#no it hasn’t there was/is a time where i’ll go completely silent but most of the time i like to talk i just don’t think other like

[merevide]

i should stop making cringe posts tbh. but i can’t.

[revelboo]

I just want to say I absolutely love your writing, especially the Starscream pet ones. They're so cute and comforting! Please, keep up the amazing work!!

Thank you! At some point, I’ll gather up all the disjointed bits into a more coherent fic. A lot of the Soundwave x Reader and the non-Lost Light Megatron x Reader goes with the Starscream snippets. They’re just not necessarily in the right order since I’m using Tumblr to quickly jot down scenarios as they occur to me.

Everything is Alright Pt 12

Starscream x Reader- stars

• Outside. Fresh air smelling faintly of pine and green things. And, most importantly, outside. Keeping a palm pressed against the warm metal flesh of Starscream’s neck, you tip your head back fighting a grin. The moon’s just a sharp sickle, but there are so many stars overhead. Little specks of beauty amid the darkness. After staring at the four gray walls of Starscream’s quarters for who knew how many weeks, the stars are even better. Before, you’d never bothered to really look. Now you can’t tear your eyes away.

• “Stop squirming. You’re going to fall,” Starscream snaps as you just breathe and enjoy it. Because this field trip will end with you right back in Starscream’s quarters as something you’re not sure of. A friend, a pet, a captive? All three? Who knew. But right now? You’re free. Sorta.

• “Likelihood of falling: sixty-two percent,” Soundwave adds from where he’s trailing behind Starscream, having invited himself along from what you can tell. When you adjust your grip so you can lean back and glower at the other mech, he just stares impassively right back. “Seventy-four percent.”

• Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out, you know his worry isn’t exactly misplaced. When you’d pled to not be carried cupped in Starscream’s palms, you’d underestimated how hard it would be to keep your balance on a moving surface. Every time he stops you almost pitch face first off his shoulder. While you’re almost certain he’ll catch you before you hit the ground, you’d rather not find out the hard way.

• Primus, but you can’t be still? Denta grinding, Starscream slows to a stop, hand lifting in case you almost slide off. Again. The overlook is far enough out they won’t be spotted by humans or Autobots, a secluded place he’d discovered completely by accident and a place he visits while on patrol. Where he can just be without the war looming or being on guard. Normally. Venting as Soundwave looks around, he toys idly with the idea of trying to shove the other mech off the cliff.

• Your little hand is warm and soft on the protoarmor of his neck distracting him as you slowly stand up on his shoulder. He watches you, your face tipped up toward the night sky, skin limned in ruddy light from his optics. “Where I lived in town, there were streetlights,” you say, soft voice drifting over him. “I couldn’t really see the stars.”

• There’s a wistfulness in your words, that stings. Makes him wonder if under all those smiles you give so freely, you resent him for keeping you. If the tables were turned, he’d idle away his time in plans of escape and revenge. “Yes, well,” he murmurs, aware of Soundwave nearby listening. Looking for weakness he can exploit, no doubt. “Good behavior should be rewarded.”

• Ah, there it is. Those gruff words make your smile falter. He hasn’t brought you here because it was a nice thing to do, but because he’s reinforcing good behavior. It shouldn’t still hurt, but it does. Because maybe you were thinking of him as a friend. That just maybe he thought a bit more of you than just a pet. Or a bargaining chip. And there goes your heart, racing even as it cracks just a bit. How were you so stupid? Of course you’re not friends. How could you be?

• Venting softly, Starscream almost misses the soft sound of your breathing change. You’re still staring at the stars, but you’re leaking now, moisture streaming silently from your eyes. Lost, he glances at Soundwave, because this is new. And he doesn’t like it at all.

Previous Next

[najlepsiznajlepsich]

cardigan

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: alcohol consumption, cursing, angst (a bit), lando and reader are teenagers (for the most part)

author's note: im sorry for any mistakes, or if i missed a warning, this was supposed to be really inspired by Taylor Swift's cardigan but i got kind of lost in the plot lmao

*

Oh. How you loved this. Giggles of you and your friends were echoing through the house. No one even had an idea of what they were talking about, and half of the words coming out of their mouths were slurred. You weren’t sure about what was going on. Except for Lando’s burning touch on your shoulder. It felt too good. 

Being completely lost in the moment, you nearly didn’t even hear your phone ringing. You reached for it and walked into a different room. You didn’t read the name of the caller, and you should’ve, because when you picked up, your mom started berating you. 

She hung up and you walked back to where your friends were having the time of their lives. “I’m going home, guys.” You said and grabbed your jacket that was thrown over the sofa. The ‘why’s’ of your friends were filling your ears. “I’ll drive you.” Lando jumped up and dragged you out of the house. 

“Mom. Don’t worry I’ll come home in a few hours.” You blurted out. “Oh no, young lady. You’re coming home right now!” she raised her voice and continued.

"When you’re an adult you can do whatever you want! But you’re not, so you’re coming home!” You sighed. Really? “Okay. I’ll be home in a bit.” 

“For who did you get all dressed up like that? I’m surprised you can even walk in them.” Lando commented on your heels as they clicked against the cobblestone path. You just giggled and sat in the passenger’s seat. “You seem too happy, did you want to get out of there or something?” you asked as he started driving. 

“Well, you know I prefer 1 on 1 conversations. That was too much chaos.” “I doubt that you party lion.” He smiled. The car fell into a comfortable silence. As you stopped at a traffic light you felt Lando’s eyes scanning you. 

“I’ve never seen you wearing that t-shirt. Is it ne-“ “Oh no. It was my mom’s.” You cut him off and giggled. “Vintage. So adorable.” You both exploded into laughter at the mean girls reference. He stopped in front of your house and you wished that the ride would last longer. You thanked him and got out of the car. 

You felt his eyes following your silhouette as you walked inside. The front door shut and you leaned against it. “Mom already went to sleep,” your dad said and you exhaled deeply. “Oh, Lando drove you home. He’s such a nice young man isn’t he?” You rolled your eyes and rushed towards your room. 

Lando knew you too well. Putting on those high heels was one of your biggest regrets and they were kicked off immediately. You could barely bring yourself to remove your makeup and change your clothes. But somehow you did. Finally, the bed sank under your body and your mind was already drifting off. 

Your phone beeped. Lando. 

Hope you can hang out next weekend :). 

Oh shit. You totally forgot you’re turning 18 next weekend. 

I def can, mom didn’t say anything. You giggled to yourself as you sent the message. 

She was asleep. Wasn’t she?  

You burst out laughing.  Yeah, and? 

His message popped up immediately: Go to sleep Y/N. Well, why argue.

*

That week went by too fast. School didn’t give you a chance to take a break. But, Saturday rolled around, and now you’re 18. Isn’t it crazy? Only, if you could actually enjoy it. 

There were so many family members in your house, half of them you didn’t even know. And now you were thinking if your mom hasn’t just turned your birthday party into a family reunion. It was too boring. The time went by even slower than when you were in school. You just did your job. Talked to everyone, you even smiled at them politely. 

After a long long time, it was finally silent. Just you, your dad and your mom. And you probably jinxed it, because your phone started ringing. “Ugh, another cousin calling.” You thought before you picked your phone up. Could not be more wrong. 

It’s Lando. 

“Yeah?” you picked up. 

“Don’t you want to go somewhere? Somewhere out?” He spoke slowly.

 “Oh. Uhh, sure? Where are you right-““Outside your house, come out.” He laughed into the phone and hung up. 

You grabbed the closest thing you could put on and walked outside. Your mom’s cardigan. Your feet carried you outside, while your brain wasn’t sure of this. Whatever. 

“Hii!” Lando yelled and hugged you. “Happy birthday! Come on!” He started walking away instantly. “Hey! Where are we going?” You ran after him. “Don’t you want to relax by the lake?” He said, shutting you up immediately.  

Like always, it was quiet. Ducks floated on top of the lake and some insects you weren’t able to recognize flew around you. This was so peaceful. It was like a whole new world. That's just what you needed.

“Look at what I got you,” Lando spoke up. He pulled out two small bottles of alcohol from his pocket and threw one into your lap. “Come on” he muttered as he unscrewed the cap off his bottle. You let him open yours too. 

“I really want to see your reaction,” he laughed as he handed it back to you. You didn’t waste any time as you brought it to your lips and took a sip. Your nose scrunched instantly, and that’s all Lando needed to burst into laughter. “Try mine.”

One sip turned to two, and then it went downhill pretty quickly. “Come on Lando!” You whined as you dragged him behind you. “I have to get home!” You giggled. He pulled you into a hug, which you didn’t mind. Your whole body was cold, and he had a warmth you couldn’t explain. 

It was dark already and the only light that illuminated you was a streetlight right above you. “You’re so warm. I’m freezing.” Lando grunted. Huh? “No, you’re the hot one.” You forgot how to think, and it was obvious by now. “Wow. Thank you.” He just chuckled while you were endlessly defending yourself. Ugh, it’s not like he’s a genius when he’s drunk too. 

And just right after you both calmed down, a song started to play from a nearby house. “How loud did he put it on, if we can hear it here?” You burst out laughing. “Don’t laugh. Dance with me.” Well, who were you to deny that request?

His touch was a tingling sensation on your skin, something you wished you could feel forever. He danced slowly, probably to not make you throw up from the moves. And while you felt sick, it all felt like a beautiful dream. Something not real. It was just too good. 

“Lando…Home” you whispered into his neck, and without a protest he started walking you home. Supported you, caught you when you stumbled, then opened the front door of your house. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the floor. “Okay, goodnight, pretty.” He said in a hushed voice as he shut the door behind him and blood instantly rushed into your cheeks.

“Had a nice night out, young lady?” Your tired dad walked out of the kitchen and went to pick you up from the floor. “Let’s get you to bed.” He suggested and you exhaled. “Please don’t tell mom, please dad.” “I won’t, just go to bed.”

*

And it’s Monday again. Ugh. You hated your Monday classes, especially physics. Your brain couldn’t understand anything at this hour. You nearly fell asleep numerous times, and your blinking turned into microsleep. Your phone, which wasn’t charged from last night, vibrated in your pocket and you reached for it.

Of course, it's Lando. 

Are you free after school?

Yeah. You typed out a quick response and stuffed your phone back into the pocket. 

And until lunch you were walking around with the biggest grin on your face. Like a little kid with a lollypop. Except, you needed to show Lando's response to your girls.

I'll wait for you in front of the school, ok? You read the message aloud to them, who couldn’t refrain themselves from aww-ing. “He definitely wants you.” Your best friend giggled and you rolled your eyes. A chorus of agreement came from all sides of the table. “We’re just friends, I swear.” “Yeah… But you’re in love with him.”

*

Finally, out of the school. Seeing Lando wait there for you made your heart jump a bit. Maybe your friend was right. “Come on, they're waiting for us.” Lando smiled and started walking. “Who? If I can ask?” “Oh, right, just some of my friends.”

Well, you found out that you have a different definition for “some friends”. You expect just your closest friend group. Not another 10 people. And you had no idea who they were. You and Lando sat down on the grass next to them. 

“I need to do my homework.” Lando proclaimed and you burst out laughing. “You? Homework? Good joke.” “It’s actually important, you know?” Lando said with a quiet voice while everyone was laughing. But they moved on from that really quickly. Now they were gossiping about some random people.

Lando kept scribbling into his notebook. Scribbling a whole lot of nothing. “What the hell are you doing?” You whispered and he shushed you. “I��don’t want to be here.” He muttered and started doodling on your arm. “Aren’t these your friends?” “I don’t like them.” You scoffed but didn’t question him further. 

As you were sitting there for longer and longer, more messy stars and hearts appeared on your arms. Lando was studying you instead of that homework. “When did you get this one?” He asked and you could hear the tiredness in his voice. “Remember when I tried to learn how to skateboard?” He giggled. “No way.” He yawned, and you continued telling him that story.

It didn’t take long and he was already sleeping on your shoulder. How were you going to get him home? You answered your own question almost instantly. Well, that’s just a future you problem. 

*

Lando calling you to hang out on the weekends became a routine. A comfortable routine that you loved and appreciated. Until it stopped. Unannounced. And you had no idea why. The thought lingered around in your mind. Maybe, he just got bored of you.

Then one weekend hangouts were revived. He called you. Your heart stopped for a second. 

“Hi. You wanna go somewhere out?” he asked, the connection breaking towards the end of the sentence.

“Sure.” You said into the phone, trying so hard to be cool. 

“I’ll come pick you up in 10.” He blurted out and ended the call. 

You haven’t talked to him in so long. Now he sounds totally different. You put on some random clothes that were thrown over the chair and bolted outside. Surprisingly, Lando arrived sooner than he promised. No problem.

But just as you were about to open the passenger door, you noticed a girl sitting there. Okay, so now you’ve been demoted to the backseat. You jumped there and Lando turned around to look at you. 

“Okay, so the teachers said I have to show her around the town. You don’t mind being my assistant, do you?” Lando explained the situation very quickly. Too quickly. “No, not at all,” he smiled and the girl smiled back.

It was the foreign exchange student. You had English with her. The reason you remember her is just because she always talked about her weekend with Lando. Yeah, you were jealous. And what? 

He started driving around showing her all your spots. Where you had the best times of your lives. And now she knows them too. Ugh. Your secret spots weren’t secret anymore. And of course, she has to be the one who sees them. While sitting in your seat.

You were seething and you hated it. This wasn’t fair. You just couldn’t take it. 

"Lando, can you drop me off home… My mom wants me to do something." He responded calmly. "Sure." Fuck. He really had no idea. As soon as that car stopped by your house, you jumped out. No goodbye, no see ya.  Nothing.

You stomped your way inside and when the door shut behind you. Tears poured out of your eyes. And for once in your life you were happy your mom wasn’t asleep when you came home. She just hugged you, not asking a single question. “Boys are assholes, that one definitely did not deserve you.”

*

The rest of your high school life went by fine. You and Lando stayed friends, just not as close as before. Somehow, he could not figure out why. 

The graduation day was something you were looking forward to. You liked having someone by your side, but no one could actually understand you. So the plan was to ghost them. Maybe too harsh, shame that you didn’t give a fuck. You were waiting for your parents so you could go to lunch together. Until you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Lando. Of course, it has to be him. “So… This is going to sound absolutely crazy, but…” You rolled your eyes and waited for whatever shitty idea he was about to introduce you to.  “Do you want to travel around the country with me?” He asked, not sure if you were even listening. “I have classes I don’t have to attend and I’ll do my assignments on the road.”

“I can’t do that, are you crazy? I got into a good university and I won’t do some random shit with you, just because you want to.” You snapped at his unawareness. “I actually value my education-“ “I do too, please, it would be so fun.” He whined out. “How about you go ask your perfect best friend. I’m sure she'd love to go with you” His eyes went wide. 

“Is this all because of her?” “All? What is that?” you asked, clearly mocking his voice. “You’re avoiding me, not wanting to hang with me and now you’re a bitch about it. I didn’t know you were so jealous.” He scoffed and walked away from you. 

“Enjoy that dumb trip!” You can’t believe this is how your friendship ends. You can’t believe that you’re still in love with that asshole.

*

And as pathetic as that sounds, every day of your university life you regretted saying no to Lando. That little crush didn’t go away. Your mom just couldn't stop showing you photos from his social media accounts (that you had blocked). And it was like he was haunting you. 

When you were walking through your hometown, you were thinking about the good memories you made. 

Men who wore cologne like his made you stop in your tracks. 

The conversation on that graduation day was like a song you couldn’t stop playing in your mind. 

You wished that the stars he drew on your skin were permanent tattoos.

You cursed him out for not being more convincing that day. You cursed out that girl for blinding you with jealousy. You didn’t see the truth because of the dark green haze.

He was everywhere, but still nowhere. You were sure you had developed hallucinations by now. 

And there wasn’t a night you weren’t thinking about what could’ve happened if you said yes. If wouldn’t cut him off. If you both just matured and stopped acting like nothing was wrong. If you started dating instead of tiptoeing around a label. 

Fuck. If only you weren’t dumb teenagers.

*

Back home for holidays. And everything reminded you of him. Even your house wasn’t safe. Your parents decided to visit your neighbors, and you swore you’d go crazy in that time. 

It’s hard being always correct. All the photos you hung up on the wall were with Lando and you didn’t know if to smile or cry. But, you decided to stop emotionally destroying yourself and went to the living room. You couldn't handle being in own room. That sounds crazy. Just as you got comfortable, the doorbell rang over the opening of your favorite TV show. 

Aren’t they home just too soon? Maybe they just forgot something. But as you opened the door you nearly got a heart attack. 

Lando.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice soft like never before.

“You’re here. I can’t believe it.” He stammered.

“Of course, I’m here. Why are you so shocked?” you responded. It was like both of you were on thin ice. One bad word or move and you’ll both fall apart.

“I’ve been trying to apologize to you for so long, but you’re never here.” His voice trembled. 

“You’ve been waiting for me?” Your eyes were full of tears and a smile formed on your quaking lips.

“Of course, I always loved you.” 

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c’est part 8?

I’m literally in love with it

quand c’est - part 9 ~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

She places her hands on the table in between them, her fingers interlaced, “So, Lando, how are you feeling this morning?” 

Lando chews at his bottom lip, pursing his lips to the side to break the habit, “Uh, yeah- fine,” He nods the question away, wanting to move away from it. Her look at him tightens, untrusting. He knows he shouldn’t lie- there’s no use of trying to get help if he’s not willing to accept it. “I’m tired,” He looks away for a split second, then back at her, “All the time,”

Warnings: sickness, illness, cancer

Lando stands in the doorway of his Monaco apartment, blankly staring in at the surrounding space. It’s weird to be back, as so much of his time is spent bouncing between races and soulless hotel rooms- his own brightly decorated and very personalised place just feels so out of place.

Oscar walks in behind him, shuffling around him cautiously as Lando takes up most of the door’s entrance, just standing completely in the way. “How’re you feeling?” Lando’s pretty much fully over what happened on the plane- the feeling and discomfort practically gone. 

Lando takes a few steps forward, leaning into a wall so he can nudge his shoes off. “Uh, tired,” He hums mindlessly, his eyes bleary and his bones achy. “Kinda need to nap,” A smile stretches across his pink lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. 

Oscar nods, rubbing his hand over Lando’s shoulder. He squeezes it slightly, like he needs something to do with his hand. “You just rest up- I’ll unpack everything,” Oscar replies, kissing Lando’s cheek softly as he walks past him and into the living room properly, carrying about three bags on him.

The way he says it makes Lando feel bad- like he’s being rather mocking and snarky. ‘ I’ll unpack everything’, like he’s frustrated that Lando is a useless, lazy slob. No consideration of how sick Lando is right now, just judging him because he feels like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Like he’s the one with all the hardships weighing him down.

He doesn’t understand that Lando would kill to be in Oscar’s position right now.

“Lans?” Oscar’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “What’s wrong? You’re looking.. very spacey,” He’s careful with the way he speaks to him, like one wrong word will send him teetering off the edge- even just his tone.

Which, technically, is true, because in reality- Oscar wasn’t being passive aggressive or sarcastic when he offered to clean up- he was being genuine in his attempt to help make Lando’s life just slightly easier. 

“I’m okay,” He furrows his eyebrows, pinching the skin between them. “I’m gonna go now, gotta be up early tomorrow,” He forces another smile onto his face. He’s got his first consultation with the doctor in Monaco at 9 tomorrow morning, so he’s gotta be positive and ready for a chat, or the whole ordeal is just going to be far more unpleasant.

Oscar doesn’t look convinced, but he’s a naturally wary looking person anyways. “Alright,” The word brushes past his lips like a forced out noise, used only as a way to not stay silent. “Love you, Lans.” Lando gives a curt smile and mumbles the phrase back in return before scuffling off into their room.

He looks at the bed, then at the ensuite bathroom where the door is slightly ajar. He should take a shower- he hasn’t had one all day and he probably stinks of hospital and airport. Yet, he can’t quite manage it, so he strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed- falling asleep to the noise of Oscar moving around outside.

The next morning is an unpleasant rush to try and get to the appointment. Lando feels like he can’t move, his joints unmoving and his body heavier than a literal F1 car. It’s agony trying to move around, tackling the mundane tasks of getting dressed and brushing his teeth.

Oscar tries to get him to eat something for breakfast, but he pushes away every option. Oscar finally convinces him to have a strawberry protein shake- just something with a solid amount of calories and protein to keep him going for the morning.

The clinic is pleasantly decorated, on the beige side of the colour spectrum, but definitely nice. Lando sits with his left leg crossed over his right, his hands clasped in his lap- Oscar’s right hand in the mix of his own two. They both remain silent, out of respect for other patients and lack of conversation topics.

“Mr Norris?” 

Oscar turns his head to look at Lando, “Do you want me to come in with you?” His voice is barely there, trying as hard as he can to stay practically silent. Lando shakes his head and stands up, wiping his sweaty palms down against his jeans before following the reception lady into a small room. 

The door clicks shut behind him as he takes a seat across from the doctor. She looks mid to late forties, thick rimmed glasses and salt and pepper hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s rather pretty- reminds him of his own mother, who he really wishes was here right now.

 It’s nice always having Oscar around- honestly. He’s the luckiest guy in the world to have him, despite being in the shittest situation. Yet, he misses being a kid, being carefree and cared for by his parents. Sometimes, when it’s really late at night, and he’s buried under masses of blankets with Oscar’s arms loosely wrapped around him- he feels like a kid again. 

It’s embarrassing, but it’s true. Even when he’s got to front up and be brave to the world, pretend he’s okay after a crash or another race incident, even when he’s choking back tears in front of a million cameras, Oscar makes him feel like a kid- in a good way.

“Good Morning, Mr Norris,” The doctor smiles warmly at him, her long nails clacking against her keyboard, “I’m Dr. Button, I’m the oncologist who will be discussing all of your treatment plans with you,” 

Lando leans forward, shifting around in his chair. God, he’s sweating all over, “Morning,” He smiles as warmly as he can muster up to. “You can just call me Lando,” He added. She extended her hand to him, which he shook- a strong and definite one. He wasn’t weak, he was a fucking F1 driver- he had mastered a good handshake that always impressed without fail.

She places her hands on the table in between them, her fingers interlaced, “So, Lando, how are you feeling this morning?” 

Lando chews at his bottom lip, pursing his lips to the side to break the habit, “Uh, yeah- fine,” He nods the question away, wanting to move away from it. Her look at him tightens, untrusting. He knows he shouldn’t lie- there’s no use of trying to get help if he’s not willing to accept it. “I’m tired,” He looks away for a split second, then back at her, “All the time,”

She opens a small spiral binded notebook and a pen, noting something down under where she’s already written his name and a brief summary of his situation. “I know a few of these questions may seem very straight forward and obvious, but I’d just like to ask that you answer all of them truthfully as it helps us to understand you better,” 

He nods, “Of course,” He slides his hands underneath his thighs, the rough material of his jeans rubbing awkwardly against his palms. “Yeah, all good,” He’s speaking for the sake of speaking, for the sake of not seeming incompetent or rude.

“So,” Her pen bleeds ink into the page as it lets it rest on the end of a cursive s. “Would you say the tiredness is physical, or mental?” Lando frowns, unsure of how to answer. She quickly notices his confusion and clarifies, “Is the exhaustion like you really need to sleep and lounge around, or is your mind just weak and over all of this?”

“Both,” He doesn’t give another moment of consideration to the question- it’s so easy. “I- I can’t pick which one I’d say it is more so,”

That statement is clearly worthy of a mention in her notebook. “Would you say you’ve noticed any other typical symptoms associated with brain tumours?” Lando’s embarrassed to say he really hasn’t done that much research into the usual symptoms that come along with his illness. He’s just been putting it off for a while, too scared to find out something that will throw him into a dark pit of depression. 

“Uh, headaches?” That seems like a safe bet and they definitely have been pretty bad ever since he got the diagnosis and the days leading up to it. “I-” He puffs his lips out, blowing a raspberry. Oh god, why is he so awkward all of a sudden. “I don’t really know a whole lot about all of this, admittedly,”

“That’s all alright, Lando. That’s what I’m here for,” She makes a note down in her book, probably about how Lando’s a disorganised wreck who can’t even manage a quick google search to find out about the disease that’s fucking killing him.

He wouldn’t blame her- he is a fucking wreck.

They discuss his medical history next, which is pretty lacklustre. They move on to talking about his actual diagnosis from there, which he makes sure to pay extra attention to. He’s been lacking on giving any attention to his own sickness, leaving that to Oscar. He needs to take things into his own hands now. 

His tumour is operable, but it's obviously cancerous- so it probably won’t just go away after the surgery. He’s probably going to have to go through a fair few rounds of chemotherapy before it’s gone, or atleast small enough. The type of surgery they’re going to be performing is a craniotomy.

The lists of surgery related risks seemed never ending; infection, bleeding, blood clots, seizures (at least more often then he already had), brain swelling, memory problems. 

Paralysis. He’d never be able to drive again.

He’d become a shell of the man he once was- not aspirations, no goals, no will to live.

All throughout the time Dr Button spent discussing recovery, Lando goes blank. He reminds himself to occasionally nod and hum out yes every once in a while, just to keep up the illusion that he’s paying attention. In reality, he can’t quiet wrap his head around fucking paralysis.

Never walking again, never being able to touch Oscar again- feeling Oscar’s touch either. He’d never win another race, and he sure as hell would never win a world championship.

He’d- he’d rather die than see a future like that.

“I- sorry, where’s the bathroom?” He stands up, his heart in his throat and his heart throbbing. She gives a sympathetic look before guiding him to a nearby stall. He has to walk through the waiting hall to get there- meaning he sees Oscar on the way.

He doesn’t have to say a single thing as he walks past, Oscar shoots up, acting off instinct, and follows Lando. They get to the bathroom and Oscar helps Lando onto the floor, ignoring how unhygienic that probably is, before locking the door behind them.

