#sorry guys i was drawing and jason thoughts flooded me suddenly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lala-ladybug · 3 years ago

Text

Healing Hands: Ch 13

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

“Hey, wait for me!” Marinette shouted, jogging up to where Jason stood in front of a doorway. It contained an opaque, swirling portal of blue that cast him in an unfairly gorgeous light.

He turned to her with a crooked smile, which seemed to be his signature look. She tried very hard to ignore the fluttering feeling it had started eliciting.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly upon catching up to him. “Sorry I’m late, but I did bring breakfast!” She offered him a large eclair wrapped in a napkin.

He took it from her hands, seemingly unaffected by the sparks she felt as their fingers brushed. “No worries Pix, I only just got here myself.” He bit into the pastry and closed his eyes.

“God, you really do not fucking disappoint,” he practically moaned.

She beamed at his praise, pleased her friend (just a friend, thank you very much) was enjoying it, and started eating the one she’d brought for herself. “So,” she began with a mouth full of custard, “just scouting, right?”

Jason held up a three-fingered salute. “Scout’s honor,” he replied. “Did you read up on the area or get a good night’s sleep like I told you to?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I went to bed when you told me to,” she grumbled. “So lead on, tough guy. You know more about this level than I do.” She gestured to the portal before them as they finished the last bites of their pastries.

“Ladies first,” he gave her a half-bow, grinning all the while.

She sighed and stepped in front of him, drawing her bow. “As you wish,” she smirked, and disappeared through the doorway.

* * *

Marinette’s first thought was this level was so bright, as she blinked to let her eyes adjust. The next thought was abruptly cut off as she took in the scenery. She dimly registered the sound of Jason stepping through the portal behind her.

They stood on an island littered with stones, surrounded by a sparkling ocean. Wooden bridges criss-crossed over to other small pieces of land, but this level had to be more than three-quarters water. The sunlight reflected cheerfully off the gentle waves, but Marinette suddenly felt very cold.

Her hands, beginning to tremble, feeling very far away. The clatter of her bow falling from her grip sounded muffled as the ringing in her ears took over. She quickly blinked away flashes of Paris, drowned, quiet, empty, but not fast enough as her breathing came more and more rapidly.

She felt no pain as she fell to her knees, and only noticed it happened because her worldview had changed, bringing her closer to the water, the water, the blood-soaked water.

The memories, real and dreamt, came flooding in, flooding as Paris had, as her friends had been swept away, the whole world drowned in a single day. Her chest felt so small, so tight, like a fist was clenching her heart and lungs as she found it harder and harder to just breathe.

How could she? How could she take breaths when her friends no longer could? The waves were growing larger by the minute, threatening to swallow her whole. But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from them, not for an instant. She would not look away again, she deserved to face it, to watch the consequences of her failures, the deaths of everyone she cared about and innocents she didn’t even know. She had no right to look away, not when it was all her fault, and the largest wave yet was about to overtake her and by Kwami she was going to let it--

Her vision was interrupted by the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She still stared, unblinking and numb, straight ahead, so the eyes lowered themselves to meet her own. She saw a nose next, large and slightly crooked, then worried eyebrows that sat above those blue, blue, blue eyes. Faint dimples, moving as silent lips formed words she could not hear. The ringing in her ears was too loud, she thought distantly. Those were such lovely lips, it was a shame to not hear what they had to say.

With enormous effort, she blinked, and the spell started to break. To her surprise, her eyelashes were wet, and as she blinked once more, she began to feel tear stains down her face. When had she started crying?

The ringing began to dissipate, slowly allowing in sounds from the world around her. Gulls wheeling high above, waves gently lapping at the rocks, and a voice. A deep, lovely voice, calling to her.

* * *

Jason absolutely let Marinette go through the portal first because he was a gentleman, not because he enjoyed the view. Or so he would say, if anyone asked him, which no one ever would.

But as he followed her through the portal, he watched as she dropped her weapon and collapsed as if struck. He looked around for any danger, something that could be the source of her reaction, but saw nothing. So why was she....

He rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulder as gently as he could while trying to stifle his panic.

“Marinette?” He called to her. She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed forward, blankly staring at the waters. As he watched with increasing concern, her breaths started to come in quick little gasps, and tears began to spill from her eyes.

“Marinette, can you hear me?” He knelt by her side and gripped her shoulder harder than he’d ever like to, but there was still no reaction. Fuck, he had to do something to snap her out of it.

He awkwardly shuffled until he was in front of her, then sat down to level his eyes with hers. He looked at her pleadingly. “Come on, Marinette.”

Her faraway stare started to move ever so slightly, taking in little details of his face. Her shallow breathing was barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves behind him.

