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acid-ixx · 28 days ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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strawberrypoundtown · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! I’m a big fan of your work and your writing style.

If you’re still open to prompts(no worries if not):

Perhaps an incubus who falls in love with it’s mark, and struggling to remain composed or ‘professional’ due to their feels?

Please and thank you ❤️

(Omg I love this idea. Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like what I did with it! I'm so sorry this took so long to complete. I wanted to try and do something different with this one to experiment a bit more. Any advice or critique is welcome 😁 I do want to make a part 2 for this eventually, but I honestly have no idea when I'll actually be able to write it. Until then, any ideas for the 2nd part (or a name for him) are more than welcome! Without further adieu, please enjoy the show! - 🍓)

Incubus x Fem!Reader

After starting work at a new office, you've been trying to ignore your incubus coworker and his countless attempts to invite you into the supply closet, or his home after work hours. It's not until he admits that he doesn't just want a one-night stand that you might give him a chance...

Contains: tentacles, sexual tension, bondage (tentacles), gagging, grinding

This wasn't supposed to happen. It never took him more than a few days to convince someone to go home with him. Usually, he was able to do it in a matter of hours, and they ended up bent over his desk. Why were you so difficult? You were just a human. The most beautiful human he had ever seen walk into the office, but just a human either way.

Then why did you turn him down everytime he even walked up to you? Sure he had a rep, but it was a good one. A lot of the other girls at the office considered him good for stress relief, so why wouldn't you let him show you that? Or more importantly, why did he care so much that you kept rejecting him? He couldn't wrap his head around it. He had been rejected in the past and was never all that affected by it. But why did your rejections hurt so badly?

He couldn't feed on anyone else until he had you. The thought of feeding on anyone but you made him feel nauseous. Everyone else smelled terrible in comparison. He even almost gagged once when he was in a morning meeting, and you had called in sick.

You were like a breath of fresh air, and your kindness towards everyone in the office since you arrived made him annoyed. Some of the other monsters in the office were starting to flirt with you after you had rejected him the first time. It made him so angry that you were torturing him like this.

He was done with the casual approach at this point. He couldn't stand having people look at you like he did. He wanted you all to himself, at least for one night. He isn't supposed to get attached to his marks, but he couldn't help it. You had ruined him by simply existing. Everyone he looked at that could be a potential mark were nothing compared to you. They didn't have your body, your voice, your eyes, your smile, or your scent. He just wanted to drown himself in you just once to purge his urges at least, but you wouldn't let him do that.

But today was different. He had a plan. Your team had a short meeting that morning, and he had pretended to leave first, instead waiting outside the door until everyone else had left. He noticed you always stayed back for a few moments to yourself for whatever reason, often just cleaning, but this time, you were going to be staying back for another reason.

All of a sudden, he heard giggling from inside. Your giggling. It was followed by a masculine laugh and the disgusting scent of werewolf flooding his senses. He growled and peered through the crack in the door to see you smiling and giggling with a werewolf that sat next to you during the meeting. His claws dug into the doorframe as he tried to listen in while looking at you through the crack in the door.

"Oh, you're too funny." you said with a sigh, wiping a tear from your eye as you stared up at the handsome young werewolf.

"Why, thank you (Y/n). I take pride in my sense of humor." he said with a cocky smile, leaning into your space as he spoke.

"You should. I always laugh when we talk." You said softly with a sweet smile, seemingly leaning towards him as well.

"Well, how about I get you to laugh later tonight? Why don't we grab drinks after work tonight? There's a bar near my place..." he proposes to you with a smile, his fangs bared.

The door suddenly swung open before you could even contemplate an answer.

"There's a bright yellow sport car in front of the building getting towed. You better go get it, dog." The incubus growled through grit teeth, glaring into the werewolf's eyes.

"Son of a bitch... I'm so sorry, I gotta go. Think about what I said. I'll be expecting your answer after lunch." Ths werewolf softly purred to you before quickly walking outside the room. The incubus wasted no time and swung the door closed, letting it slam.

"What was that about? Coming to try snd get in my pants again?" You spat before rolling your eyes and starting to organize your papers. Gods, you were such a feisty human sometimes. He loved that about you.

"Technically yes." He chuckled, the rumble in his chest more appealing than you'd care to admit. "I didn't want anyone else around."

"I know you won't do anything unless I give my consent." You said bluntly as you tapped your papers together and tucked things away. You knew incubus couldn't do anything without some kind of genuine verbal permission.

"What? Oh fuck no. Nothing like that... Jesus christ, who do you take me for?" He sounded offended as one of his hands came up over his heart.

"A horny incubus that won't leave me alone." You groaned as you turned towards him, going to walk around him. Suddenly, his arm shoots out, blocking your path as he plants his hand on the wall. His claws were peaking out and leaving marks on the wall.

"You don't understand." He growls, a bit harsher than intended before he inhales deeply, trying to calm down as he runs a hand through his hair between his horns. "Once I have my target set on a mark, I can't change it unless they reject me."

"Then why do you keep coming back? I've rejected you so many times... Don't you have plenty of other girls that would be more than willing to give you a snack?" You pointed out how many women were always hanging all over him. It made you sick. Of course you wanted to fuck the hot incubus in the office, but you know yourself. You don't like to share. You like having a partner that's yours and yours alone.

"No. I've never encountered anyone that makes me feel like this..." He leans in towards your face and softly sniffs the air. "You smell so good... I can't think of feeding on anyone else right now... I think I just need a taste... just one night..." His voice is dripping in a pleading tone, bartering, but practically begging for you.

"I can't do that." You said bluntly as you avoided eye contact with him. The heat pooling in your panties didn't help your faltering moral defenses. You knew better. You had to stay firm. Firm like the bulge forming in his dress pants...

"Please?" His deep desperate voice broke you out of your daze as you softly gasped, trying to pretend to be offended instead of turned on as your face turns red and you glare into his eyes.

"N-no! I'm not interested in having a one night stand with you!" You barked, your chest heaving as you stared up at him. Your heart raced as you took in his appearance unintentionally. He was tall and slender, with sharp features. his typically carefully slicked back hair was a bit disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration. His horns were short and blunt usually, but you could see them growing by the moment. In fact, it seemed like his entire frame was growing.

"Oh." He purred. "I get it now." A wicked grin spread cross his face as you tried your best to maintain an annoyed expression. "You haven't been rejecting me because you don't want to sleep with me."

"What?" You jaw slacked open as you looked up at him in shock. "Why else would I be rejecting you?"

"You've been rejecting me because you want me so bad you know you'll want more." He chuckled, his other arm suddenly swinging around to cage you against the wall. "I can tell by how wet you were right now."

"That could have been from anyone else today." You scoffed, but you knew you couldn't pretend you weren't also starting to get desperate. Yiu also couldn't pretend that in an office full of monsters, most of them could probably smell your arousal whenever you had walked into a room.

"I'm an incubus, baby. A demon of pleasure. I can smell it in your blood how turn on you get from being around me." He chuckled with a grin. Fuck. He was onto you. "And it started shortly after I walked in the room..." Double fuck.

"Fuck you." You hissed through grit teeth, your blood pumping as you thought about how many times he must have known you were turned on by his presence.

"Oh babygirl, don't be so hostile. If you wanted more than just one night with me, we could easily arrange that." He starts to lean in close to your face, but you put a hand on his chest and push him back. You couldn't have him in your space like this for long or to hell with your morals.

"Look, I don't sleep with guys unless I'm dating them. I don't do friends with benefits or random office hookups." You finally admitted with a sigh, avoiding eye contact in embarrassment. Your hand on his chest alone was driving him wild. You had never touched him before. He felt his horns getting bigger as he struggled to keep his mostly human form intact.

"Wait, what? Why not?" He said as he finally processed what you said. It was hard to pay attention when you kept touching him.

"Because I know I get attached easily." You admit shyly, your voice nearly whisper quiet as you pulled your hand away. You had his full attention now. "Think about it. You're an incubus that needs to feed on pleasure to survive. You have a good routine going here with everyone else in the office from what I've heard." You let out a shakey sigh as you felt tears start to well in your eyes. "If I'm added into the mix, I know I'm just going to end up hurt... because it already hurts..."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean it hurts?" His voice has changed from frustration to worry mixed with confusion. He didn't understand what was hurting you.

"Excuse me?" You question, a bit confused by his confusion.

"What hurts you right now?" He asks, a bit more clearly as he stares into your eyes and gently cups your face. His touch makes you stiffen, although all you want to do is melt into his hand. As if he has some kind of truth spell on you, you take a breath and let out a soft sigh.

"Y...you do... you hurt me... I see how you talk to the other females in the office... it hurts... ever since I walked into this office I've found you attractive... I've only been here for a few weeks, and I've honestly already been looking to transfer to a different department so I don't have to be around you all the time." You admit softly, averting your gaze before his hand suddenly grabs your face by squishing your soft cheeks.

"What?! Hell no!" He barked with a growl. The thought of you transferring away from him made him enraged. He couldn't let that happen.

"Excuth me?" You mumbled through your squished lips, his grip firm, so you couldn't move, but not harsh.

"You heard me. Hell no." His grip on your face loosens as both his hands move up to hold the side of your head. The look in his eyes is wild, his pupils huge as he doesn't even seem to blink. "You've ruined me, so you don't get to run away from me like that."

"W-what?" You stutter confused, staring back at him as you tried to process his words. What does he mean you ruined him?

"If all you wanted from the beginning was to have me all to yourself, you should have said something." He mutters as his thumbs slowly rub your cheeks. His gentle touch makes you let out an involuntary sigh. "You've made me want no one but you since you got here anyways... your rejections were like being stabbed in the heart... God, without you around, everyone else smells like hot garbage... you smell like fresh summer rain that I wanna drown in forever..." He whispers to you as he moves his hands down your neck and to your shoulders before dropping down your back slowly.

"You really feel like that?" You whisper softly as a shiver goes down your spine. His hands find your hips and hold you firmly in place as he presses his chest against yours. Your arms and papers squish between the two of you as his hot breath bathed your face.

"Yes. I mean every word... if you want to try and date me, I'd be more than happy to only feed from you." He slowly leans down and presses his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply as you can feel his hardening bulge against your lower stomach. "I just don't know how much longer I can wait for you... being this close is torture... I can take you on a proper date tonight, but..." His breathing seems to get heavier as you start to hear the ripping of fabric from behind him. "I need you." His eyes were filled with need at he looked like he was about to start drooling over the most deliciousmeal he's ever had. He was starving and desperate to just feel you. "Please."

"I need you too." You finally whispered, breathless yourself as this was finally too much. You hoped he was telling the truth, but your horny brain didn't even care anymore. You needed him just as badly in that moment.

"Fuck, you have no idea how much I've needed to hear you say that." He lets out a relieved sigh and chuckles before a dark black tentacle comes out from the darkness and grabs your papers, throwing them onto the table. He wastes no time in pinning you to the wall, his wings bursting out from his back and ripping open the back of his suit. "Shit." He grumbles, quickly just tearing off the rest of the fabric on his upper body as he pulls up your skirt, making you wrap your legs around him as he grinds his bulge against your panties to tease you. You're about to let out a moan as he takes your soft lips in a deep kiss. You instead moan against his lips as your hands find his hair, gently tugging as he moans in return.

He's barely even done anything yet, and he feels like he just had a full meal. Your pleasure was so easy to stir and the buzz it gave him was addicting. This was dangerous. He didn't think you'd actually be so tasty. But you were now quickly becoming his new favorite meal. More tentacles manifested out of the darkness, wrapping around your arms and legs slowly as they explored your body and held you in place. The tentacles were warm and wet against your skin, almost feeling like strange tongues. You feel them pin your arms behind your back, your chest now pushed out as he rips the front of your blouse open. You gasp and squirm a bit about to complain about your shirt being ripped before he quickly silences you with a quick kiss.

"I can get you a new shirt, baby. Just relax and enjoy this." He purrs softly, making you shiver before his lips are back on yours again. He slides his tongue into your mouth and seems to be trying to taste as much of you as he possibly can. Two tentacles slide into your bra and wrap around your breasts, fondling them as they flicked your nipples. He quickly unbuckles his pants and pulls out his throbbing cock from his boxers, rubbing his length between your slick folds. He groans against your lips softly before pulling away to rest his forehead against yours.

Your brain is fuzzy as you look up at him, your eyes drunk with lust and he could swear you had hearts in your eyes. Your eyes flicked downwards and widened as he chuckled. He was bigger than you expected, but you weren't going to shy away from a challenge. However, before you could tell him to go ahead and fuck you, you felt a warm, slick tentacle move your panties to the side before prodding your dripping wet hole and slowly sliding into you. It was thick, stretching you slightly as it wriggled inside you against your most sensitive bumps inside you.

"I can tell you're a needy one... a secret kinky side... I like that." He groans as he bucks his hips against yours, rubbing his cock against your bundle of nerves. Your back arched as you couldn't help but let out lewd moans, another tentacle swiftly sliding into your mouth. "You're really enjoying this. I can't believe you resisted this for so long." He chuckles with a wicked grin. You moan around the tentacle in your mouth as you squirm, your eyes fluttering as the tendril in your pussy plays with your sensitive walls. Your face flushes as you felt yourself starting to get close already.

"Fuck baby... if you taste this good just to play with, I need to know how good you taste when you cum." He pants softly as you notice drool from the corners of his mouth dripping down onto your chest. His eyes are wild with lust as they dart over your body laid out just for him. His cock continues to thrust roughly against your clit, picking up the pace along with the two tentacles inside you. You don't know how much more you can take.

"Cum for me baby." He commands, making you shiver as you suddenly come undone. Your pussy contracts around the tentacle as you gag on the lne in your mouth. Your entire body trembles as you're fucked through your orgasm, the tentacles only pulling away slowly for a moment after you're done cumming. You're panting and gasping for air as the black tendril slides put of your mouth, your pussy red and puffy as the other slides out as well.

You're left whining softly as your pussy clenches around nothing and you try to catch your breath. You want to tell him you wanted more. That you wanted his cock. You needed it. Drool drips down your chin as he leans in to lick it away, pulling his dick away as the black tendrils move you to the large table. He begins licking the sweat from your body, leaving you wet and needy.

Once he finally moves to 'clean' between your legs, you're groaning and moaning softly with need. He licks up your thighs, stopping before touching your pussy. Your squirming in the grip of the tentacles still, bucking your hips as you pray for him to touch you. You're left whimpering and shaking with desire as he fixes your messy panties and pulls your skirt back into place.

"You really are needy." He growls as his eyes finally start to settle from their crazed daze. The tentacles slowly release you and he uses the shreads of his shirt snd jacket to ensure you're cleaned up. "But I can't get too carried away... not yet."

"I wish you could have." You whisper with a cheeky smile as he begins to clean your face of any spit or tears left behind. He chuckles lowly as he holds your face with one of his clawed hands. His eyes still held a burning desire for you, and you knew he saw the same in yours.

"You'll find out tonight. You took the bus today, right?" He asks as he manifested two of his shirts, opening one of them up and sliding it on your arms before beginning to button it up. You notice his more demon-like features starting to slowly go away, showing that he's much calmer now as he takes on his human appearance again.

"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow, wondering why he was asking. It wasn't uncommon for you to just take the bus when you didn't feel like driving in the morning. He quickly finished buttoning the shirt he put on you before putting on a shirt himself now that he won't rip it with his wings.

"Good. You're coming home with me after work." He said with a smirk as he buttoned up his shirt. You whined softly and bit your lip as he now covered himself. He helped you off the table, but held your hips as you stood in front of him now.

"I want you to save that energy for our date tonight."

"Oh really?" You giggle as you run your hand along his chest, undoing the top bottun to let a bit kore of his chest show. "You better finish what you started then." You feel him practically purr as he stares down at you with a mischievous grin.

#monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster x reader #monster imagine #demon x reader #demon oc #demon bf #demon boyfriend

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cherry-romper · 5 months ago

Text

Loving You Sounds Like a Song

Playlist

+ Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Iida, Momo, Jirou, Mina, Ochaco, Asui, Mirio, Amajiki, Aizawa, Hawks, All Might, Dabi, Twice, Compress, Shiguraki

Midoriya; Head over Heels - Tears For Fears

I wanted to be with you alone

I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?

Something happens and I'm head over heels

One little boy, one little man - funny how time flies

Bakugou; Everlong - Foo Fighters

I've waited here for you, Everlong

Come down, And waste away with me

Breathe out, So I can breathe you in

And I wonder...if everything could ever feel this real forever.

You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.

Todoroki; Say Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

Give peace a chance, Let the fear you have fall away

Say yes to heaven, Say yes to me

If you go, I'll stay, You come back, I'll be right here

And if you fight, I'll fight

I've got my mind on you

Kirishima; Lover - Taylor Swift

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Kaminari; NEON - DPR LIVE

Your kisses make it go neon

Neon, I want to know you

Neon, lose the night with you

Girl, I'm liking your body, but more than that I love your, uh

Colourful smile, you make me wonder what's under, uh

The way you make the light go blurry

Sero; Coast - Hailee Steinfeld

You the wave upon my ocean, pounding rhythm and motion

Just relax and let the riptide pull you close

Baby, all I wanna do is coast, with you

The starts come down, you drown 'em out

I'm sinking deeper into you

Iida; This Charming Man - The Smiths

Will nature make a man of me?

