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hail-brod · 10 months ago

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A Chance and Beyond (5)

Previous chapter: (Chapter 4)

Next chapter: (Chapter 6)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Loki x FReader

A/N: AAA. Sorry for the 2 weeks delay. Busy sched and all that college stress honking at me. Just glad finally had the time to write!

Warning/s: Light angst?, light cusses, mentions of a home's destruction, nothing else probably (please tell me if I missed something!)

WC: 4.4k

You go to a trip with your sorcerer friend and also visit your other sorcerer...friend? Whatever he is to you, you just can't keep him away on your mind. Simp. And it seems like, you're getting quite attached to where you are. Bad. Very bad. Or is it?

As soon as you and Strange made your move to walk towards a road, you had come to realize that the people rounding and helping around the said 'Norway', we're dressed like....asgardians.

All with the females' flowy skirts and the males' simple tunic beneath their worn out cloaks, that feels like it has been drastically changed. It has been far from what you've always seen, far from the bright and luscious colors that everyone delighted in. Each and every one of them was adorned with a somber hue that even their countenance could match.

There's a pit in your stomach that uneased you so as you flew your eyes amongst the people you pass by. Some of the houses we're nearly finished while the others we're just being started. Tents we're also given afoot at a separate side of the field where the remaining people stayed idle for rest. Some peering eyes turn to you and Strange, no doubt more curious at the man in a bright red cloak.

You though, you peered right back in question and in concern.

"This is still Midgard?" you lowly asked, turning to your sorcerer friend. "Earth?"

"Yes."

When he turns to you, there's not much answer you could get from his expression. His inexpressible stare greeted you but it cracks with something else that unnerves you more.

He turns away, staring forward. "If you still need that grimoire, I'm afraid we'll have no luck getting it anymore."

You feel yourself slowly stop beside him. There's that growing hopelessness in your eyes, baring at his back as he continued, not noticing your halt. You glance around one more time.

You know what he meant. And it adds to the pile of needles piercing through your heart. Part of it was your lowered chances to travel back to the TVA, but what overrides it is knowing that there's a reality where Asgard have met it's terrible fate. Knowing that these people we're forced to leave their home-world because of it. And there's no doubt many we're also perished.

At this point, you're being used to the downing weight on your chest. You try to breathe deeply.

"You alright?" you snap your head towards Strange, who has stopped walking and now looking at you. He seems firm but he eyes you gently.

"What happened?" you almost ask in a whisper.

"I can't...tell you what exactly occurred. I don't know much about it..." he says. He turns his head somewhere and when you did the same, you see an unfamiliar sky-blue spacecraft parked far in the distance. "All I know is that, your crown prince and everyone else fought to save your people's lives."

There's a pause of the moment.

You couldn't say anything after that, so you continued to follow Strange. You feel proud knowing that Thor still has the determination to save others, as a hero and as a prince. Basking at the sight of a few asgardians with melancholic smiles, still finding hope amongst their families and friends—you know that Thor had done his best to protect everyone else.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

You also wonder if Loki did the same. You doubt he wouldn't be affected by all of this.

After a few turns and questions from your companion, asking where Thor might be to the passing asgardians, you're led to a crowded area situated near a harbor.

Resources of woods we're being hauled and carried by people, probably for construction of the houses. Others talked and yelled orders, throwing baskets over their shoulders, there's nets, and other supplies being given to mothers, fathers—everyone. They we're all busy.

"I didn't know asgardians we're this...cooperative." Strange mentions next to you.

You strained a smile. "We've had many wars." you say. "I'd wager it's the same here. We make sure our allies are always taken care of, especially their honor in battle."

When you finally spot some people bowing their heads to a gathering little circle as they walked past them in the distance, you and Strange paced up your steps.

You recognized two people conversing with someone unfamiliar to you. You see Thor's form and in front of him was a woman with intricate braids adorning her hair. And at their sides, was the raven haired god that you just realized you aren't prepared to see again.

He was talking to them, probably discussing a plan or an idea as the other two listened to him. You hesitated to follow your cloaked companion who's heading towards them as you tried to blend in with the busy crowds. Although, before you could decide to brave yourself up and walk forward again, he met your eyes.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

Why, just before you we're adamant when interacting with him. Maybe you we're just fooling yourself.

When he saw you, he stopped moving his mouth to talk as he gradually widened his eyes. It wasn't long before Thor and the woman turned their heads towards Loki's line of sight, landing on you. You briefly stiffed.

But Thor immediately broke out into a grin when he realized who caught his brother's attention. "My lady! What brings you here?" then he sees Strange. "And Doctor, of course."

"You sound disappointed." Strange gave him unamused look.

"What, me? Nooo." Thor tries to pat him on the back, but Strange's cloak slaps his hand away. The god frowns at the garment.

"Don't even attempt it."

Just as Strange arrived at their sides, with a courage you forced yourself to pick up, you followed suit. You try to sneak a glance at the god who's now directly in front of you. Loki looks down on you with no more than a brief stare and immediately flickered it between the other two men.

"Who's this?" the woman with the braids suddenly asks, attention on you.

"Oh, this is..." Thor says your name—which you certainly know he wasn't supposed to when Loki points him a dead look. It went unnoticed by his older brother. "A fellow asgardian! Not from around here but I won't disclose furthermore on that."

She raised a questioning look at Thor. "Really?" she says, eyeing you. "You don't look like it. I'm Brunnhilde."

You nodded, quite hesitant to meet anyone's eyes lest you might accidentally find yourself in Loki's cerulean ones. "Pleasure to meet you." you say with a polite smile.

She quirked a brow and grinned. "And a noble at that. The pleasure is all mine." she adds playfully. You confusingly blinked.

"Why, yes..." Thor's chuckle booms. "..how'd you know that?" his expression contorts, looking at her as if she just crossed him unmistakably.

"I've spent enough time with dickhead nobles to know which ones can run their pouty mouths to pray dumb orders." she darts her eyes to Thor then turns to you with a crank of her head. "Don't worry, you're not one of them."

You like her already.

This Brunnhilde woman seems like a very laidback person. Well, not so much if you consider her hardened muscles and confident stance. Someone who's likely a trained warrior.

"What about me?" Thor asks Brunnhilde. She turns to him and gave him a stare for a second, then shrugs. She eventually bid her goodbyes to the princes and you, mentioning along the lines of being needed for escorting newly imported goods at the pier.

"What did she mean-" Thor imitates Brunnhilde's shrug, eyeing the direction she left with irritation. "Sometimes I feel like she keeps insulting me."

She probably was.

"Enough of that, we came here for something." Strange suddenly says, turning to you then back at the princes. "We had already tried to use the Time stone and I'm afraid we need some alternatives."

This peaks Loki's interest, quirking up a brow. "And you need us to...what?"

Strange slowly shrugs as he tilted his head to you. "I believe this would be asgardian matters."

All eyes turned to you. You blinked and took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. It's not fair that he could just avert the attention to you the least you expect it.

"First of all, Asgard..." you paused. "I need something from there, but now I suppose that would be....unattainable." you lightly bared your eyes on the two princes, expecting them to say something. Though, your eyes dances around the other asgardians, scurrying about and making this place their new home.

Thor immediately tensed up, a sudden sadness visible in his eyes. "My lady, if you must know..." he starts, stepping closer to bring a hand on your shoulder and utters lowly. "we can have a chat somewhere else so you can prepare yourself with my...tale.."

His voice trails off but you reply. There's a feeling in you that doesn't want to know what happened; it might as well affect you more than it should. "No, it is fine. Your people have clearly seen the hardships. I can only imagine what truly happened. Honestly, I don't even want to imagine..." you gently inclined.

You feel the change in you to know what caused this. Maybe fear is running its way to your mind; another breaking point daring to burst you. In another time, maybe you want to know. Just...not right now.

Thor gives you a sympathetic look and nods, hands falling from your shoulder. "Alright then. Asgard is...gone, but our people will find their safe haven here. As you can already see," he lifts his palm up to present his surroundings, but he suddenly turns grim. "And what you seek to retrieve in Asgard, no doubt, has met the same fate. The realm itself is..."

"I understand." you say, the weight in you threatens to crash.

You breathed in. What now?

If the grimoire itself is gone, what other options do you have? There's not a single alternative that would be able to tell you how to conjure that command within the infinity stone. Not a single spell that would be able to link with it; no compatibility to successfully activate the magic.

Are you truly stuck here? It seems like the Norns have turned a blind eye on you—more than ever.

"What do you even intend to retrieve in Asgard?"

Your thoughts break as you turn to look at the voice. A voice you can never forget. When you finally dart your eyes on him, he had crossed his arms, eyes firm on you. But you know that isn't the firmest look he can give.

Loki raises a brow, awaiting your answer. You dazed off for a bit, rethinking if you should say it. Any asgardian sorcerer would know how absurd it is to consider something so dangerous. "The grimoire of Banna Fróðleikr." you almost muttered in shame.

The moment his firmness faded, you knew he's heard of it. He frowned but you didn't miss the brief concern laced in his expression. "Why in the Hels would you want to use it?"

"The 'Banana' what?" Thor snoops in, confused.

Loki ignores him as he takes a few steps closer to you. Your heart raced. You wanted to back up but your feet grounds you down. You soon noticed his movement was hesitant. "I believe you know what that grimoire holds; how dangerous the spells are contained there." he says, expecting you to elaborate.

It was clear he was questioning why you needed such a thing. And it doesn't really help that you we're already subjected as a suspicious stranger by his 'comrades', or even him. You know how dangerous it is. But you've experienced far worse fates. The spell is your last option and the only option you can think of, and you're willing to risk it if the chance is still presented.

"One spell." you say, clearing it. "That's all I ask from it, not with something ominous nor malicious. I don't intend to use it that way."

He momentarily creases his brow. Any lie that he had probably try to pick up from you was nonexistent. "It's still a big risk. Actually, it depends on how much risk the spell can do."

You see him soften but he immediately puts on his mask. A sudden feeling of belonging churns in you when you took a moment scanning his face, but you shook it away with a blink. "Well...does it matter now?"

He lingers his eyes on you—much more intently. As if digging through your memories and memorizing every detail on your face. You know he's trying to look for any hidden intent.

Then he breaks it with a faint sigh. "I have it."

Huh?

"You have...what?" you say, stunned.

Strange looks at him with a huffs. "You just can't get your hands off of anything, can you?"

That earns him a glare from the god. But you only blink several times as Loki turns to the others with irritation. That served you a chance to observe him furthermore. The opportunity to have him there just a few steps away from you, made you feel surreal. You start to realize how mature he looks. That he's slightly taller than you're used to, while his black locks seemed even more refined with more curls.

And the last time you held them, you we're worried sick on the ground as he rested his head on your lap, bleeding. He wasn't even grunting in pain but chuckling as he stared up on you. At some point, you would've thought he was a bloody masochist.

Alas, you stopped yourself. You hear Thor say something scoldingly at his brother. You bring yourself back in the chatter and remembered why you we're momentarily taken. You still have some things to address.

"Will you both shut up? And stop antagonizing me, I only have the copy; not the real thing." Loki bites back.

"That doesn't make any difference." his brother remarked.

The grimoire. You have a chance.

"Wait," you jump in. "wait, that's...that's great. Good great." you tried to say. You feel the relief washing through you. When Loki turns to you, you realized your eyes never left his form. He almost took your breathe away.

Oh, by the Þrír Wells of Yggdrasil. Why do you keep getting distracted?

The said god raised a brow, seemingly judging you for sounding too chirpy at the revelation of a dangerous item. "Is it now?"