“That’s it, Mari. Come back to me,” he pleaded with her. “You can do this, just focus on me.” She didn’t seem to hear a damn thing coming out of his mouth, but he kept talking. “I care about you a lot, Pix, more than I ever expected to care about anyone. I am not about to lose you. You are so good and kind, you’re selfless and beautiful, not to mention completely badass, I mean how was I not expected to fall for you?”

“I don’t... I don’t deserve you,” his voice broke a little. “No one does. But I am trying to be better, and you inspire me to try even harder. You fix things, Marinette, that’s what you do, it’s who you are. I’m pretty messed up, so maybe you can....” Jason trailed off. This wasn’t about him.

“Look at me, Pixie.” She was blinking now, that was good. “Just breathe, okay? Come on Marinette, you can do this. Breathe with me,” and he took an exaggeratedly deep breath in. She blinked a few more times. She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were still slowly roaming his face. Right now, they were lingering on his lips.

“Aw fuck, Pix, you’re gonna kill me,” he said weakly, trying to lighten the gravity of his revelations. They’d laugh about this later, he knew it, but first he had to get her through this. “C’mon, breathe.”

She eventually followed his example and began breathing with him. Her hands twitched, and then they were moving, grasping at his chest.

He pulled her into a hug, guiding her head so she’d be buried in him instead of looking at the water, since that’s what had started... whatever she’d gone through. She kept breathing evenly and nestled herself even further into his hold.

He looked down and had to stop himself from kissing the top of her head and just hold her instead. They would talk when she was ready. She was so small in his arms, but she smelled so lovely. He wondered if this is what she’d smell like outside of the game, too.

Eventually, she began to pull away from him, wiping at her eyes. She started to speak in a very small voice, “I’m--”

“If the next word out of your mouth was going to be ‘sorry,’ you have nothing to be sorry about,” Jason interrupted her.

Marinette gave a dry laugh. “How about thank you, then?” She offered him a weak smile, hands still resting on his chest. He barely felt their weight.

“You’re very welcome,” he smiled softly at her. “Do you want to talk about it? I won’t force you to, but I’m happy to listen.”

She sighed, “Not today.” She looked so tired. “But soon. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” Jason knew a thing or two about needing time to process stuff. His overbearing brothers wouldn’t give him the space to do it, and he’d damn well fight anyone who dared do the same to her. “Think you’re ready to stand up?”

She nodded, moving her hands to meet his as he helped them both to their feet. He regretfully let her warm hands go once they stood up. Was the beach always this cold?

“Do you still want to do recon? We can always go home, grab some tea or go shopping for new cloaks,” he offered, retrieving her bow and handing it to her. He didn’t miss the quick glance she’d given at his familiarity with the idea of reconnaissance, and mentally cursed at the slip-up.

“No,” she said steadily, taking the bow and nocking a precautionary arrow. “I think I need to let off some steam now.” Glancing at their surroundings, she winced, “No pun intended.”

He huffed a laugh. Beautiful and funny, lest she let him forget. “Alright Pixie, lead the way.”

The bridges connecting each island were sturdy, hardly even creaking as they moved across. Most islands were pretty quiet. There were some seagulls circling above and they saw the backs of some dolphins in the distance a few times, but it wasn’t until a few miles in that they found any NPCs.

A colorful, floating trading market bustled with activity. As they got closer, it was clearer to see that the stalls were partially submerged, barnacles showing when they rose above the water, to accommodate the finned NPCs. Mermaids and manatees, sharks and starfish, there were dozens of aquatic creatures dipping between the stalls. Some sunned themselves on the island or the central dock the stalls were tied to, some haggled for the price of shells, fish, and other treasures.

It was so fucking weird.

Marinette seemed delighted about it though and bounced up to one of the vendors selling sushi. She bought several rolls from the aged merman, and came back to Jason with a huge grin on her face. “Lunch!” she proclaimed proudly. You’d never know she had staved off a panic attack just a few hours beforehand.

“Looks great, thanks Mari,” he dug in. He was never a huge fan of seafood, but he was starving after all the walking they’d done. He was either really hungry or this was the best sushi he’d ever had, because it was gone within minutes.

They continued walking past the market, passing by several more similarly structured “villages” on their way. They had yet to see any monsters though, which was concerning.

“Don’t you think it’s weird we haven’t run into anything unpleasant?” Marinette asked him a few minutes after he’d come to the same conclusion. He nodded. “Maybe we should ask the next NPCs we see about it,” she mused, mostly to herself.

That wasn’t a bad idea, Jason conceded. He was starting to warm up to the concept of NPCs, especially after they’d built his new house. God, he was so excited to sleep under the stars.

It wasn’t long before they ran into a family of mer... sharks? They were mermaids with shark fins. Whatever, they seemed nice enough.

“Excuse me!” Marinette ran up to them with a friendly wave. Jason sheathed his sword and followed suit. “Do you folks know if there are any dungeons or hostile mobs around here?”

