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barbarianprncess · 1 year

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the anatomy of a hurricane

read on ao3

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv

part v: dissipation

Clarisse does not enjoy the sight of blood.

The irony of her aversion is not lost on her. It’s not that she’s afraid of it. She’s a daughter of Ares, violence is something she has great respect for. She doesn’t faint at the prospect of needles, or flinch at the thought of her period. She just doesn’t like it.

Contrary to popular belief, when she plays combat games at camp, she doesn’t aim to do any permanent damage. Unless you’ve royally pissed her off, she prefers the crack sound of her opponent’s broken bones, or the conch sound of knocking her opponent out. But her real enemies, monsters, don't bleed. When you’ve bested them, they become puffs of clouded dust, falling like ashes where they stood. Ashes means victory.

Blood is a demigod thing. A human thing. Her blood is what makes her who she is. It bonds her to every other kid at camp. It is their strength and their vulnerability. She’s protective of it, and the sight of it in open air means defeat. Blood means loss.

Clarisse doesn’t like blood.

And there was just so much of it.

Annabeth’s blood.

Pouring from her shoulder. Spilling through Grover’s shaking fingers. Soaking Thalia’s jeans where she crouched in the pool of it. Dyeing Percy's shirt as he cradles her to his chest. Staining her cheek where he touched her face, smearing from teardrops he couldn’t seem to help.

Clarisse kind of fucking hates blood.

Hates the way it rushes in her ears, and hates it even more because she’s grateful for it. Grateful for the fact that she can’t hear what’s going on around her. In fact, blood is all she can hear, all she has heard since Grover let out that disbelieving half-laugh, half-sob. Since Thalia threw her chair at the opposite wall.

Hates the way it’s all encompassing, even so far away from the source. She can see it, the half-dried streaks left behind in Percy’s hair from his fingers raking through it. She can smell it, potent and relentless, coming off all of their clothes. She can fucking taste it, metallic and fresh in her mouth from biting the inside of her cheek too hard.

Clarisse doesn’t know how she ended up here, shaking with rage outside the Olympian throne room. Well, she does, but it’s strange. It doesn’t feel real. None of it. But it has to be real because she can still see it and she can still hear it and she remembers.

She remembers the gods finding them on the bridge just in time to do absolutely fucking nothing. She remembers every agonizing second the gods just stood there and gaped at the tableau of misery they’d created. She can still see Luke's mangled body feet away from Clarisse, Thalia, and Grover, huddled around Percy clutching at Annabeth's body. She can still hear how hoarse the desperation made Percy's voice when he demanded the gods, “Do something!”

Apollo had knelt down to pry Annabeth out of Percy’s arms, (which tightened instinctually as the god approached) to see the wound itself, and the look on his face at the sight of her shoulder—swollen and green and still fucking bleeding—was the farthest thing from reassuring.

Clarisse vaguely recalls some whispers and shuffling before Apollo said something to Hermes about getting the child to his infirmary, who dragged his eyes away from his son's corpse, shed a single tear, and snapped his fingers. In a flash they were sitting in uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs, a stark contrast to the golden doors of Olympus, watching helplessly as Apollo placed Annabeth on some kind of ancient floating gurney, and called to some dryads she assumed worked for him to follow him down the walkway.

And then there was radio silence.

Hours must’ve passed since the Gods locked themselves in the throne room without giving any clue as to when they’re coming out again. Or maybe it’s been minutes. An excruciatingly slow collection of seconds. She really has no idea.

All she knows is the floating tufts of goat hair Grover had been anxiously combing—ripping—out.

All she knows is the furrow of Thalia's brow.

All she knows is in the years she’s known him, Clarisse has only ever seen Percy be this still before once.

The golden doors swish open with far too much elegance for the occasion.

All she knows is the smell and sight and feel of Annabeth's blood.

And as four of them enter the throne room, she is certain that that’s all Percy knows too.

As they stand before the grandeur of the Olympians, Clarisse is underwhelmed.

The gods had reverted to their giant form, in order to fill up their royal thrones. The twelve were seated and arranged in a wide U, like the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. Her brain couldn’t really process the whole of it; instead her ADHD bounced between details. How her father’s sunglasses seemed seconds from slipping off his nose. How the waves that, at first glance, seemed to be engraved in Poseidon’s throne, are actually moving, mini storm systems whirling up and around each of the legs. The snakes on Hermes' staff tearing into a rodent. The simplest of the seats of power being empty; she knew instinctively it was Hestia’s. A quick scan found the goddess still in human form, poking at an enormous fire that crackled in the central hearth pit. The room itself radiated power, and yet Clarisse has to fight the urge to scoff.

She thinks of the battle at Zeus’s Fist last summer. Pictures them sitting in this exact circle watching in relative boredom. Watching the children that they created, lose their lives to a war they didn’t start. And she feels nothing for her father, for any of the beings before her. Not fear, not awe, not even pity. Certainly not love. She feels nothing.

The same cannot be said for Grover or Thalia who radiate disgust at the display of ego before them.

The same cannot be said for Percy. Percy is livid. Clarisse doesn’t blame him.

“Welcome demigods,” Athena addresses them first, “I’m sure you have many questions about what just occurred and I am happy to make everything clear for you.”

“Demigods,” Zeus begins. “I will admit I was as in the dark as you were about this…plan, but I must say I am grateful it took place.” Somewhere to her left Grover coughs, as if physically repulsed by the statement, but Clarisse isn’t sure; her eyes are staring straight ahead piercing a hole through the hearth.

“We recognize your bravery and sacrifice.” Thalia laughs out loud, earning a disbelieving scowl from her father before he continues. “And we understand your desire for an explanation. Athena?”

The aforementioned clears her throat in a way that makes Clarisse want to rip her hair out. She feels a strange sense of deja vu as Athena runs down The Plan in her clipped, pragmatic, light-as-air tone. And that smug look on her face, like everything went exactly the way she envisioned, like she didn’t almost ruin several people's lives by taking someone out of it. The no remorse smirk on her face is something Clarisse knows she’ll see in nightmares for the rest of her life.

(If she ever does start sleeping again.)

Clarisse must’ve zoned out because soon that curled lip is saying, “Any questions?”, and Thalia and Grover are bursting at the seams, so clearly about to explode and Clarisse is waiting for the deadliest of pins to drop.

“How?” Percy speaks but doesn’t look at them

“I’m sorry?” Athena quite literally begs his pardon. Clarisse would laugh if she wasn’t seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

“How did this happen to her?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The whole point of your plan was to prevent demigods from injuries. I know Annabeth better than anyone, and I’m certain one of the reasons she agreed to your dumbass plan was to keep demigods safe. But that’s not her job. It’s yours. All of yours. And you failed. You’ve been failing miserably for millennia because you’re too busy to get involved with individual children's affairs. But you did. You got involved the second you presented Annabeth with this dumbass fucking plan, and as soon as she agreed it became your responsibility to take care of her. To keep up your end of the deal. You said she was to be kept in an enchanted safe house. That it was almost impossible to detect, or to infiltrate. She was safe. I don’t know if you noticed— but the state she’s in, is not anywhere close to safe. So. How, the fuck, did this happen?”

Demeter, who’s been irritatingly disinterested at the proceedings around her, furrows a brow. “Are you implying that the injury of your little friend—,”

“Annabeth. Her name is Annabeth.”

“—is somehow Athena’s fault?”

Athena raises a regal hand. “Thank you, Demeter, but I’m afraid the demigod is right.”

Clarisse isn’t the only one taken aback by the confession but Athena barely gives any time to process it. “The safe house was scheduled to dissolve on August 19th. The only condition Annabeth gave for her participation in this plan was to receive hourly updates on Percy’s…survival status on August 18th, starting at midnight. I was so caught up in surveilling New York in preparation for the eminent battle, I did not send those updates. I would tell you what happened, but Hephaestus has put together the footage, so you can see for yourself.”

A clear screen that reads Hephaestus TV materializes in front of them. One second she’s looking at Aphrodites too-shiny fingernails, the next she’s looking at unnervingly clear security footage of an all too familiar house. There are Greek letters blinking in the lower right hand corner, 23:45 blinking in the upper left.

Military time, Clarisse thinks. They’re using western military time. She itches at the thought. Because she knows that’s how the gods viewed them. As soldiers to take orders from they’re higher ups at any moment. She knows that objectively, has seen it in action, but for some reason those blinking numbers hit her hard in the gut.

Roughly translated, the screen is reporting the time as 11:45 pm, August 17th.

The room is messier than she remembers. There are more papers strewn on the floor, a pile of barely eaten sandwiches ready to spill out of the trash can, ancient books with pages ripped out open on the ground. The only thing up on the wall is what appears to be a calendar open to the month of August. There are little notes on different days, and four big red circles surrounding a date she doesn’t have to see clearly to know what it signifies.

And suddenly, there she is. A curly blonde whirlwind spinning on screen. Next to her, she hears Thalia stumble back three steps. Grover lets out a bleating moan.

She glances at Percy. He doesn’t move or speak or even breathe but he’s looking at Annabeth on the screen like he’s seeing Olympus for the first time, a mortal standing before Zeus. Like watching Annabeth pace around in a safe house in New Jersey is a religious experience.

Clarisse looks away.

The video speeds up until the clock reads 12:00 am, August 18th.

On-screen Annabeth uncaps a marker and x’s out the circled day on the calendar. Drags an old fashion looking phone that Clarisse assumes is magical out of a closet and on the floor and sits cross-legged in front of it.

Her left leg is bouncing over her foot. She’s picking at her nails. Tugging fingers through her curls. Scrunching her nose. She’s waiting, it’s palpable, you can feel the anxiety through the screen.

At 1:36 am, Annabeth taps at the phone, picks it up, and says something into the speaker. Her words are muted but her mouth is frantic and her brows are furrowed.

At 2:43 am, Annabeth fills a bath with steaming water and uses one of the few emergency drachma she has to Iris-message someone who doesn’t answer.

At 3:13 am, Annabeth pulls out a bag of what looks like rocks and throws one of them on the ground. A sort-of glowing portal opens where the broken pieces should be. She takes one last look at the house, grabs a piece of paper off the nearest table, stuffing it in her pocket, and steps through.

The footage switches to grainier surveillance of a street corner. A figure is lurking behind her. Bile rises in Clarisse’s throat when she reads the street sign.

She was two blocks away.

She was right there the whole time.

Clarisse doesn’t want to think about what happened next. There’s a boy with an eyepatch that Percy seems to recognize based on the growl he lets out when he appears. There’s a fight. The part of Clarisse that has trained with Annabeth half her life knows that based on Eyepatch boy’s skill level, Annabeth could take him any other day.

But it’s August 18th.

And she’s distracted, and terrified, and alone, and unarmed.

She never stood a chance.

Annabeth fights it out for a while but the odds are more than stacked against her. She ends up on the ground, and the Eyepatch boy is standing over her. He raises his dagger to take the final blow and Annabeth rolls away at the last second and the blow aimed at her chest ends up lodged in her shoulder.

Annabeth lets out a blood curdling scream.

The video cuts off.

“I’m sure you can infer what happens next.”

Thalia scoffs, high pitched and false. Grover throws up in a gold-plated bucket.

And Percy is raising a hand.

A great sense of resignation expands in Clarisse’s chest.

Thalia notices first, choking down her laughter and calling out, “Percy, dont!”

The room begins to rumble. A crack appears on the stone floor beneath him, and snakes its way to both sides of the room. He’s drawing a line in the sand separating Clarisse, Thalia, and Grover from the gods.

He’s protecting them from himself, Clarisse realizes.

The room rumbles, cracks crawl like spider legs beneath in Olympus’s throne room. Pillars begin to crumble, symbols of power are shaken from their mantles and Percy effectively turns the proudest place in the universe into dust and rubble.

“Perseus Jackson!” Poseidon yells, but the only thing he succeeds in doing is turning Percy’s attention on him. “Stand down, son. Before we must make you.”

“Okay.” Percy smirks, with an empty look in his eye.

“Make me.”

That seems enough goading for Hermes, who steps forward and points his staff. Clarisse flinches, preparing for an explosion or an energy blast or something but nothing comes. Because as he prepared to strike, the snakes on his cattle prod slithered up close to his face and whispered something in his ear.

“He has taken on the Curse of Achilles.” Hermes exclaims. “Ancient law is clear, we cannot—,”

“But, this is a direct attack!” Ares shouts. “Can we not defend ourselves?”

(Her father, she remembers. That thing in the leather and the sunglasses is her father.)

“He is at the mercy of the fates, and only the fates.” Hestia answers, strangely calm in the middle of an active earthquake. “We can do nothing.”

A crack in the ground crawls its way from the center of the room to the center of all godly thrones. Clarisse follows its path all the way to Zues’ feet, who looks up and locks stormy eyes with his nephew.

Percy is still looking in Zues’s eyes when he breaks his throne in two.

His symbol of power.

The greatest, most powerful seat in the known universe.

In pieces.

The room stills and no one breathes, nothing moves, and all eyes are on Percy.

Percy is surveying the ashes he made out of Olympus.

“I’m not going to hurt you. This is me demonstrating. Showing you that I could, so you understand what I’m about to say.”

“You may not die. But, you feel pain. You can hurt. You bleed. And you will. If she doesn’t wake up, you will never stop hurting. You will never stop bleeding. I will spend every second, of every day, of the rest of my life, teaching you what pain is. And you will spend every second of your eternal life, wondering if killing her was worth it.”

He looks at Apollo, deadon. “Fix her. Swear on the River Styx that you’ll do everything in your power to fix her.”

“My child…I can't just…there are vows I took—,”

“Fuck your vows. Swear on the Styx that you’ll fix her. Because if you don’t, I will hold you personally responsible. And when I prove that cracking a throne is a kindness, I will make you watch. Do you understand?”

Apollo nods.

“Swear it.”

(He does.)

Percy slams the doors on his way out.

The first week of Annabeth’s coma, Clarisse is at a standstill.