"W-Well, I mean..."

As you tried to redeem yourself, you can't help but be sidetracked when he slightly tilted his head to the side with a quaint smug look.

All words die on your throat.

It hurts when you see your Loki in him, but at the same time, it swells that you're witnessing him all over again. Right here—in front of you.

"Danger is hardly great," Strange declares. "but fine. Whatever spell you want to do, it'd better be worth all the risk." you hurried your attention towards him and eventually notice his uneasiness, eyes darting here and there.

"Of course..." you trail, concerned. Why is he now worried over the plan? "I can't promise anything but the odds can be on our side." you try to reassure.

As you debated in your head to ask whether the midgardian sorcerer is having second thoughts, an asgardian bellows mirthful words to Thor. The man informs him of something about a preparation for a bonfire feast, which also inspirited the other asgardians into a cheer.

That brings a ghost of a smile on your lips. It has been tough yet they still manage to see light through these times.

Thor brings out a baritone laugh, hands on his hips. "Never thought they'd be this eager to have a brief feast. Then again, asgardians are never brought down that easily." he says, a bittersweet gentleness in his tone.

"I just hope you're not going to let them consume our food supplies in one night." Loki declaimed in feign annoyance.

"Oh, you worry too much brother. Hmm, perhaps that is why you're my wingman." this time, he tries to pat Loki in the back which earned him an eyeroll.

"Or more like a babysitter." you hear him mutter under his breath as Thor turns away, addressing cheerful words at his people. You couldn't help but huff out a light laugh, that being not unheard from Loki's ears as he points you a look. One that he tries to hide as he stands up straight, authoritatively.

Well, isn't he tough?

Before you could forget about your mission, your cloaked friend calls your name.

But Thor interrupts him. "Why don't you join us for tonight?" he stares at you and then hesitantly at Strange, as if he didn't want him to accept. "Only if you are not busy of course. You and your- " he lightly waved his hands around. "silly sorcery stuffs."

"Oh. I don't..." I don't know. Should you? There's no arguing you're tempted to. Looking around....these are the people you're fighting with fate to see again.

Only for a brief moment. Only for one night. Maybe you deserve it.

Do you?

You glanced at Loki who's eyes away from you yet you know he's listening. With him again—just for a little while...

You then fly your eyes at Strange, but oddly, he wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he was frowning into nothingness—as if there was a presence he was trying to detect. It was your turn to call his name.

All the other eyes turn to him, wondering the same thing. This brought the cloaked sorcerer out from his troubles and immediately replies, stern. "Let's resume tomorrow. I have some business in the sanctum." he says to you, turning to his side. There's a sense of rush in his movements yet he still manages to sound composed. Before you can follow him with questions, he continues. "You can stay here if you want. I can come back here tomorrow morning."

You were taken aback, gears turning to immediately decide. "Is that really fine?" you stall, not sure if you should assist with what's bothering him or just be selfish and stay.

He quips you a look. "I know you want to stay." he opens a portal and you're left grounded on your spot. He gives you one last look and points a glance behind you with a low whisper. "And it seems like they do too."

You don't know what to say to that. You never expected you'd be in this situation given that you had been thinking a lot more about getting out of this place. And now you're faced with what you've always wanted, but at the same time, this isn't where you're supposed to be. You're supposed to be acting; to move out where you have stuck yourself in.

But are you really stuck right now? To you, it feels like there's already roots growing underneath you.

When he entered, he didn't waste a second closing it, knowing that you already made up your mind.

"That settles it then." Thor's voice booms behind you. Even if you can't see him, there's no doubt he's grinning widely.

When you turned, you weren't mistaken.

Your heart was running fast.

You didn't even run, not so much as a jog. And yet, as you walk beside the young prince, you couldn't calm yourself down. By the Hels, you know you were nervous...and more conscious. What could've probably caused that? Your first few interactions with him we're adequately placed within meters away, and just right before your not very pleasant morning.

Now, you we're inches beside him. Of course you had to peek glances—and he certainly looks like he wants to avoid you.

That made you even more nervous.

Had you said or done anything wrong? We're you acting too odd for a stranger and he sees you strange? Had you made yourself a fool in front of him?

Maybe, you had been too straightforward the last time you talked. That explains it.

When Thor proceeded to lead you both to the site of the bonfire feast, he had placed himself ahead of you, giving his regards to his people with encouragements. While you and Loki trailed behind him quite meekly; although, having his chin up makes him look more confident and high in power compared to you—who looks tense and far from his confident aura.

But said aura hides something underneath it.

You start to wonder if his people also treat him differently for being...him. You can't be too sure if circumstances are alike than the ones that you've known...but you already had your fair share of witnessing the other people's distrust against him.

A certain blond soldier comes to mind. Well, not just him. You're quite certain there's a lot more people, more than the Avengers, that are not in favor of his character.

It proved to be right when a few asgardians hesitantly bow their heads with a strained smile towards the young prince as they scurry away with not so much a glance. A big contrast to when they greet Thor; a warm smile and a tone of cheeriness, matching even his bright demeanor.

Some things do never change.

But it was also quite...new. Or different.

Sure, in your timeline your people would always regard him with a fearful and scornful stare, but never in a way that seems like they're trying to...see him. In this timeline, their hesitancy almost feels like a test of the waters, testing if they'll burn themselves or freeze in fear of his wrath—or if the chance serves it, maybe neither of those. There's a hiding trepidation in their eyes, but their intention for genuineness wishes to push it far out of their heads.

And when you witnessed Loki's attempt at a polite nod on every bow he receives, you know he's doing the same.

You know there's a mask hovering over his guarded demeanor, but you also know he's capable of being genuine. You hadn't realize your tensed form have downgraded to little abnormal heart beats when Loki himself caught your attention on him.

"Distracted once again now, are we?"

Screw it, you're tense again.

He stares down at you as he says it, but there's an implied teasing on his tone. He's clearly remembered your last conversation.

"No, no." you try to laugh it out. "I'm nowhere close to being famished at all."

"Shame. Considering that you've been invited to a feast, you'd at least have more room for a banquet meal." he says, looking ahead.

"Is that an offer?"

He narrows his brows and lightly snaps his eyes on you. What?

As if he heard your thought of confusion, his expression fades out into a softer manner. You realized he was observing you and somehow, whatever it is he saw, brought his guard down.

Maybe because this time, you didn't hide your intentions with a teasing grin. We all know what would've happen if you did. It could be you this time and not the meal.

"You're bold," he starts. "considering the forbidden book as your way out of here. Not many would dare attempt to read such destructive texts, especially amateurs." he averts the subject.

You lightly scrunched your nose. He continues before you could say anything. "But, you are no amateur, I can admit that. You're...well-versed..in the least I could say. Undoing my disguise spell work is undeniably no easy feat." he admits. You can feel that he's limiting himself for any more words that he could give, possibly because he doesn't want to flatter you too much.

He's definitely acknowledged your sorceress might.

"That is actually high...coming from you." you say. You try to hide your swelling pride as you looked away. "I'm honored."

He stays silent for awhile before replying. "You...think highly of me?"

There's a hint of disbelief in his tone when he asks. "Well, yes." you simply answer, though you can't help but feel your heart swell for being quite forward. Still, you know it's the truth. "I don't see why I shouldn't think so."

You leave it at that as you pondered for awhile. You've definitely let yourself become an open book.

Admittedly, he pokes unto it. "Do you, perhaps, idolize your second prince in your timeline, girl?" he teasingly says.

You didn't reply, cheeks daring to flush.

You've definitely had an ounce of respect for the prince especially at sorcery, but to idolize him? You wonder.

You couldn't seem to bring out a valid answer, or a decent one at that. Maybe a sensible or a non-superfluous information that will ultimately sound too despicable for his ears. If you lie now, he'd know.

Though, you don't really have much of a choice. So you just keep stalling. "Isn't idolizing too much?"

"Is worshipping a god not so?"

Ah, fair. He's a god and a prince, and as an asgardian you're very much inclined to worship your gods and obey His Highness. Not something out of practice at all.

When you kept quiet, he added more. "Still, if not idolization then maybe something...far lighter, I garner?"

"Admiration?" you instinctively answer.

"Well, yes..." he points you a quick stare, one that seemed cautious. "...admiration...?" he eventually questions, as if it just had caught up to him and frowns at you.

Just when you we're about to take your words back, or try to justify yourself, Thor bellows yours and Loki's name far ahead. You hadn't noticed how far he had gone and how different the surroundings looked. There we're no more houses mingled together, instead, you we're far much closer to the sea. You we're atop a grassy cliff stretched to the far side and it's edges seem to bend slightly upright, as if forming a some sort fence. It makes the land feel much more like a larger cockpit but in a cozy way.

And the ocean's view is just...breathtaking.

Somewhere in the center of the place was the unlit bonfire; the woods we're piled up together like a massive tent and around it, people placed boulders and more sets of woods to sit on.

Evidently, night was nearing as the sun slowly sets down, bearing witness to everyone preparing the feast.

It's been awhile since you've been to a bonfire feast, especially not with this amount of people. But you know how right this feels.

For once, you don't feel out of place.

Previous chapter: (Chapter 4)

Next chapter: (Chapter 6)

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'A Chance and Beyond' taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @lcolumbia1988

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dream-thief-forever-amen · 10 months ago

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The thing I like best about Word of Honor is all the little couple fights. When they have their over dramatic moments and swear they are walking different paths of just crush each other with words and silence. And not five minutes later they are tiptoeing back into each other’s business. You ain’t still MAD is you can I offer you some fan flirting or eye contact or magical back massage or whatever see there there now we are right as rain… kisses and finger hearts and shit I love them

I also like all the magical martial arts musicians? I’m not sure what that’s about but it’s super fun. Especially when they’re wearing tons of chunky boho jewelry and fabulous eyeliner. Pluck those strings, bitch, play!

Also also the ghosts - I mean I don’t get it - they’re dead but also running around bleeding and hugging and face swapping. And how much overlap is there between the lesbian scorpions and the ghosts are they one and the same is this just a sect I’m so confused but they’re all extra sulky and spiteful so they are my favs and I get upset when one of them perishes - even though they’re already ghosts so… re-perish?

I love it. Please don’t explain a thing to me I honestly am having more fun just going with the flow. Oh, this is happening? Cool, cool.

My boys just drinking nonstop, lounging on rooftops, gently flying through the air. I want a bird to fly past them… like a big V of noisy geese who are like honk honky you silly boys put your backs into it you’re holding up the line here we are moving and you two are just leisurely gliding around like butterflies.

Also that kid had jewelry in his gut this whole time and just sliced himself right up without any warning and I was like HOLY shit little bang boy you are a tough cookie after all. Holding up that black bloody chunk and the dude is like gross let me sanitize this thing first while the little bang boy is like wait you got alcohol over there cause I am in need sir

And I may never recover from the love struck rich dufus telling everyone he spent the night with his crush to protect her secret but also the audacity that cute little minx I wanna squeeze his cheeks and smack his behind and pat him on the head cause he’s got great taste in women that’s for sure - little plucky girl is a true beauty

But not as beautiful and mysterious as evil braid boy and his flawless eyeliner and moonshine facial highlights boy those cheekbones be glowing! I don’t even remember who he is - I assume he wants the blue glass bangle too for the armory or whatever or does he want something else? Baddie I hope you get it all honey you deserve it… that sort of devotion to a goth aesthetic deserves the world - the whole world - where is your soul mate? I feel like he’d be well suited to travel the world with a talking black cat or something…

Sigh.