They looked at each other and shook their heads. “There’s only one place with bad guys around here, miss,” the younger boy piped up. “And it’s really bad. Papa says that’s over to the south, which is why we aren’t allowed to swim there.” The boy’s mother smiled down at him proudly.

“He’s right, we’re not aware of anything else troubling our waters, dear,” she spoke kindly to Marinette, who nodded her thanks.

“Well?” She asked Jason as they walked out of earshot of the little family. “Wanna go see what that’s all about?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, I’m definitely game. Are you sure you’re up for it?” He asked as gently as he could. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She flushed at his last remark and stuttered back, “I-I’m fine. Really. If it’s the boss, we should at least see what we’re up against here and report back.” Well, she sounded determined enough.

“Lead on,” Jason said, knowing they’d walk side by side the whole time.

* * *

Marinette was fine. Really. If anyone asked her, which they would, she was fine. She was not pissed as hell, nor was she itching for a fight. No, those would be the irrational reactions of someone who had been unfortunate enough to live in Paris for the latter half of their formative years. She was, in fact, perfectly calm and not at all two seconds away from cutting anything that moved into ribbons.

Luckily Jason didn’t ask her about any of those things, because she was a terrible liar. Small fibs were plausible, yes, and avoidance was practically her middle name, but when it came to emotions.... Well, Hawkmoth had already proven the complexity of human emotion, hadn’t he? Repeatedly?

Great, and now she was anxious and angry and even more inclined to rush to the end of this stupid hell of a video game because Kwami knows what the hell was happening to her city while she was stuck in here wasting time.

Jason held out an arm, peering closely at something behind her. She froze, grinding her internal spiral to a halt. They were crossing a bridge between islands at the moment, lazily heaving waves surrounding them.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, slowly moving his hand to reach behind his cloak. She swallowed against the blinding hot sunset, its rays baking the back of her head. What had he seen?

She nearly fell off into the water as Jason whipped out his index reader and snapped a picture of her. She glared at him in shock for a few moments before throwing her hands in the air and exclaiming, “What the hell?”

He grinned and showed her the screen. It showed her in the foreground, slightly windswept dark hair and blue eyes lit up by the oranges and yellows of the sunset behind her. The waves were slightly out of focus but added their own charm with sun-touched peaks painted all the way to the horizon. The quality was so good, she could count her freckles if she wanted. She looked... she looked beautiful.

“Sorry to spook you, I thought the view was worth it,” he explained with a glint in his eye.

“Oh, I... well, th-thank you,” Marinette stammered out. “The sky, it looks so stunning. How did you even notice it?” She tried to change the subject.

He gave her a bemused look. “How could you not?” He swept his arm around. “It’s all around us. You just have to open your eyes.”

Her eyes were open, she wanted to protest. Her mind was just... on other things. And besides, she didn’t exactly have time to smell the roses. As they continued on though, she let herself look around. For potential dangers, of course. One can never be too careful.

All thoughts of danger soon melted away. Jason was right, the sky and the ocean met in a beautiful, flowing landscape hewn of pure gold. The blues and deep indigos of the water had the most perfect contrast against the gilded reflection of the dying sun. Sparse clouds in the sky caught the last few rays of light, floating orange and serene over the waves. And as they walked southward, she snuck in some glances of her companion.

The contours of Jason’s face were bathed in golden light. It caught the facets of his eyes in a way that looked startlingly like the ocean beside them. His black hair looked honey-brown with the light shining through it, and the streak of white at the front gleamed. She hoped the blush on her face could be attributed to the heat of the sun beating down on them.

Then movement caught the corner of her eye. She stopped, tugging Jason’s sleeve to tell him to do the same. She gave him a serious look and jerked her chin, urging him to look behind him. But whatever had caught her eye was gone.

He turned back around with a cocky smile on his face. “Pixie, if you wanted a picture of me, you just had to ask,” and he struck a ridiculous pose, pursing his lips in a way that almost made her laugh.

But she was so sure he’d seen... something.

They kept walking, mostly keeping quiet now just in case whatever that was came back. The sky darkened slowly, bringing with it a sleepy twilight. There were lanterns atop lamp posts interspersed throughout the bridges and islands that came alive of their own accord. Memories of a brightly lit Seine warmed her even as a cool breeze brushed them by. It made her heart ache.

Jason’s sharp inhale brought her back to the present, his eyes focused on the open water in front of them. She followed his line of sight and squinted, seeing the same faint movement as before. As soon as it became clear enough for her to almost discern what the shape was, it began fading away again. Why wouldn’t her eyes focus? Stupid twilight.

“That’s weird,” Jason muttered. Marinette looked at him with concern. From their friendly shoot-offs, she knew his vision was much better than hers, even in the Mindscape.

“What is it? I can’t seem to focus on it,” Marinette huffed frustratedly.

He folded his arms. “It’s too far for me to make it too, but it looks like it’s close to the next island.”