“Breathe, Lando, breathe,” 

Lando has to force it manually, guiding each inhale and exhale, the expanse of his chest with each breath. He has Oscar’s voice in his ear, asking him a million questions, Oscar’s hands on his trembling body, trying to find out what set off this reaction.

It’s a lot of things, it could've been anything- but he’s worse than usual this time.

“I’m gonna die,” Oscar’s features cloud over- dark and unreadable. 

“No you’re not,” He’s insistent, then his voice wavers, “Did she say you would?”

Lando shakes his head furiously, shifting to lean his head on his head, half covering his forehead. “No- she, she just told me about all the- the risks,” He spat out, his body shaking against the cold, marble floor. He wishes he could melt into it, feel nothing for a bit. “I could be fucking paralyzed .”

He meets Oscar’s eyes, who looks confused as if he’s missing something, “That doesn’t mean you’re going to die though,” His fingers brush over Lando’s cheek, his knees awkwardly all up in Lando’s face from how he’s squatting. 

“Paralysis is basically as bad as dying- I’ll never drive again, never walk, never have sex again,” His voice strains with the last one, like someone’s going to hear him say it. 

Oscar turns a bit red, but smiles at the same time. It pisses Lando off- why the fuck isn’t Oscar taking him seriously? “And did she tell you that you’re gonna be paralyzed? ‘Cause the chances are very low- it’s really unlikely, Lando,”

Lando looks away, just buries his face further into Oscar’s shirt. “I don’t wanna be sick anymore,”

Oscar swallows hard, sitting down properly. Fuck, he doesn’t want Lando to be sick anymore either. He lives each hour and each minute in constant fear and anxiety. Lando’s everything to him- he was the boy that Oscar made a constant effort to be the first like on his instagram posts almost a decade ago, he was the boy that Oscar wanted to be more than anything when he was announced as a McLaren driver. He was the boy that Logan would tease Oscar over for having such a fat ‘celebrity crush’ on the youngest 2019 rookie.

Oscar is new for Lando, beginning in 2023 at their first race together. For Oscar, Lando’s been a constant- all the way from 2016.

He doesn’t know what the right thing to say in this situation is, so he stays silent, and presses his lips to Lando’s head.

And for now, it’s enough, it’s enough that they both care enough to stay fighting for one another.

[vanillavengeance]

i totally keep forgetting to ask everytime I reread mm and you might have said this already, but is the implication that leo donnie and raph killed the foot clan dudes? i really wouldn't put it past them

Not killed them in the moment, but…

They should have gone further. Left the state, even.

The Lieutenant and Brute screams turn more shrill, bruises and gashes stinging in the high winds. The harsh metal cables bite into where they’re wrapped, pulled tight by the snarling Red Turtle around their bodies. Neither could move even if they wanted to.

An edge of a building clips Brute’s leg and lets off a sharp ‘snap’. His scream curdles into whimpers but the purple drone doesn’t slow or go higher.

“This is your fault, you imbecile!” Lieutenant shouts over the wind, frantic. Brute whimpers and gives tiny, repeated nods.

Lieutenant’s not dumb, unlike his unfortunate companion. He should have insisted they get to the other side of the country.

Not that it would have helped if they ever found out. The Blue Turtle has those portals that make everything an irritating challenge.

They just barely squirm away from a different ledge, unable to see through the wetness gathered in their eyes. The sounds of New York blue around them and with how fast and haphazardly the drone is flying, Lieutenant wouldn’t be surprised if this is their third lap around the city.

Flying until their fingers are numb and their screams turn silent, Lieutenant has hope that it might be over. The drone slows as it flies over one of the waterways and he has the desperate thought that if they do meet their end here, at least it’ll have a good view of the city.

Alas, the Purple Turtles drone has other plans. Swooping low, it glides to a complete stop underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Lieutenant blinks at the gentle sway and leans into the silent, limp form tied to his back. Brute had gone silent after his broken leg was once again smashed into a gargoyle, leaving him to figure out if they would be surviving this mess.

It’s always the youngest that’s the most protected. They should have known better after the Kraang to not mess with the Turtles, especially the Orange one.

They’re jostled into place suspended by a support beam and the little drone comes down to hover in front of Lieutenant. Using what little energy he has for a snarl, he stares down the steadily blinking red light. The robot lets out a tiny beep and then Lieutenant is blinded, eyes burning and wrenching a new scream from his throat. He can barely breath through the pepper spray overwhelming his senses.

Through his gasps of pain the drone beeps once more before it buzzes off. Lieutenant merely breathes through the stinging off his eyes and face, wondering if they’ll be noticed before he goes blind.

If this was it, Lieutenant has only one regret.

Why must he die trussed up like a turkey with the man who ensured their demise?

————————————————————————

“I’m just saying they’re probably going to be crawling back. If you had just let me deploy my prototype—“

“We ain’t killing people, Donnie. Not when I’m here. I could care less what ‘ya do in your free time.”

“I don’t know, I think Dontron might be on to something. They were still screaming when they flew off. Could have done with a few more slashes in the squishier areas.”

“I’ll say it again since it hasn’t gotten through your heads; I don’t care what ‘ya do in your free time.”

“Oh ho ho~, I read you loud and clear, big daddy.”

“Affirmative, objective has been made crystal.”

“After we get Mikey back, though, yeah?”

“Uh, duh.” “Agreed.”

————————————————————————

I wrote this off the fly so excuse any errors, but here ya go :D

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 25/?

Prev | Next

Jason finds a new hobby; Jazz starts thinking about her future. Danny isn't completely miserable at school.

Danny didn’t want to admit it, but he was having fun at school.

Three weeks after starting school, Danny had settled in.

He had made a small group of friends. They could never replace Sam and Tucker, but they were fun. His dad had been right. (Not that he would ever tell him that.) Even if the courses were a bit boring sometimes, being around people his age was nice.

Still, he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

It helped that the school he was enrolled in taught differently to the American education system. Plus, he was learning French.

The school had a more hands-on approach to learning. He built machines and diagrams. Reading out loud could have been more exciting, even if they read at a more advanced level. During those times, he usually zoned out.

Danny found out he loved to draw. The most he had drawn back at his home dimension had been basic things or schematics of his inventions once he was older. Here, the school took time to get the kids engaged. They put different things in front of the kids and even let the children model for their classmates if they didn’t like drawing.

Right now, the teacher was teaching them how to make bracelets. It was nice to do things with his hands.

So, yeah, maybe his dad and Jazz had had a point, and school was good for Danny. That doesn’t mean he would tell them.

____

Jason had been bored during the day for the last three weeks.

Ever since Danny had started school, Jason had more time in his hands than before. In Gotham, he slept during the day after a long night of patrol, ruling his criminal empire and giving out necessities to the children and homeless in his territory.

Now, he would wake up, take Danny to school, and teach Jazz defensive moves and how to use knives and guns. That only lasted three hours. By ten o’clock, he was done and bored. Jazz refused to let him take care of Ellie the whole day.

“Go out, Jason. Find something to do, and stop trying to take my baby from me.”

So, here he was, walking around the little village.

That’s where he saw her, a 1967 red Mustang. The car had seen better days, but Jason could tell if he put in the time and effort, he could restore her. He jogged up to the little auto shop.

An older man was sitting on a rocking chair and chewing tobacco. His teeth were yellow, and he had wispy white hair. The wrinkles left deep trenches on his face. He smelled of car oil and tobacco.

“How much for the Mustang?”

The older man looked at Jason and spat the tobacco into a bucket. His greasy shirt read Hank.

“You sure you want that old junk, son? It hasn’t been used since 1986 and has been rotting on this parking lot since.”

“Yeah, I want it. How much?”

“Y’know, having someone fix her will cost a lot, right?”

“I know how to fix cars. I can have it hauled to my place and start fixing her there.”

Jason could go to old junkyards to find parts. He’d have to buy equipment, too; he didn’t have any at home. It’s not as if he didn’t have the money for such a project. He was actually getting excited at the thought of fixing the old car.

“If you’re sure, I’ll leave it at $600.”

“Deal,” Jason said.

Jason paid for the car with his card and waited for Hank to give him the keys. He looked in the car and was surprised to see it still had its original seats. Leather seats, too. As expected, it didn’t turn on. Jason saw that the engine was rusted.

Hmm, he would have to take it out and see if there were any salvageable parts. Now, to figure out how to get it home.

Jason turned toward the older man and noticed he had a nice array of tools and two lifters. An idea started forming.

“Are you willing to rent me a space so I can fix the car here? I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get the car moving, but I’m more than willing to pay.”

The man was chewing on more tobacco. Jason started fidgeting the longer Hank stayed silent.

“I wouldn’t use it when you need the lifters, and I’d still pay for a daily fee. I’d keep the car in the same parking space you’ve had it in.”

Hank spit out the tobacco and took out some more, “Sure, why not? Let’s talk price, kid.”

Jason smiled. He had found something to do.

Danny could tell his dad was happy when he picked him up from school.

“How was class today, chum?”

“It was nice, I guess. I painted some fruit and learned how the weather is predicted for the week. We even built our modal of a weather balloon.”

“That’s nice,” Jason said. “Anything else?”

“We started a new book. Charlotte’s Web. It’s not the worst.”

“Oh, I loved that book when I was younger.”

“Hmm,” Danny hummed, “What did you do, daddy?”

“I bought an old car that I decided to fix up. The man I bought it from has an auto shop and is letting me fix it up there. Maybe, if you’re interested, we can go on the weekends, and you can help me.”

Danny thought about it. He remembered all the times he helped Jack with inventions. He missed building things. This would be different, though. He wouldn’t be building weapons that could kill a race of beings. He would just be helping his dad rebuild a car. It was a normal father-son activity.

“I would like that,” Danny said, “I would like that a lot.”

____

After Jason left, Jazz started thinking.

In a few years, Ellie would start school, too. She wouldn’t have much to do with Ellie gone.

Jazz used to have dreams. She wanted to go to an Ivy School and study psychology. Those dreams had been dashed when the Fentons attacked her younger brother. Suddenly, she was responsible for a de-aged Danny and Ellie. She was glad for Jason’s help, but her whole world had become the children.

Jazz put Ellie down for a nap. She took that opportunity to look into online classes. After all, just like Jazz had been pushing Jason to do things for himself, she had to think about her mental health and find ways to stimulate her mind.

She’d bring it up with Jason to see what he thought.

She spent the rest of the day looking into online school programs. After all, she deserved to do things for herself every once in a while.

The elder Nightingales are finding things to do for themselves, yay! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter.

So I no longer have Covid 😃 but that also means I'm going back to work and won't be able to update as much as I had the past few days. Sorry about that. I will try to update one of my fics at least twice a week. No promises, though.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

[matildashoney]

Delicate Point of View: Chapter Six

MASTERLIST // ASKS // TAGS // PLAYLIST Word Count: 18K CW: sex (it's a wedding and they're drunk and in love, i'm not sure what you want me to say) taglist: @lauloupi less than a month since the last update, who cheered! i am so happy to share this chapter because this is changing everything. things are about to get a little bit messy from here on out, but in a good way for hera and harry. lots of feelings and emotions and of course more drama to come, because let's face it, that's what i do. but, until then, enjoy hera and harry being drunk and in love. it's what they deserve. and as always, please for the love of god share what you think! i thrive on feedback and commentary. i love you lots. enjoy!

Harry’s shock must be evident on his face because Hera swallows audibly and attempts to find her voice. Matty looks at her, and Harry looks at her, the guilt that’s written across her features is heartbreaking. Harry smooths his hand across her back, gently nudging her into his side and rubbing his hand along her waist, trying to bring any comfort in the midst of the tension cutting between the three of them. Harry and Matty are looking at each other, trying to make sense of the situation. How could Matty have known how Hera was doing all that time if they weren’t speaking? Harry looks at Hera, trying to read her body language and see if maybe he needs to find a way to excuse the two of them from the situation and get a handle on whatever is going on. Matty never said a word to him this morning, Hera hasn’t said anything, leaving Harry fully in the dark about whatever the hell is going on between them.

Harry swallows and purses his lips together tightly, squeezing Hera’s side comfortingly to try and ground her. Hera looks at him, eyes soft and silently begging for forgiveness, her hand gently coming up to his jaw and cupping it delicately, kissing his cheek sweetly before retreating away from his hold. Hera nods towards the corner of the designated area – where all the flowers and altar and tent are set for the ceremony and reception – where there is a bit of privacy, and they could have a private conversation without anyone interrupting. Matty follows her line of sight, and then looks to Harry, who is still staring at Hera with confusion. Harry looks to Hera questioningly, mouthing, what’s going on, to which she smiles sadly and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Are you okay, baby?” Harry whispers, cupping the back of her head sweetly, trying not to disrupt the curls falling perfectly along her shoulders. His mouth touches her forehead, kissing her repeatedly, trying to bring comfort in a situation he is completely lost in. “Do you want to take a breather? I can take us somewhere that’s a bit more private if you want.”

Harry looks at her with eyes that she could only describe as those that are full of love and care when she pulls away, wanting to know what he can do to make her feel better. Hera shakes her head. “I love you more than anything, you know that?” she says softly, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly before turning on her heel and looking towards where Matty is already beginning to pace in the corner. Hera turns over her shoulder and grabs Harry’s hand. “You and I made things right a month ago, and I’ve been putting off doing that with other people. I have to make those things right, now. I’ll be back, okay?”

Harry isn’t given a second to properly process what’s happening in that moment, because before he could ask any further questions and understand what she’s doing, she’s walking away, and he’s left standing by the ocean in complete confusion. Harry turns around and looks to find Beau and Isla, who would most likely have the answers he’s looking for. Harry walks straight over to where they’re standing, taking one last glance over at Hera and Matty in the corner, before waiting rather impatiently as they took their time greeting the last few remaining guests, and ushering everyone to where the cocktail hour would be while they take a moment to themselves. Harry feels guilty for pulling them into his own issue, for potentially making them worry, but he knows if anyone is going to be able to tell him what’s going on, it’ll be the one that introduced those two all those years ago, the one that was likely the instigator of whatever happened, Harry knows.

Isla smiles brightly when Harry walks over to her, clearly unaware of the anxiety written across his face, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders and hugging him tightly, swaying back and forth excitedly. “I’m married! Harry, I’m a married woman, can you believe it?” Harry smiles at her excitement and joy, the thought of one day seeing his love reacting this way to getting married to him making his heart tight in his chest. Isla pulls away, quirking her head to the side and reading his expression, a purse of her lips telling him that she’s reading everything he's not saying to her. “Jesus Christ, Harry, don’t tell me you and Hera are arguing. God, please, it’s barely been a month. And it’s my wedding day. You literally had to get through one day. I, everything has been so good with the two of you! What could have possibly happened already?”

“No, no, Isla, it’s not that. Don’t worry about anything like that. Hera and I aren’t fighting,” Harry says hurriedly, shaking his head and laying his hands on her shoulders to try and recenter her attention on the matter at hand. “Hera and I are fine, Isla. That’s not why I’m over here. I, Matty said something to me, something that doesn’t really make any sense considering I’ve talked to him about Hera for years, now, and I’m lost. I’m very confused. I’m hoping you can explain this all to me because I know you have something to do with whatever it is.”

Isla swallows back the information she wants to share because it’s not hers to share, really at all. Matty told Isla everything that happened between them in confidence, and if she were to go and tell Harry without Hera’s consent, she’s sure her best friend will be angry with her beyond compare. “Harry, Hera should be the one to tell you all this. I know I always tell you things about Hera, and yes, I had something to do with all this, but this I really think you should hear from her, what she wants to tell you. I just, it’s her business to tell you. Not mine. Not this time.”

Harry nips at the inside of his cheek anxiously, turning on his heel and staring at where Matty and Hera are having a very intense conversation – Harry can feel energy between them as Hera stands across from him, arms folded in front of her chest and her fingertips fidgeting against her skin. Harry wants to walk over and ask questions, to finally understand what the hell everyone is talking about that he is so lost from. He wants to know what happened in the last two years, how it went from the two of them not speaking, to Harry calling Matty for word on Hera when she wouldn’t answer his calls, to Harry finding out that Hera was dating Grant at the London show. Harry has so many questions, so many questions that it seems that no one but Hera can answer, and the nerves of anticipation leading to when he can finally bring her aside and ask what is going on is getting to him more than he would like to admit.

Harry can feel the jealousy bubbling in his stomach, the anxiety, and the nerves that he used to feel quite often in the beginning of their relationship making their way to the surface. He quickly shakes them off, walking towards the bar and getting himself a whiskey neat, something to mull and hopefully dull the nerves as he waits for her to come back to him, to tell him everything. He swallows thickly, hating the feeling in his stomach, the uneasiness. He’s worked very hard over the last two years to overcome these feelings, the instant jealousy he would feel when he wasn’t aware of something that others were when it came to her. Hera would always tell him, always in her own time, and he thought that he was past these instantaneous feelings of jealousy and upset when it comes to her. He thought his maturity has surpassed these feelings.

Harry was obviously wrong about that.

Harry spent the first year of their relationship always jealous of others – jealous of the way others knew her, the way their friendship was, the inside jokes. Harry was jealous that there were a handful of others that knew Hera in a way he didn’t, but now that he knows Hera that way, intimately and intentionally, he understands that that is just how Hera is with people she loves, that she’s close to. If you are lucky enough to be loved by Hera “June” Collins, you will know her – inside and out, the good parts and the bad parts; you will know her fears, her secrets, her innermost thoughts; you will know what she hates about herself, and what she loves about everyone around her. Hera is a thick, layered, brick wall of protection, but once you make your way inside, you’re there forever. Harry earned his way in, day by day, moment by moment, until he was fully inside, encapsulated by her and the knowledge of her, until he thought that he knew everything about her – only to be fooled by something new in the very next moment. Harry knows Hera, arguably better than anyone he has ever known, and every day he yearns to find out more, to understand more about her. Harry wants to be consumed by her, by the knowledge of her. Harry knows that Hera will tell him, in her own time, at her own very pace. He can’t rush her, or Hera will shut down, and that is the very last thing Harry wants with her.

And this is just another thing Harry is about to find out.

“Out of all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never been nervous to talk to you,” Matty says while they walk to the corner of the lawn, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets and his eyes travelling between Hera and the ocean only a few feet away from them. “This doesn’t feel like us very much, does it?” Hera shakes her head silently, brushing her hair away from her face and behind her ear. “You’ve never gone this long without talking to me, Hera. Not even when I was in rehab, and you broke my wee little heart. That time hurt, too, let me tell you.”

“Matty,” Hera says warningly, walking towards the railing and leaning her hands against the metal, breathing in the wafting scent of the ocean waves, and allowing her mind to clear. Hera needs to make things right with everyone. Matty deserves an apology. Grant deserves an apology, even though his behavior has also been out of line recently. Harry deserves an apology for Hera’s stubbornness and unwillingness to see everything that they had in their future, the future that she ripped away all too soon by her thickheadedness. Hera, since the very first time she saw Harry a month ago, has come to realize how much change is needed in her life. Hera needs to be honest, not only with herself, but with the people around her, and the best way to do that is to start apologizing for the things she’s done wrong. “I’m really sorry, Matty, for everything that I said to you when I left, and for the fact that I haven’t reached out on my own in two years. I, I used you while I was hurting, and I took my hurt out on you, when you were just trying to be a good friend. That wasn’t right, and it shouldn’t have taken me this long to see that, or to apologize to you. I’m embarrassed that I acted that way.”

Matty stares off into the ocean, carefully watching the way her body moves and adjusts anxiously in his peripheral vision as she sucks in the deepest breaths into her lungs, turning her body to face him. Matty remembers the way Hera would fidget and her voice would grow quiet, and it took well over a year for her to really feel comfortable with telling him what was wrong when it happened, it took a very long time for her to get comfortable enough to tell him what was going wrong in her life. Matty can only imagine what it’s taking now to apologize now that things are going right.

“Can you say something? Anything really. I don’t expect you to forgive me, right now. Hell, I probably wouldn’t forgive me, right away. I just, I need to know that I didn’t ruin an eight-year friendship over me being a heartbroken idiot. I miss you.”

Matty turns and leans onto the metal railing, folding his arms in front of his chest, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, “I’m glad you recognize that you were being an idiot.”

“Not nice, Matty,” Hera says, nudging her elbow into his side, a sigh of relief coming through her parted lips as she sucks in a deep breath and feels the oxygen reach the depths of her stomach, filling her lungs all the way and giving her the air to breathe. Matty slings his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, her arms circling around his wait to hug him. His arm around her feels protective, brotherly, a vastly different feeling than when they became friends (and something more) all those years ago. “You look good, you know. I’m happy to see you look this healthy.”

“I wasn’t going to let myself go just because you decided you couldn’t be my friend, anymore, either, Hera,” Matty says, leaning his cheek on her head and squeezing her against him. Matty smiles looking down at her, admiring the way her eyes are bright and shining against the sun. Hera looks happy, genuinely happy, which isn’t something he’s seen from her in a very long time. “You look happy, Hera.”

“I am.”

“I’m proud of you, June Bug,” Matty smiles, laughing at the way her cheeks grow a darker shade under the intensity of his stare. “I’m happy that you chose your own happiness, for once. It’s what you deserve, you know, even when you don’t believe that yourself.” His hand squeezes around her shoulder, a whispered, “I love you,” into her hair sharing exactly what he knows she needs to hear. Hera smiles against him, and Matty knows she’s heard him.

“I love you,” Hera hums, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist and squeezing him against her, pulling away only slightly to meet his stare. Hera leans onto her toes and kisses his cheek sweetly, patting his shoulder playfully before turning around and scanning the cocktail hour for her lover. He’s easy to spot, his finger tracing around the rim of his whiskey and his eyes travelling between them and his ringed fingers. Hera knows that she has to explain to him what’s happening, all the things she was trying to hide. Harry deserves to know what happened in the midst of their break, the way she went slightly out of control of her emotions and rational thoughts. Harry loves her, and he would be there to support her in picking up the pieces, Hera knows this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to tell him. Hera looks at Matty and then to Harry, and says, “I think I’m going to go explain to Harry what’s going on.”

“Good idea,” Matty hums, pursing his lips together and nodding his head slowly, nodding over to where Harry is leaning against a wall and swirling his whiskey, his eyes occasionally travelling between the newly married couple taking their photographs and where his lover is standing as she slowly pulls away from her friend. “I bet Harry’s head is spinning with questions, right now. Questions that only you can answer, my dear friend.”

Hera silently nods her head, swallowing the nerves that have been building in her chest and staring longingly as Harry meets her stare, giving her the softest, most comforting smile as though to tell her, it’s all going to be okay, which is something she desperately would like to hear. Hera narrows her eyes at Matty teasingly, patting his cheek playfully before turning on her heel and walking towards her lover, the swell of the party and the hum of every guest speaking filling her body with joy and excitement. Hera smiles brightly, staring at Harry as he waits for her to walk to him, his body shifting to accommodate where she would inevitably come to stand against him. Hera will walk to him, slide her arms around his waist, and lean her chin against his chest, staring up at him adoringly. Harry has come to know that as Hera’s favorite way to be close to him, as close as she can be without physically feeling him on her skin. Harry knows her like the back of his hand, better than anyone, and she knows that he’s waiting patiently for her to tell him everything. Hera always tells him, sometimes it just takes a bit of time to get there.

Hera certainly fulfils Harry’s expectations, walking to him and smiling softly, circling her arms around his waist, and leaning against his chest, puckering her lips as though to ask for a kiss, which he happily indulges. Harry kisses her twice, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tapping his fingertips against his glass, kissing her forehead sweetly before saying, “Look like you’re feeling better. Is everything okay, now? Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Everything is okay, yeah,” Hera says, breathing out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding in her lungs, the heaviness weighing on her chest lightened but lingering only slightly. Hera will have to tell Harry everything, everything about her. Hera will have to tell Harry about the bad things with her family, about the bad things that she’s done, which has included breaking the hearts of people she loves – his included – and she will have to face the repercussions of those decisions, of those choices. Hera doesn’t have ruin their day with that, now, though. “I want to talk, but not now. I don’t want to ruin a good day.”

Harry sets his whiskey on the table next to him, taking his hands and grabbing Hera’s face delicately, cupping her cheeks and bringing their mouths together in a sweetened kiss, his mouth moving softly against hers. Hera smiles, breaking their kiss ever so slightly, the butterflies swirling in her stomach reminding her of the very first time Harry kissed her, the way she felt all those years ago continuing to be the way she feels every time his mouth meets hers.

July 14, 2018. Live On Tour, Los Angeles, Night Two.

Hera and Harry have been doing this for a while. Harry looks forward to it every day, seeing Hera alone for an hour or two while they talk and get ready for the night, even if other people are in the room with them. Harry has been itching for tonight, the night when the tour is over, and Hera is no longer working for him – Harry knows how that could sound to anyone else, to think that maybe he doesn’t like her work or what she’s done for the tour, but that is quite literally the opposite. Harry has enjoyed Hera working with him so much and has enjoyed spending time with her so much – especially the time they have spent alone in his dressing room every night of tour and the moments where he’s dancing with her to Kacey Musgraves’ set before the show and the laughing at the bar when they’re all sharing a drink (non-alcoholic for Harry) after the shows – that he is excited for the day that they are no longer mixing business with pleasure, which Hera has made abundantly clear she will not do. Harry has been patient, abundantly patient, and has respected her boundaries of what she will and won’t accept. Harry has accepted that with grace, a) because he respects her deeply and b) because he wants this to mean something more than just a spur of the moment, Harry wants Hera to realize that he really likes her, as more than just a coworker or a friend.