I don’t get the whole nails in the chest thing either but I like a pitiful man and I love the flirty king who’s determined to save him and I can’t wait to figure out how they’ll get out of this or both die and be reincarnated as geese or whatever is gonna happen down the line it’s too campy to completely break my heart I think so I have faith they’ll pull through and find ways to stay drunk for all eternity together. And forget about the nails what about your livers??? Guess that magic flute cures hangovers too

#word of honor #random thoughts #I don’t even remember what episode I’m on #14?#never end!

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lilithsaintcrow · 2 years ago

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Tonight at dinner the kids were telling me Astronomy Facts. They enjoy seeing their mother suffer existential terror; it’s fun for all involved!

DID YOU KNOW, for example, that black holes can evaporate? Apparently it has to do with antimatter and takes billions of years for a single microgram BUT IT’S POSSIBLE.

Also, Jupiter is probably part of the reason we survive on our rocky little pissant of a planet, because it deflects or sucks up all sorts of flying space rocks that might otherwise give us a dinosaur-killing bad day. Jupiter is also not big enough to be a failed star and I think that's adorable. It is a thicc boi just doin' his heckin' duty.

On the other hand, the universe didn’t cool down enough for atoms to form until MULTIPLE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS after the Big Bang and I find that terrifying and wondrous at once.

My son got really excited telling us about how measuring the speed of light is a two-way deal, and also about why supermassive black holes were possible (because of GIANT HONKING STARS when the universe was smol), and he did not roll his eyes when I asked, “the song or the celestial bodies?”

Which shows a great deal of restraint.

And my daughter told me about a GIANT WALL OF RADIATION at the edge of the universe that we can’t measure past, and I said, “Yet,” and we were all silent for a few moments, contemplating that horrifying and wonderful prospect.

Like I said, fun for the whole family.

We live amid utterly shocking wonders, tiny perishable blobs looking at vast celestial fires for the briefest of moments, and somehow we carry on laughing and loving each other.

That’s really neat.

#said at dinner #what we know is true #we live amid wonders

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another-random-object-show · 1 year ago

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SEASON 1, EPISODE 1: CROSSING THE PIT.

AUTHORS NOTE: This episode took months to write, so sorry for the shift from Script Format to Novel Format.

(SCENE: A JUNKYARD AT NIGHT, CRICKETS CHIRP AND STARS SHINE. THE MOON IS A STRANGE ORANGE-YELLOW.)

SUNNY (EXCITEDLY): Moony! Moony

MOONY (TURNING TO FACE SUNNY): Hm...?

SUNNY (EXCITEDLY): WE GOT INTO AROS!!!

MOONY (CALMLY): Oh... ok!

SUNNY (RADIANT): even Lunartic got in! :D

MOONY (HORRIFIED): Gasp!

LUNARTIC (APPEARING): What? Whattareya gaspin' for?

MOONY (CALMLY BOWING): Nothing at all.

LUNARTIC (SINISTERLY): Good, because if you were gasping at me getting in...

Lunartic: Sunny would be getting it.

Moony (PLEADING): Loonie, please, he's JUST a kid...

Lunartic (sadistically): So? Children can get it too...

Sunny (excitedly): GUYS!! LOOOK!!

(A BUS DRIVES INTO THE JUNK, HONKING AT THE THREE.)

Sunny (excitedly grabbing Moony and Lunartic's Hands): The bus is here! LET'S GO! :D

Moony (weary): I have a bad feeling about this...

Sunny (waving excitedly as the approach the Bus's Entrance): Hi, Mr. Host! :D

The Gourd: Greetings...

The Gourd (Dramatically): I...

am the Gourd.

Sunny (excitedly): AND I'M SUNNY!! C'mon!! Let's goo!! :D

(Moony and Lunartic silently follow behind, and sit in one of the 3-person wide seats.)

(Sunny begins to yawn, feeling tired.)

Moony (nurturing): Maybe you should rest, sweetie...

Sunny (tired, closing his eyes.): okk...

(Sunny goes to sleep laying his head on Moony's Lap, which somehow doesn't combust.)

(Hours later...)

(BUMP! Sunny wakes up.)

(HALT!)

The Gourd (turning in his Bus Driver's Seat.): We're here.

Sunny (excited): YAY!! Let's go! =D

(All 24 contestants get off the bus and look around.)

The Gourd: One last thing...

(The Gourd levitates the Bus in the air, then claps, making it disappear.)

The Gourd (Cheekily): No leaving!

Question Mark: Where are we?

The Gourd (appearing behind Question Mark): Obviously the (a garble of the words "Texan", "Floridian", "Mexican", "Californian", "Canadian", "Italian", "Zealandic", "French", "German", and "Spanish") plains!

The Gourd (moving on): Now form 8 teams of 8! =)

Sunny (to Moony and Lunartic): Let's stick together! :-)

Lunartic: Alright. Moony?

(Moony is staring in the distance at Starry.)

Lunartic (scoffing): Jeez, just move on already...

Moony (reluctantly): ...alright...

(Cut to Phantous building his team...)

Phantous: Alright, we've got... 5? People?

(Comedai, Tragedai, and Mime are counted as 1, 2, and 3, while Paperplates says "Yep!" and is counted as 4.)

Phantous (thinking): Good...

(He turns and looks at the pool of contestants.)

Phantous (excitedly): How about these?

(He points at Hangman, Starry and House.)

Hangman (hovering over): Alright..

Starry (walking alongside): Sure, I suppose...

House (sitting): You guys are creepy, no thanks!

(⅞ Team Members!)

Phantous (to GyroGyro, Penta, and Cloudy.): You three?

Cloudy (intently): Sure! I'll join!

Phantous (excitedly): Yeah!

(8/8 Team Members!)

Question Mark (to Lunartic and Moony): Let's merge teams to make a full set.

Lunartic, overlapping Moony, said "Alright."

Moony noticed Sunny's disappearance and said— "Wait, where's Sunny—?"

Lunartic, shrugging, says; "Oh well, one less issue."

Sunny, holding GyroGyro, says; "I want him!! He's so silly!!"

Lunartic yells at Sunny, screaming— "Sunny, what have I said about—"

(GyroGyro haunts Lunartic into a daze.)

Question Mark, referring to The Colon Duo, adds; "also these two!"

Angel, at the same time as Devil, says; "Salutations!"

Devil, at the same time as Angel, says; "PERISH!"

Sunny, agreeing, shouts; "YAY!!"

The Gourd, listing, noted "then by automation, Star, Heart, Penta, Triangula, House, Cuby, Lightning and Flower are all on the same team!"

Sunny immediately chiming in ring; " Oh!!! I bet this team will be so FUN!"

("Team FUN!" is now Team 1's Team Name.)

Phantous shouts; "They're naming teams?! Well, I formed this team with Comedy, Tragedy, Mime and Paperplates since we were already a group... why not be..."

("The Masquerade" is now Team 2's Team Name.)

The Gourd, to Star, Heart, Penta, Triangula, House, Lightning, Cuby and Flower, said: "and you're...?"

House, confused says; "What?"

(Team "What?" is now Team 3's Team Name.)

Star offended, shouts: "THAT'S NOT WHAT HE—!!"

The Gourd, clapping, cuts in with: "Alright, be quiet now!"

The Gourd now turns around and stares at a piece of land.

Hangman, after a moment of awkward silence, asks: "So what's the first challenge?"

The Gourd then hovers his hands over an area, an aura pulsating as from the ground, a strange stone structure erects.

The Gourd now blasts upward.

Hangman disappointingly groaned; "I'll go after him."

House curiously asked; "How will–?"

Hangman groans before grabbing House and being raised by his rope upwards.

Hangman arrives, followed by The Gourd clapping.

The contestants appear as Gourd says–

The Gourd would now announce— "CONTESTANTS! The first challenge... is to cross an OBSTACLE COURSE DANGLING ABOVE LAVA! Watch the example contestants VERY closely!"

A Circle and an Egg are used.

"You must find a way to get to the other side of this vat of lava! Use either the large, yet trickety platforms, or the thin-yet-stable beams! If you fall into the lava and die, you are DISQUALIFIED!" Gourd says.

"Wait, you're going to let us die—?" Starry asks, being ignored as Gourd shouts "GO!"

"Oh, alright—" Starry said as we pan over to Team Fun.

"Guys! I have a plan!" Moony said.

"Shoot." Devil Colon said.

"Sunny and Colon Duo, you guys can carry us across the obstacle course while me and Lunartic simply do the obby!" Moony stated.

"Sounds good! ^^" Angel said, now picking up Question Mark on her head, While Devil Colon carried Exclamation Mark, who began screaming, on his back.

Sunny now jumped into the lava, being unaffected, and caught GyroGyro and Period.

The Colon Duo now flew over the Obby, and waited for Gourd.

"Hoho! Excellent loophole skills!" He praised. "I never said you CAN'T just avoid the obby, so The Colon Duo, Question Mark, and Exclamation Mark are safe!"

Switching to Team "What?" and The Masquerade.

Cuby began trying to hop across the large-yet-trickety platforms, inviting Heart along.

"Uhm, there isn't much room, darling!" Heart exclaimed, despite there being a perfect amount of room on the platform.

Paperplates jumped, only to be blown into the vat of lava and burn.

"7 members on The Masquerade remain!" Gourd annouced.

"Aren't you gonna bring her back or something?" Question Mark said to Gourd, who blinked, before closing his hand into a fist, and...

COOL 80S DRUM RIFF!

Paperplates was back! ...with a small stain of soot on her.

Mime and Phantous got across, since Hangman was carrying them, while Cloud carried Starry across.

"Alright, that means—" Phantous was about to speak...

"WHATTERS!! HURRY IT UP!! THERE'S ONLY 2 MEMBERS ON BOTH TEAMS LEFT!!" Star shouted.

Penta, Lightning, House, and Triangula are safe!

Sunny, Period and GyroGyro are also safe!

Switch to Moony and Lunartic.

"Loonie, c'mon!" Moony said to Lunartic.

"...I could kill you right now if I wanted to." Lunartic said.

"...Loonie, no."

"Do it.

For us."

Randomly, as Heart and Cuby were about to cross, an asteroid was thrown at the two, blocking their paths.

"Good girl." Lunartic said, now crossing the platform to be considered safe alongside Moony.

"TEAM FUN IS SAFE! MASQUERADIANS! WHATTERS!ONE OF YOU WILL BE ELIMINATED! HURRY IT UP!" Gourd annouced, as Comedy and Tragedy now rushed.

Star tackled Comedy, killing both himself and Comedy.

"Comedy is disqualified!"

"Yes!" Heart said, glad her off-screen suggestion worked.

"Which means since Tragedy crossed, albeit crying, THE MASQUERADE IS SAFE!" The Gourd announced.

"No!" Heart said.

"Team What?, you're on the chopping block tonight." Gourd said.

The Gourd now flies out of the chamber, flying downwards before teleporting the contestants back onto ground level.

"You have a few moments before the elimination ceremony begins! GOOD LUCK." The Gourd said, before cackling maniacally and dissolving into the air.

"Hey, hey! It's alright!" Phantom said, trying to comfort a flailing Tragedy.

"Eugh, overreaction..." Heart groaned. "For real..." Lightning agreed. "Tsk... speaking of which, I think we know who to eliminate..." Heart told Lightning, "Ugh, yes! That FREAK has GOT to go, like honestly, what was he even doing...?"

Star and Comedy were then revived.

"Let's go." Star said. "FREAKS! Follow me. WE'VE got a plan."

ELIMINATION TIME!