Chiron calls an emergency meeting the second they get back. Well, he calls an emergency meeting the second he looks up from his book and sees Percy covered in blood.

It’s her third time hearing this plan and being completely honest, it makes even less sense the more she hears it. She grips Percy’s bicep the whole time Chiron. Percy’s frame is stiff and brittle and gone is the easygoing sea-breeze he used to carry with him everywhere, and Clarisse feels the pit of her stomach burn.

He doesn’t look at her the entire time, but she doesn’t let go of his arm, either.

The apology is faltered and shaky and it might be the most sincere she’s ever seen Chiron, and it’s not nearly enough.

He doesn’t mention her involvement.

She’s grateful and hates herself for it.

“There was no other choice,” he says, “and for that I am deeply, truly sorry.”

He’s looking at Percy, but Percy is looking at the floor again, and Clarisse is the one who has to watch Micheals’s strangled laughter, Katies’s wild teary eyes and the way Silena’s shoulders sag and face melts into something bitter she doesn't recognize on her features.

She hates it. She hates the thick, suffocating feeling of being in this room full of hearts broken for nothing, like someone came in and hacked them to pieces with a blunt machete and left the remains in a pile on the ping-pong table.

She lets go of Percy’s arm, then, and tries not to let it bother her too much when he doesn’t speak to her. Or look at her. Or otherwise acknowledge her existence.

After spending three days in the Olympus equivalent of an ICU, Annabeth is put in a medically induced coma to give her body time to heal from her injuries. Hermes then transported her directly into the infirmary at camp with a note on her chest with directions from Apollo to Will on keeping her alive.

The first thing Will does when he gets over his shock is get Percy.

And as Clarisse stands with Beckendorph outside their wooden excuse of a hospital, and watch Percy clutch Annabeth's hand and glare at the machines keeping her alive, she wonders aloud, “The fuck do we do now?”

Beckendorph sighs, bone deep.

“We wait.”

The second week of Annbeth’s coma, Clarisse is getting restless.

Other than the breathing tube being removed from her throat — something you couldn't pay Clarisse to witness again — Annabeth has made very little progress.

Camp's routine adjusts accordingly to her presence.

Will gives the same update every day at morning meetings, (She hasn’t gotten any worse. No, she hasn’t gotten any better, but the lack of crises makes me hopeful we will make progress soon. Yes, I know I said was hopeful yesterday. You know Annabeth, she’s a fighter. She’s strong.) effectively setting the tone for the day.

Everyone seems to isolate themselves, reeling and grieving and agonizing in their own special way. Beckendorph locks himself in his workshop, Micheal breaks more bows. Katie has taken up baking and Travis pretends they’re delicious. Connor lets Malcolm tutor him in English.

For the entirety of the first week, Percy stayed firmly by Annabeth's bedside. Will set up a cot for him to sleep in, and Percy refused to sleep in it until they pushed it close enough to her bed for him to hold her hand.

Clarisse is sitting at the far end of the room, watching Percy watch Annabeth's chest go up and down, when he speaks to her for the first time.

Once he starts, he doesn’t ever really stop. It becomes constant background noise. He makes it clear he’s not speaking to anyone else, his words soft, his eyes trained on her face.

She picks up bits and pieces.

“ If your twelve year old self could see you now...”

“…Your dad is pissed. I think you might be grounded for eternity...”

“…Everyone misses you…”

“…Someone punched a hole in the wall in the Big House. I promise you, it wasn’t me…”

“…I miss you…”

“…My mom might be more pissed than your dad…”

“…I missed you when you were awake, I missed you all the time…”

“…I’m mad at you…”

“…I wish I could say I didn’t know what you were thinking when you did it, but I do. I know you. I know what you were thinking. It kinda makes me sick...”

“…I’m honestly, really fucking angry with you…”

“…I miss you, and I'm furious with you, and I need you to wake up so I can forgive you…”

“…I just really need you to come back to me, okay? Please, come back to me…”

“…Annabeth, I need you to wake up.”

(She doesn’t)

Then he’s putting his head down next to the hand he’s holding, and he's crying those terrible, horrible broken sobs that seem to cut open Clarisse’s chest and squeeze at all her vital organs. And Clarisse thinks that she is going to kill Annabeth Chase when she wakes up.

Except she won’t. At this point, Clarisse has decided that death, quite frankly, is an activity that Annabeth Chase is simply not allowed to partake in. It’s non-negotiable. If Annabeth ever tries to die again, for fake or for real, Clarisse is going to lose her shit. Annabeth and death are no longer allowed in the same goddamn sentence, because Clarisse’s life never needs to be this fucking complicated ever again, and, also, Clarisse isn’t completely sure that the boy curled up in the too small hospital bed would survive it a third time.

The third week of Annabeth’s coma, Clarisse is at a crossroads.

Thalia is visiting, so Percy is for the first time leaving Annabeth’s side for a period of time not filled by showering or debriefing. Chris had suggested they take a boat out on the lake and they both agreed, if only to get away from the stares and whispers. And when they were done they sat on the beach until the day’s heat morphed into the night's breeze.

Clarisse is picking helplessly at the sand beneath her when Percy says, “I told him it was okay.”

Clarisse’s entire body goes rigid. She doesn’t ask who or what or why even though her head is swirling with curiosity. Instead, she stays silent and just as she is, like if she moves he’ll change his mind.

“Chiron, I mean. I told him it was okay.” She hears four waves crash before he speaks again. “I didn’t forgive him. I don’t know if I’ll ever really forgive him. I think I might kind of hate him for a long time. But, I understand. Why he did what he did, I understand now. I didn’t before.”

“I was so angry, Clarisse. When I thought that she…I was really fucking angry all the time.”

You deserved to be.

“Luke was angry all the time too. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t ever want to hurt her, not for anything. Especially not for revenge against the gods. They don’t deserve it.”

“I’m just really tired of all of it, Clarisse.”

“I’m sorry, Percy,”

“S’not your fault.”

“But—,”

“I know.” Something about the way he says it, stops her from trying to speak. Because somehow, he knows she knew the truth. And she doesn’t know how or why and she doesn’t particularly care because all she can feel is guilt and dread and a selfish bit of fear. But, Percy does what he has continued to do since that day on the docks to her left.

He surprises her.

“I know, and it’s not your fault.”

“It’s okay, Clarisse. It’s okay.”

They sit like that for a long time. Clarisse reeling, Percy contemplating. She stands up when the bell for curfew rings, but he doesn’t. Her back is turned to him when he asks,

“She made you promise, didn’t she? She made you promise to take care of me?”

Clarisse sighs, “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“Well, when she wakes up, I’m telling her you did a shit job.”

She smiles in the darkness, and heads back to her cabin.

It ends where it began—the Big House. Everyone is assembled for their morning debrief, and Will is standing to give his update.

The door creaks open and without looking she knows.

Maybe she knows from Chris's hand on her thigh tightening. Maybe from the way Will drops back into his chair. Maybe from the sound of Conner choking on his sandwich. Maybe from the high-pitched half-sob Malcolm lets out. Maybe from the way Beckendorf sighs like the weight of the world has lifted. Maybe from the way Katie rubs at her eyes. Maybe from Silena’s smile. Maybe from Percy.

Percy, who for the first time since that day on the docks, looks truly alive.

Clarisse turns and there she is. Annabeth. Hovering in the doorway like a ghost, looking as if she’s just as surprised by the fact that she’s here as the rest of them. Her eyes are sunken and wild and darting around the room in a desperate search. They pass over Travis and Katie, Beck and Silena, and Micheal and Chris and—

Percy.

They land on Percy.

Percy, who’s looking at her like she’s the sun coming out.

Annabeths eyes freeze, fill with tears, and positively fracture.

She looks bad—sickly and gray and skinny as one of Nico’s skeletons, and everything about her malnourished frame swaying on her feet suggested a breeze could blow by, and she’d just float away. Her face is ashen and her hands are shaking and her shoulders are drawn up in a preemptive flinch.

Percy is looking at her like she’s divine.

“Hi.” Her voice is high and fragile and afraid. The room is so silent her voice practically echoes through the space. Everyone is frozen stuck in place, gaping at this girl who stopped a war before it began.

Percy’s gaze is darting over her too small figure like he can’t pick between any of the parts of her. Her kneecaps, her collarbones, her ankle, her fingertips, her mouth, her hair, her eyes—he keeps coming back to her eyes—he looks at all of it, all of her. He’s looking at her like he never wants to look at anything else.

“I didn’t mean to barge in on your meeting, I was just….” Percy snapped his gaze to her eyes when she started talking and Jesus, it’s so intense, Clarisse wants to look away on Annabeth’s behalf, but she can’t, she doesn’t seem to be able to. If Annabeth is the sun then she’s somehow managed to pull the entire room into her orbit and Percy is close enough to burn.

“I’m sorry, Percy.” Everything about her is shaking. Her voice, her hands, her legs, they vibrate compared to Percy’s stillness. “You don’t have to accept it, you don’t have to forgive it, you don’t even really have to hear it, I just need you to know it. Selfishly, I need you to know it. That I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Percy, sorry I did this to you, sorry I couldn’t be there for you, sorry I agreed to it in the first place, I-I just…I was trying to protect you. To keep you safe—alive, just trying to keep you alive. I wanted for you to have more time than the fates gave you. That’s all I’ve wanted for five fucking years, for you to have more time. Because I…you have to know that I—,”

“Annabeth.” She freezes, looks at him, and there’s that orbit again, only this time Percy and Annabeth are the only planets that exist. Together, they are their own personal solar system.

“You died.” His voice is hoarse, low.

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again.”

She hesitates, “I’ll try.”

“You love me?”

She exhales. Nods.

“Okay.”

Clarisse blinks and there’s a supernova.

Somehow, through the haze and blinding lights and pure unadulterated love of it all, the rest of the council finds the sense to clear out of the room, and give them their privacy.

(Not that it mattered. Percy was kissing her before any of them could think, let alone avert their eyes. They all fumbled out of their chairs and rushed out the door in such haste, there was no way they were quiet, but Chiron's hooves and Silena’s giggles didn’t seem to penetrate their little universe.)

After what Clarisse considered to be an absurd amount of time considering the fact that they knew the entirety of camp was waiting for them, they emerged with swollen lips and matching smiles. Percy had one arm in a vice grip around her waist, as Annabeth seemed pretty shaky on her feet, but made it down the steps without mishap.

Everyone stood frozen and staring, the spell she cast still unbroken. Annabeth seemed to pick up on this, her smile softening as she held up her arms.

Katie and Silena dive in first, squeezing her way too tight and laughing in her ear. Travis and Connor were right behind them, choked up and unblinking, until Annabeth reached up and ruffled their hair. They let out wet laughs and Connor tripped over his own feet backing up. Thalia holds her face in shaking hands. Grover held her hands gingerly and sob into her collarbone. She took Malcolm’s hand, whose fists had been curled up and kissed him on the cheek, melting the stony emotions on his face. Beckendorph holds out his hand for a complicated handshake, and Micheal bumps her arm with his shoulder. Chiron tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

Then it’s her turn.

Annabeth is looking up at her with wide, and grateful eyes, similar to the look she gave her in the factory but somehow older.

Clarisse is fuming and elated and hates her and never wants her to go away again.

Honestly, Clarisse kind of wants to hit her.

While she’s deciding, Annabeth throws her arms around her neck.

She smells sterile.

Clarisse begins to cry.

Annabeth takes it in stride, kneeling to the ground when Clarisse starts to collapse in on herself, and holds her. Percy crouches in a way that can’t be very comfortable, and holds the both of them. And then there are more arms and more tears and somehow Clarisse is smack in the middle of a group hug and she doesn’t even care.

They’re far from okay. She thinks they might be someday.

When a storm is over, it leaves wreckage behind.

Annabeth’s not-death left behind obvious debris. Foundations of trust were cracked, people were wounded, and some things would never be the same as they were.

But, they rebuild. They fill the cracks, and mend the bones, and make something shiny and new out of broken rusted parts.

It's hard, painful work.

(It’s worth it.)

They are camped out in sleeping bags around Annabeth’s infirmary bed, and for now, the storm has passed.

Annabeth is half asleep on Percy’s shoulder, and the ocean before them is calm.

Percy’s smile is in Annabeth’s hair and the earth is steady beneath them.

They are holding each other and despite it all, there is nothing but love around them.

For now the storm has passed. And that, Clarisse thinks, is enough.

#percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth fic #my writing #anatomy of a hurricane

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ladymirdan · 1 year

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I've had such an amazing day today.

I guess there is no secret that my interest in 40k has waned slightly recently.

I feel I get less and less comments on my posts/fics/art, despite getting a lot more followers (and with that, a lot more unhinged hate DMs) Ive started to feel like the hobby had lost that spark for me.

I've been into Warhammer for a loooong time.

I first got into the hobby (WH Fantasy) in 2003 and I was immediately hooked. I was blown away by how cool the worldbuilding was, but more importantly how friendly the community was.

My FLGS let me, a broke-ass student, sit and paint my army in store for literal hours on end. Always so happy to see me, despite me hardly ever buying anything. And let me tell you, I was a shy and awkward kid, and they always remembered my name and made me feel so welcome.

I haven't really engaged with Warhammer online until about a year and a half ago when I created my ao3 account. At first it seemed just as friendly as my offline experiences. But recently? I feel like I'm either ignored whenever I comment or try to interact with the community or worse, get told I suck or should go kill myself.

So I just felt it was time to maybe leave, (but I admit, the sunk cost makes it difficult) The only thing I really looked forward to was the minipainting classes I take once a week.

But today I got that magick feeling back. And remembered how much I love this hobby.

I went to my local GW for the new 10th edition 40k release. I’m a time pessimist as usual and arrived 1,5h early 😅 and found out there was only one other guy in line before me, but rather soon a bunch of other people showed up.

Everyone was sooo excited to be there and I made a bunch of new friends in line.