Why pamper life's complexity, When the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?

This man said, "It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care"

A jumped up pantry boy, Who never knew his place

Momo; You've Got The Love - Florence + The Machine

I know I can count on you

But you've got the love I need to see me through

When my food is gone you are my daily meal

When friends are gone I know my saviour's love is real

Jirou; Wait a Minute! - WILLOW

I'm here right now, with you

I'll run my hands through you hair

You wanna run your fingers through mine

You left your diary at my house, And I read those pages, Do you really love me, baby?

Mina; DESERT EAGAL - Beyonce

Soft to the touch, let you hold somethin'

Soft kisses on some fat lips

Put on a show and make it nasty, Desert Eagle in the backseat

Oh, I keep it classy, let you love me like a lady, yeah

Ochaco; Strawberry Skies - Kid Travis

Girl you brighten up my world

Cant you tell I want you by my side?

We're gone with the wind, Hair in your face, Put my hand on your waist

Strawberry skies, all on your lips, 'cause I love how it taste

Hope that you catch me when I fall

Asui; Honey - Kehlani

I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet, A little selfish

'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck, A colourful mess, but I'm funny

All the pretty girls in the world, But I'm in this space with you

Don't walk away, or would you wait for me?

Isn't love all we need? Is it love?

Mirio; I can't Help Myself - Four Tops

You know that I love you, I cant help myself

I love you and nobody else

Leaving just your picture behind, And I kissed it a thousand times

When you snap your figure or wink your eye, I come running too you

But every time I see your face, I get choked up inside.

Amajiki; Halley's Comet - Billie Eilish

But in my dreams I seem to be more honest, And I must admit, you've been in quite a few

But you're all it takes for me to break a promise

Silly me to fall in love with you

Midnight for me is 3AM for you

I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless

Aizawa; Adore You - Harry Styles

I get so lost inside your eyes, Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

I'd walk through fire for you, Just let me adore you

Hawks; Where u Goin' Tonight? - Mac Ayres

Just don't stand so close to me... Unless tonight, you'll be my only

All of the things I tried to keep low, Feeling like I been changing

Tell me where you goin' tonight? I'll meet you there if that's alright

Could I be the one to do the things that you like?

Burnt all my bridges, baby, But at least I'm staying warm

I been working on forgiveness, Said I don't think its catching on

All Might; I Was Made For Lovin' You - KISS

Tonight I wanna give it all to you

'Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me

Can you get enough of me?

Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild

Dabi; LET THE WORLD BURN - Chris Grey

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all, And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love, Look what it made me become

And I know you think you can run

But I just cant let you go

I'd let the world burn, Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end, If I cant have you then no one can

Twice; Caraphernelia - Pierce The Veil

There ain't a think that you can do that's going to ruin my night

This dizzy dreamer and her bleeding little blue boy

Hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway

Ill burn your name into my throat

What's so good about picking up the pieces?

Mr. Compress; Never Ever Getting Rid of me - From Waitress

I will never let you let me leave, I promise I'm not lying

I'm gonna do this right, Show you I'm not moving, Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow

I'm gonna love you so, You'll learn what I already know, I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

Shigaraki; No Mercy - DeathByRomy

My boy hates everybody but me

He's sinister, but to me, he's sweet

In love with a monster, Daddy thinks I've lost it

My boy's a bullet in your brain, I show no mercy

Your nightmare is the man of my dreams

It turns me on when he makes you bleed

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stark-ironman · 3 months ago

Note

I am in love with your writing, and I am also OBSESSED with Hugh, I simply need to give this man five children, anyway, could you please do something with Hugh now, with a younger girlfriend, maybe 21? She's getting pregnant for the first time and being scared, and Hugh is there for her as the sweet and loving man he is 🙏🏻❤️ plss, sorry for the bad english, it's not my first language, tkss

I'll be there for you

A/N: I loved writing this! I wish it was longer but I might come around and do another part to this. I hope you like it! Always remember you can send in more requests!

Warnings: Accidental pregnancy, age gap (reader is 21, I made Hugh 51)

Positive +

Your breath hitches as you look at the four tests laying on the counter. This wasn't supposed to happen, not when you and Hugh made sure to be really careful when having sex because you two agreed on just being friends with benefits, nothing more. There's absolutely no way he wants to have a baby at his age. Not that he's too old but you know he's had other plans for his life that never involved a baby.

Your phone buzzes, pulling you from your thoughts and you read it.

"Come over when you get done. I want to see you." Hugh texts, making you start panicking. Fuck, fuck, fuck... what are you going to tell him? Better yet, how?

Taking a deep breath, you stick the tests in a bag and drive over to Hugh's place, a little slower than normal but you arrive faster than you planned.

"Great to see you, love." Hugh smiles as he hugs you, letting you walk inside and you give him a small smile. "Do you need to put the stuff in the bag up?" He asks. You start fidgeting with the bag, feeling your heartbeat and breath start picking back up.

"Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?" Hugh starts immediately asking, pulling you in for a hug. Apologies fall from your mouth as tears run down your face, handing him the bag.

He looks at you confused but opens it, pulling the test out while you try to read his face for any kind of emotion. "You're pregnant?" His voice is hoarse as he continues to stare at it. "Yeah, I found it when you texted me earlier." You sniffle, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Well, what do you think about it?" He asks.

"I don't know. I know you didn't want anymore kids, especially with someone as young as me. I wasn't even sure if I wanted kids and now..." Your voice trails off and he motions for you to continue, "Now I want to keep the baby. I know you probably don't want to but I'll raise the baby by myself and I-" Hugh cuts you off by kissing you, running his hand through your hair.

"I never thought I would want kids again but being with you these past several months has made me question what I want out of life. I know I'm too old for you.. fuck, we probably should've never gotten together but I can't help but feel a deep love for you. I've loved you for a long time now but I was okay with being your fuck buddy. I want this life with you and our baby too. We can have as many babies as you want if it meant I get to be with you." Hugh confesses, not caring that he's rambling.

You stand on your tiptoes, kissing him softly. "I love you too, Hugh. I want this life with you. I've never cared about your age and that won't change, ever." He smiles at you, leaning down and pressing his lips against your stomach.

#hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman imagine #logan howlett #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #h

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ashwhowrites · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, Can you do a Steve harrington x freak!reader where the reader has always liked him since he was king Steve but then he embarrassed them so they avoided him ever since until either season 3 or 4, where Steve is trying to win them back with the help of Eddie, their best friend. Happy ending please!!! Thank you!!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Soft spot

Y/N knew liking Steve was a horrible idea, but she fell anyway. She liked him before he became King Steve, and unfortunately liked him during that phase.

He did not feel the same. Instead, he publicly embarrassed her. Even though it happened years ago, she could still feel the burn of embarrassment. And the fact she never got an apology from him might have been a factor as to why she can't get over it.

Then he graduated and she didn't have to relive it. She kept clear of him around town, not wanting him to find something else he disliked about her. She was doing a damn great job at it, until Eddie.

Eddie and Y/N were best friends and ran hellfire together. One thing that started their friendship was their dislike for Steve. And now? Eddie and Steve somehow became friends, and it pissed Y/N off.

She was hurt and betrayed that Eddie would be friends with him, but Eddie kept preaching that Steve was different. But how was Eddie so sure? What if he changed back within a second. She still had a soft for Steve and knew that part of her would win. That meant she was going to fight as much as she could.

As for Steve, he never forgot about her once he graduated. She was out of sight and in his mind, her name always rang a bell.

She was talking with Eddie, her smile so wide and beautiful. Steve couldn't help but stare in awe as she looked memorizing doing something so simple. Then her eyes moved to his, and he froze. He gulped as her eyes went into slits before she looked back at Eddie. Steve almost felt jealous of her soft eyes when she looked at Eddie. He wanted her to look at him like that too.

After Eddie bid her goodbye, he walked over to Steve.

"Ready to go?" Eddie asked, clueless to Steve's personal battle.

"Uh yeah, but quick question," Steve said, Eddie turned his head to listen. "How do I get Y/N to like me?"

~~~

Eddie warned Steve it would be a long ride to get Y/N to forgive him, and he was okay with that.

Y/N worked at the arcade, and Steve happily drove Dustin and the gang to play. As they went wild, he made his way over to the counter. She was leaning over the counter, looking bored as he walked up. But once she saw him, she stood tall.

"Hi, Y/N right?" Steve asked, already throwing on his charming smile

"That's what the name tag says," She said, sass on her tongue. Steve looked down at her chest, her name tag clear as day.

"Right," Steve said, rubbing his jaw as he tried to figure out what to say next. "Look, I'll just cut to the chase-"

"No need to, I'm not interested in anything you have to say," she said cutting him off. She smirked, loving that she got to embarrass him instead.

"That's fair, but please?" He tried. She tried to look away from his desperate brown eyes.

"Please? King Steve begs now?" Y/N asked, her smirk growing more and more.

"I'm not King Steve anymore. I grew up and left that stupid ego behind." Steve said, his voice serious. "I want to apologize and maybe start over?"

Y/N felt her heart race, but she couldn't get sucked in by his charm and puppy eyes. "Why all of a sudden? Because you and Eddie are friends? Just because you two are friends, does not mean we need to be friends."

"I've never seen you around, but you are now and I want to fix this." He said as he pointed between them.

"You mean never noticed me around," Y/N snapped, "and nothing to fix because I'm not interested in ever talking to you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She walked out from behind the counter and took off.

Steve sighed, not happy with how that interaction went.

~~~

Eddie and Y/N talked about the next campaign as they walked to his van. The night was chilly as it was nearly eight pm. Y/N sighed as Steve's car was parked next to them, Dustin in the front seat.

"Hi, again," Steve said with a smile, leaning slightly out of his window.