She frowned. Maybe the lighting wasn’t helping them see it clearly. Looking up at the sky, there were wispy clouds drifting over the half-moon. Heavier ones lurked on the horizon, bringing the promise of rain later in the night. Well, that certainly wouldn’t help.

“Let’s get a closer look,” she said, taking off in a jog before he could protest.

The bridge they were on led up to the dead-end island. It was the first they’d seen, all the other ones were connected to at least two bridges, usually more. That did not bode well.

As they approached the edge of the island, Marinette started being able to make out the shape more. It had spikes protruding from a large mass semi-submerged in the water. As she watched, the spikes collapsed and expanded into billowing... sheets?

A boat, she realized in the sudden clarity of the moonlight. It was a huge ship moored barely a mile off the shore. It had just unfurled its sails and started to turn away from them, which was either very relieving or extremely worrying.

It turned out to be the latter as she and Jason hit the ground, cannonballs spraying the sand around them. The sound echoed across the water, and he winced as he met Marinette’s eyes.

As the cannons stopped firing, she used two fingers to point towards the water, indicating they start swimming quietly to the ship. Before she could turn to take off, Jason pressed a potion bottle into her hand. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only winked and gestured for her to follow as he ran to the water.

After watching him pull the cork off the bottle with his teeth and chug the whole thing, she rolled her eyes and did the same. Marinette took a deep breath before diving in after him, the dark waves swallowing their bright colors.

In the darkness, Jason grabbed her hand and guided it gently to her throat. He tapped twice, but what did that mean? She treaded water next to him, staying beneath the surface. She saw his mouth open in the dimness and intake a huge amount of water.

Panic began to grip her, she needed to get him up to the surface now.

He resisted though, taking in another mouthful of water. Then he motioned at her to do the same. She would have to take a breath at some point....

She shook her head, she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.

He pulled out the empty potion bottle and shook it at her, taking her hand again. She really needed to breathe soon. Another squeeze from his hand.

Alright.

She closed her eyes and breathed.

And she didn’t drown.

One more breath.

Another.

A small smile spread across her face and she squeezed Jason’s hand back. Okay, unfriendly ship. Game on.

* * *

Jason was incredibly relieved he’d packed the water-breathing potions. Zatanna had insisted, and he supposed he should thank her when they got out of this. If they got out of this. Breathing while being entirely submerged made the whole “reliving his reliving” thing more bearable.

Marinette was a strong swimmer, once she got over the whole “breathing underwater” thing. She could keep up with him, which was certainly something. They were nearly at the ship already, its rotting hull looming over them in the murky waters.

They circled around it, looking for a way up. Marinette pulled them towards the chain of the anchor resting far below them. He reluctantly put a hand on it and grimaced at the slimy texture. That’s going to leave a stain. Delicious.

They began to swim upwards, using the chain as a guide. They breached the surface as quietly as possible, remaining submerged beneath their chins. Jason blinked the water out of his eyes, choosing to look away from the way Marinette’s sopping hair framed her eyes or how it billowed out under the waves.

No, he was absolutely not staring at those things.

They began to climb, Marinette first. They equipped the cloaks she’d made for them when they’d fought the player killing guild, so once they neared the top they just had to pull the hoods over their heads.

Jason gave Marinette a head start after she’d pulled her hood up, so he wouldn’t run into her by mistake. That would be just his fucking luck.

He crested the top of the ship, perching catlike on the wooden railing as he took in the scene. Lit by the light of the moon were a little over two dozen pirates. They looked slightly worse for wear, he thought before seeing straight through the bullet holes riddling one larger dude. Okay, maybe really worse for fucking wear. They took turns stabbing each other-- for practice? he wondered-- and conversations of murders past drifted down from the crows nest towering above the sails. Even the deckhands rushing about looked mean.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand rested on his, but it must have just been Marinette. Or some other invisible asshole. Nah, it was too small and gentle to be anyone but her.

He swallowed the butterflies threatening to erupt in his stomach as the hand led him to a spot behind some barrels. None of the crew were nearby, so they could strategize what to do.

“Did you notice the captain?” she asked under her breath.

He did not.

Taking another look around the ship, he spotted a massive figure at the wheel arguing with one of the crew. The latter had to be at least Jason’s height, but he looked puny next to the hulking captain-- judging by his very fancy, very feathered, very cliche pirate’s hat. The captain turned to face the rest of the ship and Jason caught a glimpse of his face. It looked like portions of his skin had been burned or eaten away, revealing the grinning skull beneath. Fucking nasty.

“So what do we want to do about Ugly and his friends?” Jason said in a low voice.

Silence for a moment.

Then, “Let’s kick their asses.”

* * *

“Interesting.”

A cloaked man shrouded in darkness sprawled in a chair, looking for all the world like a king surveying his domain. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the large screen in front of him. It depicted a scene where two figures, one cloaked in black and the other in red, darted around a ship. They performed admirable acrobatic feats to outmaneuver their numerous enemies.