Hera is walking towards Harry’s dressing room, head low and her hands fidgeting against her trousers. Hera knows what the tour ending means for her, and especially what it means for her and Harry. Once the stage is down and the tour is over, there are no more boundaries of what Hera can and won’t do with him. Hera could kiss him. Hera wants to kiss him. Hera could go on a date with him. Hera could do other things with him. Hera is nervous, probably more aware of her surroundings simply because of the implications of what tonight means for her and him, and she is suddenly very aware of the way everyone is smiling at her and nodding her on as she nears Harry’s dressing room. Harry Lambert is leaving as Hera walks in, a courteous smile from her thrown his way although he winks at her as she leaves. Harry is nearly dressed, trousers fitting snugly on his hips and a tank top accentuating his toned abdomen. Hera forces herself to look away from his chest and meet his eyes, the smile on his face enough to make her stomach hurt from butterflies and excitement.

‘Did you tell the entire tour something?’ Hera questioned as soon as Harry Lambert was out of the room and the door was shut behind him. Harry walked closer to her, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. Hera’s breath hitched in her throat. Harry always gets so close, close enough to feel his breath on her plush lips, but never too far. Harry never goes too far. ‘Have you told them? Is that why they’re all smiling at me funny?’

Harry smirks, ���Tell them what, H? That every time we’re alone, I always come this close,’ Hera’s eyes flutter shut because, in this moment, Harry’s only centimeters away from her mouth, so close that all Hera has to do is lean the slightest bit forward, and they would kiss for the very first time, ‘this close to kissing you? Or tell them that I like you? Cause, I hate to tell you this, but I think everyone on the tour knows that by now.’

Hera swallows thickly, ‘Tour is almost over. Only are a few hours left of Live on Tour, Harry. That’s it. That’s all we have to make it through.’ Hera hates that this is her rule. Hera hates that she’s not kissing him. Harry smells so good – like mint and cedarwood. Hera swears that the closer she gets, the more she can smell him, and she’s nearly ready to jump into his skin.

Harry smirks, his thumb pinching her chin and encouraging her to open her eyes and meet his stare, which is piercingly intently into her honey brown eyes, ‘I waited this long for a kiss, Hera, it better be worth my while.’

‘Careful, Harry, you might not even get one.’

Harry smirks, releasing her chin and stepping away from her only slightly, just enough for her chest to sink with a breath that she was holding in her lungs and for her to really get an eyeful of his appearance. Hera, on a night when they were all collected in his dressing room, casually sipping on drinks after a show was over and everyone was looking through his wardrobe, commented that her favorite suit in the collection was this one, that she thought it would fit him well, and since then Harry has been holding off on wearing it until now, until the final night. Hera smiles at him, her eyes dragging across his body in the most respectful way she could muster, although the thoughts behind her eyes were anything but that. Harry respected the self-control because everyone knows that he was fighting every day with his own.

‘Final thoughts?’

‘You look,’ Hera swallows all the words that she wants to say, all the words that would get her in trouble, words that would end with his suit on the floor and her trousers somewhere behind her. ‘You look absolutely great, Harry. I was right. This is the best suit you brought with you. Gucci treats you well.’

Harry blushes under the intense stare Hera is giving him, and she takes note of that for future reference. Hera likes when Harry blushes, especially because it typically is accompanied by a dimple in the cheek and a flush of color to his perfectly tanned skin. ‘Thank you.’ Harry fidgets with the trousers on his waist, avoiding Hera’s intense eye contact. ‘Can I hug you before I go on stage? Is that allowed in the many rules of Hera Collins?’

‘Hugs are allowed. On a fifteen second timer.’

Harry smiles brightly, and Hera knows by the way his eyes widened a bit and the dimples are indenting his cheeks that he’s going to, ever so respectfully, most certainly break the fifteen second rule, multiple times, she’s sure. Harry opens his arms widely, calling her into them. Hera walks forward, immediately feeling a rush of warmth and security around her. Hera sinks into his blanket of comfortability, his arms tightly wound around her shoulders and his chin on her head, her ear tucked against where his heart is beating rhythmically against his ribs. Hera swears that their hearts are beating in the same rhythm, but she also thinks that may be because she’s so anxious that she can hear her heart beating in her ears. Harry doesn’t move, and she’s definitively sure that they hug for nearly five minutes, because suddenly there’s a knocking on the door, a call for five minutes, and the bustle of people moving outside interrupting the moment. Hera is reluctant to pull away, as she is nearly every night, but this feels different.

This is the last night Hera will see Harry routinely, every night, for an hour or so, just the two of them. Harry has her number, yes, but will he use it? Hera isn’t sure. Hera will be back in London soon with Isla, likely getting started on the engineering of the Music For Cars Tour that is set to start at the end of November, and she will have little time to entertain. Making time for Harry would be easy, she thinks to herself, but she shakes her head of her thoughts and reluctantly pulls away from his chest, ‘Unfortunately, that was more than fifteen seconds, and you have to go.’

Harry laughed and nodded respectfully, grabbing his suit jacket, and nodding towards her, allowing her to leave the dressing room first. Harry knows that she gets pulled away by her best friend every night when she leaves the room, likely to be interrogated, but Harry trusts that whatever they talk about stays between them. Hera’s never given him a reason not to trust her.

Hera can feel Harry’s eyes on her the entire night. Hera isn’t even in the audience in a particularly visible spot, but as soon as he sees her, it’s like the entire audience has washed away and it’s only her there. Hera enjoys herself, she always does, dancing and singing along with Isla in the Front of House box and making herself useful here and there. Hera can feel his eyes on her when it comes time for the second stage, and when he mouths, ‘wait for me’, Hera can tell that something is going to happen, tonight, whether it’s what she thinks it is, or what she wants, all that she knows is that something is going to change when the show is over, something big.

Hera has always liked to do this, to watch the local crew and stagehands take the stage that she created in her mind and break it down in a matter of hours, the stage that took hours and hours to think in her imagination and the stage that took hours and hours, even days sometimes, to physically create, torn down in a matter of hours. Hera always felt like it was the biggest full circle moment that there was to witness – to see it built on the first day and taken apart on the last. Hera wouldn’t take this for granted, this very last night of tour, the biggest tour she has ever been lucky to work on, and she stayed. Hera stayed to watch the stage taken down in only three or four hours, waving off the team and the production staff and everyone that would filter into the after party that Harry’s management was hosting. Hera would join eventually – Harry still hasn’t seen her since the show ended, and she wanted to know what she was waiting for, if there was something worth waiting for.

Hera felt the vibration against her backside, pulling her phone out of her pocket and instantly scolding herself for the smile that spread across her lips the moment she saw his name flash across her screen. Come to 117, the text read. Hera looked around the arena, scanning the sections for the number in the message, a wide grin spreading across her face when she saw Harry standing at the edge of the stairwell, waving towards her. Hera walked across the empty arena, climbing the stairs to get to him, their features mimicking the same smile – a smile that read, I’m happy I’m with you. Hera and Harry sat together in silence for a while, watching as the heavy walls of metal were carried away from the floor and the arena was left to be cleaned. Harry knew that this was sort of a ritual for Hera, and he wanted to respect the silence, the thoughts she was going through. Harry couldn’t stop staring at her though, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he wanted to kiss her.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t mean nearly as much coming from someone like me,’ Hera starts, her hands fidgeting nervously on her thighs as she breaks the comfortable silence between them, ‘you know, because we haven’t known each other that long, but I, I really want to tell you that you should be really proud of yourself, for everything. Seeing you on stage, Harry, it is just magnetic. I feel really lucky that you’re my friend. I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you.’

Harry felt like his heart had inched its way into his throat, the tears welling in his eyes enough to make him tuck his chin to his chest and take a moment to breathe before saying anything in return. ‘Hera, I, you know what, that actually means more coming from you than you realize.’

‘Thank you for taking a chance on me, Harry. I, I can’t believe how much this has changed my life, in the very best way,’ she admitted softly, not daring to lift her head from her chest.

‘Thank you for taking a chance on me, too, Hera.’ Hera loved the way Harry says her name, so sweet and gentle, like it is something so delicate and needing to be nurtured with every syllable.

Hera could feel Harry’s eyes on her, the way there was a magnetic something pulling her to look at him, even just for a second, to meet his eyes and see that he’s smiling just as wide as he had when she walked in the room earlier, like he was happiest to see her there with him. Hera lifted her face from her hands, turning her face ever so slightly, and in a nanosecond, Hera’s entire life changed. Harry’s hands cupped her cheeks, his mouth so soft and delicate on hers. Hera could memorize the way he tasted – exactly as she thought, peppermint and sweetness, just like honey – the way his mouth fit so perfectly against hers, his mouth so soft against hers. Hera wanted it to last forever, the feeling that she felt in her stomach, the way the butterflies were swirling everywhere and anywhere, looking for somewhere to go. Hera wanted to feel it more, and more.

Harry’s thumbs rubbed her cheek when he gently pulled away, the smile indented into his features mirrored on Hera. Hera giggled quietly, turning around, and leaning back into her seat, Harry following suit, the two of them sitting quietly in their seats, watching as the stage slowly worked its way into simply metal sheets. Hera and Harry continued sharing stolen glances, not daring to utter the first word. Hera didn’t know what to say! Nothing could possibly follow that.

Harry laughed breathily, ‘I would like to do that again. Very soon.’

Hera could feel her cheeks brightening with a very intense blush, ‘I think that would be a really smart idea. Definitely.’ Hera sits for another moment or two without saying anything, and then breaks the silent, ‘How long are you going to wait around here? Jeff has an after party going for you, you know.’

‘I’m going to stay a while; I just want to soak it all in.’

‘Okay,’ Hera sighs, reluctantly standing on her feet and shifting her weight from side to side nervously, unsure of what she wants to do next. ‘I think I’m going to meet Isla at the party before she comes looking for me.’

‘Better do that,’ Harry laughs, standing on his feet and rocking on his heels. Harry can feel Hera staring at him, and he wants to know what she’s thinking. Harry always wants to know what she’s thinking. He swallows his nerves and turns to face her, Hera’s eyes already on him, staring very intently.

‘I should go.’

‘You should.’

Hera smiles, mentally counting to three like her best friend taught her and then says the very thing on her mind, exactly what she’s thinking. ‘I probably shouldn’t kiss you.’

Harry grins, ‘Oh, you really shouldn’t do that. Like at all.’ Harry can’t hide the way his smile is getting wider just looking at her.

Hera sucks in an encouraging breath and lays her hands on his chest, leaning onto her toes ever so slightly to lay her lips on his. Harry immediately circles his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest, tightening his grip on her. Hera smiles against him, breaking their kiss, her mouth continuing to stay on his as she breathes, ‘I should go.’

‘Stay.’

Hera kisses Harry, again. And again. And again, once more. ‘No, no, I really have to go; you don’t know Isla like I do, and she will come and find me and embarrass me in front of you. Not on purpose, she just has that tendency, as much as I adore her.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

“Will I see you at the party?’

‘I should probably be there.’

Hera smiled widely, nodding her head and she slowly backed away towards the stairs, her eyes not breaking from his. ‘I’ll see you.’ Harry nodded, smiling at her, feeling the way his heart kept beating rapidly in his chest. Hera turned around and started walking away, the butterflies swirling around so far into her chest and her throat that she thought she might be sick with excitement. Hera never felt that way before, the way she felt when she touched him, when she kissed him. Hera swore that it felt like it would never go away.

And it hasn’t.

Harry’s finger drags along the side of her face lightly, “What are you thinking about? You look lost in a memory.” Harry wants to know what she’s thinking about, everything going on inside her mind. He believes he could live there, inside Hera’s mind, if she only would let him inside.

Hera smiles, laying her head on his chest, breathing in his scent, and listening to the sound of his heartbeat against her ear, his hand gently rubbing circles onto her bare back, “I was.”

“Good memory? Looks like you were remembering a good one,” he whispers against her hair, kissing her head sweetly. Harry looks out into the cocktail hour, everyone mingling and talking, Isla and Beau taking their photographs for their wedding album and their families happily sharing drinks and stories with each other. Harry felt content like this, standing in the corner with Hera in his arms, simply talking and holding her with him. “I hope it was a good one, baby.”

“Very good one, in my humble opinion,” she smiles, tilting her head slightly to meet his intense stare, the emerald hue of his eyes seeming brighter under the fading sunlight. “Our first kiss, the final night of your tour. I just, I feel the same way when I kiss you, now – butterflies and all. I know that this sounds silly and a bit naïve but, that’s how I know you’re it for me. I never want the butterflies to go away, Harry, and truthfully, I don’t think they ever will.” Harry smiles widely, his hand cupping her cheek tilting her head ever so slightly to make their mouths meet in the middle, kissing her over and over again in sweet kisses. Hera giggles and Harry pulls away only slightly. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that, though. I will deny it until I’m blue in the face.”

Harry nudges his nose against hers with a breathy laugh, whispering, “My lips are sealed tight, honey. Obviously, I wouldn’t want you turning blue. Need you living and breathing and happy at all times.” Harry stays like that for a moment, simply hovering above her lips. He hasn’t told her outright that he understands the feeling, that his stomach tightens, and his heart squeezes every time she looks at him, even if she’s only giving him a faint smile from far away. He knows, though, that the way they’re looking at each other right now, the way she’s holding onto him, they don’t need to say the words to know exactly how they’re feeling. “You’re happy, aren’t you, Hera?”

Hera stays silent, trying to remember this moment in time, where nearly everything feels right and perfect. Harry is such a gentle person, so good to her, in so many ways, and there is so much she wants to say to him, to thank him for, to tell him to make sure he knows just how much she loves him. Hera is sure that the way she’s looking at him could relay such thoughts, but she wants to say it to him in words, to really be vulnerable – something she is working on. Hera smiles at him, kissing his cheek sweetly before saying, “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Harry wants to say something, something to share how much he adores her. He always has all these emotions and thoughts swirling around in his imagination when it comes to Hera, so many things he wants to tell her about what he’s thinking, but something always seems to get in the way. Hera seems comfortable with the silence that they’re soaking in, her arms tucked beneath his jacket and around his waist, his fingers delicately drawing along the magnolia tree tattooed along the center of her spine. Harry is comfortable staying here with her, waiting for her to be ready to tell him whatever she’s thinking, and maybe that will open the door for him to say what he's thinking, as well – to finally tell her how much it means to him to be here with her, to have her in his arms. Harry’s memories of their most heartbreaking moments have made him hyperaware of how lucky he is today, to be standing here with her in his arms, that she found her way back to him. Harry wants her to know that he feels just as lucky to be holding her.

Hera lifts her head slightly to look around the corner, loosely attempting to see where all of their friends have gathered for the remainder of the photographs during the cocktail hour. “Harry?” Harry hums in response, lost in his thoughts, kissing her forehead to encourage her to continue. “I think we’re missing the photographs we’re meant to be in. I’m pretty sure all of our friends are over there already. I’m a dead woman if I’m not in those pictures.”

“Isla is going to kill us,” Harry murmurs with a breathy laugh, pushing himself off the wall and taking Hera’s hand, lacing their fingertips together and walking hurriedly to the opposite section of the property where all of their friends were collecting together to begin taking their group photographs. Hera clutches the side of her dress, hurrying to keep along with Harry’s pace as they speed over to where the pictures are being taken. Harry attempts to charm their friend, although as soon as they are in eyesight, they are receiving plenty of stern stares, “Hi, Isla.”

“Nice of you to join us, Harry.” Harry laughs at Isla’s remark, apologizing to the photographer and nudging Hera inside the grouping. Hera takes her bouquet and holds it proudly in front of her chest, leaning into Isla and smiling brightly with the flashes of the camera. “Have you talked to Harry?” Isla mumbles to Hera under her breath, nearly inaudible to Hera herself, Isla’s mouth pinned in a wide smile as the photographer takes the pictures of the large gathering of friends.

“Not yet,” Hera hums, swallowing thickly when someone calls her name, a sigh of relief passing through her lips when an assistant signals for her to brush her hair away from her shoulder for the remaining photographs. “I will when the time is right. I don’t want to ruin the way things are going, right now. Harry knows I’ll tell him everything.” Isla looks at Hera solemnly, as though to say, I hope you’re right. Hera tucks away her nerves in the back of her brain, saving it for another day.

“Lovely, everyone!” the photographer interrupts, drawing the girls’ attention away from their private conversation and centered back on the photographer. “Isla and Hera, I’d like to grab your portraits, now. Once we’re done with you two separately, we’ll add in Beau and Harry.”

Isla and Hera maneuver every which way for their photographs, Beau and Harry coming in every so often to adjust the trains of the dresses in the way that they know their significant other would appreciate. Isla stands closely to Hera, hugging her tightly, the genuine smile on her lips as they stare at each other silently saying just how happy she is to be experiencing this day with her best friend by her side, something that always knew would be special, but feeling it now – there’s nothing quite like this. Isla’s eyes well with her own sentiment, a breathy laugh passing through as she says, “I’m so happy you’re my best friend.”

Hera wipes the tears that instantly slip down her cheeks, gently setting the bouquet on the ground near her feet and wrapping her arms tightly around Isla, squeezing her into her chest. Isla hands her bouquet off to Beau, wrapping her arms around her waist, the two holding each other as close as physically possible as silent tears fall down their skin. “You’re my very best friend, La La.”

“And it’ll always be that way, whether I’m married or not, okay? Hera, you can count on me, always, every single time. I’ll always be there for you.” Isla sucks in a breath that travels all the way to her edge of the lungs. All of these words feel so heavy, so meaningful. “You’re my best friend for life, you know.”

Hera pulls away to look at Isla. “And you’re mine.”

Hera’s eyes haze over as she stares adoringly at her very best friend; Isla is the only person, the very first person, Hera had ever considered to be a genuine friend, someone that she could confide in and share the darkest parts of her life with, and Isla, since the very first day, has made Hera feel like she was worth something greater, that she is never a burden, that she is always enough. Having a friend like that, it’s simply once in a lifetime.

Harry and Isla talked about what this would be like before the wedding day officially arrived. Harry knew that Hera would chalk her emotions to the jet lag, flying from Harry’s last stadium show to the wedding destination, going straight into the rehearsal dinner and the wedding without any recovery time, instead of what is actually bothering her, like Harry and Isla really know. Isla knew that the only one besides her that Hera would want to be with her would be Harry, and they coordinated enough time in between the introductions and the first dance to give Hera a minute to enjoy the party before she would begin feeling overwhelmed and need to leave. Isla didn’t mind. Isla knew why Hera felt the way she did, and why she would have to leave for a minute, but Harry knew that he would likely have to tell her that it’s okay, whatever she’s feeling, and it would take a minute before she’s ready to go back inside. Harry was preparing himself to feel all of these emotions with her, to be there for her, in any way he could be.

Hera must’ve known it was coming. Hera must’ve known that the announcement was coming because she immediately grabbed Harry’s hand on her thigh and intertwined their fingers, her gaze falling to where their hands are connected and tracing over his knuckles, trying to calm herself down without making anyone aware of the way she was beginning to worry and panic on the inside. Harry noticed immediately, though, as he always does. Harry slid his chair closer to hers, sliding his hand out from hers and wrapping it around her shoulder, his thumb brushing beneath her hair and slowly rubbing the back of her neck soothingly. His other hand laid gently on her thigh, allowing her to return to her centralized focus on brushing over the nerves of his hand. Harry could tell that it was getting worse by the second, and he needed to get her out of there quickly.

“Come outside with me for a minute, baby? Need to get some fresh air,” Harry whispers in Hera’s ear, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of her hand as she stares at the satin fabric of her dress, the anxiety written into her mannerisms only visible to him. Hera swallows, and Harry is sure that she is swallowing back tears, looking at him with gratitude and indescribable heartache. Harry stands from the table, ignoring the looking eyes of their friends, and holds out his hand, intertwining his fingers with Hera’s as they swiftly walk out of the reception and into the cocktail area where the only sounds that they can hear are the hum of the music vibrating through the tent. Hera waits a moment before looking at him, sucking in a deep breath, a breath that Harry’s sure burned all the way down, his heart immediately breaking when he sees the well of tears waiting for permission to fall down her cheeks. Harry immediately pulls Hera into his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders, kissing her head sweetly. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you, now. You’re okay, H. I promise. You’re safe, Hera.”

Hera squeezes her arms around his waist, her chest falling with the heavy breath released through her lips. Hera’s been holding her breath for minutes, sucking in every emotion and trying to calm herself, but hearing those words come from him, feeling the safety of being wrapped in his arms, Hera knows that it’s true, that what he’s saying means something, especially to her. Hera’s cheeks are wet when she finally tilts her head to look at him. Harry is staring at her, with eyes full of love and compassion, and he isn’t angry, nor is he upset in the slightest. Hera smiles softly, and all that she can think about is the very first time she realized she was in love with him.

Hera and Harry had only been together a short while, maybe two or three weeks shy of six months, when Harry met Dalia and John. Harry knew it was nerve-wracking for Hera, especially since meeting her mother and father had been the cause of such a significant fight – their very first fight. Harry hadn’t really realized what meeting Dalia and John would entail, the emotional toll it would take on Hera to just be in the same room as the two. Harry assumed, like anyone, there were things that they disagreed upon, maybe even argued over, but Harry did not anticipate what he would witness within seconds of walking into the household.

Hera, although she did her very best to warn him, immediately shut down, her voice becoming nearly inaudible and her hands clasping together inside her sweater to avoid her mother from seeing her shake with anxiety. Harry, who noticed the instant shift in demeanor, did his very best to impress her mother and father despite this, who seemingly only had terrible things to say about their only daughter. Harry desperately tried to be a comfort to Hera as they stayed in the house and the minutes passed, holding her hand and rubbing his thumb along her knuckles, the shock and anger rising in his body as he listened to her mother speak such cruel words about her daughter to him, her father ignoring every comment, completely disregarding that she was their only child. Harry thought it must’ve been a test, a test he wasn’t quite sure of what regard, but it must have been, because who would ever speak so lowly of their child? Harry and Hera suffered through harsh remarks and commentary through dinner, questions of why Harry would be with someone like Hera, comments that he would be better off with someone else. Harry argued against them, but it was clear in their eyes that their minds wouldn’t ever change, and Harry suddenly understood why Hera was so against him meeting them, why she wouldn’t speak about her family. How could she? How could she ever share stories about her family when this is how she grew up? Harry understood, now, but it was too late.

Hera, as soon as they finished washing up after dinner, immediately showed him to the bedroom where he would sleep for the night – he would sleep in the guest room across from her bedroom – and when he shut the door quietly behind them, Hera said, ‘Do you see? Do you see why I didn’t want to bring you here?’ Harry wanted to comfort her, to dry the tears on her cheeks. Hera held up her hand and kept him at a distance. ‘I never wanted you to see this part of me, to hear these things. I’m not ashamed of you, Harry. I could never be ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of me.’ Harry swore he’s never felt so ignorant, so ashamed of the way he behaved, Hera could see it all over his face. Hera swallowed down the remaining tears, wiping her face and adjusting the cuffs of her sweater around her hands, ‘I’ll meet you downstairs at eight; we’re leaving first thing in the morning.’ Harry asked if he could come into her room when her parents had gone to sleep, just to lay with her for a while. Hera nodded solemnly, sadly, wiping her eyes one last time and turning on her heel, walking out of the bedroom and into her childhood bedroom, the tears beginning to fall before she could even shut her door.

Hera’s door creaked open quietly, just barely audible to her ears, and she knows who it is. Harry climbs in the bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and encasing her in his warmth, kissing the back of her neck and saying, ‘I don’t want you coming back here. I won’t ever ask you to come back here, Hera.’ Hera can feel the embarrassment heating her cheeks, and she’s suddenly happy that they’re in the dark, that she’s hidden away from where he could see her reaction to his words. Harry’s kind, thoughtful, but a bit naïve if he really thinks that she’ll never have to come back to her mother and father’s home again. It’s never that easy. Life is never that easy. Harry must’ve felt the way she tensed at his words, because quickly he followed with, ‘You have a family, now, Hera. Isla, Beau, Grant, Matty. You have me, H. You have me. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need this in your life, anymore.’ Hera wipes her eyes, the tears falling fast and uncontrollably. Hera says that she doesn’t want to speak anymore, that she just wants to fall asleep. Harry nods sadly, kissing the back of her neck and gently rubbing his thumb over the curve of her shoulder, caressing her skin as soothingly as possible. Harry never wanted to see her this way, so visibly distraught and unhappy, and he’s finally seen what does it, the root behind all of these nerves and insecurities and trauma. Harry never wants her to experience this again. Not if there’s something he can do or say to get in the way of it.

Hera is waiting for him promptly at eight, overnight bag clutched between her hands, keys dangling around her neck. Harry closes the door to the guest room quietly, checking one final time to make sure that everything looked exactly as he found it – the last thing he wanted was for her parents, specifically her mother, to blame her for the room being messy – before walking down the stairs and setting his bag on the floor. ‘Are you ready?’ Harry asked, Hera’s quick nod and a flick of her eyes towards the kitchen telling him that they’ll need to say goodbye. Harry nods, clutching her hand in his tightly and walking into the kitchen side by side, the weight of his hand in hers seemingly calming the nerves the were causing her other hand to shake.

‘Mum, we have to head out early,’ Hera said quietly, bravely releasing Harry’s hand and stepping forward, daring to reach out to her father who is sitting at the head of the table on his computer, likely working. He doesn’t even look twice in Hera’s direction, although she does her best to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in an awkward hug. He nods without looking at her or squeezing her arm in return, or even offering to stand and hug her properly. Hera swallows thickly, tears forming in her eyes, the walk to her mother a walk of shame, without any comfort or sincerity. Dalia doesn’t hug her. ‘I will talk to you soon.’

‘You’ll call me later, June.’

‘I’ll call you later, Mum.’