Y/N rolled her eyes and got into the van, slamming the door shut before he could speak again.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders with a slight smile. He secretly enjoyed the treatment she gave Steve.

~~~

Y/N sighed as Eddie dragged her through the party. Sometimes she hated how much she loved Eddie and agreed to do anything for him.

"Deal will be like an hour tops, then we'll leave," Eddie promised. Y/N sighed louder but kept walking. Eddie found a table outside and took her a seat, Y/N left to grab them a drink.

She walked into the crowded kitchen and filled up two cups with some type of liquor she didn't even know.

"Need a hand?" Steve's voice came from behind her. His mouth was right in her ear, his breath made her shiver.

She turned around, sighing as she prepared to deal with him again.

"Nope, I'm all good," she said, preparing to leave but he softly grabbed her arm to stop her. He yanked her so her body was against his. She was so close that she smelled his cologne and the beer on his breath. His skin glowed under the dim lights, and she tried not to memorize the freckles and moles on his face.

"You aren't leaving until we talk," he demanded. Y/N tried to stand her ground, tried to act like his touch, his voice, and his body had no control over her.

"I told you I don't want to talk," she snapped, but her body didn't move.

"Fine, then listen." He said, moving his grip down to her hand as he walked her into the nearest room with a door.

He closed the door behind him, now both in a random bedroom.

"I'm meant to be here with Eddie," Y/N said, one last attempt to leave but he didn't move away from the door.

"Eddie will be fine for two seconds," Steve mumbled. Y/N placed the drinks on the nightstand and crossed her arms.

"What do you want from me, Steve? Why can't you leave me alone?" She asked

"I'm sorry for what I did in high school. I'm sorry I said those things about you in front of a crowd. You never deserved that. I was a dick and too prideful to admit I was wrong, but I'm not anymore." He began to walk towards her, "I'm not him anymore. I've changed, but the one thing that never changed was my feelings for you."

Y/N froze as the last words fell from his lips. He was now right in front of her, soft doe eyes staring into hers.

She broke the eye contact, licking her lips as she cleared her throat. She looked around the room before she looked at him again.

"Munson told me all about your suspicion and that you don't believe that I've changed. But I can prove it to you if you give me the chance." He spoke softly and quietly.

"What feelings?" she whispered, her voice cracked as her throat dried up. She felt nervous under his strong gaze.

"I've had feelings for you for years. I know I fucked up my chance the first time. Being popular was too important and I forced myself to pick Nancy. I tried so hard to make her you," she gulped as his left hand cupped her cheek. His thumb rubbed her cheek, and she hated that she felt herself melting into it. "No one could be you."

Y/N collected herself and pushed him off.

"That doesn't make sense!" She argued, her skin was growing hot. "You have these huge feelings for me? I put myself out there for you! I asked you to the dance and you rejected me way crueler than I could have imagined. Now that you lost your title and realized you peaked in high school, now you want me? Now I'm safe to go after? You haven't changed. You are still shallow and selfish." Her words didn't deflect Steve. Her angry body was toe to toe with him, she breathed heavily but all he could focus on was how close her lips were to his.

"I can't change the past, Y/N. If I could, I would in a second. But please at least give us a chance. What if we could be really good together? I know you still have feelings for me. Here's another chance for both of us to see where these feelings can take us."

"How the fuck do you know what I feel? You don't know me."

"You wouldn't have spent years hating me if you didn't still want me." He said a smug look on his face that she wanted to smack off. "You wouldn't still be standing here, trying to deny me if you didn't like me. It would have been easy to leave me here, but it's hard isn't it? A part of you wants me to suffer, which I understand and deserve. But what does the other part of you say?"

She bit her tongue as she thought. She knew everything he said was right. Her pride wants to leave him in this bedroom alone. But he followed his pride and it left him hurt. If she followed her pride, wouldn't she have the same outcome?

"The other part," she started, holding herself in her arms, "doesn't want to let you go for a second time." She admitted she looked down at their shoes. She could feel water in her eyes but she tried to keep it back. "I already know what life is like hating you," she looked up. He was hanging on to every word, his lips parted as he waited. "And my stupid heart wants to know what it's like to love you." A tear slipped and she wiped it away before it fell. "I hate that I want you."

She sniffled, and Steve quickly held her face in his hands. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he felt her breath hitting his lips.

"Let me heal you. I can fix this for us." He promised. She closed her eyes as more tears fell. "I'm sorry, so sorry."

Before she could say anything, she felt lips against hers. She sighed at how soft his lips felt, but how strong the kiss was. It made her breathless. She tangled her hands in his hair as she let herself go. She'd wanted this since she was sixteen, she needed to go for it.

Kissing Steve was better than she ever dreamed. His hands moved down to her waist, pushing her further against him. The kiss grew hot and heavy as they desperately clung to each other.

Y/N would always have that soft spot for Steve.

#steve harrington fluff #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve Harrington x reader #steve Harrington x female reader #steve Harrington angst #steve Harrington x female reader angst #ashwhowrites #steve harrington requests #steve Harrington fluff x reader #steve Harrington angst x reader

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awearywritersworld · 10 months ago

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the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

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#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff

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too-much-tma-stuff · 7 months ago

Text

Finally Getting Help (prt 16)

Masterpost

Sorry for the delay on this part! And there might be more to come, I thought of a new AU that's devouring my brain XD I'll still be working on this it's just going to be slightly slower.

-----------

Jason sat next to Danny, holding his limp hand as Bruce flew them back to the cave and landed gently. “Do we have a way to contact Frostbite?” Jason asked as they wheeled Danny into the Cave’s med bay.

“Yes, as long as Constantine isn’t too drunk,” Batman said dryly.

“If he is, I'll sober him up real quick,” Jason responded just as dryly. Batman chuffed out a soft laugh before pulling out his Justice League communicator and called Constantine.

After hearing Constantine was on his way, and grabbing a domino mask, Jason tuned out the conversation, returning to Danny’s side, taking his hand again. Jason jolted slightly when Danny’s fingers twitched and curled slightly around his own.

“Danny?” He asked softly, leaning over his boyfriend.

Danny’s brow pinched just a little and then he opened his eye, squinting up at Jason. He held his breath as Danny blinked and looked around before letting out a soft groan and closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

“Hey, how do you feel,” Jason asked softly as Bruce finished the call and hustled over to check Danny’s vitals.

“Thirsty, like I was hit by a bus,” Danny croaked but there was a flicker of a smile around his mouth. “Where are we?”

“I’ll get you some water,” Jason said, squeezing Danny’s hand before hurrying to grab a water bottle.

“You’re in the bat-cave, you passed out after the fight. We’ve gotten in contact with Frostbite, he should be here soon.” Batman told Danny, as soft as he ever was behind the mask.

“I passed out huh?” Danny sighed, pushing himself up with a soft groan and accepted the bottle of water from Jason once he’d opened it for Danny. He drank deeply and sighed with relief. “Frostbite doesn’t need to come though, I almost always pass out after using my wail, and twice in one night? I must have conked out for a bit longer than usual, nothing to worry about really.”

“We’d still feel better having you looked over,” Bruce said just as gently

“Yep, and hey, while he’s here maybe he can look me over too. We talked about me having an appointment with him,” Jason pointed out. He knew that Danny would feel better if it wasn’t just for him.

As Jason sort of suspected he would, Danny paused, then sighed and nodded, laying back down on the gurney with a little groan. Fine,” He sighed softly, handing the bottle back to Jason who set it aside for Danny. “What happened to Vlad?”

“He got away,” Bruce said with a sigh. “Spoiler, Blackbat, and Red Robin are still looking for him but so far without success.” Bruce said with a frustrated set to his jaw.

“I hope they’re being careful. I’m sorry, I should have guessed he would be tracking me. You’re not hurt, are you?” He asked, looking at Jason worriedly.

“I’m completely fine. And they will be too, they’re tough and they have the tech you build for them,” Jason promised Danny with a reassuring little smile.

“I hope so,” Danny groaned. “God Vlad is such a bastard.”

A green portal opened in the middle of the Bat-cave and a giant yeti like ghost came charging out with a very frazzled looking John Constantine on his heels. “Is the Great One alright?!” The yeti asked worriedly.

“Ya Frostbite I’m fine,” Danny promised, sitting up again and giving him a little smile. “I just overused my powers again.” Danny didn’t seem surprised when Frostbite came charging over and scooped him up in a tight enough hug that it made Danny wheeze. Jason and Bruce got out of the way and gave Constantine a curious look, he gave them a helpless shrug. “But I still need to breathe,” He gasped and Frostbite quickly put him down again, apologizing all the while.

“I’m glad you are alright! But it’s about time for a check up for you and the little ones anyway,” Frostbite said warmly before suddenly noticing Batman and Jason, he had been too sign mindedly focused on Danny previously. “Oh! Hello,” He greeted brightly.

“Frostbite, this is my new guardian Batman, and my boyfriend Jason,” Danny said, using his civilian name since Jason wasn’t in costume.

“Ah! Wonderful to meet you!” Frostbite said, offering his big hand for Bruce to shake, who accepted, and tried not to seem taken aback by just how enthusiastically Frostbite shook it. He nearly lifted Bruce off the ground! At least when Jason’s turn came he was prepared. “It’s good to know he’s finally away from the Fenton’s, they were terrible guardians. He and the little ones will be safe with you, yes?” There was a hint of a warning in his voice and the temperature dropped a few degrees.

“Yes, of course,” Batman said firmly. “I will do my best to protect them and provide a safe environment.”

Frostbite nodded and looked at Jason.

“I’ll do my best to make him happy,” Jason said a little lamely, but Frostbite seemed to accept it.

“Excellent!” Frostbite said brightly again and turned back to Danny.

“Once we’re done can you have a look at Jason?” Danny asked Frostbite. “He died too, and has had some trouble since coming back.”

“Of course, Great One. But we will be giving You a thorough check up first,” Frostbite insisted. Danny gave a resigned sigh and nodded.

Danny sat back down on the cot and let Frostbite examine him. Since neither objected to Bruce and Jason’s presence so they both stayed to watch, and support Danny if he needed it. Constantine wandered off, he wasn’t part of the family after all, this was none of his business.

The check-up was… odd, it mostly consisted of Frostbite waving his hands around Danny, occasionally touching very deliberate places, while asking him questions about how he was feeling, physically and emotionally, and what had happened. He touched the center of Danny’s forehead, his chest, every time he did little waves of blue light went through Danny. The one over Danny’s stomach made him gasp softly and Frostbite frowned at him, Danny smiled back sheepishly.

“Can you show me your core?” Frostbite asked, pulling back.

Danny nodded and reached into his own chest, something Jason would never get used to seeing, and drew out his core. Jason hadn’t seen it before, he thought it was absolutely beautiful, the most perfect sapphire he’d ever seen, glowing silver blue with an opalescent sheen, it looked like a miniature planet, like it might contain an entire world.

Batman had seen it before, and he knew that it looked significantly dimmer then it had been the first time Danny had showed it to him. That was… concerning. Frostbite seemed to think so too by the way he was frowning at Danny. He pulled out some sort of souped up magnifying glass from somewhere and started to examine Danny’s core, though he didn’t once touch it.

“There are no cracks or chips, you simply overused your powers,” Frostbite said, putting away the magnifying glass and gesturing for Danny to put away his core. “I’m surprised honestly, for most leaving your Fraid and your haunt like you did would have caused far more damage. It’s testament to how well your current caretakers are looking after you that you’ve weathered the transition so well.

“I wouldn’t try to use your powers for about a week to let your ectoplasm regenerate. There’s significantly less here then there was in Amity Park, there’s still plenty to sustain you but you’ll need to ration it’s use a little bit to have enough for you and the little ones to develop properly.” Frostbite said with a definitive nod.

“I will, if I can,” He promised, looking down. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be attacked this time. What happens if I Do overuse my powers too much?” Danny asked, glancing up at his Doctor.

“Well-” Frostbite started and then stopped himself, looking down at Danny consideringly. “I’m not entirely sure. With a regular ghost the child would either take significantly longer to form properly, or the parent might even retreat into their own core and lose the baby. But you are still living, and the babies have flesh forms as well, yes?” Danny nodded and Frostbite tilted his head slightly. “It’s… possible that even if you deplete yourself you and the babies will be alright, your ghost form would retreat and you and the babies will be, for all intents and purposes, fully human for a time. But I would not test that! There are too many ways it could go wrong.”

“Oh I don’t want to test it,” Danny said with a wry smile and a shake of his head. “Like you said, it’s kind of amazing my core is in as good shape as it is with all the changes lately, and if it broke it would End me, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Frostbite said ruefully, patting Danny’s shoulder sympathetically “But let's not focus on that! You and the babies are doing well! here , drink this,” He produced a little vile of a viscous glowing green liquid and patted Danny’s shoulder, which was apparently his queue to hop off the cot. He drank the liquid like a shot and handed the vile back to Frostbite who stowed it back in whatever liminal space he’d been pulling all of these things from.

“Are you ready?” Danny asked Jason. Resting a hand on his arm. Oh right, Jason had almost forgot he was going to be getting a check-up too.

“Ya, sure,” Jason agreed with a sharp nod. He was nervous, seeing Danny’s interactions with Frostbite had put some of it at ease but he was still a bit scared about what Frostbite would find.

“Can I hold your hand?” Danny asked, knowing Jason needed it, but wouldn’t ask. Jason nodded again and went to sit on the cot like Danny had. Danny stayed next to him and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Alright! What seems to be the trouble?” Frostbite asked Jason, warm and sympathetic.

“Well, I died a while ago. I came back and we don’t totally know why, I went through some shit, got dunked in stuff we call Lazarus Water, which heals the sick and kills the healthy, and occasionally resurrects people. And I’ve been having issues ever since. I can’t control my emotions well, I have violent outbursts and dissociative episodes, I do things without knowing I am, or remembering it sometimes?” Jason said, glancing at Danny who gave him an encouraging smile. “None of this happened before I died and came back, I really don’t think it’s trauma either. Danny confirmed there was something wrong.”

Frostbite hummed and looked back at Danny, who nodded. “I did, I mean, I don’t really know what I was looking at but it did feel… off,” He said with a helpless little shrug.

“Alright, I’ll have a look,” Frostbite agreed and gently rested a clawed finger against Jason’s forehead. Cols rushed down over him, not refreshing cool water like it had been with Danny but freezing cold. It made Jason gasp and tense but he refused to pull away. Slowly a frown formed on the ghost doctor's face and he tutted. Well that was a bad sign.

“Frostbite,” Danny said, a warning tone in his voice.

“Ah! My apologies! It’s nothing as bad as what you might think! I haven’t seen something like this in a very long time. Granted I rarely have occasion to tend to mortals but…” He trailed off and pulled back, the feeling of ice against Jason’s skin vanished. “Your resurrection was botched. You are alive, but it’s not…” Frostbite seemed to think about the best way to explain this.

“Your soul was never given the chance to enter your body properly. I would guess when you ‘came back’ it was as an undead rather than a truly living person. Then the Lazarus Water resurrected your body and bound your soul back to your body, the way that it had previously been, which was not entirely… inside your body.

“You’re soul and your body are not quite one being. It’s like a bone that broke and was not set before healing properly, it created some… spiritual nerve damage.” He saw Jason’s look of confusion and sighed. “I’m sorry, this is hard to explain to the living.”

“So, that’s causing all my issues?” Jason asked hesitantly.

“Yes and no, it also seems to have damaged your ability to process the lingering ectoplasm from your ghost, and the Lazarus Water, which seems to be a corrupted ectoplasm. I suspect those are causing the emotional outbursts,” He said. “I’d need a sample of Lazarus Water to confirm that.”

“I can get you that,” Bruce rumbled. “So, how can we fix this?” He asked, always blunt and to the point.

“It’s not that simple. How would you fix a bone that healed wrong?” Frostbite asked.

“In a lot of cases… you have to break it again,” Jason said with a wince.

“Yes, now we will Not do that, killing and resurrecting you again with the hopes it would be correct this time is far too risky. I mean to say with how set your soul is in its current position this is going to be a very long process with an unclear prognosis. I suspect just spending time around the Great One will help,” Frostbite said, gesturing at Danny. “Infusions of uncorrupted ectoplasm will hopefully clear out the corrupted stuff and ease the emotional issues. It may also strengthen your soul which, as long as you are at peace inside yourself, will help it settle back into its proper place.

“You should know that it is possible that if you are entirely at odds with yourself, strengthening your soul might have the opposite effect of allowing it to pull even further away from your body. Managing your support system and obsessions will be crucial to recovery. Phantom can help you with that as well, he has more experience,” Frostbite said gently. “It’s important to remember that most ailments of the soul have an emotional element to them, and not try to find fast and easy fixes that will make things worse in the long run.”

“I understand,” Jason said numbly. He really had been hoping there would be some clear easy fix.

Danny squeezed Jason’s hand and Jason looked at him and was greeted by a warm smile. “The important thing to remember is we know what’s wrong now, and that things can get better. You’re already on the right track reconnecting with family and being with me.”

Jason took a deep breath and nodded, Danny was right. This had been going on for years now, nothing had really changed just because he knew. It wasn’t like he was getting diagnosed with something terminal. “Right,” Jason agreed with a nod and took a deep breath, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders. “Right, thanks Frostbite.”

“It’s my pleasure! I’ll supply Phantom with the pure ectoplasm, he knows how to administer it well enough. I shall come check up on both of you again in a month’s time, but I should be going now!” Frostbite said, hugging Danny again tightly before wandering off, muttering about wondering where that magician got off to.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #danny fenton #dead on main #jason todd #fanfiction #batman #john constantine #frostbite #finally getting help AU #Trans!danny #pregnant!danny #bruce wayne

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livingdeadgirlflorette · 9 days ago

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YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘ carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : with this weird dynamic between helping Carl smoke, tension-filled silence, and longing looks— maybe this time together might be where unspoken words aren't left unsaid.

word count : 4.9k

tags / rundown : fluff, slightly suggestive, smoking, awkward first kiss, confessions, kissing, inaccurate depiction of how smoking affects people, reader isn't good at feelings

a / n : This was in my drafts for such a long time oml! anyways the tile is based of the song "your face" by wisp, I just really liked the song with this :3 this isn't as long as my other fics but I hope you enjoy just as equally <3

dividers by me ! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

PART 1: SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The smoke that fills Carl's lungs from your mouth gives him another familiar hazy feeling. It's been an unarguable routine from the two of you— whenever you guys get too overstimulated from the Alexandrian kids or just from the adults, you both go to the same clearing you guys met, sit down next to each other, Carl brings his comics to read and you bring your cigarettes.

