frowned for a second before recovering.

“That’s what this is about?” he asked. He must have realised that his voice came out too gently because then he added, “It almost sounds like you’re jealous, love.”

“I knew this was pointless,” you scoffed, looking him dead in the eye as you pulled your arm back. “And I’m not jealous, by the way, I’m frustrated.”

“Sexually?” You rolled your eyes and ignored the heat in your cheeks as you started walking again. A pretty trainwreck was still a trainwreck, and you had no desire to buy a ticket to ruin. Well, you had a little desire, but you stomped it down.

“I asked her to marry me.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, but you didn’t turn back to look at him.

“The challenges would end, balance would be restored.” The undergrowth crunched as he closed the distance between you, slowly and deliberately. “We’d wipe out the pagans and your life would go back to the way it was.”

A final crunch as he stopped next to you - waiting for you to say something, probably - and lifted a hand to move the hair off your neck. Slow, deliberate sparks skated across your neck where his fingers touched. If he saw the necklace, he didn’t say anything.

“That is still what you want, isn’t it?” You turned to look at him, accidentally making his hand cup your neck in the process, and said in your well-worn apathetic security blanket of a voice, “Let’s find shelter before the sun sets.”

Something flashed across his face, but all Caliban did was take a step back and let his hand fall to his side. “As you wish.”

He was infuriating.

After what felt like another eternity of walking, Caliban stopped, holding a finger to his lips. It sent shivers down your spine, reminding you of when he did the same thing in Hell’s Library. He nodded his head to the man on the other side of the lake.

Caliban dropped his head to whisper in your ear, “You were right about being in the tale of Medusa, but we were wrong about which part that is.”

“So where are we?” you asked quietly, doing your best to keep focused on the fact that he wanted to marry your best friend and not on the fact that his lips were dangerously close to your face.

“Just before the end. Where Perseus slays her and returns a god among men,” Caliban said, turning his head to look at you. So close.

“What?” you whisper-yelled, moving back in the process to look at the guy across the lake. There was no way that guy, with armor too big for him who still hadn’t noticed your presence, was going to slay Medusa. Caliban rolled his eyes at the dramatics of your outburst. “We can’t let him kill her.”

“Why not?” he asked. “The sooner it happens, the sooner I get back to Hell and you get back to your friends.”

“Because she didn’t deserve this. Any of this.” You gestured vaguely at the forest she’d been exiled to. “Poseidon was the one who raped her in Athena’s temple, but Medusa was the one who got cursed while he just got to go back to surfing or whatever the hell it is he does.” You shook your head. “We’re stopping this.”

“Y/N,” Caliban warned. “Messing with time is a dangerous thing.”

The warning was earnest enough, but that didn’t stop you from leaning in and giving him a once over before saying in a low voice, “I thought you had an affinity for dangerous things.”

He seemed dismayed for a moment. Clearly, whatever he expected you to say wasn’t nearly as manipulative as it had been, and you couldn’t tell if he was impressed or betrayed by the change of heart.

“If we intervene-” his voice was soft, like he was trying on a new way of talking to you “-we may be stuck in this time forever. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

You didn’t know how to answer, but something in your face must have indicated that you were on board with the risk because Caliban took a breath and continued.

“You need to do everything I say, and you can’t go off on your own. Understand?”

“Don’t step off the road, got it.”

Caliban looked at you with another inexplicable expression - maybe because you wanted to intervene, maybe because you were echoing words from the first conversations you’d ever shared - before heading off in the direction of the soldier.

“Excuse me, traveler.” His voice boomed in the near-silent forest and you held your breath. “My betrothed and I seem to be lost. Could you spare a moment to guide us out of this infernal wood?”

Perseus straightened as Caliban spoke, the mental assessment of the situation clear on his face. You shrunk behind Caliban, trying to hide your jeans and sweatshirt and anything else that didn’t belong in this time period behind his jeans and t-shirt and anything else that didn’t belong in this time period. But everything about Caliban fit, no matter where (or when) he was.

“Afraid not, sir,” he said, deciding that the oddness of your appearance wasn’t worth the risk. “I’m on a predestined quest. Best of luck on your travels.”