"Welcome to elimination, Team What?, all 8 of you will now vote for ONE person to be eliminated. Whoever has the most votes LEAVES, voting... is NOW."

IN THE BOOTH

"Goodbye, silent-y." Star votes Cuby.

"Nobody will miss you!" Heart blows a kiss.

"I have to get on their good side, sorry buddy." Penta votes Cuby.

"Uhm... I don't... like her... she makes me feel... uncomfortable." Triangula votes Heart.

House casts a vote.

"We've GOT to stick together! We're like, BFFLs right now!" Lightning votes.

Cuby angrily slams a button.

"The way they're treating poor Cuby... I despise that woman..." Flower sighs deeply and votes.

VOTES ARE IN!

"If you get a Marshmallow, you will be SAFE!" The Gourd announced.

FIRST SAFE IS...

Star!

"Oh yeah! I knew I could count on you guys."

Lightning...

"Let's go girl!" Lightning exclaims to Heart.

Flower.

"Ooh, yay! <)" Flower says, taking his marshmallow.

and House!

House opens his door as the marshmallow flies through.

Now half of you are safe;

and half of you are NOT.

"OWOWPSJWPNDPDJAPWJEOE!!!"

Triangula, you're overreacting. You're safe.

and so is Penta.

One of you got 3 votes.

The other got 5.

Heart is shocked as she stares at Cuby angrily.

THE LAST PERSON SAFE IS...

HEART WITH 3 VOTES.

Cuby is out, receiving 5 votes from the rest of his team.

Cuby begins frantically scribbling, however, Gourd begins to spin the Cube back into...

A lifeless Nintendo GameCube.

Flower stares in shock as Heart and Star celebrate.

"That's all for today...

SEE YOU NEXT TIME. :-)"

END.

AROS was written by TheWiseGuest.

All characters' voices, present or not, were acted out by L. Alberto S.

FIN.

JOIN ANOTHER RANDOM OBJECT SHOW TO WIN YOUR DEEPEST DESIRE.

Cuby holds the flyer, before gripping it.

#episode 1 #s1e1 #another random object show #aros season 1 #aros #object shows

2 notes · View notes

imagine4000 · 2 years ago

Text

Turtle Rush Part 9

Hey guys! Thanks for your support! Here’s the next chapter before the finale, so I hope you stick around to the end. Happy reading. Stay safe, healthy, and in good spirits!

. .

WHIIRRRR~

The latch opens up, letting Raph and Dahlia step out of the tank.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“We’ll be fine, Leo. You just keep your twin away from committing murder.”

“Whaaa—nooo~. I was just going to have a friendly demonstration of why you shouldn’t mutualize, dismember, and/or humiliate the very existence of your enemies who dare mess with—”

SLAP!

“No! Bad Donnie, bad!”

SPRITZ–SPRITZ!

“Augh!”

“No plotting or evil scheming! Back in your corner!”

Raph and Dahlia sweat drop at Mikey spraying water at his brother as if scolding a cat. The duo then confronts the deer yokai.

“Miss Dahlia.”

“Artio.”

She scans the area.

“A forcefield...”

“You didn’t think I would waltz around in this mess unarmed, did you?”

Artio reaches into his pockets and takes out silver brooches.

“Protection charms?”

“This situation on the surface is bad for business below. So, Mr. Corvidian is offering a deal.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

“Raph, please...”

“These charms will repel the curse.”

“Let me guess,” Dahlia assumes, “you help us break the spell and stop those thieves. In return...”

“You promise to give yourself up.”

HONK—HONK!

[Fat chance, buck-o! Don’t try to angle the situation in your favor!]

D2k18 waves his fist towards Artio in anger while his voice booms through the speakers.

“Sorry, but that deal ain’t happenin’.”

“You won’t last ten seconds out there without getting possessed, big guy. You’ve witnessed firsthand, Dahlia...that curse is too great, even for you. Either you take the deal, or both our cities will perish.”

“If I agree?”

“Corvidian can care less if your friends try to rescue you. That’s how confident he is at getting his way.”

“Oh, we’ll be there to stop him,” Raph challenges, “you can bet on that.”

Artio reaches out, prompting Dahlia to shake his hand.

“When does it happen?”

“Who knows...it’s up to my boss when he feels like it. But know that you and I will meet on the outskirts of the Hidden City. Some day.”

“I understand. For now, you and Raph lead a team to getting that firestone.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ve got one more stop to make to even the odds.”

. .

>>>>>>>FAST FORWARD>>>>>>>

CREAKING~

Dahlia leads R/M2k3, D/L2k12, D/M2k18 into the piled wreckage facility.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’re we doin’ in a junkyard?”

“More like a deathtrap,”M2k18 quivers, “this is a really bad idea, ‘Lia.”

“What do you have to be afraid of in here?”

CLANG!

“Hey you!”

“Woah!”

They see the giant mantis hopping off the cars and lands in front of them.

“A giant bug?!”

“Man, this city is crawling with mutants.”

“Say, you’re not those annoying turtles. Who the heck are youz? Their cousins?”

“Who wants ta know?”

“Me, ya overgrown salad.”

“Knock it off, Repo,” Dahlia cuts in, “I need to borrow your cat.”

“Uhh...a cat?”

“Oh, Mrs. Nubbins~! I’m back~!”

“Woah, woah, hey! Are you crazy?! You tryin’ ta get us killed?!"

CLATTER!

The turtles gawk the moment the mutant feline runs towards them.

“Every man for himself!”

“I’m too pretty to die!”

“Me too!”

SLIDE!

“Sit, Nubbins!”

SCREEECCHHH!

By Dahlia’s command, Nubbins sits in front of her before the others become cat food.

“Down~...”

THUMP!

“Now, shake.”

The manti-cat lowers her mantis claw for Dahlia to grab.

“Good, girl.”

Dahlia tosses a tuna fish, which Nubbins happily eats.

Reow~

Nubbins purrs against her head.

“Aww, I missed you too. Look what I got.”

Dahlia waves a protection charm before pinning it on her collar. Under Nubbins’ left paw is her owner, still groaning in pain.

“Ugh...say, how come she listens to you?”

“It’s a female thing.”

“So, this is Plan N, huh?”

“What better way to round up some rogue villains than with a rogue mutant herder.”

“In this case, a giant cat bug.”

“Wait till our Raph gets a look at you.”

“Now wait a sec! You can’t just—”

“Relax, I got your compensation.”

Dahlia points her thumb towards the crates of used parts, satisfying the greedy mutant.

“Alright, boys, let’s move out.”

ROAR~!

With everyone on board, Nubbins leaps out of the junkyard. Riding up front, Dahlia feel D2k18’s arms around her waist.

“I can’t let you go through with it.”

“Somehow, I knew you were lipreading back there.”

“I’m not kidding.”

He tightens his hold, resting his head on her shoulder.

“You can’t expect me to let you give yourself up like that.”

“I have to, Donnie.”

“But he’s—”

“Artio is much of a victim to Corvidian as my dad was. There must be another reason for wanting me to go with him. I have to find out for myself.”

Dahlia puts a hand over his cheek.

“If anything does happen, I know you’ll swoop in and save me like a boss.”

“Like you need saving,” he chuckles, “but give me one moment of heroism so I can rub it in thy brother’s face.”

“You rub your success in anyone’s face.

“Aww~.”

“Shut it, Mikey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you, knucklehead.”

“Watch out!”

SLIDE~!!

L2k12’s warning makes Dahlia pull on Mrs. Nubbins’ collar, avoiding a collision with a runaway truck.

CRASH/CLATTER!

Looking up, their mouths drop at the building where the gem is, covered in mystic vines and a cloud of mist circling in the sky.

“That wasn’t there a minute ago.”

“We better hurry. Anyone have eyes on Colton?”

“DAAHHHH!”

WHOOSH!

“Mikey?!”

M2k12 screams as he dangles by Colton’s tail, being jet-rocketed in circles. April and D2k3 spot them when passing by.

“Thank goodness you’re here!”

“Splinter, Raph, and Artio are fighting Jax! Other Donnie and Draxum are heading for the barrier!”

“Donnie, give Purple-Rain a lift! Leon, Red-King, you help capture Colton and the others! I’ve got Jax!”

Everyone but Dahlia gets off of the mutant cat.

“Hey, Nubbins~ see the tasty fishman?”

The feline licks her lips in response.

“Go fish!”

REOW!

Nubbins makes a running start then climbs up the skyscraper while Dahlia forms two swords to evade every obstacle in their way.

FWOOM!

Landing on the rooftop, Dahlia hops off of Nubbins and sees Jax rampaging against the trio.

“Raph!”

“Dahlia—you’re okay!”

“We need to get this charm onto Jax! It’s the only way to repel the spell on him!”

“Give me the charm and keep distracting him!”

“No, it is too dangerous!”

“There’s no time! Artio, do it!”

The deer tosses the charm to Dahlia as the others hold Jax off. Pulling the metal off the pipes, Dahlia shoots four pieces to form handcuffs and ankle bracelets chaining the sea creature in place.

SCREE~EECH!

“Watch it!”

SHATTER!

The men back away when Jax breaks the restraints.

“He’s been exposed by the spell for too long!”

FWIP—FWIP!

“Dahlia!”

SNAG/URGH!

One of Jax’s dreadlocks wraps around Dahlia’s wrist and pulls her in.

“Big mistake!”

Using his strength against him, she takes this chance to cling from behind and clip the charm onto his coat.

SHAAA~

“GASP!”

THUMP!

In seconds, Jax is on his knees, wheezing, while Dahlia stands beside him. The red, scaley being finally turns to the girl, dazed, and confused.

“Kid...you...you saved me.”

“Hey, even thieves like you don’t deserve ‘this whole situation’.”

[Guys, we got a problem!]

[It’s the crystal!]

Hearing the Donatello’s, they look up at the tower where they’re stationed.

“According to the level of mystical properties that’s radiating at a high frequency with—”

“It’s overheating! The inferno gem has become a ticking timebomb!”

[Say what?!]

“Not even Colton’s facial recognition could turn this off!”

“At this rate, it’ll explode with such force, the entire world will succumb to madness in mere seconds!”

[So, what do we do?! There has to be another way!]

[How much time until?]

“I’m estimating about, uhh...seven minutes?”

[Aw, swell! We have three geniuses and not one of them can come up with a plan?!]

“Get off our shell, hothead!”

“You try tearing down a ginormous mystic weapon the size of a tour bus!”

“That’s enough,” Dahlia shouts, “all of you—head for the loading docks!”

[What are you gonna do?]

“Something stupid. Leo, portal them, now.”

[But I—]

“Do it...please.”

[...You better come back.]

“With a dozen pizzas, mi amigo.”

[Dahlia—no! Whatever it is—]

She cuts D2k18 off and turns to Artio.

“Years ago, Nova taught me a spell only used for the most crucial moments. I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“...It’s a long shot...but we don’t have a choice.”

“W-Wait—what are you—Dahlia, what’s going on?”

“Artio, find Hypno and meet us at the tower. Jax, we’ll need you too.”

“I’m all ears, kid.”

“I’ll explain on the way. Okay, girl...one last shot. You ready?”

ROAR!

“Let’s do this!”

“Dahlia, wait!”

But R2k18 is too late, as she rides on Nubbins, heading for the threat at hand.

CRACKLE/FZZT/RUMBLE!

The mechanism holding the gem breaks down piece by piece. It doesn’t take long for Dahlia and Jax to regroup with Artio as he brings the hippo mutant with him.

“Think you’re up for one more spell, Hypno?”

“This fellow briefed me in, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Each take a corner, surrounding the weapon. Taking a deep breath, Dahlia conjures material from all around, then transfers it to the rooftop.