And something that he'll always look forward to is you helping him smoke. The feeling of your hand holding his face, keeping him steady and blowing the puff you took into his mouth, him taking it in and breathing it out— all the while you both stare into each other's gaze. But as soon as he's done with the drag, you're eyes leave his— going back to your own devices.

your character had bemused him; how one second you both are sharing an intimate moment, holding him softly and with a fondness, and the next you're behaving like nothing had ever even happened.

Carl wanted to dispel that indifference you'd been feigning— that stoic face you'd been masquerading in and out of the walls. He desired to know what was behind all those barriers of distance you'd made to keep yourself safe. He wanted to know you. The real you.

"You know, I think you're ready to take off your training wheels and do it yourself, cowboy." If it wasn't already evident in the sluggish tone, you were relaxed from the amount of puffs you'd been doing already. Lifting your hand and pulling yourself away from him, he stops you by gripping your forearm. He had never done this before, and the unfamiliarity of it had startled you— but then registering his touch had your mind involuntary give you chills in your spine. It felt good, him holding you.

Carl didn't want you to pull away; he wanted to stay forever like this, with your face close and in his space. But he'd have to start saying it before he loses the chance.

"I think I'll need a few more practice runs." He stated boldly. Carl didn't really know what he was trying to say when he blurted that out. All he knew was that he wanted to keep your face close to his. He tilted his head and looked at your lips, before looking back to meet your startled gaze— but as quickly as it had shown on your face, you painted over a mask of nonchalance.

You let out a chuckle. Carl was always one to speak his mind about things, but he always seemed timid when approaching this. You like this side of him. With your free hand, you take another drag of the cigarette before putting in out. With his gaze studying you close, you blow the smoke in his face.

He definitely didn't expect that, because he let go of you forearm and waved his hands in front of his hands to get rid of the waft of smoke from his face. Despite all of this, he still managed to laugh at it.

"Maybe another time." You dismissed. You stand up and look down at him, clueless that he'd been left in the dust. "We gotta get back before they notice, remember?" You finish fixing yourself up before reaching out a hand at his still sat position.

". . ." Carl didn't know how to feel, he looks at the hand reaching out to him and back at you. ". . .Right." He finishes his contemplation and grabs your hand, getting support from you to stand up. He pats himself down to get rid of the dirt on his pants and flannel.

"I'll start walking back. Stay close, okay?" Your voice lets out a stable tone. Hesitant, he nods and goes back to tidy himself up and the comics strewn about on the grass. With that, you turn to the direction of Alexandria and start your walk.

With you figure walking away, Carl was left to drown in his own thoughts. He felt. . . dismayed? All you did was dismiss him but he felt like you threw his heart away doing it. He knew he shouldn't feel like this. He didn't have any right to, you guys weren't anything— You guys were just friends who helped the other smoke, but he didn't want just that. He wanted more. Carl looks back at your decreasing figure before finishing up and jogging to you, matching your pace and falling in step next to you.

He's gonna say something to you about it. He doesn't know when, but he will. He can't stand just being smoking buddies with you— he wants more.

"So. . . do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice cuts the silence of the dinner table, overpowering the clanking and screeching of utensils against the plates. Carl's movement of taking a spoon of his food slows with his gaze locking with his father's—but then, just as swiftly, he goes back to his normal act, breaking the eye contact.

"I don't know what you mean." He tries to act and put on an air of nonchalance, playing up an act and pretending nothing had happened—just like you do when you and him are in the forest clearing. Carl had never intended for you and him hanging out outside the walls a secret; however, with the fact that his father wanted the best for his son and still tries to show good towards him, he feels like Rick wouldn't be too happy if he found out his son was going outside the gates and smoking—maybe even worse when he finds out he's doing all of that for a girl.

". . ." Rick's eyes are trained on his son in contemplation quietly, watching every calculated movement his son does to see any tick of movement that would give him the assumption of nervousness. He already knew his son was hiding something—but he didn't take him as the type to lie about it; he just wanted to see if he'd tell him the truth.

"Sure then," Rick said. "If that's the case, I guess you wouldn't mind telling me about that girl you go on prancing around outside with?" And with the question alone, Carl stops his next move and fully becomes attentive.

How did his father know? He thought he was good at keeping up his face, but that inquiry from his father left his vocabulary in shambles.

"There's no—what? I don't know what you're—listen, whatever you're trying to say, I— . . . Okay, how did you find out?" Carl blurts out before he deadpans before dropping his utensils in defeat. He figured that trying to defend himself would make things worse, so he'd rather get straight to the point. He isn't going to get anything good out of dodging his dad's interrogation, but he needs to know how he knew first before he tells him.

"It was Tara's turn to keep watch in the tower," Carl should've known. With all the teasing looks he got from her whenever she talked about girls to him and how he would listen intently, he figured maybe Tara was just in a chipper mood these days, but he guessed he was wrong.

"She saw you and the other kid climb the back walls and walk away." His father finished. Carl didn't want to explain to his father why he did it; it'll just send him into a pit of shame. But he figures he'll have to cross that bridge when his father gets to it.

"Now I'm going to ask you this again, and don't lie to me," Rick leans back in his chair, a domineering aura surrounding him. You'd think he'd look all serious and stern—but with Judith squirming and cooing in his lap, it made him less authoritarian and more father-like.

"Do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice lowered, wanting an actual direct answer from Carl, not the 'I don't know what-you're-talking-about' bullshit he was spewing earlier.Carl didn't know what to say. If he was going to tell his father the truth, he'd have to open up to him about you. And that's hard enough on his own, but to his dad? He doesn't know how that'll go. But it's better now than never. So with a deep, defeated sigh—he starts.

"There's a girl I hang out with, just a few minutes outside the walls from here," Carl recalls the first time you'd met each other and how he told you how smoking was going to kill you. Oh, how much he laughs in his head at the thought of that, especially since he smokes with you now. With Carl finally confessing what Rick wanted him to say, his domineering stance softens, and he adjusts Judith on his lap—who was still moving around, now trying to grab his father's finger using her hands.

"We go to a clearing, and just talk there. She's—. . ." Carl's words pause. He was unsure what to call her; it would be weird calling her an acquaintance since they know each other more than that, and it would be even more peculiar to come out of his mouth calling her a friend—knowing what they've done together.

"She's something else." He finished. There wasn't a word that they could call what they were, and Carl couldn't think of one for the life of him. She really was something else.

"Well—I thank you for being honest with me that time," Rick adjusts himself to help Judith sit properly. "But I wanna know something else." He breathes softly through his nose, readying himself to ask.

"Why?" From the start, when the world fell to shit, Rick knew his son wouldn't be the same as he was before—his character would grow up to be more mature and stoic, having to leave the childlike nature he shortly had and take over this stone-faced disposition. He was forced to forget he was just a boy.

But, with the time that he'd been with that girl, Rick noticed Carl would be less tense, he'd laugh more, and he'd even let out a genuine smile without worry. Something that you had whenever you were with him had turned him back and made him experience what it felt like just to be a teenager. What it felt like to not be always vigilant, just relaxed and content.Carl was left speechless. Just like he couldn't think of what to call what you and him were, he didn't know why he was hanging out with you. Well, he did know; he just didn't want to say it. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge how all of your experiences with him in the forest were something more for him.

"I—I just, like her. She's good company." That was all Carl could say, before scooping another morsel of food and eating it. One confession mixed with another and a half-assed excuse. He knew his father was better to believe just that, but he also knew he wouldn't prod at him anymore.

Rick could read his son like a book. He knew that wasn't just the reason; that girl had done so much for him that Carl didn't even realize it, and he knew his son would think much more about what she was to him, but he knew Carl should let him figure it out himself—rather than condemning him for it. With a fatherly chuckle, he leans a little with the toddler in his arms to pat his son on the shoulder, letting a gentle squeeze.

"I bet she is. But tell her something before you do something stupid." That was all his father said before standing up and bringing Judith with him, walking up to the front door—presumably to sit on the porch with her. Carl seemed to notice that. With the amount of walls they were in, he saw his father felt safe enough to just enjoy the smallest of things, like how he'd just enjoy being with his daughter.

But after finishing his pondering about his father, his father's words rang in his head. 'Tell her something.' Should he? One side of his heart that still believed there was good in this world—how there is still hope in this—told him he should; he should tell her everything he wanted to let out—how entrancing her lips were when they were inches apart from his, how her presence alone could calm all the thundering thoughts pounding in his brain.

But the other side of his that was marred, cynical, and closed-off tells him he shouldn't; well, everything was going great for them, so why should he have the audacity to let himself ruin it? If he did something to shatter that with you, ruin the experiences you already had with him and in the future that you'd have with him just because he decided to do something he wasn't even sure if you'd reciprocate—he'd never forgive himself.

Carl was a mess, and he knew he was. All his thoughts were drowning in confusion just because your person was so enthralling. Your carefree personality and how you let him do the things he thought he could've never done—you were everything he wanted. He wanted you so badly.

But how would he tell you? You seemed so close, yet so distant. All those memories of being close with him and talking about the most nonsensical topics just for the sake of keeping the conversation going were layered on by the other set of events that follow—how after everything you've been through with him, you seemed to shut down—how you didn't allow yourself to get too comfortable with anyone, even him. How whenever you and him pause to get lost in each other's gaze, you flutter your eyes and pull away.

You looked afraid—you seemed to abhor letting people in, seeing who you were when you were vulnerable. Carl despised it. How it felt like you were close and far at the same time, all together. It was like you guys were at a standstill, and he wanted to stop the limbo your character put your relationship in. He needed an answer from you, even if it had the chance of breaking whatever you guys had with each other.

He dropped his fork. God damn it, with all the brainstorming in his mind about how to approach the thought of telling you, he had lost the appetite to eat. With a frustrated sigh, he picks up both his and his father's plates to put in the sink—going to wash it. He'll have to dwell on it later. Right now, he needs to distract himself from the mindless routine of washing the dishes—just to take his mind off it, off of you.

With the passing of the cigarette smoke, Carl looks back at your face. He wonders if he should listen to the wise words of his father and tell her the truth. But he's scared. He laughs at the thought; after all these years of living and surviving through this wretched apocalypse and off all things, the one thing he was most scared of was losing you. It was ridiculous to him; he's done heinous acts just to keep going in this cycle of life—yet he thinks that confessing what he felt to you would be the end of his world.

"What's wrong, you look?" You tilt your head in inquiry, visibly confused. Carl didn't even notice that you'd seen him staring at you, observing you like this would be the last time he'd ever see you.

"Sad. Or you could just be constipated with how concentrated you look."

Even with the amount of things he's been feeling about you and pondering the aftermath of what could happen if he told you—you still managed to make him let out a chuckle.

"I was thinking." Carl huffs a breath out. He was thinking, thinking of what you'd say. Without skipping a beat, you follow up on what he had said. "Thinking about what?"

As you ask, you take a drag of the lit stick of tobacco and gently grab his chin, just like you always did. No matter the repetitiveness, he'll always welcome that hazy feeling of you getting close.

But before you get to exchange the smoke in your mouth, he places his hand over yours that was holding him, looking at you with such a focus that could burn through your eyes. With his action, your movements halt from being startled, and you involuntarily let the puff in your mouth out slowly.

"This." Carl looked into your gaze. Just like the last time you were this close, you had pulled away. But you aren't sure if you'd like that. "I was thinking about you."

With the confession leaving the tip of his tongue, your face formed a light flush. Carl was always forward with you about things, but never this upfront about his feelings for you. Contrary to his belief, you know. You knew what he felt, ever since he had started to smoke with you.

Even though he was going through the same burden as you, he felt like he had to be there with you first. You hated it. You didn't hate Carl; you hated how you felt about it and how it felt with him. How you let the walls of your heart come down when it came to him, even after everything that you swore would never break. With a doubtful look slowly painting your face, you can't help but try to distance yourself from him.

"Oh. That's. . . interesting." With a heavy feeling, your vision goes to anywhere but his, finally breaking the chain of eye contact you'd been sharing in the blanket of silence. "I've been thinking too, about— stuff." You had muttered awkwardly, saying anything that comes out of your mind, just to fill the awkward silence.

"You think you can tell me?" Even with your eyes off him, you can still feel his perceptive gaze. Carl didn't want you to crawl back into that timid disposition you always had put up; he wanted you to open up to him—let him in that mind of yours.

"If I say it," you paused. "It's going to ruin everything." Your voice had barely let out the last sentence, your tone trembling. Your heart wanted to tell Carl everything—how your body felt flush whenever he did something to gauge a reaction from you, how you wanted his body near you—not just from helping him smoke—but more than that.

But would saying what you had wanted ruin the relationship that was one of the only highlights of surviving in this apocalypse? Will saying what you had dreamed of saying destroy what he had thought of you?

But with your self-doubt clouding your mind and making your body still, you had barely registered the warmth of Carl's hand on yours, holding it with such care you'd think of it more of an intimate gesture. With a gentle call of your name, he assures you.

"Hey, nothing you do will ruin—" Carl paused, unsure if he should state it as what they are. Friends? He isn't even sure at this point. "-will ruin us, okay? I won't get mad."

"I'm not expecting you to be mad," you counter. "I expect that you'll feel betrayed." You finished. If Carl didn't reciprocate what you felt, you were sure he'd be confused. Would he think that all you did with him was just an elaborate ruse to get him closer to you? You weren't certain, but you had an idea it would go down that route if he did.

"If you aren't sure how to tell me, then show me." Carl tilts his head, coyly lacing his time. Whenever he does those mannerisms, you always thought he looked cute. He didn't look like a stone-faced killer that was brought upon this apocalypse anymore, but just a teenager going through regular stuff, feeling normal things.

With that, you contemplate. You were irritated at yourself for not saying anything; it was as if your heart was in your mouth—disabling you from telling what you desired. But with a deep breath, you lean in close to Carl—his eyes going wide for a second, then adjusting to this newfound distance.

Carl knows he shouldn't be nervous; you've been in his vicinity close to him like this dozens of times. But with this unexplored feeling brewing in his stomach, he feels like he should be—because you were going to do something else.

"Don't—don't freak out, okay?" Your voice is so close to him, it makes his ears flush red. He's lucky he had long hair; he was sure you'd tease him for it if you had seen them.

The tension felt thick, just like all the times you had been close to his lips, mere centimeters away. Sometimes you wish that the times you were that close you'd just lean in and kiss him, but inevitably you always pull away.

And just like that, you realize that your embarrassment gets the better of you again. You pull away slowly; you think this is stupid. You shouldn't have done that. You turn away, one of your hands covering your face that was starting to burn up.

"I-uh, sorry, I think I should go back, yeah. I'm sorry—" Your face turned back to his. But before you could let out another apology, a pair of soft lips had met yours, your eyes fluttering shut.

Carl had kissed you. You had dreamt of what it felt like to kiss him. But now that it was actually happening, you felt so surreal. With a hesitant state, you tested the waters and kissed him back, a light push to see what it felt. His lips were chapped, understandable since chapstick didn't seem like a necessity in the apocalypse, but his lips felt gentle.

When you felt the absence of soft pressure on your lips, you fluttered your eyes at him. You were sure your cheeks were burning at this point; it was uncontrollable. Once you guys were at a normal sitting distance from one another, you finally piped up.

"That was, uh, good." Your voice barely above a whisper. Both your gazes found one another, and then, with heat creeping up your neck, you had looked away.

"Thank you, I guess...?" Confusion had still not left your tone. With this, you were also perplexed by your own words. What were you thankful for?

"Why are you thanking me?" Carl's voice didn't seem to miss a beat, going back to his playful self. You were thankful for this—how he could always help lighten your guys' mood even when it was awkward.

"I don't know, okay!" You let out a genuine laugh. "I've never had to think about what to say after. . . that." Your eyes met his. He seemed to have a glint in his eye, telling you all you needed to know that he was planning something mischievous.

"Well. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

This was one of the things that made you abhor having to actually commit to kissing him—the aftermath. What would become of you and Carl? Would it be just unbearably awkward, and you'd never have enough courage to look him in the face again? Or would it help express your blossoming feelings towards you and him?

"I've always liked you, y'know?" Carl speaks up first—his tone soft and careful, breaking the silence you both have been dreading. But with just a few words of confession, he seemed to melt through that weird tension that had permeated through the space between you.

"I know—or like I. . . knew, I guess?" Your voice comes out meek, nervous about what was still happening.

His face went slack—his face contorting to shock and embarrassment, with a noticeable flush of red rising up his ears.

"Wait wha-? How did you even-what. . .?!" His voice was getting higher, something you picked up on when he was getting nervous.

With a small giggle, you answer his question. "It doesn't take a detective to find out you like me, Carl. You were quite obvious." Your face grows a smirk, creating a playful atmosphere.

He looks away with another wave of shyness. This was disastrous. Was he really that obvious? "It couldn't have been that obvious." With a slow turn, he looks back at you. ". . .right?"

"Do you really think you were that slick? You looked." You paused, unsure whether to say what actually was on your mind. He looked in love, but you figured you shouldn't—it would be too fast.

". . . nevermind. It's just that eyes don't lie, Carl, and the way you look at me—it seems very telling." You end your sentence with a smile. With everything out of the bag, you felt light as a feather—with nothing left to hide from him.

"If you knew then, why did you stop?"

"What?" His question seemed vague, out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" Carl was sure you could tell his heartbeat going haywire, feeling the vibration of it beating up to the tips of his ears. He sounded so desperate, but he didn't care. All he wanted right now was an answer.

"Oh! Uh. . ." You didn't expect how much he looked like he was yearning, waiting for something, anything from you. Saying you were scared would be embarrassing, but with everything you and Carl already did, there didn't seem like anything else to do but go forward and be honest with him.