Then I got in and ordered my box (and I also managed to snag the special edition signed book that is a tie in with the box! That felt so much fun, I have never managed to get one of those before despite really trying).

I also got some of the new Death Guard Space Marine Heroes packs. A kid behind me in the queue also got some because he wanted a specific hero (that he unfortunately didn't get) I suggested I open my packs and see if I got one and then we could trade. I did get that model, and he was so excited and thankful, it really made my day since I didnt care that much for that particular model, but to him it was everything.

Everyone in the store was so hyped, and the mood was so great I didn't want to leave, so when I overheard some of the guys I hung out with in line ask if there was a mini of the month they could build, I tagged along.

The store staff was as amazing as always and brought out not only the mini of the month, but also three other models they still had in stock from previous months.

So I ended up building 4 minis in the store along with a bunch of other people.

I met a really nice couple that was pretty new to the hobby and they asked if I was excited for the new box because half of it was Ultramarines (I told them I love the Ultra boys, big chock 😅) but I explained that there was nothing Ultramarine specific in the box and one could paint them as any chapter they wanted.

And boy, they were amazed! They had no idea that all space marines are generic models and they were so curious about other chapters and I tried to explain that there was a chapter for pretty much anything and any colour.

The girl ended up really liking the Soul Drinkers and the guy was on the fence between Blood Angels and sticking to Ultramarines :D

So my advice to anyone else that feels like the hobby is toxic, or is tired of the “my army is soo much cooler then yours/everyone who likes this sucks”, please join the real world.

This hobby is soo amazing, and it is filled with so many happy, passionate people, all loving this weird little hobby.

Over 20+ years, a dozen or more game stores/clubs; I have never had a bad IRL experience with Warhammer. I really wish I could say the same thing about the online experience.

#warhammer 40k #40k #warhammer #hobby #real talk #leviathan #space marines

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solardick · 6 months

Text

Card И. The next step is equaleving it to the & card. As it stands for the same letter. As and. The addition.

And it looks like they captured the last episode and externalized it as someone else. Stilled smoked half a pack though. Because i’m a dumbass but, that’ll never change. And that also showed that am i not alone in the way i react to. BS. Though on a small scale for my level of experience to causes.

Though i also found it curious about the И card image i used resembles the letter & to a high degree. No? I think so.

Naw, starting to not like russia. Chechen and the letter X. Becomes a general. In his prime. Good bye child, good graces to you.

My advancements on the tarot have been, suppressed by something else. Lately.

Kind of just want the calm before the storm. Its a quiet. Sombering. Well, heres the outcome of all those years conditioning. Disease.

Thats where ive been, grew out from it.

Oh, wise one i bow. The special forces are an A. Though, there’s this queer moment. For the letter V of an image of a feminine body gracing the subject with water. As strength is in truth. Read it from wiki. Must be true.

But as we explore and i’m given new information. One finds a window to the exclusive. And where that strings leads.

“The unit i, also known as imaginary number i, represents the value of the square root of -1 and part of the number system called imaginary numbers. An imaginary number is the value of the square root of a negative number. The numbers are not fake just simply have no place on the number line like real numbers.”

At any rate. Going yo resign from being a part of the health and safety comity. Can’t do it. Not if i have to come home and be alone. I can’t function. I’ll just drift from any responsibilities and not have a head in the game. And with Pluto moving in. Knowing i don’t own my own life. Just gonna fuck it all up anyway. As soon as i open that door. Its silence. Nothing else. No words. No sound. No movement. The same as its been all my life. Even when coming home to house full of assholes. Never been any communication at home. Bever will be.

As for the present time. I can sit there and game for 16 straight hours or sit behind my phone. And let words speak for themselves. It’s not like anyone has ever had anything to say to me anyway.

Fucken stupid fucken country abd stupid fuckrn healthcare systwm. Fuck you. Dont call me at work. I cant answer. Called bavk after work. No sound. A dead line. Well i tried. Leave the infection to fuck my insides. After 3:30 or on the weekend. Whem? Monda6 fucken morning. Thats ehen. Its bad enough. Im not even allowed to go t o a clinic.

Hello operator from anoyher country. That has a hard time soeaking my fucken language. Fuck you.

Maybe it’ll get so bad that i’ll have to go get surgery and waste a hundreb thousand dollars instead of a 20$ bottle or anti biotics instead. Sounds like aplan. Fuck i hate canada.

Ivr done a couple hours on duo-lingo. Think im qualified enough to get a job working for the russian helarhcare system behind a phone.

They are so fucken with me. Fourth call…. Hello do uou speak french. Not functionalyl enough to describe anything. Ok. Give me your number my colleage will get back to you. Its fun spendign an entire lifetime being fucked with. 39 tears and counting. They’re never going to stop.

Hello suicide. Welcome back. Whats up buddy. My longest known friend.

Cheers to tyranny. Theres more of it than not. Always was. Always will be. Well go to the hospital wait in the E.rmR for another 13 hours. For them to tell me to come back another day. Pray. I cant go through the proper channels.

Get me out of this horrorscope prison cell you’ve put me in.

I dont want to pay for health insurance anymore. All i get is the opposite. If i cant even get my rights fulfilled. Image trying to do a privilege.

Its like driving is a privilege. That i have to pay for even if i don’t drive.

Though i can smoke, cigs and pot, and game and watch tv buy alcohol. No problem. Its handled with curtesy and a smile. I even have a guy, that will give me methadetamines. For free! Wow. Not that i’ll do it willingly. Doesnt mean i havent been drugged with them. To make me unstable. Went to go get a cup of coffee. Recently. They put speed in it. I expect canada to make that legal soon too.

As for the health and safety comity, that i got roped in applying for. I declined it. Everytime i did that as a kid. People did it anyway. And i got shot in for it. So nope. Not with pluto moving in on it.

The world is designed for people wirh engeneered stress disorders. To get fucked by life. I do t look forward to the day wheb im completly dependant in the health care system. When im old. Holy fick.

Fifth call. From an unknown number. Hi, my colleage didnt soeak french yesterday. So we’re calling to be evil degenerate fuckers of humanity and rub in as much as we can. While tour supposed to be at work where you have zero reception. And cant take calls. Told her to suck to evil out of my ass.

Well since im goign to be waitingn here for anothe r ten hours. Go smoke some smokes. Study russain if the drowsiness doesnt go away.

Too bad the words for “bad language” or “abuse” is seemingly identical to “Mother”. Being мат and мать. I cant tell the difference. Being being explained that ь succeeding the previous letter combines them to a y sound. And yet. Listenign to audio recordings of both мат & мать. They sound the same.

These are what you’re looking for. The differnece for here at the moment is passive abuse versus active abuse. Is there a difference? There is. One gets away with it and the other doesnt. Because we’ll bred to be passive and receptive. The same go for the abuse. It wasnt eliminated just changed gender. It safer to abuse people with passivity than activity. They’re no consequemces involved.

Looking for things like this. When it comes to the power of symbols. And attached meaning. As for the russian to english equates abuse with the mother. Beign abused by “caretaker” “authorities”. Or abusing the mother. And not by the mother. And these cockskrs here fucken with me.

Im not allowed to have a non-abusive mothet. Or father. Or sibblings. Doesnt matter. Its all мат to me. But one continues on with the passivity until the other explodes or implodes. Or kills themsleves. Somehow. And vents out the frustration. And then you go active abuse. Beat them down for callign you out. Thats life.

Other than that. The A-fool should be feminine. And the E fool masculine. All life starts with the feminine. And the play on words. Like beauty vs booty. They sound similar. Amd yet not at all different. A booty is beauty. And eau brings it all back to the caressing of the mother and the lion. Other wise we have two male fools each besides the devil card and associations to carnality. Which works beautifully. Because. An upside down A. Represents inclusion. A one for all. But doesn’t add them. As a sum total. Because it’s all about the individual. At this point. Which is fitting also for eau is litterally to word for water in french. But we’ee trying to be ignorant like most of these other fuckers. And detach the tarot script from its perversion of its designed rape of mankind.

For example. This little girl is being repeatative about calling out for daddy, dah, dah! Da dah da da. I put my book down. Look her right in the eyes. Gave her the attention she was missing with a detached/attached sense of silence. And she quieted down completely. Little girls are like that with me. They reach out and call me daddy. The breeding ones. Do nothing about abuse me. And the older ones are usually super chill.

And i come back in and the guy that was beside me is gone and a woman took his place. Both of is chewing on jerky.

It’s interesting that the russian letters change their pronunciation as another letter when it comes to them being placed to hard and soft consonants or at the beginning of a word to the end of a word. D turns into k. V turns into F. This seems like a fun area to explore the use of imaginary/complex numbers and bridging them to the real. If i understand that right. Theres not much difference between the russian words for water and vodka. And vodka is supposedly pronounced as votka. Wheres as the D changes form to a T.

Hey look, my conscience is back and the fear of reprimand. But, you know what? Y’all right. I don’t need one.

The tragedy of the baltimore bridge collapse happened at the same time as health service canada called. While not being able to respond. Down in the water. People died. But only the construction workers minding they’te own bussiness. But save for there not beign andingle car on the bridge because authorities where given a warning. They just left six people on the bridge anyway? Yeah ok.

Checked my phone. That be 10 calls to or from the gap. With nothing. A dead line and bs.

Well thee goes three hundred dollar cause im not allowed to go to a clinic.

That was a waste of everyones time. Sorry wewont help you. Come nack when your dying.

Well time to go home and chain smoke.

Does it hurt? Sometimes. But since there aint any pain receptors there. You dont feel much at all. Do you have reason to beleive its an std? What?! Ive been single for twenty years. (She gave a suppressed gasp of astonishment)( i know im super sexy and all) women give me fuck me eyes all the time. If their not trying to fuck me over. If i habe an std its because someone purposfukly gave me one.

Sorry im going to touvhc your prostate. You may feel uncomfortable…… ok. Whatever. That’s my prostate? Feels like every other partof my ass. (Uncomforatble. And raw. And like its infected. Goes with the stages of the moon. Like an infection does) People say that feels good? Know what feels good. Taking a huge shit. After youve been holding in it all day. Am i right?!

Oh Ну, ar leat i learned soem russian grammar while waiting these last ten hours. Djould hav eyet to the pot store first. Now its closed. Maybe i’ll

Find a big roach in the ground. Well if all the children didnt get to them first.

It’ll go away on its own. Its been over a month. Yeah sometimes it takes longer. Ok then. Probably something i got drugged with.

An dnow its time to wait for my jailers to mentioned exactly what i told to nurse today. And then ill punch them in the nose as hard as i can. Still need to get my hunting permit for a quick painless way out.

Wahts it mean when you find a dead goffer before spring? That sunmer isnt gonna come at all? Can. You imagine everyday being fall? Wakenup in the morning put on a winter coat fo home in the evening wearing shorts and a wife beater. There

hasnt been a winter. This year. Its perma fall.

Well its 1 am. Got to get ul in four hours. Guess im not going to work. All i can feel is the sicknessnin my ass. And even agter going to the hospital. I walk out. Not knowing any better than i did. Not having a diagnosis. And a cheap quicky look. I fucken hate life.

#tarot #tarotblr #qwerty #math

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

yay for the open requests! I really reallyyyyyy love your Harry's older sister hc, could u pretty pls do more? like their brief life as a family with lily and james, then to the dursleys and then at war, so on. I agree with the anon that did the request, harry does needed a bigger sister❤️

aH I LOVED THESE REQUESTS

YOU GUYS CAN READ THE HEADCANONS THIS ANON IS TALKING ABOUT HERE

ok so this is L O N G i need to add a keep reading tab

alright so let's talk about harry's older sister

so lily and james did not plan you

they were straight out of hogwarts

just having fun

and suddenly lily is having morning sickness and james running into a store to buy a pregnancy test (or whatever the wizard equivalent would be 😗)

james would be so nervous the weeks leading up to your birth

he already knows that you aren't even here yet and there isn't anything he wouldn't do for you

and when you are born

he swears he'd never love anything as much as he loves you

his little girl

this sweet little lump of baby fat that was born with eyes just like his

he'd put his glasses on your little baby face, and he could laugh for hours at the way they just barely sat on your little nose (a miniature version of his)

your chubby little baby hands are his favorite

when you'd plan your hands on his face or wrap your hand around his finger he'd melt

Lily would joke all the time about how she carried the baby yet James is constantly hogging her

I think james would have some serious separation anxiety

Lily would also have trouble leaving you to go do something but she knew that you getting to see other people would be good

james is NOT a fan

and you were a big daddy's girl

"it's going to be alright, darling, uncle Padfoot and uncle Moony will take care of you."

and you'd respond with sad baby talk, something along the lines of 'daddy' and 'wanna stay with you' and you'd get all teary eyed

it's a whole dramatic scene

youre crying

james is about to cry

Sirius is quite literally trying to sob silently into his hand because you just look so sAD

and remus and lily are just

😐

because you guys do this eVERY TIME

there was one time james got back into the car with lily after dropping you off and he was unusually quiet until he kinda just whispered out

"It just feels like i'll never have enough time with her, like one day i'll wake up and suddenly she's not mine anymore."

his tone gave Lily the worst chills, his tone and the fact that she felt the same though never voiced it

honestly

i don't think harry was planned either

he kinda just happened

and they were like

you know what, yes.