Harry steps forward and offers his hand to her father, who eyes him first before extending out his hand and shaking his roughly, saying, ‘Nice to meet you,’ in the gruffest tone possible. Harry moves to her mother next, thanking her for allowing him to stay and for the dinner that she made. Dalia looks at Harry with an almost sincerity, a near kindness, and says, ‘I hope to see you, again. Understandable if not.’ Harry knows that this is not a reflection on her own behavior, but rather she feels a reflection of her daughter, and possibly her daughter’s inability to maintain a relationship with someone like Harry, which is absolutely absurd to him.

Harry turns on his heel, holding his hand out for Hera to take, sighing in relief – it’s over now – and sticking his spare hand in his pocket as he takes their overnight bags and opens the front door, staying close behind Hera as she makes her way towards the car, head tucked to her chest and voice quiet. Harry sticks their bags in the backseat before climbing into the driver’s side, turning the engine on, and pulling out the driveway swiftly before turning to look at Hera. Hera’s eyes are wet with tears, bright red and slightly puffy, the tears streaming down her cheeks so quickly that he doesn’t think she would be able to wipe them away if she tried. Harry reaches over to grab her hand, his heart sinking into the depths of his stomach when Hera shakes her head and pushes his hand away, turning her body slightly to face out the window and away from him. Hera doesn’t say anything for a while, not until they’re nearing the exit for their respective homes. ‘Can you take me home?’ she muttered shamefully, turning her head ever so slightly to see where their bags were in the backseat. Hera reaches through the console and grabs her backpack to bring it on her lap. ‘I just want to go home.’

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He knows that all of this is his fault, these emotions and this heavy feeling weighing on his chest and the visible shift in her demeanor is because of something he fought for, something he fought for but didn’t understand. Harry doesn’t know if Hera is going to speak to him after this; if she will cut him out of her life and never utter another word to him. He couldn’t blame her, if that’s what she wanted, truth be told. After seeing what Hera goes through with her mother and father, it’s not surprising whatsoever that she didn’t want to introduce him to her family. Hera doesn’t have grandparents and siblings to support her when times are tough with her mother and father. It’s Dalia and John. That’s all Hera has, and they don’t even like her. Harry was so very wrong for pushing her into seeing them, and he wishes he could take it back, that he could erase the last twenty-four hours from their story, from Hera’s memory. That’s not something Harry can do though.

And now, Harry has to face the consequences.

Harry pulls into Hera’s driveway silently, parking the car and turning off the engine slowly, turning his body to face Hera in the passenger seat as she unlocks the car and gestures to get out. Harry grabs her wrist lightly, encouraging her to look at him. Harry’s voice is gentle when he says, ‘I am so sorry, Hera.’

‘Not your fault. You didn’t know.’

‘It is my fault. You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. I pushed you, and I regret doing that. I am sorry, for all of this.’

Hera looks at Harry, and then looks to her home. Inside that townhome, it’s safe. No one can hurt her there. Hera has control over who comes and who goes, and she knows that she’s far enough away that her mother and father will likely never come to see her. Hera knows that she is safe when she steps inside, and she will be able to calm herself down and feel every emotion that she needs to. Inside that townhome, Hera is home, or whatever that is supposed to feel like. Inside that townhome, the house isn’t burning, there isn’t even smoke. Hera can breathe.

‘I think I need a bit of space, Harry.’ Harry swallows thickly, and through her peripheral vision, Hera can tell that his heart has sunk to the depths of his stomach, all by demeanor. ‘I just, I need to be alone for a few days, okay? I’ll call you.’ Hera leans over and kisses his cheek before climbing out of the car, walking to her front door, and getting herself inside, not stopping for a second to look at Harry or the way his fists have tightened against the steering wheel. Hera can breathe when she gets inside, she can feel every emotion and let the tears fall.

And that’s exactly what she does.

Hera didn’t speak to Harry for three days. Although, that doesn’t mean Harry hasn’t reached out to her. Hera can’t respond, not now. Hera assumes that he’s still speaking to her out of pity, which is the last thing she wants from a partner or relationship. Hera doesn’t need anyone to pity her or sympathize with her situation. Hera needs people in her life that remind her that she’s not any of the things her mother claims her to be, and Hera especially needs people in her life that will love her despite those things.

Isla didn’t wait for the invitation. Isla came over the very next morning with coffee and chocolate chip muffins and a hug that only your best friend could give you. Isla and Hera talked about everything, about the things that were said, about the way Harry responded, about the way Hera misses him, even though it’s only been a few days without speaking to him. Hera knows that she needs to figure out how she’s feeling, what she wants to say and how she wants to go about her relationship with him from here on out, if there is even a relationship to talk about. Isla assures her that Harry is going to be there, that he loves her, even though they haven’t said the words out loud, and Hera wants to believe her, quite desperately, if she’s honest. Harry is the first person in her life that has made her feel like there’s a way out of the burning house of her life. Harry and Isla. And Hera is beginning to feel like if she doesn’t have them in her life, that she’s going to be stuck forever.

Isla left on the morning of the fourth day. Isla left with the encouragement of telling Hera to reach out to him, to speak to him, and to tell him how she’s feeling about everything. Hera thought about it, really thought about it, but the idea of telling him all the bad parts of her life is just too intimidating, too much, and she knows that no one really wants to hear that. Hera would rather bundle it inside, tuck it away in the deepest parts of her brain, and think about it as little as possible. Her feelings are safe that way.

Hera is barely getting out of the shower when there’s knocking on her front door. Her hair is in a towel, her most comfortable clothes clinging loosely to her body. Her mind wanders to who it could be, who could possibly be showing up at her doorstep. Isla just left. Matty is out of town. Harry hasn’t texted her today, likely giving up since she hasn’t responded in nearly a week. That leaves very few people who know where she lives and would want to see her. Hera swallows back her nerves and opens the door, her whole heart swelling into the size of a balloon in her chest when she sees Harry standing there, head tucked against his chin. Harry looks nervous, maybe even shy, and he doesn’t even have to say a word before Hera is rushing to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and hugging him tightly. Hera clutches his sweatshirt in her fists, his arms circling around her shoulders and holding her to him, his head tucking into the side of her face.

‘I’ve got you, baby,’ Harry whispers into her ear, and Hera can feel the tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.’ Hera nods against him, tears staining his sweater. Harry carefully moves them inside, closing the door behind him and holding her even tighter, not daring to have her move. He gently pulls the towel from her hair, her curls falling limply around her face. Harry pushes the stray hairs away from her forehead and kisses her skin. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I wanted to give you space like you asked for.’ Hera nods, her voice caught her in throat. Hera doesn’t know what to say; no one has ever been this way with her, cared for her this much. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. ‘I just, I want you to know, Hera, that I don’t think any differently of you. I don’t think any of those things that were said are true. I care about you, and there are so many people in your life that care and love you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. You have a family, Hera. I would like to be a part of it.’

‘Harry, we haven’t even been together for that much time. I, there are so many things about me that you don’t know yet and I just, I don’t know if you want to do that,’ Hera says, the doubt swimming in her brain. How could Harry say that so soon? How could Harry say that he wants to be in her family, in her chosen family, barely six months after they’ve been together? How could anyone know this early? ‘I don’t want you to say this and then regret it in a month.’

‘I could never regret knowing you, Hera.’

Hera looks at Harry, then, pulling away from his chest and leaning her chin against his sternum, their eyes meeting in a glossy stare. His thumb runs along the side of her face, something she’s noticed he does every so often, many times when he thinks she’s asleep. He smiles at her, ever so slightly, the smallest pull at the corner of his lips. Had Hera not been staring, she doesn’t think she would have noticed, but she’s happy she did. His smile feels like a weight lifted from her chest, a light in the darkest tunnel. Hera swallows, admiring the way his arm is secure around her, holding her to him, his thumb continuing its journey around the perimeter of her face. Hera knows something is different about this. Hera has loved so many people before Harry. Hera has loved Isla, and Matty, and Beau. Hera even loves her mother and father, despite everything. Hera loves her career; the way music makes her feel. Hera’s feelings about Harry, though, are something entirely different. It’s the butterflies when Harry says her name. It’s the way she wants to swallow back tears every time Harry delicately drags his finger over her face. It’s the excitement every time Harry’s name is mentioned. It’s the way time seemingly stops when Harry walks in the room. It’s all of those things and more, every single time Harry is involved.

And in that moment, Hera realizes, Harry isn’t just the man she’s in a relationship with, or a friend. Harry isn’t just someone that she loves like she loves everyone else. Harry is the man Hera is in love with.

“Hi, my love.” Harry doesn’t have to say much for Hera to feel the way his love is pouring through him. It’s always like this, and Hera has a feeling it will always be like this.

“Hi,” Hera whispers, smiling softly when Harry’s thumbs rub beneath her eyes, drying the tears that fell absentmindedly down her cheeks. “I’m in love with you. You know that?”

“I was surely hoping so,” Harry smirks, leaning down ever so slightly to brush his nose against hers, his hands cupping her cheeks sweetly, encouraging her to tilt her head just enough for his mouth to meet hers. “Dance with me, H.”

“Can barely hear the music out here,” she says, turning her face just enough to kiss his palm against her cheek. “I’ll always dance with you, though.”

Harry steps back, holding out his hand, bowing slightly for dramatics. Hera giggles, giving Harry her hand and immediately wrapping her arm around his shoulders, his hand clutching hers and his opposite hand holding her lower back, her body tight against his, chest to chest. Harry lays his forehead on hers, swaying quietly to the hum of the music that’s vibrating from the reception. Hera can imagine what it will be like when they get married, when their favorite songs are playing and they’re dancing in the middle of the floor, Harry’s arms around her, a new ring that she slid on his finger adorning his hand, a ring that says they’ll be together forever. Hera can imagine watching Harry dance with his mother to a special song, admiring her newly named husband with the woman who raised him to be the man she loves.

“I can’t wait to see you dance with your mother at our wedding,” Hera says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper as they stay close together, the sun setting over the horizon.

“Hera, I don’t have to dance with Mum. Our wedding doesn’t have to have all these traditional things, you know. I want you to be comfortable and happy on our wedding day.”

“I want to see you dance with your mother, Harry. I want to see you dance with the woman who raised the man I love. Hell, maybe I’ll dance with your mother, too, since she will be my mother, too, after all.”

Harry looks at Hera with admiration, “I’m absolutely enamored by you, Hera. You continue to amaze me, every single day. You are absolutely beautiful, inside and out.”

“Mean that?” Harry nods, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, kissing her sweetly under the setting sun. He doesn’t need to say anything else; Hera knows. “Harry?”

“Yes, H?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Harry grins – this is one of his favorite things that they do, the secrets that they share, because he knows that what he’s about to be told is something no one else on the planet knows about his love, it’s a secret that is given to him to cherish and guard with his life – and nods excitedly, “Always, my heart. Tell me a secret.”

“I saw something the other day, a video, and the woman was talking about trauma and how everyone is born into a different house. There are people that are lucky. Their house is safe, warm, loving. Their house is where they go to escape the world, to find comfort. Their house is made of their family and the people they love most. I think you were born into that kind of house, Harry.” Hera pauses, gathering all of her thoughts and taking a deep breath in, taking all of her courage, and willing herself to continue. Harry sways, his hand continuing to hold hers tightly against his chest as they dance to the music, his eyes locked on her in concentration. “There are people that are quite unlucky with their house, though. I would say I am one of those people.” Harry kisses Hera’s forehead. “Houses like mine, they’re in flames my whole life. Always on fire. Always something wrong or going wrong and I never had anyone to lean on, to teach me, to comfort me. I was always alone.” Harry’s thumb escapes their intertwined hands to brush a tear away from her cheek. “Isla, Isla brought me to a window. Isla brought me to a window in that house, and I felt like I could catch my breath. Matty, for a long time, also brought me to a window. Even Grant, for a while. My friends, they became the only people in my life that could help me breathe.” Hera feels like the words are spilling without any thought, now, flowing freely and telling Harry everything she’s wanted to tell him for so long. “And then I met you.” Harry stops swaying for a moment, just to look at her. “Harry, you brought me out of the burning house. I, I have never felt like I could breathe so safely, like I could see what my life was like from the outside. And when I’m with you, I can see it clearly. I can see everything. And I can see the people that bring good into my life.” Hera swallows back tears and looks at Harry softly, “And you, Harry, you bring so much good.” Harry smiles, his eyes wet with tears. “I know I was lost for a while, and I wandered back inside without you, and that was pure hell, Harry. I never want to go back into that house. I want to be with you, where it’s safe. I want to be with you, and with Isla, and with the people that care about me and love me.” Harry is crying now, too. “I just, I know that my heart led me to you, and life, or the universe or whatever you want to believe, led me to you, and I am so grateful you saved me from that house.”

Harry’s hand around Hera’s waist squeezes her impossibly tighter to his body, their intertwined hands moving from above his heart to under her chin, tilting her head just enough to have their mouths meet in a kiss. Harry kisses Hera deeply, a love professed between their lips and their tongues, words spoken without ever uttering a sound. Harry knows that in this moment, in the world that surrounds them, it is only Hera and Harry. It’s them. It’s Hera and Harry and their love and their adoration for one another, for everything that they have been through. Harry doesn’t need to know everything, right now, all the things that he’s been waiting to hear about his honey, about the love of his life. Hera’s secret, this little look into her life, into how she sees him, is enough. Knowing this about her is enough, for now.

“Always tell me secrets like that, Hera. Can you tell me another?”

“Maybe later,” Hera hums, her fingertips brushing his hair away from his forehead sweetly. “I think we should probably get back in there. It’s almost time for your speech.”

“Nearly forgot I had to do one of those,” Harry smirks, kissing Hera’s cheek before twirling her under his arm and intertwining their hands at his side, walking into the reception without drawing any attention. Hera moves to sit in her chair, a frown from Harry making her laugh. “You’re much too far from me.” Harry grabs the edge of her seat and pulls her closer to him, a stream of laughter falling into the air.

“I’m sitting right next to you! I’m barely a meter away!” Hera is giggling when Harry tucks his face in her neck, kissing her lightly. “You have a speech to give. Don’t get distracted.”

“Much too far, H. I need you around me, always.”

Hera looks at Harry lovingly, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him, barely more than a second or two, but something, a bit of encouragement for his speech that they are now calling him to say. Harry stands on his feet, leaning down and kissing Hera’s head before walking towards where Isla and Beau are seated and taking the microphone from the lead singer of the band, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks between their friends and his lover staring at him expectantly. Harry brings the microphone to his lips, coughing dramatically to draw everyone’s attention.

“Hi. My name is Harry, and I am the reason we’re all here to celebrate the happy couple, tonight, not that anyone should take credit. It is because of me, though.” Harry laughs and turns to Isla and Beau for a moment before looking back at the entire reception. “Isla and Beau met on Halloween nearly four years ago at a party that I invited Isla and Hera to. Long story short, I spilled beer all over Isla and led her right into the arms, and mouth, of Mr. Beau Del Moore. It was something of a whirlwind, watching the two of them fall in love, because it happened as I was also falling in love.” Hera blushes as Harry looks over at her, their eyes meeting for only a second before he’s scanning over the array of people in the hall. Harry is good at sharing his attention, but Hera knows that if he could, he would only be staring at her and their friends. “Over the last few years, there have been double dates and holidays together and parties and all the things that couples do with their friends, and I have had the privilege of watching them fall in love more and more as the days have passed. I have grown to call each of them a friend, a best friend at that, and they have taught me something invaluable: the gift of time. Isla, from the moment we met, never wasted a minute of time not sharing how she feels or what she thinks, even if I don’t want to hear it, many times when I don’t want to hear it, actually. Beau, ever the proper fellow, has never wasted a moment not doing something he loves, or doing exactly what he thinks is right. And together, the two have never wasted a single second not sharing their love for each other. Time goes by fast, faster than we think. In the blink of an eye things can change, people break up, people move away, people get married and have babies and you name it, it will happen. Before you know it, years have passed, and you can’t remember why you did certain things. But what you do know, is that you’ve wasted that time. I came here today with a different speech, more jokes, and a little less sentiment, but it didn’t seem right, it didn’t feel like something I should say to the people that have taught me so much about time and not wasting it. And so, I don’t want to waste your time, and I certainly don’t want to waste theirs.” Harry turns towards Isla and Beau. “I will leave you with this, Isla and Beau, I am forever grateful for the way you have let me in to see your love story, the way you continue to cherish every minute you have together, and I look forward to seeing all the things you two do with your time together. You are starting a life together, a life of love and happiness and kindness, and I look forward to seeing how you to continue to make the most of the time you have in this lifetime and the next.”

Isla stands from her seat at the table, rushing over to hug Harry, their bodies swaying back and forth as she squeezes him, tears welling in her eyes. “That was a really nice speech, Harry. You nailed it. I mean it. I love you. You’re one of my best friends.”

“You’re one of mine, too, Isla. I wouldn’t be with Hera if it wasn’t for you. I owe you my life, pretty much. You can add that to my tab, too.”

Isla grins, stepping aside for Beau to have his turn. Isla pats Harry’s cheek before moving aside, smirking as she says, “And don’t you forget it.”

“That was better than I expected, H. Good speech, my friend. Thank you. Thank you for everything,” Beau smiles, pulling his friend into a hug and patting his cheeks playfully.

Harry smirks, handing the microphone back and walking back towards the table with Isla and Beau’s parents, and most importantly, his lover. Hera is talking to Genny and Lou, Genny’s hands cupping Hera’s cheeks as she gushes to her about something Harry can’t quite hear from where he is. He steps up behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder to tell her of his return. Genny smiles at him before turning around and walking back to her seat. Hera is grinning when she turns around, standing from her seat and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly to her. Harry tucks his face into her neck, “Did you like my speech?”

“I did, very much,” Hera smiles against his shoulder, pulling back to kiss his cheek. “Did you change your speech to add me into it?”

Harry smirks, his eyebrow quirking suggestively, “Why, oh why, would I ever do that, Hera? I would never do such a thing. I would never talk about falling in love with you in front of all of our friends. Nor would I ever talk about the fact that I never want to waste another minute with or without you. That’s simply absurd.” He kisses the shell of her ear sweetly, “How noticeable were the references to you? Just enough? Way too much?”

“Always just enough.” Hera slowly releases Harry from her hold, her hands holding the lapels of his suit jacket between her fingertips. “All that talk about wasted time makes me think about why we’re wasting our time standing here when we could be dancing.”

Harry chuckles, taking her hand from his chest and clutching it tightly, kissing her knuckles before stepping away from her, holding their hands out between them, “No more wasting time. I’ll always dance with you.”

Harry and Hera turn towards the stage when Isla calls for everyone’s attention. “I wanted to say a special thank you to the two people that have made this day so much easier on Beau and I, without these two, I definitely would’ve lost my mind, and I would’ve driven Beau crazy, so I certainly think a special thank you is in order. Hera and Harry, would you two come out on the dance floor with us, please?”

Hera looks at Harry questioningly, as if to ask if he knows what’s happening in that moment. Harry shakes his head, taking her hand and walking out to the center of the paneled flooring, Beau and Isla looking at the two with wide smiles on their faces. Harry looks to Beau, then to Isla, and suddenly, a song they all know far too well is starting to play.

You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you.

Hera’s eyes immediately well with tears, “Isla!”

“You know I couldn’t celebrate my wedding day with you both if I didn’t play this song, Hera. It’s part of your story, of our story. You and I are going to tell our children all about how Harry and Beau embarrassed the hell out of themselves singing this to us in our living room, one day.”

“You are not telling our future children that Harry and I did that,” Beau says sternly, narrowing his eyes at his newly named wife, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as she looks at him expectantly.

“Oh, yes, we will be. What’s that thing that people say? Happy wife, happy life?”

“Are we going to talk the entire song?” Harry laughs, wrapping his arm around Hera’s waist and hugging her tightly, kissing her neck teasingly as he begins swaying side to side with her in his arms. “I would like to dance with my honey. This is our song, after all.”

Hera turns around in his arms, a smile spread so wide on her face that Harry swears it must hurt her cheeks. He wants to see her smile like this for the rest of his life. Hera grabs Harry’s hands and begins twirling, dancing happily and excitedly, the laughter echoing around the room from her and her best friends making Harry’s heart swell a million times in his chest, aching against his ribs.

I love you, baby! And if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby.

Hera and Isla dance around each other, taking each other’s hands and swaying around, their laughter playing loudly over the music. Harry and Beau smile at each other, taking Isla and Hera between them to swing and twirl beneath, the smiles on their faces enough to make the entire night worth these mere four minutes. Harry looks at Beau, unable to hide his thoughts any longer. Beau looks at Harry, then at Hera, and he knows exactly what his best friend is going to say, it’s written all over his face.

Harry leans on Beau’s shoulder, looking at Isla and Hera dancing together, giggling and swaying around the floor, his voice barely loud enough for Beau to properly hear him say, “I’m going to marry Hera, and I can’t wait for the day I do.”

Harry is trying to hold back his smile as Hera swallows down the circulating hiccups every thirty seconds or so the entire elevator ride to their hotel room. His hand is on her lower back, the key to the room clutched in his hand, her fingers quite small in comparison to his suit jacket that is falling over her arms and hands. Hera is wrapped around him entirely – if she could be closer, she would be – and Harry is happy to see her so happy, so relaxed; it’s not something he’s seen many times in the years he’s known her. Here, Hera doesn’t have to worry about Dalia and John, or the emails waiting for her in her inbox. Here, Hera is exactly who she wants to be, with exactly who she wants to be with. Harry, included in that.

Hera’s heels are hitting Harry’s thigh, the straps hanging loosely on Hera’s index finger as she walks slightly sideways in order to stay attached to his side. Harry laughs, kissing the top of her head and saying, “How are the hiccups, my love?”

Hera hiccups again before she can properly reply, earning a chuckle from Harry and a light smack his nearly bare chest, the buttons of his shirt mainly undone, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. “I’m okay, baby. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, Hera.” Harry doesn’t say it in terms of the moment, or merely in the time that they’re dating, Hera knows, even in the haze of insobriety. Hera knows that Harry means always, no matter what happens to the two of them. Harry unlocks the hotel suite, the door swinging open rather quickly as Hera takes a step inside, Harry urging her forward with his hand on her lower back. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you inside.”

“Harry?” Hera drawls sweetly, his name singing like honey from her lips. Harry knows what she’s going to ask for, it’s what she always asks for after they’ve been out for a while and they’re finally by themselves. Harry expects it. Truthfully, it’s Harry’s favorite part of going out.

“Get into the bathroom, Hera,” Harry smirks, toeing off his shoes by the door and turning the privacy bolt, shrugging off his halfway discarded shirt and trousers and laying them nicely over the chair. He knows Hera would scold him for wrinkling it tomorrow when she wakes up to pack their bags and Harry runs to grab their morning coffee. Hera smirks, sauntering into the bathroom after dropping her heels by their luggage, Harry’s suit jacket now discarded near the rest of their things. Hera stands in front of him, back to the mirror, her eyes slightly hazy and a tired smile permanently on her lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Is that even a question?”

“My secret isn’t so much a secret, I think. I just haven’t ever told you this,” Harry smiles, slowly beginning to take the pins out of Hera’s hair and lay each one on the side of the sink, his fingers gentle against her scalp, running his fingers through her curls gently. “I love that you only call me by my name. I love when you call me pet names, I would be silly not to, but I especially love when you call me by my name. It always sounds so different coming from you. I love the way it sounds when you say it.” Hera’s softened smile is enough, the slow blinks and sweet hums coming from her every so often making his heart swell as they speak quietly in the private of the en-suite, the whole world away from them. Only Hera and Harry in this room. “Can you turn around for me, baby? I’ll get you out of your dress.”

Hera turns around slowly, pulling her hair away from her neck and swallowing thickly as Harry gently pulls the zipper from her spine to the curve of her backside, his fingertips splaying out over her bare skin, his thumb moving to draw a line from the height of the magnolia tree to the very bottom, goosebumps rising against her skin. Harry kisses the back of her neck gently, and Hera can feel every ounce of alcohol leave her system, her senses hyper aware of his touch, the gentleness of the way he takes care of her. Hera wants to feel Harry’s skin on hers, desperately.

“I might need you to wear this dress, again, H.” His thumbs push the thin straps from her shoulders, the satin pooling around her ankles. Harry leans down and lifts the dress to hang it neatly on the hanger she had set earlier in the morning. Hera’s eyes can’t leave him. “Hop on the counter, I’ll take your makeup off.” Hera does as she’s told, watching as Harry walks towards her and slots himself between her thighs, his hands reaching around her to grab the makeup remover and pads that he’s watched her use every night for as long as he could remember. “Close your eyes.”

Hera desperately tries to steady her breathing, the swallow the nerves in her stomach. Harry’s seen her naked a million and one times. Harry’s touched her in every place that is visible to him – and the places that aren’t quite so easily seen – and there has never been a moment in time where she did not feel absolutely beautiful in his eyes. Nothing is different, so why is Harry standing this close to her, touching her so gently, naked chest to naked chest, breathing against her skin making her so nervous? Hera swallows audibly before saying, “I am realizing that I am very naked against you, right now. Only thing I have on is nude underwear on this counter.” Hera squints open one eye to scan over his body. “And the only thing you have on is your briefs. My favorite kind.”

“I’m aware,” Harry chuckles, his motions against her skin barely noticeable. His fingertips brush over her forehead, then her cheek, brushing over her eyes when they shut against her skin. “Nothing I haven’t seen, and very much enjoyed, before, Hera.” Harry pauses, then adds, “Nothing you haven’t seen, and very much enjoyed before, either.”

“You enjoy seeing me naked?”

“Every single time,” he says surely, pressing a momentary kiss to her mouth before cupping her cheek and gently rubbing the lipstick from her plush lips. “I would like to see you naked every day for the rest of my life. I would be a very happy man, if that were to be how I spend my days.” Harry runs his thumb over Hera’s naked mouth, her eyelashes laying flat against her cheeks as she sucks in a breath all the way to the deepest point in her lungs, trying to catch her breath. Hera’s eyes stay closed, basking in every sensation of Harry’s touch against her skin. “Hera?” Harry waits a moment for her to say something, only for her to nod silently. He smirks. “Can you look at me, H?” Her eyes open slowly, the glossy haze gone and the attention solely on his voice. “Can I love on you, baby?”