Perseus started collecting his things to walk away but Caliban leaned down and put out a hand, careful not to make physical contact with him. While Perseus focused on the outstretched hand, Caliban touched the helmet on the ground with his other hand. “Tell us about your quest, soldier.”

“The demon Medusa has nested in these woods. I’ve been tasked with hunting her down by the gods,” Perseus said. His face was set in a hard line, his knuckles white around the satchel in his hand.

“Surely there have been others who’ve tried to slay the Gorgon,” Caliban said, laying on the demonic charm like only a boy with his bone structure could.

“None like me,” Perseus said with a knowing smile. “Now, I’ll be on my way. Careful through the woods.”

“Of course,” Caliban said, taking a step back and holding both hands palm-up to show he meant no harm.

Though you couldn’t see it from behind his back, you knew he was giving Perseus that smile that meant he knew something the receiver didn’t. Neither of you moved as Perseus shouldered his belongings and disappeared into the trees.

You smacked his arm lightly as Caliban turned to look at you again. “What was that?” you whispered angrily. “That wasn’t stopping him!”

“You’ll remember Perseus was given three gifts to complete his quest,” Caliban said, in a way that (correctly) implied that you didn’t remember. “That was stealing the most important one.” He closed his eyes and held out his hands. When he opened them again, there was Perseus’ banged up helmet. “Hades’ helm of invisibility.”

“Now what?” you asked, voice quiet. The anger had completely dissipated from your voice; it had to or it would break whatever held the helmet together.

Caliban smiled at you as he lifted the helmet over your head. He eased it down slowly, making a clear attempt not to tug at your hair. “Now we follow him straight to the Gorgon.”

---

Even though he seemed very sure of himself, you weren’t entirely sure Caliban knew what he was doing. He kept checking over his shoulder to make sure you were still there but he was met with the emptiness of the forest instead. After the first two attempts to see where you were, you reached out and curled your fingers around his to let him know you were right there.

There. Now we won’t look suspicious.

I’m afraid that ship has sailed, love.

Then he stopped walking and raised a finger to his lips, a gesture you were slowly starting to find more endearing than annoying. “Perseus has reached the mouth of the cave,” he whispered. “Stay here and I’ll put an end to this.”

“How will you stop him on your own?” you asked, tightening your grip on his hand when he tried to slip out of your grasp.

“You almost sound concerned,” Caliban said, annoying smile forming on his face again as he tilted his head. You were glad he couldn’t see you blush under the helmet. “Have faith, love, I’ll be back soon.”

If you didn’t let him leave now, you’d never live it down. Hesitantly, you let go of his hand and watched him start towards the cave, wringing out your hands as you did. How were you supposed to wait here when rule number one was to stay together?

Technically, you thought to yourself, rule number one was to do as Caliban said, but that was never going to happen and you both knew it. Deciding that not splitting up was more important, you started following after him before you lost your nerve.

When you eventually made it to the cave, you found Caliban and Perseus in the middle of a fistfight. Caliban dodged a blow from the sword, but it left him open to Perseus’ attack with his shield.

“Yield, heretic!” Perseus yelled as he knocked Caliban to the floor.

“Oh, piss off,” Caliban spat, clearly unconcerned about the sword aimed at his chest as he started pushing himself to his feet.

You, however, were very concerned that Perseus looked ready to run him through, so you rushed forward and slammed his arm with your elbow. You managed to knock the sword out of his grip. He didn’t seem to process it for a second, but then he growled, “That helmet belongs to me, thief.”

Perseus lunged at you, and you were caught off-guard by the accuracy of his attack. He grabbed you by the throat and had you pinned against the wall. Only a few seconds passed while he strangled the life out of you, but they were a few too many before Caliban skewered Perseus with his own sword.

He choked out a few asphyxiated words as he dropped his hands to look at his wound, and you used his surprise to headbutt him into next week.

“Ow!” you whined, shaking your head as Perseus fell to the ground. “I thought the helmet was supposed to protect my head.”

“Helmets forged during the Titanomachy are hardly foolproof,” Caliban said, stepping over Perseus’ body to check on you. Or at least, where he thought you were.

He was a few inches off, and your heart melted at his attempt to touch the empty air. Lifting your hands to his, you guided him to the side of the helmet. He slipped it off gently and his bloody face broke into a smile when his eyes met yours.