so you were two when harry was born

and you LOVED your baby brother

he was so small

so cute

and he had your mum's green eyes

from the get go you were very protective of your little brother

james thought it was the cutest thing

ok ive been avoiding it

but we need to talk about October 31 1981

you were upstairs with our mum and harry

james was downstairs cleaning up from dinner

that was when there was a knock on the door

assuming it was peter, uncle wormtail, james was quick to go open the door

grabbing his wand for protection was the last thing on his mind

the thud of his body was loud

he was killed before he could even open his mouth to warn Lily

the door to Harry's nursery flew open and it all happened so fast

there was screaming

bargaining

a sudden flash fo green before Voldemort turned to harry

his cold, pale hand pushed you out of his way

the prophecy had said nothing about you, so he didn't care for what happened to you he just needed to kill harry

which obviously backfired

half the house was blown up

he was gone

harry was crying

and you just wanted your dad

you found your way downstairs, just barely making it down the steps

lily and james had never let you go up or down the steps on your own

only to come face to face with your dad just lying on the ground motionless

his eyes were still open

now i want you guys to think of the lion king

you know the scene where simba finds mufasa's dead body and just lays with it because he doesn't know where else to go

you just wanted any kind of comfort you could find

so with tear streaks going down your face you slayed next to your dad, getting as close as you could, hoping he'd just wake up

sirius is the one who finds you, asleep next to james' body

it was rather rough for sirius

and he could hear harry crying somewhere upstairs

you wake up to uncle padfoot trying to keep in his tears as he takes in the scene before him

you're just glad to see a familiar face

you run over to him, tears freshly falling as you wail about how daddy and mommy won't wake up

you also gently pull james' glasses off his face and keeping them in your small hand

keeping them safe for him later

you knew he didn't like to sleep with his glasses on

eventually hagrid shows up

you guys know the story

but i will say

it takes a lot for you to leave uncle pads and go with this big strange man

youre basically heaving as you beg to stay with sirius

and forcing you off his hip and onto the bike with hagrid was the worst thing he's ever had to do

even for a two year old, youre eyes held such a strong emotion of betrayal

sirius would never forget it

the dursley's were not fond of you and harry

you had james temper and stubbornness

harry was just a 6 month old baby

doing 6 month old baby things

for the first month you'd ask for james, lily, uncle moony, uncle padfoot, even uncle wormtail on a daily basis

until one day petunia just snapped

you had asked about sirius, or as you called him uncle padfoot, and petunia lost it

she started to shout, her hand coming out to strike your cheek as she told you that no one was coming

not now

not ever

you never asked after that

over time you forgot about sirius and remus and peter

you forgot about the song your dad would sing every saturday morning when making breakfast

or the way your mom would hum when she brushed your hair

all lily and james had become were familiar scents and the same pair of eyes you'd see in your dreams (though for a long time you just assumed they were your eyes, they looked enough like yours)

and you grew up always feeling like you were on the wrong side of a billowing curtain

you and harry grew up only having each other

you were very protective of him

and dudley hated it

because you had James art for pranks

and his art for rarely getting caught

unfortunately for you petunia and vernon didn't need evidence to incriminate you

you were often on the receiving end of disciplinary swats and missed meals

and you'd often take harry's punishments for him

you and harry were also forced to share a room

or cupboard

you let him decorate it with all his things (he didn't have many)

and you guys shared a bed up until you got your hogwarts letter

which that was kept very quiet

you got the letter

and petunia and vernon were just glad to be able to send you and your pranks away

you weren't allowed to tell harry

but you did anyway

secretly

you didn't tell him all the details but you told him that you were going to a school far away and you'd be back whenever aunt petunia let you back

going to school was interesting

you didn't know anyone

bUT HAGRID WAS ALSO THERE TO HELP YOU AND BUY YOU YOURE STUFF AND HE BOUGHT YOU YOUR FIRST WAND

you still have james' glasses

you put them on when youre nervous

so youre sitting in the train

first day

you don't know anyone

big round glasses sitting on your nose as you look out the window barely able to see what's going on

james was as blind as a bat

on the train you spend your time reading your new books

absorbing all the material

you were not going to just walk into this new school of mAGIC not knowing aNYTHING

by the time you got there you were at leas base level with most subjects

some were easier to catch onto than others

as long as you didn't let the logical side of your brain do too much work

within the first week you'd find out about your parents

curtesy of older gryffindor kids who knew your last name and were just amazed by the story

oH ALSO YOURE IN GRYFFINDOR

AND WHEN MCGONAGALL READS YOUR NAME SHE GASPS TO HERSELF

BECAUSE

Y/N POTTER

she remembers when james had written to her with the news of Lily's pregnancy with you

and how he was nervous you'd come out just like him and he wouldn't be able to handle you as well as she had, he was asking her for advice

and when you walked up to sit on the chair she nearly dropped her scroll of parchment and pulled you into a hug

you looked just like him

dark hair

pale skin

same eyes and eye shape

and same habit of picking at the skin around your thumb nail when nervous

the hat announcing you were a gryffindor was very overwhelming for her

then she realizes you

are e x a c t l y

like james

and merlin is she tiRED OF THIS SHIT

ok so at this point i am going to direct you to the other headcanon (linked above) if you want a more fred x reader approach

continue here if not

so youre on the quidditch team

and youre a natural

let me tell you

you just have the innate ability

much like james

and at first they had you as a seeker

and you were good

but you excelled as a chaser

i also firmly believed that there was a practice broom that james had carved his name into

or maybe just a ‘J.P.’

that was the broom you'd practice on

even use for games before you got your own broom

ok so

let’s talk your relationship with harry

you made sure you were the one to tell him what happened to your parents

as i said it was your first year when you fond out about what happened

the gryffindor student had told you what they knew

and you went to professor mcgonagall pretty distraught

you were near tears as you practically begged her to just tell you what happened, you wanted the truth

because all your life your aunt and uncle had told you that your parents had been killed in a car accident

needless to say

you didn't want harry to find out that way

but you also knew he was noticing the stares

the whispers

so you told him on the first night

he had already been put into gryffindor and was getting ready for bed when you are up to his dorm

bECAUSE IT’S CANON THAT GIRLS CAN GO UP INTO THE BOYS DORMS AND BOYS CANT GO UP INTO THE GIRLS DORMS AND I WILL CITE THE PARAGRAPH IF ANYONE NEEDS

and you kinda push out ron, neville, and dean

but yeah thats how he finds out all the details and such

ok so you and harry are sUPER CLOSE

and you are very

v e r y

protective of harry

you'd do anything for the kid

wHEN YOU FIND OUT ABOUT THE WHOLE SORCERER’S STONE FIASCO

YOU ARE LIVID

because harry is your baby brother and you love him so much and don't like seeing him hurt 🥺

as harry grows older he gets a bit more

embarrassed

about having you protective over him

and im pretty sure i mentioned this in the last headcanon post

but yeah he’d be like 14 and you'd be 17 and he'd just

“stOP this is so emBARRASSING”

what a little dweeb

ok leTS TALK ABOUT SIRIUS

BECAUSE YOU AND SIRIUS WERE CLOSE WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER

HE WAS UNCLE PADFOOT

YOU LOVED HIM

until your fifth year (harry’ third) when you were told he betrayed your parents and got them killed

youre in the whomping willow when with harry, hermione, and ron

its a lot for both of you

because sirius is seeing his goddaughter who looks just like james, and his the same fire in her eyes as his bestrfriend

his b r o t h e r

and youre seeing the man who was responsible for your parents murder

again

it was A LOT

i have a feeling you, JAMES POTTERS DAUGHTER, would just lunge at him

and youre crying

trying to hit him

hurt him like he hurt you

just anything to bring pain upon this man

and sirius is having flashbacks of when you had ran to him from next to james’ lifeless body

and how different everything had been just days prior to October 31 1981

upon finding out the truth

scammers is now wormtail

peter ‘little bitch ass’ pettigrew

you and harry are immediately forming this connection

this sort of dependency on sirius

within a few minutes

because he is the only living connection you have to your dad

apart from yourselves of course

but eh was the only reminder that james potter was a real man

and lily potter did exist

and there was a time where your family was complete

it never crossed your mind that any more misfortune could strike

not now

not when you finally got back your uncle pads

and then you guys walk into the moonlight, the full moon light

everything flips instantly

you guys are back to square one

i like to think you have a very big part in getting sirius free

so you guys know what happen in between prisoner of azkaban and order of the phoenix

and this headcanon is already getting very long and we haven't even gotten to the wAR YET

so we are doing a little time jump

order of the phoenix

your last year

you are living with sirius in grimmauld place

petunia and vernon kicked you out once you turned 17 after finding out that was the legal age in the wizarding world

you and sirius are close

super close

i mean he is like a father figure to you

he is uncle pads again

oOO AND OK

AFTER FINDING OUT HIS DAD AND HIS BROS 😤

WERE ALL UNREGISTERED ANIMAGI

OBVIOUSLY YOU WANTED TO BE ONE TOO

youre a gazelle

it just makes sense

father figure sirius is not happy when he finds out

uncle pads, however, couldn't be happier

its finally starting to feel like a family again

you and harry have sirius

aLSO REMUS

icon

anyway

everything is falling into place

you and harry are filling the james sized hole in Sirius’ heart (not completely but it’s better)

and he is doing the same for you two

you and harry love your uncle pads

then the battle in the department of mysteries happens

youre there

you see it

you watch as bellatrix hits sirius with a curse

youre not sure which

nothing too serious you hope, and seeing that he’s still standing he should be fine

but then he stumbles

she's stunned him perhaps

and he makes eye contact with you

there was a look so final, so sad

yet so relieved in his eyes as you watched him fall through the veil

remus grabbed harry

tonks held you

if she hadn’t been you knew you would've thrown yourself into the veil after him

its a whirlwind from then on let me tell you

so we know what happens

all that fun stuff

the war hits

harry, hermione, and ron leave

youre left with the weasley’s

it’s hard being away from harry

not knowing if he was ok

if he was even alive

you guys finally reunite at shell cottage

bill calls you the second he sees harry, hermione, ron, and dobby apparate in front of his house

you were quick to pull harry into a bone crushing hug

keen on never letting go

because after all he is still (and always will be) your baby brother

you guys are all at the battle of hogwarts

oK WAIT

YOU REFUSE TO LET HARRY WALK TO HIS DEATH ALONE

ALSO YOUVE FIGURED WHAT HE PLANS ON DOING BUT NEITHER OF YOU HAVE SAID ANYTHING

NOT WANTING TO ACCEPT THAT THIS COULD BE THE LAST TIME YOU GUYS SEE EACH OTHER

AND THE RESURRECTION STONE COMES OUT

BOTH YOU AND HARRY ARE HOLDING ONTO IT

AND SUDDENLY

SIRIUS

REMUS

THERE ALL THERE

EVEN A WOMAN WITH RED HAIR

AND A MAN WHO LOOKS PAINFULLY FAMILIAR

ok so hear me out

i think harry enjoyed looking at pictures of james and lily

but you didnt

you didnt want to see everything that was taken from you

so you weren’t super aware of what your dad actually looked like seeing as you avoided pictures of him and your mom like the plague

but you just knew

and james was standing there

beaming

and he just looked so proud of you and harry

so did lily

she was the first one to say something

“Your father and I are so proud of the both of you”

and you just broke down

james right there with you

he watched as you sobbed, choking on your cries

and he couldn’t do anything about it

he couldn’t hold you or comfort you

he couldn’t be a dad

and it broke him

as much as it could break a dead man

“you’ve grown so beautiful, darling” he'd smile sadly

his voice seemed to bring back all of your memories once lost

“have you always been here, with us?”

“always.”

“typical, your father shows up and everyone forgets about uncle padfoot”

both you and harry laugh at that

but the mood was somber

harry then speaks up

“does it hurt?”

it was the first time either of you had confirmed that you both knew what was going to happen

“dying? not at all, quicker than falling asleep.”

“will you stay with me?”

“until the very end.

james is the one who answers, looking teary eyes at his son

and you know you cant go any further

harry has to do this alone

its quite symbolic actually

the one time you'd let go of the reigns

removed the protective arms you had around your baby brother

he’d die

but you had to do it

so everything goes as planned

harry dies

comes back

we love a resurrecting king

and the war ends

when you got back home from the war

let’s say you are still living at grimmauld place seeing as it was left to you

the first thing you do is go through old photos with harry

any and everything you can get your hands on

you see your mother’s sparkling green eyes

the same eyes your brother had

and your father’s unruly mop of curls

the same wave pattern in your dark hair

everything finally felt right

tags:

@pogueslandia

@vsawyer1989

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

@erinruby003

@maybesandohnos

@onlyfreds

@fullofsourgrapes

#harry potter x sister!reader #james potter headcanon #harry potter headcanon #potter!reader

596 notes · View notes

havin-a-wee · 3 years

Text

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn��t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t��taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles story #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles blog #harry styles headcannon #harry styles au #dad!harry #one direction smut #one direction fanfiction

939 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 3 years

Note

Would you write a Kaz Brekker request where the reader is a bookworm and a crow and basically Kaz asks the reader to read to him as his way of apologizing after a argument that was his fault?

it a/n i did something kinda similar in a 'promise of rain' blurb,, but this concept is so cute to me:)) love it sm i moved it up my request cue lol

also IM IN COLLEGE NOW!! WHAT?? AND IVE BEEN TO A PARTY! AND IM JOINING A SORORITY AND I DID DRAMA AUDITIONS AND AHH !! SO DIFFERENT! I MISS MY MOM AND SISTER AND DOG AND EVEN MY DAD BUT IM HAPPY HERE!!

also im a little worried this might not portray kaz superrrrr accurately bc it's been awhile so just let me know,, feedback leads to improvement:)) also kinda set this up for a part 2 bc...well youll see

They've always said a lot of things about him, and I've always heard them. But I've never quite believed them. Sure, I get why the dark things that have flourished in the poisoned soil that is Ketterdam consider Kaz Brekker the darkest thing of all. I understand the nickname 'Dirtyhands' for the gloved criminal who has fooled each crime boss at least once. I understand each terrible thing they've said about him.

But I've never agreed with them. I've never even considered agreeing with them. Until today.

The thought that maybe everything people say about him is correct in a simple context struck me worse than the silence after our argument. It made me feel like both a fool and hypocrite. Kaz and I have had our fair share of spats over the relatively short time we've known each other, but never like this. Never so badly he stormed out of the room before I could. I squeeze the book in my lap even harder, desperate to focus on the words on the pages.