Hera nods hurriedly, her hands leaving the counter and grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer, a whimper leaving her throat as soon as Harry’s mouth meets hers, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His hands grip her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, her calves wrapping around his waist and holding him to her. His tongue slides along her bottom lip, the taste of champagne, whiskey, and peppermint lighting her sense on fire. He’s familiar and safe, something Hera’s always known. Harry is also igniting, exhilarating, a rushing feeling of love and a promise of a future that is bright. Hera accepts him easily, her hands finding comfort in the damp curls at the base of his neck. Her mind is lost in his touch, in the way his fingers are pushing into her waist and his mouth is heavy on hers. Hera loves the way this feels, the way his hands know exactly where to be.

“Need more of you, Hera. Need all of you, my sweet girl,” Harry mutters against her lips, the calling name making Hera moan into his mouth. Harry swallows the moan greedily, taking her whimpered, ‘uh huh’, as permission to carry her into the bedroom, the moonlight and the faint bathroom light leading him to the unmade bed in the center of the room. Harry lays her on the edge, getting onto his knees and tucking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, the dampened spot in the center of her thighs making his mouth tick into the cockiest smile. He tugs the underwear down her legs, the material landing haphazardly behind him. Harry leans upwards onto his knees, grabbing her ankles and laying her legs over his thighs, his mouth leaving open kisses along the inside of her legs. Harry knows exactly what makes her squirm and twist under him, and as much as he wants to see her do each of those things, he needs her to stay still. “Don’t move, Hera. Be good for me.” Hera grips onto the comforter and nods her head. “Tell me, Hera. Tell me that you’ll be a good girl and you won’t squirm away from me.”

“I’ll be a good girl,” Hera breathes out breathlessly, her head leaning back against the plush duvet as Harry kisses over her heat, barely touching her core as his mouth hovers over her. Hera wants to move, wants to push herself closer to his mouth, but she knows that Harry will stop whatever he’s doing if she doesn’t listen, and she really doesn’t want that. “Harry.” Hera can feel him smile against her, his tongue poking between his lips to steal the tiniest taste of her. Hera squeaks at the feeling, earning a teasing laugh from between her legs. Harry, without any warning, drags his finger along the outside of her heat, gently prying her open for his gaze. He loves this, seeing her dripping for him, for his touch. His tongue lays flat against her, collecting all of her arousal on his tongue and suckling on her nerves centered at the tip of his nose, the moans and whimpers leaving her spurring him on, encouraging him with every taste. “Harry, Harry.” Harry hums against her, earning a jump to her hips and a warning squeeze from his hands. Harry barely pulls away from devouring her, savoring in her taste and the way she smells, the feeling of her legs tightening around his shoulders. Harry’s fingers gently begin working their way inside of her, curling just enough to reach exactly where she wants, to earn the reaction he was waiting for – her hands in his hair, pulling at his curls. Hera is the same every time, the same reaction every time she’s near an orgasm, and Harry wants it.

Harry wants all of it.

“Give it to me, baby. I want to taste you.” Hera moans, pulling tightly on Harry’s curls and squeezing her thighs around him, her orgasm spilling over her body and onto his fingers. Harry pulls his fingers into his mouth, suckling at his fingertips until they’re clean, his mouth dipping back between her thighs and savor every sip of her orgasm. Harry kisses her inner thigh, standing on his feet and shucking his briefs across the floor, his body leaning over hers as she slowly blinks and refocuses her attention, a lazy smile on her lips. Harry smiles at her, kissing her sweetly. “Can you go for another, baby? Can you give me another?”

“Can you hold me?” Hera whispers almost inaudibly, a shy blush covering her cheeks. Harry knows exactly what she wants, and he is more than willing to give it to her whenever she asks. Hera knows this.

“I can never say no to you, Hera.”

Hera sits upright, waiting patiently for Harry to settle himself in the center of the mattress, pillows propped comfortably behind him, his hand wrapping around his cock, slick with spit, twisting and squeezing in right way to work himself perfectly, his thumb brushing over the brightened tip with a grunt. Hera moves towards him, swinging her thigh over his waist, sitting just behind where his hand his holding his shaft. Hera looks at him through hooded eyes, the dazed innocence making his entire body ignite with a fire that he’s only ever felt with her. Hera’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth parting slightly to let the digit inside, his tongue swirling around her before popping it out, her hand immediately replacing his and her wet thumb rubbing over his ruddy tip. Harry’s head knocks back against his neck with a grunt, a strangled sigh leaving his lips when Hera lifts herself up on her knees and rubs his cock against her core, the wetness swallowing him.

“Hera, baby, please.”

Hera smiles contently, bringing his cock to her entrance and slowly (painfully slowly, Harry would argue) easing him into her core, inch by inch, the way she always does. Hera wants to feel him, every inch, the ridges and curves and the way her body swallows him perfectly, as though he was always made to fit inside of her. Hera sinks onto his cock so slowly, Harry swears that minutes have passed when she finally settles her hips against his, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and his feet laying flat against the mattress, his arms circling around her body to hold him against his chest. Hera loves being held this way, Harry’s come to find out, and if this is the way that she wants him to love on her, then he is happy to oblige.

Harry slowly begins working with Hera’s rhythm, thrusting, and meeting the swirl of her hips every grind to create the friction against her nerves and brush against the spot inside of her that makes her body still and her thighs shake around him. Harry lets Hera set the pace, the motion, the speed. Harry, as much as this is about him, needs Hera to know that it’s about her, about the way he loves her, and tonight, it is all about love.

Harry thrusts into her and the way Hera’s head falls back against her neck is inspiring, encouraging him to continue. Harry can feel Hera’s thighs beginning to twitch, the rhythm becoming unsteady as she nears her climax, the feeling of her nails beginning to etch into his shoulders bringing a smile to his face. Harry memorizes Hera’s face like this, clean from makeup and slightly sweaty, her skin tacky and sticking to his, her mouth parted and heavy breaths leaving her perfectly rounded lips. Her moans are echoing through the bedroom, whispered in his ear like a melody, a song he wants to write. Hera tightens around him, squeezing him in, her velvet dream earning an orgasm as she pants in his ear. Harry rides her through it, an unexpected pulse around him milking his orgasm into her warmth. Harry loves that they’re always this close, that he can feel her, that he’s the only one that gets to know her like this. He wouldn’t ever take this for granted, not when he went so long missing it.

His hand gently brushes over the back of her neck, pushing all of her hair onto her shoulder, giving him a taste of her skin. He kisses her there, ever so gently, not wanting to disturb the peace between their breathing. Hera swallows, whispering, “Can we stay like this for a while?” into his ear, her cheek on his shoulder.

“Anything you want,” Harry whispers back, his legs relaxing under her body. Hera has cocooned herself around him, making it impossible to be any physically closer than they are in this moment. Harry pulls the duvet closer to him, giving a bit of modesty to their naked skin.  “I wouldn’t mind going to the balcony and watching the stars with you.”

“In a minute.” Harry can tell her eyes are closed with the wait behind her words, the exhaustion of the day settling in. He kisses her cheek sweetly. “Do you still want to hear another secret?”

“More than I wanted to earlier.”

“I never thought about what my future might look like, until I met you, and then suddenly, it was the only thing I could think about. I wanted to know what we would be doing in one, two, five, ten years. I wanted to know what we would look like. I wanted to know if we’d be married if we’d decide to have children. I wanted to know everything about what my future with you looked like, just because it was the very first time in my life that the future looked like something I could be happy with.” Hera doesn’t pause between words, doesn’t hesitate to tell Harry this. Maybe it’s because she wants him to know where she stands with her past, with the relationships that he knows very little about. Maybe it’s because she wants him to understand that this is it, the two of them, and that whatever happens, as long as they’re together, she’ll be happy with it. Hera doesn’t care why she feels the need to tell him, whatever the reason might be, she just wants him to know, that this, this is the thing that matters most.

Harry must have a look of confusion on his face because Hera lifts her face from his shoulder and quirks her head questioningly, her eyes encouraging him to ask questions. “I thought that Grant wanted the same future as you, that’s why you were with him for all that time.”

“Grant wanted the same things as me, yes,” she explains, her hands holding his neck, thumbs rubbing the sides of his throat softly. “Grant wanted the things I wanted – marriage, a house, kids, a stable life – but I couldn’t always see that life with him. I would try, very hard, because Grant was safe and he loved me, and I loved him, too. I loved him differently, though. Not in the way I love you. I would try so hard to see the future that I saw with you, but that was reserved for you, and you only, and I thought that if I never got that with you, I wouldn’t want to make it with somebody else.”

“And Matty?”

“Matty and I,” Hera pauses, trying to think of the right words to convey her thoughts on such an intimate and vulnerable experience. Harry is listening intently, his hands rubbing circles on her waist to hold her close. Hera nods and continues, “Matty and I would have never worked long term. Matty and I went back and forth for years, because when things were bad with our personal lives, they were bad. His alcoholism. My parents. His lack of commitment. My need for it. Our relationship, if you could even call it that, would never be more than a two- or three-month thing, and then we were back to being friends. I love Matty. He’s such a close friend and I want him to be happy and healthy, but that happiness was never going to rely on me and what I could do for him. I never saw a future with him. Not once.” Hera stops for a moment, giving the words a minute to sink in. “You may not have been my first for certain things, Harry, but I promise, you have been my first where it counts.”

Harry smiles, his eyes traveling between Hera’s honey eyes and sweet lips. He nudges forward, capturing her in a kiss, slow and easy, savoring the way she tastes and feels and memorizing this moment, where everything in their world is right and perfect. “Can you continue telling me secrets like this? You’ll tell me secrets like this when I’m old and you have to yell into my ear for me to hear you. Promise?”

“I’ll always tell you secrets like this.” Hera smiles and sighs, kissing Harry once more before leaning onto her knees and slowly disconnecting their bodies, her hands reaching for a dirty shirt on the floor and wiping between her thighs before tossing the shirt in his direction. “You made a mess.”

“And I’ll do it, again. Happily.”

“Clean yourself up and put on some pants. I’ll meet you on the balcony,” Hera laughs, shaking her head as she takes his white shirt that Harry wore to the wedding and slips it over her arms, buttoning the shirt halfway before finding a clean pair of underwear and walking into the bathroom. Harry does as he’s told, taking clean briefs, and slipping the cotton up his thighs, taking their dirty clothes and laying them neatly by the suitcase. He walks around the corner, leaning agains the doorway of the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of going to the bathroom by myself, you know.”

“I know, I just like looking at you.”

Hera blushes under Harry’s stare, washing her hands before turning the light off and nodding towards the balcony, the moon shining bright through the glass door. Hera walks forward, opening the door and stepping outside, the fresh air and cool breeze fanning against her skin. Hera leans against the balcony, soaking in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful, here. I never want to leave.” Hera waits, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll make sure we come back.” Harry mimics the wait, his voice softening and audible only to her. “You’re not leaving me, Hera. You’re just going to work. I’m going to work, too.”

“Going to work for months at a time.”

Harry wraps his arms around Hera’s waist, kissing her neck and leaning his chin on her shoulder, “I won’t let us be apart for that long, Hera. Maybe a few weeks, at most. It won’t be longer than that. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How can you always be so sure of everything when it comes to us?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly, turning Hera around in his arms and letting his thumbs memorize her face, tracing over every part of her skin. “I just, I went so long with things being uncertain with us, and the fact that we made it through that, and we’re together now, it tells me that nothing with us is uncertain. It’s always you and me. That’s how I’m sure.” Harry traces over Hera’s mouth slowly. “Not to mention, I think I’ll die if I don’t get to kiss you for the rest of my life, so you’ve left me with the only option: I have to be sure that I can kiss you forever.”

“I have no idea what you’re waiting for then,” Hera teases, brushing her nose against his, her eyes squeezing shut as his mouth moves millimeters away from hers, his breath hot against her skin. “Kiss me, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know what tomorrow brings, and he certainly doesn’t know what it’ll be like when they’re on the road, miles and miles apart, but for now, Hera is here, in his arms, and he can kiss her. He can kiss her until his mouth goes numb and his jaw is tired, and then he can do it all over again. And right now, that’s all that matters to him.

[geminiamethyst]

Running. Chapter 46: Reunited

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 45: click HERE

Chapter 46

THIS STORY ISN’T DEAD!!!

Sorry this took so long! I hit a bad block and I couldn’t get ANY writing done for this story. Not to mention I’ve been hyper-fixated on a completely different fandom which probably hasn’t helped. I can’t promise too many frequent updates but I’ll try my best. All I ask is for everyone to please be patient with me.

Hope you guys enjoy the chapter.

The atmosphere finally felt relaxed since the attack on the bus and sawmill. The moment that Gonta realised that his friends were in trouble, he immediately led them to where he had set up residence. It was deeper in the forest, in a cave that he was able to find. He made it as cosy as he could. A small fire pit for cooking and heat. Large patches of moss that he has grown in the cave to make a comfortable bed and something soft to sit on. He did cave drawings on the walls, some of insects and the others were of his friends so he doesn’t feel like he’s forgetting them. It was the perfect place to be when he needs to sleep. His guests couldn’t agree any more than that. Especially when he offered them some food made out of ingredients that he had gathered safely from the forest.

“Gonta didn’t know that this was going on. Sorry.” The giant spoke quietly, head hung in shame. He carefully passed around the soup for everyone, making sure that he didn’t go too fast and accidentally spill anything.

“Don’t apologise.” Kaito shrugged off. Man this soup smelled so good! He was literally drooling from the smell and sight of it.

“That reminds me. Everyone has been trying to contact you, to warn you. How come you haven’t picked up on the call?” Maki suddenly asked. Gonta suddenly looked like a kid being scolded by his parents. He turned his face away from the four of them, shifting uncomfortably from where he sat. Maki took a deep breath. Her tone became more patient. “Gonta, you’re not in trouble. Just tell us the truth.”

Gonta looked around at everyone. He glanced wearily at Mondo and Taka. They were new. He didn’t know them and he didn’t know if he could trust them completely. However, he knows Kaito and Maki. They were his friends, his family. They were all in the same boat together. He can trust them. And he knows that they won’t be angry with him. At least he hoped so.

“Gonta…sorry…” Gonta whimpered at last. Before anyone else could ask him to clarify his apology, he started to let out a huge wail. “Gonta broke Miu’s device! Gonta not sure how! Gonta thinks it was dropped or something like that! Sorry…”

If Miu finds out about this, she’s going to kill Gonta. Priorities. Get Gonta to calm down before he draws unnecessary attention from any animals. Especially if those wolves come back for another round.

“It’s okay big guy. The most important thing right now is that you’re safe.” Kaito insisted, getting up carefully to pat Gonta on the back. Was he limping? Maki shook that off. Pins and needles, that’s probably what was causing Kaito to limp. And the two teens tried to calm the giant down, Taka lost himself in some thinking. He and Mondo had been silent for most of the time while Kaito and Maki caught their friend up with everything. Since the attention wasn’t on them, it gave Taka more time to think things over. Gonta’s only form of communication was gone, that’s why no one could get in touch with him. However, something didn’t feel right. Then it was like something clicked in his mind.

“Kaito, can I see the other device that you have?” Taka suddenly asked. It wasn’t that unusual when everyone else thought about it. Everyone else was worrying about Gonta. With all this worry that had been building it was best to let everyone know that he was okay after all.

“Yeah, sure.” Kaito eagerly agreed, digging this his rucksack. He easily found the communicator and passed it to the Limitless that asked for it. “You know something about tech, Taka?”

“Not really, but I have a feeling that I know what’s wrong.” Taka answered with a small shake of his head. Everyone else watched as he started to turn it on. They all expected it to go like the previous times. Just a simple call and everyone else would answer. However, nothing happened. On the screen, it was like looking at TV static.

“Did ours get damaged too?” Mondo asked, almost in a panic. Truth be told, they were all involved in a fight with a giant snake. With the mill blowing up, it was a little likely that it might have been bashed about.

“I don’t think so.” Taka muttered, giving the dome of the device a small tap. Maki watched for a few more seconds before she realised what Taka was doing.

“He’s right. It’s not broken.” She piped up immediately. “Something’s jamming the signal.” Jamming the signal? Just like when Keebo tried to get a satellite image of the camp! There was a shield, a programme that blocked any signal that would be leaked to the outside. It was possible that it was stopping any signal from coming in too. That’s why Gonta’s device was no longer working for him. And that’s why it wasn’t working for the other either. They were close to the camp. They were so close that the programme was strong enough to reach them.

“Excuse me, Gonta? Is there by any chance a lake nearby?” Taka asked politely. He recalled a lake being on the old satellite image of the camp before it was closed down. If they really were close then they might be lucky enough to reach the camp while it was still morning the next day.

“Yes, but Gonta only just moved to this cave, so Gonta has not been there much.” Gonta answered eagerly.

“That means that we’re close enough to be near the camp.” Kaito was quick to state the obvious. They’re so close. And Maki will have a better chance of staying safe. She will be out of Orochi’s reach forever. And they can plan a way to stop the psycho from harming anyone else and saving the other Limitless trapped in the Underground.

“Then we’ll go there in the morning. That is, if you don’t mind us staying here Gonta.” Maki added, looking up at the giant hopefully.

“Not at all.” Gonta smiled like a kid at a Christmas. “Gonta happy to have friends over. It’s been pretty lonely.”

[kainicowrites]

Twisting Fate pt. 4

The night passed on, pleasure filling every moment until we were too spent to continue. Saga laid on her back and I curled into her side, resting my head in the crook of her neck. We laid there, enjoying the sound of the other breathing. The feel of Saga’s fingers running up and down my arm was so soothing, I nearly wanted to fall into a slumber for the first time…ever. 

“Andi, you are unlike anyone I have ever met.”

She had no idea how true that was, but she couldn’t know that. “I am nothing exceptional.” I craned my head up, a smirk in my eyes. “Just another beautiful woman.”

“Yet I have never seen someone as beautiful as you.”

I may be a goddess, but the sincerity in her voice made my cheeks burn. “I’m sure you will come across many gorgeous women on your travels.”

“And none will compare to you.” She traced lazy circles on my hand.

“Oh, hush. You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to.”

I leaned further into her touch, savoring the warmth, “And I, you.”

“What would you like to know?”

“To start, everything. I think I’d like to know everything about you.” I spoke in a hushed tone, unfamiliar with being so vulnerable. 

She chuckled, “That would take quite a while and I am not sure you’d still like me in the end.”

“Who says I like you now?” I gave her a mischievous smile and she feigned hurt. I continued, “But we could start with what your actual deepest desire is.”

“You don’t believe it’s you?”

“I believe you may desire me, but I don’t believe I’m your deepest desire.”

She went silent for a moment, thinking. “I suppose I’ll humor you. Realistically, I want nothing more than to protect my clan and make a better life for them.”

“Is that why you’re going on this trip?”

“Yes. And because I believe there is a better place for us out there. A place where we can thrive and live in peace. It’s something my clan hasn’t known since it was formed. Some people here don’t believe a woman can be a Jarl. Despite plenty of evidence to the contrary. Change is as slow moving as the ice here.”

There was a note of bitterness that I hadn’t heard yet. The concept of women somehow being lesser is completely ridiculous. I was certain that most of those men believed in the gods and there are plenty of powerful goddesses. So, how did they rationalize spewing hate toward women? 

“I’m sorry that you are being forced out of your home because of hateful men.”

“My home is with my clan, everything else is just a place. We can make a home wherever we go.”

I smiled to myself, “That is a beautiful way to view the world.” A breath, then, “You said that was your realistic desire. What’s your impossible desire?”

A solemn tone, “To meet my mother.” When I looked at her curiously she explained further, “She died giving birth to me.”

My heart cracked. I never had a true mother or father, but I could imagine the pain of losing one would be unbearable. “I’m sorry for your loss.” When she didn’t reply for a moment, I asked, “What about your father? Is he still alive?”

Some dark emotion passed in her eyes, “I hope not. Though, he was when I last saw him fourteen years ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

I could feel her head shake in response, “You’re not. It’s just…complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I understand if it is personal.” I didn’t want to pressure her to share more than she was willing, especially considering that I wouldn’t be able to tell her much, if any, of my truths. In all the lovers I’d taken over the years, I had never told any who I really am.

“No, it’s okay. You want to know everything about me? I might as well start at the beginning. Maybe I can tell you my whole story before the sun rises.”

I propped myself up on my elbow, “I’d love to hear your story.”

She mirrored my movement, “My story starts in the fall twenty-two years ago. I was born to Viggo and Yrsa, but it was my sister, Kajsa, who truly raised me. From everything she has told me of my mother, she was a remarkable, kind woman. According to Kajsa, even my father was a gentle, caring man until she died. But, the moment she passed into the next world, he changed. He always blamed me for her death, which only worsened when he was drunk. Which was all the time. You see this scar here?” She pointed to the scar hidden behind the smeared rune on her forehead. “You might think it is from being a badass warrior, and I have plenty of those, but this one is actually from my father shoving me face first into our kitchen table when I dared to request that I train with one of the warriors in our clan.” 

Fury roiled in my stomach and I wished I could go back in time to change fate. To cut his thread instead of her mother’s. 

She sighed, “Anyway, Kajsa took matters into her own hands when I was eight years old and we each packed a bag, fleeing in the night to find a new clan. One where we could both train as warriors. We found one eventually. The jarl didn’t think women could lead, but allowed them to train, viewing any body as a bolster to his ranks. After ten years in the clan and never moving up, Kajsa, a few dozen others, and I left to start our own clan. When it was time to choose a jarl, my sister nominated me and many others supported her. Though I was only eighteen at the time, I was officially chosen as Jarl, with my sister as my right hand and most trusted advisor. 

“We found land and started our settlement, but in the past four years, we’ve had to defend it more than we were able to build and expand. I didn’t always have the following I do now. Having gained a reputation fighting and killing the male jarls who dared try to take our land. For being a female jarl. For being a safe-haven for those who need a place to start over and teaching them skills to survive. But now, it feels less and less safe. With a growing reputation, comes a growing number of enemies. Then six months ago, I heard Ama’s call for those looking to do good in the world, I answered. And here I am.”

As she finished her story, the room became awash in the beginnings of the early morning sun. I got lost in the barren mountains of her eyes. I knew every language in the worlds, some lost, and still, I could not find the words to say to such a tragic yet beautiful story. I saw her in a way I had never seen anyone before. Through all of my immortal years and lovers I had taken, they were always an escape or a way to experience pleasure, but her…she was different. None of them cared about others’ well-being as much as it was clear she did. 

Even my sisters, who were responsible for every life, didn’t care as much as Saga. They preferred to treat beings as a game. Deciding on a plan and using me to ensure beings follow their predetermined paths. But Saga has been fighting against it. Taking in humans who are in need and teaching them. Guiding them. Protecting them.

Guilt coiled around my stomach, squeezing tight. 

She must have seen the expression on my face, “What’s wrong?”

I quickly blinked away those thoughts, “Nothing. I just- the thought of maybe never seeing you again…” 

A small, sad smile upturned the corners of her mouth, “I know…You could come with. I always need good fighters.”

“I wish I could. And how do you know I’m a good fighter?”

“I saw the way you wore that armor and it’s all in the way you walk. Like you know you’re never in danger. It’s alluring.”

Before I could figure out what to say, Saga sat up, “Thor’s balls, I need to meet my hersirs and make sure everything is ready for our trip.” She was instantly putting her tunic and armor back on. She looked back at me, “So what do you say? Up for an adventure with me?”

I thought about every choice I had ever made. Always for others, never for myself. I genuinely couldn’t remember the last time I had done something for myself. To make me happy. That was never the job, but in one night this woman had made me question if that job was worth doing. If there was something more, something better, out there for me. 

Saga continued to get dressed, buckling on her sword belt, “Absolutely no pressure. But you would be welcome.”

Throwing caution to the wind, “Yes.”

She twisted toward me where I was still lying naked on the bed, “Yes?”

I looked deep into those chocolate eyes, “I could use an adventure and you have no idea how little risks I’ve taken in my life.”

“But you don’t even know where we are going.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, “Anywhere is better than here. You don’t think I’m still a spy, do you?”

“I’ve known enough bad people to know how to tell the difference. And you are good. I can see it.” I blushed, looking away, but she caught me by the jaw and tilted my head up to look at her once more. “You are. I’ve known it from the moment we met.”

“Thank you…”

“Now, would you like to get dressed and meet my crew? If you really want to come, meeting them is the first challenge.”

I straighten my shoulders, “Challenge accepted.”

[belphegor1982]

I posted the last chapter of this on AO3 just before bed and completely forgot to post it here as well. Typical bird-brained Bel. But here it is now if you wanted to read it and missed it! I’ll ad the AO3 link in a reblog, as usual :o)

Jigsaw Pieces

Chozen, uneasy

Daniel, adrift

Amanda, sleepless

Sam, shaken

Johnny, fixing things

Daniel, not alone

Daniel can hardly believe his eyes.

Seeing Johnny and Chozen side by side, Robby flanked by Miguel and Sam, Anthony behind his sister smiling proudly – it’s just surreal.

Sure, they’re not literally all here; there are a few gaps where students should be if this were a class (like Chris, or Mitch, or Demetri who mentioned something about getting a summer job last time), but even if the group isn’t complete, Daniel’s surprise is.