WHIRR/SHOO~OOM!

In one fell swoop, a large encryption is drawn from her powers, right under the machinery.

“...‘Ase-rasu...mani-fesu...restori-va-ragul...safa paray’...”

[Ase-rasu...mani-fesu...]

All three chant as their hands glow, the aura emanating to the symbol, then floating up to ensnare the gem inside a giant ball of their combined magic.

“Jax, you open a portal right before it explodes! We’ll force it right out of this dimension!”

WHIRL—WHIRL~!

A strong wind circles, forcing them to dig their feet down from losing balance. Nubbins uses her mantis claws to hold Hypno and Artio, and Jax using his lock to grab Dahlia’s waist.

“Something is happening,” Hypno hollers.

“Stand your ground,” Artio warns, “the stone’s reaching the final peak!”

“C’mon, Jax, where’s that portal!”

“I have to find the right coordinates! I need more time!”

WHIRL/FWOOM!

“Ahh!”

“Dahlia/Kid!”

A powerful force pushes her out of Jax’s hold and off her feet.

ZOOOOMMM!

“Gotcha!”

Out of nowhere, D2k18 flies in for the save.

C-CLACK/CLANG/WHAM!

Using his battle-shell, the claws firmly plant on the concrete as Donnie holds her from behind.

“Donnie?!”

“I told you! I’m not leaving you behind!”

SHAA!

Just then, L2k18 appears from a portal, the others from both sides of the law follow behind. Each support Jax, Artio, and Hypno by forming a line.

“Guys!”

“We’re with you, girl!”

“If you go down fighting—”

“Then so do we!”

WHIRRR~

“I got it,” Jax hollers.

“This oven’s about to blow,” Meat-Sweats shouts.

“I don’t want to explode,” Ghost-Bear whines.

“Twenty seconds people,” D2k18 warns.

“Artio, Hypno—on my mark!”

“Right/Yeah!”

“Twelve seconds and counting!”

“Get ready in three...”

“This better work!”

“Five seconds!”

“Two...”

“Brace yourselves!”

“Here we goooo!”

CRACKLE!

“NOW!”

WARP!

💥🔥KA-BOOOOOMMMM!🔥💥

A black hole appears, just in time before the gem destroys itself.

FWOOM/WHIRL/CRUMBLE/SHATTER!

Despite the gravitational force pushing everything in its way, the three pillars give one final attack.

TOSS!

They throw the bubble of chaos into the portal before it disperses into thin air.

“...Did...did it work?”

“I...think so...”

💨💨WHOO~OOSSSHHH💨💨

At the exact moment, the sky turns back into the night shade, the thundering clouds fall apart, and more importantly...

“Huh/Wha.../Oh my/Ugh...”

The townspeople are brought back to their senses, without a shred of disorderly madness in sight.

“Guys, it worked! We won!”

“Whoo/Aw yeah~/Boom/Alright!”

The turtles from all three dimensions and even the villains, take a moment to celebrate. All except for three people, standing from a far distance.

“So, Jax,” says Dahlia, “where did you send it?”

“To a desolate galaxy. Where no forms of life have been created yet.”

“What are you gonna do now?”

“It won’t be long before the authorities from our dimension track us down. Besides, my DPG (dimensional-portal-gun) is running low, so...”

“You’re turning yourself in?”

“No point in sticking to a plan that’s up in smoke.”

“You could’ve left when you had the chance,” Artio implies.

“Yeah, well...I kinda owed a nosy teen for saving my tail.”

A tiny smile is sent her way, with the same gesture returned. The alien tosses the charm to Artio, then walks over to his comrades.

“I will need the other brooches. Those costed a pretty penny.”

“Yeah, yeah...but...thanks, anyway. I guess, this time, I owe you one.”

The deer yokai reaches into his coat and hands her a gift pouch.

“A little something to remind you of our deal.”

FWIP!

Just then, Dahlia is startled by D2k18 when being pulled to his side, not taking his domineering glare off of Artio for a second.

“Pardon me, but could you tear your filthy hooves off this precious, wonderful, and amazing lady, sir?”

“Pfft...whatever you say, purple. And Dahlia...”

“I know.”

With a simple nod, Artio raises his hand.

SNAP!

🔥FLARE!🔥

Like that, he fades with the green flames trailing behind.

“Ugh, show off.”

Dahlia takes this time to open the pouch. In her hands is a hairpin, embroidered with multi-colored gems, the centerpiece an aquamarine gemstone, and three-colored feathers.

“Why would Artio give me...this...?”

That’s when she notices a small, folded paper. Flipping one side up, it reveals a short note that leaves the girl gasping in shock.

“What’s it say?”

Instead of answering, Dahlia clutches the note and hairpin close to her.

“I understand now.”

“Um...as much as I pride myself on my intellect, I’m quite stumped on the relaying message, here.”

“I’ll explain later. But first...we have one final mission.”

. . . .

[Moments Later…]

SLASH!

“Got another slice right here!”

“Dibs/Mine!”

SHAA!

“Ha-haa!”

“What/Hey!”

L2k18 snatches the pizza off his doppelganger before warping away from the other Raph’s and sitting on a lounge chair near the trailer.

“Ya can’t win em’ all, mi hermanos.”

“Who wants more lemonade~?”

In the deepest parts of the forest, everyone is celebrating their victory at Todd’s Cuddle Cakes Puppy Rescue Park.

Bark-Bark-Bark!

“Aww~ c’mere you!”

“Best! Day! Ever!”

M2k12 & M2k18 fawn over the puppies that pile on them like a blanket of love.

“Mm...this pizza is way better than the joint we have back home,” Skeet comments.

“How would you know,” Colton jokes, “we haven’t had a decent meal in years.”

“Thanks for letting us in on the fun, kid.”

“Even you guys deserve a little reward.”

“Psst...”

On the sidelines, D2k18 is pulled away from the puppies surrounding him and turns to Todd.

“Now’s your chance, friend.”

“O-Oh, uh...right. Shelldon, if you would.”

[On it, bro.]

The techno turtle hovers above the crowd.

BLAAARRREE!

“Dah/Ahh/Gyahh/Ow!”

Once the blow horn stops, everyone turns to D2k18.

“Ahem...ladies and gentle-turtles...fellow mutants and other worldly beings. I have a crucial and hopefully final decision to be made public. If the lovely lady in pink would kindly step up, please.”

“Here we go/Ooh~/Shh, quiet.”

The three brothers watch in anticipation as Dahlia stands in front of Donnie.

“I’ve been wanting to give you something.”

“Oh, Donnie, you didn’t—”

“Too bad—so act like you’re supposed to be surprised just for dramatic effect.”

Dahlia giggles as Donnie gives the capybara a signal.

FWEE~FWEET!

BARK!

A few awes are heard as Melvin (brown fur with curled tail) walks over wearing a collar with a note tied to it. She kneels down to open the note and instantly brims with joy.

“Oh-mi-gosh...you’re giving me Melvin?!”

“You always said you wanted a pet. Of course, I’ll do my share in pet sitting when you’re in school…”

“I love him! Thank you so much!”

Donnie holds her hands in his with a sincere smile.

“This past year, you’ve influenced me in more ways than one. You’ve been an ally, a friend, and the only person who could put up with my attitude longer than those dumb-dumbs have.”

“Hey/Ugh/Watch it.”

“But most importantly…you never gave up on me even when I did. You made me question a lot of things, yet every theory, footnotes and logical explanations all ended up with the same answer. And that is…without a doubt…how much I’ve fallen in love with you.”

At this point, Donnie’s brothers have their phones out recording while everyone is waiting in suspense.

“It’s happening, it’s happening~.”

“Shush, I’m trying to capture the tender moment.”

“Send that to me later.”

“Do. You. Mind?”

Donnie sends an annoyed look their way before regaining his composure.

“So, um...I know we confirmed our feelings earlier, but I thought a few witnesses wouldn’t hurt. Physical proof for future use.”

“Couldn’t resist gloating,” she teases.

“Naturally. But all jokes aside…I need to ask.”

He brings her closer.

“Dahlia Shinzo…would you do me the honor of being my official girlfriend?”

All the anxiety he felt before is now replaced with sheer confidence. Everything he had planned to the last detail, finally leads up to this day. After a brief silence, she reaches up to caress his cheek, expressing all her love in one answer.

“I’d love to, Donatello Hamato.”

🎉BLARE/WHOO/YEAH-HAA!🎉

An uproar of cheers bellows as the terrapin grins, victoriously.

“Yes-yes-yes-yes—YESSS!”

He spins her around as they laugh, then brings her in for a kiss filled with passion and longing.

“Bravo,” Hypnos applauds, “I always knew those two make a marvelous pair.”

“Ay dios mio,” Ghostbear wails, “it’s so beautiful~!”

“Oh, clam sauce—not on the apron!”

Meat-Sweats yanks the fabric away before the overgrown furball uses it for a tissue.

“Atta boy, twin brother!”

“Those are my besties!”

“Your genius son,” Draxum comments, “finally had the backbone to proceed as planned.”

“Obviously takes his charming personality after me,” Splinter proudly states.

“Whoo-hoo~ go other Donnie!”

“The you from here’s pretty cool, bro. You should take some pointers.”

D2k12 nudges R2k12 as they chuckle.

When the newly appointed couple part ways, they press their foreheads against each other’s.

“Hehe…so, tech-boy…was it worth the wait?”

“I’d replay this chance a million times over, my love.”

SHAA~

“Hm/Huh?”

Suddenly, a portal opens revealing five men in long dark robes.

“That’s our cue, boys.”

The ring leader walks towards Jax.

“Jax of Dimension (XXXX)…”

“Relax man, we’ve been waiting for you. No tricks this time.”

The aliens’ hand themselves over as the men use futuristic neon-glowing cuffs.

“Give me a minute.”

Jax faces the duo.

“Hey, you…you’ve got one heck of a girl right here. Don’t let her slip away from ya.”

“Not in a millennium.”

“Thanks again, Dahlia. This dimension is lucky to have someone like you.”

Though wrists bounded, he reaches out and she gladly shakes his hand. Dahlia turns to the authority leader.

“They helped save our dimension. Will that count for anything in their defense?”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, and since you’re here, they could use a ride home as well.”

She gestures to the turtle doppelgängers.

“Yes, I see...well, we best get you all back to your proper dimensions, then.”

“We’re going home?”

“Finally!”

“Sewer sweet sewer—here I come!”

“Well, we better say our goodbyes.”

Every turtle meets with their opposites.

“So long little me’s. It was a shell of a ride.”

“Keep being awesome, dudes.”

“Bring it in, fellas! Altogether now!”

CLAP!

“COW-A-BUNGA!”

The Mikey’s high-three with spirit.

“Y’know…yer nothin’ like us.”

“I’m not?”

“Nah…”

R2k12 lightly punches his larger doppelgänger.

“You’re better.”

“Keep it up, man.”

“Heh…you too. Now c’mere~.”

“Woah/Easy big guy!”

R2k18 chokeholds his smaller selves as they smirk.

“—aaand give at least one hour to spend your ‘me-time’ without the thought of training. Maybe then you’ll learn to loosen up and be half as great as me.”

“If you can keep your end of the bargain.”

“Dude I was already an A-Class swordsman. There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s not what your Mikey said.”

“Not after that “incident” from a certain weekend.”

“Wait what? Oh, that little snitch!”

L2k3/12 laugh as their outgoing-self storming over to his younger brother.

“Thanks for all your help.”