"It's a stupid reason," you say, looking up at him, with bashfulness filling your face.

Without skipping a beat, Carl's hand had already gone to yours to intertwine. He didn't seem to know it, but that simple gesture was already melting away that air of dread that was coercing you to not say it.

"If what you're going to say is stupid, then what does that make what we did?" His eye had a glint of wit that he always had when he wanted to cheer you up, encouraging you to go on.

With your free hand and the still-lit cigarette in hand, you take a long drag. It was funny to you how this small stick of nicotine used to be the only thing of happiness that helped you get through it—to go on and keep living. But now, the thing that was your hope and joy in this world was right next to you.

"A bad idea?" You finally answer his rhetorical question.

With a dry chuckle, he looks to you and just gazes. He never thought that you'd feel the same way, let alone reciprocate kissing him. He felt like the happiest he's ever been since coming to Alexandria.

"I felt," Your mouth opens to let out another word, but you shut it quickly. Taking a deep breath and looking at the sky. "Afraid and. . . guilty is what I'd put as how I felt about you, I guess."

"Why would you feel that way?"

"'Cause it's you!" You look back at him, incredulous, and your hands gesture to his whole character.

"You and me, we were cool, y'know? And we just hung out; everything was going fine, and I didn't want to ruin. . ." You then gestured to both of you. "This, I suppose."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I told you it was stupid." You look back at the golden hour of the sky, then just slump. It felt freeing telling him that, but it also filled you with shyness. This whole situation just made you want to get eaten by walkers alive and just sink into the world.

"I don't think it's stupid." His free hand goes to fix the loose hair that fell to your face and tuck it to your ear. The fact that his hand was ever so close to your face had your skin burn up so fast you're sure he already sees your skin blushing.

"I think it's cute."

Your eyes went shocked, but then quickly roll your eyes at the cheesy reply.

"Oh, just shut it already." You both giggle and simply bask in the playful mood that was created.

"No, I'm c'mon seriously!"

"You being 'serious' isn't you laughing, Carl." You smile and laugh as you say your quip. With a smile on his face and a shake of his head, you continue your tyrant of laughter.

But your laughter had come to a halt when he had lifted his head and held both your wrists, and he had said your name. "I like you, okay? You're so good to me, and you're such a comfort to come to when I need solace, and I just. . ."

As if the tables had turned, now he was the one losing his words, them dying at his throat.

"I just need you; is that enough? Can I please be with you?"

"If I ever say no to that, I think I'd need a checkup from our clinic."

Your response went out as fast as he had asked, eager and happy that he had finally decided that he wanted to be with you.

"Yes, I mean." With a final look from one another just looking into each other's gaze full of love and admiration, you both take a shy push in and finally kiss again, something you think you'll never grow tired of. But Carl pulls away just a breath away from your lips, wanting to get one last word in that he knows you won't ever forget—before he goes back in for more.

"I'm never gonna let you go."

woowee!! it's been a hot minute since I've posted! sorry guys for all of the people that were waiting for me to post when I never did, right now I've been really into my academics and I'm elbow deep into like 4 pending submissions to pass next week lolol!!11 anyways sorry for the rambling, I hope you enjoyed reading! ✮⋆˙ what did you think of this? don't be a silent reader and let me know ⭑.ᐟ

tags: @carlslvr @shadowybasementmiracle @kawliflo @xictoriiaa

wanna be tagged the next time I post my fics? tell me so I can ꩜ .ᐟ

#carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #twd #carl grimes #the walking dead #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x y/n #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes x you #𓂃🖊 — florette's fics

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punkshort · 9 months ago

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somewhere to run | 11. austin pt.2

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You go back to Austin for another meeting with Madeline, but this time, you're alone, and you meet someone from Joel's past.

Chapter Warnings: language, some mild hints at smut but nothing explicit, angst, hurt/comfort, discussions/recollections of past DV/SA, insecurity issues, jealousy, panic attack

WC: 6.5K

Series Masterlist

Something was wrong.

You hadn't seen or heard from Joel since the diner, and that was three whole days ago. He didn't normally stop by on the weekends, but he had gotten in the habit of sending you a text here or there. Things like how was the rest of your shift? Or watched this movie tonight with Sarah, you would like it. And sure, sometimes it would be more along the lines of can't stop thinking about you, what are you wearing?

You had both stayed true to your word. The two of you hadn't had sex since the time in his truck a few weeks ago. But some of your texts have crossed the line a couple times. And yes, there might have been one small phone call that ended with your thighs clenched around your hand and him groaning quietly on the other end, but that didn't count. You weren't dating. You weren't together. And unless your phone was tapped, nobody would ever know.

Looking down at your phone, you frowned. The last message you sent him wasn't even delivered. And it was already past his usual time to stop in for lunch. Tomorrow was your meeting with Madeline. You were sure he would want to talk to you about it before you left.

It was very unlike him.

"Maria?" you called out when you happened to catch her walking by the counter.

"What's up?" she asked, carrying an armful of menus.

"No Joel today?" you tried to ask as casually as possible.

If she was suspicious, she didn't let on.

"Oh, yeah. He's out of town. We're watching Sarah til he gets back tomorrow evening," she said, looking over her shoulder when an older couple walked in looking for a table. "Sorry, gotta go," she said, then hurried towards the hostess stand to greet the customers.

Out of town? Why wouldn't he have told you?

Because you aren't dating, you idiot.

Still, it bothered you. You told him you wanted to take control of your life and do things for yourself. Did that upset him? Maybe he took it the wrong way. You had still hoped he would give you advice, some guidance on how the process works, what to expect next.

You were probably reading too much into it. Maybe there was a family emergency.

It wasn't until almost midnight when your phone pinged next to your bed. Groggily, you reached over and squinted at the screen, then opened your eyes wide when you saw his name.

Joel: Sorry, something came up out of town. I'll hopefully be back late tomorrow. Let me know how your meeting goes.

You stared at the screen, reading and rereading his text. Hopefully be back tomorrow? What was going on? Why was he responding so late?

Probably because he knew you would be asleep and wouldn't bother him with a reply.

You put your phone back on your charger without answering and pulled your comforter back up to your chin as you stared blankly at the ceiling.

You were spiraling and you knew it. You were letting your insecurities get the best of you again. There was no reason to think Joel was icing you out. He was probably just busy. You couldn't expect him to spend all his time worrying about you.

There was nothing you could do about it now, short of calling him and outright asking him what's going on, so you did your best to push it out of your mind. Closing your eyes, you tried to will yourself to sleep before hitting the road early the next morning.

It was very early when you got up, so you decided to still not answer his text from the night before. If he was up that late, he was probably still sleeping.

At first, you were glad for the distraction. Driving the two hours to Austin kept your hands away from your phone, although you would be lying if you didn't hope to have another message from Joel when you stopped to use the restroom, just to be sorely disappointed.

There was hardly any traffic so you arrived a little ahead of schedule. You parked in the same parking ramp you and Joel parked in last time and walked the few blocks to the law firm, grateful for a few minutes of fresh air to clear your head. When you entered the lobby, you were greeted by the same two receptionists as last time, and the same one as before waved you over with a smile. She didn't appear to recognize you when you told her your name, and as you watched her scroll on her computer, a nasty part of you wondered if she would remember Joel had he been there with you.

She probably would. Joel's effect on the women he encounters wasn't lost on you. He practically had the whole town wrapped around his finger back home. It hadn't bothered you much lately, but something about his sudden disappearance and lack of contact was just bringing out all your worst thoughts. You shook your head as you sat down, trying to make the thoughts scatter. Pulling out a small notebook and pen, you flipped open the cover and reviewed the contact information you had given Madeline's secretary, along with a couple questions you wanted to ask, but your eye kept wandering to your phone, as if you were trying to force it to light up with his name.

You heard Madeline's soft voice call for you and you lifted your head to greet her with a smile. Clutching your notebook and pen in one hand and purse in the other, you stood to follow her out of the lobby. You made sure to shoot the receptionist who helped you a friendly smile as you walked past, feeling guilty for having such catty thoughts about her when she didn't even do anything wrong.

"So, I reached out to the people on your list. All except your mother, like you requested," Madeline said, jumping right in when you sat down in her office. You liked that about her. She didn't waste any time.

"I sent them texts warning them you would be in touch and they all seemed happy to help," you told her, and she nodded.

"Very much so, but I really do feel like having your mother testify would help. Mothers are great at garnering sympathy from a jury."

You chewed nervously on your fingernail as you thought about it.

"Besides my cousin, she's the only one who I confided in the most," you began, dropping your hand to your lap. "But she never seemed to see it the same way I did. If Patrick hit me, she thought it was because I was talking back or pushing his buttons. She would defend him, telling me 'he works so hard, he deals with so much stress'. And I'm sure you saw what she would say about the sexual abuse," you said, motioning towards the papers on her desk.

Madeline sighed and looked down at a copy of your statement.

"Yes, I did see that. Can I ask you a difficult question?" You let out a dry laugh.

"Just one?" you asked, and she smiled.

"Did you father ever abuse her or you growing up?" she asked gently. You sat back in your chair, deep in thought.

"Well, definitely not me, but I don't know about her. If he did, it was behind closed doors."

"Was there anything that you maybe saw or heard to make you think that would be a possibility?" she pushed.

"I mean, my dad has a temper. He would shout a lot, fly off the handle over little things, but I don't remember him ever calling either one of us names or hitting my mom."

Madeline nodded as she jotted down a note on her legal pad.

"I'm just trying to find a reason why she would think the way Patrick treated you was acceptable," she explained.

"Oh, right," you said, racking your brain for anything that would give an insight into your mom's response. "I never thought to ask. I was so wrapped up in my own shit, it never occurred to me that she might have been going through something, too." That guilt that never seemed to go away began to stir deep in your belly once again.

"Well, I'll do whatever you're comfortable with," Madeline said, tapping her pen lightly on her legal pad. "If you'd like me to reach out, I will. If you prefer to talk to her first or leave her out of it entirely, I'll stand by your choice. But in my professional opinion, I think it's worth exploring, and if I don't think she would make a good witness once we talk, we can always let it go."

"She doesn't even know where I am," you said softly, more to yourself than anything. "We obviously don't have a very good relationship. When I left, I didn't tell anybody where I was going. I only told my cousin I was leaving so my family wouldn't think I died or was kidnapped or something."

Madeline nodded, listening closely. You loved that about her: you always felt like you were being heard whenever you spoke.

"Why don't you sleep on it and let me know what you decide," she said, and you agreed, watching her flip through her other notes. "As far as the divorce petition goes, Patrick didn't respond. No surprise there."

"What does that mean?" you asked, inching forward in your chair.

"He still is allowed some time to acknowledge it. Specifically, 30 days since he was served, so he has a few more days. If I still don't hear anything, we can file for a default divorce. If we do that, Patrick will give up his rights. Obviously beneficial for you, definitely not for him, so I anticipate a response at that point."

"Okay, that sounds good," you said, feeling a bit of relief. Regardless of how this will go, the end will be the same: you will be free.

There was a soft knock at the door behind you, causing Madeline to look up in surprise, then smiled and waved in the guest. Turning around in your seat, you saw a tall, beautiful woman with warm, brown skin and perfectly styled curly, dark hair enter the room. Madeline stood from her chair, and you followed as Madeline reached an arm out to the woman to introduce her.

"This is Michelle, she's one of the firm's partners."

Michelle shook your hand, her grip firm, and she gave you a dazzling smile.

"Oh, wow, it's so nice to meet you," you said. "I can't thank you enough for taking on my case. This is life changing for me, you have no idea."

"Don't mention it, we're happy to help," she replied, her smile still plastered across her face.

"I didn't realize you were in the office today?" Madeline asked, pulling Michelle's attention from you.

"I was supposed to be in court but the guy ended up pleading guilty last minute. Love when that happens," she said to you with a wink, and you smiled. She glanced around the office quickly before turning back to you and Madeline. "Just you today?"

You paused at first, not understanding what she was asking, and then Madeline stepped in.

"Joel's out of town at the moment," she said to Michelle, and you couldn't stop yourself from frowning. How would Madeline know that?

"Oh, that's a shame. I was hoping to run into him, I haven't seen him in a while. Thought we could catch up," Michelle said, another wide smile spreading across her face, revealing perfect, white teeth. Catch up?

Madeline smiled back but you thought you could see some tension behind her eyes. Or maybe your insecurities were getting the best of you, yet again.

"How do you know Joel?" you asked, and hoped you didn't come off as defensive as you felt.

Michelle gave a soft chuckle and leaned against Madeline's desk.

"So sorry, you're probably confused. I'm sure he didn't mention it because he didn't want you to feel indebted to him since we took your case pro bono under his suggestion," she said, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep up. "We were together for a long time. Almost got married, actually, but then I got a promotion out here with a different law firm and he didn't want to move... I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear about ancient history," she said with a laugh.

You tried your best to smile in return but you were fairly certain you couldn't move. You felt like the walls were closing in and you could barely hear what she was saying. Fortunately, Madeline swooped in and distracted Michelle while you tried to get your bearings. Slumping back down in your chair, you tried to remember how to breathe without looking like you ran a marathon. How could he not tell you about this?

Glancing back up at her, you examined her features as she spoke with Madeline. High cheekbones, curly hair, athletic build... the question slipped out before you even had a chance to think.

"You must be Sarah's mom."

The two women stopped talking immediately. Michelle looked down at you in your chair and finally you saw that perfect smile crack. Something told you bringing up Sarah was a sore subject, and that nasty, jealous part of you felt good.

Michelle forced a wider smile and tucked an imaginary stray hair behind her ear.

"Yes, actually. I didn't realize he told you about Sarah," she said, her eyes drifting back to Madeline, who just stared right back at her.

"You look so much alike," you told her, your throat tightening. "You must be so proud of her."

Another awkward silence filled the room.

Michelle looked like she was about to reply when her cell phone rang, and you could have sworn she looked relieved.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this. It was a pleasure to meet you," she said, and you actually managed a small smile. The two of you listened to Michelle's high heels click loudly against the wooden floor as she made her way out, answering the phone with an authoritative tone when she stepped back out into the hall.

You and Madeline looked at one another for a moment, each of you not knowing what to say.

"Does she know about me and Joel?" you blurted out. "I mean, you know... that we used to have a personal relationship?"

Madeline chuckled and took her glasses off.

"I didn't think she needed to know," she said, offering you a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't know she would be here today," she added with a sigh.

"Did..." you swallowed but your throat felt like sand. "Was my case picked because of their relationship?"

"Oh, no. Not directly, anyway," she said, shaking her head.

"What do you mean?"

"The partners vote on which cases are picked pro bono, so they all have to agree. I can't say one way or another if she helped sway their decision, but I do know the partners in this firm care about helping people. They see cases like yours and they truly want to help. So regardless, just know they are good people who want to see you get the justice you deserve."

You leaned back in your chair, stunned. Would Joel have asked his ex to do you a favor? And then not even tell you? Is that why he's been icing you out? Maybe he was having second thoughts about your relationship. Maybe he changed his mind but can't figure out how to let you down gently.

Stop spiraling. He's not icing you out.

Oh, but it really felt like he was in that moment, and you could feel your insecurities winning the fight.

The last few minutes of your appointment was spent reviewing what you had discussed that day and a reminder to think about the topic of your mother, but all you wanted to do was get the hell out of that building as soon as possible. Once you finally got back to the safety of your little car in the dark parking garage, you finally let the tears fall.

The drive home was long and quiet. Your mind was still spinning with the information about Michelle, and as hard as you tried to put it out of your mind, it kept creeping back in against your will. She was pretty. She was so pretty and smart and fit. She reminded you a little bit of Nikki - beautiful, tall, confident. They seemed so different from you. What in the world did Joel see in you if Michelle and Nikki were the types of women he usually went after?

Your phone began to ring in your bag. Reaching over to the passenger's seat, you rifled through your purse blindly, eyes still on the road, fingers searching and finally finding your phone.

You had to do a double take when you saw it was Joel calling.

Staring at the road, you listened to your phone ring over and over, your finger hovering over the little green button on the touch screen, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. It finally stopped ringing and with a sigh of relief, you dropped it into your cup holder.

You knew if you had answered the phone, you would have been irrational. You needed time to think, so you slid the bar down on the side of your phone to silence your calls.

Where the hell was he, anyway? Why wouldn't he have told you he was leaving? And why did Madeline know? If he had time to tell Madeline, he could have had time to tell you, too. You wanted to ask her, but in your hurry to get out after meeting Michelle, you forgot.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your phone light up in the cupholder, and because you had no self control, you picked it up to take a quick peek.

Joel: How did everything go with Maddy?

You scoffed and tossed your phone back into your purse so you wouldn't be tempted to look again until you got home. To force your mind off it, you spent the rest of the drive thinking about Madeline's request to ask your mother to testify. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to call her. Maybe her views have changed. Perhaps she gained some clarity on your situation since you ran. You obviously wouldn't have done that unless things were really bad. Maybe she just didn't realize the severity of the situation.

You really wished you could run this by Joel, but that stubborn part of you absolutely refused.

By the time you arrived home, your muscles sore from sitting in the car for so long, you had decided you would give your mom a call. Just to test the waters. And depending on how it went, you would decide if you wanted to ask her to testify.

Joel sat in a rental car, staring out the window blankly while he fidgeted with his phone. Why weren't you answering your phone? Maybe you were driving and you couldn't hear it. He was fighting the urge to call Maddy to see if you had made it to Austin in one piece. The only thing holding him back was his concern that she would pick up on something in his voice when he spoke about you. He had told Maddy the two of you were over, and at the time, it was true. But now the lines were blurred and it was becoming difficult for him to hide his feelings. It must be written all over his face. Even you could see it, which terrified him at first, but then you climbed into his lap in his truck and his fear melted away, leaving only his exposed heart and his very real, very intense feelings for you on full display.