These past ten minutes have been one hell of a roller-coaster. He can still feel the warmth of Amanda’s hands holding his, the breath that rushed out of him when he stepped into Mr. Miyagi’s room for the first time in eight years, the tightness in his chest that hasn’t really had time to loosen yet. Mr. Miyagi kept his most painful memories in a box, on a cabinet, but at least he was brave enough to open that box from time to time. Even after the burial, even after almost a decade, Daniel has refused to open the door to his bedroom. His own memories of Mr. Miyagi are everywhere – on the wall of his home dojo, in the power and grace of his daughter’s karate, in his own soul – but that empty room is the last, final proof that the man himself is gone forever, and facing this fact for real takes a strength Daniel’s never felt he had. Until ten minutes ago, when Amanda gently guided him in front of that door and said I’m right here. And stood aside silently, her presence both supportive and unobtrusive, while he took in everything – a thousand memories, a thousand reminders of what used to be and can never be again.

The last bonsai Mr. Miyagi was working on has lost much of its original shape, but it’s still alive. Amanda must have come in regularly to water it in the past eight years.

“Is it gonna be okay?” he hears himself ask across thirty-four years while staring anxiously at a different bonsai.

Mr. Miyagi answered calmly then, “Depends. If roots strong, tree survive.”

Between his dogged nurturing and the strength of its roots, the bonsai in question lived, and still thrives to this day. Sometimes Daniel wonders how old it actually is. But then Mr. Miyagi was always good at taking care of lost causes and pulling off miracles.

Mr. Miyagi was also the only one able to defeat both John Kreese and Terry Silver, and easily at that. Over the past week Daniel has sometimes wondered what he would have made of the current situation. He has wished, more than once, for his old mentor to make things right again, or even just to have his back like he never failed to even when Daniel was pretty sure he didn’t deserve this unwavering support. Maybe he would have approved of Daniel’s capitulation – maybe he would have advised Daniel to step off a lot sooner, before kids started to get hurt – maybe he would have urged him to keep fighting. But you can’t ask a dead man what he thinks. You can’t ask a dead man anything. Tugging on a ghost is as useless as trying to catch the wind.

Except…

Mr. Miyagi did leave something of his here, and not just in the mementos left untouched and the warmth of the little house, the wood and the shoji walls. Of all the people standing in front of Daniel in the bright summer sunlight, only two knew him well (Amanda and Sam), three met him in person but only have sparse or superficial memories of him (Chozen, Anthony and Johnny), and the rest only know him from a picture on the wall and second-handed accounts. Yet it feels like he’s here, standing next to Amanda, smiling fondly. Like he never really left.

Daniel is hit by a memory, like a flash, of Mr. Miyagi and him going out to fish the day after the Obon festival. No training, no karate of any kind – just the two of them, a little boat in a secluded Okinawa inlet, and companionable silence in the sun. Not that Daniel would have been up for much more at that point; his fight with Chozen the night before had left him black and blue and utterly drained of energy. The stakes probably had a lot to do with it. Daniel had never had to fight for his life before.

“I forgot to thank you yesterday,” he said at some point, and Mr. Miyagi turned to him, eyebrows raised under his hat.

“For what?”

“Well, you kinda saved my life with that little drum back there. If you hadn’t… You know. I think the outcome would’ve been very different if you hadn’t been there.”

Mr. Miyagi twisting the little handheld drum back and forth had not only reminded Daniel of the eponymous technique. The lone reedy taptaptaptap had grown into a loud clatter as everybody else picked up on it and banged their own drums, a clear show of support that had confused the hell out of Chozen. Daniel, bruised and bloodied and almost out of hope, walking the wire between almost laughing and almost crying, had drawn strength from his last reserves from that sound – and won, somehow.

Mr. Miyagi didn’t reply right away. He adjusted his fishing rod across his knees and nodded.

“Drum not save life, Daniel-san. You down, you pick self up. Drum just remind you… Not alone. Got people in corner. And me.”

And then, just as Daniel’s throat went a little tight, M. Miyagi tilted his head to the side and added with an eh face, “Figure of speech.”

Daniel grinned at that.

“Well, thanks for bein’ in my corner. And, uh – you know I’m in yours, right?”

“Hai.” Mr. Miyagi’s eyes softened. “Miyagi know.”

They’d shared a smile, then gone back to gazing at the sunlight winking on the sea. It had been a good day.

The people standing in Mr. Miyagi’s garden right now could all be holding pellet drums. The two situations are night and day, literally, but the emotions rising in Daniel’s chest are very similar.

Mr. Miyagi may no longer be in his corner, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone – not anymore, like Sam just pointed out.

All the students – plus Amanda – bow as one, like they’re waiting for the lesson to begin, like it hasn’t been almost two months since Miyagi-Do (and Eagle Fang) shut down. Eli, Robby, Abe, Sam, Bert, Miguel, all of them – even Anthony, for the very first time. Sam’s smile is beaming when she straightens up, her eyes very blue.

Daniel looks at Chozen on his left, a silent question – though what he’s asking exactly, he’s not sure. Chozen answers with a determined nod nonetheless. Its meaning is clear: both vow and encouragement. We can do this, all of us. And the thing is, Daniel is starting to believe him.

He hesitates for a half-second before turning to his right and meeting Johnny’s eyes. But the expression in them is familiar, if always surprising to see on the face of his old enemy/rival/frenemy/friend. The last time Daniel saw it, Kreese had just thrown the gauntlet at them, and Johnny cemented their alliance of circumstance with three words – We won’t lose – and a look that had helped quiet down the snarling mess in his chest of fury, fear, and retrospective horror at what he’d almost done. Because if Johnny Lawrence, cold and grim and with the bruises from Kreese’s stranglehold just starting to form around his throat, could stand tall and steady and say “we”, after everything, then perhaps all wasn’t lost.

Johnny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His small nod and the look in his eyes speak volumes. And just like that night last December, Daniel relaxes a fraction, with the beginning of a smile this time.

They bow to their students simultaneously, the three senseis, and as Daniel straightens up he can’t suppress a smile that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

And a very distinct feeling of missing pieces, finally falling into place.

______________________

The end! I really hope you enjoyed this little story. I did writing it, even (especially) the parts that hurt :’) Please tell me if you did!

(Also I couldn’t help bringing Mr. Miyagi back a little, if only in flashbacks 💜)

[kandadiff]

Van Der Wulff : Love & Marriage

~

11 o’clock came and went and a cold anxiety set over most of the girls in the house. Especially when parents started to come into the house. After breakfast draven quickly got dressed, placed her phone on loud, and sat in the living room waiting for us to come in. Lighting a cigarette to pass the time. When we didn’t return by 11, her mind went deep in thought.

While it wasn’t normal I would just disappear to nowhere without telling anyone. But sometimes I did, but always with someone. She didn’t know if Damien and I made up, if so then maybe I was with him? But why wasn’t I here right now? Maybe Negan? Or I could still be with my parents and if they came and I was with them she would feel ridiculous for worrying so much.

As for you, this was 100% strange. You wouldn’t be with your parents. You couldn’t last alone with your mother or stepfather and as for your father. You could only stand him in hour intervals. No, maybe you were with Xavier and sent him last night to get something for you - but why would he go in through the window? If you were with him - you had keys. And if you were with him why was your phone dead? He lived in the dorms and nearly everyone had an iPhone charger. Plus she texted SOS and it was left ignored. That wasn’t normal.

Katyas family was the first to arrive and immediately noticed the mood shift in the house. “❄️what’s wrong?” He asked his daughter. She was now dressed in an dress and due to her nervousness she was clutching at the bottom of it, wrinkling the cotton fabric. She quickly filled her father and sisters in.

“You should start looking for them.” He said and Draven nodded putting out her ciagrette and standing up.

“I’ll help!” Marie, Katyas younger sister by 2 years piped up.

“Oh my god!” Naomi rolled her eyes walking out of the kitchen with presents in her hand. “Why just want to spend Christmas away from us. Don’t be so clingy, Draven.”

“Excuse me?” Draven’s icy tone caused Naomi to backtrack.

“I-I mean like, if they want to spend time away from us just let them.” She shrugged “I’m going to Namjoons.”

“It’s not about us spending time with us” Draven snapped “it’s about making sure they are okay.” Naomi looked down and sighed mumbling a pathetic apology. “You’re going to Namjoons? Check if either of them have been there.”

“Why would Adi be there? She hasn’t spoken to them since before they left? And Hoseok and Yoongi have a girlfriend- Kay wouldn’t here there.”

“Just check!” Draven snapped harshly at her causing Naomi to jump. She sucked her teeth and moved through the living room and out the door. For a moment it was silent.

“I’ll check too.” Katya said pulling out her pink phone and tapping a few buttons and walking to the kitchen. The doorbell rang and everyone looked towards the enterance. Makayla answered only to see Gabrielle De Silvia, her husband and Maddy on the other side. They all wished her Merry Christmas with smiles which quickly turned to puzzlement when Makayla asked if you were with them.

“No” Gabrielle’s smile faded. “She’s not here on Christmas? This is a family holiday! I slugged myself on a 10 hour flight to get here from France and she can’t even be here to greet her mother? Where is she? With that useless boy? Oh my goodness. Madison!” She called out to Maddy who was right next to her. Maddy turned “call the boy and tell him to get her over here right now! This is completely ridiculous.”

Draven rolled her eyes and grabbed her jacket. “We’re going to go look for her.”

“I’ll wait here.” Gabrielle waved her hand as though dismissing the girls and placed her perfectly wrapped presents under the silver Christmas tree. “I’ll wait for her here even though she is being completely disrespectful by wasting my time.”

“Other people are coming. Parents.” Draven said her voice dripping with attitude. “Can you let us know if her or Kay show up when we’re gone?”

“I guess.” She shrugged sitting on the couch “do you girls have wine? I need a drink.”

“I will.” Katya’s father nodded. “I’ll make sure you parents are entertained as well.”

“Thank you papa.” Katya said walking out the kitchen her phone in her hands.

“Ladies! Drinks?” Yo ur stepfather asked looking around.

Ignoring your parents, Draven grabbed her keys, passed Makayla and Katya theirs before moving out the door.

~ Mexico ~

Luther and I sat in silence. He had brought me food that I hardly touched. He tried to prove he didn’t do anything to it by eating some of mine but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. I just drunk the tea he’d given me, he said it would help with my throat which felt raw from all my screaming. We were sitting in the kitchen, though it offered me no freedom. Around my waist was a thick metal chain clicked in place with a simple that pinched into my skin if I moved to much. It was attached to the guest room via hook built into the floor. I didn’t ask why it was there - I didn’t want to know. Besides pinching my skin it wasn’t long enough to reach any door but the bathroom and the guest room. He had told me that himself when he put it on me.

“Just for now. Just for upstairs.” He said petting my head like some wild animal he had caught and was trying to domesticate. “I can’t fully trust you up here yet. But I promise it is temporary.” I said nothing in response.

While he ate and I drank i familiarized myself with the lock, touching it under the table trying to compare it to locks I’ve picked before. I was sure I could pick it with the hairpins but given the weight of the chain I’d have to do it quickly with as little noise as possible. Which in itself was difficult.

When he decided we were finished eating, he took my plate and cup and washed it in the sink while he whistled an old jazz tune. I focused on the lock. I did recognize the type but I would have to break both Bobby pins to even get it open, if it could work. Something sharp would be better, like a knife but he’d never give me one. And what if it didn’t work. I would only have 4 Bobby pins left. Besides he said this was only for upstairs. In the basement I could move around more and I could expirement with the lock there. Though he knew the navigation to the house better then me. He could more easily catch me if i came up the basement rather then up here. Plus by the lack of windows in the basement I had no way of knowing whether it was night or day- or whether he was asleep or not.

“You’ll just hurt yourself if you try and get out.” He said watching me and pulling me from my deep thoughts. For a moment I wondered if I accidentally spoke outlaid but then he motioned to the chair handing tightly from my waist. “The more you pull on the lock the tighter the chains get.” I dropped the lock, it fell into my hip and I winced. He wiped his hands of water and sat next to me. “Let’s talk, okay?” He spoke softly as though I was a toddler. I nodded.

"I want to explain myself further." He folded his hands and smiled at me. It sent a shiver down my spine. "I love you." he said watching em closely. I just kept looking at him refusing to give him anything. "And I was 100% serious. When I think of the future all I see is you and me. Maybe a couple of kids running around. I'd let you name them" he smiled as though it was a joke I was supposed to be in one. "Since you know I've had mine."

"And about Naomi? and your wife?" I tried hard to keep my voice level. Just stating facts and nothing more.

"Once she sees how in love we are, she'll come around. She's a good girl, she'll welcome you. I know Eli and Renee will. They knew my marriage with Whitney has been over for a while." His smile returned. "I've already signed and sent out the divorce papers to Whitney, she should be getting them in a few days. Then as soon as we receive them, we'll get married. Theres a small church near by and I've already gotten you a dress. I want to do it right. I want to be divorced before I take a new wife." My stomach lunged, thankfully since I had no contents in my stomach I managed to keep it down. He waited for a response but I didn't give him one. I was unsure if I could without a burst of emotion so playing with my hands under the table. I waited for him to continue. "Of course I want to do it right. And I'd like for you to walk down the aisle with a smile on your face and for you to be as excited as I am. for you to be as in love as I am." He reached for my hand but I jerked backwards out of his touch.

"Love? Love? How can you say that to me?" I was unable to hold my tongue. My voice shaking as I spoke and I felt tears burn my eyes. A mix of rage and sadness covered me like a blanket and I was using it as an armor. "You kidnapped me, you chained me up like some dog, drugged me, bashed my head into a wall and threw me into a basement. You took me 1000 miles from my family, from my friends, with no where and expect me to love you. You are a sick man and I feel sorry for you."

He took my words in, and for a few moments the world around us was silent. Until he yanked down the chain that bounded me to this hell house. The chain painfully pinched my skin and I yelped as I fell down on the chair. He tightened his grip and I tried to hide my pain, digging my nails harshly into my legs. He twisted it until I let out a pained wail and he clapped his hand over my mouth and nose cutting off my air.

"Feel sorry for me? Don't flatter yourself, you little bitch! You should feel sorry for yourself because if we don't get happily married by the time Whitney processes those fucking papers! Then you will just disappear here." He shoved me back. The chair skittering across the floor and into the kitchen counter. I quickly stood up and he stood up in front of me. He towered over me but I wasn't backing down. "Wipe that look of your face, even if I won't do it there is plenty of cartels looking for pretty girls to have fun with. Plenty fo brothels that would pay a lot for a pretty American girl."

"You wouldn't." I spat at him.

"Why wouldn't I?" He leaned down to me, his black eyes burrowing into me. "If you don't marry me, you'll be a stranger. And I don't care what happens to some whore I can get a couple of thousands for." We kept up eye contact "Think about it smartly, you brat" his voice dug into my ears like an unwanted parasite. "Think what they'll do to you. They will use you until you're bleeding out of your eyes and then after - if you're lucky they'll kill you. and don't bother trying to speak your fucking Spanish and convince them of anything. I already scouted out a few very interested men."

"How do you know they won't turn on you?" I hated how my voice trembled. "Kill you instead."

"Because I have connections that you don't have here, snowflake. I am the big bad wolf and you are in my territory."

The wave of hopelessness overcame my entire body and I broke looking at the wall behind him. I could no longer stop the tears that now flowed fretfully from my eyes. I needed to think of a plan but my mind felt like a tangle of wires. My thoughts all crashed into one another making a huge cloud of despair in its wake. "Then I guess... we're getting married." The words felt foreign in my mouth like I was watching myself say it.

"Happily?" he was baiting me but I didn't respond. I knew it upset him, his body became stiff and he pulled me toward the basement door. I started to scream again and he shoved me down the stairs. He yanked at my hair and squeezed tightly on my wrists until he threw me inside the room locking the door behind me. And shamefully I cried again. It didn’t quite hit me until then that he had no intention of bringing me back home safe. The hypotheticals he raised weren’t fantasies, everything he said so far was his plan and I had to get out.

~ Greece ~

Wandering the grounds of the mansion proved to be uneventful. Most of the servants seemed scared to look at you and every time you asked for something they either pretended to really couldn't understand you.

You searched nearly every room for a phone but you found none. No phones, no computers, only TV's that played everything in Greek. You managed to find that maid from earlier (who's name was Catherine) and asked her for a phone. She told you simply "sit still, girl. Your fiancé will be home soon."

You finally settled by the pool, looking over the ocean thinking of everyone back at home. How long would it take them to notice you were gone? Were they looking? Would J tell them you left with Shawn? How would Xavier react-

You jumped out of your skin when you felt familiar arms wrap around you like a hunting snake. Shawn kissed your cheek and whispered "god, your fucking beautiful" in your ear while pressing you tightly to him. "Merry Christmas, my love."

~

[imma-bout-to-simp]

Inazuman boys overhearing a conversation where you admit you have a crush and/or would sleep with them.

Semi NSFW/ Mostly Fluff

Girls night in Inazuma was always fun, but sometimes it was more chaotic than others, this was one of those nights; when a particular fox envoy shows up to join, but she isn't the only unexpected visitor, in fact there's a certain boy that's been looking for you. 

"So Y/N, are there any men that have caught your eye? With all the men I see drooling all over you, I expect you like at least one back, or maybe there's one you'd have your way with? The shrine can be so boring at times, I'm in need of some good gossip…"

"Well-"

ARATAKI ITTO

"Well, I do have my eye on a certain oni, he can be a handful, but he's a sweetie deep down. Speaking of handfuls, it's gotta be big… if I'm going to die, I'd get split in half by Itto any day." 

Before anyone could make a comment you could hear a commotion just outside the door, as if there was a celebration with all the thudding and muffled shouting. 

Opening the door you see Itto completely giddy, hopping around the place like he can't keep still. He hasn't seemed to notice your presence yet, but his cheeks are flushed, you'd like to think it was because of how much he was moving, but it was more than obvious he heard you. 

If only Yae didn't bring that sake, your lips would've been tighter. As much as he doesn't seem upset by the conversation, you couldn't help but feel slightly mortified. Before your mind could roll itself around in embarrassment Itto's eyes locked onto yours. 

"This might be the best day of my life! First I won a bug fight with the Onikabuto we found a few days ago and now I find out my pretty little Y/N likes me back! I- I mean of course you'd like me back, I'm the one and oni, Arataki Itto! Now, how 'bout we go to your place and I can show you what an oni is made of?" 

THOMA

"Well, I've liked Thoma for a long time now, he's so kind and amazing at what he does; not to mention how handsome he is. Archons, I remember one time I had to deliver a report to the Yashiro Commission during the heatwave last summer; Thoma must have been getting rid of the weeds in the yard, he wiped his face using his shirt and I almost died right there when I saw his V-line. I felt like such a pervert but the way he looked, I hope that image never leaves my head…"

You hear a shaky knock on the door; turning around you see a flustered Thoma holding a tray of assorted snacks and drinks.

“Sorry for interrupting, I thought you’d all like some snacks to go along with the company… uh, Y/N, would we be able to talk for a moment?”

You nodded, knowing you would now have to face the consequences of the confession you just heard. As soon as the two of you left the room and moved further down the hall he turned around using his finger to lift your chin up before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry if that was sudden, I really couldn’t help it. But I need you to know I feel the same about you. If you’d allow me to, I'd like to make you dinner sometime, just the two of us.”

GOROU

“Well, I like Gorou a lot, I think he’s very handsome. I can’t help but find myself daydreaming when I look at him, he’s so strong and smart, not to mention kind too. This is pretty embarrassing but I tend to watch him when he trains, the way his muscles look when he’s using his bow is so attractive to me, I can’t help it.”

Nothing else could be said before a knock is at the door and the general of the resistance enters, ears perked and tail wagging wildly,

“I apologize for the intrusion! Your Excellency, here are the newest reports you requested. I-I'll take my leave now."

Before he had a chance to exit Kokomi who had been silent most of the night spoke,

"Gorou, would you mind taking Y/N for a walk outside? I believe she should get some fresh air and I'd like you to accompany her." She smiled into her words. 

"O-oh, of course, come right with way Y/N!" 

Before you stepped out the door to follow Gorou you turned back to glare at the resistance leader, who winked at you and sat looking very pleased with herself. 

Leaving the room you noticed Gorou avoided eye contact with you, so he most certainly heard what you said. You weren't ashamed of these feelings but you knew the poor boy in front of you was flustered, but you had to ask the question,

"Gorou, I'm sure you heard what I said in there, I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but every word I said in that room was true… So I wanted to ask if you'd allow me to take you on a date sometime, I understand if you're not interested or too bu-"

"Yes! I- I mean I would be honored to go on a date with you Y/N!"

I was planning on doing Kazuha too but I just couldn't figure out how I'd make it work, but if I do more, he will be on there.

I will also add the cut below once I'm at a pc.

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

Promise

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer hasn’t been the same since the kidnapping and everyone knows it. you just wished he’d opened up to you sooner.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, heavy indication of drug use, mentions of trauma, lots of angst, season 2 spencer, direct references to 2x15

word count: 2.3k

read on ao3

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

It’s been months since the kidnapping, months since you almost lost him.

Spencer was back to work almost too quickly, somehow passing his psych evaluation with flying colours, but you knew he wasn’t okay. Everyone did.

He’d grown distant, quieter than usual. Most days he would try to act normal and pretend nothing was wrong but you knew better than to fall for that. Spencer wasn’t very good at hiding things from the people who cared about him, especially when it was you.

The two of you had been close since you joined the BAU. You had a lot in common and you understood him better than anyone else on the team. When he rambled, you listened. When he started spewing out different statistics, you were the only one who never cut him off. You noticed his stimming and his random hyperfixations. You were one of the few people on the team who he truly felt he was never being judged by.

So, when he stopped rambling so much and more often than not you found him sat quietly disassociating so intensely, you knew exactly where his brain was straying, you knew he wasn’t okay.

He’d spoken to Morgan and Gideon but only briefly and, although they had managed to get him to confide in them, you knew there was still something he was hiding. There was more to it and you could see it eating away at him. Everyone could.

“Reid!” you called out to him as you rushed out of the building, hoping to catch him before he left for home.

His head quickly turned back to you and he knitted his brows as you hurried over to his side. Although he said nothing, you knew he was asking a silent question from the tilt of his head.

“Do you want to grab a coffee with me?”

“A coffee?” he asked, checking his watch as if only to remind you that it was an unusual time to get coffee, especially when you were both heading home to unwind after a long day at work.

“Right, yeah. Okay, how about dinner then? I know you’re only going to get a crappy takeout anyway. We don’t have to go out but if you come over I’ll cook for you?”

He smiled, although you could see a glimpse of another emotion in his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure what it was but you didn’t miss the way he held his arm, long fingers wrapping just a tad bit too tensely around his forearm.

“You know what, I’d love to but-“

“No buts, Spencer. I’m cooking for you tonight. You need a proper meal for once,” you cut him off, and began heading towards your car.

With a small smile, Spencer shook his head and followed after you, knowing you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

His strange behaviour only continued during the drive home. He seemed distracted and on edge, though you were unsure why. Whenever you tried to bring it up in conversation, asking if he was alright, he’d just insist he was fine and then change the topic of conversation.

He’d been doing this for weeks. Insisting he was okay when you knew he wasn’t. In truth, he hadn’t only been distant and distracted since he came back to work. No, he’d also been acting strange. Sometimes he was rude and antsy as if he was subtly lashing out, and on occasion, he would completely disappear for short periods of time.

You’d asked Morgan about it, hoping he of all people would have been able to provide you with more insight but even he was unsure why Reid was behaving in such a way. In fact, he had been hoping you would have the answers. All he could chalk it up to was the way each case was getting to Reid. Everything had been different after he had become a victim himself.

“Do you want anything to drink? A glass of water? Juice? Something alcoholic?”

He made his way over to your couch, as always seemed to be his routine now. You weren’t particularly in the habit of inviting colleagues over but you had had Reid, Morgan and Garcia over on occasion. Whenever they came around, Reid always made a b-line for a space on the couch. Even now, it seemed.

“Some water would be great.”

You hummed and poured the both of you a glass before slumping down beside him on the couch. It felt nice to be able to relax although you could still tell something was off with him.

“Hey, can I use your bathroom?” he spoke after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

“Yeah, of course. You know where it is.”

Your smile dropped when he reached the hallway but you shook it off and started to prepare dinner. You couldn’t blame him for getting takeout most days as you often did the same. It was always so hard finding the time or energy to cook after a long day at work.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom he seemed different again. He didn’t utter a word to you as he sat back down on the couch, his body slumped over more than usual as he rested his head back and closed his eyes. You watched him from your place in the kitchen, thankful for your small apartment at this moment as it allowed you to keep an eye on him.

Still, you had already dragged him home with you and he was probably exhausted so you didn’t want to press. Instead, you opted for getting dinner cooked so that, at the very least, he could have a nice warm meal.

However, dinner hadn’t been the only reason you’d invited him over.

He sat opposite you at the table, thanking you for the food as he began to tuck in. The one thing that had struck you as odd, however, was the fact that he hadn’t taken his jacket off once since he’d arrived.

Usually, at the very least, he would have thrown it over the back of a chair and, on occasions when he was particularly tired, he’d even loosen his tie as well. Today, however, his clothes were almost too put together. In fact, you realised then that you hadn’t seen him with so much as a hair out of place in months. Not that that had hidden the dark circles under his eyes or the redness that often resided within them.

“Spencer?”

He only hummed in reply, his head swaying ever so slightly as he lifted it to look at you. His eyes seemed watery and his cheeks were somewhat flushed. He scratched the side of his neck, yet another tell in his body language that was bringing you closer to the source of his strange behaviour.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you piled the dishes up next to the sink, telling yourself you’d wash them later.

He stood from his chair, once again with knitted brows. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

He was scratching again, this time at his arm — the same arm he’d held when you approached him outside of work.

You sighed, growing tired of his lies. “Why won’t you talk to me? I know something is wrong, Spencer. You haven’t been right for a while.”

His eyes strayed from yours and he rubbed his hand up and down his arm, stopping just before he reached his elbow every time.

“I’m fine, really.”

You stepped closer. “No, you’re not.”