“Thanks for not letting him kill her,” you said quietly.

A voice in your head politely reminded you that Sabrina hated him.

“Thanks for not listening to me,” Caliban said.

You reminded the voice that Sabrina wasn’t here right now.

There was a moment where the two of you held the helm between you in silence, hands on fire at the touch. A moment where your heart raced and you hoped he’d do something more - where you thought he’d kiss you - but it disappeared as soon as the hissing started.

“Perseus lives,” a woman said as she stepped out from the darkness of the cave. There was something in her voice that you couldn’t place. “Despite your best effort, Prince of Clay.”

“Those really weren’t my best efforts,” Caliban said, lifting the helmet so quickly that your hands were still frozen in front of you as he set it back on your head. He shut his eyes once he was sure you were invisible.

“How noble. If I can’t see her, then I can’t turn her to stone,” Medusa cooed. You turned to look at her, praying that she was right and you wouldn’t turn into a statue. She was beautiful; soft, olive skin and round brown eyes, delicate hands and a striking face. The snakes in her hair seemed to think she was pretty, too. “But I can see you.”

“We mean you no harm,” Caliban said. There wasn’t quite fear in his voice, but there was clear apprehension. “Perseus will rot if not treated and his quest will die with him.”

“No, it won’t,” Medusa said. That’s when you realized what was in her voice: sadness. “There will be Perseuses as long as I petrify the ones I love. You’ve delayed this one but you haven’t stopped my fate, and you’ll be here for as long as it takes.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Caliban asked. He opened his eyes to look the spot you were supposed to be, to make sure that you knew he was asking you, even if he spoke to Medusa. Your voice caught in your throat. “Do we go free? Leave the woods and start new lives - together?”

Medusa was close enough to you now that she reached out a perfect hand and ran a finger along his jaw. “To return home, you need to kill me,” she said, choosing not to entertain the idea of you running away together. What a nice idea it had been. “A death with dignity is better than what these heroes have in store.”

“The whole point of this was to make sure you wouldn’t die,” you argued before you could stop yourself. You didn’t know why; you needed to go home, but you still wanted something more. Medusa deserved something more.

“Everything dies, daughter of night,” Medusa said. She gazed where you should have been, but her eyes found nothing but the cave walls. “And everything gets reborn, if you wait long enough.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Caliban asked, already gripping the sword in his hands.

“Yes,” she said. She took a step back and closed her eyes so Caliban could look at her safely.

“Caliban, you can’t-”

“Don’t fear for me, little one,” Medusa said. Her snakes hissed in your direction as she comforted you. “You’ll see me again.”

You didn’t know what else to say as Caliban raised Perseus’ sword. With one great swing, he cut off her head. The snakes’ scream shrieked in your skull as the cave faded into white, distorting everything around you again.

“Y/N?” Caliban asked once you were back in Hell’s library. The reaper wraiths were long gone, books torn apart and strewn throughout the room. He called out for you again, this time louder and more frantic and snapping you out of your stupor.

“I’m here, Caliban,” you said, taking off the helmet and reaching out to him. “I’m right here.”

He was still bloody and bruised, but relief flooded his face as he looked at you. “I feared I lost you to the pages in the book,” he said. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You almost sound concerned,” you said, tilting your head just like he had earlier.

Caliban smiled like he knew something you didn’t and looked down at the sword in his hands, both covered in blood from the gashes in his forearms. “Perhaps I should take you back to your friends before the wraiths return,” he said, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you.

“Perhaps,” you repeated, shifting the helmet to one hand and closing the distance between you.

Looking up at him, you were asking him to do something. Daring him to make a move. Challenging him to let you know he felt. All these questions, and you asked them without words.

He was looking down at you, too. Challenging you in his own, infuriating way.

“Would you really have run away with me back there?”

Your words hung in the air for a moment before Caliban lifted a bloody hand to the side of your face.

Sabrina hated him.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

He was looking at your lips, fingers light as they kissed your cheek.

“I asked you first.”

You looked at his lips, fingers less delicate as they rose to his chest.

“Yes, you did.”

Sabrina wasn’t here right now.

Part 5

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#caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #infernal #chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #caos rewrite

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