“Did you forget? We’re the smartest minds of our worlds. The others would be lost if they didn’t have the true brains of—”

“Donnie…”

“Okay, okay, this was a team effort.”

“And thank you, Dahlia.”

“We would’ve been turtle soup if you hadn’t found us.”

“And our world would’ve been destroyed if not for your help.”

D2k12 surprises her with a hug.

“I won’t forget what you told me.”

“You better.”

D2k18 leans towards his 2k3 counterpart.

“Is it weird to be jealous of myself?”

“Ahaha...”

The turtles regroup with their families just as Splinter is walking towards them.

“If feels weird seeing another Splinter.”

“Brings back a lot of memories.”

“I understand how you all must feel. Though you may not be my boys…you will always have a place in our family.”

M2k12 lunges in for a hug, making the rat chuckle as the other versions join in.

“Gentlemen…if you please…”

The head authority gestures to the portal. Just before they enter, the turtles look back at their new friends.

“See a later dudes.”

“Get back safe.”

“Until then, guys.”

“We’ll we see you guys again?”

“Hey, we traveled back in time and space before.”

“So we’ll definitely find a way back.”

“Eventually.”

“Let’s have another pizza party at your place!”

“It’s a promise.”

Both versions form a line then bow in respect and gratitude, to which the third party does the same with a smile.

WARP/SHAAA!

In mere seconds, the portal closes, and closing the final chapter to their latest adventure. Dahlia picks up Melvin and turns around.

“C’mon guys…let’s go home.”

That word never felt right as they head for the Turtle Tank.

“Um, do you mind if we hitch a ride as well?”

“As long as you don’t touch anything.”

“Or try to kill us.”

“Like always.”

“You try to make a delicious meal out of turtles, and you’re labeled a murderous foodie for life.”

“Ooh! I like another of those ice creams with sprinkles!”

“You almost ate the entire dispenser on the way here!”

Following behind, Donnie and Dahlia watch in amusement as the group argues amongst themselves.

“Some things never change.”

“I’m glad something did, though.”

Donnie puts an arm around Dahlia as they blush, timidly.

“Hey...”

“Yeah?”

“Knowing there’s other versions of you and your brothers...I wonder what my counterpart is like in their worlds.”

“Good question. Well, one way or another, I’m sure they’ll see ‘you’ in no time.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Easy...”

Donnie steals a kiss to the cheek.

“You’re meant to be with us.”

Though a little corny, Dahlia smiles at the wholesome comment.

“I think so, too.”

In their hearts, they know that someday it will happen, and be together with everyone like they are now. As a family.

. . . . . .

TO BE CONTINUED...IN THE FINALE...

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swingindoorsusan · 1 year ago

Text

I'm gonna do this with my blorbo, my all time winner, Marcial, because life is shit atm

He always had something to do when he was younger, but now that he's older, he enjoys having some hours of rest in the evening, but not too much

2. Fairly easy if someone cracks a good joke, but he also finds his grandson's antics very amusing, as well as his cat's

3. He just falls asleep like a log. As soon as his head touches the pillow, it's honk shoo honk shoo

4. Not easy, you need to prove yourself to him, but he is a pretty good judge of character

5. Relatively easy, he'll become suspicious of you but without really showing it, he knows better than that

6. At sea, immovable. Duh.

7. A name of an old shipmate, a mention of someone long gone, the memory of a tropical coast or a shanty he hasn't heard in decades. Also the sound of his whistle :) He enjoys nostalgia, even it it summons some tears

8. He was often scolded for wandering off to port, and urged to get a job :)

9. He swears A LOT. But only on land. You'll only catch him swearing on board under a lot of pressure, but he usually doesn't since it's bad luck. He learned to curse very early on, his first curse being son of a bitch

10. He lied to his wife about getting in trouble with others, especially in his youth. Damn strong temperament

11. He always has to understand things crystal clear, he seeks clarification every time.

12. Metaphorically or literally? If literally, rubbing himself against a wall/beam or asking wife (who is more than glad to help)

13. He thinks he looks best in plain white with darker pants, he's a simple man with simple tastes. He dislikes the official uniform since he thinks it makes him look bloated (he actually looks good either way lol) Official dress uniform shown below

14. None, really. Obviously he knows about whales and squid and other leviathans, but he doesn't really fear them. He quite likes seeing whales peeping above the water and swimming along ships. He is a bit scared of scorpions though, he got stung by one when he was a child.

15. He has a slow, deep, lazy, husky voice (and quite rough and creaky), and he is always very sure of what he says. He's a quick thinker and says things on the spot.

16. Not many things since he's lived through a lot, but a child suffering or a shipmate getting punished (ye olde cat o' nine tails)

17. No, but his wife knows how to push all the buttons to get a blush out of him.

18. Realizing he's been rude around people he shouldn't be rude around

19. Definitely not 13.

20. Romantic love happens at shore, platonic love happens on board and familial love in both.

21. He gets up because he has to kiss his wife, hug his daughter and have his grandson on his lap.

22. He becomes possessive and aloof, feeling depressed on the inside.

23. He becomes melancholic and slightly resentful I guess

24. No, he's always very uptight about it and is even embarrassed talking about it with his wife. Fact is he's horny sometimes just like most beings on planet Earth, it's just that he's a Catholic

25. A wonderful and sacred thing, he's very grateful for having met his wife.

26. Ship, obviously. He's fond of small, easy to manoeuvre sailing ships. If not, on foot. He's not very keen on horses.

27. Storms and bad omens, although he's good at keeping his cool.

28. No, he values honesty above all else.

29. I guess so. He just wants to be a decent man and a damn good seaman. Wich he is.

30. His daughter's husband's father. Total cunt

31. His dear lovely wife Adela.

32. The battle of cape Santa María all the way. Lost his right leg there

33. Not at all, he's never been a lazy man.

34. Quite hard honestly. He used to blame himself if one of his mates got hurt or perished, but he learned to manage it along the years, and he didn't consider it all his fault anymore.

35. He's usually the excited one. But yes, he is very supportive, and a total sweetheart. Although the batshit ideas come from him most of the time

36. He seeked romance in his youth, until he met his future wife, whom he did not seek.

37. He definitely made up little tunes to remember nautical things. I like to believe he taught them to younger midshipmen when he was older.

38. Crossing the Atlantic for the first time and arriving to Martinique. Also cape St. Vincent. Obvy. Seeing his daughter and meeting his wife too.

39. Pretty easy, as long as they have a good heart.

40. He's aware of some, unaware of others. He tries to improve in some ways, but he's also too prideful sometimes.

41. He didn't mind them, but he started loving them once he had his daughter, and later his grandson.

42. He's already accomplished his goals. He wanted a life at sea and family. He's got both. And now that he's retired, I'd say he's pretty happy.

43. Uuuuuh. He's quite the prude. He'd probably pull me by the ear if I asked him that. I guess he'd say he likes women, and loves his wife.

A) He's a sweet old sea dog (I love sweet old sea dogs if you haven't noticed) and he's a fantastic character.

B) heheheheheheheh I didn't create him, I just borrowed him heehehheheheheheh

D) No, my interpretation of him has changed overtime. Now he's c h o n k i e r

E) I'd love to be his friend, but he'd find me utterly insufferable.

F) Loyal and undying love and adoration

G) He's stubborn and has some outdated ideas and beliefs tee hee

H) His courage, resilience and loyalty, along with how sweet he is

I) I usually do, but I am incredibly stupid and prefer to pretend he's not a mysogynist, so yeah, I bend canon a lil bit lol

J) Yeah, the fact that he's a huge asshole to his wife. He's just too good for that. He's courageous, loyal, sweet... It's a total shame he has to be that way, that's why I like to bend the rules a little and make him respect basic human rights hehe

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

How easy is it to earn their trust?

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

What animal do they fear most?

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

What makes their stomach turn?

Are they easily embarrassed?

What embarrasses them?

What is their favorite number?

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Why do they get up in the morning?

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

What are their thoughts on marriage?

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

What causes them to feel dread?

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

Who do they most regret meeting?

Who are they the most glad to have met?

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

Could they be considered lazy?

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

What memory do they revisit the most often?

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

How do they feel about children?

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them? C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? H) What trait do you admire most? I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

#blorbo

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an-evil-goose · 5 years ago

Text

Your food goods

Hand them over honk.

@lovsiik

#in this place you pay me a tribute for catching sign of my magestic form #or you perish honk #|ic|#|goose noises|#[you can answer with whatever character you have btw]

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alonggoodbye · 7 months ago

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"You and heavy machinery? Perish the thought."

It is his turn to stick her with a rare jab of his own— one that does come from a place of actual concern for Millie and the environment itself. He's given quite a bit of thought about this offer... more than he wants to let on, of course. And, well, she doesn't seem to hate the initial suggestion.

He steals a look at her in his periphery and for a moment lets himself get lost in the fact that he's known her for some time now, their friendship spanning nearly a decade. What's more amazing is that he's genuinely come to trust her. Not to say that Mathias was wholly unpleasant and never wanted to make friends, but it was something that seemed to happen only once in a blue moon.

"No," he says gently, the traffic bringing the hearse to a stop on the bridge. "My head cremation tech is retiring in a couple months and that leaves my buddy, Nick, with a promotion and no help. You'd be his assistant. Then— if you like the job enough— we'll see about getting you a certification. The course will be on me, don't worry."

Mathias honks the horn and lifts his arm at someone who's trying to merge into the 3-foot space between the hearse and the vehicle in front of them. He mutters out a string of Welsh before accepting the traffic sin as a canon event and sips his americano bitterly.

"You won't have to worry about your... condition, either. He can handle it..." Another sip and a small smile towards Millie, "What do you say?"

Although she accepts the coffee with a soft word of appreciation, she's already working on something extra-pointy to get him back with before the words have finished leaving his mouth. As they do, however, the barb flees her mind entirely. She blinks hard, bewildered.

Maybe it's the unvarnished sincerity that throws her. Or maybe it's the sudden epiphany that Mercutio — who picks her up from work with a cappuccino, who almost laughs at her wisecracks, who taught her how to drive, who does so much for her and for whom she does so little — is once again looking after her while she takes cheap shots at his joints.

She shrugs at first, chewing guiltily on the plastic coffee stopper as she mulls the offer over. The flower shop was her first real, paid job after being relocated to New York, and she's long felt indebted to it for what it gave her: a sense of autonomy, of independence. After seven years, though ... perhaps it is true what they say about blush and roses.

And Mercutio's tough but he's fair. There are certainly worse people to work for.

Err — with.

With?

“And do what?" She asks around the stopper. "Dig the graves?”

#tensleepshrike #visitors; mr. greenway #v: modern #;; threads: merc and millie #// lmao new character reveal ayooooo #// merc won't do everything for millie but he'll sure do a whole lot

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invisibleraven · 2 years ago

Note

feeling their temperature + Willie/anyone

"Alex babe, I'm home!" Willie called as he dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, kicking it shut behind him. There was answer, but he didn't really expect there to be. Alex had said he was going to be spending the day working on some new riffs and probably had his headphones on.

Willie hummed as he dropped off the groceries, putting away anything perishable, and surveying the contents of the fridge. "Hmmm, maybe some chicken and broccoli casserole?" he muttered to himself as he eyed the florets taking up space in their crisper drawer. Before long he had the pot and pan heating up, carefully chopping everything, humming the latest Julie and the Phantoms song the band had debuted. He knew it would earn them their next few Grammys, it was that much of a bop.