“They seem to work quite well together, don’t you think?” The man mused.

As he watched, the smaller figure scaled the main mast and got the drop on an enormous figure sporting a tricorn, getting in several deep slashes and even severing an arm before retreating.

A glowing purple mask appeared over the man’s face. “Now now Monsieur, you’ll get your restitution in due time.”

The mask flared in intensity for a moment before the man stood up and roared, “Quiet down! I will have my revenge first.”

The mask flickered and dimmed in submission.

The man sat once more. On the screen, the two fighters were hugging, surrounded by floating gems containing the spoils from their kills. One of the ship’s sails glowed brightly in the night, a portal to the next level. “I would very much like to see if these two are capable of besting my strongest champion.... I suppose we shall have to wait for the end,” he chuckled gleefully.

* * *

“That was amazing!” Marinette laughed, shoving Jason’s arm playfully. She felt tired from the exertion of the battle, but it was what she needed. The rain that had started near the end cooled them both.

“No, you were amazing,” he replied with a fond smile. “Especially after earlier, I wasn’t sure if you’d even be okay going underwater....” he trailed off after seeing her face fall.

“Hey Pixie, uh, I forgot to mention it but I actually got my own place recently,” he rubbed the back of his neck. She’d almost think he felt shy if she didn’t know him better. Despite her soured mood, the thought warmed her heart.

“It’s very quiet but on a safe level. There’s a ton of windows and a couch to sleep on, plus some towels to dry off obviously, and if you need a place to go to cool down after today, I mean, if you even want to spend more time with me, not that you have to, but I--”

“Jason,” she cut him off with a gentle hand on his arm. “I would love to see it.”

He huffed a laugh and pulled out a teleportation crystal. With a raised eyebrow, he offered his elbow. She took it, thanking Tikki that it was dark enough to cover her blush, and he spoke the destination into the crystal.

A flash of light enveloped them, then all was dark again.

Jason stepped forward, guiding her as she tried to blink away the dark spots in her vision. They were on a hill surrounded by tall trees, deciduous and evergreens. A single-story cabin rose before them, a lantern lighting its doorstep.

He unlocked the door and held it open for Marinette, bringing the lantern inside with them. He locked the door behind them, but she barely heard it as she tried to contain her awe at the inside. A small gasp tumbled from her lips all the same.

It was the definition of cozy, with wooden panels lining the walls and framed trophies from their adventures. She spied the map from when they took down Cyclops together over the couch. Jason made his way to light the fireplace as she took in the small kitchen with herb bundles hanging from the ceiling. And the ceiling itself... oh, it was wonderful. There were skylights everywhere she looked, allowing in the distant light from the stars. She bet he didn’t need a lantern at all to navigate the place in the dark, but was thoughtful enough to bring one to light the way for her.

Jason stood nervously fidgeting in front of the fireplace. She quickly strode over to take his hands in hers, giving him the gentlest smile she could afford while being so, so very happy to see a place that was so him.

“It’s wonderful Jason, thank you for showing me your home,” she said, then paused as she realized how true it was. This was his home, and he had poured every ounce of detail and care into it that he possibly could.

He smiled his gratitude, then took their cloaks to steam by the fire. He showed her to what must be his bedroom. It had floor to ceiling windows displaying the woods and thick curtains to shut it out. Then he ran off back to the kitchen.

She shut the door softly behind her, still taking it all in. His bed was neatly made with a thick blue comforter, lit by another skylight above it. The only other things in the room were a chair tucked into a simple desk and a large bookshelf beside them. She ran a finger gently down the titles. It looked like a lot of classic literature, with a penchant for Shakespeare. The only item on the desk was the copy of King Lear she had mended for him, almost in a place of honor. Shaking her head to remove those hopeful and traitorous thoughts, she quickly changed into dry, comfortable clothes then joined him back in the living room.

He was heating up some stew, spiced, by its smell. It reminded her of when they first met.

“Hey,” she greeted him quietly. It took little effort to be heard in the deep silence blanketing the cottage.

“Hey!” he grinned. “Wanna hang your wet clothes up by the fire?” he offered. Marinette smiled and did so, placing them next to his own.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but I’m fucking starving,” he explained as he doled out a bowl and offered it to her.

She took it gladly. “Oh, now that you mention it, I think I am too. Thank you, Jason!” He made a bowl for himself then sat down at the small table with her. There were only two chairs, how perfect was that? She quashed those thoughts and hurriedly put a spoonful of stew into her mouth.

It was perfect too.

He carefully watched her for a reaction while eating his own portion, dipping in some bread before ripping off a chunk and offering it to her.

“It’s amazing,” she said with her mouth full, quick to reassure him (and prove her bad manners, she mentally facepalmed). She took the bread and dipped it into her own stew. That made it even better.