Those feelings were exactly why he found himself on the seedy side of downtown Philadelphia, staring at subsidized housing with sirens wailing in the distance. He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and checked the address again before tucking his gun into the back of his pants and sliding his shield into his pocket, then opening the car door and stepping out.

It was colder in Pennsylvania than he expected. It wasn't quite snowing, but the wind carried tiny flecks of white. Not enough to accumulate, but enough where he felt the cold deep in his bones. He walked up the path towards the housing unit, glancing around to confirm he was alone before looking back down at the paper in his hand.

Nina Hoffman.

He approached the first unit and scanned the numbers on the doors before moving on, then stopping when he found the correct number and knocking firmly on the door. He turned around, watching as two young men eyed him suspiciously as they walked by. Once they were out of sight, Joel knocked again, louder this time.

"C'mon," he muttered under his breath, then rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up as he waited. He was about to give up when he heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. He straightened up and stepped back, then gave his most charming smile to the small pair of eyes that peered out at him through the crack in the door.

"Afternoon," Joel said with a nod. "Would you happen to be Nina?"

The eyes raked up and down his body and stopped at the bulge on his back.

"Who's asking?" her raspy voice replied.

"Sorry, miss. My name's Joel. Joel Miller. You don't know me, but I think we have someone in common," he replied, her eyes still glued to the gun he had concealed under his coat.

"Who?"

Joel took a deep breath, bracing for her reaction.

"Sergeant Patrick-"

She went to slam the door in his face but he was faster. He stuck his foot in the door as she kept pushing back, trying to apply enough pressure to make him move, but he just wedged himself into the crack further.

"I ain't who you think I am," he said, but Nina ignored him.

"Get the fuck out of here! I dropped the charges!" she cried out, and Joel tried to shush her until he realized fights like this likely happened all the time in areas like this and wouldn't draw as much attention from neighbors.

"I wanna help you! There's more victims!" he told her through gritted teeth as she slammed the door against his leg over and over. At last, she stopped yelling and paused, and he took a deep breath. "I believe you," he continued. "And I think I can help you."

"Move your leg," she told him, and Joel dropped his head in defeat.

"Please, just hear me out-"

"I will. You gotta move your leg so I can undo the goddamn chain," she replied, sounding annoyed.

"Oh, right," Joel said, then pulled his leg out from the crack in the door. She shut it and he heard the metal chain slide through the lock before she twisted the knob again, opening the door wider and revealing herself for the first time. She looked to be around your age, blonde hair that looked like it needed to be washed, and blue eyes that were bloodshot.

"You just gonna stand there or you wanna come inside?" she said, turning on her heel and walking into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. He glanced around behind him once again, still reeling from her change in demeanor, before stepping inside and shutting the door.

You had been on the phone with your mom for nearly thirty minutes as you stared up blankly at your ceiling, listening to her drone on and on about your aunt and her newest boyfriend. Maybe you should have waited until you were more well rested to call her. The drive back from Austin was exhausting, but in an effort to avoid calling Joel, you called your mother instead. Once she got over the initial surprise, she launched into catching you up on all the drama you had missed, and you were beginning to wonder if she even gave a shit about your well-being. Not once had she asked why you left without a word or even how you were doing. She either didn't care or she already assumed the answers for herself. You weren't sure if it was the exhaustion or all the information that had been thrown at you that day, but for once you decided to stand up for yourself and fucking say something.

"Mom, I called to talk to you. It's important," you said, cutting her off, and she paused on the other end of the phone.

"I figured there was a reason you finally reached out," she replied. You picked up on the edge to her voice and you rolled your eyes. Great start.

"It's about Patrick," you began, not letting her tone sway you.

"What about him, sweetie? Is he doing okay?"

You had to take a deep breath and steady yourself before replying. Is Patrick doing okay?? What about you?

"Actually, no. He's in jail," you said, and she gasped. "For attacking me and another cop in town."

"Attacking? What do you mean?" she asked, and you scoffed.

"Attacking me like he's been doing for years, Mom," you said, sliding your eyes shut.

"Oh honey, you didn't actually call the police on him, did you? I told you, you need to watch what you say. You always have a way of pushing people's buttons, ever since you were little-"

"Mom! Stop!" you shouted, and she immediately went quiet. A dull beep echoed in your ear and you pulled your phone away to look at the screen. Joel was calling again. You clenched your jaw and rejected the call before putting the phone back up to your ear. "This is serious, okay? He raped me. He hits me and emotionally abuses me and I've had enough. I'm pressing charges and we're going to trial soon, and my lawyer wanted me to reach out to you and see if you would be willing to testify on my behalf."

The words rushed out of you faster than you expected, but once they were out in the open, you felt a wave of relief, but the dead silence on the other end of the call made you feel nervous again.

"He has his whole career in front of him. You're really doing this?" she said quietly, and if you didn't know any better, she sounded mad.

"What?" you asked incredulously.

"Everything with you is so dramatic," she said with a sigh. "I don't know what fairy tale you have in your head, but life is tough sometimes. Marriage is tough. It's hard work but you made a commitment to him. His job is very stressful. The last thing he wants is a wife at home who expects flowers and sunshine every time he opens the door."

Your mouth hung open in shock as you listened to her prattle on.

"He went down there to fight for you and this is how you repay him?" she continued as the tears began to burn the backs of your eyes.

"How did you-"

"He provides for you, doesn't he? You don't even have to work. All you need to do is be a homemaker and a mother. Do you know how many women would love to be in your shoes?"

"I never said I wanted any of that," you said, and you heard her scoff on the other end.

"Of course you don't. You've always had some silly fantasies in your head but this is real life. Relationships aren't like the movies. Men aren't looking to trip over themselves to make you happy. Marriage takes work. It's a give and take, and all you ever do is take."

You closed your eyes as the tears began to fall. She was wrong. You wanted to scream it at her, rub it in her face that someone was willing to trip over themselves for you.

"So I take it you won't be testifying on my behalf," you said after a moment of silence.

"You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out of it."

Then the line went dead.

You dropped the phone next to you onto the couch and sobbed into the palms of your hands. What did you need to say to make your mother understand? Was there even a point in trying anymore? Maybe Madeline was right. Something must have happened to your mother to make her think this way, because you knew now that love wasn't meant to cause pain.

A month ago, you probably would have believed her. But now, after seeing what Joel was willing to do for you, you knew better.

Suddenly, you felt foolish for reacting the way you did about Michelle. Regret clawed at your ribs as you thought about all the ignored calls and texts from him. Sitting up on the couch, you wiped your nose with the back of your hand and picked up your phone. With shaky fingers, you tapped on his contact and dialed his number, chewing on your bottom lip as the phone rang and rang until you got his voicemail. You hung up without leaving a message, the guilt tearing you in two.

Joel did so much for you and you repaid him by throwing a tantrum because of an old relationship.

As you turned on your TV, flipping through the channels to try to find some mindless show to distract you, hoping Joel would give you another chance and call you back, you thought about your conversation with your mother.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were too dramatic. Selfish girl.

You just hoped you could still fix it and didn't ruin the only good thing you had going for you.

Loud pounding on your front door jolted you awake with your heart slamming in your chest. Fear and confusion ripped through you as you sat up and blinked quickly, looking around. You fell asleep on your couch, your TV playing infomercials now as the clock on the wall ticked closer to three in the morning.

The pounding on the door picked up again and you scrambled to your feet. Your first thought was Patrick, but logic slowly seeped into your brain when you remembered he was in a jail cell in Austin.

Gripping your phone tightly in your hand, you cautiously made your way down the stairs, ears straining to listen for any type of hint as to who was on the other side of the door.

You opened the door a crack and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Joel waiting.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed out as he rubbed his chest absentmindedly. You opened the door all the way and sleepily waved him inside. "What the hell? Why aren't you answerin' any of my calls?" he asked, and for the first time you began to pick up on the worry in his voice.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, looking down at your phone, now noticing he had called and texted you several times since you had fallen asleep. "I tried calling you earlier-"

"I was gettin' on a plane," he said, shutting the door behind him before scooping you into his arms for a hug. "You fuckin' scared me," he whispered into your hair, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," you said again, your voice breaking this time. He pulled back and cupped your face, searching your eyes and realizing you were on the verge of tears.

"What happened? Why have you been cryin'?" he asked you softly, his thumbs brushing gently underneath your swollen eyes. You dropped your gaze and shook your head with shame. "C'mon, let's go upstairs, we gotta talk 'bout what's been goin' on."

He tugged on your hand and led you up the steps, tears still burning in your eyes as you tried to hold them back, your eyes scratchy and dry from already crying too much earlier that evening.

"It's so late," you began, but you could see his body was practically vibrating with energy. "Did your plane just get in?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging off his coat as he began to pace your living room. You sunk back down into your couch, pulling your knees up to your chest as you watched him dart back and forth.

"Where were you, Joel?" you finally asked softly, and he paused in the middle of your living room. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving town? I was so worried-"

"There wasn't enough time. I had to figure out arrangements for Sarah and reschedule that meeting with her teacher at school... it was all too fast," he rambled, not catching your eye as he spoke.

"You couldn't at least send a text when you were at the airport or something?" you asked, not allowing him to make up excuses. "I had to find out from Maria you were gone. Even Madeline knew-"

"Madeline?" he repeated, finally dragging his eyes up to meet yours. "What'd she say?"

You huffed and crossed your arms, trying to fight the spiteful response that was clawing its way to your lips.

"She didn't tell me anything," you said, watching his face carefully. His gaze drifted away, lost in thought before you added "I just happened to be there when Michelle asked where you were."

Joel's eyes snapped back up to yours in an instant and he felt his stomach twist. You could see the myriad of emotions flitting across his face as he processed what you just said.

"What?" he whispered, his throat tight, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

"Michelle," you repeated calmly. "Sarah's mom."

His eyes squeezed shut and he rubbed them aggressively with the heels of his palms. He could feel the heat rising from his chest and up his neck, and he tried to take deep breaths to quell the panic, but it was no use.

"Why-" he began to ask but he was finding it difficult to speak. He bent forward at the waist, his hands on his knees as he shook his head from side to side, trying to shake the sudden dizzy spell. He had been up for too long. He didn't eat enough. The altitude from the plane... something was making him feel faint.

"Joel?" you asked, standing up when you noticed something was wrong. You reached your hands out to grip his shoulders, trying to steady him as he struggled to drag in air. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he rasped, but he weakly slumped to the floor in your living room. "Just... dizzy."

"Should I call an ambulance?" you asked, your voice higher than usual. You fumbled with your phone but he managed to reach out and grab your arm.

"No, just... water," he told you, and you jumped up, racing to the kitchen for a bottle of water. You shakily unscrewed the cap and joined him on the floor, bringing the bottle to his lips and letting him take slow sips until his vision cleared and his breathing returned to normal.

You nervously watched him, your phone still ready to call for paramedics if he passed out, but the color slowly began to return to his face the more water he managed to drink. You inched forward, your hands hovering over him, not sure what to do.

"What was that?" you whispered, and he took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I don't know."

You nodded, your lips forming a tight line as you kept a close eye on him. Minutes ticked by as you waited for him to do something or say something, too worried to say anything yourself and risk causing another episode. Scooting closer to him on the floor, you rubbed his back, and his eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into your touch.

"Why was Michelle there?" he finally asked, eyes still shut.

"She came into my meeting with Madeline. She wanted to meet me and she asked about you," you told him, dropping the attitude now.

"But why was she... there? She doesn't work there, she works at a firm on the other side of the city," he said, finally opening his eyes and then it dawned on you: of course he didn't keep her a secret from you. He didn't even know himself.

"She's a partner there," you said, swallowing nervously as the guilt gnawed away at your insides. "She said you didn't tell me so I wouldn't feel indebted to you since they took my case pro bono."

"What?" he asked angrily as he furrowed his brow. "That's not true. I had no fuckin' clue, you gotta believe me-"

"I believe you," you told him, your hand sliding to the back of his neck. His gaze drifted to a blank spot on the wall as he struggled to catch up with the new information you just dumped on him.

"No wonder you were ignorin' me," he mumbled, and you felt your face heat up, embarrassed for acting like such a child and not just asking him about it in the first place.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," you said, tears welling up in your eyes again. "I really did try to call you earlier. I should have heard you out before getting all jealous and nasty."

"Don't be jealous," he said, locking eyes with you again. "Nothin' to be jealous 'bout. That ship with her sailed years ago." He brought his hand up to gently pinch your chin and gave you a small smile. "Haven't even spoken to her in years. I got no idea why she'd even want to see me."

Leaning forward, you gently slotted your lips over his, breathing in deep and inhaling his familiar scent. The same scent you chased after it faded from your sheets.

"You gotta talk to me, baby," he reminded you quietly after he pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours.

"I know, I'm sorry," you told him, a single tear trickling down your cheek. "Today was so awful and I just missed you so much."

"C'mere," he murmured, pulling you into his lap, your face burying itself into his neck.

"Where were you?" you asked him again, realizing for the first time he never answered you, and he took a deep breath.

"Philadelphia."

Your eyes went wide and you flung yourself upright in his lap.

"What? Why?"

He caressed your chin and gave you a sad look, his eyes red and tired as his shoulders weakly slumped forward.

"There's other victims."

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller series #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #sheriff!joel #waitress reader #STR fic

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stevesbipanic · 2 years ago

Text

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

#omfg i sobbed writing this im sorry #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stobin #robin buckely #angst #poor steve #concussions #memory loss #fuck i actually cried so much omfg #ficlet #major character death #tw major character death #tw death

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echobx · 4 months ago

Note

Rafe and reader sharing the bed for the first time 😉🍆😘

author's note: I'm so sorry that it took me so long to write this. I hope you like it. (roughly edited only)

word count: 1k

warnings: Ward being a shit father (that's just canon tho), light trauma talk, smut, p in v (unprotected), pull out method

"Will you let me in?" The text Rafe sends you wakes you from the light slumber you fell into just moments before. It was long past midnight but you got up anyway, tying the satin belt of your robe around your middle while making the way downstairs to meet him at the back door. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?" you ask him in a hushed voice. "Had another fight with Ward," he replies just as quietly. Rafe never calls his dad what he is, at least not to you. Maybe he's more comfortable to show his true feelings around you, because he knows you wouldn't judge him. "Can I come in now?" he asks and you nod, stepping to the side and closing the door behind him. "You still know where the guest room is, right?" you whisper and he stops to look at you for a moment. "I'd rather not be alone right now." His adam’s apple bops as he looks at you, as if he's close to tears and you nod. "That's okay. Then we'll sleep in my room."

Rafe has been in your room about a million times, and not once has it felt as special as that night. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" you ask while sitting down on your bed, cross-legged and prettier than he could remember. "Just didn't do exactly what he wanted and he flipped. The usual," Rafe shrugs and looks at his feet. "You wanna go and get cleaned up?" you smile and he actually thinks he doesn't deserve you being so gentle with him; never judging or hurtful or anything bad he can think of. You're purely sweet and nice and nothing like what he would ever be able to deserve in a billion years. The hot shower washes away most of his pain, at least the one that sits in his muscles, leaving behind what his father had made of him ever since he was a child. "When you're done you can wear this. I'll put it on the chair," you tell him while putting one of your brother's sweatpants down. Usually when Rafe stayed over your parents were aware of it, he rarely showed up as late as he did just now. You were truly concerned about it though, because the time spans in between these incidents are growing slimmer. You can only imagine what it must be like for him, never having had any real issues with your parents. But not everyone is blessed with a loving family, which is why you try your best to emulate it for Rafe. Give him a place to stay, a shoulder to cry on, basically anything he can ask for and you'd see to it. “You're really okay with me sleeping here?” Rafe asks, walking out of your en-suite; hair still wet and dripping and his abs on full display. You gulped and gave him another smile, “one hundred percent.” “Thanks.”