You didn't hurt him. He walked away because he decided you weren't worth the cost of his expensive time. I repeat those thoughts in my mind over and over again, letting them bitter me further. It's a lot easier to be mad than hurt. A lot easier to fuel your pain than try to understand your mistakes. Besides, tiredness is already dredging around in my chest and if I don't calm down a little I won't be able to fall asleep.

I had escalated the fight more than I should have. Knowing Kaz is like performing in a tightrope act. One must always be aware of where they're going. Watching what's in front of them without ever thinking too much about what's beneath or behind them. Today though, when I needed my balance most I chose to fall. I chose to dive, and apparently there was no net.

"Oh, you're doing that thing."

I roll my eyes at Jesper's voice as I fight down a yawn. I wipe my face with the back of my palm before turning. The burning behind my eyes never resulted in full tears, but I feel better after doing so. "What thing?"

"That terribly noble thing where you find it in yourself to take full blame for every single conflict you and boss man fall into." The slight humor in his voice is enough for me to roll my eyes again. "Between you and me, I'm sure the reason he's so angry now is because you didn't do that for once."

I press my lips together as my chin angles itself upwards slightly. "I never do that." He raises an eyebrow. The slight sympathy that colors the look is more offensive than his accusation. "If I pick and choose my battles, it's for good reason."

"Clearly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs once before further entering my room. I say nothing when he sits at the foot of my bed. "Oh, you know," Jesper stretches back casually, resting his back against the wall and extending his legs, "You and Kaz--Kaz and you."

Has he been drinking? Perhaps he's not here because of my unusual absence from downstairs after my fight with Kaz but because he's already too tipsy to think right. "What?"

At my confused look he grins, flashing all of his teeth with an arrogance that outshines the whiteness of them. He taps the still open book in my lap. "Let me put it in terms you'll understand." Jesper sits up a little further, amusement clear in his features. "You two make a shameful Elizabeth and Darcy--"

"Oh, shut up," I groan, glaring at him, "This isn't Pride and Prejudice. And Kaz and I," Jesper's smugness returns when I can't quite think of what I want to say, "We're barely friends--we're barely anything, let alone what you're implying."

Jesper pulls his legs up and shoves me gently. "Dearest, y/n," he ignores my glare, "You should know better than anyone that 'barely friends, barely anything' with Kaz is more than it is with anyone else?"

"That doesn't mea--"

"You two say goodnight to each other." Once. Kaz and I said good night to each other in front of Jesper once. How dare he assume it happens regularly? He's right, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it. "You play cards with him. Not for money, not for skill--"

"It's for practice." The look Jesper gives me is enough to tell me that my defense didn't land.

Damn him for ever finding Kaz and I on one of those strange nights. One of those nights in which he lurks at the stairwell...the one that divides my room and his attic. One of those nights in which it feels like he's a phantom and I'm the only one that can really see him. A night in which we both silently find each other.

I couldn't quite believe it the first time it happened. I'm not exactly a Crow--I don't feel enough a connection to the Dregs to join them without some kind of guarantee--but I was needed for some obscure job. but I was needed for some obscure job. The Crows needed an insider who could blend into high society, and I needed a place to stay away from my father.

It worked. I worked. And with each passing day I found myself enjoying the Crows more and more. That's why I stayed. That's why I started checking the stairwell practically every night, a set of playing cards in my hand.

The first time had been awkward. I couldn't sleep and my room felt too quiet, but the rambunctious club felt too loud and a little unsafe considering the hour. So I settled for the only space in between. When Kaz found me sitting on the steps and playing a solitary card game I had been so stunned by embarrassment I just offered to deal him in. I had been more shocked when he silently accepted my offer.

"Practice?" Jesper repeats. "You were laughing, I heard you."

"That was one time--how do you know we didn't just happen to play cards together the one time you saw it?"

"Because you laughed about a play you considered 'predictable'."

Sighing, I sit up a little straighter. "I'm not having this conversation. Occasionally saying 'goodnight' to someone who lives in the same space I live in and sometimes playing cards with said person because we both happen to be up at a certain time doesn't mean anything."

"And the way he looked at the contact that was flirting with you?"

Oh...this conversation again. "For the last time, the contact wasn't flirting with me. We had to dance to blend in and when he leaned towards me to whisper in my ear...it was to tell me the intel Kaz just had to have."

"And when he tucked that strand of hair behind your ear?"

"He just wanted to sell our cove--"

"Y/n, he kissed your cheek and I'm fairly certain he would have kissed you if Kaz and I hadn't made it to the corridor at that second."

Why is everyone so obsessed with what would have never happened? The contact had been attractive, tall with fair eyes and hair. But it's not like I feel anything for him, nor would I have been so foolish during a job. A fact that Kaz refuses to believe. I'm tired of this argument...I'm just tired. This job required me to start getting ready early in the morning and lasted long into the night.

"I wouldn't have kissed him and even if I had, the fact that Kaz is so mad about feels...sexist." A stupid argument, considering that Kaz couldn't care less if the person he's working with is female, male, or anything in between because the only thing he cares about is profit. "It's a stupid thing to be mad about, but you hit on anything with a pulse at any time and--"

"I resent that--"

"For the first two weeks I was here I thought you might've been a prostitute."

I can feel him holding in a laugh. "Did you at least think I was a good prostitute?" When I glare again, he finally actually laughs. "Not the point--got it."

"Then what is the point? You're bored and obsessed with gossip so now you're shaking me for information you don't need."

"The point is you're oblivious." Rude...I move my leg in a weak attempt to push him off my bed. Jesper catches my ankle easily, ignoring my attempt at a fight. "You thought the contact was only doing his job and you don't know the real reason that Kaz blew up at you for the first time the way he blows up at everyone."

"Okay, well since you know everything, tell me why he's mad."

He lets out a sigh like he can't believe I even needed to ask that. "It's not the best look that the first time you let him pick a fight with you happens to be about some guy."

...Maybe he is drunk? "Don't be so cryptic. I don't like you enough to put up with that."

Jesper half-sighs again before pushing himself off my bed. "I'm going to pretend I think you're smart enough to piece things together from that."

"Asshole," I mumble instinctually as he walks towards my door. "Are you not telling me because I tried to push you off the bed?"

He turns when he reaches my door in order to lean against my door frame. "It's not not because of that." I should throw my book at his head. "In all seriousness, think about it. If you don't you'll either kill each other or kill me."

Ugh...he's so confusing. This time, I let him go. He leaves he door open, which is beyond annoying. I stand up to close it, promising myself I will focus on my book the second it's in my hands again. As I walk back towards my bed, my eyes land on the deck of cards on my nightstand.

Does it send a signal I don't want to send if I don't go the stairwell tonight? Do I want to send a signal? I don't know...actually, the only thing I know is that I don't want to think about this a second longer. I don't ease as I read, but my eyelids become heavier with each word they cross. I feel the weight of them as my focus slips, farther and farther away until I can no longer focus. When my eyes fall shut I can't bring myself to think or force them open.

I notice my surprised before I register that I've just woken up. Falling asleep feels so far and yet the crick in my neck confirms the obvious. Rubbing the eyes with the back of my hand, I push my book from my lap and sit up. The only indication of how much time has passed is how much my bedside candle has melted.

How long have I been asleep? How did I manage to fall asleep? I thought I was too mad at Kaz to manage anything but pouting in my room. I hadn't even decided if I wanted to talk to him.

I stand even though I haven't decided anything. I should at least change if I want to go to bed. But is leaving this alone for even longer a bad idea? I think Jesper thought so...though my conversation with him is far from clear. It's not the best look that the first time you let him pick a fight with you happens to be about some guy. I'm going to pretend I think you're smart enough to piece things together from that. What does he want me to do with that?

Maybe he was partially intoxicated and felt the need to play the role of a good friend. Or maybe this is his idea of a joke.

Whatever--regardless of Jesper, I have a choice to make. A tiny part of me hopes it's insignificant, but I know Kaz enough to know that nothing is insignificant to him. He holds onto things the way he holds onto his kruge. Perhaps I'll seek out Inej, she seems to be the best at rationalizing. Though she might be asleep by now, or on a job or...I don't even know.

How late is it? Is it late enough to be one of the few hours Kaz claims to reserve for sleep? Maybe my bad luck is still around and he's already in bed for once. Does that mean his anger will extend to tomorrow?

I shouldn't care. It's not like I'm in the wrong. Did I escalate things? Maybe a little...but I won't apologize for defending myself. Even though that makes everything a little easier. I feel stuck, like in some kind of place of half sleep. A single knock at my door is enough to make me want to jump. I rub my eyes a little more firmly in hopes of waking up more before someone sees me.

I approach the door without worry. Maybe it's not as late as I assumed. Or maybe it's really early? I open the door while still fighting against my slight disorientation. I'm so focused on acting normal, I almost don’t register the person standing at my door.

I don’t know who I expected, or what--maybe Jesper, much more tipsy than he was before, slumped against the doorframe, only knocking because he’s too tired to push the door open. Maybe even Inej, on her way here to deliver some kind of job or notice of dismissal. But it’s nothing I could expect. It’s...Kaz.

The Dirtyhands stands at my door, expression as hard as ever yet something behind his eyes that burns the sleep away from me. “Uh--hi.” I bite my tongue to avoid cringing at that very awkward beginning. “Are you here to kick me out yourself?” The only response I get is the slightest shift of his gaze off of my face. “No? Well then I think I’m going to bed. It’s late.”

My tone and words are clear. Get out of my doorway, I’m in no mood to go back to arguing. When he still doesn’t say anything, I’m emboldened by my nerves. I push the door between us without breaking eye contact.

Before the wood can meet the doorframe, he moves his cane, wedging it between us. “Y/n.” I don’t understand the way he says my name, but I’m certain he’s never said it like that. “I...” When he’s not prompted by the uncomfortableness of silence, I raise an eyebrow, my grip on the door tightening. “What I said shouldn’t have been said.” Wait--is he admitting fault? I’m so thrown I almost melt entirely. “Not to you.”

The addition leaves him so lowly a part of me wonders if I’ve imagined it. I’m so thrown by it I don’t even think to reply until a long second has passed. “You seemed to believe the opposite a few hours ago.”

His lips press together for a moment. “You didn’t ask me to play cards tonight.” He took that as intentional? At least that got me some kind of apology? I keep my mouth shut, greed making me want more information. I guess he must sense my silent tugging because he head inclines slightly. “Don’t push.”

I fight down a grin. “Push what?” His only response to stiffen further. “I’m going to tell you something as a peace offering.” That seems to intrigue him in some way. I can’t tell if it’s a good kind of interested, but I note the slight raise of his eyebrows and his intentional silence. “I didn’t chose not to ask you to play cards.” He gives me no indication of anything, which is fair...considering my vagueness. “I was mad, obviously, and in the middle of deciding on a course of action...and then I fell asleep.”

A long pause of silence. “You fell asleep?”

I’m not sure if his incredulous tone should offend me or not. If I wanted to lie, I’d like to think he knows me well enough to know that I’d have thought of a better excuse than that. Or at least a less embarrassing one. “Yes, it’s not that difficult to believe. Today had been long and all I wanted to do was read, but then Jesper came in to say the oddest things and then leave me to...”

Oh--oh. I guess there’s a reason people say to ‘sleep on’ something. Because now, actively remembering Jesper’s words for the first time since I fell asleep...I understand what Jesper was implying in the oddest way possible. He meant that Kaz and I...that perhaps there is a Kaz and I in a context that’s more than just grammatical. Wow. I really had to realize this with Kaz right in front of me.

My face feels warmer than it did before, an irrational bout of anxiety forcing me to consider that me might be able to read impossible, embarrassing thoughts from my expression alone.

“What did Jesper say?” I’m too lost in my own spiral of confusion and panic and some feeling I can’t recognize to register how Kaz asks his question. There’s an edge to it, an odd one, but that could easily just be Kaz.

This is most definitely the last conversation we need to be having. I’m still mad at him for his earlier dramatics. So I just shake my head, feigning an exhaustion I could lose myself in. “Nothing and everything all at once.” I resist the urge to rub my eyes again. “I’m pretty sure he was drinking, and I wasn’t really listening. I was just trying to read.”

Kaz’s expression hardens briefly as he takes in my words, and then he exhales, nodding once with the breath. “What were you reading?”

My lips part instinctually, ready to spew off details about the latest novel that’s captured my attention. But before I can let myself take off, the reality of the situation strikes me directly in the chest. This is not Nina, or Inej, or even Jesper after what he considers a ‘good night’. This is Kaz Brekker, the man believed to not have a soul. I��ve spoken to him before about casual things, though most of the nights in which we end up playing cards or just sitting near each other are spent in silence. But he’s never prompted me before. Not in the one topic he knows is guaranteed to turn me into an overenthusiastic, gushing fountain of poor summaries and character analysis.

I guess this is his peace offering. This shouldn’t warm the way it does. He was still unbelievably dramatic and treated me like I’m some kind of unreliable fool. “It’s late, and you know how I can be. I’d hate to keep you for nothing more than a poor summary and honestly, an embarrassing rant about plot or characters, because there’s just nothing as frustrating as when two people so clearly care about each other and both are too stubborn and oblivious to acknowledge it.”

Kaz’s eyebrows draw together just enough for me to be able to make out a shift of expression in the poor light. Perhaps his lingering irritation is preparing to rear its ugly head. The corner of his mouth seems to threaten to tilt upwards as Kaz angles his head to the side slightly. “I can’t imagine that position.”

No kidding. I bite my tongue to keep the sarcastic comment and awkward laugh that would sure follow it away. “Who can? That’s like half the point of reading.”

How can interaction feel so over and just at its beginning all at once? I press my lips together to avoid filling the silence with things I’d no doubt instantly regret. It’s easy to be mad at Kaz in the moment. Too easy. But to stay mad at him when his temper has passed and he returns with some kind of begrudging and admittedly awkward and uncertain truce is another task entirely.

“I’ve never understood your attachment to written words.”

“It’s not about understanding, it’s about everything else.”