He glanced up at you again with guilt in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hide it from you any longer, no matter how much he wished he could.

“Talk to me, please.”

You moved closer again but he stepped back when you reached out for him as if he were afraid you’d figure it out if you so much as touched him.

You didn’t want to believe it but you were a profiler, you studied human behaviour for a living and you’d been watching Spencer for some time now, determined to find a way to help ease his pain.

It was a truth you were reluctant to believe but, if you were right in your conclusion it meant things were worse than you’d initially thought.

A part of you didn’t want to confront him about it but as you’d stood there with him you knew you had to.

“Take off your jacket.”

His eyes snapped back up to yours and he looked afraid. Not of you, but of what you were asking. Of what he knew you would find.

“W-Why?”

You didn’t answer him because you knew he knew why. Instead, you simply stood waiting for him to do as you had asked.

His eyes drifted from yours and he shook the clothing from his shoulders, turning for just a moment to put it down.

When he turned back to face you, your hands were already reaching for his arm and oh-so-gently pulling the sleeve of his shirt up.

“Oh, Spencer.” It came out in a gasp as your hand covered your mouth, heart breaking at what you had discovered.

Tears began to prick at your eyes as you softly ran your thumb across his skin, careful not to press over any of the marks that littered his arm.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, broken.

All of a sudden you found yourself lunging at him as you threw your arms around his fragile frame, holding him tight as if to try and tell him it was okay.

You still didn’t want to believe it, the guilt was eating you alive. You should have noticed sooner, you should have been there for him, you should have known. But there was no way you could have, not when he didn’t want you to know. He had been hiding this from you, from everyone. He didn’t want anyone to know.

It wasn’t your fault, yet that was little comfort to you.

He’d been using this whole time. Even now, in your own home, yet you weren’t angry with him. How could you be when this was of no fault of his own? You knew it had been Tobias who had done this, who had given him his first dose. If Spencer had had any say in it, he would have never gone near it.

You cried into his vest. holding him so tight you were almost afraid he’d struggle to breathe, yet his arms soon began to wrap themselves around you too as his body began to softly shake.

Together, you cried for what felt like an eternity as he was finally forced to face what he had become.

When you finally parted, he was wracked with guilt once again.

“Please, y/n. You can’t tell anyone.”

You finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye again and, when you did, you found your expression softening once again. “You need help, Spencer.”

Skittishly, he nodded his head. “I-I know but if they find out I could lose my job. I-I could-“

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? When you’re sober. You can stay here tonight, I don’t want you going home by yourself, but I need to know, Spencer: do you have any more with you right now?”

He gulped and reached for his bag, pulling out two more doses. Although he was hesitant, he passed them to you. The moment they were in your hand you found yourself tearing up again and so did he.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so, so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, too ashamed to look at you.

Without a second thought, you hugged him again before slowly coaxing him to your bedroom. You helped him get somewhat comfortable, although he would have to sleep in his clothes, and tried to calm him down. You just wanted him to know he was safe and that you were there for him, no matter what.

“I’m going to get rid of these, get some sleep, okay?”

His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were going to leave only to call Hotch but he could see the sincerity in your eyes, he knew you weren’t going to do that. Not yet, at least. So, he nodded and closed his eyes, deciding to leave his fate in your hands.

A part of you suspected that Hotch already knew. He was far more experienced than you, after all. If you could see the signs then surely he could too. The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he hadn’t done anything about it.

Perhaps he too knew Spencer would likely lose his job or, at the very least, need to take time off of work to recover. Maybe he couldn’t afford to not have him on the team. Or, maybe he trusted Spencer to work through it on his own. Either way, you were angry that no one had done anything to help him.

So, with shaky hands, you poured the bottles down the drain and went back to his bag, digging through it to make sure there was nothing left. He had told you the truth and given you all he had with him. Still, you took the needles to dispose of them too.

When you returned to your room, he was already fast asleep.

You brushed his hair from his face, wanting to check he was okay, and whispered more to yourself than to him, “We’ll get you clean, Reid. I promise.”

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[jordyn-degas]

Never again.

Characters: Trafalgar Law x fem! reader

Warnings: first piece for Law bc I couldn't hold it in anymore - he's literally consuming every single brain cell; light smut - MDNI; depiction of cuts, bruises and blood; reader is held by Caesar; Law takes care of you - in more ways than one 😏; slow paced in a way; emotions and feels; implied decision of self-sacrifice; reader is sold to the highest bidder; restriction of free will; double entendre between Law & reader - men and their feelings; i think i described it heavier than it actually is - sorry 😅; moody and broody? absolutely lovable. Spoilers: if you haven't reached Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, you will stumble upon new characters under the cut. Read at your own risk.

italic font - past; regular font - present

Taglist: i'm tagging you in everything at this point @uchihabbynic 😅 i need you in my corner since i started down the One Piece path 🤤

Softness of familiar fingers brushed along the skin of your back carefully, goosebumps peeking through at the care with which you were handled. Along the trail of a touch that was not foreign anymore, after six horrendous months, came the thin, translucent fabric that has been adorning your body all this time. Cuts and bruises, unorthodox surgeries and an inhuman amount of tests defined the life you had been living in captivity.

On the God forsaken island of Punk Hazard where a mad scientist resided, the author of each scar that was going to serve as a reminder for the rest of your life, a seed of hope developed with each passing day, blooming into moments of peace, comfort and quiet. It was all because of a man that was entrusted with keeping you alive enough to carry on with being a subject, armed with medicine and gauze along with a pair of gray eyes that seemed lost somewhere in time, in a point he was unable to return – pure coldness masking anger and sadness, a wall built on a life that hasn’t been kind.

“Don’t sleep on your back tonight.” Trafalgar Law, the infamous Surgeon of Death and one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, broke the comfortable silence while carefully wrapping the gauze around your arm.

“I’ll sleep on the side.” tired sigh slipped past your chapped lips, hooded gaze eyeing the monitor on the other side of the room where it displayed vital signs that were barely above the limit – monitored day and night.

“Caesar went in again.” he concluded watching how your shoulders caved in as if trying to hide whatever gruesome cut was in the front.

“It’s fine.” hand lazily reached for the oversized shirt resting on the pillow, one belonging to a subject that has been dead for more than three months now. “I’m so used to it by now that I don’t feel the pain as much.”

Fingers dipped into the abrasive material from all the clumsy hand washing, patches that have been sown up again and again pushing against the skin as a reminder that this has probably been worn by many before you. Looking into the lap, sudden shame bloomed seeing your legs completely riddled with old and new scars, damaged skin peeking from under the shorts, its disgusting aspect crawling upwards across the navel where it was met with various vertical and horizontal cuts that reached around your middle.

Pulling at the shirt to bring it closer, the warmth of Law’s hand engulfed your wrist, freezing immediately feeling the most skin to skin contact you’ve had in months. A sense of urgency pooled into a silent plea, tension being released through the pads of his fingers, as if silently telling you to wait, to stop and accept yet again his help. As he walked around the bed on which you were sitting, arms quickly shot upwards, hands clasping at the shoulders in an attempt to hide what was now one of the most deep, long and wide cuts your chest had survived. It was far from being the first time in which Law has seen you completely bare from head to toe, needed when the damage was too great to stumble over such mundane concerns – he was a doctor after all.

“Tch! How is this fine, Y/N-ya?” Law grumbled with utmost annoyance, chair grazing harshly against the floor while being brought in front of you. “You’re hemorrhaging.”

“I’m not made of glass, Trafalgar.” bark but no bite being all that you could muster at almost 1 am, after a long day of being a guinea pig. 

Holding back a reply fit for the smart ass you labeled him as, Law’s jaw clenched shut watching the woman that fought the pain right before his very eyes. Six full months of constantly providing postoperative care, trying to the best of his ability to place back together what others broke, at first considering it to be a tedious request from Caesar. That until he allowed himself to get to know the mysterious patient no one was allowed to talk to, you so casually striking up a conversation while barely able to breathe – kind eyes and soft smile.

Unknowingly to both of you, as each day passed, seeds were planted somewhere deep into hearts that deemed themselves unfit to live freely, to know peace or love, to feel care or happiness. Extra medicine was being sneaked under Law’s jacket, followed by books, warm tea and food – hours passing by with ease when in the presence of each other. There was no need for conversation, being in the same room making the air of this hellhole of an island a bit more breathable. 

“Y/N-ya.” Law’s deep, soothing voice pooled into your ears with calmness, gaze falling on his open palm in which a roll of gauze waited. “Let me.”

“This time is really bad, Law.” defeated whisper made its way out of the dryness of your mouth, head raising, gaze being met with the familiar pair of gray eyes in which you found comfort and compassion. “I’m horrendous, disgusting, a sight that would ..”

“You’re not.” bitter sentence being cut off abruptly, Law’s proximity and intense stare causing for your arms to slowly drop on each side, breasts exposed to the coolness of the room as his focus switched from your face and on the bleeding cut that stretched from under the neck, stopping in the middle of the abdomen – for the first time since being examined by him, blood rushed into the cheeks, causing you to blush profusely. “Have you finished the book I brought last week?”

Calloused hand found its purchase against your cheek, powerful slap causing the neck to snap painfully, the taste of blood coating your taste buds. Bare feet felt relief while touching the expensive carpet adorning the stone flooring of Dressrosa’s Royal Palace. Fingers wrapped tightly against the two blades you held, entire body trembling from head to toe with anger and fear, jaw clenched shut in an attempt to fight the harsh reality.

“Bought for my free use, indeed.” Don Quixote Doflamingo’s vicious chuckle bounced off the walls, lips and teeth morphing into a malicious grin. “Worth all the money for this moment right here.”

Horror and shock adorned Law’s features, Sea Prism Stone shackles binding him to the royal chair, hands balled up into tight fists when met with Doflamingo’s most prized possession in this war against him – you. Chest began heaving at the sight, forcing himself to remain as calm and calculated as possible, trying to ignore the all too familiar instinct of protecting you in favor of putting the pieces of the puzzle together, unable to slip past the constant thought that bloomed into both of your minds: a year and two months since being sold by Caesar only to find each other here.

Tears pricked at your eyes seeing Law so close, yet so far, pangs of guilt booming into the chest knowing you have not kept the promise made before your departure.

I promise to stay safe until you come after me.

Evil laughter filled the room, Doflamingo and his acolytes watching with delight as two people representing each other’s weaknesses were the prisoners of his mercy.

“Did you really think that Caesar didn’t know about you two?” Doflamingo’s tonality carrying mockery from beginning to end, fingers dancing into the air as your arms suddenly raised with the blades in a position to attack. “He gave me everything I needed to know, to use when the time was right.”

Law was still stuck between past and present as he could not see, through the teared clothes, all the scars that once mapped out all the pain you’ve been through. The woman he met in Punk Hazard completely disheveled, beyond repair at first glance, bore no resemblance to the one standing before his eyes. Looking past the dried up blood as a result from the slap, skin was glowing with a smoothness that has never been there, no longer sickly and battered, lips pinched with a healthy color, cheeks dusted with the bright blush of life — one he hasn’t seen in so long it had his heart race at the sight.

Even with the eerie calmness Law seemed to be displaying, you knew exactly what he was thinking with the way his gray gaze was doing its rounds up and down your figure. After the time spent together, after all the conversations and nights where you thought no one knew about, you could easily read the man that took up all the space available in your cold heart. The broken woman he got to see in any shape and form was no longer there — healthy from head to toe, used because she was doomed to fall in love with him.

“What did you do?!” a dangerous growl ruptured from the back of Law’s throat when met with a stupidly low temperature in the room along with your bare body only wrapped in a flimsy sheet – Caesar was punishing you.

“I-I r-r-refu-used-d-d ..” teeth clashed against each other repeatedly, violent chills shaking your form while sitting on the bed all balled up. “ .. I f-f-fought ..”

Tears grazed the sensitive skin of your cheeks, blood concentrating into keeping a weak body warm, anger and disappointment lacing the voice of the woman to which Law rushed a split second. For the first time since being here, he decided to risk his own plan for this unknown woman that worked its way under his skin in less than a month since meeting her – 7 months later since he first laid eyes on you, warmth, care and an unnamed feeling gnawed mercilessly at his soul.

Judging by the way risky purple pinched parts of your body, Law knew the shock of hypothermia was close to hitting. The warmth that engulfed you at his proximity called for rash decisions, sheet dropping as you wrapped around his body as a moth drawn to bright light. Tensing briefly at the contact, Law relaxed immediately thereafter, feeling your arms sneaking under the jacket, face buried deeply into the crook of his neck, pleasured sigh escaping feeling the desperately craved warmth. Cold lips brushed past the pulse point that was throbbing, his eyes dipping along the curvature of your back and quickly switching their focus when met with the waistband of the only piece of fabric covering the lower part of your body.

“‘m sorry.” shaky whisper laced with sadness graced the silence as, instinctively, Law’s arms wrapped around you tightly. “m so cold.”

“Don’t worry.” Law’s own whisper brushed past your ear, masking the foreign satisfaction he felt of having you in his arms.

Not even realizing what was happening, warmth suddenly tugged at your skin, feeling how life rushed throughout the body, able to hear again heartbeats that seemed to not be there a few seconds ago. Feet left the floor, legs wrapping around your savior’s waist in an attempt to absorb even more from the essence of life. Head raised slightly, you were met with a foreign room, eyes coming in contact with a wall filled with bookshelves, desk holding perfectly organized papers to the side and a closet. There was cozy light, senses pinched with the scents of Punk Hazard’s winter and pristine freshness, detecting with ease the faint citrus smell of a familiar hand soap — Law’s room.

“Let me.” Law spoke calmly as your feet touched the floor, gray eyes completely focused on yours, arms raising on their accord on which he slid one of the fresh t-shirts that rested on the bed. “You’re sleeping here.”

“What about Caesar?” shiver ran across the length of your spine at the mere thought of not being found in your usual room and putting Law in a danger neither needed. “What about you?”

Looking through hooded eyes, Law chose to answer with silence, walking up to the desk and placing his jacket on the back of the chair before sitting on it with a quiet sigh. Without another word, taking his entire demeanor as a hint, bare feet slapped against the floor but not in the direction he thought. Law was met with a stretched out arm, palm wide open, eyes falling on the stitches surrounding your wrist. 

The soft smile adorning your features had yet another knot form into the throat, one that began appearing quite often whenever he would hear your carefree laugh despite the situation in which you have been for months. Reluctantly, Law placed his hand into yours, both knowing that whatever has been building in the darkness of Caesar’s laboratory could not end with rainbows and fireworks. However, who doesn’t crave the sweet taste of happiness and peace from time to time?

“You need to rest.” was the only sane thing Law managed to say, trying to ignore how good you were capable of looking in his t-shirt, taking off his signature hat and throwing it on the desk.

“So do you.” soft notes filled with warmth and care pricked his senses, mattress dipping as you both slid under the covers.

It was one of those moments in which everything ceased to exist — Law forgetting to put up his reinforced walls meant to keep people out, allowing himself to care, to feel, much more than ever before, while you forgot that maybe tomorrow you’ll meet the end Caesar has threatened you with, grasping at a hope that came in the form of a broody, grumpy man that did nothing but to show the other face of humanity.

Tears bubbled into your eyes at the feeling of being comfortable again, of feeling pure warmth that came from another person, of bathing into an unspoken care, heartbeats thumping loudly enough for the man to hear them. His eyes did not leave your face for a single second, fighting between the harsh reality and the onslaught of feelings that began taking over with each second spent so close to you. They felt foreign, yet familiar and comfortable, fingers twitching with the sudden need to touch you.

Ignoring any sense of sanity, your body moved on its own accord, hands working quickly the material that stood between you and Law’s upper body. When he did not protest, steel eyes still trained on your features, arms wrapped around his neck, pulling both bodies flush against each other – skin memorizing the tattoos that adorned his chest and body as if wanting to carry a version of him with you forever.

Quiet gasp rolled off Law’s lips at the closeness, absolutely bewildered with how normal it all felt, as if being with you for years on end.

“Need your warmth.” emotions filled voice cut through the silence, trying to not break down feeling his body melting against yours, arms sneaking around the middle, being pulled even deeper into the man that awakened the feeling you were afraid to name.

Law could feel the tip of his ears burning, fingers twitching as they dipped into the material of the t-shirt covering your body, tightening their grip on it when realizing this was the only place in which you were capable of finding comfort and safety. There was no room for uncertainty at this point, both diving too deep into something that should have not existed in the first place, grasping at straws of a hope neither could guarantee – falling for each other on this God forsaken island, in the darkness of Caesar’s laboratory, a place where dreams went on to die along with their owners.

Timid attraction began closing the gap between your lips, Law’s eyes darting to yours and back up, searching for any bit of hesitation, barely able to hold it together as the warmth of your breaths clashed. Hot fingertips carved their path in between his shoulder blades, traveling upwards across the nape of his neck, slight shiver rocking Law’s body at the intimate gesture, before your fingers found purchase into the softness of his dark hair. Arm wrapped tightly around the waist moved to grab at the flesh of your thigh, leg being carefully placed over his middle, both watching each other in comfortable silence, any rational thought slipping out and making room for nothing but yearning, suffocating want and need to feel loved.

“Y/N-ya.” Law’s last attempt at being calculated, protective and sane about the situation, was completely thrown out the moment a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“I’m sure.” confidence laced the words, lips hovering over each other, waiting for the moment in which all the walls would crumble to the ground. “Are you?”

The reply came in the form of a haze clouding your brain completely, pieces of a broken heart meeting yet again in their rightful place as Law’s lips melted against yours – warm, soft, careful, timid even. It felt as if getting acquainted with each other for the first time, yet familiar and safe, somehow knowing what one meant to the other long before even having the chance to meet. Tongues slipped past the feverish lips, dancing on a slow, tender rhythm, breaths picking up their paces with each passing second spent entangled. Fingertips dipped even deeper into the flesh of your thigh, body arching into his, wishing to be absorbed and consumed completely by no else but him.

Through needy, passion filled kisses, the mattress dipped again as Law switched his weight, settling your body under his with ease, forearms on each side of your head, legs spreading to accommodate the man in between them, shaky sigh being released when feeling the protruding bulge pressing against the visible wet spot of your underwear. Hips began moving on their own accord, demanding more through the clothed friction which caused the Surgeon of Death to allow a low groan to escape against your lips. Needy whimper betrayed the state in which you found yourself the moment he stood up, knees digging into the mattress, expert fingers quickly working under the oversized t-shirt you wore, hooking them into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and off the legs slowly, calculated, as if giving you time to change your mind on something that was bound to seal two fates together.

“Don’t.” hand grabbed at Law’s wrist, stopping him from removing the last piece of clothing that would reveal what you had become in its entirety.

“I already know ..” steel gaze pierced through the depths of a soul that had known nothing but loneliness and fear until meeting another, until him – warmth and kindness pooled into the eyes of the man that used to show nothing but eerie calmness and coldness. “.. you.”

Trembling hand released its grip, allowing Law to carefully pull the t-shirt off your body, eyes shutting in anger knowing what laid before him – the ruins of an unfinished experiment. Shuffles could be heard, slight movements of the bed being the only thing you could distinguish while refusing to see what was happening. As shame began to wash over you, mouth opened to let out a gasp of surprise, feeling soft lips pressing against the abdomen, traveling upwards in slow motions. Was he kissing along your scars?

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes, fighting to push them as far as possible realizing what was happening, deciding to timidly look. Blurry vision opened to see that Law’s pants were gone, the only thing separating the two of you being a pair of black briefs, gaze moving its focus to the man that did not miss one scar, each holding a care filled kiss, one hand clasped on your thigh while the other was smoothing along the ribs, soothing away the shame that began to die out. Head tilted upwards, erratic breaths slipping into the air as his lips traveled along the scar in between your breasts, own fingers making their way back into the softness of his dark hair, tugging slightly when he moved to the sides, tongue flicking shamelessly at each pebbled bud, the first broken moan of the night bouncing off the walls.

Law’s hand released its grip on the thigh, tickling at the sensitive skin as it traveled down the valley in between your legs, groan escaping from the open mouth which caught your high pitched moan when his long, tattooed fingers slipped in between slick coated folds. You were pooling into his palm, heavily swallowing the knot formed at the mere idea that it was all because of him, watching how your gaze became hooded when the first finger went in with a bewildering ease, chest heaving from the arousal, Law’s lips stealing feverish kisses and broken moans.

“m-more.” breathless plea had Law’s length twitch violently into the cotton confinement, jaw clenching feeling the uncomfortable hardness, second finger going in without a second thought. “A-ah!’

Hips began rolling instinctively against him, arousal dripping profusely, teeth clenching on Law’s bottom lip as nails dug into the skin of his back. Both fingers slipped out, covered completely in your wetness as they slowly made their way on that, oh, so sweet spot, gently circling it while applying the pressure that had you choke on your own breath. Law’s hand flew to the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down in one swift motion, quiet gasp crashing against your moans when hit with the warmth of the room.

Not resisting the urge, foreheads pressed together, your gaze dipped in between the legs, mouthwatering sight wiping all that has happened up until this point – heavy, of an impressionable size, cock twitched at the attention, leaking with arousal. Legs wrapped around Law’s waist, the small smirk tugging at his lips not going unnoticed, pushing it into submission with a small peck. Two gazes lost into each other, Law slowly guided himself towards your welcoming heat, following how your eyes began widening, jaw falling slack as the tip pushed through the muscle ring that twitched at the sensation. His own were screwed shut for a brief moment, mentally cursing at how tight you felt despite the pool of arousal in between your legs.

“Fuck!” both lost the little control that remained behind, word escaping at the same time the moment he bottomed out completely, gummy walls pulsating around his shaft.

Languid strokes turned your body to mush, melting into the sheets at the sensation of being so full of him, legs tightening their grip around Law’s waist, nails and fingertips pressing into his back with hunger, unable to look anywhere but at the man stealing whatever was left of your sanity, the man that, with each sensual roll of his hips, was tearing down the walls both have fought to keep up.

Pace picked up only slightly as you angled your hips higher, guttural moan escaping Law at the change, forearm pressing into the pillow as the other hand moved to take yours, fingers intertwining above your head between sinful sounds and heavy panting. Head fell to the side, teeth nipping at the skin of your arm from the bewildering pleasure that coursed throughout the body.

“Eyes on me, love.” Law rasped while trying to control himself feeling the way you clenched and twitched, gaze falling on your heaving chest, breasts bouncing lightly with each delicious drag of his cock, skin flushed and filled with goosebumps being an image burned forever in his mind.

Hearing Law’s words, head snapped back to be met with a hooded, gray gaze that glinted with an unrecognizable emotion. Hand tightened its grip on his at the sight, the man pulling moan after moan as he was capable of reaching so far deep into your aching core. Realization hit like a ton of bricks, Law’s forehead pressing against yours, feverish, passionate kisses being stolen in between breathless releases of pleasure – you were so in love with the man it had your heart being squeezed with love and pain, wanting nothing more than to live, than to be capable of surviving enough to get out of here and simply be.

Be with him.

“L-Law .. I lo ..” words died out into the throat when lips crashed against one another, each stroke of his cock in and out of your heat becoming more intense, more sensual, filled with something more than yearning, passion and attraction.

“I know.” Law’s shaky whisper hit in all the right places, forearm moving for its fingers to tangle into your hair, pulling gently at it until the exposed neck of the woman trembling under him was in full view, lips latching against the sensitive skin and peppering it with loving kisses. “I .. know.”

Forced steps were being taken towards the Surgeon of Death, all sprawled on the royal chair, unable to do anything more than to watch how you were coming for the kill under Doflamingo’s control - sharp blades pointed straight at his chest, jaw clenched shut in an attempt to fight such monstrous power, refusing to take the life of the man you loved. Despite seeing his usual wall put up, seemingly unbothered by what was happening, you knew better than anyone in the room that the cogs in Law’s brain were functioning at full speed trying to come up with a way to stop this entire ordeal.

“Did you even know that Caesar lied to get a better payout?” words came out through heavy breaths, amused expression taking over much to Law’s surprise hidden under the steel mask of “I don’t care”. “I thought the Don Quixote family was smarter than this.”

“Trying to buy time, princess?” Doflamingo’s rasped out laugh pushing each available button of your sanity, flashes of an insatiable rage morphing into images born out of the desire to kill him – to torture this pure evil until there was nothing left of him. 

“No.” you scoffed as the panic built with each step taken towards Law. “Since Caesar is with the Straw Hats, I can out him for the play he pulled on all of you. It’s not like you can do anything to him now.”

“No one deceives the Young Master.” Baby 5, one of Doflamingo’s acolytes and assassin, chimed in while feeling personally attacked at the implication of your statement.

“Trafalgar and I had a moment of weakness which I knew was being monitored.” annoyed sigh rolled off your lips feeling Doflamingo’s controlling strings pausing their wretched attempt. “It was easy to trick Caesar into believing that whatever he thought he saw would bring him more money. Higher price, bigger chances of leaving that hell hole with whomever paid. Who wouldn’t want to have leverage against one of the Seven Warlords?”

“That so?” vicious, disgusting grin split Doflamingo’s face, Law’s entire body tensing realizing the man was about to do something even crueler. 

Lythe fingers danced into the air, a muttered “fuck” being choked out when forcefully pushed right in front of Law while slightly bent over his figure. One blade pushed against his neck while the other was dangerously digging into yours, thin droplets of blood trickling down on both of your skins.

“Then kill him if that’s true.” Doflamingo purred maliciously, controlling with ease how the blade pressed against your skin as incentive. “Or .. was that a lie?”

“He lives, you say?” an amused chuckle escaped into the air, instinct dictating that it was a blatant lie but choosing to believe it out of pure hope.

“He lives.” the head of the Don Quixote family responded, mocking, harsh giggle resounding into the background at his own words.