She swallowed. “Guess all those cooking classes paid off,” she joked.

“The student is only as good as his teacher,” he winked back.

She quickly trained her gaze on her bowl instead of the way his blue eyes shone in the silver starlight. Oh kwami, she was hopeless.

Jason insisted on washing their dishes by himself after they had finished eating, practically forcing her to sit on the couch and warm up by the fire. Stupid gorgeous man being a stupid thoughtful host. She was only about 60% sure she could take him in a fight, and it would likely result in a huge mess, so she let it happen.

After he finished, he joined her on the couch for a bit. They chatted a while about his books and who he had gotten to commission the house. It was peaceful, something she hadn’t felt since the game had trapped them there. But they were still trapped. And everyone was relying on her to get them out.

“This has been lovely, but I think I’m tired,” Marinette yawned and stretched her arms behind her. “Is there a blanket I can use out here?” She started looking around the couch.

“I’ll go grab it, but I’m taking the couch,” he stood up to go into his bedroom.

“Wait what?” she blurted out, standing as well. “No way, this is your house, you should sleep in your own bed.”

He laughed from the bedroom. “As if! I’m not letting a lady sleep on the couch, dumbass.”

“So which am I, a lady or a dumbass?” she challenged as he came back with a plush, plaid blanket and an extra pillow.

He contemplated the question, then leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You can be both, Pixie.”

Her face heated up, definitely about his stubbornness and not at all about the kiss, and she retorted, “Well, I’m not taking the bed.” Very smart comeback, great job Mari!

Jason folded the couch down to form a wide, flat bed. “Then I guess we’re both sleeping on the couch,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

“Fine,” she crossed her arms and stalked to the bedroom. She heard a sigh of relief that was cut short when she came back with a second pillow under her arm.

She stopped just centimeters short of him and stared right into his eyes. “I guess we are,” she challenged.

He didn’t back away like she expected him to. It almost felt like he leaned in closer, but that must have her imagination. She knew he was taller than her, but standing like this made her realize he was a full head, nearly two, taller. Even though his eyes bored into hers from a foot and some change away, she never once felt like he looked down on her.

No, there was something else in his eyes. Something... more.

She chickened out first, backing away with a smirk. “Shall we?” she gestured grandly to the couch.

He blinked and the unreadable look on his face was gone, wiped away. “Ladies first,” he grumbled.

She did a mock curtsy, then fluffed the pillow and laid down on the couch, scooting to the side closest to the wall. The cushioning hardly moved as he settled in next to her. She burrowed into the blanket, thankful that it was large enough to cover both of them, and laid on her back to look up at the stars.

And avoid looking at her bed-partner’s face.

His ridiculously handsome face.

“You know, if we’re both going to stay in the same spot anyway, we should’ve just taken the damn bed.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

She groaned, “Too late now, it’s sleepy time.”

He chuckled. “Sure, sure.”

They were both too damn stubborn for their own good. She couldn’t help but think maybe that was perfect too.

There was silence for a while. Despite her claims, Marinette felt wide awake. She could feel Jason’s heat beside her, and she was having trouble relaxing being so near to him.

“Wanna hear the constellations I made up for the stars here?” he asked quietly.

A soft smile spread across her face. Why was she nervous? This was Jason, one of her best friends.

“Yeah, I do.”

#healing hands #jasonette #sword art online au #virtual reality #maribat #maribat fics #batfam #batfam fic #jasonette fic

10 notes · View notes

hrina · 5 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]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#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

2K notes · View notes

mouseymatchmaker · 7 years ago

Text

You are loved (Bruce X Reader)

Summary: Reader comes home, emotionally overwhelmed to find the boys fighting and lets out a flood of emotion that only Bruce can calm Pairing: Bruce x Reader Word Count: 2267 SFW Warnings: childhood abuse, angst but later fluffy.

This was requested by @cas-backwards-tie #batmoms4life!

And proofread by the lovely @cattwomannn and @thatchtheawesomecook. I’m tagging @mydesigninglife in it because I demand she read it :P

No one liked a rough day, least of all Y/N. She was on her way back from visiting her family, and that visit had gone poorly. They were not the nicest bunch of people to her, but she felt obligated to make the effort to see them and visit them. But her family were ungrateful for those visits; they always belittled her and hissed cruel words both to her face and behind her back. Y/N thought she’d escaped the worst of it when she had moved to Gotham to go to university, but their dominion over her had kept pulling her back to them, making her feel like she owed them something.

Luckily, she had a home here in Gotham with her fiance, Bruce Wayne. She hadn’t told her family about him nor their engagement. Y/N knew that the behavior would change and suddenly they would look like the perfect family. It was toxic and she would not allow herself to go down that route. Not to mention, Bruce was Batman. He’d see through the social masks of her family in a second. Even if he may not take action against them, she didn’t want to put Bruce in a position where he needed to bear her burden or defend her. This was her issue, as far as she was concerned.