“And you say I’m cryptic.” Is he...kinda almost joking? I straighten my spine, too tired to fight and too wounded to forgive. “There’s understanding in everything, nothing can survive on sentiment alone.”

“If you read the way I did, you’d understand.”

His lips press together as his expression remains unwavering in its hardness. “Read to me.”

...Interacting with Kaz in any way often leaves me feeling like I’m wandering through unknown territory. But this, this is undeniably different. So different I can’t even think of a way to react. I watch his expression as cautiously as possible. He’s purely reserved, no distinction from the look he wears during business propositions. Except there’s a tightness I can’t quite understand.

Maybe it’s because I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe it’s because exhaustion is leaving me partially delirious. Or maybe it’s the weird feeling in my chest that I can’t quite place. That I don’t want to place. “Okay.” I shift carefully. “If for no other reason then to prove you wrong.”

Never did I think I’d end up in the position of sitting in my bed, book in hand, with Kaz Brekker sitting next to me. But here we are. I’m so tired, I almost let out a nervous laugh when he first walked in. So brooding and tall, gripping the head of his head cane as he sits at the foot of my bed, on my pastel quilt.

I’m glad for the excuse to keep my gaze away from him and on the words in front of me. I read out loud, feeling more and more comfortable with each page I finish. But as my inhibitions slip away, so dos my hold on consciousness. My eyelids seem to grow heavier with each word that I read.

“You’re falling asleep.”

I straighten my spine on instinct. “Am not.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to deny something so simple.

“You’re impossible.”

From him, that statement is laugh worthy. “I’m impossible? Do you not remember earlier today?”

From the way his jaw locks, I realize that he’s in no mood to be light about this topic. I don’t understand why. It’s not like I’m the one that wronged him. “I remember your lack of focus.”

Keeping my hands at my side to avoid rubbing my eyes, I frown. “If you want to have this argument again, fine. Jesper is more ‘distracted’ than me half the time and you’re much more lenient on him. It’s not like I was flirting with someone or gambling or doing anything but having a two second conversation. One that I needed to have to get information that you wanted.”

The last time we fought, I had more energy to restrain myself. This could be atomic. I hold my breath, waiting for Kaz’s retaliation. He exhales, eyes not meeting mine. “Arguing with you when you’re present is exhausting enough. It’s not worth it when you’re half asleep.”

This angers me further. I hate that he’s right. “I’m not half asleep.” He leaves it at that. I glare even harder at him, slumping further into my bed. “But for the sake of argument, I’ll drop it. Something you’re incapable of doing.”

At that, his eyes meet mine. I try to hold his gaze, but the harder I think about not seeming tired the more exhaustion slips in. A yawn escapes me before he looks away. Great. “I know when to lie in the grass in wait.”

Rolling my eyes, I shift back slightly. He’s incapable of being less dramatic than this. Still, I can’t imagine the effort it’s taking on his part to not start an argument. Maybe this is why Jesper spent so long implying that there may be a Kaz and I in any capacity beyond a vague kind of friendship. “I’ll admit you’re tactful.”

“Resourceful people recognize that trait in other people.”

Blinking twice, I lower my book slightly. Am I truly exhausted, or did he just compliment me in a way? “Careful, I may start to think you find me tolerable.”

“Let’s not exaggerate.” Okay, now I know I’m exhausted because I think he might have just attempted a joke. Rolling my eyes, I decide not to acknowledge this lightness in fear that I’ll scare it away. “Y/n?”

I press my lips together, worried about the destruction of our peace. “Yes?”

“What did Jesper say to you? Earlier?” I pause, slightly unsure why we’re moving backwards.

We’re in a decent place now, and I’d hate to ruin it. I’m too half asleep to lie eloquently. And it’s not like he’s an easily convinced man. “Oh, he said it so cryptically it took me longer than it should have to understand. And it didn’t help that it was something so...well, you might find it funny. As funny as you find anything, anyways.” Wow...I’ve spent such a long time talking. Rubbing the back of my eyes, I avoid his gaze. Exhaustion and awkwardness mix in my stomach oddly. “It seemed like he was trying to imply that you and I...me and you...” Why is this a difficult thing to say? It’s not like I was implying it and Jesper’s known for his oddness. “I think Jesper was implying that there was a you and I, or at least that there could be.” I’m too lost in a haze of almost sleep to watch his reaction. I let my head rest against my headboard even further. “Isn’t that odd?”

He’s quiet for a long second, and then he finally speaks again. “Odd, even for Jesper.” The response doesn’t satiate me...what’s that about? I exhale, deciding that feeling is tomorrow’s problem. When I blink, I decide to let my eyes stay closed. Just for a moment. The sound of something shifting is what makes my eyes squint open. Kaz is standing, his expression unreadable as he straightens. “Goodnight, y/n.”

At that, I sit up slightly, ignoring the exhaustion behind my eyes. “I haven’t finished the chapter.”

“You’ve convinced me of enough.” A concession? How exhausted do I seem? My lips press together as I think of my next argument. Before I can get it out, Kaz leans forward. He grabs the quilt at the end of my bed and tosses it onto my legs casually. “Goodnight, y/n.” The meaning of his repetition is clear. His word is final.

I find enough energy to manage a glare, but I pull the quilt over my legs anyways. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone imagines #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows show #shadow and bone show #six of crows netflix

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budugaapologist · 3 years

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okay dokay so like. havent ranted about him in a while and i was thinking about all the iconic shit edward's done while i was dying today so anywho, here's some things he's done that made me cackle while my organs plotted my death:

so obviously him making it his life's purpose to torment a frail old man just because his first paycheck sucked is iconic

scaling a building in broad daylight because he and stede couldnt find a bar

picking a fight with the first englishman that tried to talk to him in havana

glaring death rays at woodes rogers when he called him ugly

by immediately stalking roberts, believing he'd help him get rich quick after completing a series of tasks for the man, edward proved he would fall for a pyramid scheme

the way his ai is kinda fucked up and without fail every time ive done the mission he peeks around the corner in front of adéwalé in full view of a guard

like judging by mydickssoft's track record you'd think they'd morph into a freakish being but nah, boundary boxes force these tootie frooties to spoon

do you think he knows what jagabat means? i dont think he does

*names a ship after a bird*

"speaking of dark creatures, you are black!"

grabs a sword by the blade multiple times dude what in the fuck

"i want my key!" dont you have like. four guns. shoot off the locks king, opening things properly has never been your go to why change now

kicking locks off BARE FOOTED bro i KNOW that hurts so bad you gotta be bleeding how the fuck are your feet so smooth you abuse the shit outta them

you tellin me you paid another man to give you nipple tattoos? okay

you tellin me you paid another man to draw tentacles on your cleavage? okay

thats a lot of back tattoos there kenway. who are they for kenway. you cant see the player who are those for kenway. are you expecting someone to be behind you admiring them kenway

picture youre just chilling in your cool half-underwater base admiring your treasure. all of a sudden a dummy thicc, unarmed, barefoot, and shirtless man pops out of the water and starts punching and kicking you to death

"you mad sap!" bro they are oysters and you have a whole crab and two knives. eat vane

surely going toward the man, who just left me to die in a cave, while i currently bleed out wont be a mistake!

why you dreaming about crawling on your hands and knees toward roberts kenway. why did you dream that roberts would be sitting on stede kenway.

him staring out into the void in that one dream sequence. "sorry bristol is too hard to render :P"

"so anne my wife is dead" "yeah" "would you like to-" "no" "aight fair enough"

he spent almost all of the game simping for a man named bartholomew

*bullies child daughter for not knowing difference between boat and ship*

why did he take his giant brig through a swamp. i think in that very moment adé became the captain, like the crew didnt say anything because this was for thatch but also they all silently were like "kenway dumb af"

"and would you be the devil" dude just call yourself a slur

put a lotta trust in the jackdaw crew to stay put while he went swimming for a couple hours every now and then

*******killed a man with piss*******

"eyo look at that massive ship in the distance. lets go fight it"

pets dog pets cow pets cat pets bird pets goat pets dog pets cow pets bird pets cat pets goat pets do

him continuously taking off the assassin robes to put on those god awful saggy pants. king your ass is amazing what did you do with your first outfit

never corrects adé when during battle and storms adé calls him and the crew sluts. eyo release directors cut of whats happening off screen boobsaresoft i wanna see whats goin on

why do you only fuck in beds why do you sleep everywhere that isnt made for sleeping

hes got like forty kids right

bonus adéwalé speed round:

*goes to brothel full of beautiful scantily dressed women that find him extremely attractive, just goes to bed*

"you look like a bowl of plum duff"

"i feel nothing but a hot wind on my ears"

what does edward have that makes you stay with him for so long (we know what he has we dont need to say it)

"this is where the jackdaw was sunk august" "cowabummer"

edward was definitely just a spoiled little figurehead captain for adéwalé right

"kicking chests is so two decade ago, i am going to brutally stomp down on them and shatter the hinges :)"

password is a song? okay i will sing it uwu [yes he is a better singer than edward]

"stop touching my boobs ma'am"

"i have a son? YOU NAMED HIM WHAT?"

bro one of his finishing moves looks like he smothers somebody out with his armpit. in reality, he breaks their neck with his bicep

"create a distraction? okay" *throws men*

#disclaimer. i love babatunde's name #i talk #assassins creed #adewale #edward #ac4 #when i say this game is iconic i fucking mean it #i could do this for almost all the characters

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fakescenarios-tohelpyousleep · 3 years

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crazy golf| evan ‘buck’ buckley

summary| when you blackout on a mini golf course the 118 gets called to the scene

“Your dad?! You have a dad?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the shock that spills from the speakers of your phone. While you had the day off from the firehouse, your boyfriend Buck, wasn’t so lucky. In fact today was when he worked one of the dreaded 24 hour shifts. “Everyone has a dad, Buck.” You laugh at him sarcastically and you can hear your boyfriend scoff over the other end of the call. “I know that, it’s just that... I don’t know, you never really talked about your dad before.” Now you scoff. “Yeah there isn’t much to tell, he left when I was still really young and our communication was little to none throughout the years.” “So explain to me why you’re meeting with him exactly.” You could hear the voice of Chimney make it’s way into the conversation and you could bet that he and Hen had now gathered around Buck to hear the conversation.. if you’re lucky Bobby and Eddie probably joined as well.

“I don’t know, he and his new family is in town for vacation so I figured why not meet up with them.” As you make your way through your and buck’s shared house to the living room, where you sit yourself on the couch. “If you guys don’t talk, how does he even know you live in LA?” Hen now spoke, proving you correct. “My mom’s Facebook most likely-” Eddie scoffs at the comment. “Oh cause you and your mom talk so much more Ms. I didn’t tell my mom I moved across country.” “You didn’t tell your own mother you moved across the country?” Now Bobby’s voice comes over the speaker... the gangs all here. “Okay shut up both of you!” “Is it really a good idea, Y/N? I mean, you haven’t seen him in years. Are you sure you want to go alone?” Buck’s voice is finally heard again. You could picture the exact face he was making in that moment. The concerned Buck face. “It’s not like he’s a psychopath, Buckley.” “Y/N’s a big girl, she can handle it.” Bobby joked in the background of the call. “Is it just you and him or are there more people that will be there?” “Most likely him and I, his wife, and her 2 kids.” At that the loud ring of the fire bell ignites. “Y/N, we have to go. I’ll talk to you later, be careful, I love you.” “I love you too and shut up about me being careful, take your own advice.”

“Pants, are you crazy girl? It’s 90 degrees out!” The hounded of your father begins the second you approach the group of them at the entree of the mini golf course. “90 degrees is nothing if she goes into burning buildings with practically a winter jacket on.” The countering voice of the eldest step brother replied to his comment before I could. The eldest, named James, was my favorite of the three kids. Not that I saw much of them, but from what I did, he was always the nicest. Kayla, younger than James but older than myself, was always more bitchy, however we knew each other back when she was a teenager. “You’d be surprised for being a firefighter, putting out fires is only like 2 percent of what I do on a day to day.”

“Hey-” “Stop worrying she’ll be okay.” Buck practically jumped from his skin when Eddie snatched his phone from his hands. Buck frantically looks around to the other as they unpack the truck from the recent call. Chimney and Hen laugh at him for the way he’s acting. “I’m just checking to be safe!” Buck defends snatching his phone back, checking the screen for any miss calls before sighing and sliding his phone back into his pocket. “You’re worrying about an ex-detective turned firefighter meeting up with her dad... how does Y/N deal with you.” Chimney questioned earning another eye roll from Buck. “You just never know. I know what it’s like to not have a good relationship with your parents. I’d be dying right now if I were in her position.” Buck explains and Hen shows a bit of empathy for the boy. “Y/N isn’t you Buck, she’s not any of us, she’s her. If you hadn’t noticed she doesn’t really hold grudges, she gonna go see him, pretend like nothing happened and then when he disappears again she’ll forget that he even came back into her life.”

“Vending Machine, you want anything?” James questioned as you reach the midway point of the course. “My god, yes please.” You huff, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You join James and Kayla near the machine, taking a seat besides Kayla on her bench. “Water please.” “There is only soda.” James calls back and both girls groan, rolling there eyes. “It’s too hot of soda.” Kayla groaned, you nod in agreement. “Sprite, I guess.” “Coke for me.” You lean your head back to hang in exhaustion. “So.. how has LA been? Any boyfriend?” Kayla starts up conversation, different from how she use to be. “Better than back home and yeah, yeah a boyfriend.” “Boyfriend? What’s his name?” James over hears, turning and handing us our respected can of soda. You open it and down half of it, placing the cold can on your neck before replying, “Buck, well Evan Buckley but we call him Buck. We work together.” They nod, as dad and his wife join us ready to continue the game. You go to stand and suddenly stumble back at the blackness that suddenly clouds your vision. “Whoa, Y/N you okay?” Your dad reaches out to stop you from falling. “Yeah, yeah, just stood up to fast. I’m fine.” You remember, you haven’t eaten since you’ve left work the night prior and water.. well water isn’t exactly your drink of choice. “Are you sure?” James double checks. “Yes I’m fine.”You shrug your dad’s arm from your shoulder and start the small uphill hike to the next hole, however before you can get your bearings you’re suddenly on the ground slumped again the rocks of the golf course, the world around you coming in and out.