“You know I don't deserve this, right?” Rafe whispers while lying by your side and you turn around to face him. “Who said that?” “I do. He does. Everyone knows it, your parents too. I don't deserve you, not as a best friend, not at all. You're too good to me. And I'm scared I might ruin you.” He voices his fears quietly, almost inaudible with the soft humming of the a/c. “I don't care what they think. You deserve to be treated good, because you are good, Rafe,” you assure him but he doesn't believe it. “You don't know everything. The things I did- You wouldn't like me if you knew,” he shakes his head and you take your hand up and cup his cheek. “How can you know that for sure if you haven't told me? And maybe if you think I would leave once I know, then we have a lot more to work on.” You never intended to play therapist for your best friend, but he needs someone he can trust, and you know he won't trust a professional. But when he tells you about the things he did, what his father made him do at times but more so what he did for his dad to gain any type of gratitude from the man; your heart nearly stops. “He used you. He still does,” you whisper, scooching closer to Rafe and putting your arms around his waist while placing your head on his chest. “He's the one that doesn't deserve you.” Rafe knew he was in love before, but the way you accept him even after he told you all is the nail in his coffin. He will never want anyone the same way he wants you, but he's sure that acting on it would lead to worse things. “Do you really think so?” he asks slowly and you nod against his body. “I know it for a fact. You shouldn't do anything for him any more. Not when he tells you and especially not when he expects it but doesn't say so, because then when it goes badly he'll blame it all on you.” You sound more furious than you intend to, but Rafe is completely enamored by you.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers as you lean your head back into your neck to look up at him. “Why would you want that?” You don't understand it, not because he isn't handsome and literally everything you could dream of. No, you don't get it because he could have anyone, so why would he want you. “Can we make a pact?” Rafe asks with a smile and you nod. “Good. You teach me how to be normal, and I teach you that you are the most desirable woman in the whole world, because I am right,” he speaks softly, his voice laced with desire. “Maybe I can do a deal like that,” you giggle but before you can actually make fun of the idea, your lips are engulfed by his. Soft and warm and strong as he presses himself against you, turning you around to lie under him. “Do you want me to stop?” Rafe asks and you shake your head. He looks even prettier like that. On top of you with a primal desire in his eyes and a loving smile on his lips. Your hands run over his abs and soon after his body is lying on top of you, fully pressing you into the mattress with all of his weight. His hips slowly roll into yours as he tries to pace himself to not hurt you or make too much noise. “So deep,” you moan against his hand that is placed on your mouth. “You're doing so good for me, baby,” Rafe praises you, pulling your legs up to close behind his back so he can hit even deeper, which you hadn't even thought possible. “Gonna cum,” you threaten and he smirks, bringing a hand down to your clit and rubbing harsh circles until you clamp down around his cock. “That's it, baby. Soak me, pretty,” he pants and as soon as you finish he pulls out and cums all over your stomach. “Guess we have to take another shower now,” you giggle and he pulls you into another kiss, toe curling and maybe you can accept that you aren't that bad. Maybe he was right, after all he had chosen you and not anybody else, and you would keep choosing him too if he let you.

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @hoe4sunarin

#rafe cameron #my writing #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron blurb #~blurb #~prompt #@rafemotherfuckingcameron #outer banks

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lemoncrushh · 1 month ago

Text

The 2016 Blurbs

These are the rest of my writings from 2016. Each blurb is less than 1k words, so I decided to just combine them into one post.

Some of these are angsty, some fluffy, and some just plain silly. There is only one with sexual content and it's in Harry's POV. Please take these for what they are. I do not consider these anywhere close to my best writing lol (though I have always been proud of the Pumpkins & Princesses one).

We're Not Fine based on a prompt, sad, 642 words

You sniffed as you stared up at your ceiling, waiting for Harry to call you back.

For weeks you'd felt like you were drifting apart. You didn't see him as often as you used to, your conversations were cut short, and even his texts seemed vague and uninterested. You'd experienced this kind of behavior before. Eventually the guy would stop communicating with you altogether and you knew it was over. You hoped to hell this wasn't going to happen with Harry.

I think we should talk

That was the text you'd sent him earlier that day.

Okay, he'd texted back. What do you wanna talk about?

He'd waited a while to respond, making you anxious.

I'll call you later. We can talk then.

You'd blown it. You knew it deep down in your soul. You backtracked in your mind trying to recall every little detail, every thing you might have done to make him not want you anymore. Maybe you didn't show him enough that you cared. Or maybe you smothered him. Maybe he wanted space and you hadn't given him enough.

As another tear fell from your eye, you heard your phone ring.

"Hi," you said when you answered it.

"Hey." He didn't really sound excited to talk to you. Just from that one word you got the idea that he wasn't in the mood and wanted to get this, whatever this was, over with.

"What are you doing?" you choked, deciding to make small talk to prolong the inevitable.

"Nothing really. Just ate dinner."

"Oh." You swallowed hard, trying to think of something else to say. "You've been pretty busy, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "And I'll be busy for a while."

You cringed like you'd just been slapped. That was a brush off if you'd ever heard one. You shut your eyes and wiped the tears from your cheeks. Then taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly.

"I miss you," you finally admitted.

Silence. Harry's line was quiet until you heard him sigh. He wasn't going to say it back. The truth hit you in the chest. You began to sob softly.

"We're fine, Harry," you muttered. "Please tell me we're fine."

"We're not fine."

Shit.

"What happened?" you asked.

"Nothing happened," he said, enunciating the word. "It's not one thing."

You took a shaky breath. "What did I do? Tell me."

"Baby..." Harry sighed.

You wanted to scream at him, but you felt like your throat was closing up.

"You didn't do anything," he added.

"Is...is there someone else?" You bit your lip, afraid to hear the answer.

"No."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Just great."

You almost wished there was someone else. At least you'd have something and someone to blame other than yourself.

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired.

"I'm just...I'm not good enough for you."

"Baby, no. Please don't think that."

"Stop calling me baby!" you finally managed to yell.

Harry was quiet again for a minute. "I'm trying to tell you it's not your fault. Or anything you did. We've just grown apart."

You tried to hold back the tears that were welling in your eyes, but it was getting more and more difficult.

"Haven't you noticed it too?" Harry added softly. "I know you have."

"I'd hoped I was wrong," you admitted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah...me too."

"I still care a lot about you."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at the ceiling. "Sure."

"I mean it," said Harry. "But...you don't have to believe me."

You laid in silence again until you decided it was time.

"I guess this is it, then. Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye, [Y/N]. I really am sorry."

"Yeah."

Before you could change your mind, you pressed the button to disconnect the call. Dropping the phone next to you, you finally let yourself cry.

Bad Dream sad + fluffy, 859 words

The house was dark. You could barely see two feet in front of you, let alone find your way to the wall to reach the light switch.

"Harry?" you called out, but you got no reply.

You tiptoed slowly until you reached the staircase. Feeling along the wall, you finally found the switch, but no light shown when you flipped it. You cursed under your breath, your heart racing with anxiety. You hated being alone in the dark.

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, you felt for the banister, pulling yourself up the first step, then the second and third. It seemed as though the staircase was never ending, but finally you reached the top. This time you knew you had to find some source of light. But as you turned and faced the right side of the landing, you heard a sound.

"Harry?" you called out once more, only this time your voice sounded different - strained and unfamiliar.

Taking a step forward, you heard the sound again. Curiosity and adrenaline fueling you, you began to walk faster, no longer afraid of the darkness. Reaching a door at the end of the hall, your hand found the knob and turned it slowly. You felt like your heart was in your throat, beating so loudly you could barely breathe. Easing the door open however, the sight you saw made your heart drop to the floor.

"Wh-wha-what?" you stammered, unable to get a full sentence out.

You couldn't see the girl he was with, a faceless woman, but it didn't matter. It was another woman nonetheless.

"H-Harry?" you choked.

Turning his body to face you, he gave you a look of contempt.

"Oh. Hey," he said with no feeling whatsoever. His tone was cold as stone. You thought you might throw up.

"What are you doing?" you asked stupidly, knowing exactly the answer to your question.

Harry chuckled, his bare chest shaking. He raised a brow as his hand slid down the back of the faceless woman that clung to him.

"Exactly what it looks like," he replied, not trying to deny a thing. You almost wished he would so you could call him on it.

You felt the bile rise to your throat, swallowing hard to push it down. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, your body shaking with a mixture of sobs and anger.

"You asshole!" you shouted before turning around and running for the stairs.

You half expected him to run after you, but he didn't. Although tears obstructed your vision, you managed to find the staircase. Your body continued to shake as you heard yourself cry out his name.

"Harrryyyyyy!!!"

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your arm, shaking you.

"Baby..." you heard someone say faintly. It sounded really far away. You blinked your eyes open, trying to focus. Where were you?

"Baby, you were dreaming," the voice said louder.

"Harry?" you turned over, grasping at his chest. "Oh my god, Harry!"

Wrapping his arms around you as you cried, he kissed the top of your head.

"Oh love, it's okay," he cooed. "You had a nightmare."

"Please don't leave me," you whined, your body still shaking as you buried your head in his chest.

"What? What are you talking about?"

You continued to sob, thinking about the horrible dream. It had felt so real. How could anything so awful feel so real?

"Please..." you repeated. "I love you so much."

"Oh, baby," Harry murmured, "Look at me."

Swallowing hard, you lifted your head. His handsome face shown only concern, no sign of the hateful look he'd given you in your nightmare. But the memory still shook you to the core.

"I love you, too," he said as he stared into your eyes. "Now what's this all about?"

"I don't know," you sniffed. "I just had the most horrible dream."

"Obviously," he narrowed his eyes, sliding his hands under your ears. He gently wiped away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. "Wanna talk about it?"

You shook your head vigorously. "No. It's too unbearable to repeat."

The idea that someone you were madly in love with and who was supposed to love you back could act the complete opposite was the last thing you wanted to experience. Even if it had been just a bad dream, there was no way you think about it again.

Harry nodded, placing a soft kiss on your nose. "Okay. We don't have to relive it."

He kissed your lips then, making you sigh, slowly beginning to feel relaxed.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "Water?"

"I just want you to hold me," you muttered.

The corners of his mouth curled up into his signature smile as you felt him pull you closer. "You got it."

Resting your head on his chest, you breathed in his scent, a beautiful calm coming over you. You kissed his skin softly, bringing your hand next to your head.

"It's okay," Harry said again, his fingers raking up your back.

His breath tickled your hair as you listened to his heartbeat, soothing you until you fell into a deep slumber.

What If It Stinks? based on a prompt, super corny, 562 words

You pushed the door to your apartment open with your elbow, juggling bags of groceries. You'd just spent two glorious weeks away with Harry, so you'd stopped at the store on the way home, knowing your refrigerator and cabinets needed restocking. After running a couple errands of his own, Harry was going to meet you at your place for dinner.

Placing the bags on the counter, you began to unload your groceries. Halfway through the second bag, you heard a knock on the door, alerting you of Harry's arrival.

"Hey, don't I know you?" you teased, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"I think I've seen you somewhere," he smirked. "Was just a couple hours ago, right?"

Pulling him inside, you shut the door behind him.

"You're just in time to help me put all this away," you said.

"Oh, fun," he remarked sarcastically, following you into the kitchen.

You handed him a bag for him to get started on while you continued unloading the contents of your bag.

"Um...babe?" you heard Harry ask.

You turned to see him standing with the fridge door open, his head dipped to look inside.

"Yeah?" you inquired.

Harry crinkled his nose. "Did you clean this out before you left?"

"Before we left for our trip? I think so. Why?"

Coming to stand next to him, you watched him lift his hand and point. "What's that?"

You felt your stomach churn when you looked at the container. "Oh no," you grimaced.

"What is it?" Harry repeated as you grabbed the aluminum foil covered baking dish and pulled it out, setting it on the counter.

"Salmon," you groaned.

"That's been in there for two weeks?"

You nodded, feeling the color rise to your cheeks. "Damn."

Harry made a noise behind you like he was gagging.

"I guess I forgot," you admitted shyly.

Cringing, you slowly began to lift the aluminum foil before stopping and looking back at Harry. He already had his hands covering his mouth and nose.

"What if it stinks?" you asked.

"Don't worry, it will," he replied, his voice muffled.

You cursed under your breath again as Harry grabbed one of the grocery bags and held it open for you.

"Toss it in here," he told you.

Lifting the foil once more, you ripped it off the dish like a Band Aid. Then as you held your breath, you emptied the soiled fish into the bag.

"Ewwww!" you exclaimed, practically dancing on your tip toes as your flailed your arms.

"That's foul," Harry added, tying the bag closed and dropping it into your trash can. "We can't leave this in here."

"I guess I should take it to the dumpster," you said.

"I'll do it."

You watched as Harry grabbed your trash and headed out the door, a look of disgust on his face. Still completely embarrassed and annoyed with yourself, you got to work scrubbing the baking dish, using more dish soap than would normally be required.

Once it was clean, you started putting the rest of your groceries away, though the stench still lingered in the air. You called yourself every stupid name in the book before Harry returned.

"Ugh," he sounded as she shut the door. "That was awful."

"I'm so sorry," you muttered.

"No worries," he said. "But let's fumigate this place and go out to eat instead."

I Swear I'm Not Scared based on a prompt, fluffy, 649 words

Harry's face seemed to glow in the moonlight as you stood next to him, your fingers intertwined. Although he looked out at the ocean, you couldn't seem to peel your eyes away from him.

You'd been dating for a while, but lately you'd started getting the feeling that things were moving forward, that they were getting serious. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest every time he looked at you. Something was different in his eyes, and you'd begun to wonder if he might be getting to close to saying those three words.

Catching you staring at him out of the corner of his eye, he turned and grinned at you.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice deep and calm.

You shook your head. "Nothing."

"That's your response every time I ask you," he joked. "I reckon you need to come up with something else."

You felt yourself blush, grateful that the night kept it from being obvious. You shrugged, trying to play it off.

"Just like being here with you," you said.

Sliding his hands on your waist, Harry pulled you closer.

"Me too," he whispered before lowering his mouth onto yours.

Just like every kiss before, your stomach flipped and you felt a warm sensation all over. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him back hungrily, a spark igniting every time your tongue met his.

When you finally broke from the kiss, Harry's gaze burned into yours, his eyelids heavy.

"[Y/N]," he murmured, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Yes?" you asked breathlessly.

"I..."

Oh God, was he going to say it? You practically held your breath as you waited for him to finish his sentence. You watched him swallow hard before taking a deep breath of his own and letting it out slowly.

"I hope you're feeling what I'm feeling," he finally spoke.

"What are you feeling, Harry?" you blinked.

Harry chuckled nervously, his hands running up your back. The ocean breeze whipped his hair and you lifted a hand to tuck a strand behind his ear.

"I feel myself falling for you, [Y/N]," he admitted softly.

Staring into his eyes, his expression was completely serious now. You knew he was waiting for you to speak, but you weren't sure what to say exactly. You lowered your gaze to the cross laying on his chest, focusing on it before you heard him clear his throat.

"Don't get quiet on me, baby," he said. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Um..." you stammered, your body suddenly shaking. Harry noticed, rubbing your arms when you dropped them.

"You feel it too, don't you?" he inquired softly.

You weren't sure why you were trembling so. It wasn't like you hadn't been thinking the same thing. Of course felt it too. But you'd felt it before, and had gone through enough heartbreak.

"Falling on love is so frightening," you finally muttered, looking down at your hands.

"It can be," Harry stated, sliding his hand under your ear, making you lift your head to look up at him. "But I've been feeling this for a while now. And...I swear, I'm not scared."

Your face lit up at his words. "Really?

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

You bit your lip, gripping the hem of his shirt in your fists. You felt your body relax as you allowed your chest to press against him. His hands cupped your face as he gazed into your eyes.

"Fall with me, love," he pleaded. "I'll catch you."

Sliding your hands up his chest again, you nodded. He pulled you into a deep kiss, his fingers tangled in your hair. You tasted the salt air on his tongue as the tide rolled in, tickling the sand across your toes. It was the perfect moment, the perfect kiss.

When you finally let him go to look at his face, you knew.

"Okay," you whispered.

Cheated angsty + sad (obviously), i believe the prompt was "what a shocker, you have an excuse", 751 words

"You were with someone else that night, weren't you?" you choked.

Harry had seemed distant to you for a while now, and you'd suspected that there had been another woman. One particular evening you had tried calling and texting him, receiving no reply. Even the next day when you'd finally gotten a hold of him, his words were short as though he was trying to hide something. You'd decided to brush it off, giving him the benefit of the doubt, especially after he'd told you he just wasn't feeling well and wanted to be alone and catch up on some sleep.

Harry glared at you for a moment before looking at the ground. You knew then that your suspicions had been correct. Still, his next words were harsh and felt like a knife twisting in your heart.

"Yeah," he muttered, "I cheated."

You stood frozen, unable to move. You wondered how you were still breathing. Harry's confession crushed you to the bone. Surely this wasn't happening. It had to be a dream.

You tried to move your lips, to make out a word or two, but you couldn't seem to get out anything past a "wha."

"I'm sorry," Harry finally added. "I didn't mean to."

You raised your eyebrows, finally finding your voice.

"Didn't mean to?"

"Yeah," he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Why do people always say that?" you threw up your arms. "Nobody means to cheat. They don't go out thinking 'I'm gonna find some girl to screw, I really feel like cheating tonight.' It doesn't happen like that, Harry."

He stared at you, swallowing hard. "You're right," he nodded. "I'm sorry."

You wanted to tell him to shut up, to scream at him, to tell him to go to hell. But you remained silent for what seemed like eons, watching him pull his hands out of his pockets, run his fingers through his hair, scratch his face, and shove his hands back in his pockets again. He was nervous. As he should be.

"Who is she?" you finally whispered. When he opened his mouth, you lifted a hand. "No. Never mind. I don't wanna know."

Grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder, you mumbled a curse word under your breath as you turned for the door.

"Wait!" Harry called after you. "Where are you going?"

Swinging the door open, you didn't bother to look back.

"Where the fuck do you think I'm going? I'm out of here."

You walked outside toward your car that you'd parked out front. You hadn't realized Harry had followed you until you opened the car door and tossed your bag inside.

"At least hear me out," he said, making you jump.

"Hear you out?" you asked incredulously, turning to face him.

Harry nodded. "Let me explain what hap-"

"Oh what a shocker," you threw up your hands. "You have an excuse."

Harry stared at you again, his mouth a tight line.

"Let's hear it then," you rolled your eyes. "Do tell!"

He dropped his shoulders, his eyes on the ground again. You swallowed back the tears that had begun to rise in your throat, just wanting to get this over with. When Harry stayed silent, you spoke again.

"I'm waiting."

He lifted his head to look at you then, a pathetic plea for sympathy on his face.

"Let's see if I can help you," you began. "You were drunk, she was all over you, giving you attention and you liked it. You succumbed to her advances, even though you were thinking about me the whole time. You regretted it afterwards, wanting so bad to call me and hear my voice, but you felt guilty and afraid."

Harry gazed past you, no longer able to make eye contact.

"Something like that," he muttered.

"Give me a break," you rolled your eyes again.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Stop!" you shook your head. "Just...stop."

You turned and climbed into the car.

"Baby, I-"

"Bye, Harry," you interrupted, no longer interested anything else that fell from his lips. "Don't call me."

Slamming the door, you turned the key in the ignition. As you drove away, you watched him in your rearview mirror, standing in his front yard. You weren't sure how long he stood there after you turned the corner, nor did you care. You wiped away a single tear that had escaped down your cheek, the only one you were willing to let fall over him.

You've Gone to the Bathroom Fifty Times Today based on a prompt, fluffy, 858 words