“I’m sorry.” was all you could say, whispering low enough only for Law to hear, tears bubbling to the surface realizing how easily Doflamingo could control your body — knowing that his desire right now was for Law to die by your own two hands. “I tried.”

“Whatever you’re about to do ..” Law’s growled, uncontrollable anger destabilizing every single synapse in his brain when realizing what you were about to do. “Don’t.”

“Remember what I wanted to say that night.” soft smile engulfed your face, pace washing over the pair of eyes he dreamed of every single day since you left. “It’ll all make sense.”

I love you.

Law’s eyes widened in horror as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place – you were willing to die for him rather than lying, rather than having a chance of living after everything you went through. Erratic heartbeats took over in a split second, teeth gritting with ravaging anger as wrists were close to bleeding into the shackles, desperately wanting to break them off, to grab you and run out of the room as far as possible.

Why the hell didn’t he allow you to say it back then?

Why did he always have to find a way of stopping the words to fall from your lips?

Why did he do everything in his power to not make it real when it already was? 

He felt the same and never got the chance to say it, to hear it directly from you, to bathe into the soothing notes of your voice when uttering the three words that gave him the life he never felt worthy of. Saying “I love you” at that time seemed as if allowing the reality to disappear, to give true meaning and hope to a relationship that thrived on the luck of you being alive the next day, after Caesar was done with his experiments.

Cracks began showing into the smile you so freely showed Law, chin trembling from the tsunami of emotions crashing into you, tears staining the pair of eyes in which he always saw a life to be lived, heavy droplets rolling down the cheeks he used to kiss when asleep. Indeed, Law never showed or talked about his true feelings, about what was hiding underneath the steel exterior.

He never had to. You knew.

“Oi, Doffy!” you shouted, voice filled with confidence bouncing off the walls, tears pinching your lips with sadness and anger, eyes blooming with happiness at the mere fact that you had the chance of seeing the man you loved again after more than a year of being apart. “I fucking lied!”

Evil laughter filled the air, arms raised as fingers puppeteered the woman that chose love over life, two seconds of events unfolding into the room where your fate, and the fate of Dressrosa, was going to take a sudden turn. Scream filled with anger, desperation and pain exploded into the air as shocked gasps followed right after, droplets of blood splashing against Law’s chest, painting the black heart tattooed on his chest into shades of dark red, while the sound of steel blades crashing against the floor announced the end of a decision that was going to last a lifetime.

To the side, Doflamingo’s head rested on the blood stained carpet.

**

“Go right now!” Law roared like never before, steel gaze burning with a rage no one thought he was capable of under all that calmness and pristine, calculated attitude. “NOW!”

“B-but ..” teeth snapped shut against each other, the sound having Viola, King Riku’s second daughter, placing her hand on your shoulder and squeezing gently, reassuringly.

“After what you just ..” he followed, feeling how his words could easily cut even deeper than the blades that only scratched the surface of your delicate neck – Law inhaled deeply, regaining balance, notes of relaxed tonality carrying the sound of his voice. “I can’t have you be used as leverage again. Doflamingo won’t hesitate holding you over my head.”

“I don’t want to leave again!” foot slammed against the ground, blood rushing through the veins at the mere thought of being apart, of losing him yet again. “I don’t want to leave .. you.”

Silence fell upon the group that managed to escape out of the room filled with the danger that Doflamingo represented, Law at a loss of words of how easily you admitted, revealed so openly, in what way you were tied together under the questioning gazes of the others. Viola’s sweet chuckle filled the air, Kyros and King Riku eyed each other with small smiles that gave away the fact that they caught on to what was going on, witnesses to the previous sad scene that unfolded at the hands of Doflamingo, while Luffy looked in between the two of you as if you were the strangest thing to walk the land.

“Promise me.” Law mumbled, cheeks slightly flushed, ears burning with everyone’s eyes set on him, trying to calm his heart from exploding into millions of pieces because of you – deep, defeated sigh slipped past his lips when deciding that no one truly cared about this whole moment except the two of you. “You’ll stay safe until I come after you.”

Eyebrows shot up in surprise, lips parting hearing the promise made over a year ago being uttered yet again, and not by you, but by the man that, at that time, even refused to acknowledge that loving someone else existed – that it wasn’t just a bedtime story. 

Beaming smile curved your lips upwards, the same one Law got used to seeing daily a while ago, the same one he missed beyond his own capacity of understanding. 

“I promise.” sweet notes of happiness danced into the air, the tonality of a voice he only got to hear when around him, when not either in pain or filled with sadness, brought a small, rare smile on his own face. “Never again, Trafalgar!”

“Come with me.” Viola chimed in, fingers intertwined with yours, understanding clearer than anyone else that she had to hang on to your life, to protect you with everything she had – witnessing pure, unstained love was a source of power not many were capable of understanding in this wretched world.

Neither you or Law needed to say it out loud – I love you taking the form of a promise that meant a whole lot more than the confession itself, representing both the beginning and the end of what was going to be the rest of your lives.

“Never again.” Law acknowledged right away what you were saying, the double edged sword of your words being an unspoken language to others but him – he knew better than anyone what that meant. “Y/N-ya.”

You knew exactly what he was saying right there and then, heart blooming with a deep sense of accomplishment that no one else could decipher. It was a bizarre exchange between two people that met into the darkness of Punk Hazard, two people that gave up on themselves for each other, two people that decided walls were built to be crumbled at the hands of those that truly mattered.

As Doflamingo’s voice began booming over Dressorsa, announcing a new hunting game of the people that dared to cross into his territory, to try and save what he ruined all those years ago, the two of you looked at each other, finally at peace. There were about to be excruciating moments, events that would have your hearts scream with desperation, yet, somehow, you knew that the grass was going to be greener on the other side.

This time you were not going to leave on separate paths, torn apart by an unfair fate and an expensive trade.

This time you were both going to walk side by side, on the same path, because ..

Never again, right?

✨ Reblogs & comments would be much appreciated ✨

[seudxnimx]

Jun scream is expected, Noa doesn’t know nor does he care what he does in his free time in the means of fucking or getting fucked but if this is a normal position for Jun, he certainly hasn’t been in it for a while. He’s incredibly tight and the lube helps Noa but he knows it’s not much relief for Jun and he doesn’t care. This is what he asked for, to be fucked. If he thought that meant something else then he truly was stupid.

He can feel how his body tenses, all of it, all of him and Noa gets to take in that feeling. Jun is strong and built, Noa gets to enjoy the view of his back and shoulders and how the muscles form there, how he’s worked hard to look like this. He gets to see the curve of his ass and Noa can’t help but think he’s meant to be seen in this position with the kind of ass he has. He wants to prove himself so bad, Jun wants to be seen and Noa is looking now, he thinks this is a service he might take up again if he doesn’t completely ruin this man here and now.

He knew a sound would slip and Noa lets Jun get away with it. Enjoyment and pain, it sounds the same to Noa. It’s consensual but Noa wants it to hurt and he’s been in Jun shoes before… those men aren’t alive now, not since Noa has taken his place near the top but Noa was nothing but a slave when he started, in the deepest of debts and he did anything and everything just to keep his sister safe and hands off her. He let them use him how they would have used her and therefore he wants to return the favor to anyone who will take it. Male or female, he fucks to make it hurt and to take out what was done to him onto someone else. Jun is no exception and gives him reason to fuck into him like he hates him.

Tattooed fingers grab at Juns ass, enough to hold onto as he pushes deeper in, the sound of his name goes straight to his cock but it’s too much noise and his fingers go from hair to hooking into Juns mouth like he’s a fish on a line, the other hand moving from his ass to his hair to still keep him arched. The sounds he lets pass, no reprimand for that just yet, his hips haven’t let up, his own body flexed with the pace he’s set and refuses to let up with. The mix of arousal and aggravation make it easy to ignore, “You sound like such a slut for this.” Noa isn’t quiet in return, if others hear, so be it. In the moment he’s sure Jun will get fucked around even more because of it, treated as lesser than by some who still hold straight men on a higher pedestal but Noa won’t let it happen when it actually comes down to it, if he’s around to help at all. Jun isn’t weak, he’s desperate and that’s what makes him weak. That’s what put him in this position and Noa is going to remind him of that. Of this moment. Of just how desperate he was.

“You’ll never feel the same after this….” Arched over a bit himself so he can speak against Juns temple, “You want to be seen by me so bad, you want to take what I’ve earned as if I need freedom. Congrats, you’ve set me free, Jun-ha.” A soft few grunts leaving him in between words, “The next time you even think about going off on your own…” stilling his hips deep in Jun, panting against his temple as he speaks, “I’ll fucking kill you.” Flexing his cock in Jun a few times before he pulls back and starts moving again, this time with an end in sight as his thrusts get sloppy, he’s chasing his own release at this point and will pull out at the last second to cum all over Juns ass. If Jun finishes or not, it’s not his concern. Noa’s grunts and deep moans caught in a silent inhale as he reaches his climax, Jun isn’t worthy enough to cum in, he deserves the mess to clean up as most of the cum lands on the perfect globes arched in front of him, a few lines manage to hit Juns back as well before Noa finally lets go of Juns hair. He doesn’t drop his head but uses his fingers against Juns forehead to guide it down to the desk where his fingers massage into the blondes scalp a bit as if to release some of the pressure that might have been built up there.

Noa slides his cock through Jun cheeks a few more times, eyes closed as he lets his own orgasm pass through him and it’s just a minute or two that he lets pass before he steps away and stops touching Jun all together. Knowing what it’s like - even though Noa has never asked for it willingly, there’s a sick twinge of guilt in his gut. It’s easy to ignore at the moment though, deciding to get dressed and not instructing anything from Jun yet, instead he watches. Watching his back as he breathes and watching the cum slide down his skin. He won’t tell him to do anything for a moment, giving him time to recover and just stand if he can.

If there’s hesitation in the other, he keeps it to himself. He doesn’t look to Noa to elaborate or to ask if he’s doing any of it right and that’s exactly what Noa wants. If he had an issue with how Jun-ha was doing something he’d have no issue telling him and fixing it. He’d have no problem slapping more sense into the man.

He is beautiful though, isn’t he. The broad shoulders and blonde hair. Bruised skin isn’t what he wanted to see but he’s not surprised Noa wasn’t the first to lay hands on him. Jun-ha could have and probably will have gotten a few of them killed at some point. This wasn’t over even if his punishment was going to be, the consequences of his actions would have a lasting effect until they could clean up their name and remove it from the drug trade, which wasn’t an easy thing to do. He doesn’t know how much Jun sold yet but he knows to who and Jun-ha is inexperienced but not stupid, he sold good shit for a better price but that’s also where he faulted. He will truly learn the cost of his actions this time and if this doesn’t do it - not the sex and being beat to all fuck, but the lives he’s going to cost if his own family, if that doesn’t get through to him then Noa will have lost all faith in him. Despite where and how he got here, the Yakuza is family. These are his people and he doesn’t want them to die but some will have to.

Jun-ha is nice to look at though, in another universe maybe he’d appreciate him in another way but right now he’s watching him as if he’s stalking wounded prey. Pacing behind him as he watches from all angles Jun finger himself. He wonders when the last time he was fucked, when the last time he’s done this even… the mess he’s made of his desk goes ignored for now, the sight is far too enticing to notice anything else. He can see him trying to prep himself and keep quiet, a smirk plays on Noas lips at the fact. How cute.

What’s even more cute is that he’s hard while doing this, wondering if there’s some masochist and humiliation kink sleeping inside of Jun that was waking up now. Noa is completely silent though, other than his feet hitting the ground and a few wet strokes of his cock, he doesn’t make a single sound and just watches. No praise or encouragement, letting Jun-ha try and prepare himself for what he asked for… a first for Noa and something he clearly wasn’t going to pass up. Even if he knows he should. He should just let Jun-ha keep doing this while Noa gets dressed and sits, watches and lets him finger himself till he cums over Noas desk just to make him lick it up. It’s probably what he should do, and still might but after just a few more seconds of watching him try to fuck himself on just a few fingers, Noa steps in.

“Enough.” Is all he says, pulling Juns wrist away and pinning it down against his desk, “Keep quiet and don’t fucking move, understand?” Stroking himself once more before he lines himself up. Ah, another time he might try and make this feel good. Might let Jun-ha get used to the stretch but instead he simple shoves the head of his cock in and waists only a few seconds before he’s bottomed out inside of Jun. a hand holding the blondes head down against the desk and the other right on the already bruised hip. Noa let’s a low groan out and his head falls back, Jun being tight and almost holding him in place as he tries to quickly take in the stretch. This is still a punishment though and Noa grips the blonde hair and lifts his head up just enough for added leverage before he start to mercilessly fuck into him. Even if Jun is quiet there’s no misunderstanding the loud slaps of skin against skin and the creak of the desk as Noa repeatedly slams his length into the other as if he hasn’t fucked in months… granted, he has, but nothing this tight.

Soft pants leave him, fingers dig into the bruise left there by someone else but Noa will bruise over it, his fingertips will make some spots darker and make Jun remember this above being kicked. “You cum untouched or don’t cum at all.” Noa warns, pulling up on his hair to get his back to arch even more, feeling just the spot to hit as he fucks violently against it.

[jamesbuchananxsteviegrant]

I Pick the TV Show, Rogers Shuts His Cake-Hole | Bucky x Steve x Reader (Angst, Fluff)

Category: Angst, Fluff (Suggested) Age: 14+ Trigger Warnings: none, other than the standard explicit language Ship: Bucky x Steve x Reader Summary: Steve Snaps At Reader When He’s Stressed, Resulting In Her Being Very Upset Request: "can u write where steve/bucky is overwhelmed with something and when reader asks to help or is telling them to relax they snap at reader and reader is hurt which makes them feel really bad afterwards. thank you sm. i love ur writings. and this is anon right? is it alright if u dont post my response if its not anon? im sorry. thank you so much. ur blog always pictures great stucky imagines. 💗💗💗" Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 2,488

---

A given, the super-soldier had been on nonstop missions for the last month or so, but she thought she was helping him feel better, not making him feel worse.

“Would you like anything to eat, Stevie? You’ve barely moved all day.” (Y/N)’s voice is small. Quiet.

She’s leaning through the door of his study where he’s sat putting together his mission reports from the last three or four missions he’s been out on.

He shakes his head but doesn’t even turn to look at her.

Sighing, the woman walks further into the room where her boyfriend is slouched over the desk.

“You gotta take a break, Stevie.” She whispers, resting her hands on his shoulders.

She notices the way they tense up, but he still remains silent.

His fingers continue to write up his report on the laptop.

“I’m worried about you, Stevie; talk to me.”

“I’m busy, (Y/N).”

“I know you are, baby, but you’ve gotta look after yourself too.” She attempts, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. He pulls away.

The woman furrows her brows.

“Steve, please, you’ve got to-”

“(Y/N), just stop!”

The shout is sudden and it makes her flinch back away from the man as he turns to face her.

“I’m fine, alright?! I don’t need you babying me all the time!”

She doesn’t respond for a second, surprised at her lover’s outburst.

He says nothing more, simply turns back to the laptop and continues typing away.

“Steve, look how stressed you are. Can you please just-”

“STOP! Okay?! Just stop! Leave me the fuck alone while I finish these neverending mission reports. For once in your life can you just understand that not everything is about you?!”

(Y/N) swears that being shot in the heart wouldn’t hurt half as much as the words that just came out of the man’s mouth.

Her mouth opens and closes as if searching for the right words to say, but that hurt.

Is she really that bad? Is that the truth behind all of this? That she’s clingy? Thinks everything is about her? That was never her intention. (Y/N) is well aware of how important being an Avenger is. Hell, she is an Avenger, for Christ’s sakes.

She says nothing more and leaves the room.

She can’t even decide if she feels sad. No. She’s not sad, she’s not angry, she’s not… anything.

Numb.

Naturally, her feet lead her to their room. Steve’s room. They all basically share the super soldier’s abode since they all got together, but right now she doesn’t dare open the door.

Doing a full one-eighty spin, (Y/N) takes herself back to a place she barely touches anymore. Her room.

It’s pretty empty. Most of her clothes are in Steve’s room, in her own walk-in wardrobe. Her bed is perfectly made from the last time she slept in here - maybe a year ago?

The woman walks around her bed and straight onto her bedroom balcony, overlooking the lake at the back of the compound, and stays there. For three-hours. Until Bucky comes looking for her.

He came home from his mission about thirty-minutes ago only to find their shared room of Steve’s empty. He searched just about everywhere, completely clueless.

“FRIDAY, where’s (Y/N) and Steve?” He finally gives in.

“Captain Rogers is in study five, and Agent (L/N) is in her private quarters.”

Now that makes the brunet furrow his brows.

Why would (Y/N) be in her room and not his or Steve’s?

He prioritises finding (Y/N) first, knowing Steve will be writing up mission reports, no doubt.

Despite them being together for over six-years now, he hesitates when reaching for the handle of her bedroom door. Instead, the man opts to knock.

No answer.

“(Y/N)?” Nothing. “Doll, it’s me; can I come in?” Nothing.

Bucky tries the door handle and finds it unlocked, yet still hesitates.

“Baby?” He calls out. Again, nothing.

He’s cautious now. Scared.

Her room looks as untouched as the last time he saw it, which was a few months back when she was after one of her plushies.

“(Y/N)?”

It’s when he feels the chill of the midnight winds ruffle his hair that he realises her balcony doors aren’t fully closed.

Striding straight over, his eyes widen at the sight of his girlfriend curled up in the corner of the outdoor area, crying.

“(Y/N), baby, hey, what’s wrong?!”

Bucky immediately drops to his knees in front of the woman, reaching for her hands and gently tugging them away from her tear-stained face.

“(Y/N), doll, look at me.” His voice is gentle. Soothing.

She does almost instantly but her sadness stays.

“What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

The fear and sincerity in his voice is enough to prompt the woman to shake her head. Yes, she’s hurting emotionally, but he needs confirmation that she’s not dying.

The woman immediately sees the relief take over his features, but he’s still concerned.

“What’s wrong, doll?”

Her eyes stray away from his, not wanting to tell him what’s got her so upset.

“Hey, no, look at me, baby,” He whispers, hand lightly grasping at her chin to raise her face back up to his. “What’s got you so worked up, (Y/N)?”

Another shake of her head as she tries to escape her lover’s hold.

“Baby, please, you’re scaring me.”

Her face contorts into something close to heartbreak as she wants nothing more than to reassure the man in front of her.

“It’s okay, Buck.”

“It’s not okay! Doll, I haven’t seen you cry since Stevie nearly died on that mission in Ohio like two-years-ago! Talk to me.”

She takes a deep breath and wipes her face of the shedding tears.

“Do you want me to get Stevie?”

The question is innocent and makes sense, but her eyes widen and she shakes her head desperately.

“No! No, please, no.”

That truly makes the super soldier concerned.

“Doll, please can you tell me what’s happened?”

Never in the last eight-years that Bucky and (Y/N) have known each other has she been so reluctant to see Steve.

Another sob escapes her and it’s breaking his heart.

“Baby, please.”

“Steve got mad at me, alright?!” She manages an attempted shout. “I just wanted him to look after himself.”

“What happened? What did Steve do?”

He’s concerned. Massively.

“I was trying to get him to eat; he hasn’t eaten properly in so long. He’s so overworked and he’s hung up on all these mission reports. He told me that not everything was about me - shouted at me; told me to stop.” She’s whimpering and sniffling again now. “Please get him to eat something, James.”

That last sentence is the one that crushes him. She’s upset, yeah, but above all that, she’s still worried about the blond super soldier.

“Come on, baby, let’s go to our room and get into bed, yeah? I’ll go and speak to Stevie.”

Her eyes meet his and she looks scared, but the ocean blue gaze that he returns makes her bound to his every command.

The woman nods.

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

With the help of the Winter Soldier, (Y/N) manages to stand up, letting him lead her out of her private room and into their shared one of Steve’s.

“Here, let’s get you into your PJs, yeah?”

He doesn’t leave room for negotiation as he helps his girlfriend strip out of her casual dress and into one of his oversized t-shirts.

“You get snuggled up in bed, doll. I’m going to go and get Stevie, okay?”

He hates how she looks nervous at the mention of their other lover’s name.

“He loves you more than words can describe, baby girl, I promise you. He shouldn’t have lashed out at you, I’m gonna talk to him, okay?”

A hesitant nod and forced smile is enough for now.

“I’ll be back shortly, I promise.” He leans over and gives the woman a kiss on the lips, leaving her with one of her favourite shows playing on the TV.

“Bucky,” Her choked up voice calls out just before he leaves.

The man turns from his place in the doorway.

“I love you.”

The smile that takes over his expression is contagious.

“I love you too, baby girl. More than anything.”

Despite his reassurance to the woman, he’s pretty damn pissed for a number of reasons about Steve losing his cool with their girl. Reason number one being, how dare he? Reason number two being, he knows better than to overwork, yet here we are.

Bucky doesn’t even knock once he approaches the glass doors of the study where Steve is sat typing away on the laptop.

The blond doesn’t even glance up to see who entered. He barely heard the door open which enrages Bucky further.

The brunet slams the lid of the laptop shut without saying a word, prompting Steve’s head to shoot up, glaring daggers at whoever has interrupted him.

“What the fuck, James?!”

That makes Bucky really get annoyed.

“Are you serious right now, Rogers?”

“I’m in the middle of about seven different mission reports, Buck, I’ve gotta finish them.” The man sighs, going to open the lid of the PC once more, only for Bucky to hold it down. “James, seriously,”

“No. What you need to do is explain to me why our girlfriend has been crying for the last God-knows how many hours?”

That makes Steve snap back to reality.

“What? (Y/N) has been crying? Is she okay?”

Bucky literally rolls his eyes at that.

“Are you fucking serious, Steve?” He repeats, Steve looking confused, expression contorting as he realises that his boyfriend is seriously angry at him.

“Bucky, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The Winter Soldier’s head lolls back as he groans in frustration.

“You seriously have no idea?” He asks, rhetorically, watching Steve look almost scared. “Do you often shout at your girlfriend and forget it happened?”

Cap’s eyes widen at that, and he visibly gulps.

“What?”

“She came in here to make sure you were looking after yourself, which you weren’t, by the way, and you tell her that not everything is about her?! Are you fucking stupid, Steve?!”

He remembers it all too well in that moment, turning his head down to avoid the frustrated glare of his male lover.

“No. No, you don’t get to look away from me. Look at me.” Bucky demands, watching the blond super soldier reluctantly do so. “I come home from my own exhausting mission, search for (Y/N) for thirty-minutes, and find her crying her God-damn heart out on the balcony of HER room; not our room, Steve, no. Her room.”

Steve’s heart shatters and his eyes widen once more.

(Y/N) hates staying in her room. She’d always be in his or Bucky’s without a doubt.

“I- Buck-”

Bucky shakes his head and stands back upright as Steve is lost for words.

“I’m not mad at you, Steve. I get it, you know? You’ve been overworking for the last month, I know you’re stressed, but fuck, baby, you can’t hurt her like that. Do you know how much my heart fucking shattered when I saw her curled up in the corner of her own God-damn balcony?! It tore me apart. She hasn’t cried since you nearly fuckin-” Bucky chokes on his own word as he walks away from his lover.

“I’m sorry! Buck, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have let Fury send me on that many missions, I- I should’ve said no. I’m sorry.” Steve attempts, standing up and following the brunet, turning him around to face him once more.

“It’s not me you need to be apologising to, Stevie.”

Captain America nods and leans up to press a kiss to the man’s lips.

“I’m sorry, James.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

“I forgive you. Of course I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean it, but I swear to God, if you hurt her again…”

Steve is already shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of either of you getting hurt. Where is she?”

“Our room.”

He nods and begins heading toward the woman to which he owes more than he can give.

The door is half ajar when Steve gets there, he slowly opens it to reveal his girlfriend in all her glory, curled up under their Captain America themed duvet - which Sam bought the trio as a joke last Christmas. Her face is clear-as-day red from her earlier upset, and it breaks his heart.

The man knocks gently on the day as if not to startle the poor girl.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He offers a solemn smile when she turns to see who’s there.

He hates the way he can see her hesitation to speak to him as opposed to her usual squeal of his name, arms opening wide to welcome him into her cuddle-fest.

“Hi.” She manages, forcing her own smile.

There’s silence floating between them, the only sound being Jensen Ackles, in his role of Dean Winchester, talking a load of nonsense about pie on the TV that’s streaming Supernatural.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Steve manages, taking a step toward the bed. “Nothing can excuse the way I yelled at you, and I’m so sorry for that, but, sweetheart, trust me when I say I didn’t mean it. I was so stupidly stressed, and I should never have let it get to that point.”

She nods, truly believing his words, but it still hurt.

The blond sits down on the edge of the bed, not daring to cuddle his girlfriend until she’s comfortable.

“I love you so much, (Y/N) (L/N).”

A bigger smile taints her lips at that.

“I love you too, Steven.” Her voice is barely a whisper but he hears it clear as day.

“Can I hold you?”

(Y/N) smiles and shakes her head as if he was being silly.

“You never need to ask permission for that, Stevie. No matter what.”

With another sad smile, he pulls the woman into his arms and holds her tighter than ever before.

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I forgive you, but no more missions for a while.” She whispers.

“Yes, boss.”

Bucky’s leaning against the doorframe, watching the interaction. He took a detour to Tony’s office and made sure to give the billionaire a piece of his mind about making sure Fury didn’t have Steve on any missions for a long time.

“Is this the last episode?” The brunet speaks up, stripping himself of his clothes as he enters their room properly.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) nods.

“I still think we should watch Vampire Diaries instead.” Steve chuckles, mirroring Bucky’s actions.

“I pick the TV show, Rogers shuts his cake-hole.” (Y/N) teases, mocking a line from Supernatural and snuggling herself in the middle of the bed, sandwiched between the two super soldiers - where she belongs. “I love you both.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

“Love you always, doll.”

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