The blaring of the alarm puts everyone in the 118 into motion as the team climbs into the firetruck and ambulance and as the truck pulls into drive, Buck’s phone goes off in his pocket. His sister Maddie. “Maddie what is it? We’re on a call-” “Yeah yeah I know, it’s about the call... it’s Y/N.”

“LAFD please clear the way.” Bobby, followed by the team arrives onto the scene where James is waiting at the beginning of the course to lead them to the still incoherent Y/N. “What exactly happened?” Bobby questioned, Buck and Eddie standing to each side of him as Chimney and Hen make there way onto the course to evaluate her. “We stopped to get a drink from the vending machine and then when we went to continue she went to walk up the hill and just boom, dropped.” “Her vitals are all good, she’s coming in and out, she’s extremely dehydrated!” Hen calls from their position, Hen and Chimney kneels on the ground besides you. “Y/N!” Buck yells going to take off to join them, however, stopped by both Eddie and Bobby. “Buck stop! Go get water from the stand, Eddie from the ambulance get a gerny, I’ll go get Y/N, Eddie set up under the sprinklers here.” “Bobby, let me go get her-” “Buck follow the order.” With a red face, Buck stomps away from his captain in the direction of the convent stand to get water. Bobby treks his way through the course joining half of his team as well as her father and step mother. Hen has already inserted an IV with water into Y/N arm and slowly was she regaining her consensuses. “Y/N, it’s Bobby we’re going to move you, okay?” “Bobby?” You mumbled as he counted to three, lifting you effortlessly, Hen holding the IV bag as Chimney follows with the medical bag in hand. Bobby knows you’re with them as he can feel you holding onto his neck as he carries you but as your head drops forward, he begins talking. “Y/N talk to me.” “I’m okay.” Your voice trails off, head dropping completely backwards as your arms go slightly limb as they arrive to the beginning of the course again, where Eddie had a gerny, Buck had water and sprinklers were raining water lightly down. “Y/N come on, wake up!” Bobby’s voice gets louder as he sits you down completely out cold. “Y/N!” Buck’s voice calls louder as he shoved the bottle of water into Eddie’s hands. “Y/N!” Buck shakes you, both hands on either side of your face and with the shakening and the sprinkling of water as well as the IV coursing water into your body, you’re eyes flutter open. “Buck, I’m fine.” Buck smiles, sighing in relief, his head dropping forward grateful for you’re eyes opening. “Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Hen’s judgmental voice speaks up as her arms cross. “Um-” You shut your eyes tightly, the exhaustion not leaving your body. “Cap, what did you make for dinner late night?” Scoffs from your team fill the air. “You are an idiot.” Buck mumbles besides you and you lightly push him off. “Eddie, go get get a milkshake or something please.” Bobby orders and Eddie nods rushing off to get it. “Chocolate! She doesn’t like Vanilla!” Buck calls after his teammate, his eyes falling to her family, standing just off to the side watching in silence as she mingles with the team that just saved her. “So... I’m assuming that’s Buck?”

#evan 'buck' buckley #evan buckley imagines #9-1-1 imagines

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machine-gun-casie · 4 years

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tavern music

synopsis: corpse hears tavern music coming from your room (gn!reader)

warnings: rpf, reader gets cheated on, kind of unrequited feelings, mostly hurt/comfort and physical affection tho (what im trying to say is that this is mostly self indulgent)

wc: 1.7k

a/n: havent written in a while but i found this in my arsenal, fixed it up a bit and viola. original plans for this was definitely something longer that would end with them being together but im not up for writing rn. been feeling really shitty lately and ive been needing something like this in my life. hope u guys like it ♡

He couldn’t hear it at first. His headset was on and everyone was being so loud on the discord call. When he started the stream, he really thought it was gonna be a long one. But he’s only two hours in and he’s ready to get the hell off because something was definitely wrong.

“Corpse?” His name being spoken finally broke him out of his trance, he only hummed in response. “You’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re up for another game?”

“Actually,” he starts as he closes a few tabs, “I think I’ve gotta go. Today was fun, though. Thanks for having me guys.”

After a chorus of ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s, Corpse disconnected from the discord call. “Thank you guys for being here,” he addressed the chat, “sorry I’m ending so early today. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Take care of yourselves. Later.”

After hanging up his headset and getting out of the chair he’s been sitting in for far too long, Corpse made the short trek to your room.

You had only been roommates for less than four months, but Corpse could confidently say that you have become one of his closest friends. Getting a roommate was the last resort that he never wanted to actually resort to. But alas, medical bills were piling up and youtube and music don’t make half as much money as people think they do. So cutting rent in half was the best plan he could come up with. He did have an extra guest room that no one ever stayed in. Of course having someone move into his personal space was terrifying to him. He didn’t just want to post an ad on craigslist or something. So he asked a couple trusted friends to ask a couple trusted friends… And that’s when you came in.

You were the trusted friend of a trusted friend of a trusted friend. When you met, you didn’t make a comment about his voice. Your face sure as hell showed your surprise but you didn’t say anything. To Corpse, this meant one of two things. You either knew who he was but didn’t want to freak him out, or you didn’t know about his online persona and were just genuinely shocked by his voice. It only took a few minutes of knowing you to know that it was the latter. Thank god. You were like anyone your age with social media. You had a few accounts, followed a few people, but mostly used it to stay in contact with friends.

It only took you guys a week to realize you had way too much in common. After many a late night when he wasn’t streaming, and many an early morning when he was just done streaming, you two became inseparable. Nothing could keep you apart.

Except for one thing.

You had a boyfriend.

There was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, per se. Just the fact that he was your boyfriend and Corpse was not.

Yeah, Corpse definitely had feelings for you.

But right now, feelings didn’t matter when he could hear tavern music coming from your room.

He knocked lightly and pushed the door open slowly. “y/n? Can I come in?”

No response came, just sniffles and sobs. The lack of refusal on your part gave him the courage he needed to open the door wider and step into your room. He had only been in your room a couple of times since you had moved in. But he had never been in a room that gave off the feeling of a person so well.

You were curled up on your bed, facing your open laptop screen and the tavern music coming from its speakers. With every sob shaking your chest, Corpse felt his heart break. “y/n,” he murmured softly, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not working.” Came your reply, heavy with tears. “You said it would make you feel like you're going on an adventure but I still feel like crap.”

“What happened?” Corpse asked as he sat down on your bed, facing you. You slowly sat up and crossed your legs at your ankles in front of you.

“He-” You sighed heavily. “He cheated on me.”

“What?”

“He cheated on me -has been cheating on me- with my best friend. My little brother found out.” You groaned and dramatically dropped your head onto Corpse’s thigh. His hand immediately came in contact with your cheek as he brushed a few stray tears away.

There was rarely any physical contact between you and Corpse. Sometimes you’d give him a high five, sometimes he’d give you fist bump. And there was that one time you came up behind him at the grocery store and hugged his arm to your chest. You immediately whispered something along the lines of ‘creep won’t leave me alone’ followed by a loud ‘hey babe!’

Corpse could barely admit to himself how much he liked that.

But this? This felt good. Corpse’s large warm hand on your face somehow made you want to cry more but in a good way. The tenderness with which he held your face made your heart squeeze as it remembered moments like this with your boyf- ex boyfriend. But then it remembered your brother’s words.

“Hey, what’s up?” You spoke as you answered his call. Your brother wasn’t much of a caller, so it made you worry.

“Hey, where are you right now?”

“I’m home, why?”

“y/n… There’s something I gotta tell you.” He sighed and you could clearly hear the guilt.

“Did you break my DS!” It was your first thought as you had given it to him the last time you had seen him. “Dude! I’ve had that since I was seven!”

“No no, I called about something else.” He cut you off mid-whine. “But also I did lose the pen.” You huffed out a sigh of frustration but stayed silent so he could tell you what he wanted to tell you. “I saw your boyfriend at the park today.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?” How did this warrant a phone call?

“He was with Bob.”

When you had met your best friend, your brother was only a toddler. He had decided that her name was Bob, so it stuck. You always called her Bob, she was saved as Bob in your phone, your whole family called her Bob. But you still didn't understand. Why was he calling you to tell you that your boyfriend and your best friend were at the park?

“Why are you calling me about this? You know that they’re friends, right?” You let out a chuckle, albeit still pretty confused. “They’re allowed to hang out without me.”

“They weren’t hanging out.” You could hear your brother push out a strained sigh. What wasn’t he telling you? “They were making out on the swing set. As in, both of them on one swing. And I double checked, it was definitely them. I-I told mom and she said not to tell you, but I couldn’t not tell you when I’m the one who saw it!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

There was no lying to yourself, you had doubts about your best friend and your boyfriend. But you constantly brushed it off. He wouldn’t hurt you like that. Hell, she couldn’t hurt like that. Not after everything you had been through together.

But you had seen his call log by accident one time, he called her more than he did you. She face-timed him one time to ask his opinion about a dress she was going to buy while you were in the changing room. She had done a handful of things since your relationship with your boyfriend started that made you uneasy. If this was their first kiss, which was something you doubted, then they’ve both been emotionally attached to the other for far too long.

All those tender intimate moments, all those dates, throughout everything, he wasn’t faithful. Not emotionally, at least. None of those moments that you cherished meant anything to you anymore. He had played you. With none other than your best friend since middle school. You didn’t know who to be more mad at.

The thoughts of betrayal from someone who you considered a sister and the hurt of being cheated on made you nauseated.

So when the large warm hand on your face stroked your cheek again, you didn’t mind it. This was Corpse. Not your cheating boyfriend. Not your lying best friend. Corpse. And you knew that he would never hurt you.

“He’s been cheating on me for a while I think.” You mumbled against his sweatpants. “Maybe a couple months. I don’t know.”

Corpse furrowed his brows in thought. You had told him you were going to visit your boyfriend for your one year anniversary next week. “Weren’t you go-”

“Yeah.”

“And Bob’s been your friend since-”

“Yeah.” Your chin wobbled as you answered. You brought your arms up around Corpse’s thigh and hugged it. It was a strange position, but you didn’t care. He was so warm and nice and hugging him properly required more movement on your end than you were willing to do.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Corpse sighed and reached out to untangle your arms from his leg. He gently pulled you across the few inches of bed between you and sat you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, immediately sobbing into his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn off the music?” You shook your head no against him and he chuckled before he solemnly sighed. “When did you find out?”

“When I came home.”

“But you came home hours ago. Have you been in here this whole time?” You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were streaming, didn’t wanna interrupt.” You shrugged.

“y/n,” he sighed disappointedly, “you’re my best friend. I can end a stream if you need me.”

“Okay.” Your voice, broken and weak and tired, made him feel so guilty. You had been crying your heart out for over two hours just down the hall from where he was.

He gently grabbed you by your hips and tried to push you away, but you only held on tighter and whimpered. “I just wanna get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” You whispered. “Please stay.”

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

So he stayed.

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpsehusband #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fluff #corpse fanfiction #corpse fanfic #corpse fluff #gender neutral reader

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trashforhockeyguys · 3 years

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Don’t Hold Me -20- Carter Hart

A/N: So umm the whole thing takes place in a hospital. Mentions of serious injuries, and all that goes with that. Other than that though, nothing too triggering? I don’t think? As always all previous parts are linked in my master list.

Travis scanned over all of the articles that came out as soon as it became public knowledge who was involved. The media team was doing everything they could to keep it quiet and control the coverage, but news crews were already set up outside of the hospital. They didn’t know who did it. Carter didn’t know the guy, nor could he give an accurate description. It was too dark, it all happened too fast. All anyone knew was that you nearly died. Hell, you still could.

Travis locked his phone and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’d never seen you look so pale, even all those years ago. You looked twenty times worse now. They were told that you lost a significant amount of blood before anyone could get to you. Travis couldn’t even think about Carter trying to keep you from bleeding out in the street.

Carter, of course, wouldn’t talk about it. He refused to leave, just like Ethan. But Kora eventually convinced both of them that they needed showers and food. But Carter also had to go to the rink. The media team thought it would be best if they held a press conference. Especially since the media was reporting that Carter had been hurt as well. But physically, he was fine. Mentally though? Travis knew this wasn't something he’d get over easily. None of them would.

Your parents were stuck at home, they couldn’t get on a flight out here, nor could they take the time off from work. They tried everything they could think of, but they just couldn’t. So when Ethan wasn’t here, Travis was in charge of sending them as many updates as he could. Nolan would stop by from time to time to bring Travis something, or just sit with him so he wouldn’t be alone while Kora and Ethan were gone.

“She looks better today,” Nolan said, sliding into the chair on the other side of your bed.

“She looks like shit,” Travis mumbled, “They said the biggest concern now is going to be infection.”

Nolan reached over and carefully grabbed one of your hands, “She’s still cold.”

Travis nodded slowly, “They did another blood transfusion like an hour ago. Apparently her body is still trying to regulate.”

Nolan reached for his phone, he scrolled through a couple of notifications, “They’re going to announce that they’ve postponed the game tomorrow. Other teams are reaching out with support. And Carter is about to go live, do you want me to turn it on?”

He shook his head, “No. I don’t want her to hear it.”

Nolan, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine exactly what Travis was feeling. He loved you, sure. But he didn’t love you anywhere near how Travis did. You were Travis’ little sister, the sister he never had. He’d never seen Travis act so protective over anything before he saw him with you.

He was with Travis when he got the call. Ethan and Kora had just fallen asleep. Carter couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, so he called the first person he knew would be there. Nolan spent the entire drive to the hospital trying to calm down everyone, not just Travis, but Ethan and Kora too. Even Nolan wasn’t sure how he was able to stay so calm.

“She’ll pull through,” Nolan assured his teammate.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.”