Soon he had the casserole in the oven, and Willie realized that he hadn't heard a single drum beat or cymbal crash since he came home. Not even the creak of Alex's ancient studio chair that he swore he was gonna sneak out and replace come the drummer's next birthday. Now he was worried. Alex wasn't overly noisy, but he also wasn't this quiet. Willie crept up the stairs, peering into rooms until he stopped at their bedroom, seeing a lump under the ugly looking quilt he had been thrilled by at a yard sale some years back.

"Alex?"

No movement, so Willie crept closer, seeing Alex fast asleep on the bed. Only his face looked flushed, his breathing was heavier than usual, and he could see that the garbage bin next to their bed was half full of tissues. Gently shaking Alex, he pressed his lips against his forehead, hissing at the heat he felt coming off his skin.

"Jeez hotdog, you're burning up!"

"Mmmm not sick," Alex replied, looking up at him with bleary eyes. "Just tired."

"Uh huh, let's see what the thermometer says about that shall we?" Willie offered, helping Alex sit up, feeling how he was wheezing and holding back a cough. "I'm gonna go get the cold kit, you don't move."

Alex half grumbled a reply, but stayed there until Willie returned, sticking the thermometer under his tongue. Willie grinned as Alex pouted, but wouldn't let him spit it out until it gave a beep. "Hmmm, 100.8, that's a fever alright. Now, I want you to take these pills to help bring that down, nice cool water to help."

"I'm not sick," Alex protested again, but dutifully threw back the pills, almost draining the glass.

"Sure you're not. But let's get you into your comfy jammies and slather some VapoRub on you anyways. Julie says her tia swears by it."

"Bleh, I hate the smell of menthol," Alex whined, raising his arms as Willie helped him out of his hoodie, his limbs feeling sore and uncooperative.

"At least you can still smell," Willie commented, holding back a grin as Alex groped for a tissue, blowing his nose with a loud honk. "I've got supper in the oven, but if you wanna nap before it's done, we have time..."

"I'm... not really hungry, sorry," Alex replied, looking almost sad at admitting it.

"That's okay, more for me!" Willie joked. "Nah, it'll keep. Plenty there for when you have your appetite back."

"When it's done can I have cuddles?" Alex asked pathetically. "Even if it means you'll get this crud too?"

"Thought you weren't sick?" Willie teased, smiling wide when Alex stuck his tongue out at him. "You know I'm down for cuddles any time. Plus we did say in sickness and in health." The beep of the oven sounded throughout the house, and Willie gave Alex an apologetic smile. "I'm gonna go deal with that, you lie back and I'll return before you know it."

"Kay," Alex muttered, snuggling beneath the covers, eyes already closed. Willie took his time getting the food out, and grinned when he returned to the bedroom, Alex already fast asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Willie tip-toed in, pressing another kiss to his forehead, sighing that it was no longer burning and chuckled. "Not sick my ass, love you though." Willie pressed one more kiss to Alex's skin and went off to enjoy a quiet evening, even though he was sure that by tomorrow, he would be just as miserable as Alex was.

#filled prompts #ficlet #willex #julie and the phantoms

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hrina · 4 years ago

Text

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

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

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

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

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

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

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

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

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

Harry didn’t tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

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

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

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

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

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

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

It hurt like hell, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi!” comes your reply.

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

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

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

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

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staysaneathome · 3 years ago

Text

That Day (Evening)

(The Entity-Swap kid fic WIP that now has a fourth part. Warnings for continued endangerment of children and high levels of pining)

The park is quite a bit further from where they lost the teenager in the hijab than Jon initially thought.

It’s almost funny, how two or three miles doesn’t sound like a very long way to run-walk. Just two or three, the small number making it sound doable, like they should be able to get there in a matter of minutes.

It’s less funny when they’ve been walking for over half an hour and Melanie won’t stop whining about how her legs are tired.

”Carry me.” She demands imperiously.

“No.” Replies Jon, flatly. “Last time I did that, you scratched me really badly. My shoulder and face still hurt.”

”They do not.” Melanie says, as if her denial is enough to undo all the damage. “And I won’t scratch this time. Carry me?”

”No. It’s not even much further to walk.”

”Uuuuugh, you said that last time!” She complains. “It’s been for-eeeee-veeer! Can we at least get some juice or a Freddo Frog or something?”

”With what money?” Jon asks archly. That buys him maybe half a minute of blessed, blessed silence.

“Wait. You don’t have money?” Melanie asks with a frankly insulting level of incredulity. “But aren’t you like, an adult? Adults have money!”

”I’m twelve!” He sputters, gesturing to himself. “Do I look like I have any money?”

There’s a moment of silence as Melanie eyes him up and down. “I thought you were just ugly.” She says dismissively. “Wait. If you aren’t an adult, can I be in charge?”

”No!” He snaps indignantly. “I’m still the oldest.”

”That’s dumb.” Melanie complains. “You’re dumb. And ugly.”

”And older than you.” Jon reminds her smugly. He’s been with her for long enough by now that he knows when to dodge out of the way when she tries to pinch him.

It’s a relief when the park finally comes into view.

It’s an even bigger one when he catches sight of Martin sitting on the balance beam, looking around patiently.

It lifts a weight off Jon’s shoulders that he didn’t even know was there when Martin catches sight of him and his face breaks out in a grin, like the sun rising. Then Martin’s face rapidly falls, and he’s sprinting over to them, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

Jon has a fleeting fear that the teenager in the hijab or the searcher are right behind them, poised and waiting for him to turn around to strike.

Martin slows, huffing and puffing as his hands reach out towards him, shaking slightly. “Jon! Jon, oh my gosh, what—what happened to, to your arm, to your face?!”

Ah, Jon thinks, as Martin cups his less-savaged cheek gently and tilts his head. Was that all he was frightened of?

”It’s nothing.” He says gruffly, trying not to think about how weird-hot-odd it feels to have Martin worry about some little scratches like this, fighting the urge to fidget. “Just doing, um. Doing what I had to.”

Martin’s eyes are big and liquid and sad, and he frowns, opening his mouth—

“Liar. You didn’t say it was ‘nothing’ when you wouldn’t carry me.” A sour voice interrupts.

Jon startles and Martin whips his hand away so fast it feel like a burn, both of them turning to stare down at where the interruption came from. Melanie is starfished on her back on the grass, glaring up at them moodily, one sweaty hand still clutching Jon’s. The Watcher informs Jon that her clothes will have grass stains on them when she gets up. Jon tries to inform the Watcher that he doesn’t care, but is ignored, as usual.

Melanie eyes Martin critically. “Are you his friend then?”

Martin straightens up, his usual smile on his face. “Erm, um—yes! Yes, yes I am Jon’s friend! Mar-Martin Blackwood! Um, hello! And, and you are?”

Melanie pulls her sweaty hand out of Jon’s grip and holds it out to Martin, sitting up. “M Melanie King. Jon kidnapped me and we’re friends now too.”

Martin’s smile freezes as he processes that sentence. His eyes dart between Jon and Melanie. “Ah. Um.”

”I did not.” Jon protests. “You were being kidnapped by a searcher, and I saved you.”

”Didn’t do a very good job of it.” Melanie mutters, pulling up grass by the roots and dropping it on his shoes.

Jon retreats with a disgusted noise, trying to shake it out where it’s fallen through the holes of his too-big trainers. ”Stop that! And-and we’ve just met, we’re not friends!”

There’s a moment of silence.

Melanie’s eyes start to water. She begins making an awful noise that makes some part of Jon’s brain he hadn’t even known existed freeze up and go “Oh no”.

He exchanges a brief terrified glance with Martin, who reaches out. “Oh, no, no, no, oh please—”

Melanie wails, the sheer force of the noise making Jon stumble backwards.

“Melanie, shh!” He hisses, darting glances around at few parkgoers who are stopping to stare, “You’re making people—”

”NO!” She bellows, swiping out at him with a poorly aimed claw, tears and snot running down her face in rivulets. “I HAE-HATE YOU! I HATE THI-I-IS! I HATE THAT EVERYTHIN' SO ANNOYING, ALL, ALL THE TIME, AND IT DOESN'T STO-O-OP!! I HATE MY FRIENDS NOT, NOT LIKING ME ANYMORE! I HATE MY DADDY GETTIN' SAD 'CAUSE OF ME! I JUS' WAN' IT TO STOP! I WAN’ MY FRIENDS BACK!! I WANNA GO HOME!!”

The little girl curls in on herself, the bright green grass stains on the back of her sparkly top shaking with her as she continues to sob like her little heart is breaking.

Jon has no idea what to do to fix this, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. He has no idea how she was touched by the Slaughter (though the Watcher croons for him to question her, to learn, to Ask—), and even if he did, it’s not as though he could make it just go away, as if a mark like this could be removed with a bit of scrubbing. This isn’t something that can just be pulled out of her, like a loose tooth. It’s part of her now, wedged deep inside like the Forsaken is in Martin, and the Watcher is in Jon.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t Know—

“I-I’ll be your friend!” Martin babbles frantically.

Jon stares at him, feeling suddenly, irrationally betrayed.

Melanie gulps and sniffles, peering up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “…you promise?”

”Cross my heart and hope to die.” Martin smiles, holding out a small, ragged tissue. “C’mon now, can you give me a big dragon blow into this?”

She gives him a Look, like she knows he’s trying to make her laugh and is cross with him for it, but does as he says, making a noise that’s a bit like a honk.

“Good job!” Martin praises, while Jon crosses his arms and tries to make his face not frown like he wants to. This is stupid. You can't be friends with somebody you’ve just met, you don’t Know them, it’s silly. Childish. Plus Martin’s his friend. Melanie has no right to come along and-and steal him like this. Martin looks up and catches sight of Jon’s face. His smile dims a bit and his colors go paler, more faded, which makes Jon’s tummy squirm uncomfortably.

Still, he keeps babbling, “I-I’m really happy to be your friend, and Jon’s friend too! I don’t have many friends at home, so this is. This is nice. To be friends with you two. It makes me happy. Do you have superpowers too? Like how I can go invisible, and Jon can make people tell him stuff and Know things?”

Melanie shrugs, tearing up the tissue in her hands. “Dunno. Making people get into fights, or something. Invisibility’s cool, I guess. But getting people to tell you stuff isn’t a superpower. That’s just asking questions. It’s dumb.”

“No it’s not!” Jon bristles indignantly, all his focus on the little friend-thief. “Asking questions can be dangerous. Especially when you can’t stop yourself from answering them. How’d you think the searcher was going to eat up your life?”

“W-well, a brain sucker monster like her wouldn’t need to ask questions, would they? They’d just bite your ugly head off and know everything anyway.” She argues back, little chest puffed out and tears all but forgotten. “If all that creepy lady was going to do is ask questions, I could take her. I just wouldn’t open my mouth. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

Jon barely notices Martin going wide-eyed and near translucent out of the corner of his eye as he opens his mouth to prove exactly why Melanie is wrong.

But he freezes up when he hears a soft, deep voice behind him. “Oh, really? Care to put that to the test?”

The searcher smiles down at the three of them.

Her eyes are empty and something hungry looks out from them.

”Come, little ones.” She coos, one hand outstretched. “Come home with me. Come back to the Collection. You’ll want for nothing, never hungry, never cold, never tired, never lonely, never angry. And you’ll hear such interesting stories. We’ve missed you, my prized Recorder. I’ve missed you so much.”

Jon feels frozen, pinned like a bird in the eyes of a snake, a part of him that he never wanted to know existed clamoring at him to take it, take her hand, you need the stories, you need—

A large, warm, soft hand grabs his, and yanks him back into the fog.