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress and smoothing out the fabric with your hands.

"You look beautiful," you heard from behind you.

You grinned in the mirror as Harry came up and wrapped his arms around your waist. You lightly brushed the backs of his hands with your fingertips as you leaned into his body. Feeling him hum against your neck, you suddenly felt a twitch. You threaded your fingers through his, pulling his hands away from you.

"Be right back," you said.

"Again?" he frowned, dropping his arms.

"Sorry," you called as you hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

As flushed the toilet, you replayed the scenario in your head. The moment you would tell him. How you would tell him. You'd had it sorted out for the past week. You thought you had it down, that everything would work out smoothly, without a hitch.

Only today you'd started feeling incredibly nervous. You were worried that he'd started to catch on. You'd made so many trips to the bathroom, surely he had to think something was up.

You heard a knock on the door then, making you jump.

"Babe!" Harry called from the other side. "We're gonna be late if we don't leave now."

"Okay!" you answered. "I'm coming."

After you washed your hands and touched up your lipstick, you felt it again. Then you shook your head and opened the door. Harry cocked a brow as he looked at you in question.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," you nodded, grabbing your clutch from the bed that matched your shoes. "What time are we supposed to be there?"

"Twenty minutes," he replied.

You sighed, knowing you would probably be at least ten minutes late as it was. All because of you.

"Let's go," you muttered, following him out of the bedroom.

The dinner party was already in full swing when you arrived, just like you'd anticipated. You cursed under your breath as Harry lead you through the doors to the dining room, his hand on the small of your back.

"It's okay," he assured you as he whispered in your ear.

The fortunate thing about your tardiness was that you'd missed cocktails. You had already decided you would politely decline when offered any, but at least now you could just sit down and not have to awkwardly mingle with a glass of water in your hand.

Ten minutes into the meal, however, you stood and excused yourself. This time Harry gave you a quizzical look, but you didn't have time to explain before rushing to the toilet. You did manage to hear him say that you'd been under the weather, no doubt trying to give his own assumption to the other guests.

You hated this. This was supposed to be a wonderful, magical night. It was only a couple hours before you were going to tell him. But you hadn't anticipated feeling like crap.

Finally cleaning up, splashing a bit of cool water on your face, you opened the bathroom door to see Harry leaning against the wall.

"What are you doing out here?" you inquired.

"Checking on you," he said. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, giving a tight-lipped smile. "Sure."

"You've gone to the bathroom fifty times today."

You chuckled nervously. "Fifty? That's a lot."

"C'mon, love," Harry urged, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you shrugged. "Just been drinking a lot of water. Makes me have to go."

He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands. Then he gazed into your eyes, making you melt and breaking your defenses like he was always so good at doing.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed hard, looking down at your joined hands. Harry's thumbs ran across your knuckles, silently urging you to speak.

"Wh-what might that be?" you stumbled.

When Harry didn't reply, you lifted your eyes again. His seemed to be twinkling, though his mouth had yet to curve into a smile.

"Baby, are you..."

Though he didn't finish his sentence, you knew precisely what he was asking. You bit your lip as you felt the tears begin to well in your eyes. Harry's face lit up then at the unspoken confirmation.

"You are?" he choked.

Still unable to speak, you nodded silently.

A smile now spreading across his face, Harry cupped yours in his hands before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

"I'm so happy," he half laughed, half cried against your mouth.

This wasn't the way you had planned to tell him, in the middle of the hallway at a dinner party. But seeing him so completely giddy with the knowledge, you couldn't have picked a better time or place.

"Let me hear you say it," he sighed.

"Say it?"

You looked into his eyes again which were now utterly dancing, and you knew what he meant. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his nose.

"I'm pregnant, Harry. I'm having your baby."

Harry giggled with glee before resting his forehead against yours.

"Our baby," he whispered. "You're having our baby."

Shower in Harry's POV, 560 words

I turned on the shower, stepping back to allow the water to heat up and flow freely as I undressed. Every muscle in my body ached from my neck to the balls of my feet. This film was taking a lot of out of me, but I never complained. I knew how lucky I was.

The bathroom filled with steam, clearing my nostrils and fogging up the mirror. Stepping underneath the nearly scalding water, I dropped my head, allowing the stream to hit my shoulder blades. The water immediately darkened beneath my feet, the mud from the day's scene dissolving and running down my back. I felt my muscles loosen, the tightness easing slowly from the water pressure.

I leaned my head back then in order for the shower to wet my hair before turning around and doing the same with my face. Shutting my eyes, I exhaled deeply as the water flowed down my chest. I wasn't sure if I'd ever been so exhausted, even after a day filled with interviews or a concert where I'd deliberately given my all because I'd been under the weather. I felt like I could collapse on my massive hotel bed and not wake up until the morning. And after this shower, I planned to do just that.

Once I was satisfied with the removal of all mud and dirt, I turned around once more, reaching for the shampoo. I washed my hair gingerly, half chuckling to myself that it had been nearly three months and I was still using too much shampoo, temporarily forgetting that I no longer had long curls. After rinsing my hair, I grabbed the soap. That was when I noticed it. My semi-erection. Shit.

It wasn't like I was turned on. A man doesn't really need inspiration to get hard. Sometimes it just happens. I tried to ignore it as I lathered my body with soap, the suds forming on my arms and chest. When my hand slid down to my stomach, however, I saw my dick twitch and felt a burning desire I hadn't been prepared for. Dropping the soap in the dish, I let my right hand roam down and encircle my cock which was now fully erect. My hand slid up and down the shaft a few times as I watched the precum collect at the tip. Biting my lip, my left hand held up the shower wall next to me, the shower stream still beating against my back.

Fuck, I cursed as I began to pump faster, the mix of friction and slipperiness doing me in. My thumb grazed across the head of my cock repeatedly and I heard myself let out a deep groan. My chest rose and fell with each quick breath.

I swallowed hard as I felt myself get close. Then with barely two more jerks of my wrist, I came, a guttural moan escaping my throat.

My mouth fell open as I tried to get my bearings and catch my breath. Then standing up straight, I grabbed the soap once again, finishing the rest of my shower.

When I stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping a towel around my waist, my eyelids were heavier than ever. Opening the door, I dropped the towel and collapsed onto the bed.

I don't think I'd ever had such a good night's sleep.

Pumpkins & Princesses fluffy, 850 words

Your eyes popped open to near darkness, the only light seeming to come from the hallway, underneath the door. You groaned, rolling over, your hand reaching out but feeling nothing but mattress on Harry's side of the bed.

"Baby?" you called out, your voice groggy from sleep.

When no answer came, you sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. You were indeed alone in your room.

With a confused pout, you tossed the sheets aside, climbing out of bed. Nearing the doorway, you thought you heard voices. Your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door, noticing that the light was coming from your little girl's room.

Stepping into the hallway, you heard a giggle, followed by the sound of Harry's voice.

"Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities..."

Stopping in your tracks, you sucked in your lips. Tiptoeing very slowly, you crept to your daughter's bedroom door which was cracked open and peeked inside. Harry was dancing around the room, a stuffed animal in each hand as he sang the song from The Jungle Book. You covered your mouth with your hands to keep from giggling. When he'd finished the song, he knelt down next to the bed.

"Do another one, Daddy," your daughter demanded.

"Alright," said Harry, choosing several more toys and lining them up.

"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's home from work we go..."

Your child continued to giggle as Harry made the dolls bounce on the bed while he sang and whistled. For the last four years watching Harry interact with or show affection to your daughter always lit you up inside. But this...this had to be the best thing you'd ever witnessed.

You continued to stand in the hallway, not wanting to interrupt the father-daughter bond they were having. Harry continued his Disney sing-along with "I Just Can't Wait To Be King", going directly into "Hakuna Matata".

"It means no worries, for the rest of your days..." he sang.

Your daughter was bouncing on her bed, trying her best to sing along. You almost lost it when she mispronounced "philosophy", biting your lip to keep from laughing.

"Alright pumpkin," breathed Harry when the song was finished. "You need to get to sleep now."

"One more, Daddy!" she whined, defiantly lying back in her bed as Harry covered her with the blanket.

"It's late, love," he argued. "Way past your bedtime."

"Pleeeease!" she begged.

Harry sighed. "One more. But it's gonna be a slow one to calm you."

Your child beamed up at her father, the same dimple in her cheek. "Okay."

"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat..." Harry began the first phrase of "Part of Your World".

"Daddy!" your daughter exclaimed.

"What?"

"That's a princess song!"

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I can sing a princess song."

"You're not a princess though," she giggled.

Harry's eyes widened, feigning offense. "Yes I am."

You turned your head, once again trying to keep your composure so they wouldn't find out you were eavesdropping.

Your little girl giggled harder. "I thought I was a princess."

"Okay, then," Harry nodded. "I'm singing a princess song to you."

"Okay," she finally agreed, shutting her eyes.

Harry continued the song, ending after the first chorus.

"I'm not sure I know the rest, pumpkin," he whispered, giving his little girl a kiss on the nose.

"Mummy does," she said.

"Hmm," Harry nodded. "Mummy knows a lot of things."

"Yes," your daughter agreed. "She's a princess too."

Harry chuckled. "That she is."

"She's like Ariel," she added with a yawn. You could tell she was fading.

"Your mum's a mermaid?" Harry raised a brow.

"Uh huh. Like the one on your arm."

"Ah, I see."

"She's magic."

Harry patted your daughter's head, giving her one last kiss on her forehead.

"I'll agree with you there, kid."

When you saw Harry rise from the floor, you quickly ran back to your bedroom. As you crawled back into bed, you realized your cheeks were wet with tears. You swiftly wiped them away with the back of your hand just as Harry emerged from the hallway.

"Hey," he said softly. "What are you doing up?"

You bit your lip, but it was all you could do to keep from crying again.

"Baby..." he cooed, crawling onto the bed next to you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you shook your head vigorously. "Nothing's wrong at all. Everything is absolutely perfect."

Harry gazed into your eyes for a moment before pulling you to him in a tight hug. Your head fell on his shoulder as you embraced him.

"I love you so much," you declared in his ear.

"I love you, too," he echoed before pulling back to look at you again. "You sure you're okay?"

A smile spread across your face as you nodded. "Never better."

Harry cupped your face in his hands, giving you a tender kiss. Just as your lips separated, his own grew into a smirk.

"You heard me singing Disney songs, didn't you?"

You giggled, giving him a quick peck. "Yes, I did. And it was the best thing I've ever heard in my life."

The Lilac Jumper fluffy, 833 words

"I'm gonna miss you," you whispered.

"I'll miss you more," he said.

Pulling you into a tight embrace, you inhaled the scent of him as your nose pressed against his sweater. His favorite purple sweater, or as he called it, his lilac jumper. To you it smelled like lavender, though that may have just been a mental association you tied to it because of its shade.

"Please don't forget me," you teased.

"C'mon, love, how could I forget you?" Harry's voice vibrated through his chest.

You raised your head to look up at him, his eyes dancing, his dimple dipped in his cheek. You returned his smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"All those adoring fans," you continued, "how can I compare?"

Harry's smile faded as he took your face in his hands.

"I love you," he said.

Your eyes blinked several times as you stared at him. Harry had yet to declare his love for you, although several times you'd thought he was going to say it, only to be left a bit disappointed when he didn't.

"Wh- really?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Color rose to your cheeks as your smile grew.

"I love you, too," you practically cheered.

Harry lowered his mouth to yours, kissing you passionately. His hands slid to the back of your head, your hair threading through his fingers. His lips were soft, yet firm as he kissed you with fervor. You must have stood there for several minutes until you heard his phone ring in his back pocket.

"Sorry, love," he muttered, separating from your lips. "I have to go."

You felt horrible. It wasn't that time of the month, but you had horrible stomach cramps and a headache that hadn't gone away in two days. You weren't sure if it wasn't something you ate or not. But after throwing up for the third time today, you finally resolved to taking a shower and sipping on a cup of tea.

When you got out of the shower, you returned to the bedroom, feeling a little bit better, knowing you needed to get something in your tummy. Your body shook from the cool temperature in the house, and as you rummaged through your drawers to find something comfortable to put on, you remembered.

With a sigh, you opened your bottom drawer, pulling out Harry's purple sweater. You brought it to your nose, taking a deep sniff. Yep, lavender. You pulled it over your head, shoving your arms through the sleeves, then grabbed a pair of black leggings. Leaving your hair damp, you sauntered into the kitchen to make the tea, then sat on the sofa with your phone.

It was just about time for Harry to FaceTime you.

Sipping on your tea, you grabbed a nearby throw and covered yourself with it. You scrolled through a few emails and instagram pics on your phone until you saw Harry's name commanded the screen, requesting a FaceTime call.

"Hi, baby," you said meagerly.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, his gorgeous face smiling at you. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," you shrugged, still not feeling a hundred percent. But you didn't want to bother Harry with that. However, you couldn't fool him. He sensed something in your tone.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you insisted. "Just haven't been feeling that great. But I'll be okay."

Harry raised his brows. "You have a cold?"

"No, stomach bug or something. It's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing," he argued. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

You shut your eyes and shook your head. It was so like him to be concerned.

"I'm okay, Harry, really. It's just been a couple days. If it persists, I'll go to the doctor."

"Promise me you will," he said.

You nodded vigorously. "I will. Now tell me about Vancouver."

"Gorgeous here," Harry grinned.

"Yeah? I always wanted to go there."

"I'll bring you here sometime," he offered.

"Is it cold?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you... I coulda sworn I packed my lilac jumper. But I can't find it. Did I leave it there?"

"Um..." you sounded, holding out the M.

"What?"

With a sheepish grin, you lowered the blanket covering you, revealing the purple sweater you were currently wearing. Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Are you mad?" you asked him.

"No," he replied. "But why do you have it?"

"I um...I selfishly didn't want you to take it with you," you admitted. "I like it here with me when you're not."

Harry's expression softened. "That's sweet. But why that jumper?"

"Because you were wearing it that day," you explained softly.

"What day?"

"The day you first told me you loved me."

Harry sighed and you could see him sit back in his chair. "I love that. It's wonderful."

You blinked, feeling relief. "So you're not mad."

"Of course not," said Harry. "You should keep it while I'm gone."

"Good," you beamed.

"I love you, [Y/N]," he declared.

"I love you too, Harry."

Seven-Tiered Cake: The Interview written in interview style with Harry and Y/N, fluffy, 948 words

Singer, songwriter, actor, and one-fourth of the pop band One Direction, newlywed Harry Styles and his bride, Hollywood baker [Y/N], sat down to chat with us for a bit. In our exclusive interview, the couple discussed marriage, Monday movie nights, and a seven-tiered wedding cake.

Interviewer: Hi, thanks for coming.

Harry Styles: You're welcome. Thanks for having us.

Int: So let's get right down to it. How long have you two been married now?

HS: [Looks at y/n] A little over...

Y/N: Three months.

HS: Yeah, a little over three months.

Int: And how are you liking it so far?

Y/N: It's great!

HS: Wonderful!

Int: Tell me about the wedding. I know most of the world have seen the loads of pictures, Y/N in your gorgeous gown, that enormous cake. It was all so beautiful.

Y/N: It really was a beautiful wedding.

HS: Nothing compared to her, though [smiles at y/n, squeezes her hand]. She was the most beautiful.

Int: Were you nervous?

HS: No.

Y/N: Oh, I was. I was a mess [laughs].

HS: She didn't show it though.

Y/N: [Looks at Harry] I might've been most nervous about the cake.

Int: Let's talk about that cake. Rumor was that you made it together.

Y/N: We did. It was Harry's idea.

Int: Really?

HS: [Chuckles] Don't make me say it.

Int: Make you say what?

Y/N: You know your fans wanna hear you say it.

HS: I used to be a baker.

Y/N: [Laughs and leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek] They're gonna love you more now.

Int: So tell me about this cake.

Y/N: So, it was one I'd made before, only it was just a four-tiered cake. But Harry had the wild idea to have it be taller for our wedding.

HS: It was seven tiers.

Int: Why seven? Is that a lucky number for you?

Y/N: No. I just refused to make it more than that.

HS: [Laughs] She was chicken.

Y/N: Damn right, I was. It had to be carried in pieces by four people. If once piece fell, it would have been ruined. I just couldn't deal with more than seven. I wanted five. But I compromised.

HS: It made it there safely.

Y/N: Yeah.

Int: So how was it, making it together?

Y/N: [Looks at Harry] That part was fun. We had to make close to a hundred flowers out of fondant.

HS: [Smiles] We managed. We work well together.

Int: I'm picturing a lot of flour on the nose, cake batter on the ceiling, that sort of thing.

HS: [Laughs] It wasn't that messy...was it?

Y/N: I dunno, it was pretty messy. I was cleaning my kitchen for hours after.

HS: But I helped.

Y/N: [Puts hand on Harry's leg] Yes, you did, baby.

Int: You two are so cute. Which leads me to my next topic. You seem to be the quintessential couple to many, but I'm sure you also get some backlash. How do you handle that?

HS: Like with everything, you have to stay grounded. Keep your private life as private as possible. Any other opinions people have, let them have them.

Int: How do you feel, Y/N?

Y/N: I just kind of stay away from the drama. I know it's out there and people are talking, but they're not living my life. I choose to ignore it. They're gonna say what they want anyway. But I'm in this marriage, not them.

HS: I just hope enough people will understand how I feel about her, so eventually they'll feel that way about her too.

Int: What do you think makes a happy marriage?

HS: Um...ask me that in five years [chuckles]. No, really, it hasn't been that long yet. Or long enough for me to be an expert. I just...I just know how I feel. And I know she feels the same.

Y/N: I do.

HS: We like the same things. We want the same things.

Int: Do you want children?

HS: Oh, definitely. It's not something we're focusing on right now, but we definitely want kids someday.

Y/N: Right now we're having fun being kids together [smiles].

Int: What do you guys like to do for fun?

HS: We um...we have movie night.

Y/N: Every Monday.

HS: We decided we needed at least one night a week that was for us. We could always go out if there's a party or event, but with both of our schedules, most of the time weekends are pretty busy.

Y/N: And Mondays usually aren't.

HS: So we decided on having movie night on Mondays.

Int: Have you made every Monday?

HS: [Looks at y/n] I think we might've missed one here or there. If I was in London for something and she didn't come with.

Y/N: Yeah but that's rare. I don't think we've missed many.

Int: Who gets to pick the movie?

HS: [Points to y/n] This one.

Y/N: I do not! Not always.

HS: [Shakes head] Doesn't matter to me. I'm fine with whatever she picks.

Y/N: This is why we get along.

Int: Clearly. So, Harry I hear another film is in the works?

HS: Yeah, but I'm not allowed to talk about it yet.

Y/N: Ooh secrets.

Int: Fair enough. Well, thank you so much for chatting.

HS/Y/N: You're welcome.

Int: Best of luck to you both, and I hope you'll come talk again when the baby bug kicks in.

HS: [Chuckles] Okay, we will.

Thank you to anyone who has ever read any of my silly little fics.

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