Meanwhile, across town, Carter was in a cold sweat. He hated the media to begin with, much less in a situation like this. He had to practically be dragged from the hospital by Kora and Ethan. He’d refused to leave your side. Everything was a blur at this point, but he knew that he didn’t let go of your hand once until you were being wheeled into an operating room.

He couldn’t remember all of the terms that the doctors rattled off after you came out. Kora was the one who had enough presence of mind to ask them to use simple terms so everyone knew what was happening. But all Carter could hear was that you lost too much blood before you were brought in, that you’d flatlined several times. That it could still be touch and go.

“Carter? They’re ready for you.”

His hands shook as he followed everyone into the room and towards his seat behind the table. Cameras started flashing automatically. When the Flyers said that a statement was being made, no one thought Carter would be the one to make it. The media was reporting that he’d been hospitalized too. He wished it was him, and not you.

He blindly answered the questions that were thrown at him. The media team coached him on what needed to be said, less was more. Especially given that they didn’t even have any leads on who did this.

Everytime he closed his eyes he saw you in his arms, growing paler by the second, as he screamed for someone to help. He wasn’t sure that he would ever get that image out of his head. How could he?

Kora was waiting outside the arena. Her hair was wet like she’d just showered. She was in oversized sweatpants with an old faded sweatshirt to match. She held her arms out, offering Carter a much needed hug. For a second he wondered if he wouldn’t just fall apart right there in the parking lot.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to Travis’ place, it’s closer to the hospital,” She told him, “You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to go back to the hospital,” He replied quickly.

“Carter, you’ve been up for over twenty four hours,” Kora explained, “You won’t do her much good if you’re sleep deprived.”

But when he looked at her, with eyes filled with so much pain, she knew she couldn’t keep him away from you. So, Kora just held Carter as tightly as she could before promising to take him back to the hospital after he at least ate some food.

The scene at the hospital hadn’t changed though. The rest of the boys were still crowded around you. Nolan came out to meet Kora as Carter rushed in to join Travis and Ethan. But Kora couldn't bring herself to walk in, not yet at least. She didn’t want to see you like that, not up close.

So instead she handed Nolan a coffee cup and leaned against the wall, “How’s Travis?”

“A fucking wreck,” Nolan breathed out, rubbing his face with his free hand, “Did you get Carter to eat?”

Kora nodded, “Barely.”

Nolan looked behind him, studying his friends gathered in your little room, “The doctor stopped by about half an hour ago, they want to try to back off her sedatives this afternoon. Her vitals have held long enough apparently.”

It seemed that there was a little light to the day. If Kora understood Nolan well enough, you were out of the woods now. Save for the potential recovery complications, but enough that they were willing to try to wake you up.

She took a deep breath, feeling like her chest was going to cave in from the weight that settled on it the moment they got the first call, “You should go home Nol. I can take care of them.”

He forced a small smile, “Yeah but who’s gonna take care of you?”

She shrugged, eyes focused on the three boys huddled around your bed. Kora wondered what would’ve happened had none of you gone out. If you’d all gone right home, rather than staying late at a club. Maybe none of you would be here right now.

“I’m going to go grab some food across the street,” Nolan said quietly, “Call me if something changes.”

He had to fight himself from looking back at you in the bed. You looked so different from the girl he’d come to love like a sister. Definitely not to the same level as Travis. But he found it to be impossible to be around you for very long without feeling protective over you, just like he was with his own sisters. Nolan never really thought that he’d have to imagine a world where you wouldn’t be around. But now he had, and he didn’t like it.

You just seemed to make the world better. He wanted that back sooner rather than later.

It was several hours later when you felt yourself being pulled from the dark. Reality started coming back to you, and that’s when the panic set in. Your heart started to race as you felt the pain, at first what felt like a dull ache felt like a white hot iron being plunged into you. You wanted to scream out, but you couldn’t. You could barely move.

“Y/N? It’s okay, you’re safe.”

You knew that voice. The same calming voice you’d heard all your life. Ethan shouldn’t be here. You were in a dark part of town, alone on the sidewalk. No...not alone. Carter. Carter was with you.

“Y/N, I need you to relax, okay? Please,” Ethan seemed to beg.

Your eyes finally opened to stark white lights. You could hear the rapid beeping of a machine next to you, it sounded like a warning. You tried to move, to speak, to do anything, but the pain only worsened. Even breathing hurt.

“Hey, there you are,” Ethan let out a broken laugh that seemed to almost border a sob.

You couldn’t think straight, but you knew none of this seemed right. This wasn’t where you were supposed to be. Your head felt like it would split open before you could even get a word out. Your body didn’t feel right. None of it felt right.

“Hurts,” You forced out, the effort of the one word made everything worse.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll get a nurse,” Ethan reached over and pushed some sort of button and a few seconds later a nurse came strolling in.

Everything felt cloudy to you. Like you couldn’t quite wake up all the way. The nurse said a few words to you before moving to your IV port. Pain medication, that’s what she was doing. Maybe without the searing pain you could think. Why did it hurt so much?

“There you go sweetheart,” The nurse said gently, “That should help. You just call us if you need anything else.”

Ethan said a quick thank you, not taking his eyes off of you. You wondered just how bad you must’ve looked. Your whole body felt stiff and heavy. The pain dulled just enough. Almost like the sun breaking through a thick layer of clouds.

“Carter? Where-”

“He’s fine,” Ethan said quickly, “Kora made him and Travis leave so they could sleep.”

You felt your body relax just a little. He was okay. Zachary didn’t touch him. He was safe. You could take all the pain, as long as you were the only one who had to deal with it.

“How bad?” You questioned, voice straining.

You could tell just by the way that Ethan’s face changed that it wasn’t good. Hell, just by the way your body felt it wasn’t good. You could remember little bits and pieces of what happened. But it was like things kept going in and out of focus.

“Pretty bad. Don’t ever do that to me again,” He begged, “I swear to god. I thought we’d lost you.”

You held his hand, tightening your grip on it. It seemed you hadn’t really come all that far from where you were in high school. There was a time when you were in this exact same situation. You hated that he had to go through this again. Once again, Zachary proved that he would do anything, he simply didn’t care. He never had.

Some silly part of you still had hope that deep down he cared. Maybe if for just a second. You thought he wouldn’t be capable of something like this. Despite everything, despite all you knew and all he’d put you through, you still had a sliver of hope.

“You look like shit,” You tried to joke.

“And you look like hell,” He replied flatly, “But you almost died, several times, so I’m allowed to look like shit.”

You nodded, knowing he’d been through enough. Not just in the last few days, but ever since Zachary came into your life. You once hoped that coming to Philly would mean a fresh start for you, but once again he proved that nothing changed. She was still the same little girl, so afraid of her own shadow.

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ethan said softly, “You just get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You nodded, trying to relax back into the bed. Every little movement hurt. You knew if you looked under the thin hospital gown that your midsection would be bandaged up. You didn’t want to know the details yet. Part of you still thought you could wake up from this nightmare. Maybe if you didn’t know you could act like it wasn’t that bad.

But then the thought of what you told Carter before it all happened….You couldn’t go to Canada now. You couldn’t do that to him. Zachary could easily follow you there. It obviously wouldn’t be the first time that he tracked you down hundreds of miles from home. You felt sick. This really wouldn’t end. He would always be there in some way or another. You’d always carry these scars around.

You would never really be free, and Carter would never really be safe.

#carter hart imagine #Carter hart imagines #Carter hart fanfic #Carter hart fanfiction #Carter hart #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #Philly flyers imagine #Philly flyers imagines #Philly Flyers #nicolewritesthings #don't hold me #dhm

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firewoodfigs · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

+++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort.

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #sorry my lunch break is almost over so I gotta go back to work LOL but I will come back and edit this later AHAHAHAH #my new brand is 'excessive usage of chess metaphors' and man. it shows.......#lovely anon <3 #have a great week anon!!! mwahmwahmwah!!!!!!#reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

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kazutoes · 3 years

Text

thank you to @nuuneyraegon for letting me basically dump this in her discord chat, I am saddled by unnecessary feelings for this game and I am surprised I didn't start writing for this fandom sooner

might post this on a03 idk

basically: 🌟 hospital confession scene 🌟

pairing: Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth

word count: 1198

———<3———

When Miles Edgeworth walks past those haunting hospital ward doors, it was 20 minutes past midnight.

The smell of antiseptic assaults his senses as he walks through the dark corridors, lit with only the studio lights and the occasional monitor, waiting to log in. Even the nurses had retired to their station for the night, rest assured that their patients would make it through the night.

Hopefully, Miles' unhelpful mind supplies him, and he shakes his head.

The phone call that he'd got off of as soon as he realized what was wrong still repeated in his head, over and over and over. Larry's stuttering voice as he said that Wright was being rushed to the hospital, freezing yet running a high fever all at once.

It took him 10 minutes to pack, 30 minutes to get to the airport, and an hour to get onto a flight back to the States.

Twelve hours later, he doesn't regret a single thing.

It isn't long before he finds the name Mr. Wright scrawled on one of the doors, the number 223 matching with what the nurse told him.

"He should be asleep right now," She said in a hushed voice, angry that she was overruled by Miles pulling the prosecutor card. All of her patients deserved rest right now. "So be very careful. He's gone through a lot, you know."

Wincing at the creek of the door, he pushes it open carefully to find Phoenix sitting on a laptop, his eyes mostly closed. His hands rested on the middle of the keyboard, as if he were about to type something important.

As if his own rest and health wasn't. Miles has to resist the urge to close the laptop and put it away.

Wright's eyes widen as he sees him standing at the door, holding a black leather briefcase. He's sure that even Wright could see through his façade at this point. He came straight from the airport, afterall.

"Miles…"

With that, he decides to step closer into the room and close it behind him, figuring they'd both want some privacy. It isn't long before he ends up at Wright's bedside, setting the briefcase down on the floor gently. There's more than just court papers in there.

"You came," Wright says, giving Miles a sheepish smile. "You didn't have to."

"Don't be foolish," Is all Miles replies, dragging the chair to get closer to Wright. The way he sounds like Franziska isn't lost on him. He's had a very, very long flight. "I was in the area for some business, and when I got the call..."

Wright squints at him. "You're lying."

His own eyes widen. "What?"

The laptop is closed a moment later, the only light source coming in now was the moonlight from the windows. It only seemed to make Wright's conviction even more solid as he smirks, his eyes resetting back into half lidded.

"If you were in the area, you would've been here sooner. And, I do keep up on the news." He chuckles half playful, half… something Miles couldn't identify.

"'Former Demon Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth finds Japanese serial killer Ita Wazme guilty... Family is relieved to find some justice.'"

I see why you're called the Turnabout Terror.

Before Miles can say anything else, Wright sighs and turns his head, a violent cough wracking his already frail body.

"You should sleep, Edgeworth. I'll be okay." He whispers, voice rough from the assault on his vocal cords.

"I care about you," Is all Miles says, removing the heavy weight of the laptop from Phoenix's legs. He doesn't miss the wince from the movement. "Isn't that enough?"

Wright just chuckles, running a hand through his semi-spiky locks. It was the one unburdened by the rather large IV. "I'm going to live through the night, I promise."

There's a heavy pause. "Larry told me that you were being rushed to the hospital, but nothing else after that. As you already could tell, I packed as much as I could in the least amount of time and... left." He knows he's made a bunch of lecturers and government officials angry. That can be dealt with later.

"I thought you were going to..." The sentence cuts itself off there, unable to be said. The words hang heavy around the room, both men staring at each other. "You fell off a bridge, Wright. How are you so... nonchalant, with that?"

Miles closes his eyes and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the information in front of him finally sinking in like warm, running water. He had all of the evidence, and analyzed it thoroughly. A small, deep part of him is wonderfully relieved at what he has found.

"I thought I lost you, Phoenix."

Wright - no, Phoenix still looks away, looking on the verge of sleep. Maybe he should've waited until morning. Even if Phoenix was alright... that didn't give him any right to—

"You care about me...?" Phoenix asks, the questioning tone only managing to rise up at the very end. "Enough that you'd charter - most likely - a private jet around the world just to see me?"

His dark blue eyes open again. "If I didn't know better, Miles, I would say..." His own sentence cuts itself off.

Something tells Miles that he knew what Phoenix was going to say. "Yes. I did. And I don't regret it one bit."

Phoenix makes quick work of trying to sit himself up, only somewhat managing to fail miserably before Miles manages to get him upright, careful not to budge the heart monitors sitting on the pale skin under the hospital gown. Phoenix mutters a quiet thanks before facing Miles, their faces only a few inches away from each other.

"I'm glad you're well, Wright," Is all Miles can manage before he feels a pair of rather chapped lips meet his, bringing both weak arms to wrap around his shoulders. It doesn't take long before he begins to respond back, settling a supporting hand on Phoenix's back so he didn't fall.

In terms of that being their first kiss, it could've been better. But to the both of them, it felt like heaven.

It isn't long before they both break apart, out of breath but the air around them becoming considerably warmer. As Miles' eyes open up, he doesn't miss the pure joy on Phoenix's face as he wordlessly begs Miles to stay this close to him.

But fear strikes straight into Miles' heart as Phoenix pulls back, clutching his chest.

You're not okay as you thought you were, Phoenix.

Phoenix's eyes drift over to the bedside table, where the magatama and defense attorney badge rested. "You have to help, Miles. I can't do this alone... not any more..."

Phoenix settles back down into bed as Miles pockets the magatama and pins the badge onto his lapel, his own heart starting to pound once again.

"I will do my best," He says, before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto Phoenix's forehead.

There was no missing the contented smile before he fell asleep immediately, those simple actions exhausting him beyond belief.

"I won't let you down, Wright. I promise."

#narumitsu #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #naruhodou ryuuichi #mitsurugi reiji #pls dont kill me for formatting #kaz writes #hospital fic #fluff #i rewrote some of this and actually edited it go me #ace attorney

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hrina · 4 years

Text

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes!

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

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