Y/N drove up the driveway to Wayne Manor. As she parked the car, she rested her head on the steering wheel. Today had taken it’s toll on her patience and happiness. She was socially overwhelmed and just wanted to curl up in bed. It was the first time she hoped Bruce, and Damian for that matter, were on patrol when she got in. Taking a deep shaking breath, Y/N composed herself and stepped out of the car and into the house.

Of course, there was never a dull moment in Wayne Manor, especially when Bruce’s other sons decided to visit. She was met by Jason holding Tim in the air with Dick trying to drag Damian away.

“Fight me like a man Drake!”

“You bit me! That’s fighting like an animal!”

Damian lunged towards Tim, almost breaking Dick’s grip on him. Alfred watch impassively, but Y/N knew he was not amused by this in the slightest.

“Welcome home Miss. May I take your coat?” Asked Alfred politely, artfully maneuvering around the chaos.

“Yes, thank you Alfred” Y/N replied softly. The loud yells and fighting but an uneasy feeling in her stomach. It was just like with her blood family. Screaming, fighting and then the guilt. Even though she was not part of the boys fight, it was an instant emotional reaction for her to feel guilty. As if she was to blame. Alfred seemed to notice her low demeanor.

“Are you quite alright Miss Y/N? Shall I brew some tea?”

“Hm? Oh, n-no, that won’t be-”

She was cut off by the boys further screaming, as they now turned their attention to her for support in stopping the argument. Oh no, not this. Please, just let me go to bed Y/N begged deep in the recesses of her mind.

“Mother! How can father put his faith in Drake as an heir if he won’t fight! Evidently I’m the better option!” Snapped Damian, still trying to get Dick off him. Tim finally had his feet on the floor, but Jason still had a hand on the scruff of his neck to yank him out of Damian’s reach should the argument become physical again.

“Better option?! You little-” Tim attempted to lunge at Damian, but Jason’s grip was too tight and Tim was promptly yanked back.

“Guys back down!” Said Dick sternly.

“I think it’s funny”

“Well you would Jason!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And once again, the shouting began. Y/N raised her hands to her temples. Stop. Just stop. No more. Tears welled up in her eyes as her emotions threatened to burst out of her. Alfred reached out to her, he was the only one in the room who noticed her reaction. Y/N flinched away. Her breathing increased and her shoulders began to shake.

“Stop… P-please” she begged quietly. But it was loud enough for the boys to hear. The four of them immediately calmed down and stared at Y/N, stunned. They’d never seen her cry before, hell they’d never seen her sad. She’d been worried, sure, but even then she always had a soft and nurturing smile on her face. Y/N had always tried to make them feel happy, or at the least OK.

“Mom? Are you-” Dick began to ask, gently approaching her the way you’d approach a scared animal.

“I-I-I’m sorry… I didn’t m-mean to-” Y/N began to say before her voice broke into shuddering, choking sobs. Dick recoiled in surprise. Shaking her head, Y/N pushed past him and began to walk very quickly to the room she shared with Bruce. Feeling a presence behind her, Y/N knew it was one of the boys reaching out to stop her, to comfort her. But she couldn’t handle that right now. Alone. Just alone. Alone where it was quiet and she could just curl up. Y/N broke into a sprint through the mansion to her destination. Slamming the door behind her, she made for the bathroom. It was her go-to when she was sad because there were no windows for the boys to try to break in and Bruce was surprisingly exasperated when doors were broken down.

Once the bathroom door was locked, Y/N leaned her back against it and sank to the floor, finally letting the sobs out properly. She tried to control her breathing to calm down, to take a bath and just ease that stress from her body. But the more she tried to calm herself, the louder the sobs became and the more her breath increased. The room seemed to get smaller and smaller, like it wanted to choke the life out of her.

Y/N couldn’t seem to pull herself back out of that darkness. She could faintly hear the murmur of voices outside the door.

“Mama, c’mon open up” begged Jason softly. He could usually get what he wanted from her when he called her ‘mama’. The smallest of smiles graced Y/N’s face as she remembered all the times Jason wanted a favour and would lean his full weight on her, calling her ‘mama’. Suddenly the memories of her own mother flooded back into her heart and Y/N began to sob harder.

“Way to go Jason”

“Shut up demon-spawn!”

“I daresay this arguing was what caused her to become overwhelmed in the first place” Alfred was there, his tone was clipped and curt.

“I’m going to get Bruce” Y/N heard Dick say firmly. Bruce probably hadn’t been informed of her state by this point, the boys probably thought they could handle it themselves.

“Master Bruce is still at Wayne Enterprises”

“I’ll call him then. It’s not like there’s a higher authority than his at his own company” Dick said offhandedly. Bruce always came when one of them rang him, usually no one did because they could handle themselves. But needs must.