Jon yelps, though it feels like his yell is swallowed up in the crushing, inescapable isolation that now surrounds him. He sees Melanie, but it’s like she’s miles away, her shouting and directionless anger losing teeth as it dawns on her how utterly, utterly alone they both are. They aren’t friends. They can’t rely on each other. They’ll lose sight of each other and perish here, unremarkable and unremarked on and alone.

”C’mon!” A familiar, kind voice comes through the fog, shocking Jon back to his senses. “We’ve got to go! This way!”

His hand is being held. Of course it is. How could he forget? He and Melanie are holding Martin’s hands, as the barely visible boy tugs them through the eddies of fog, away from the searcher.

They run through the dreamlike realm of the Forsaken in a weird, birdlike configuration.

Martin had grabbed the hand which was closest to him on Jon, while Jon was still facing the searcher, locked into her gaze. The result is that his arm is drawn almost painfully across his body as they run, his sweaty palm clutching Martin’s tight, sure that if he even loosens his grip enough to change to a more comfortable position, he’ll be lost forever in the fog.

Melanie is stumbling along on Martin’s other side, her legs weak and shaky, almost skipping at some points to try and keep up with the pace Martin is setting, glancing back every so often. Tears are running down her face almost absentmindedly.

For a moment, as they pass through the darkening trees and get further and further away from the playground, Jon thinks they might actually make it. They might actually escape the searcher and live to fight another day.

”Stop.”

Jon feels his legs lock up, all his muscles seizing together as though cramped. The burning sensation of being Watched sears itself into the back of his neck, the entirety of him Known and Seen and Exposed.

He faintly hears Martin and Melanie scream as though they’re being peeled open and pinned down for study as he crashes face first into the mossy earth beneath them.

The searcher takes her time strolling up to them, forcing Jon to listen to his friends’ pained whimpers where they’ve fallen. Martin’s face scraped viciously from the bark of the tree in from of them, and Melanie unable to even inch off of where a root is digging into her stomach.

That’s how he knows it’s the man looking through her eyes, delighting in their distress.

”No,” He can hear Martin choke out, “No, st-stop it, st-stay away fr—!”

”Look at you.” The searcher coos in a tone that has never been her own. “All banged up and bruised. Do you enjoy this, Jon? Do you enjoy hurting your friends?”

Jon wants to scream, to cry, to yell that of course not, of course he doesn’t, he’d never want to, but it feels like his throat is closed up. It’s all he can do to suck in shaky breaths through his nose as the searcher gets closer and closer.

“Kill you,” He can faintly hear Melanie wheeze. Jon’s honestly at a loss for whether she’s speaking to the searcher or to him. “Swear, I-I swear, kill you, I’ll—”

“Come now.” The searcher says pleasantly. “That’s enough games. Time to come back now, children, Recorder. Time to come back to the Collection.”

He can see her hand reaching down for him.

A dark blur slams into the searcher.

Jon hears several short screams, what sounds incongruously like a growl and then a loud, wet, puncturing noise.

His limbs release from the rictus they’ve been forced into.

The burning sensation of being Watched fades to the ever-present prickle on the back of his neck.

Jon jerks his head up with a punched out gasp, reaching for the others, pulling them behind him even as he turns to See what is happening, what’s going on.

There’s a lady kneeling over the searcher’s limp, lifeless body.

She’s got combat boots and a hoodie that’s slipped down from her shoulders to bunch around her elbows. A small burst of scar tissue, almost like a flower, is visible and hidden again as she shifts, more animal than human in her movements. It reminds Jon of a nature documentary he watched with his grandmother once, a mountain lion stalking forward lithely to devour its prey. There’s the same intent, hungry stare in her eyes that Jon vaguely recalls the mountain lion having as she draws up to her full height and pins the three children huddled at the base of the tree under her gaze. There’s a penknife in her hand that’s dripping with the searcher’s blood.

He hears Martin suck in a frightened whine behind him, fog spilling out to pool around Jon’s ankles. Melanie’s breathing so fast she sounds like she’s a mere moment away from hyperventilation.

They can��t escape like this. Not from a killer touched by the Hunt. Not without a distraction of some kind.

Jon’s mouth is opening before his brain can process what an awful idea this is. “How did you get that—”

He doesn’t even see her move.

All he knows is the breath is punched out of his lungs and his feet are dangling uselessly as the Hunter slams him into another tree, a snarl on her lips. The bloody penknife is pressed hard into the thin skin of his throat.

”So you’re one of them, hm?” The Hunter snarls, the burr of her Welsh accent mixing with a growl that almost drowns out Martin’s frantic cries of “JON!” A tiny part of his brain that isn’t frantically trying to stay as still as possible notes that she’s got Melanie’s sparkly hair bobble stretched around one wrist.

“I wonder.” The Hunter says, with fake casualness. “What’d be the best way to make sure you can’t ask any more of them pesky questions that hurt people, hm? The tongue? Or the voicebox?”

”DAISY, STOP!”

It’s like magic.

The Hunt slides away under the young woman’s skin like someone’s pulled a blanket over it. Not gone, the shape of it still plainly visible, but softened, gentled by the cover’s drapes and folds. The arm that’s holding Jon up trembles, ever so slightly, and the penknife is finally, finally pulled away, even if only by a few centimeters. Jon’s breath hitches in his chest and he has to blink away tears.

As she twists around to face the teenager in the hijab, Jon’s given a clear view of one of her ears, which has begun to flush pink, for some reason.

”Basira.” There’s barely concealed excitement in her voice that is very confusing right now. “Hi. I, uh. I was in the area, and I, uh. Noticed you were having some trouble. So I found those kids that, that you were looking for.”

”That’s. Nice? But, Daisy, I need you to put him down now.” The teenager in the hijab is holding her hands out placatingly. “That boy’s not dangerous, not like Rayner. I wanted to ask him some questions.”

The teenager in the hoodie scoffs, but does as she asks, tucking the penknife away and lowering Jon to the ground. “If you say so. Just don’t let him ask you any—they’re tricky, Eye types like this.”

Jon feels his legs go wobbly the moment his feet touch earth. He slumps, breath wheezing out of him, heart racing like he’s running from the searcher all over again.

”JON!” Martin’s arms curve under his, pulling him forward into a tight, warm, soft hug. “Oh, oh god, I-I’m so sorry, ah-are you okay?! Did she hurt you?”

Jon can only grip feebly back, burying his head into Martin’s increasingly saturated shoulder as it feels like he shakes apart.

Part of his brain that isn’t focused on clutching onto Martin like he’s a lifejacket and swallowing compulsively to remind himself that he’s alright, he’s whole, faintly registers the sound of something smacking flesh, and the Hunter going “Ow!” “That’s what you get!” Comes Melanie’s shrill reply. “Don’t you ever touch him again, okay, you big, big, stupid, bullying, ugly—!”

”Okay, that’s enough of that.” The teenager in the hijab—Basira? says. “Break it up, you two.”

There’s the distant sound of dried leaves and tree detritus crunching underfoot, and then Martin’s breath hitches. Jon tightens his grip, preparing to twist him away from whatever’s threatening them now.

”Hey, easy, easy.” Basira’s voice comes from a lot closer. “I’m sorry about Daisy, but she’s very…passionate about stopping monsters. Like the one chasing you three. That was a monster, wasn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” Martin stutters. “She was going to hurt Jon. Just like she did.”

Jon stiffens at the sound of the warning growl, but Martin doesn’t let go of him, even though Jon can feel his heart racing in his chest. A peek shows that Martin’s staring down the teenager in the hijab with a wobbly lower lip, but eyes set hard.

”And she’s very sorry about that.” Basira demurs. “It was all a big misunderstanding, wasn’t it Daisy?”

There’s a moment, and a decidedly grumpy, “Yes.”

“There we go.” There’s a rustle, and Jon withdraws his head from the safety of Martin to see that she’s pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. “Now, could I ask you both some questions? About the whole,”

She makes an all-encompassing gesture to them and the cold fog of the Forsaken coiling around them.

”Our superpowers?” Martin blinks. “Why? Do you have them too?”

The teenager shakes her head. “No. I’m ah, uninvolved in a lot of this. But then a boy I was babysitting got kidnapped by shadow monsters, and I met Daisy while trying to rescue him, so ‘forewarned is forearmed’ and all that. And since I’m under strict orders not to go to the Orsinov Institute—”

”I told you,” The hunter—Daisy—interrupts. “That place is dangerous. They say they research stuff, but something ain’t right there. You’d walk in, and something else would waltz out in your place.”

Jon can’t help his curiosity. “H-how—?” It feels like his vocal cords dry up under the glare the Hunter pins him with. Thin ice, she mouths at him.

”Yes, thank you, Daisy.” Basira cuts in, shifting so she breaks the line of sight between the Hunter and Jon. “So, as I am banned from ever setting foot in the one reputable center for the study of the supernatural in this country, I have to do my own research piecemeal from subjects in the field.”

Martin and Melanie are giving her blank looks. “She wants to ask us about the Watcher, the Forsaken and the Slaughter and what we can do.” Jon translates.

Martin nods with a little ‘oh’. Melanie just looks even more confused.

”I just want my Daddy. I wanna go home.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

Basira’s face softens at that.

”Y-yeah.” Martin says, shifting from one foot to the other. “A-and I need to get my train back. My, my mum’s probably worried about me…”

Jon can’t quite help the way his arms tighten at that, though he loosens them quickly. It’s only natural. The sun’s practically gone down, after all. Whether Jon desperately wants him to stay has no import on the matter at hand.

“Right.” Basira scribbles down something in her notebook, then tears the paper out and then tears that into three strips. “This is my mobile number, and email address. You can contact me using either of these to talk about…superpower things.”

”And I’ll find you if you try to vanish, easy as anything.” Daisy adds with a toothy grin. “So don’t.”

”Daisy.” The hunter holds up her hands. There’s dark red blood on the one that held the knife. “I’m joking, Basira, joking.”

Jon, despite how much he doesn’t want to, detaches from Martin. “I, I don’t have a phone. Or a computer.”

Basira hums, her head tilted to the side. “You know Angel of Islington? Near where you two got on the bus earlier?”

Jon nods as she goes on. “I can be found around there most days. Just drop by if you feel like sharing any of the things you’ve seen so far. And who knows? Maybe I’ll have some stories for you too.”

Something leaps in Jon’s stomach.

Still, the way the Hunter’s gone tense puts him on edge, so he makes himself say, “Only-only little ones. Not, not big stories.”

The teenager in the hijab nods impassively. She claps her hands together. “Well, that’s enough excitement for one day, I think. Let’s see about finding your parents and getting you all home, shall we?”

Daisy nods, stepping close. Her ears are still red in the fading evening light. “I’ll come with you.”

Basira gives her an unimpressed look and a snort. “And then who’ll deal with that?”

They all turn to stare at the searcher’s body. Martin shivers and grabs his hand, squeezing gently. Jon almost jumps when he feels something small and warm press close to his other side, before he looks down and sees Melanie’s leaf-and-twig-filled hair. The other sparkly bobble is almost falling out too.

Daisy’s eyebrows draw together and she lets out a small growl. “Ugh, fine. But just, um. Call me, maybe, next time? If you’re gonna go chasing after weird things.”

Basira smiles, playing with the edge of her hijab for some reason. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jon glances back as she ushers the three of them out of the park, shoulder and throat and everything else aching and feeling like he imagines an orange must do after the juice is squeezed out of it. The hunter’s eyes shine in the looming dark as they go, shifting from something that Jon wants to call friendliness to a more animalistic bent as she crouches over the body of the searcher, and the two of them disappear into the trees and the twilight.

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