Y/N heard the bedroom door open as Dick left. Curling up into a tighter ball, Y/N rested her head on her arms. Why could this pain, this emotional pain that was so physical, go away?

Y/N mind went blank with darkness as she, and the people outside her door, waited for Bruce to come home. It actually didn’t take Bruce that long to get there.

“How many people did you run over to get here?” joked Jason dryly

“Too many” retorted Bruce as he approached the door. Another weak smile ghosted Y/N’s face. Bruce’s humor was usually lacking, but many years with Alfred offered him a plethora of witty comebacks.

“Y/N… Let me in” His voice was soft, not like the voice he used as Batman and not the one he used at galas. It was one he used for those he loved. Y/N shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. “You don’t need to come out, just let me in for just you and me to talk”

Again, Y/N shook her head.

“If you don’t let me in, I’ll put a hole in the wall” He warned lightly. Y/N knew he was only half-joking. Shaking, Y/N stood up and opened the door wide enough for Bruce to slip in. She was hidden behind the door so none of the boys could see her, but she was sure they were still there. And suddenly, there he was. Tall, dark and handsome with worry lines etched into his face.

“What’s happened?” Bruce asked as he took her into his arms. Y/N’s breath quickened again as the sobs began to bubble in her throat. Rocking her back and forth, Bruce didn’t ask anymore questions. He allowed her to cry into his very expensive shirt, snot and all.

“I-I visited m-my family...” she choked out, sobs breaking up her sentence. “They’ve a-always been so c-cruel to me a-and when I got h-h-h…” Y/N broke down again, shaking in Bruce’s arms. A small thud against the door told her that the boys were listening in.

“...H-home...” she continued, taking a deep breath. “I saw the b-boys fighting and it reminded me of my c-childhood, when they yelled at me and fought”

“You’re not with them anymore, you’re with a family who loves you. Everyone in this house adores you. Even the other heroes love you. They always ask about you if you’re not in the Batcave and the first thing I hear when I go to meet the league is “how’s Y/N”. You’re more loved than you feel” Bruce assured her. Y/N’s tears were drying on her cheeks. The expenditure of her emotions and tears had left her emotionally and physically exhausted, Bruce was taking most of her weight at this point.

“There will come a point where you can wash your hands of them and on that day I send you all my love and hope that you can do it without feeling guilty because by God you have nothing to feel guilty about” He continued passionately. Bruce leaned down a pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s lips before releasing her from her grip.

“I’ll run you a bath and send the boys into one of the drawing rooms. I’m sure they’ve got some things that they want to say to you too” He said as he approached the bath. Footsteps followed by a door opening and closing told her that the boys had heard and were probably already making their way to the drawing room.

Bruce proceeded to help her undress and then settle down into the large tub that was like a small swimming pool. The entire situation was one of healing and cleansing, not seduction or lust. He washed her hair for her and gently washed her body. All the while, he spoke softly to her about anything, as if speaking too loudly would break the calm spell woven around them. He only left to grab some dry towels. They were warm when he wrapped her up in one and carried her into the adjoining bedroom. Bruce gently cradled her on the bed as she dried. As he did this, she told her all about her childhood. The abuse, the blame, the beatings and the denial when she tried to get justice for herself. Bruce just hummed in response to all she said, listening to her as no one had done before. Once Y/N had finished her tale, she dressed and walked down to the drawing room where the boys were waiting for them.

The minute they saw their mother, all four boys gently approached. Dick already had his arms open for her as he came closer.

“We’re sorry” he said as he held her close. Tim was the next to get to her, wrapping his arms around both her and Dick. Tim was then followed by Damian who clung to her waist protectively. Then finally Jason wrapped his arms around all of them.

“It’s alright…” Y/N replied softly

“No it’s not!” Said Damian stubbornly.

“Yeah. In this big old world, just leaving someone to hurt isn't acceptable…” Tim said agreeably. “And they had no right to do that to you. We’re sorry we caused you to get upset”

“More people care in this world, even if you've never spoken to them or know they exist. They're there and they'll always have your back in spirit. And we will, especially!” Said Jason.

“Wow, that’s deep coming from you Todd”

“Hush up!”

“Todd! You’re crushing me against mother!”

“Embrace our love Dami!”

“No!”

“Let’s just all put a movie on and relax” Laughed Y/N, wanting nothing more than to relax with her boys and the man she loved. Y/N’s face broke into a wide smile. The warmth and care flowing through the family was more than enough for her. It was where she belonged and where she was loved. Even if the boys argued, she knew the bonds of love and family ran deeper than words could ever described. She’d probably fall asleep during the movie and the boys would end up on patrol. But she could live with that if she was allowed these moments to just want their love and bask in the soft glow of the lights.

#bruce wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne #batfam x reader #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Batman #Nightwing #Red Hood #Red Robin #Robin #Batman Imagine #Imagine

621 notes · View notes